neontiger55

"Azazel," Erik called out, chasing the familiar figure through the glass doors.  Thank goodness.  He was ready to climb the walls.  "Lend me a cancer stick?"

"Are you trying to be funny?" Azazel said over his shoulder, as Erik approached.

"Nothing funny about standing in this garden and still smelling disinfectant."  To camouflage the more unbearable stink of vomit and other human waste.

Azazel turned, looked him up and down, and took in his disheveled appearance.  It tempted Erik to raise his arms and smell under his pits.  "How long have you been here?"  Azazel asked.  He shook out a cigarette and offered Erik a light.

"Thanks, man."  Erik inhaled and counted in his head.  "Not sure.  Sixteen hours maybe."

"Been awake the whole time?"

Erik nodded.  He didn't think it'd been fair to catch a wink while Charles stayed awake and bore the waiting, the grumpy staff and the hospital food all on his own.  Not that he could have slept even if he'd wanted to.  Those damn chairs in the waiting room were uncomfortable as hell, and the one next to Charles's bed wasn't any better.  He got a crick in the neck from sitting so long and leaning too far to the right reading the paper on his lap.

“Complained about a pain around dinner last night.  Kept insisting it was just a bad stomach.  Then his temperature zoomed up to ridiculous.  He was too out of it to fight during the taxi ride over.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Today?”

“Today.  And since - ” Azazel waved his hand around in a matter-of-fact manner.  

Erik cocked his head to the side.  How was Azazel even asking him this?  He’d worked with the man.  They didn’t nickname Charles Mr. Rogers aka Fuzzy Wuzzy for his inexplicable devotion to cardigan sweaters and his love of toy trains, or - the former, perhaps.  “He swings it easy breezy, usually, like he’s got a nasty cold instead of a terminal disease.”  Potentially.  A potentially terminal disease, Erik reminded himself. “Until the next bout of nausea hits him. Needs cuddles like a kitten after that.”

“Ah, the cuddling.  I don’t mind that at all.  Janos, too, except subtract the easy and the breezy, and replace them with short tempers and elaborate tantrums.  Now those - ”  Azazel shivered to demonstrate precisely how well he handled them.

“A lot of hair action?” Erik swung his head around to demonstrate, whipping it like it was crowned with a wig that went down to his ankles.

“Yes, exactly.  Ms. Diva to a tee.”

Erik grinned.  What a couple they made.  The gruff and stoic Russian and his feisty, Latin sex bomb.  It made for marvelous comedy when they switched it up for Halloween and played up the stereotypes, dressed as each other at the parties.  

Erik checked his watch.  He took a last drag on his cigarette before tossing it to the ground and rubbing it out under his shoe.  "Going to head back up."

"He'll smell it on you, you know.  Better prep yourself for a lecture."

"Are you kidding?  This is Charles, remember.  It's a twenty-four hour job."

Azazel laughed.  "Well, you chose him."

"Indeed, I did.  Tell Janos I said hello."

When Erik got back inside, he took off his vest and shook it out.  He held it up to his nose.  Bah.  Marlboro's left a terrible after taste, even on fabric.  Not that Charles will be fooled.  He did feel guilty, but felt just as entitled to his coping mechanism.  He folded the vest over his arm and planned to chuck it by the window, as far from Charles as possible.  See if he might get away with it - even for a little while.

_

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice?" Charles asked, his nose still wrinkled after giving Erik's neck a good and thorough sniff.  "The cancer has not actually affected my sense of smell."

It has, however, affected the pallor of Charles's skin, but Erik didn't want to mention it.  Didn't want to think about it. He crossed his legs and shifted.  Damn chair was just as unaccommodating.  Why should anyone be comfortable, seemed to be the hospital’s motto.  "So I deserve a good spanking when we get home?"

Charles rolled his eyes.  "Punishments aren't supposed to be enjoyable."

"I'll pretend not to enjoy it."

Charles fell back against the bed.  "I'm too tired to argue with you."

"Then don't."

Charles continued staring at the ceiling.  "I got snippy with Emma.  She kept poking my arm - just another sample and hold still.  Stern and cool as usual, and her hair entirely too perfect."  He sniffed and reached up to touch his head.  He wasn’t bald anymore, but he looked very military.  It was excellent for role play and soldier sex, but Erik didn't think Charles would appreciate the sentiment so he kept it to himself.  "I told her she was being a witch."

Erik bit his lip to keep from laughing.  Charles didn't like to curse.  He thought it crude and barbarian,  a simpleton's choice of speech from sheer lack of imagination.  This meant, of course, that Erik took every opportunity to drop an f-bomb and an s-bomb whenever he could, and when he really wanted to get Charles going, he delivered a loud and vociferous "motherfucker."   

"Did you actually say witch?" Erik asked.  "Or did you use another word that sounds like it?"

"It may have been the other word."

Erik was very sorry to have missed it.  "I'm sure you apologized."

"I did!  Right after.  I blamed it on the jello.  I could've sworn it was expired."

"And yet you ate it anyway."

"I did ask you to get me some pudding."

"Unfortunately, Beth Israel doesn't stock the kind of pudding you like."

"Well, you probably didn't look hard enough."

Erik sighed dramatically.  "Yes, you're right.  I didn't feel like indulging my sick lover's epicurean cravings."

"Once again proving what a truly horrible man I married."

"Such miseries you endure."  Erik got up and sat by Charles's blanket covered feet.  He squeezed one big toe and wiggled it.  "Should I not give you this, then?"  That made Charles sit back up and take notice of the small carton in Erik's hand.  As Erik guessed, Charles had been too busy exposing Erik's stolen moment with the cigarette to see it before.  He carefully rattled the box.  "From the bakery down the street."

Charles's eyes lit up.  "You brought me a red velvet!"

"I did, Carrie Bradshaw.  But I saved the Manolo Blahniks for another day."

"Well, Mr. Big, I forgive you for not bringing me pudding."  He tugged at Erik's arm to bring him closer.  "Come, I want my two favorite things as near to me as possible."

"Do you mean the vibrating dildo?  I don't think we brought that with us."

"Shut up and let me eat my cake."

Charles's skinny hip dug a little into the small of his back. It was a tiny inconvenience, but it still played with his head. Couldn't be helped, Erik supposed, since it was the darn thing's fault they were here in the first place. Started out as an “eczema stain” and bloomed into a conceivable death trap - a spot of bother, Charles would say, when Erik picked and prodded at it. Most of Erik’s worries amounted to that, but this niggled and turned Erik into a nagging oaf, and Charles had no choice but to go and get it examined.  No such thing as small worries after that.  But the doctors were optimistic.  The cancer wasn't too far along when they caught it. Chemo should wipe it out and Charles will be good as new in no time.  Like a re-pressed shirt.

Erik didn't wager much on the power of positive thinking - that was Charles's job.  He'd made a deal, though, to carry half the load for this round with the cancer, and Charles would double duty next time Erik got poison ivy. Well, heck, it was all he could think of when they pinky-sweared and Charles was flushed to the ears with fever.  Besides, he was allergic.  That made it not quite, but almost...okay, nope, not equal at all.

Charles popped the last of the cake in his mouth, smacking his lips around it.  Erik wasn’t the least bit insulted that he hadn’t even offered him a bite.  Not especially when Charles had icing smeared on his cheek and he was still licking his fingers.  Erik’s heart did a little skip-around.  He smiled.

"What?" Charles asked, cake between his teeth.  Erik pulled him in for a kiss, then licked the icing off his cheek.  He stuck his tongue out to show Charles his prize.  Charles made a face.  "Ew."

"You're welcome."