#v: in the circle ‘round the kitchen table I say my amen because I feel blessed

[parablcd]

“Guess I didn’t realize how long it’s been.”

“It’s weird to think about, right? Five years. People have been eating each other for literally half Tenn’s life.” 

It’s equally unsettling to remember that her brother is almost as old now as she and Sophie were when the dead started walking. He seems… smaller than she ever remembers being. God. It’s alarming, in hindsight, just how dire their situation had been - how small and delicate and underprepared they were to handle the world they’d been thrown into. How the hell had they made it so far?

She pushes the thought away, tucking an errant lock of red hair behind her ear and flashing Vi a wry smile before turning her attention back to the fish trap at hand. “You know what else is weird? I can’t even picture where I’d be now. If the world hadn’t gone to shit, you know?” She laughs, but the feeling in her stomach as she hauls the trap out of the water doesn’t seem very funny. “How messed up is that?”

[knotsandknives]

prompt fill for anonymous who said: I would literally kill for a fanfic with a sick Joseph begging Robert for sex and getting refused because Robert wants him to stay in bed and get better. (Bonus if theres lots of Joseph teasing to try and get what he wants)

It couldn’t have come at a worse time. Mary has the kids for the weekend, taking them on a road trip to Maine for the Pumpkinfest and Regatta event in Damariscotta (which, honestly, Joseph wouldn’t have minded going to that himself, but this was finally a chance at a whole weekend alone with Rob), and Joseph had stocked the house with enough food and booze to ensure they wouldn’t need to go outside for at least two days. He’d washed the sheets, vacuumed the couch, cleaned the kitchen counters (Robert’s a pretty firm believer in the ‘whenever the mood strikes’ approach to sex). He has been waiting for this, and he is ready.

Which is why, Joseph is sure, he’d woken up with a sore throat and a splitting headache, which had progressed into full-blown, nose-dripping, incessant-coughing sickness in a matter of hours. It’s the universe playing the cruelest of tricks on him, and he doesn’t even believe in that sort of thing.

He’s tried everything from alka seltzer to steam showers to fervent prayer, but he’s only getting worse as the clock ticks nearer to Robert’s promised arrival time of 4 p.m. He’d caught the earliest flight out. He was looking forward to this as much as Joseph. Joseph feels horrible.

Literally. But he’s determined to fake his way through this if it kills him. Who knows when the next time they’ll get a weekend alone will be. It’s now or never, Joseph thinks, grimly.

He allows himself two more hours to wallow in bed before dragging himself to the bathroom to shower, shave, and moisturize. He wishes Mary had left some kind of foundation or concealer behind when she’d moved out. The bags under his eyes combined with the sickly pallor of his skin are dead giveaways. Maybe he’ll just keep the lights off when Robert arrives and claim a desire for a little mood lighting.

Joseph gets situated on the couch, barefoot in silk pajamas, really playing up the cliche here, with 30 minutes to spare. And promptly falls asleep, mouth open to combat the stuffiness in his nose, chest rattling with every shallow breath.

He wakes to the slam of the front door, throat screaming for a lozenge, eyes crusted with sleep. God, he’s a mess. Joseph struggles into an upright position, scrubbing at his eyes, slapping his cheeks to infuse them with a little bit of color.

“Honey, I’m home!” Robert calls out from the entryway.

“In here!” Joseph calls back, wincing at the strain on his throat. Hopefully his ears are as stuffed as his nose, distorting his hearing, because he sounds like he’s already got one foot in the grave.

There’s the sound of Robert’s luggage hitting the floor, which means he’d come straight here without stopping at home. He must not be planning to go home at all, since he’d brought the bag in with him. Joseph feels warm all over, but that could be the fever.

Robert steps into the living room, broad smile on his face. He’s removed his jacket, and the open v-neck of his shirt exposes the sharp protrusions of his collarbone, the thatch of grey-flecked hair on his chest. He’s got more than the usual two-or-three day’s worth of stubble, working his way toward an honest beard, like he’s been too busy to bother with it. Joseph knows he’ll shave it off within the next day or so, but for now, he anticipates the burn it’ll leave at his mouth and chest and thighs. There’s an intensity in his eyes that Joseph recognizes as the strain of time apart, but there’s hunger too, in the way his gaze sweeps over Joseph’s body, lingering on his bare ankles and unbuttoned shirt. Joseph shivers, a little. It’s not the fever.

“Somebody’s eager,” Robert says, stopping at the coffee table to toe out of his boots. Joseph wants to reach for him, but he doesn’t really have the energy to lift his arms, so he settles for lounging seductively against the arm of the couch.

“I’m not even going to deny it or try to engage in some kind of witty banter,” Joseph tells him. Mostly because my head feels like someone stuffed cotton in it. “I want you and I missed you. Just kiss me.”

