You're burning up said to trans yurio?
“Yura, are you sure that you’re feeling alright?”
Otabek’s voice drags Yuri out of his haze of misery. He’s curled up in a ball on the sofa, his face tucked into his knees, and his long blonde hair dangling in front of his face as a sort of curtain. He’s not sure if the fetal position is the best cure for cramps, but this is the only position that he’s found that’s even remotely comfortable. And if that wasn’t bad enough, his head has started to hurt, pounding in time with his heartbeat.
All in all, he feels pretty crappy. But he’s not about to admit that.
“’m fine,” Yuri mumbles into his legs.
“Are you sure? You’re wearing the sweatshirt,” Otabek points out, gesturing to the leopard print hoodie that swamps Yuri’s small frame. It used to belong to his grandfather, and it’s so big that goes down past Yuri’s knees. It’s Yuri’s favorite sweatshirt, soft from years of wash and wear; he only wears it when he’s feeling sick. “And you’re burning up,” Otabek announces, pressing a cool hand to the back of Yuri’s neck.
Yuri almost jumps at the unexpected touch, but that would involve moving, and that definitely isn’t happening right now. “That can’t be right. It’s freezing in here, Beka.” He hugs his knees tighter to his chest and shivers to illustrate his point.
“That’s the fever talking, Yura,” Otabek says. “You should get some rest.”
“Don’t wanna sleep,” Yuri complains. He might feel like shit but he’s not about to nap in the middle of the day like a damn baby.
“I’m not saying that you have to sleep,” Otabek explains. “How about you get comfortable here, I’ll get you a cold compress, and we’ll watch that cop drama that you like so much?”
Yuri smiles in agreement. “Those cops always screw something up and bungle everything.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. Get set up on the couch, and I’ll get a cold compress.”
By the time Otabek gets back from the kitchen, Yuri is sprawled out across the couch. His body is still tense with pain, but he relaxes a little when Otabek places the cool, damp washcloth on his forehead. “Thanks, Beka,” he murmurs.
Otabek leans down, presses a kiss to his cheek. “No problem. But next time, you can just tell me that you’re not feeling well.”
“Mhmm.” Yuri is clearly not listening to a word he says. Otabek sighs, turns on the TV and switches it to Yuri’s favorite channel.
Speaking of Yuri, Otabek glances over at his boyfriend and frowns. Yuri is still tense, his body stiff, and he has a hand resting over his stomach. Otabek recognizes the signs. “Cramps?” he asks quietly.
“There’s something that I used to do for my sister when she was younger and having really bad cramps. Do you want me to try it?”
“Sure,” Yuri says. He’s kind of doubtful that it’ll work, but he’s willing to try it; pretty much anything is better than the pain rippling through his abdomen right now.
He closes his eyes again, taking a deep breath, then jerks a little in surprise when he feels Otabek rolling up his sweatshirt. Nimble fingers start tracing little circles across his stomach, and Yuri can’t help but let out a content sigh. It feels so good, a welcome distraction from the pain.
His eyes are drifting shut against his will, and he hears Otabek chuckle. “Sleep well, soldier. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”
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