Bliss - 1. Bliss

Logan's fingers spasmed involuntarily as he gripped the edge of the mattress, another rocking, retching set of heaves shaking his frame. He collapsed back on the bed, panting, his stomach aching from voiding their contents, and his fine dress shirt sticking to his sweat-soaked frame. He shivered miserably; nausea continuing to roll in his gut. He closed his eyes, willing himself not to vomit again.

Not again, not again, Christ, I've had enough.

It had to be influenza. His clinic had seen nothing but case after case of the virus all winter long. How long did he really expect to be able to evade it?

He rolled onto his side, curling into a fetal position, feeling sick and weak and ridiculous. He had wanted to surprise Connor for their anniversary. Well, he was going to be surprised all right. He had champagne chilling, hired a private chef to cook the highly exotic foods they both loved, and expensive roses set up in bouquets around the bedroom, filling the space with a rich floral scent that made him feel even more nauseated. Groaning, he levered himself up on his elbow and stumbled to the window, shoving it open. Cool air, along with the cacophony of city traffic, drifted in. His stomach rolled again at the motions involved in standing and walking, but the wave of winter air helped clear away the odor of the roses and food for a moment, helping settle his stomach. It didn't do much for his chills though, and he reluctantly slid it shut, and sat down on the bed, burying his head in his hands. Connor was going to be here any minute. He ran through the mental inventory of things he had planned to do tonight. Dinner? Out of the question. Dancing downtown and a gentle boat ride down the river? Definitely vomit-inducing. Sex wasn’t out of the equation yet, but Logan couldn’t even entertain a sexy thought right now.

Logan scowled. He and Connor had always made a game out of anniversaries, each one trying to top the other, and this one had taken months of planning and a good part of his savings to pull off. And now he wouldn't even be able to enjoy it. Goddamn flu.

He heard the thunder of footsteps approaching and smiled. Connor never could step lightly. The door flung open as Connor practically bounced into the room. "Hey, baby!"

Logan glanced up, smiling wanly, as he saw Connor survey the room, the roses, the dim lighting, the candles. "Looks like you went all out," he purred and normally the invitation delivered in that seductive tone would have elicited at least a little interest from his cock, but there was nothing. All Logan’s body seemed to care about right now was the dizzy spin in his head, the headache crawling into the base of his skull, and the nauseating whirl in his stomach. All the same, he forced himself onto his feet and took a step towards Connor. The dim light and his weak legs were traitorous though, and he stumbled into Connor, the other man catching him by his arms and steadying him.

"Hey baby." Connor's sexy smirk melted into soft concern as he took in his husband's condition. "You're burning up," he said, and smoothed back Logan's hair from his sweaty forehead. His other hand gently examined his neck, feeling his glands. "Do I need to take you to the hospital?"

"No," Logan breathed out. The sexual interest was still nonexistent, but he did like this, resting his head against Connor's shoulder and breathing in his scent, clean and comforting, and letting himself be held for a minute. "Influenza."

"Are you sure?" Connor asked, his tone calming, lulling, as if he was soothing one of his patients in the pediatric center.

"Yeah, I'm sure." Another breath, another hitch of the stomach. No! Logan thought fiercely. Not now, I will notget sick now!

"I'm sorry," Logan whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"About what, baby?"

Logan drew back. Even the dim lighting made his eyes burn and water and the headache in the back of his head continued to pound on with a vengeance. The room swam in front of him and he gripped Connor's arms to steady himself, focusing on his warm, concerned expression. "I wanted this night to be perfect. Special. For you."

"Oh, come on." Connor rubbed his back. "You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't ask to get sick. I'm surprised you’re still on your feet. Let's get you to bed."

Connor led him over the bed and knelt on the floor as Logan gingerly sat down. Connor bent over to help take off his shoes and when Logan leaned forward to help him, the room tipped, spun on its edges and then there was nothing.

When Logan woke up, he found himself on his back, staring at the ceiling. Surprisingly, he felt a little better. His stomach was still unsettled but was nowhere near the roiling mass it had been earlier, and his head felt clearer. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and felt an uncomfortable pull on the back of his hand. He looked over and his eyes narrowed as he saw at the tubing and needle taped there.

"Awake?" a nearby voice asked, and he glanced up and saw Connor's bulk hovering right above his field of vision. He shifted until Logan could see him properly, and Logan felt his hand on his forehead.