Robert obeys, sliding over Joseph’s prone body, hands trailing over silky fabric from his waist to his neck, cupping his jaw with gentle fingers. He kisses with restraint, gentle even when Joseph would have him be rough, the kiss more of a greeting than anything else.

“Hi,” Robert says, soft, pressing a kiss to the corner of Joseph’s mouth. He can be frustratingly tender, sometimes.

“Hi,” Joseph tries to reply, but the word sticks in his throat, sending him into another fit of hacking coughs. Robert pulls back, frowning. Joseph is flooded with dread, trying desperately to suppress the coughing. He holds his breath until his lungs feel like they’ll burst, but it isn’t enough to get Robert back where he was.

His hands come up to frame Joseph’s face before he lays one flat against his forehead. “You’re burning up,” he says, accusingly. “You’re sick?”

Joseph shakes his head weakly, not even enough to dislodge Robert’s hand. He’s still holding his breath, so he can’t answer with words. He just leans in, aiming for Robert’s mouth, intending to kiss him long and good enough to make him forget anything else. Robert pushes him back, hand at his head.

“You’re sick,” he says again, not a question this time.

“No, I’m not,” Joseph coughs out, gasping for air in between. “I just swallowed wrong. I’m fine, really.”

“Your eyes are glassier than mine late on a Friday night.”

“Try any night,” Joseph shoots back before he’s seized by another round of coughing. Robert grasps his shoulder, pulling him upright so he can rub his back in firm, soothing circles. Joseph rests his head on Robert’s chest, miserable.

“I know it’s the sickness makin’ you all mean and disagreeable, so I’m gonna let that one slide,” Robert says magnanimously. “Why didn’t you tell me you caught the plague?”

“I just woke up to it this morning,” Joseph rasps out, trying to speak carefully to avoid another fit. “I took medicine. It should kick in any minute.”

Robert snorts, inelegantly. “Bullshit. Only cure for this kinda thing is a solid coupla day’s sleep.”

Joseph makes a protesting noise that Robert mocks. “Robert, come on. We’ve been waiting for this. I cleaned the house!” Joseph lifts his head, imploring eyes meeting Robert��s. “I feel good enough for this, I swear. Just kiss me again.”

“I don’t want your germs.”

Robert laughs when Joseph pouts, ducking his attempts to draw him back into a kiss.

“Rob! We can’t waste this opportunity.” Joseph pauses, considering. “I shaved earlier.” He leans in, putting his lips to Robert’s ear, voice dropping enticingly. Minus the congested wheeze. “And not just my face.”

Robert groans, theatrically. “Don’t make it worse,” he scolds, turning his face into Joseph’s hair. “I’m not tellin’ you no because I want to.”

“So don’t tell me no,” Joseph wheedles, pressing his luck by trailing kisses along the column of Robert’s throat. He pretends the wetness he leaves behind is from his mouth and not his nose.

Robert is holding very still, hands resting against Joseph’s back, not encouraging but not discouraging, either. He lets Joseph find his mouth again, consenting to a deeper kiss than before. Joseph feels a thrill of victory, shifting closer, tilting his head to get a better angle. Robert’s fuller-than-normal beard tickles his nose, and Joseph sneezes. Just like that. No warning. Into Robert’s open mouth.

“Jesus Christ,” Robert sputters, jerking away. His beard is full of Joseph’s snot. He rubs a hand across his face, looking between Joseph and the hand in abject horror. Joseph stares back, mouth open to apologize, but the expression on his face is too good. Joseph bursts into laughter, gasping with it when Robert’s face settles into a heavy scowl.

Of course, he starts coughing before he can say anything, harsh and painful. Robert touches his back again, gently. “I’m gonna get you some water,” he says, sounding disgruntled but concerned. Joseph catches his hand as he stands.

“Cough drop?” he manages, falling back against the couch when Robert nods. His head is killing him again, not amenable to the frequent bouts of coughing. His throat feels like someone’s been walking around it in cleats, and not the soft spike kind. The sneeze cleared his sinuses briefly, but he can already feel them closing up again. Fucking colds.

Robert comes back with a tall glass of lukewarm water, guessing correctly that cold would be torture right now. He’s got a handful of troches, unwrapping one and handing it over when Joseph finishes his water. Joseph gives him a wane smile in thanks.

“Think you can make it upstairs?” Robert asks, pressing the back of his hand to Joseph’s forehead again, his own brow wrinkled in worry. “Probably be more comfortable.”

“I’m not going upstairs unless you promise to fool around with me,” Joseph insists, stubbornly. “Otherwise, the fresh sheets and candles and flowers are just going to depress me.”

“You got candles and flowers?” Robert asks, sounding amused. “I ain’t your girl, you know.”

“You’re my man,” Joseph counters, leaning into the touch when Robert’s hand slides down to cup his cheek. “I want to seduce you.”

“Sneezing in my face was a good start.”

