Could you write part two of the Dominic fic where he feels even worse?
Sick and whiny
Dominick feverish and sick + Melissa caretaker part 2.
Melissa had never been in bed with a man.
Which might have sounded strange in her late 20s, but when you take care of three little sisters, have a controlling mother, get monitored by a wolf pack 24/7, and put yourself through the perilous 8-year-long journey to become a doctor, you don't get much time to date people.
Nor do you have anywhere you could safely go to. Monitored, judged, under surveillance, always being timed and expected.
Dominick in her bed was a surreal sight. Not because of any latent eroticism just yet, but for the sheer presence of someone else in her most safe and only private space.
Her pillow, her blanket, her mattress. The dark she controlled and could hide in, the precious time at night that belonged only to her.
Dominick didn't seem to get the significance, flopping down and immediately falling asleep.
She went through the trouble to ask him if she could remove his shirt. He grumbled something in response, so she figured as an emergency, she could go ahead.
Working on the buttons from his collar all the way down to his waist while kneeling over him on the bed was a very strange sensation. She felt like she was doing something bad, as if she didn't see or handle patients in worse conditions.
It was difficult to see Dominick as a patient. Somehow, the switch, the way she could not make it personal when she handled someone, when she needed a clear head, didn't work on him.
"I'm going to roll you to the side, so I can get the shirt out," she commented as she did just that. Even if he wasn't awake, she imagined he could understand on some level. That it might make him calmer.
His naked skin was slick with sweat and radiated heat.
"I'm going to check your temperature," she warned, cupping his cheeks with one hand and putting the other over his forehead. Over 38 and climbing, if her guess was right.
His chest hitched under her, and he turned to the side with a burp that made him gag at the end.
Okay, enough ogling. She went to fetch a laundry tub for the side of his bed; they were the easiest to rinse out.
Meanwhile Dominick shook off the covers, hand on his belly that was gurgling loudly. A hiccup jostled his frame, but he didn't wake up.
Melissa opened the window and sat down on the edge of the bed, considering how acceptable it would be to loosen his belt and strip him of his pants. They couldn't feel well on his sensitive stomach.
"I don't mean anything, Dom. This is going to help, I swear." She pried the leather open carefully, unbuttoning his jeans...but how would she wiggle him out of them? She tried tugging at the fabric by his ankles, but it only moved a couple of centimeters.
When he woke up, she would use the opportunity and help him get them off. Yeah, that would be best.
She had also called him 'Dom'. Twice now, once when he was awake. Would he remember that when he got better?
When he had been asleep for a significant amount of time without much change, it occurred to her she had been in the same PJs for the last three days and hadn't even brushed her teeth.
Timing herself, she managed to shower, wash her hair, and clean up in under 20 minutes.
She found Dominick in the same position, though he was now huddled into himself, goosebumps on his arms.
Putting the covers back down, she wondered how weird it would be to actually stay next to him in bed. Wasn't it logical if she wanted to keep an eye on him? But it was only 6 in the evening, hardly a good excuse to climb into bed with him.
She checked his forehead again. Not rising, but the temperature wasn't dropping either.
Letting him enjoy the covers for a little longer, she came back with small wet towels, putting one around his neck and forehead and wrapping the others around his wrists and ankles.
One good thing that came from this weird afternoon was that now she could stare at him without him noticing. It still made her feel guilty.
...
Around 8 pm she woke up from her dozing in the chair next to the bed to Dominick retching.
"It's okay, it's okay. The tub's right here," she said, guiding him by the shoulder to turn over the edge of the bed.
Dominick was red in the face, burping loudly in the right direction before a mouthful of bile came up. His stomach was hellbent on spasming more though. He retched and retched, whole body jerking with the effort.
"Shit, that hurts," he said, spitting into the laundry tub. It seemed to take too much effort to even collapse back into the pillows.
Melissa pushed at his arm to coax him to lie back down, but he wouldn't budge. "You haven't eaten much these past two days, have you."
"Then why do I still feel nauseous?" He rubbed at his eyes, forehead dripping with sweat onto the bedsheets.
"It's a virus, not food related," she said. She grabbed a glass of water from the nightstand she left there along with some pills against the fever. She didn't have hope of getting into him right now. "Drink this."
