Good Cookies: Prompt and Fill Post, Round Three
Good Cookie, definition: 1. Marine Corps Good Conduct Medal; 2. Generation Kill fanworks created for YAGKYAS. Can include short (under 1000 words) ficlets, drabbles, drawables, mixtapes, fanart, whatever!
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Nate woke up when the light shining into his face didn't go away. He blinked and shivered a little, screwing his eyes shut even tighter, frustrated and nauseous. He managed to say, "Close 't door," before the coughing fit set in.
Warm hands -- too warm, he noted, trying to shift aching muscles away -- settled against his back, stroking smoothly.
"I told you this would happen," Brad said. "Your immune system is not invulnerable, retard." He shifted closer, a long line of feverish heat at Nate's back.
"Light," Nate said tightly. The migraine was beginning to throb through his temples again.
He fell asleep somewhere between Brad's absence and the blissful darkness of the shuttered room. When he next woke, he was curled up at the edge of the bed. Brad sprawled in the middle, still holding a damp towel in one hand.
"Hey," Nate said, poking Brad's bicep. "Wake up."
Brad didn't so much as twitch. "Fuck off. I'm tired," he replied.
The door was ajar, just a little, enough that when Nate shifted to lay his head on Brad's chest, he could see the tree lights scattering multi-coloured shadows in the hallway.
"This illness? Is entirely your fault. Yours and whatever assbackwards biowarfare campaign you've been part of for the last seven months."
"OIF," Brad grunted, though it felt more like a rumble through his chest. Nate inhaled sharply, listening to the sudden rhythm of Brad's heartbeat and breathing.
"Just wanted one proper Christmas with you," Brad said finally, and Nate felt, viscerally, the sigh shrouding the words. "Is that too much…? One fucking Christmas."
Nate rolled over carefully, grunting a little as he tried to breathe through his stuffed nose. "You put the tree lights on." It was sweet and a little funny how much Brad loved Christmas lights.
"Made chicken soup too," Brad mumbled, and that explained a lot because Nate felt about a hundred times better while Brad looked as though talking was wearing him out.
"Fuck. Brad."
Brad grinned. "Merry 'rismas, honey. Wanna make out?"
Nate burst out laughing, hitching a groan as his throat protested. "Can't get more sick," he agreed, bending over to nuzzle Brad's cheek. "Stay here, baby. I'll get us soup and a movie."
"The fuck would I go?" Brad said roughly to the curve of his skull, and coughed instead of smiling, but Nate knew what he meant.
Now that he was up, Nate could feel just how weak he was, like a newborn calf stumbling to its feet.
"Nate?"
Nate waved a hand at the bed and wobbled a little. " 'M fine."
"Officer definition, I see."
"Just for that, we're watching The Muppets Christmas Carol."
"Nate," Brad said, finally opening one eye, "you have an unhealthy fascination with that pig."
"It's a wonderful life?"
"Kill me."
Nate raised an eyebrow. "Don't front. You watched that last July when I was away at a conference."
"Vicious lies."
"Like love and truth and Democrats," Nate agreed making his way out to the kitchen. The wall was immensely helpful, he found. Almost as good as firm knees.
"Just Democrats," Brad said and rolled into Nate's vacant spot.
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"Officer definition, I see."
"Just for that, we're watching The Muppets Christmas Carol."
"Nate," Brad said, finally opening one eye, "you have an unhealthy fascination with that pig."
lololol officer definition fo'sho. MEEP. MISS PIGGY <333333333
Perfect banter at the end, too.
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I love it.
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