Blair wiped a hand across his brow. He was exhausted.
Getting Jim into
the truck hadnít been too difficult, and neither had driving home. Blair had
made sure that heíd kept the windows rolled up tightly, so as not to
inadvertently infect anyone else in Cascade with Sudden Onset Gayness. Thereíd
been a bad moment in the elevator when the woman who had come to repair the
cable started eyeing Mrs. Olsen, their elderly neighbor, but the repairwoman got
on out the second floor, and, mercifully, Mrs. Olsen hadnít seemed to notice the
But once theyíd gotten inside the loft, the door locked tight
behind them, following the doctorís orders had proved significantly more
Jim had been out of it, eyes closed, swaying on his feet. His
shirt was stained with sweat and whatever that oil was that theyíd used on him
in the hospital. Blair had wrinkled his nose in disgust as heíd peeled it off
Jim, wadded it up, and tossed it towards the bathroom and the hamper.
The pants had come undone and slid down Jimís legs easily, but Jim
seemed incapable of moving his feet to step out of them, despite Blairís
instructions. Of course!, Blair had thought, mentally smacking himself
in the forehead, the doctor said heíd be completely unable to do basic
things for himself.
Heíd eyed the stairs to Jimís bedroom with
uncertainty, and then had turned back to look at his friend. It seemed
impossible Ė Jim had at least five inches on him. But then heíd remembered what
the doctor had said - I recommend that you remove his clothing and carry him
Sighing, Blair had hauled Jim into a firemanís carry over
his shoulder. What choice did he have? Jim was his best friend, and he wanted
him to get well.
And, he had to admit, there was a small part of him that
was curious about the wild monkey sex that was going to take place later. Hey,
heíd never been one to shy away from new experiences.
Heíd staggered up
the stairs, breath harsh in his throat, spots dancing in front of his eyes.
Christ, Jim was heavy! Heíd barely made it to the bedside before his knees gave
out, dumping Jim onto the bed somewhat unceremoniously.
Now he sat on
the side of the bed, marshalling his strength for the next phase.
will need to sponge his sweaty torso regularly and thoroughly.... The
doctorís voice echoed in his head.
Dutifully he went downstairs to get
supplies, amazed to find that the cabinet under the sink was well-stocked with
bowls and sponges. Jim must have picked that stuff up at some point, because he
sure didnít remember buying it during their last shopping trip.
about an hour into sponging when Jim groaned and his eyes fluttered open.
"W-what the hell happened?..." he murmured faintly.
"Youíve got fanfic
flu," Blair told him.
"What?" Jimís glare could have sliced
"Donít worry, youíll be fine," Blair said, soothingly, continuing
to sponge. He decided not to mention the Sudden Onset Gayness or the wild monkey
sex for now. Jim looked kind of cranky.
"Sandburg," Jim started,
irritation evident in his tone, "sweetheart, youíre my whole life, youíre
everything to meó" He snapped his mouth shut, his eyes meeting Blairís, wide
with alarm. "Thatís not what I meant to say," he whispered to himself.
Shocked at the unlikely nickname, Blair just stared at him, hand and
sponge poised over his chest. "Itís not?"
"No," Jim said hoarsely. "What
I meant to say was... honey, baby, sweetcheeks, sugar bun, love muffinó" He
clamped his mouth shut again, a look of disgust on his face.
redoubled his sponging efforts, a small knot of anxiety beginning to grow in his
belly. This didnít seem like it was helping at all. In fact, Jim seemed like he
was getting worse. "Maybe I should go call the doctor," he said
Jim shook his head, his jaw clenched tight. Muffled sounds
emanated from his closed mouth. He waited, and after a few minutes of silence he
took a deep breath. "No," he began calmly, "baby, donít leave me. I know I donít
deserve you; Iím just an old, washed up cop, but youíre all I have in the world,
the only thing that means anything to me. If you leave me, Iíll dieó" He clapped
his hand over his mouth, cutting off the flow of words.
thought he could see tears gathering in Jimís eyes. He stood quickly, putting
the bowl and sponge on the ground, and pointed down the stairs. "Calling the
doctor now," he said, and hurried from the room.
The doctor came right
over, which surprised Blair a little, because he didnít think that doctors made
house calls anymore. She had another woman in tow, whom she introduced as "my
nurse, in case I have to draw blood or something." But Blair thought the nurse
looked suspiciously like the candy striper heíd last seen at the hospital. And
he noticed the doctor was oddly flushed and breathing heavily.
Jimís symptoms?" the doctor asked.
Snapping out of his reverie, Blair
explained what had happened. "And heís calling me these pet names, and saying
stuff Iíve never heard Jim say, and... and...." he dropped his voice
low, "I think... I think he was about to cry for a minute up there."
doctorís eyes gleamed. "I was afraid of this," she said solemnly. "It sounds
like Jim has COCK."
"Well, yeah, obviously, but...."
"No, no Ė I
mean Complications: Out of Character Kink. Itís a potential worsening of fanfic
flu." She turned a gimlet eye on Blair. "You did follow my instructions exactly,
"Yeah," Blair replied.
"You removed his clothing and
carried him to bed?" she asked.
"And almost got a hernia in the process,"
"You sponged him regularly and thoroughly?"
bowlís still up there."
"And whispered soft endearments in his
"Oh, man... I... well, uh, I might have forgotten about that,"
Blair said, gulping. "But after all, Doc, we are guys!"
doctor was shaking her head. "This is very serious. COCK can be very difficult
"Oh, jeez...." Blair ran a hand through his hair. "Well, just
tell me what to do, Doc. I want Jim to get well." Blair brightened as a thought
struck him. "Maybe if I bought him a big bunch of flowers and promised to
exchange rings he'd recover quicker?" Then he paled Ė he'd been about to ask if
giving Jim some Tylenol might help, but it had come out all wrong!
he noticed that heíd somehow acquired three or four more flannel shirts over the
one heíd been wearing when they got home. And what was more, the sleeves on the
shirt were growing, the cuffs sliding over his hands, covering his fingers ó no,
he realized, with a start; his arms were shrinking!
As he pushed the
sleeves of his shirts up, he was horrified to see his hands changing; his
fingers growing long and tapered, his wrists becoming delicate and slender. His
jeans were already hanging off his hips, the excess length puddling at his
ankles. He shot a terrified look at the doctor. "Doc?" he asked, his voice
quavering, "whatís happening to me?"
The doctor looked very grave.
"Perhaps I should have mentioned that this condition is very contagious. It
appears that you have contracted COCK as well."
Blair's hands went
straight to his groin as panic flared. "I've got a contracted cock?" he
The doctor rolled her eyes.
Thankfully, Blair worked it
out after a moment or two, but there was no time for celebration. His trials and
tribulations were far from over. "Doc," he groaned, "I'm feeling really
vulnerable right now. I have a terrible fear that if Jim were to speak to me
roughly, I might just cry." He started to tear up at the very thought.
"Then there's no time to lose," the doctor said, steering Blair toward
the stairs, "we canít wait for page 22. You're going to have to take Jim, I mean
matters, into your own hands, before your character is compromised altogether.
Unless the monkey sex happens right now, I'm afraid that an infestation of OTTA
will cause us all to lose the will to live."
Blair had just enough
presence of mind to query, "OTTA?"
"Over the top angst," the doctor
"One question, Doc," Blair said, his foot on the bottom step.
"Do we need a live monkey? Because I know where to get one of
"Not at all," the doctor said, hustling her nurse roughly towards
Blairís room under the stairs. "Itís just a figure of speech. Are those clean
sheets on that futon?"
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