Work Text:
Look, Liam may have acquired the canine genes necessary to penetrate the night with just his normal eyes like infrared binoculars, but that does not mean he signed up to be doing his homework in the dark while his boyfriend is laid out in maidenly suffering in the bed beside him.
Why doesn’t he just take his laptop and books, shut the bedroom door, and study in the living area like a sensible person, you might ask? Well, the answer to that is twofold and pretty simple. One, Liam never did claim to have any common sense. His best friend Mason is well acquainted with this. And two, Liam is a lovesick fool who suddenly birthed a nursing streak when his boyfriend fell sick last night.
Why then, you might follow up, is Theo Raeken sprawled now across a sweaty mattress with the sheets twisted around one knee and his face angled away from the window?
Because the stupid fucker doesn’t know when to quit with the wolfsbane drinking games even though it’s been barely forty-eight hours since he was just fucking shot—no, graphically disemboweled—with mistletoe bullets by the Los Angeles hunters.
Translation: his immune system is shot, his temperature is up, and Liam swears he will chew out Theo’s furry coywolf ass for three hours as soon as he wakes up from this very inconvenient bout of delirium.
Theo shifts and a small, unconscious moan slips from his lips. Flicking his gaze up and away from this most fascinating passage on the tensions between Dutch and Jamaican pirates in the Caribbean, Liam reaches out his right hand—the one that isn’t twirling a pencil—and presses the back of it to Theo’s forehead.
Still a little damp, still just a little too clammy to be normal for Theo. The chimera already runs colder than the rest of the pack with the weird side effects of being a mercury-injected vivisection survivor, and so being this hot remains concerning for Liam.
He frowns and pushes down the squirming pangs of anxiety in his stomach. Instead, he focuses on the way a soft sigh blows out of Theo’s lips and how his boyfriend tosses a little to press up into Liam’s touch.
Jesus, Theo would murder everyone in the room and then himself if he ever woke up remembering just how he nuzzled Liam’s hand and preened under his touch all the times Liam checked on his fever.
(To be fair, Liam is the one counting, so.)
(If that count has reached eight times by now, what about it?)
Liam presses his lips together to conceal the tiny flicker of a smile that is fighting bravely to paste itself on his face. He gives up entirely on finishing the history chapter this afternoon and instead brushes the back of his knuckles softly over Theo’s forehead. When the chimera emits small sounds of mingled confusion and contentment, Liam can’t help himself. He flips his hand over so it’s his palm now ghosting over Theo’s brow. He thumbs at the damp strands of Theo’s hairline and pushes his nail up through his hair to part it and scritch lightly at the bit of scalp there.
“The things I do for you,” he mumbles dramatically. “At this rate, I should be awarded an honorary fucking nursing degree just for putting up with you.”
Theo’s lips part. His next exhale is on a whistle—or was that a wheeze? Liam’s about to chuckle and reach over for his phone to sneak a photo of just how humiliatingly cute his boyfriend is (look, so maybe keeping digital blackmail is their love language)—when Theo coughs. And speaks.
“No way in hell they’d do that,” he grates out, eyes still closed.
Dear G-d, his voice is shot to hell. He’s gravelly on a normal day, but now he just sounds like someone took his voice box, squeezed it in a fist, then ran it over an unpaved road for half a mile before dumping it in a vat of vinegar.
Liam doesn’t snatch his hand away from Theo’s forehead, but he does straighten from his slump against the edge of the mattress so he can serve Theo a highly unimpressed look that he knows his boyfriend can feel even behind his shut eyelids.
“Shut up. You shouldn’t be talking.” Liam’s hand travels down to Theo’s pec to lightly slap him. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
Theo coughs again, and it’s just chest-spasming and rough-throated enough to make both of them wince. “But—” He coughs again. When he’s calmed down some, he tries again, still hoarse as an auctioneer on New Year’s Eve. “But wha’ about my punchline?”
“Fuck your punchline,” Liam says sweetly. “Here, have an ice pop.”
One of Theo’s eyes pops open, followed by the other. Liam’s touch leaves him briefly so he can rummage around in their mini fridge next to the desk and produce a green ice pop from the bottom shelf.
