Written for the 'write a character you don't like sympathetically' challenge.
Title: Blood, Sweat and Tears
Matthew was puffing like an old steam train but last time he'd dared suggest he was getting too old for such things he'd been subjected to a full five minute speech. Alice's lecture had continued on longer when he'd suggested he might just be too crippled for such things.
Of course, she'd then knocked him for six when she'd tearily revealed that him lying flat on his back had made it easier for her to agree to such things. A vulnerable Alice Harvey was enough to rattle him, even without the rest of the story.
A motor's low rumble followed by a crunch of tyres twisting in gravel startled him.
"Alice!" Was she still in the bathroom?
The creak and clank of a car door had him using his walking stick to retrieve his clothes from the floor. His hamstrings screamed (they were already tight from leaning up to capture Alice's small but perfect breasts in his mouth) as he lunged to tug his underpants past his plaster cast.
The back screen door slapped against its hinges.
He'd stretched for the crumpled sheet, shook it with a snap, and draped it over himself just as a pixie-like face peeked around the doorway.
Seeing he was awake, his visitor practically skipped into his bedroom, talking a mile a minute (just like her mother) until she suddenly clamped her mouth shut and wrinkled her nose.
"Do you need help with a bath?"
He muttered something which elicited a cool hand flattening across his forehead.
"You're sweating." She folded her arms. "You started physical therapy without me?"
"Yes, I've been–"
Alice chose this exact moment to reappear, carrying a tray laden with a water jug and glasses. She still only wore a slip – clearly nothing was underneath.
"Exercising," Matthew finished his sentence weakly.