Work Text:
You woke to a tangle of blankets and a very warm boyfriend.
Propping yourself up on the pillows, you did your best not to wake him as you gently tried to disentangle yourself from him. He was snuggled so close that he was practically on top of you, and while you didn’t mind his closeness, he was awfully warm to the touch. You brushed his soft curls back from his face and weren’t surprised to see how flushed his cheeks were.
Josh was always been a furnace, no matter the weather, and you felt that it suited him: it seemed like the light and comfort of his personality couldn’t help but show in rosy cheeks and warm, gentle hands. During the winter months, he was always happy to share a little of his warmth with you, and you’d fallen asleep in his arms the night before thankful for the heat radiating from him as you pressed close under the covers.
His temperature now, though, was starting to feel more like a fever. It was especially noticeable with the snow falling gently outside the window, highlighting the chill of your bedroom in your beautiful old house and the warmth of Josh’s face pressed against your neck.
You brushed your thumb over his cheek. “Joshy.”
He only cuddled closer to you. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled.
You smiled. “It’s okay, honey,” you said softly. “You need to sleep. Do you want me to call the boys and let them know?”
His expression scrunched then, and he lifted his head just enough to give you a sleepy, confused look.
“Let them know what?” he asked. His voice was gravelly, and he cleared his throat. “Am I late? What time is it?”
Without waiting for an answer, he reached over you to grab his phone from the nightstand.
“Might as well get up,” he said, giving you a wry smile. “Unless you want to try and squeeze some more sleep out of the seven minutes we have until my alarm goes off.”
You touched a hand to his back when he sat up. “Do you feel okay?”
He looked over his shoulder, a little distracted. “Yeah. Why?”
“You feel warm.” You touched your hand to the back of his neck, and a sweet little giggle bubbled out of him as he moved away from your hand.
“Quit that,” he laughed, and it quickly dissolved into a few crackly coughs. “Your fingers are freezing, baby.”
“Sorry,” you said. You sat up next to him. “I think you should stay home.”
He smiled. “Why, because you want me to stay in bed with you all day?”
You couldn’t say the thought hadn’t crossed your mind, but mostly you felt like he should stay home to rest.
“Let me take your temperature,” you said, getting out of bed to get the thermometer. He followed you to the bathroom, and you thought he was coming willingly to get his temperature checked until he started to brush his teeth. You looked around in the drawers for your thermometer gun but couldn’t find it.
“What’re you looking for?” he asked around his toothbrush.
“Thermometer,” you answered.
He rinsed his mouth out. “I don’t have a fever, baby. I told you I feel fine.”
You abandoned your search for the thermometer and put a hand to his forehead. “But you’re really warm, honey.”
“I run hot, you know that.” He pulled your hand down and kissed your palm. “I promise I feel fine, sweetheart. Thank you for worrying, but you don’t have to.”
He went to get dressed, sifting through his wardrobe for a few moments only to pick his trusty white sweatshirt and khakis. He shivered when he took his pajama shirt off and replaced it quickly with his sweatshirt.
“This house is like a meat locker,” he said, coming over to you to give you a hug. “I kinda wish I was staying home with you and snuggling all day.”
You put your arms around his neck and rested your cheek against his shoulder, watching the snow collect on the windowsill. He still felt overly warm, but you knew there was no use trying to get him to stay home. Josh was nothing if not dedicated to his work, and you knew that him admitting to wanting to stay home was a gentle reminder to you that he was still going to work but was thankful for your worry.
You kissed his cheek. “Come home if you start to feel bad, okay?” you asked. “Promise.”
“I promise, baby.” He gave you a tight squeeze. “I’ll see you after a while. I love you.”
You gave him a gentle smile. “Love you too.”
Snow continued to fall all day, piling up in a beautiful powder across your yard; you ventured out to turn on your Christmas lights when it started to get dark, and your house looked like a gingerbread house bedecked in candy and frosting at the end of your long driveway. Though the snow kept you inside most of the day, you did run to the store to stock up on cough drops, NyQuil, and Josh’s favorite tea. You made soup for dinner, knowing it would be the perfect meal for such a cold night and still convinced that Josh would need some homespun doctoring when he got home from work.
You saw you were right as soon as he came in from the car. You opened the door and meant to greet him when he came up, but he stopped at the top of the porch stairs; after a moment, he ducked his head with a harsh sneeze, and a fine dusting of snow fell from his curls with the movement.
“Goodness, bless you,” you said. "Come inside, honey. You’re covered in snow.”
“Sorry,” he croaked, his voice shot. He let you brush his jacket off on the porch before you helped him out of it, and no sooner was it off than he turned away from you to muffle a volley of congested coughs in his sleeve.
“Sorry,” he said again. He sounded terrible, and you guessed he’d probably pushed his voice to the limit trying to keep pace with the boys in the studio.
“It’s alright, sweetheart,” you said gently. You hung up his jacket and were surprised to hear him give a hoarse laugh.
“What’s so funny?” you asked, unable to help a smile yourself.
He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m just waiting for you to say ‘I told you so’.”
“Aw, honey.” You gave him a hug, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck. “I wasn’t going to say that. I’m just sorry you’re sick.”
“I should have stayed home, like you said.”
“You didn’t get a lot done?” You hated the thought that he’d gone in when he felt bad and hadn’t even gotten done the things he’d been planning on.
He lifted his head. “Actually, we did a ton,” he said. His smile was lopsided. “You should have heard me sing, baby. My voice sounded fantastic with it all hoarse and deep like this.”
“I bet it did,” you said truthfully, a little wry. Though you wished he wasn’t sick, you couldn’t deny that the raspy edge to his voice was alluring; you’d heard him sing coming off a cold before, and you’d been surprised how much you’d liked it.
You gave him a quick kiss. “But you’re going to lose your voice if you’re not careful,” you reminded him. “Which means you’re on vocal rest until I say so.”
He chuckled, and the sound was warm and gravelly. “Yes ma’am.”
You led him into the kitchen, having him sit at the table while you fixed him a bowl of soup and a mug of tea.
“Thank you,” he said, looking up at you with a glassy, exhausted, completely devoted gaze. You couldn’t stop yourself from cradling his face in your hands and giving him a gentle kiss, and you felt his smile when you did.
“What was that for?” he asked.
You brushed his curls back. “No reason. I just love you lots, that’s all.”
“Aw, baby,” he said tenderly. “I love you lots too. Thank you for taking care of me.”
It was your pleasure to take care of him, and you showed it by showering him with the affection and care he always gave you when you were sick. You put his pajamas in the dryer to warm them up; you brought him medicine; while he got a shower, you put on another kettle and set up the couch with a nest of pillows and blankets so you could watch a movie together. You wished there was more you could do, but he was a good patient and really wanted nothing more than for you to be close.
“Where are you going?” he asked when he was settled. His curls were tight and damp, his cheeks rosy, his hands wrapped around the mug to get all the warmth he could; he looked up at you pitifully, worrying you weren’t going to join him on the couch.
“Just to get into my pajamas,” you said as he bottled a few coughs in his chest. “And to get you some Vick’s. Pick out what you want to watch, okay?”
You changed into sweatpants and an old tee of Josh’s, grabbing the vapor rub and the box of tissues from the bathroom before you came back to the living room. Josh looked a little sheepish as the movie started, and you smiled at the familiar jaunty banjo tune and the voice of Kermit the Frog that started Emmet Otter’s Jug-Band Christmas.
“Is this okay?” he asked.
“We can watch whatever you want,” you reminded him. “And you know I love this one anyway.”
He smiled up at you as you came close, and his cheeks took on an even deeper color as you straddled his lap.
“Um, baby...”
“Settle down, cowboy,” you said with an affectionate laugh. “I’m just putting your medicine on. Hold still.”
He was patient and pliant as you rubbed the Vick’s on his chest and neck, giving a contented little groan of relief when you massaged your fingers over his sore muscles.
“That feels so good, baby,” he said when you pressed your fingers down the line from his neck to his shoulder.
“I'm glad it’s helping, my heart.”
He looked up at you with a dreamy smile. “Call me that again.”
You kissed him. “I love you, my heart. My sweet Joshua.”
His hands gripped your hips gently, and you both lost yourself for a few minutes until he had to pull away with stuttered breaths.
“Sorry, I — ”
He caught a sneeze in the crook of his arm and groaned. “Ugh, why does it hurt to sneeze?”
“You poor thing,” you said with a tender laugh. You climbed off of him and handed him a tissue from the box on the coffee table. “Bless you.”
“Thanks.” He sighed and pressed his free hand to his temple, warding off a headache. “I wish I didn’t feel terrible. I’d just kiss you all night if I didn’t feel like I was going to drop dead any second.”
“So dramatic,” you teased, pulling the blanket over both of you and snuggling close. “Let’s take a rain check for when you’re feeling better.”
You could tell he was tired, and you watched with mingled amusement and affection as he tried to stay awake as the movie played. He rested his head on your chest, and you played with his hair as you sang softly along with the movie — “Thus the winds of time will take us, with a sure and steady hand, when the river meets the sea.”
“I like it when you sing, baby,” he said, his voice soft and hoarse.
You smiled. “I like singing for you, Josh.”
He cuddled closer to you, seeking warmth and comfort that you were only too happy to give.
“You know John Denver sings this song?” he asked, half asleep.
“I do,” you said. “You got me that album for Christmas last year.”
His smile was drowsy. “Maybe we should do a Christmas album with the Muppets.”
You gave a soft laugh. “Maybe you should.”
You pulled the blanket up over his shoulders and tucked it snugly around him. He snored softly as he dozed, congested and content to let his body rest and heal; you lay with him and held him, loving when he curled his arm around you to get as close as he could be.
“Thank you for taking care of me, baby,” he said just before he fell asleep. “I love you.”
You kissed his soft curls. “You’re welcome, Josh. I love you too.”