Bedside

Tinkerbell

Well, would you look here. Just when I thought there was no more B/J to be had. juteux fractured her knee and wanted Justin puking, because the two are obviously synonymous. There is no rhyme or reason to this fic and really no redeeming qualities at all, save for Justin throwing up. If that's your thing.



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He didn’t call Brian for three days, putting off the inevitable until he knew he couldn’t delay it any more.

“I’m, um. Not coming to visit this weekend.” He bit his lip and stared at the ceiling of his bedroom.

“Why?” Studied disinterest.

“The doctor said it wouldn’t be a good idea to travel without assistance.”

“Now’s the part where I ask you why you went to the doctor, and after a lot of hemming and hawing you tell me. How about we skip the asking part and you just tell me.” He sounded harried and rushed and Justin knew it had been a bad idea to call him at work.

“Look, I fell, okay? I came home at night and couldn’t see the steps to my place were all icy. I landed on my knee and then spent all night in the emergency room.” He grimaced just remembering it. Good thing his downstairs neighbor had been home to drive him.

“And this happened last night?”

“Three nights ago, actually. I waited to see if it was going to get any better.”

Brian was silent for a long minute. Then, “This happened three nights ago? And you’re getting around to telling me now?”

“Brian, I told you. I was waiting to see if it was going to feel better, then I’d just tell you when I got there. But I can’t really put weight on it, so.” He looked down at his swollen knee. It was turning a pretty shade of greenish-purple. He thought he might have that color in his palette.

“Oh. So you were doing me a favor?” The edge of irritation was evident and Justin rolled his eyes.

“Whatever. I hurt myself, I can’t come, I’m a fucking moron, all right? Call me in a couple of days.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

There really was nothing more to say, so he clicked the off button. He only threw the receiver across the room as an afterthought.

*

The pounding on the door wouldn’t stop, no matter how hard he held the pillow over his head. Justin didn’t give a damn about who was actually there. No one of import ever came to visit him anyway, except maybe for his nice downstairs neighbor lady who brought up homemade Greek food once a week.

The trek across the apartment took twice as long as usual since the fucking crutches bashed into everything he came in contact with, and he finally threw them onto the couch and hopped the rest of the way. Leaning heavily on the wall, he yanked open the door and snarled, “Jesus Christ, what?”

“Well now,” Brian drawled, “is that any way to greet your caretaker?”

Justin blinked at him and realized he’d never been so glad to see anyone in his entire life. “You’re here?” he asked stupidly.

“No,” Brian replied, shifting his bag to the other shoulder. “You’re having a pain med-induced psychotic episode. May I come in, or would you like to gawk at me some more? I’m used to the gawking.”

He stepped aside as Brian brushed past him and dropped his overnight bag in the narrow hallway. “The sheets aren’t clean,” Justin heard himself saying.

“What, the maid service hasn’t been in today?” Brian gave him a patented eyeroll and disappeared into the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later produced a clean-shaven and jean-clad Brian, who promptly called for Chinese take-out and then stripped the bed. He pointed a finger at Justin, who had risen from the couch to at least take the clean sheets out of the cupboard, and said, “Sit your ass down. If you’re going to feed me the sob story about how the doctor won’t even let the poor, delicate boy fly an hour on an airplane, then at least play the part.” He muttered more things under his breath as he remade the bed, but Justin pretended not to hear.

When he was finished, Brian stalked into the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, and returned to sit down next to Justin. “At least show me this severe injury.”

Justin dutifully pulled up the leg of his nylon track pants and showed off the swollen mess that used to be his knee. “I jammed my kneecap or something. Should be better in two or three weeks, though.” He winced when Brian reached out gentle fingers to trace the giant bruise.

“Hurts a lot?” Brian said, and his voice had lost its sarcastic edge.

“Yeah,” Justin admitted. “Like, a lot, a lot.”

“They give you anything?” He was still tracing the bruise with just the pads of his fingers and Justin was glad for the contact.

“Percocet. But that kind of stuff always makes me feel gross, so I didn’t take any. I was trying to subsist on Tylenol.” He lay his head on the back of the couch and closed his eyes.

Brian snorted. “Tylenol. How’s that working out for you?”

Justin gave a half-smile without opening his eyes. “It’s not. I haven’t slept at all, it hurts so bad.”

Brian got up off the couch, muttering about martyrs, and went to the bathroom. He returned with a glass of water and two pills and shoved them into Justin’s hand. “You will take those. Then you will sleep, and the only acceptable reason for getting out of bed before ten o’clock tomorrow morning will be to take a piss. Got it?”

He was too weary to fight, so he just nodded and took the meds. He downed the rest of the water and used the arm of the couch to struggle to his feet, where Brian handed him his crutches. “What, I don’t get a piggyback ride to bed?”

The stony look he got in return was enough to douse his humor, so he hobbled to the double bed and eased himself down. “Do you want any food when it gets here?” Brian asked, but Justin shook his head, already woozy.

“Save me some for breakfast.”

Brian’s disgusted sound was the last thing he heard before everything got gray and quiet.

*

The puking started an hour later.

He woke up in time to scrabble for the trashcan next to the bed, barely managing to drag it over before throwing up the water he’d drank and what looked like some of the peanut butter and jelly he’d had for lunch.

Another round of it brought Brian to the door, eyebrow raised. “You need help?”

Justin waved him off. He could puke by himself, thanks very much, so Brian disappeared again. But ten minutes later, when he was still dry heaving, he felt the bed dip and a soothing hand on his back. “Deep breaths,” Brian murmured, and when Justin finally lay back, skin clammy and eyes watering, Brian took the trashcan out and cleaned it.

“What was that?” he asked when he returned, setting the can next to the bed again and scrutinizing Justin’s face.

“Don’t know. The meds, maybe? I told them I was sensitive to Darvocet, so they gave me the Percocet instead.” His stomach rolled again and he squeezed his eyes shut.

He felt Brian get up and heard him in the bathroom, picking up the pill bottle. Justin cracked open an eye when he came back in. “This isn’t Percocet,” Brian said dryly. “It’s Darvocet.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Justin moaned, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Sorry, Sunshine. I never kid. We should sue that fucking hospital. Or the pharmacy, whatever. Remind me to make a note of it when I get back.” Brian tossed the pills into the trash three seconds before Justin rolled over again and immediately threw up on top of them. “Well, that takes care of that,” Brian shrugged, and went to find a wet cloth.

*

He managed to get most of it out of his system by three in the morning, when both of them fell into an exhausted sleep. The noonday sun was crossing the floor of the bedroom when Justin finally stirred.

He managed to get out of bed without waking Brian and half-limped, half-hopped to the bathroom. His reflection horrified him so he didn’t look again, too scared to see the purple circles under his eyes or the bloodshot veins running through them. Brushing his teeth and splashing some water on his face went miles in helping him feel more human, and he wondered vaguely if Brian would help him shower later. He was sure the nakedness would be an incentive.

Returning to the bedroom, he found Brian awake and sitting up against the headboard, cock tenting the sheets. “Ouch,” Justin said, his voice hoarse. “That looks painful.”

Brian glanced down at his erection and arched a brow. “Oh, it is. Medical attention necessary.”

He crawled back into bed and sneaked a hand under the sheets, wrapping sure fingers around Brian’s dick. “Well,” Justin said. “I suppose you should be rewarded for your fabulous bedside manner.”

“Just shut it and stroke me off.”

A lick to his palm helped with friction, and Justin used the short, tight pulls he knew Brian liked. His thumb came out to brush the clear drops of pre-come from the head of his cock, and Justin was rewarded with a faint hiss of pleasure when he pressed a finger into the slit.

He knew it was almost finished when Brian’s hand came down on top of his and urged him on, rhythm increasing and his hips jerking up slightly as he thrust into the tunnel of their joined fingers. Justin listened to his breathing get faster and pressed one finger down against his balls, and then it was done. Brian froze and held perfectly still when he came, cock pulsing under their hands and teeth biting into his bottom lip.

He reached over Brian to his nightstand for tissues and felt a hand in his hair. “Remind me to clean up your puke more often.”

Justin grinned. “I’d rather you helped me shower."

~End