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Your Only Cure

You’re sick. What better way to recover than indulging in the heat of the moment with your loving boyfriend? 

word count: 3.9k

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When the haze of reality comes to view through the blur of your slow-blinking eyes, it’s nothing less than how you pictured heaven would be. The warm embrace of your favourite blanket, whose softness could be rivalled only by the clouds from which poked out the friendly sun, the cool air billowing in from the cracked window and the gentle fan humming on your bedside table, and your favourite part–your phone, sitting enticingly on that same table, containing within it your very own sunshine. As you sit up halfway, eyelids still heavy and begging to stay closed, it’s then that the day turns to hell. 

The pounding inside your head is like no other, it seems to knock the world off balance with every breath you take. Swallowing, you’re greeted by the familiar sting in your throat that only presents itself when you’ve been breathing through your mouth all night. And as you try to inhale from your nose, it’s clear. Stuffy and suddenly overcome with an urge to throw off your suffocating duvet, it’s obvious. You’re sick. 

Abandoning your cellular device and all hesitation, you stumble out of your bedroom and into the bathroom, stomach churning even as you try to complete the simple task of splashing some cool water on your forehead and swishing some around in your dry mouth. You hate being sick, as most do. The hot flashes, the cold flashes, the lack of appetite, and worst of all, the loneliness of it. Not wanting to infect others so you isolate, avoiding physical touch yet almost selfishly hoping someone would shake their head, insist they don't care, and kiss you deeply anyway. As the thought briefly crosses your mind, you smile, nearly positive that the sunshine in your phone would do exactly that. And just like always, no matter how guilty you felt about it, you would give in, and pretend not to notice for the next few days the way he kept tissues in his pockets and subtly left the room before coughing. 

Pulling you out of the clouds, your stomach growls in time with the way it’s turning over repeatedly, and the idea of food alone has you coming undone. Your throat burns, last night’s dinner ejecting itself from your body into the toilet. With no one home to hold your hair back, you grab desperately at the strands available, hiccuping on your sorrow and that first thought of selfishness as you consider calling him home. But you don’t. 

For the next few hours, you spend your time in bed, vapor-rub smeared under your nose and tissues piling up in your garbage bin. You sip warily from your favourite water bottle, unwilling to cause yourself to throw up again. The thought sends a shiver down your spine. Hours pass slowly as you drift in and out of sleep, body running on Advil and a handful of salted crackers which seem to be all you can keep down. The space beside you feels empty, sheets cold and pillow fluffed neatly, like no one had slept there at all. But someone did, and you instantly can’t believe you forgot to check your phone this morning. Reaching for the device, you peer through your fingers at the too-bright screen, flipping across tabs until you find your voicemail. With the click of a button, you hear his voice. 

“Goodmorning beautiful. I know we talked about it, but I still feel bad that I had to leave so early today. Text me, call me, whatever, whenever. I’ll pick up dinner tonight. I love you.” Short and sweet, and has your heart blooming in your chest. This could be what heals you, you think, as you replay the message. Over and over until you’ve memorized the sound of his seatbelt clicking in the background, the exact timing of his breaths, every detail, until you fall asleep again. 

When you wake, it’s late into the afternoon. Luke should be wrapping up soon, if he hasn’t already. Somehow, the dull throbbing in your calves and back has intensified. Wrapping your hand around the tender musculature of your leg, you rub gently, hoping to massage the pain away. It subsides momentarily as you continue the movement, only to resurface like memory foam. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You can’t help but feel sorry for yourself, and for your loving partner as you repossess your phone. It rings once, then twice, and you nearly consider just hanging up, as you don’t want to disturb him if he’s in the middle of recording or something equally important–but then it picks up. 

“Baby.” He says, grin almost audible, “You okay? Sorry, I’ve been pretty busy today. Did you text?” He asks, and you can hear the faint voices of his friends in the background. You're surprised your own voice even works when you speak into the phone, throat sore and nose plugged. 

“No, I’m sorry.” You cough. “When are you coming home?” Is all you can bear to ask, circling your temples with your spare hand. 

He pauses. “Are you sick?” You can practically hear his frown amidst the rasp in his tone, presumably from having sung all day. The sound incites a tingle that extends into your fingertips. 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh baby. I’m just on my way. Be there soon, okay? I love you.” He assures you. You return the words of affirmation before hanging up. When his voice is gone, emptiness instead seizes the atmosphere. It’s too little and too much all at once. You replay his recording from this morning, where the effect of having been asleep just half an hour prior to recording bleeds into the edges of his voice and that former spark suddenly ignites. 

