The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and it was such a beautiful day out- so why was Nathan the only one feeling like shit? Unfortunately the answer to that is an easy and a simple one, or so Flynn had said many times: Drake was sick, irritatingly so, because of his latest and most recent heroics that involved an epic car chase, numerous bullet holes, icy weather, a cliff, and a freezing lake. You can probably guess the following events that took place, leading to the hero's current state.
Said hero was being an irrefutable pain in the arse, since it seemed that as soon as Flynn turned his back, every single time, Drake and his stupid, stubborn arse, were struggling to stay upright once more, after the umpteenth time he tried getting out of his bed. "And what do you think you're doing, eh love?" Flynn walked over to the other, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall across from where Drake was still struggling to stand.
"'m goin' out," he muttered, puffing out a heavy, shaky breath and Flynn barely managed to repress the urge to hit his lover upside the head for his stupidity.
"You can hardly stand, mate, what makes you think you'll be able to make it to the door?" he snorted and Nathan groaned, leaning heavily against one of the bed posts, glowering at the Brit with glazed over blue-grey eyes.
"'m fine, Flynn," he grumbled and Flynn rolled his eyes, uncrossing his arms before he decided to, once again, manhandle Drake back into the bed, ignoring the protests. It was doubtful that, even if the other was dead on his feet, he would ever stop complaining or protesting anything Flynn did that was for his lover's safety. "Flynn, 'm fine, c'mon, quit…"
"Enough with the theatrics, mate, don't know what you're trying to prove or to who, but I'm not going to let you get out of this bed, walk out of here, and then proceed to kill yourself." the Brit argued, glaring lightly at the other, pushing him back on the bed and he was vaguely pleased when Drake offered up no further protest. "Now, you're going to stay in this bed, get some rest, and I will get you some soup to eat, alright sweetheart?"
"Mmn," Drake mumbled his weary consent, closing his eyes as he settled back against the bed. "Flynn, wha' 'bout the clien'?" he questioned, once again trying to sit up, but stopped when Flynn pressed back against his chest.
"I've taken care of everything, mate," he promised before dropping a kiss to Drake's forehead, grimacing when he felt exactly how high the younger man's fever was, at this point. "I'm going to bloody murder that old man, I swear" he grouched, standing back up before making his way to the kitchen. He chuckled when he heard the muffled response from the other, something about 'leaving that old man alone' or maybe it was more along the lines of 'don' kill Sully, who am I gonna-' which then was cut off by a fit of coughs and a sharp whine in pain. "Hold on love, some soup will help, alright?"
It took not a minute before the simple can of noodle soup was done and he brought the bowl over to Drake, smiling fondly when he saw the younger man curled up in the bed, his face pressed into the pillows. "Hnm...?" Drake shifted, cracking his eyes open when Flynn sat on the side of the bed, reaching out his hand to brush the brunet's hair from his face.
"Come on mate, sit up for a few minutes," he chuckled at the subtle protest from Drake before continuing in a softer voice, though still stern as it was, "you eat your soup, get some rest and then you'll be feeling right as rain in no time, alright?" he asked, smiling when Drake nodded helplessly, sitting up uneasily before accepting his fate as Flynn started feeding him.
"I can feed m'self…" he muttered, but there was no further protest. It was only when the bowl was half empty that he turned his head away, shaking it in protest to any more soup. Flynn sighed, but relented and set the bowl aside, helping Drake lay back and he delighted in the ability to mother the younger man, tucking him in and laying another kiss to Drake's forehead, pulling back when Nathan whined, tilting his head up for an actual kiss.
"Sorry sweetheart, but as much as I want to kiss you right and proper, you're sick and we have work to do when you get better. Which means I can't go and get myself sick because of careless thinking." Brushing Drake's hair with his fingers, he smiled when the other relaxed into the touch, closing his eyes as he snuggled into the bed. "Sleep well, love, and remember, the goal is to get better," he said teasingly, chuckling when Drake barely let out a mutter in reply.
The second that Drake was asleep, Flynn finally gave into the impulse to lay beside his lover, curling against the other's back and wrapping his arms tight around the treasure hunter. His last thoughts before he fell asleep was how he hoped, desperately, that Nathan would get better sooner rather than later.
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