Joseph huffs a laugh, turning his face into Robert’s hand, slightly embarrassed now that the amusement has faded. He knows Robert won’t hold it against him but still. How mortifying. “Let me make it up to you,” he implores, still going for sexy. “However you want. Whatever you like.”

Robert fixes him with a considering look. “I like those pajamas,” he admits, trailing a finger across the line of Joseph’s shoulders. “But what I’d really like is to just curl up with you in those fresh sheets of yours for a few hours.”

“Rob…”

“Hey, I’m tired too, kid,” Robert insists, still running his hands over Joseph’s chest. “I’m gonna need my rest if I’m gonna fight off whatever it is you’re trying so hard to give me.”

“I’m trying to give you my -” Robert covers Joseph’s mouth with a hand, eyebrow raised in amusement.

“We’ll see how you feel after some sleep, how’s that?” Robert promises, prodding Joseph until he stands, a little wobbly as his head swims. Robert fits himself under his arm, wrapping his own around Joseph’s waist tightly. “We can try the sneezing thing again. I could maybe get into it.”

“Rob,” Joseph groans, shuffling his way up the stairs at Robert’s behest. Rob just laughs, easing him down at the edge of the bed. He helps Joseph swing his legs up on the mattress, tucking the sheets around him once he’s situated. Joseph makes a helpless noise when he steps away, but Robert just winks at him, pulling his shirt over his head.

“I know I tell you this all the time, but today I mean it literally when I say you’re hot, baby.” Robert shucks his pants next, crossing to the other side of the bed before sliding in next to Joseph. “If I’m gonna sleep with you, I gotta lose some layers.”

“You could lose them all,” Joseph suggests, scooting closer to Robert and hooking a leg over both of his, trapping him beneath Joseph’s greater weight. He props himself up on an elbow, leaning in to share a honey-lemon flavored kiss. Robert catches his wandering hand before it can reach the waistband of his briefs.

“Nice try. Turn over.”

Joseph complies happily, flipping onto his stomach and smiling across the bed at Robert. Robert shakes his head, pulling at Joseph’s far shoulder until he’s up on his side, fitting himself in close to his back.

“I meant like this,” Robert clarifies, dropping an arm over Joseph’s waist. His hands, typically so warm and rough, feel almost cool against Joseph’s heated skin, as does his nose when he presses it to the back of Joseph’s neck.

Joseph settles back into him, shifting more than is strictly necessary just to feel the weight of Robert’s groin against his ass.

“Stop that,” Robert demands, gruffly, when it’s clear he isn’t doing the best job of ignoring him.

Joseph smiles at the wall, turning his head slightly to catch a glimpse of Robert in his periphery. He has his eyes firmly closed, but Joseph can see the tension in his mouth. He’s working so hard to keep himself in control. All Joseph would need to do is-

“I can hear you thinking. Go the fuck to sleep, Christiansen, or I’ll leave.” Robert softens the threat with a kiss at the juncture of Joseph’s neck and shoulder. His fingers brush over Joseph’s stomach, comforting. “It looks real romantic in here, by the way. You done good.” Joseph just sighs.

“I had plans, you know,” he tells Robert, mournfully, coughing a little. His head feels like it’s in a vice. “We weren’t going to leave the house all weekend. I stocked up on food and alcohol. And lube,” he adds, as an afterthought. “And not the boring kind, either. I got flavors, Rob. And the warming kind. And -”

“Joseph,” Robert whines. “Stop. We still aren’t going to leave all weekend. We’re gonna stay right here.” He pulls Joseph closer for emphasis. “This is good, baby.” He kisses across Joseph’s shoulders, beard scratching like Joseph knew it would.

Joseph sighs again, linking his fingers through the ones Robert has on his stomach. “Will you fuck me, like this, when we wake up?”

Robert makes a pained noise, hips pressing into Joseph’s ass briefly. Joseph grins. Everything he ever says is designed to wind Robert up. If he were feeling just a little stronger, he’d turn over and put Robert on his back. He knows he wouldn’t resist, at this point. But the sheets are still cool, and the pillow is so soft, and he really is so tired. And Robert feels so solid at his back, strong and hairy and heavy. At over six feet and two hundred pounds, there aren’t a lot of people who can make Joseph feel small. There’s no one in the world who can make Joseph feel small like Robert can, even if he’s technically the bigger of the two. His presence is just so big. It overwhelms all of Joseph’s senses. And those damn broad shoulders.

“I promise,” Robert is saying, voice muffled in Joseph’s neck, “we’ll get through at least one of those bottles of lube you bought this weekend. Even if it kills you.”

Joseph laughs, then coughs. Robert rubs his back apologetically.

“That’s generous of you,” he wheezes out, finally. Robert hugs him close, and Joseph closes his eyes, still cursing his luck but content with this. For now.

“Anything for you, darlin’.”