#aesopsharp

You had known it was coming for several days, the simmering pain and cravings served as a reminder that your body was working on a tight schedule, one that did not care for your social calendar or your newly shared sleeping arrangements. 

Twinges woke you as you forced yourself to breach the soft sanctity of the bedcovers, cold air rushing onto your exposed legs as you hobbled quietly to the adjacent bathroom. If your estimates were correct you would have about ten minutes before the cramping in your abdomen became unbearable and your vision started to blur. 

Grunting as leant against the sink, the cool porcelain doing little to calm you, you allowed your eyes to flicker shut as you attempted to ignore the nausea. 

Aesop despised waking up alone, especially since the arrangement was so fresh, his palm anxiously rubbing the bare cotton sheets as he blinked back confusion, a soft groaning smashing through his tiredness. As smoothly as he was able, he rose grabbing his wand and wandered to the bathroom, concern consuming him at your rosy cheeks and clenched fists. 

Calling your name did little to rouse you, as he invaded your personal space, arms wrapping around you from behind as he planted a kiss to your crown. His cool skin triggered a slightly louder and more surprised grunt. 

“I was calling for you,” He muttered, rubbing rhythmic circles onto your wrists as your hold on the sink loosened slightly. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” It was gentle and frustrated, as he kissed your head again, “It’s my monthlies,” 

“You didn’t wake me, not really,” Aesop said, circles moving from your knuckles to your lower abdomen as you let out a shocked cry, “I think we should get you into a nice bath,”

“You need to go back to bed, it’s four in the morning, you have classes to teach later,” 

Aesop laughed slightly, as the flick of his wand caused a sudden gushing flood of water from the sinks, “I know that,” a pause, “Won’t you let me care for you, Little Dove?” 

His tone was deep and sugary, coating you as you tried to ignore the overwhelming relief. He had his own pains and so often cared for you too, yet it seemed to please him to do so, and you were not one to deny your loved ones their pleasure. 

The bathtub filled quickly with hot, steaming water, as he stepped away and filled it with all manner of sparkling, technicolour potions and salts, the smell alone making you sag slightly with happiness. 

With an assured swiftness, Aesop took your hand and helped you into the bubbling pool, your clothes long since discarded, as a blissful whimper eked out. In the small interlude it took to run the bath he had already forced two pain potions into you and as a result, the combined treatment had you limp with joy, body sucking up all of the nurture. 

Absentmindedly you realised that Aesop was murmuring to you, as he sat on a transfigured chair, sponge in hand as his soft strokes rubbed your tired skin. 

“Darling,” His voice was quiet and peaceful, stubble grazing your forehead as he went about cleaning you, “So precious, so perfect, my Angel,”

It was difficult to remember the pain of your period with a gorgeous man above you, whispering sweet nothings as lavender and lemon filled your nose. In fact, it was difficult to do anything at all, as you drifted into a light daze, the potions abolishing the last of the twinging pain. 

The next thing you were aware of was a deep musky scent, as he lifted you from the water and wrapped you in a towel that felt impossibly soft,  your malleable body leaning into his as you yawned loudly. 

“Twas nice,” You said into the fabric, heavy eyes fixed on him. 

“I told you it would be,” He sounded almost smug, but you didn’t have it in you to mind, as he steered you towards the bed. 

“But my clothes,” It was slightly delirious. 

“I’m getting your clothes, and everything else you need,” He turned, looking at you, “Sit down,,” It was firm, and your legs were weak, so you did. 

Aesop hated to see you unwell for any reason, but as you sat pouting in a towel with damp hair sticking to your cheeks, he couldn’t help the magnificent ache in his chest at the feeling of loving you. You fought him as he wrestled you into soft bed clothes and he snorted his way through the poorly matched battle, well timed kisses to the cheek disarming your meagre defences.

As if you had never left, you found yourself in bed bundled up with your head resting on his chest, body tingling with relief as you desperately tried to keep a conversation with Aesop. 

“I love your perspective on things, Firefly,” Aesop said, nuzzling your cheek, “But now is the time for sleep, not for pondering,” 

“Can I ponder in my sleep?”

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