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metamorphosis2011-01-28 08:42 pm
flair) wrote in metamorphosis2011-01-28 08:42 pm
Entry tags:
226;
Title: nausea
Characters: Alois, Ciel
Rating: PG-13 for grossness
Happy birthday, Ciara! Sorry it's a day late. 8(
When Ciel wakes up, he feels breath against his face; it smells like vomit and nausea, and when his eyes shoot open, he can see Alois on top of him, face pigmented a peculiar shade of pale green. His mouth shifts into a lopsided grin and he flops onto the smaller Earl, letting his arms slip against the sheets then wrap around Ciel's chest.
"Cieeeeeeeel I feel like shit!"
Ciel covers his nose and narrows his eyes at the whining; the smell's pretty overpowering now, and it's hard to resist the urge to gag.
"What am I supposed to do about that?"
"Anything!"
Alois rolls off of him after a moment, content to curl up beside him (for now) and Ciel shifts out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his hand. His fingers search in the darkness for his eyepatch on the table beside his bed and finds it, fumbles with the knot putting it on and finally gets it, albeit sloppily. He makes his way to the kitchen, barefoot and starting to get cold without the safety of his bed, and looks in the fridge for soup. He doesn't find any there, and he has to drag a chair over as quiet as he can to the counter so he can climb up and reach the cabinets above it. Even then, he has to stand on his tiptoes to reach the top, and he brings out a can of chicken noodle soup. A few minutes and a loud beep from the microwave later and he's bringing the warmed soup back up to his room.
When he enters the hallway to his bedroom, he can see light peeking out from under his door. Alois has turned on the light and he's sitting up in bed, Ciel's blankets wrapped around him as if he's a beggar woman huddled against her shawl on a cold winter's night. He sits down on the bed, careful not to let the soup spill, and offers it to Alois. Alois stares at it for a full minute before he shakes his head and bites his lip.
"Don't want it."
"Alois--"
"I don't like soup. You know that."
"It'll make you feel better."
"I don't want it."
The urge to pinch the bridge of his nose is hard to resist, but he has a spoon in one hand and the bowl of soup in the other so he can't exactly do it. He settles for closing his eyes, breathing deeply, and opening them again when he's sure he won't lose his composure.
"Eat it."
"No."
"Eat it."
"You wouldn't."
"Alois, this isn't about me. This is about you. Eat it."
"Cieeeeeeeeeel--"
"Don't start."
Alois frowns at him, and Ciel grimaces.
"You're well-enough to whine, so you must not feel that bad."
"No, I don't feel bad, I feel like fucking shit."
"You'll feel better with the soup."
Alois reluctantly takes it from him, making a face when he smells the strong scent of broth and chicken, and forgoes the spoon; he lifts it to his lips and drinks it, feeling the small chunks of chickens and noodles slip down his throat with the broth and almost chokes on it trying to come back back; he swallows it back, tastes the rancid bile of vomit in the back of his mouth and groans. Ciel sighs and takes the bowl from him, pushes him back down and tucks him in, then crosses the room and clicks off the light. The room's shrouded in darkness and he lets his eyes adjust to it before slipping back into bed, feeling Alois's arms cinch around his waist.
Those come loose fifteen minutes later and he winces every time he hears a retch and splash from the bathroom; the light's on but the fan isn't, and Alois is hunched over the cool porcelain like he's dying. He's shaking, knuckles turning white from gripping the seat too hard, and he falls back down when he tries to stand. Flush goes the toilet and off goes the light, and Alois crawls back into the bed and curls up against Ciel's back, fingers curling tightly into the blankets and Ciel's shirt. It's a long while before the ragged breaths of a throat retched raw even out and slip unnoticed into the air, and it's a long while before Ciel himself can go to sleep without having to worry if Alois is just going to get up and sprint back to the bathroom, blankets and sheets kicking under his feet and heels slamming into his back.
(It happens three more times before the sun rises and the sounds of the rest of the household wake up, and by then Alois is exhausted and asleep against the bathtub, and Ciel is watching him from the doorway, tired and feeling more than a little sick himself.)
