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Newt’s alarm rung unmercifully at the set time and stirred him from the slumber, feeling groggy and warm to the point of uncomfortable. He turned it off with a groan, putting the now silent phone back on the bed table and turning around towards the still sleeping form of his boyfriend.
His hot boyfriend.
Overly hot boyfriend.
With fever hot boyfriend.
“Thomas,” he was suddenly fully awake, touching Thomas’ forehead worriedly. “Tommy, wake up.”
“Mhh-what?” the writer blinked tiredly, his hazed expression made Newt worry. “Why is it so hot in here?”
“Cuz you’re hot,” Newt mumbled with a frown, kicking the blanket away. Thomas chuckled, a little dazed.
“Thanks, love.”
“Shut up, you have a fever,” the blond barked at him pointedly, jumping out of the bed quickly. “Because you’re stupid and ran here without an umbrella, getting drenched and even refusing to take the hot shower as I told you to.”
“Harsh,” the writer croaked and shut up right the moment Newt sent him a death glare. He knew he should have some meds in here still, as well as tea and an extra blanket.
The rain didn’t stop and the still dark sky outside made it all even more depressing than normal. Newt worked fast – putting water to boil, pills on the plate for Thomas to take, a thermometer to check how high the fever got. He dug the blanket from the storage under the couch and brought it to the sick man first.
Thomas was already cocooned back in the cover, shivering, apparently the chills caught up with him, and Newt threw the blanked over him protectively, tucking him in like a kid.
“I’ll bring you the tea and pills in a minute,” he informed him with a little softer tone now, seeing him all sick and miserable, and Thomas only nodded mutely, wrapping himself like a burrito.
When Newt came for the second time with the tray, Thomas was still awake, watching him from under covers with an apologetic expression.
“I messed up,” he heard him saying from the blanket fort. “I didn’t mean to get sick.”
“And here I thought it was your goal how to make me to play your nanny,” Newt snorted, taking the thermometer and gesturing for the man to try it. A hand sneaked out of the pile of blankets and took the thermometer slowly, just to retreat back again.
“I just missed you,” Thomas drawled and started to move, apparently how he tried to adjust the thermometer right. “I didn’t think. Sorry.”
Newt only smiled, turning back to the tray and taking the tea and the pill, waiting for the beep so he could check the small device for the fever intensity. It sounded just a little while after and Thomas dragged it back out again, handing it to Newt grudgingly.
“38,8°. Great,” Newt sighed while looking at the numbers, and put the thermometer away. “Take the pill. I’ll call to work I’m taking a day off.”
“No no, wait,” Thomas quickly shot back up, almost spilling the tea on the bed. “There is no need for that, seriously. Don’t worry about me.”
He immediately realized getting away from his burrito cover was a mistake and quickly retreated back with heavy shivers.
“Sure, no need,” Newt flicked his forehead with a smirk. “That’s why you’re like a Chihuahua terrified by the running leaf.”
“I’m a Rottweiler,” Thomas opposed weakly. “Just sick now.”
“Of course you are,” Newt chuckled, petting him lightly. “Sleep a bit.”
“Go to work,” came a reply.
“Stop ordering me what to do,” Newt shot back and Thomas huffed.
“You started it. And I know you have too much stuff going on in the office now. I’m not dying.”
“Sleep,” Newt said only and left him in the bedroom alone, only hearing a groan as a response.
***
“Aw, your poor baby is sick?” Teresa’s voice wasn’t really the one he wanted to hear the first thing in the morning, but he had to be content with her for now, because it was her who picked the phone.
“Yes, that moron ran all the way to my flat in the rain,” he decided to spill the beans. The need to tell someone made him satisfied even with her jabbing comments. “And woke up with a fever this morning.”
“Awwww,” she cooed. “But yea, that’s stupid.”
“I know, right?” he sighed, glancing back at the bedroom door. “So now he has almost 39 degrees fever but kept on insisting he is a Rottweiler and he doesn’t need me to take care of him.”
“A Rottweiler?” she repeated with a snort. “I think he is more like a Chihuahua.”
“Right?” he laughed, giving her a mental high-five. “It’s just a cold I think. Hope he is asleep now, gave him a pill and tea.”
“What a caring house-wife,” she teased happily.
“You know how he can get,” he muttered and she only hummed in agreement.
“Don’t worry about the Chief,” she assured him on a lighter note. “Will tell him you are taking a day off. I don’t even remember the last time you took a vacation.”
“Me neither,” he chuckled. “Thanks. I’ll come to work on Monday.”
“Have fun,” he could hear the smirk in her voice without needed to see it and rather left it without a response.
***
“Why are you still here?” Thomas rumbly voice sounded right the moment Newt entered the room and the blond set a kettle on the tray next to the bed.
“Why are you still sick?”
“Because I’m an idiot,” Thomas said grudgingly and Newt hummed.
“Yes, you so are,” he agreed with him without missing a beat and sat down on the bed. “How do you feel?”
“Better,” Thomas whispered and Newt gently touched his forehead. It was still too warm, but definitely less than this morning. Thomas covered his hand with his own, keeping the touch with a lazy smile. “But you still shouldn’t have fussed about this.”
