Jelly Wings

The chicken noodle soup was bubbling on the stove and the house was quiet. Too quiet. 

Another cough from the bedroom, followed by a pained groan.

Ah, yes. Poor Leon was suffering unimaginable torture. 

You rolled your eyes, put the lid on the pot and reduced the heat down to a simmer. 

"Baby?" His voice was pathetically thin as he called for you from your bedroom. "Baby, can you come here?" 

"In a minute, honey," you yelled back, grabbing a bottle of Tylenol and the other remedies you had gathered to nurse your husband back to health. The same husband that had lived through cracked ribs, several other broken bones and unfathomable horrors multiple times, but for some reason the common cold was what made him want to write his testament. 

"Nurse is here," you announced yourself as you walked into the room. The curtains were drawn and Leon was sprawled out on the bed, arm theatrically draped over his eyes. "Do you need me to call the priest?" 

"Not yet," he croaked, breaking into a coughing fit. 

You sat down on the edge of the bed. "Oh my poor baby," you crooned, gently brushing a sweaty strand of hair out of his face. Leon closed his eyes and leaned into your touch like a stray kitten. “How are you feeling?” 

“Terrible,” he whined, sniffling. “I’m all congested, I have a headache, I can’t sleep because I’m coughing so much…”

“I made you chicken noodle soup,” you said.

“Thank you,” he whispered, reaching for you but you leaned back. 

“Leon, no. I can’t get sick, too. One of us has to keep this house running,” you said, firmly brushing his hands off your body. He whined again. 

“So you’re really going to let me die without a kiss, huh? Wow.” 

You chuckled. “You know, for being a tough government agent, you’re being a little bit dramatic right now.” 

He groaned, a cough racking through his body again. “That’s just not true,” he insisted, his hands wandering again, slipping under your shirt. 

“Leon,” you warned him, opening the bottle of Tylenol. “Here, take these.” 

He obliged and you pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead. “Good boy.” 

He chuckled and his hands immediately found your breasts, softly squeezing them. “You know, I think it’s actually very beneficial for my recovery to receive a kiss at least every five minutes. And body heat is also very important.” 

You tried to lean away from him to prepare what you actually came here for, but no matter how whiny, he was a trained agent with great reflexes after all. Before you could react, he pulled up your shirt and slipped his head under it, burying his face in your chest. 

“I thought you had a hard time breathing?” you asked, gently rubbing his shoulders. 

“It’s already getting better,” he murmured, his voice muffled by your boobs. You sighed and he pulled your bra down, gently slipping one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on it. 

“Oh my god, you’re just like your son.” You let out a defeated breath. “Only that your son is barely two years old.” 

Leon let out a content sigh, as he kept sucking and kneaded your other breast with his free hand. “It’s actually also medically proven that sucking on boobies can help recover from any kind of illness.” 

“Leon, stop. That’s for babies. You’re a grown man.” 

“So?” he murmured, demonstratively coughing again, looking at you with puppy eyes. He knew full well those were your weakness. Jesus Christ, that man was impossible. 

You pushed him off you. 

“Here, open wide big boy,” you said, offering him a spoon with an entire clove of garlic covered in honey on it.

“Why do you always have to come in with your witchy shit? Why can’t we just be normal, take a Tylenol and call it a day?” He eyed the spoon in front of him and hissed like a cat. 

“Oh?” your eyebrows shot up. “Look who’s already feeling better and obviously doesn’t need any tiddy time. Well in that case…” You faked getting up from the edge of the bed and Leon’s hand shot forward, snatching the spoon from you and pushing it into his mouth. 

He grimaced as he chewed. “Happy now?” 

“Not quite.” You handed him a glass full of cloudy yellow liquid. “Turmeric ginger shot. It’s good for you.” 

He looked at you like you were about to betray him, then knocked back the drink in one go. He shuddered, sticking out his tongue. 

“Oh come on,” you mocked him. “Leon shooting-whiskey-like-it’s-nothing Kennedy can’t handle a ginger shot? Are you sure you’re my husband?” 

“Don’t ever question that, I love you,” he said, pressing his face back against your chest. “Thank you for taking care of me. You’re my favourite nurse.” 

“And you’re my least favourite patient,” you said, not getting very far because Leon pulled you into bed with him. 

“Leon,” you yelped, as he moved down, pushed your shirt up and cuddled up to your chest. 

“I’m already feeling much better, you know.” 

You huffed. “I have to get up to take the chicken soup off the heat.” 

Leon shook his head, nuzzling your tits. “No, you don’t.”

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