The front door clicks open and Ben rushes through the old, creaky door wearing his rain slicker, his curls plastered to his forehead by the rain. The noise wakes you up from a sickness induced nap on the couch but you're not complaining—watching him when he doesn't know he's being watched is one of your favorite things to do. You can see the natural way he moves, the way he talks to himself through various under-his-breath mutterings and adorably emotive facial expressions. He is absolutely soaked from the downpour that has been steadily pitter-pattering on the windowpanes all day. You would want to leap on top of him and brush those curls back from his forehead to welcome him home if you didn't feel so rotten. Actually, you still want to leap on top of him but you think you might pass out if you tried any such of strenuous physical activity.
So, you are still curled on the sofa, surreptitiously watching him through half-open eyes. He peels himself out of his jacket, an endearing look of dismay wrinkling his nose and forehead as he discovers that the shirt under the jacket is wet as well. As are his jeans. As are his shoes. He kicks off his worn converse and then looks as if he is debating what to do about his currently sodden situation. He finally decides that stripping in the foyer is a better idea than going to the bedroom and getting a towel so he starts to strip. He shirt is plastered to his chest, giving you a great view of his perfectly lean and muscular torso. He takes the shirt off and the view is even better. When he starts to extricate himself from his jeans he has to do a delectable little jump to get out of them and you can't help but giggle. You tried to muffle it with the quilt but apparently he heard you and has turned around, halfway out of his trousers, eyebrow raised in amusement and surprise.
"Well, well, what have we here?" He drawls slowly in that delicious baritone.
"Nuffing". You say in a small, congested voice, hiding under the quilt.
"Nothing, eh? Well it certainly looks like something to me….a gorgeous, sleepy something that was spying on me!" He growls the last bit and suddenly his voice is much closer. You peek over the edge of the quilt and his face is right there in front of yours, those eyes peering intensely into yours with a little sparkle of mischief. You squeak in faux-alarm at the proximity of this gorgeous man and he starts to tickle you under the quilt.
He is a skilled tickler, with those gorgeous, long-fingered hands. He never hurts too much or is irritating, but unfortunately this time your laughter gives way to coughs that wrack your entire body, causing him to look down at you in alarm.
"You've gotten worse since I left!" he exclaims, all the mischievousness in his face replaced by pure concern. "Oh my god you're so pale". He immediately puts one of those beautiful hands to your forehead and murmurs softly. "Oh sweetheart. You have a fever".
"I feel terrible", you admit quietly, closing your eyes and enjoying the feeling of his cool hand on your burning face. Everything other part of you is freezing and he can feel you shaking underneath him. Before you can even register the loss of his presence he is up off of the couch and tucking the quilt around you. He leans down, still mostly naked, and puts your arm around his neck, scooping you up like a small child. You have no energy to protest and so you snuggle into him, your hot face against the cool alabaster of his neck, breathing in his scent and feeling better already. He sets you down gently on the bed and leans down to kiss you tenderly on the forehead before going over to crack open the window because he knows how much you love the sound of the rain, as well as the smell and feel of the air.
He returns to your side and slowly unwraps you from the quilt. You are lying, completely vulnerable, in front of him when he starts to undress you, taking off the clothes you didn't have the energy to remove yourself when you collapsed in them yesterday. When you are completely naked he takes off his boxers and lies next to you, wrapping his body around yours. The fever is making your body feel like your insides are freezing while your skin feels like it's on fire. He wraps the quilt around you both and you can feel your body relax completely. You didn't even know you were that tense but every single muscle completely unclenches and you feel like you're melting into him. Your body is warmed by the heat of his long, lithe form and his fingers are lovely and cool against your blazing skin. You feel yourself drifting off into a restful sleep for the first time in a few days but before going completely under you whisper, "Thank you".
You feel him kiss the back of your neck in response.
The rain lasts for two more days. Ben makes you soup, lies in bed and watches crap sitcom re-runs with you, takes showers with you because your limbs ache so much that you have a hard time reaching up to wash your hair. So he does it for you.
In time you finally start to feel better and the clouds have run away to some other part of the country to rain on someone else. You wake up one day before Ben does and you get another one of those rare moments just to watch him. You study his features, trying to memorize the way his face looks while he's sleeping before you creep out of bed. You put on one of his shirts (God, it smells so good) and start fixing breakfast for him just like he's done for you the past few days.
As you pour pancake batter into the skillet you feel his long arms wrap around you and a kiss on your neck. You can feel the rumble in his chest as he says sleepily, "Someone's feeling better".
"Much better", you affirm, and you turn in his arms to look up at him, "Because I had the magic cure".
He smile slowly and asks "And what is that?"
You take a long look at the man holding you in his arms and move even closer as you murmur, "You, silly".
He makes the final move to close the gap between you and kisses you deeply before breaking away long enough to say, "I'm so, so, glad you feel better. Also. I've really missed being able to do this"
He kisses you again, more passionately this time, and backs you into the counter. You reach around him to turn off the stove and the pancakes lie forgotten. For now.