His hazel eyes narrowed at her. "What? It won't stay down."
"I know. But you are going to throw up either way and it would hurt less if you had something in your stomach."
Dominick eyed the glass as if she offered him a cup of poison, swallowing heavily. "I don't know..."
His naked stomach was bloated, sinking and rising right under her arm.
"You can try to keep it down. Even a little while could help you absorb some moisture," she said with a shrug. Maybe it would feel better if the water and doubled nausea had a purpose and weren't just there to be promptly vomited back up.
He covered his mouth with his hand, burping loudly into it. His jaw tightened in determination. "Whatever. Give it here."
Without much hesitation he took the glass from her and downed the water.
"Slow down-"
Before she could finish the sentence, he emptied half of the glass. He gagged into it once, but kept going until it was finished, then let the glass fall onto the bed next to him. "Oh god, that doesn't feel good."
Melissa grabbed the tub and put it onto the bed right under his chin.
Dominick propped himself up on one elbow while bracing against the tub with the other, taking quick breaths through his open mouth. A loud burp came up that made him quiver in revulsion.
She shifted to sit on the bed next to him instead of the chair, her hand landing on his back. Another shiver ran through him.
His spine arched into her hand, and then he was burping up the water back into the tub. Two more violent retches and more liquid hit liquid. From this close up, she could hear his stomach slosh, could hear the bubbling of the water as it rushed up his throat.
Gently, she rubbed circles on his back, featherlight touch of someone who wasn't sure if she was welcome to be there, but wanted her presence noticed.
Dominick kept gagging and spitting up mouthfuls of water for the next 10 minutes. He was drooling over the edge of the tub, too tired to hold his head up.
"I think you are finished." She took one of the wet towels and dabbed at his sweaty face, under his nose, chin, and lips.
He shivered under her touch, closing his eyes. "Still don't feel right."
"You are pretty sick, that's to be expected. Try to get some more sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."
"You sure?" he croaked but let her take the tub away so he could flop down onto his back, chest rising steadily.
He let out a little sigh as she continued cleaning up his chin and then down his neck and chest. "You have your area of expertise, and I have mine," she said. Even if he wasn't better, he would relax sooner if he thought so.
Dominick closed his eyes, but he was frowning.
"Get rid of those pants. It will be more comfortable," she said, trying to sound casual as she got up with the tub to clean it out. Leaving him the perfect opportunity to do so if he was feeling uncomfortable around her...though he didn't seem to register he was naked from the waist up and she was touching him.
When she got back, Dominick was under the covers, the pants discarded on the floor.
She re-wet the towels, so they would be cold again, folding one neatly over his forehead. "I'll let you sleep."
When she tried to get up, his hand grabbed her wrist. His eyes were open to slits. "Where are you...are you going away?"
"I don't want to disturb you." She figured she would return to check on him when he was asleep.
"You don't." He licked his dry lips, looking bashful all of a sudden. "Sorry. I just don't...I don't know if I can sleep."
She sank back down onto the edge of the bed. "Why not?"
"Feel achy all over," he mumbled, looking away. "Could you stay?"
Her eyebrows jumped up. He was so tall and serious and professional in all settings. How unexpected that he got so whiny when feverish.
"Would you like me to...?"
"Please."
She wasn't sure what he was asking until he patted the other side of the bed. "Stay?"
That was so weird. Nevertheless, somehow she felt herself compelled to comply, no matter how childish it sounded.
She circled the bed to get onto the empty, unruffled side, tucking herself against the second pillow on top of the covers.
Dominick turned to his side, facing her, his belly poking out from the covers like a pink dome.
He reached out his hand for her, landing on her hip, and then rolled closer, face against her stomach.
"What...?"
"Sorry," he said, voice muffled and stifling a burp against her shirt. "Everything hurts. Like...broken glass under my skin."
Her hand hovered above his shoulder again. "Yes?"
"My stomach feels like it's burning," he whined, forehead nuzzling against her, face out of view.
Giving in, she let her hand fall onto his back. It elicited a whine, and he squirmed even closer.
How did he turn so childish when sick? It felt almost too intimate to be allowed to see him like this.
She rubbed his broad back where she could reach it, heart pounding away in her chest.