Peeling away from the sides of your face, your fingers gently brush the fabric of Luke’s shirt covering you. The smell of him envelops you, clinging to where the material drapes against the valley of your chest. Your skin is sensitive even hidden under a layer of clothing. Pulling your lip between your teeth, you imagine it’s not you who teases the peak of your breast nor you whose digits dip into your hot mouth before travelling lower towards an area of equal temperature. With a sharp inhale, you can see it. The way Luke’s strong hand navigates the most vulnerable part of you with ease, indulging himself in your pleasure. Slipping his fingers inside, curling them just the right way, open palm delivering your exterior the perfect amount of friction. It builds, and it builds, and it consumes you like a wildfire, burning bright along the horizon. 

But it’s not him, not his hand, and that fire never quite grasps you, it smolders just out of reach. 

Frustrated, you cease the movement of your wrist, hand resting casually under your sleep shorts, or a pair of Luke’s old boxers. They were still in good condition despite the clear signs of wear, and they happened to be your favourite colour, so you happily claimed them. They happen to be comfier than most of the underwear you own. Lost in thought, thumb still clicking absentmindedly on the ‘replay’ button of the voicemail from this morning, you don’t even register the front door or the subsequent footsteps to your bedroom. 

“You sleeping, sweetheart?” As he carefully nudges the door open and peers his head into the room, you lazily make eye contact. He straightens, a smile forming on his cheeks. “There you are.” 

Returning the gesture, you can’t be bothered to lift your hand from under the blanket, or to wipe your face of sweat and tears. You just gaze at him, bashful and heart-eyed as ever. His honey blonde curls are getting long now, framing his face. He settles down on the side of the mattress, expression immediately falling into one of concern.

“Baby, what’s wrong? I’m here, it’s okay.” He coos, thumb gently caressing your cheeks and tucking some loose strands of hair behind your ears. His head tilts, crystal blue eyes analyzing you, taking in your sick, touch-deprived state. “Talk to me.” 

“I’m fine...” You slur, heating up again at the sound of his voice. “I missed you, I…” Your voice trails off, you’re slightly embarrassed now. The air conditioning blowing down on you is your only saviour in this moment, otherwise you might burst into flames. Luke’s stare, equally worried and stern as he urges you to share with him your feelings, and the pre-existing heat from your sickness are mingling to create something dangerous, something that has you wanting to pull him in first despite your usual notions. But before you can, he speaks, lips parted enticingly. 

“You what, baby?” 

“I need you, Luke.” The omission is quiet, raw. As if intuitively, your hand sinks lower once again, moving slowly, almost inconspicuously. Not enough. Pupils dilating significantly, Luke’s gaze shifts lower, and he bites his lip to muffle a groan. Voice thick with a new element, he pulls the blanket back at a speed that matches yours.

“Baby. You’re sick.” He gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing, when he reveals your hand tucked into his pair of briefs. They sit comfortably on your hips, working together with his shirt to conceal your smooth skin. Your fingers continue, causing shallow breaths to exit your lungs. The sight of you, glassy-eyed and desperate with his name on the tip of your tongue, voice too broken to say it, is unbearable for him.

“I know… Just don’t kiss me? Please, Luke.” You plead between sighs. Words are almost a foreign concept to you now, but the ones swirling in your head are silently begging him to just take you. The tent in his black track-pants is becoming increasingly visible, resolve wearing thin. Almost unfortunately, you fell in love with a man whose main priority is you, and your safety. 

“I don’t care if I get sick, but you need rest.” He reasons. He’s almost completely convincing with the way he concentrates on your face, resting his hand on your hair, masking the verity of his emotions. And he’s probably right, you barely have the energy to continue this battle with him. But your head is swimming, heart thumping, and every time he fights himself not to look down, you can feel yourself getting wetter. With the fire growing in your belly, you’re pretty sure the gates of hell have indeed opened to swallow you whole. There’s only one person who can bring you back to heaven. Slipping your hand out from under the blanket, you raise them to Luke’s mouth, which he opens without hesitation. His tongue swirls around your fingers, accepting the taste of you and fully prepared to drown in it. 

“Tell me again,” his voice is drenched in desire, threading around his words and pulling them taut. Your hand drops to his lap, resting atop that familiar bulge, unmoving. 

“I need you. Please…” Finally, your prayers have been answered. He shifts, placing his hand on yours, helping you to palm his increasing hardness. As you suspected, against your better judgement, he leans in, your lips moulding together as one. It’s soft, hot, and over before you even have to worry about pulling back to gasp for air. Your eyes snap open, greeted merrily by the sight of him pulling off his tee, revealing the velvety skin underneath. Your hands roam his toned abdomen, up to his broad shoulders. His tall frame towers over you, consuming you as you pull him closer, nails sinking into his flesh. He shudders, reaching for your own shoulders to lift you from the mattress. When you’re sitting halfway up, his hands make quick work of removing your shirt and discarding it somewhere in the room, exposing your tender breasts. 

