You woke up because Mr. Kirkland never snored, but this morning, he was. His chest rose and fell with effort underneath you, and he tossed his head in his sleep. It wasn’t long before he woke himself up, coughing a couple times. You slid off to let him sit up and he did, body wracked by a fit of coughs. “Augh…shit…”
“You okay, babe?”
He breathed through his mouth, staring at you a bit dazedly for a moment. “Yes, I think I’b—I’m fine.” He cleared his throat, sniffing.
“No you’re not, babe. You’re sick.” You stroked his face, gave his cheek a tender kiss, and casually felt his forehead. “You don’t have any noticeable fever. Likely just a cold, I don’t think you have to worry.”
He groaned, slumping against the headboard. His cheeks were a little bit flushed. “I’m not sick,” he said. “I’m definitely not sick. What time is it? I’m hungry. Would you like breakfast?”
“Uh…” While your darling teacher was a well-meaning, loving guy, he wasn’t exactly the best at cooking. He tried. He really did, but… “I’m not very hungry this morning. I think I’ll just have cereal.”
“Right.” He threw back the covers and you stared, letting out a naughty chuckle at the way he shyly tried to conceal his nakedness.
“Oh come on, it isn’t like I’ve never seen you naked,” you said. “It isn’t like we haven’t fucked more times than I can count on my fingers.”
Regardless, his face was still red and blushing as he pulled the top sheet off the bed and wrapped it around him. It dragged far behind him as he left the room. “We haven’t had that much…s-sex…”
“Clearly not, if you’re still stuttering it!” you called, quickly answered by a loud sneeze. And then another.
“A-ahh—nnchu!” This time, after a brief pause, you heard a thud. “Whoa, ah…”
You got up out of bed and found him in the hallway, leaning heavily on the wall for support with his eyes screwed shut. “What happened?”
“Just got…really dizzy, hang on,” he said. He took a sickly sniffle and winced, standing upright. Blinking and rubbing his eyes, he opened his mouth to speak, but instead what came out was “hunnnn—tchou! Hak-chou!” He held a hand over his mouth, bridge of his nose wrinkling up as he moaned miserably.
“Arthur, you’re sick,” you said softly, combing your fingers through his messy blond hair. “Go back to bed. I’ll make you some tea.”
“But…but I’m no-t—ah--!” He suppressed the sneeze this time, sighing, but then his body tensed up again and both hands flew to his nose, leaving the sheet to drop to the ground as he “CHOUUU!” Nose and cheeks completely flushed, he gave you weak eyes and begrudgingly headed for the bedroom, dragging the sheet behind him like a giant, sick toddler.
“Here you are, sweetheart.” You set his tea on a coaster on his end table, and placed a warm plate of breakfast in his lap. In your absence he had dressed in his pajamas and fetched a fleece blanket, now all bundled up and grumpy.
“Thank you,” he sighed, taking a sip of the tea. “I can’t believe I’m sick…”
“Lots of people get sick, Mr. Kirkland.”
“Shut up,” he chided. “I mean I’ve…been so careful. I can’t be sick. I’ll have to get a substitute for next week and we’re already behind in the lesson plan and I—“
“Shhhh. It’ll be fine, you’re not that sick,” you said.
“No, of course I am! I’m running a fever now, I’m sure of it, and I…I feel weak, and I have a headache, and my throat hurts terribly, and I’ve started feeling nauseous…”
“Weren’t you just trying to convince me you were fine earlier?” You put a hand to his forehead again. “Well, you are a bit hot…let me get a thermometer…”
“And some pain pills, please?”
You rolled your eyes but followed the request anyway, prompting him to open his mouth. “Yes, you do have a fever…not a bad one, though.”
He took a couple aspirin and a deep breath, setting his food aside. “Not very hungry anymore, sorry…”
“Well, you’re quite the complainer when you’re sick,” you said, snuggling up to his side. “That’s good to know. I might have to break up with you.”
“I’m kidding.” You kissed his fevered forehead, stroking his hair lovingly. “You’ll be better very soon, trust me.”
“No, no, I’m going to need…get me the telephone, I need to arrange for a sub—“
“No you don’t,” you assured, pressing down on his shoulder as he tried to get up. “You need to stay in bed and rest. If you’re still sick tomorrow night, we’ll worry about it then, but it’s Saturday and you need to rest.”
“But I can’t rest, I…test! I have tests to grade--!”
You watched his anxious, flushed face as he slowly relaxed himself, looking down at his hands. “I suppose you’re right…”
“You’re damn right I’m right.”
He smiled weakly, and then suddenly his face screwed up into the tell-tale expression of a sneeze. “Hhht—chhhk, hnnnn—chuuh! Bluh…”
You grabbed a nearby box of tissues and placed them within his reach, for which he thanked you. As soon as he took a break from moaning and groaning and fidgeting, you stroked one of his thighs through the blanket, looking up into his reddened face. “Do you think…you’d feel better if I gave you head?”
“What?” He froze up instantly, cheeks growing darker. “I’m-I’m-I’m sick! That w-wouldn’t exactly be in your best interest!”
“Ugh, Arthur. Come on,” you groaned. “Once you have the symptoms of a cold, it isn’t contagious anymore. And we had sex like three times last night. If I was in any danger of getting sick, I’m screwed already. Literally.”
“Orgasms are great headache relievers.”
He stared at you, wide-eyed and blushing hotter than his fever. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, and repeated this action. Finally, he pulled the fleece blanket tighter around his shoulders and looked away. “F-fine…I mean, yes please.”