Theo wrinkles his nose when Liam takes his nearby hand, shoves the snack in, and curls his hand in a fist around it. He tries to protest, but evidently his vocal cords haven’t survived his brief and rebellious foray into snarking at Liam. He relents and allows Liam to tear open the ice pop for him and then nudge his elbow to urge him to suck.
Theo's brow creases as he pulls the plastic tube away. “Did you keep these in the fridge?”
“Yes,” Liam says, a little incredulous and definitely a bit cross at Theo’s ingratitude, “I moved them from the freezer. Obviously. Because ice isn’t good for your voice. But something cool is.”
“Hmm.” Theo’s answering hum is still rocky, but more bearable to listen to. He shuts his eyes and pushes himself up against the headboard, aided briefly by Liam’s hands questing to prop the pillows up behind him. “Guess I was a lil wrong about th’ nursing comment.”
“You’re always wrong.”
“Was jus’ thinking ’bout how you’d make a terrible nurse.”
“Wouldn’t have to be a nurse if you weren’t a terrible patient.”
“Was jus’ one drink.”
“It was a wolfsbane-laced drink.” Liam pauses for dramatic effect. “Corkbrains.”
Theo laughs. The sound must be painful, but he’s nothing if not obstinate, so he finishes guffawing (and hacking up a lung) to the end. “This was why you’d make a terrible nurse.” He smacks his lips and cracks open one eye to smirk at an already infuriated Liam. “Not t’ mention all th’ history rants tha’ drive you to death.”
Liam’s scowl deepens. The lightness woven through his blue eyes tell Theo he’s not that upset—not really—but he’s not backing down from their argument now. “All of those history rants were to help you fall asleep, you ungrateful fuck.”
Theo’s grin is full-blown and he’s definitely awake. “Ohh. Can we do that later?”
Liam goes slightly slack-jawed at the innuendo. Gaping, he reaches out to press the back of his hand yet again over Theo’s forehead. Theo tries unsuccessfully to wiggle away on the bed, but the traitorous sheets have trapped him.
“Really, Raeken? You just got shot by the equivalent of a prepubescent neo-Nazi wannabe, downed seven shots including one with an extra side of wolfsbane, and now you’re thinking of sex?”
Theo shrugs. The man truly has no shame. “You haven’t said yet it’s off the table.”
“Theo, you can barely speak without it sounding like somebody shoved a hot poker down your throat.”
Oh, Liam. He really walked right into that one.
The way Theo’s lips peel back in a grin is nothing short of lewd. “Sweetheart, sure you could think of more fun things to shove down my throat.”
Liam gapes at him. Again.
And then seizes the spare pillow at the end of the bed to whack Theo across the knees and pecs.
Theo’s laughing soundlessly, doing nothing to defend himself from the feathery attacks. When Liam tires of gently manhandling him, he flops over on his back against Theo’s side. Theo doesn’t hesitate to scoop him up and press him in closer to the rise and fall of his chest.
“I hate you,” Liam mumbles into Theo’s skin somewhere suspiciously close to his nipple.
“Sure,” says Theo.
“You’re the bane of my existence.”
“Right.”
“Your fever’s just barely broken. You’ve got the sore throat to end all sore throats. I can’t in good conscience just have sex with you.”
Theo lowers his head to deliver in a sultry whisper: “Oh, but you’d be doing me a favor.”
Liam stills and then lifts his head to eye him dubiously. “What? How?”
“Fuck me good enough,” Theo murmurs into his hair, “and I’ll be screaming loud enough that Mase ’n’ Corey’ll think you just railed the voice outta me. No lectures ’bout my wolfsbane adventures.” He shrugs. “You’d be saving my dignity.”
Liam is still staring bug-eyed at him. He’s dating an idiot. A smoking hot, sex-crazed, immoral, and just slightly off-kilter (did he already mention hot?) idiot.
And really, he can’t argue with his boyfriend’s flawless logic.
So he gulps, glares at Theo once, and then lunges upward to devour Theo’s mouth in a hot and filthy kiss.