“Then you shouldn’t have run here in the rain,” Newt returned the jab without delay and Thomas sighed in defeat.
“Yeah…”
“It was kind of sweet though,” the blond added after a moment and Thomas face got brighter, like a kid that just got praised. He tugged Newt lower, but the blond didn’t budge.
“You are sick and sweaty,” he told him firmly. “Do you really think I’d lie into that?”
“Yes?” Thomas tried with an innocent look and Newt snorted.
“Keep dreaming,” he took his hand back and Thomas made a protesting sound in the back of his throat. “Get a little more sleep.”
“I’m not sleepy anymore,” the writer opposed. “Come here.”
“No,” Newt refused again.
“Newt-,”
“Still a no,” the blond pushed his reaching hand away. “You’re sick.”
“I need to sweat it out,” Thomas pouted. “You took a day off because of this, yeah? Help me out.”
“Smooth,” Newt grinned, but still shook his head and rose up, just to be stopped by a demanding hand on his wrist and one strong tug that sent him flying back down, sprawled over Thomas.
“What the-mmmph.”
The kiss came as a surprise, but Thomas apparently didn’t plan on a demonstrative example of the make-me-feel-better-please kiss, but a fully-fledged French lesson that build up like a lighting charge, just waiting to be released. Newt moaned into the kiss, hot, so hot, searing even, and burning hands started to roam around his body, caressing his bare arms, mapping the skin under the t-shirt, tugging at the waistband of his pants.
“Thomas!” he tore himself away from the insisting lips just to feel the mouth latching over his pulse point, sucking. “Oh my god, man, you are sick!”
“Of waiting,” Thomas growled into his neck, biting lightly. “Let me take you.”
“Wha-why so sudden-?”
“You left me sleeping in your bed,” another bite, “and I haven’t been here forever,” a long lick from the base of Newt’s throat up to his chin, “and it smells like you in here, all of it.”
“Of course it does, it’s my bed!” Newt trashed around, trying to disentangle, but Thomas held him down, leaning over him with a hunger in his eyes.
“Newt.”
“God, what’s gotten into you?” the blond breathed out, the intensity of the moment getting to him like thousands of needles, digging under his skin. Thomas was always without borders in bed, he knew, but with his supposedly weakened state he should had shown some restrain, damn him!
Thomas took a deep breath, his lips a thin line. A worry creased his forehead and his grip slowly eased away.
“Sorry,” he mumbled in apology, sitting back on his heels. “Sorry. I don’t even… sorry.”
Newt stared back at him, lying on the bed with his shirt ridden up and hair wild and just couldn’t pinpoint the moment when the atmosphere changed and returned him two years ago with them unsure about the proceedings and with Thomas hasty and impatient, and also forceful and probably a little scary with his intensity.
“Tommy,” he said carefully and the writer avoided his eyes shamefully. ”Tommy, look at me.”
The brunet looked at him slowly, his eyes a little dazed and unfocused.
“I didn’t mean to force you,” Thomas mumbled and Newt carefully reached for his arms, curling his fingers around his biceps.
“What are you talking about?” Newt smiled at him softly. “You never force me to anything.”
“I just did-,”
“No, you didn’t,” the blond squeezed him more. “But you are sick.”
“I feel fine,” Thomas opposed in a whisper, little too desperate and Newt felt his throat tighten. They were together for long (he considered two years a long time, yes), but it felt like the first week, the anticipation and sudden excitement rushing through him.
“Alright,” he only nodded, pulling Thomas to him. “I’ll take your word for it.”
He didn’t need to encourage the man further, Thomas basically pounced him, seizing his lips immediately, kissing so desperately it made Newt wonder if he didn’t miss a whole week of them being from each other, how hungry and demanding the writer was.
His shirt soon lost its place and flew somewhere on the ground, and Newt groaned when Thomas started to kiss a wet trail down his chest while pulling at the waistband of his trousers down.
“I love you so much,” he heard the writer whisper when he returned back up to his neck, scraping his teeth over Newt’s Adam’s apple. “So, so, so much.”
“Tommy-,”
“Lift your hips up,” Thomas cut shortly and Newt complied, lifting from the bed and his pants got dragged off completely. He pulled at Thomas shirt stubbornly, urging him to lose it as well, and didn’t need to wait for long. Thomas settled back above him, immediately wrapping Newt’s legs around his midsection and pressing forward, making the blond moan loudly (maybe too loudly, he felt sorry for his neighbors, but the noticeable press of Thomas’ hard-on against him made him almost lose it already). Thomas’ body felt hot, like touching a fire and it burned Newt’s skin so deliciously he couldn’t get enough.
He was sick, but it seemed like it only fueled him more and added the burn to the mix, his hips never stuttered but only picked up the pace several times, when Newt thought he was going to die from the sheer pleasure of it. He kept on repeating sweet nothings to his ear, something Newt never thought he could find as a turn on, but goddamn, every time Thomas did that to him he felt like exploding, and craved more of everything – his body, his mind, his words. Nothing was enough and at the same time it was perfect and Newt completely forgot they were having sex in sweaty sheets, because right now they were making even a bigger mess out of it. And judging by Thomas’ drive Newt expected this experience to last hours.
He didn’t complain one bit.