Characters: Alois, Ciel
Rating: PG-13 for grossness
Happy birthday, Ciara! Sorry it's a day late. 8(
When Ciel wakes up, he feels breath against his face; it smells like vomit and nausea, and when his eyes shoot open, he can see Alois on top of him, face pigmented a peculiar shade of pale green. His mouth shifts into a lopsided grin and he flops onto the smaller Earl, letting his arms slip against the sheets then wrap around Ciel's chest.
"Cieeeeeeeel I feel like shit!"
Ciel covers his nose and narrows his eyes at the whining; the smell's pretty overpowering now, and it's hard to resist the urge to gag.
"What am I supposed to do about that?"
"Anything!"
Alois rolls off of him after a moment, content to curl up beside him (for now) and Ciel shifts out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his hand. His fingers search in the darkness for his eyepatch on the table beside his bed and finds it, fumbles with the knot putting it on and finally gets it, albeit sloppily. He makes his way to the kitchen, barefoot and starting to get cold without the safety of his bed, and looks in the fridge for soup. He doesn't find any there, and he has to drag a chair over as quiet as he can to the counter so he can climb up and reach the cabinets above it. Even then, he has to stand on his tiptoes to reach the top, and he brings out a can of chicken noodle soup. A few minutes and a loud beep from the microwave later and he's bringing the warmed soup back up to his room.
When he enters the hallway to his bedroom, he can see light peeking out from under his door. Alois has turned on the light and he's sitting up in bed, Ciel's blankets wrapped around him as if he's a beggar woman huddled against her shawl on a cold winter's night. He sits down on the bed, careful not to let the soup spill, and offers it to Alois. Alois stares at it for a full minute before he shakes his head and bites his lip.
"Don't want it."
"Alois--"
"I don't like soup. You know that."
"It'll make you feel better."
"I don't want it."
The urge to pinch the bridge of his nose is hard to resist, but he has a spoon in one hand and the bowl of soup in the other so he can't exactly do it. He settles for closing his eyes, breathing deeply, and opening them again when he's sure he won't lose his composure.
"Eat it."
"No."
"Eat it."
"You wouldn't."
"Alois, this isn't about me. This is about you. Eat it."
"Cieeeeeeeeeel--"
"Don't start."
Alois frowns at him, and Ciel grimaces.
"You're well-enough to whine, so you must not feel that bad."
"No, I don't feel bad, I feel like fucking shit."
"You'll feel better with the soup."
Alois reluctantly takes it from him, making a face when he smells the strong scent of broth and chicken, and forgoes the spoon; he lifts it to his lips and drinks it, feeling the small chunks of chickens and noodles slip down his throat with the broth and almost chokes on it trying to come back back; he swallows it back, tastes the rancid bile of vomit in the back of his mouth and groans. Ciel sighs and takes the bowl from him, pushes him back down and tucks him in, then crosses the room and clicks off the light. The room's shrouded in darkness and he lets his eyes adjust to it before slipping back into bed, feeling Alois's arms cinch around his waist.
Those come loose fifteen minutes later and he winces every time he hears a retch and splash from the bathroom; the light's on but the fan isn't, and Alois is hunched over the cool porcelain like he's dying. He's shaking, knuckles turning white from gripping the seat too hard, and he falls back down when he tries to stand. Flush goes the toilet and off goes the light, and Alois crawls back into the bed and curls up against Ciel's back, fingers curling tightly into the blankets and Ciel's shirt. It's a long while before the ragged breaths of a throat retched raw even out and slip unnoticed into the air, and it's a long while before Ciel himself can go to sleep without having to worry if Alois is just going to get up and sprint back to the bathroom, blankets and sheets kicking under his feet and heels slamming into his back.
(It happens three more times before the sun rises and the sounds of the rest of the household wake up, and by then Alois is exhausted and asleep against the bathtub, and Ciel is watching him from the doorway, tired and feeling more than a little sick himself.)