"What the hell is this?" Logan demanded.

"400 ccs of fluid and Zofran for the nausea. The same thing you would get in the ER, which is where I was about to take you if you hadn't come around. I had Suzanne bring it by from the clinic after you passed out."

"How did you know about the nausea?"

"I found the bucket. How do you feel?"

Logan considered. "At least 50% improved."

Connor looked pleased and passed him a medicine cup with two tablets inside. "This will help with your headache and fever. Chew and swallow."

Logan did and didn't argue when Connor gave him some ginger ale to wash away the chalky aftertaste.

"That should help your headache. Think you can keep some soup down?"

He could and sipped at the plain broth, while Connor joked it was the most expensive cup of soup ever made by the disgruntled chef before he left. Logan smiled, but still couldn't shake the sheen of disappointment that their anniversary had turned out this way.

Logan put the mug on the bedside table. "So much for a night to remember."

Connor rolled his eyes. "Are you still going on about that? I just told you that none of this was your fault."

Logan shrugged.

Connor climbed onto the bed next to him, taking care not to jostle him too badly. "Maybe we should grow up a little bit and stop this competitive shit. This one-upmanship routine is getting old, don't you think?"

"Maybe."

"When did it start?" Connor mused. Logan remembered and answered for him.

"Daphne Merrell," Logan said. "Seventh grade, remember?"

"Ah, yes." Daphne had been the beauty of the seventh grade, with hair of spun gold, a body that was more developed than most of her classmates, and the daring clothes to show it off. And they had both wanted her.

Logan couldn't remember who won her over, but he did know from that point forward, he and Connor were in fierce competition in nearly every aspect of their lives. It all became about who had the better grades, who had the better car, who had the hotter girlfriend. It only became stronger when they both tried out for the school's wrestling team. They both made the cut and clashed again and again during grueling after school practices.

It was during one such practice that everything came to a head. Connor always had the greater physical strength, but Logan had always been able to use his reflexes and flexibility to slide out of most of Connor's holds. This time; however, Connor had him locked with an arm against his windpipe, cutting off his oxygen. In panic and desperation, Logan utilized an illegal move he had learned from his older brother, sending the other boy to the mat. Connor had leapt back up to his feet, enraged, and had tackled Logan, turning a sparring match into a knock-down drag-out fight. The other boys on the team had jumped to their feet, cheering and catcalling, and Coach had waded into the fray to break it up, earning a bruise on his cheek from a cocked elbow as one of the boys got ready to deliver a punch. They had both been held after school on detention, running laps until they were exhausted. Each one held simmering resentment and anger towards the other, believing themselves to be the blameless and unjustifiably punished party. Logan had been mulling it over in the shower, growing more and more angry as he thought about it, and right when he had made up his mind that he was going to confront Connor, suddenly Connor was right up in his face, shoving Logan up against the wall.

"You think you're real cute, don't you?" Connor snarled. "I swear to God, you little bitch, I am going to fuck you up-"

Logan struck back and they grappled for a few minutes before they lost their footing on the wet tile and fell. They continued to struggle, banging elbows, knees, and heads.

Somewhere in the midst, their movements changed. The frantic movement was still there, but it was more rhythmic, more sensual and deliberate, and less violent, less chaotic. Both of them noticed the change and the shift, moving into it. Hips rocked and met, erections grinding and rubbing together, a friction building and swelling in between them, a heat growing in between their bodies. Their lips came together in a bruising clash, teeth biting and hands bruising, but the rhythm was there, and the rhythm sustained them, drove them, brought them both to the point, where they were shuddering, shooting and shivering on the cold tile floor. Their eyes met.

"I won't tell if you won't," Logan finally said.

"Deal," Connor rasped.

They showered, rinsing of the evidence of their recent liaison and went home. But the spirit of their competition changed, lessened, and there were more afterschool liaisons, secret meetings. Connor came out of the closet right after graduation and Logan followed suit. Now their competition was who could plan the best date, who could come up with the best sex position, or who could give the best orgasm. It was fun, at first, and kept them on their toes, but Logan was wondering if Connor had a point.

Planning fun and sexy surprises was nice, but this was too, curled up in bed, watching television, holding hands.

Being happy.

Being in love.

~END~