“My beautiful girl.” He whispers under his breath, leaning forward to pepper the area in open-mouthed kisses. You’re dazed as you peer down at him, hand coming up to rest on the back of his hair. Fingers tangling in it, pulling slightly when you’ve become too sensitive to the sensation of his tongue swirling around each of your nipples. As his kisses travel lower, ghosting over your arms, the bottom of your tummy, your thighs and even down to your ankle as he hikes one of your legs over his shoulder, your stomach flips. Other than still having to breathe through your mouth, all reminders of your illness have faded by now. Luke is the only thing confirming that you’re still in your body, not just a stream of consciousness floating amidst the universe, observing and hoping to keep him company for all of eternity. He fluidly pulls his boxers off of you. You’re dripping, heart racing eagerly. As the man below you inspects your weeping core, he brandishes a smile that bursts at the seams with ego. 

“Oh, baby. All this for me?” He rasps, wedging your legs open further with his shoulders, in turn spreading your folds and dipping the pad of his thumb into the moisture there. His breath is hot, tickling the delicate skin on the inside of your thighs. 

“All for you.” You nod. How can you explain that you’re positive it’ll only ever be for him? He’s ruined you for anyone else. The way he smells, tastes, the way he holds you and kisses you and fits inside you like he was always meant to. You crave it, the sweet relief that you know will wash over you only when he pumps deep inside and paints you white. Hips writhing from his meticulous examination of your pussy, his attention is drawn back up to your pouting face. 

“I’ll give you what you want, sweetheart. Just want a taste.” He eases his tongue against your folds, and the contact has you jerking upward, only to be settled by one of Luke’s large hands pressing against your tummy. His tongue circles your clit softly, then again with more pressure. He repeats the motion several times before his tongue drops lower to collect the wetness from your opening. Like it’s his sole purpose, he devours you in all the right ways, holding you down despite knowing that you’re not going anywhere. His lips purse over your clit once more, gingerly sucking it into his mouth. At the same time, he slips a finger inside you, angling upwards, right where you need it most. A moan echoes in the room, straight from your chest. The pleasure is building quickly, it’s too much and not enough and entirely delicious all at once. 

“Fuck, Luke, yes.” you draw in a breath, sounding all too sluggish and nasally, “feels so good.” His only response is a strong hum, vibrations sending another flash of heat into your belly as he curls a second finger into you. View trained hungrily on the motions of his hips as they grind against the mattress at a level pace, you could come at any second, head spinning at the idea of him getting off to pleasuring you. But he knows you too well, knows your tells. The way your breaths become drawn out, your motions still, as you try to focus entirely on the way he makes you feel. He knows, and he won’t let it happen yet. He pulls away, keeping the flames at bay, and you wrapped around his finger. 

Leaning forward, hands planted firmly beside your hips, Luke’s wet mouth meets yours again. The taste of him, the faint taste of you, the heat and the affection laced throughout the kiss have you pulling him impossibly closer, shrugging away your compunctions about getting him sick, instead focusing on the passion between the two of you. As you pull away from each other, he cups the bottom of your chin. 

“You want me inside?” A blonde curl clings to his dampened forehead, his eyelashes seem to sparkle in the warm lighting emitted from the lamp in the corner of the room, and he is utterly breathtaking as he makes this promise to you. An assurance that he will alleviate you of your sorrows and sickness, at least for a moment of pure bliss. Your feverish nods of approval elicit a soft chuckle from your lover as he stands to step out of his sweatpants and briefs. You gulp reflexively upon seeing his heavy cock freed from the layers of fabric. He’s perfect. Big and sensitive and rosy at the tip. Luke strokes himself patiently, settling back within your legs. 

“Missed you today baby. Always miss you.” He moans lowly, thumb tracing circles around your clit as he teases your entrance. Gaze latched onto yours, he pushes into you smoothly. You choke out a strangled moan, head falling backwards onto your pillow. The slight stretch, the dual stimulation and the sheer fullness as he eventually bottoms out–it’s everything you’ve waited for and better than anything you’d imagined.

“Oh my god. You’re so warm, baby. Fuck.” He pants, steadily pulling out until you’re almost empty, before sinking back in again. He’s dragging it out, watching through half-lidded eyes the way your pussy sucks him in greedily. The air in the room is thick, charged with the sexual energy between the two of you. It’s difficult to breathe, but you don’t mind; You would willingly suffocate for a hint of the euphoria that overtakes your body when his cock pounds into you with abandon. 

