"Altaïr," Malik said evenly, staring at the man who was watching him expectantly. "You really don't need to be in here."
There was a harmless whistle from Altaïr, holding up the hospital Johnny and the lap cover. "Come on, take your clothes off. You heard the nurse--all the way down to the skivvies," Altaïr said instead, grinning widely. Oh how Malik missed the mixture of concern and somberness that he had seen only thirty minutes ago on that stupid face.
Malik was too tired to argue, though, stripping off his sweatshirt and shirt with one fluid motion. He threw them at Altaïr, pushing down his sweatpants and kicking them out of the way before snatching the Johnny and shrugging it on. Altaïr folded all the clothing appropriately, handing Malik the lap cover as he sat on the low check out table.
"Last time we were here together you had just shit your pants," Altaïr said, causing Malik to groan and fall back against the wall.
"You said you wouldn't mention that again," Malik accused, opening an eye to glare at Altaïr. "Besides, I had the flu and sneezed too hard. You did the same thing a few days later."
Altaïr's hum was infuriating in itself. Malik shut his eyes tightly, until everything went white and he could forget about all the fear that was settled in his chest. It was a heavy lump in his throat, still stinging from the vomit session both in the street and as soon as they got to the apartment. Kadar had show up sleep-mussed and worried, sitting with him in the backseat while Altaïr completely disrespected any speed limit sign he saw. They had lucked out though. Malik’s doctor had an opening at nine, and here they were.
The hand on his knee was warm and supportive, as were Altaïr's eyes when Malik finally opened his own to meet them. "You'll be fine," he soothed, his thumb rubbing circles against Malik's knee. And for some reason, some beautifully illogical reason, he believed Altaïr. Maybe it was because if there was another person in this world that knew Malik's body better than himself, it was Altaïr. Though maybe Altaïr's expertiece only extended as far as sexual pleasure.
There were three sharp raps on the door, followed by a pregnant pause where Malik debated on saying anything. Altaïr just straightened in his seat, crossing his legs comfortably when Malik's doctor walked in.
"Malik," Dr. Mullen greeted warmly, reaching out to shake his hand. Malik reciprocated, still slumped back against the wall with sweat beading against his brow. The doctor reached out to shake Altaïr's hand as well, "And Altaïr, good to see you again, as well."
"Likewise," Altaïr responded, his hand still settled on Malik's knee as a warm weight.
Dr. Mullen tinkered with the computer for a moment, going through pleasantries with them, reading over whatever the nurse had put in earlier. "Vomiting and dizziness," he read aloud, swiveling on the stool to look at Malik, "Correct?"
Malik's nod was slow, his head swimming in the motion regardless. "We went for a run and something didn't feel... right. Then the dizziness came, and then the poor bush, and oh god--"
Altaïr made it just in time with the waste basket, shoved under Malik's mouth as he wretched and wretched until his face was wet with tears and sweat. He was shaking and gasping, eyes screwed tight against the pain of his stomach trying to exit his body in the most inconvenient way ever
"Isn't he beautiful?" Altaïr said through a smile, rubbing his back once more.
*
Dr. Mullen sent him home with some vitamins and an order for tons and fluid and bed rest. Work was out of question for the rest of the week, and since it was Thursday, Malik wasn't too worried. He slept most of the way home, his red face pressed against the window of the car with Altaïr singing along with the radio quietly.
"I can carry you up," Altaïr offered when he helped Malik out of the car. While Malik knew the offer was completely sincere, he could help the heavy glare and snarl at the implication of it. He didn't have an arm, walking up the stairs when he wasn't feeling well couldn't be much more difficult than that.
(Malik/Altaïr, mpreg) Untitled, 1.c/?
"Altaïr," Malik said evenly, staring at the man who was watching him expectantly. "You really don't need to be in here."
There was a harmless whistle from Altaïr, holding up the hospital Johnny and the lap cover. "Come on, take your clothes off. You heard the nurse--all the way down to the skivvies," Altaïr said instead, grinning widely. Oh how Malik missed the mixture of concern and somberness that he had seen only thirty minutes ago on that stupid face.
Malik was too tired to argue, though, stripping off his sweatshirt and shirt with one fluid motion. He threw them at Altaïr, pushing down his sweatpants and kicking them out of the way before snatching the Johnny and shrugging it on. Altaïr folded all the clothing appropriately, handing Malik the lap cover as he sat on the low check out table.
"Last time we were here together you had just shit your pants," Altaïr said, causing Malik to groan and fall back against the wall.
"You said you wouldn't mention that again," Malik accused, opening an eye to glare at Altaïr. "Besides, I had the flu and sneezed too hard. You did the same thing a few days later."
Altaïr's hum was infuriating in itself. Malik shut his eyes tightly, until everything went white and he could forget about all the fear that was settled in his chest. It was a heavy lump in his throat, still stinging from the vomit session both in the street and as soon as they got to the apartment. Kadar had show up sleep-mussed and worried, sitting with him in the backseat while Altaïr completely disrespected any speed limit sign he saw. They had lucked out though. Malik’s doctor had an opening at nine, and here they were.
The hand on his knee was warm and supportive, as were Altaïr's eyes when Malik finally opened his own to meet them. "You'll be fine," he soothed, his thumb rubbing circles against Malik's knee. And for some reason, some beautifully illogical reason, he believed Altaïr. Maybe it was because if there was another person in this world that knew Malik's body better than himself, it was Altaïr. Though maybe Altaïr's expertiece only extended as far as sexual pleasure.
There were three sharp raps on the door, followed by a pregnant pause where Malik debated on saying anything. Altaïr just straightened in his seat, crossing his legs comfortably when Malik's doctor walked in.
"Malik," Dr. Mullen greeted warmly, reaching out to shake his hand. Malik reciprocated, still slumped back against the wall with sweat beading against his brow. The doctor reached out to shake Altaïr's hand as well, "And Altaïr, good to see you again, as well."
"Likewise," Altaïr responded, his hand still settled on Malik's knee as a warm weight.
Dr. Mullen tinkered with the computer for a moment, going through pleasantries with them, reading over whatever the nurse had put in earlier. "Vomiting and dizziness," he read aloud, swiveling on the stool to look at Malik, "Correct?"
Malik's nod was slow, his head swimming in the motion regardless. "We went for a run and something didn't feel... right. Then the dizziness came, and then the poor bush, and oh god--"
Altaïr made it just in time with the waste basket, shoved under Malik's mouth as he wretched and wretched until his face was wet with tears and sweat. He was shaking and gasping, eyes screwed tight against the pain of his stomach trying to exit his body in the most inconvenient way ever
"Isn't he beautiful?" Altaïr said through a smile, rubbing his back once more.
Dr. Mullen sent him home with some vitamins and an order for tons and fluid and bed rest. Work was out of question for the rest of the week, and since it was Thursday, Malik wasn't too worried. He slept most of the way home, his red face pressed against the window of the car with Altaïr singing along with the radio quietly.
"I can carry you up," Altaïr offered when he helped Malik out of the car. While Malik knew the offer was completely sincere, he could help the heavy glare and snarl at the implication of it. He didn't have an arm, walking up the stairs when he wasn't feeling well couldn't be much more difficult than that.