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Sick and Stubborn

Rage With Benefits exclusive

For a twenty-year-old man, Bryce can certainly have the docility of a three-year-old kid when he's sick.

It all started with a sneeze. They all do. And sneezes? Sneezes are always followed by unyielding stubbornness and constant denial.

"I'm not sick."

That was only the third time Bryce insisted that he was absolutely not sick. Ian huffed an incredulous laugh. Back in high school, Bryce had never and would've never written a one-thousand-word essay even if it saved his life, but now it's literally all he can talk about.

You'd think seeing his boyfriend be this vehement over finishing his degree would make Ian ecstatic, but now, seeing Bryce's stuffy nose make all sorts of mess in all kinds of places, Ian had never been more repulsed and disgusted at someone who he once called "the only person who gave his dick meaning."

Right now, the only thing the man is giving him is germs and recurring migraines.

"Oh really?" Ian bent over and took the mouse, clicking multiple times as he read the last few sentences Bryce had managed to type over the past two minutes. "On account of corporate issues, counterproposals to these may further accomplish this course of further accomplishing the course of further accomplishing the course of further accomplishing the course..." He then trailed, smirking at Bryce who all but groaned into his hands. "This goes on for the next four lines."

Bryce grabbed his mouse back, sniffing angrily as if he was trying to make a point. "Whatever. I'll proofread it later."

"You mean I'll proofread it later," Ian enunciated.

Truthfully, Ian was not technically lying. He does proofread most of his boyfriend's work, but Bryce chose to ignore that because as Ian said, sneezes are always followed by unyielding stubbornness.

The blond rolled his eyes. "You're way over your head."

Ignoring his comment, Ian tried to pry his boyfriend away from his laptop but to no avail. He sighed. "Get back to bed, Bryce."

"Ian," Bryce started. His tone was neutral but sharp enough for Ian to know that he was en route to being annoyed. "I'm fine. I'll finish a few more paragraphs and then I'm going to bed. I promise."

Many promises had been broken throughout the course of their relationship. That one, in particular, was no exception.

The next morning, despite showing absolutely no signs of recovering at all, Bryce was back on his laptop, typing away without a care for the world. He could be the reason for the re-emergence of the Bubonic plague yet absolutely no precautionary measures were observed. Not even as lousy as a roll of tissues.

"Hey," Ian crossed his arms. He hated acting like a mother around his boyfriend, but sometimes he's left with no other choice. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Securing our future," Bryce replied.

Ian groaned. His hair was a mess, the place was a mess, and he does not want to start his weekend with men in hazmat suits in his living room on the off chance that his boyfriend is carrying a viral infection that will annihilate mankind. "Baby, it's Saturday."

The sound of keys clacking was more than enough to ruin the brunet's morning. "I don't like slacking around," Bryce grumbled.

Ian scoffed. "You're sick. You have to slack around."

"I'm not sick."

Ian wasn't even going to start a whole new argument on top of that very obvious lie. "Go back to bed, Bryce."