He gradually picks up the speed, thighs smacking against yours with every thrust, the lewd sound reverberating against the walls of your bedroom. His hands clutch your waist firmly, your ankles crossed together behind his back, keeping each other in place. With every movement, he brushes against a new spot that has you mewling. When he nudges against your g-spot, you gasp so harshly that a cough rumbles in your chest. He slows, brows knitted together in alarm.

“You okay?” He asks, blinking hard to still his swimming vision and get a proper look at you. It’s dizzying, the way you already look completely fucked-out and dumb. Your hair is wild, sticking out every which way, lips swollen and pink, eyes wide and glassy. He couldn’t love you any more. “Can I do anything?” When you respond with a sheepish shrug, he clicks his tongue knowingly, immediately moving.

 Flipping you over so you’re on your knees in front of him, he wraps his arm under your armpits, hugging your back flush to his chest. The position is raw and intimate, and everything you need. 

“Being upright might help.” Luke explains, breath fanning your ear. You hum in agreement, not really listening, just distracted by the temperature of his body against yours. When he enters you from behind this time, the angle is completely different, it nearly has you doubling over in ecstasy. “That okay, baby?” He drives into you again, arm gathering your breasts and keeping you steady, other hand dropping between your legs to resume massaging your sensitive bud. 

“Yes, fuck me. Yes, yes.” You stammer, vision blurring as he fucks into you, building into a relentless pace. You recall this morning, those sweet moments of dream-like serenity before the sickness was realised. Now, you’re convinced this is heaven. Luke is an angel, pleasure is your destiny, and you’re along for the journey onward, even if you never come back to life. 

His cock moves perfectly inside you, slamming deep upwards in time with his hands pulling your body towards him. The fire inside you is growing, pulsing soundly like you around his length. Fingers increasing in speed as they circle your clit, his actions become vehemently desperate, chasing that high, equally determined to give it to you. The hand around your breasts slips up to the side of your neck, turning your face to his, attaching your lips again. This kiss is messier, born out of pure passion and desire. It’s completely addicting, and despite neither of you breaking, you can breathe clearly for once. Whether your sinuses have cleared up or you’re breathing the oxygen directly from Luke’s lungs, you’re unsure, and unconcerned. You’re on the edge of all destruction, of rapture. 

Into the shell of your ear, Luke whines. 

“Baby, baby I’m gonna come. So warm. So–so close. Fuck.” He pants. Snaking your hand back into his hair, you pull him impossibly closer. You can almost taste your climax. It’s growing, on the tip of your tongue, hot like fire and lingering like smoke. Luke holds you, fingertips calloused from years of playing guitar. You can feel it, the way he pours his soul into you as he does his music, playing you skillfully. With white-knuckle grip, you clutch his hair in your fist, mind exploding from the stimulation, heart and head pounding like a gong. 

“Gonna come.” You choke out. You feel Luke take your free hand, interlacing your fingers, still rubbing your clit with the other.

“Come with me baby, come with me, please, please come.” He drawls, voice breaking into ragged whimpers. The sound resonates in your ears, the request irresistible, fanning the flames of your desire. It’s enough to break you. 

Your body seizes, a guttural cry ripping its way from your throat as Luke’s cock drives incredibly against that perfect spot inside you. The fire has consumed your body, you may never see the light of day again. Hips stuttering, you feel Luke twitch and he cries out in equal fervor, spilling inside of you. The sensation of his hot, thick ropes of cum painting your cervix has your back arching into him. His thrusts slow, eventually coming to a complete stop when you’ve milked him for all he’s worth. When he pulls out, gradually softening, you shudder at the feeling of being empty once again, and you collapse down onto the bed.

The room is silent apart from your shallow breathing, muffled by the blankets in which your head is buried. Your bones ache, fatigue and hunger catching up to you all at once. Turning halfway onto your side, Luke comes into view. His chest is shining with a thin layer of sweat, eyes red-rimmed and beaming like the moon. He stares at you like you hung the stars around him, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand still interlocked with his. It sends butterflies racing through your chest and belly, like it always has and forever will.

“I got you some soup.” He says, voice nothing more than a hint of a whisper. The offering of proper nourishment is inviting. An idea of a hot shower crosses your mind too, has you wiping the greasy strands of hair away from your face, blushing when you remember his cum seeping languidly between your thighs. 

“Sounds good.” You croak, though part of you just wants to stay here together, basking in the calm. Sitting up and grabbing his briefs, a small smile plays at his lips before pulling you into his arms. 

“Did that help at all?” He asks, referring to your escapades. With the symptoms of your flu creeping back in, tickle forming in your throat and head beginning to throb dully, the question stirs in your mind. You chuckle. 

“Yeah. I’m still sick, though.” You imagine the two of you might be ill for the next few days. Luke just shrugs at your words, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck.