#40 sickness - nisaki - one shot
Title: The Man-Cold
Author: jibunnohana
Theme: #40 sickness
Rating: G
Pairing: Ni~ya x Sakito (Nightmare)
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Comments: Twentieth fic here! Pure fluff, inspired by Niya's part in this interview.
“You’ll live,” Han decided, toeing over the man he had shot and waving his recaptured blaster, “if you make some worthwhile conversation. How many guards on my ship?”
The man licked his fear-parched lips. Ten, maybe twelve. A few actually--
“Imb bdyig.”
“What?” Sakito looked down from his book as a shaggy silver head appeared, disembodied, at the base of his chest. Niya seemed to have just woken up and was still cocooned in blankets from chin to toes.
“I sad Imb bdyig.”
Going back to his page, Sakito ruffled his bassist’s hair and started reading again. “No, you’re not,” to which Niya answered promptly by sneezing on his shirt.
“Sorby.”
With a placid sigh, Sakito handed him a fistful of tissues from the box next to the bed. The book was left forgotten at his side in favor of helping the other man stuff Kleenex up his reddish, swollen nose. In fact, the rest of Niya’s face was flushed a similarly unnatural color under the miserably slack expression. “It’s just a little cold, it’ll be gone in a few days,” Sakito soothed, sympathetic to his lover’s sinus woes. Niya whined unintelligibly and burrowed into the guitarist’s chest.
“Complaining isn’t going to help you feel any better.” Apparently, the bassist wasn’t going to have any of that, leaning his full weight on Sakito’s slight frame. “Oof…”
“Magke id bedder…”
“If you let me up I can get you some medicine.” Sakito gently massaged his shoulders, pressing his free hand to Niya’s forehead. Nodding against him, the bassist complied, though undoubtedly reluctant to give up his pillow. The picture of utter wretchedness lay buried under as many blankets as they owned, deprived of his lover’s human warmth. With a final pat on the bassist’s head, Sakito stretched and wandered toward the bathroom. He was tired, Niya having woken him up several times in the night wheezing in his ear. Why couldn’t he have stayed asleep? Out of all of them, Nightmare’s bassist was at his absolute worst when sick.
The phone interrupted Sakito’s search, and he hurried out to the living room to answer it instead. Hitsugi, of course, probably wondering why he hadn’t called yet. “Morning, ‘Sugi-chan,” he yawned into the receiver, rubbing out the crick in the back of his neck.
“I thought we were going shopping today. What are you doing, lazy bones?” The other guitarist’s pout could almost be heard through the phone.
Sakito sincerely regretted having to cancel. “I can’t today, sorry. Niya has a cold.”
“…So?” Clearly Hitsugi didn’t understand what a dire situation was at hand. “He’ll live.”
“A man-cold.”
There was a slight pause on the other end while his friend mulled over the meaning, then sighed. “What a pansy. Fine, I guess we can go shopping later in the week.”
“Sorry…” Sakito apologized again, said good-bye, and hung up. By that time, Niya had slunk out of the bedroom and commenced leaning on the wall in his most tragic, death-is-upon-me posture. Sakito shot him a withering glance. “No, I didn’t skip town. Go back to bed.”
With a feeble amount of muttering, the bassist returned, leaving Sakito in temporary peace. What would Niya do if they both ended up bedridden? Honestly, the bassist would probably still pretend he could hear the angels calling. Sakito was sorely tempted to take Han Solo’s methods to heart.
___
Book excerpt from Han Solo and the Lost Legacy by Brian Daley.
Author: jibunnohana
Theme: #40 sickness
Rating: G
Pairing: Ni~ya x Sakito (Nightmare)
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Comments: Twentieth fic here! Pure fluff, inspired by Niya's part in this interview.
“You’ll live,” Han decided, toeing over the man he had shot and waving his recaptured blaster, “if you make some worthwhile conversation. How many guards on my ship?”
The man licked his fear-parched lips. Ten, maybe twelve. A few actually--
“Imb bdyig.”
“What?” Sakito looked down from his book as a shaggy silver head appeared, disembodied, at the base of his chest. Niya seemed to have just woken up and was still cocooned in blankets from chin to toes.
“I sad Imb bdyig.”
Going back to his page, Sakito ruffled his bassist’s hair and started reading again. “No, you’re not,” to which Niya answered promptly by sneezing on his shirt.
“Sorby.”
With a placid sigh, Sakito handed him a fistful of tissues from the box next to the bed. The book was left forgotten at his side in favor of helping the other man stuff Kleenex up his reddish, swollen nose. In fact, the rest of Niya’s face was flushed a similarly unnatural color under the miserably slack expression. “It’s just a little cold, it’ll be gone in a few days,” Sakito soothed, sympathetic to his lover’s sinus woes. Niya whined unintelligibly and burrowed into the guitarist’s chest.
“Complaining isn’t going to help you feel any better.” Apparently, the bassist wasn’t going to have any of that, leaning his full weight on Sakito’s slight frame. “Oof…”
“Magke id bedder…”
“If you let me up I can get you some medicine.” Sakito gently massaged his shoulders, pressing his free hand to Niya’s forehead. Nodding against him, the bassist complied, though undoubtedly reluctant to give up his pillow. The picture of utter wretchedness lay buried under as many blankets as they owned, deprived of his lover’s human warmth. With a final pat on the bassist’s head, Sakito stretched and wandered toward the bathroom. He was tired, Niya having woken him up several times in the night wheezing in his ear. Why couldn’t he have stayed asleep? Out of all of them, Nightmare’s bassist was at his absolute worst when sick.
The phone interrupted Sakito’s search, and he hurried out to the living room to answer it instead. Hitsugi, of course, probably wondering why he hadn’t called yet. “Morning, ‘Sugi-chan,” he yawned into the receiver, rubbing out the crick in the back of his neck.
“I thought we were going shopping today. What are you doing, lazy bones?” The other guitarist’s pout could almost be heard through the phone.
Sakito sincerely regretted having to cancel. “I can’t today, sorry. Niya has a cold.”
“…So?” Clearly Hitsugi didn’t understand what a dire situation was at hand. “He’ll live.”
“A man-cold.”
There was a slight pause on the other end while his friend mulled over the meaning, then sighed. “What a pansy. Fine, I guess we can go shopping later in the week.”
“Sorry…” Sakito apologized again, said good-bye, and hung up. By that time, Niya had slunk out of the bedroom and commenced leaning on the wall in his most tragic, death-is-upon-me posture. Sakito shot him a withering glance. “No, I didn’t skip town. Go back to bed.”
With a feeble amount of muttering, the bassist returned, leaving Sakito in temporary peace. What would Niya do if they both ended up bedridden? Honestly, the bassist would probably still pretend he could hear the angels calling. Sakito was sorely tempted to take Han Solo’s methods to heart.
___
Book excerpt from Han Solo and the Lost Legacy by Brian Daley.