In Sickness and in Health
By Kitsune no Alz
It was the easiest thing in the world to dismiss Shuichi as being infinitely quirky. Or maybe, Yuki corrected himself, it was the easiest thing in the world to dismiss Shuichi as infinitely stupid.
Yes, stupid was definitely a better word. Being a writer, he prided himself on his eloquent diction and skillful syntax, his imagery metaphors and similes and other literary devices—but there was something to be said for simple and sweet.
When you got right down to it, Shuichi was simple and sweet too.
Except when he was being a bastardly little punk.
Take now, for instance.
"It's only a cold," Yuki snapped for the umpteenth time, struggling to escape the blankets Shuichi had cocooned him in until he was little more than a big giant ball of bedcoverings. It was like trying to escape a straightjacket. "I'm perfectly fine, you don't need to—"
"And you need to take better care of yourself!" Shuichi scolded, poking his head into the bedroom. His hair was tied back with a kerchief like a housewife's, and reinforcing this domestic image was the oversized frilly pink apron he wore...though Yuki seriously doubted that any respectable housewife would be caught dead in an apron blazoned across the front with little red hearts and the Engrish moniker, "Let's Loving Time Now!"
He could only wonder where the hell Shuichi had obtained it, because certainly Yuki had never seen such a hideous article of clothing in the house before.
"It's only a cold!" Yuki repeated yet again, and then doubled over as another coughing fit overtook him. Shuichi was at his side in an instant, cooing disgustingly over him and rubbing his back in soothing circles as Yuki coughed until his eyes watered. When the fit was over, Yuki shook his head, glared at Shuichi, and repeated in a hoarse voice, "All I need is to take it easy for a while."
Shuichi smiled up into his face, sugary as cotton-candy. "We agree on that then, Yuki."
"But that doesn't mean you have to chain me in bed," Yuki retorted, slumping back against the headboard. That fit had made him feel a little weak—but only just a little.
Immediately Yuki knew he'd said something wrong when Shuichi's eyes took on an unholy gleam.
Somewhere from underneath that enormous pink apron, Shuichi whipped out a thick iron manacle and a length of heavy chain. Time suddenly seemed to slow down. Yuki's eyes widened in horror as his lover leapt at him with glacial slowness, wielding the manacle over his head. At the last second, Yuki turned and, lacking any other mobility due to the imprisoning blankets, began to roll toward the edge of the bed like a gigantic beach ball.
Time sped up. Shuichi crashed into the spot where Yuki had lain only seconds before, as his intended prisoner hit the floor and began desperately rolling for the doorway.
"Oh no you don't, Yuki!"
Again Shuichi leapt in a long arc, a pink tiger pouncing on his prey. He hit Yuki like a ton of bricks. The blankets flew, there was a flash of iron and the loud damning snap of metal locking into place, and then Yuki found himself unceremoniously dumped back in bed with a manacle weighing half a ton circling his ankle and securing him via a short chain to the bedpost.
"You're staying in bed until you're all better," Shuichi announced, dusting his hands and looking down at his handiwork in gleeful satisfaction. "It's only what's best for you, Yuki, and I think that y—"
Suddenly Shuichi stiffened, an expression of puzzlement creasing his face. He turned around and sniffed the air.
Yuki sniffed too. A bitter, acrid stench was gradually filling the air—and a plume of wispy gray smoke wafted through the doorway near the ceiling.
"Nooooo!" Shuichi cried, vaulting for the kitchen. "The orange juice!"
Yuki stared after him.
The orange juice?
Yuki rolled over to the accompaniment of a tinkle of chain, coughed once, and feebly pulled a pillow over his head.
Oh god...he was in for a long recovery...
--to be continued...?