Hidden Faults (22 page)

I blinked against the soft light—something blocked it. Someone’s head. “I f-feel l-like shit.”

I moved my arm and something dragged against it before Kir caught my wrist. “Careful. That’s the drip. You warm enough?”

“No. F-freezing.”

“Can fix that.” He touched my face, stroking my forehead gently. I pushed up against the touch, wanting more. It helped. I felt a little less crappy than I’d expected, and I wasn’t vomiting. I couldn’t stop shivering, but I was warmer than I would have been back in the cell, or in the storeroom. It felt more like a not too severe dose of flu than anything else, though if I’d had to get up and do anything physical like walk, I’d have been out of luck.

The door open and closed, then I heard the soft thud of footfalls across the rug.

“And how’s our boy doing? Kir, take these. Around his back will be the most comfortable.”

Dede’s head replaced Kir’s. She bent low and touched my face as, behind me, Kir put something wonderfully warm against my kidneys.

“How are you doing, Jodi? Any symptoms I should be worried about?”

“N-no. Just c-cold.” But not so much now. “Heat f-feels good.”

“Thought it would. Kir will keep the pads coming while you’re awake, so long as you’re not overheating. Headache? Worse than usual?”

“Yes, no. D-doing b-better. Time?”

“Two. In the afternoon. You’ve been asleep for twenty-four hours, which you clearly needed.” She sounded amused by that fact. “Kir, I can spell you for a bit. You need to sleep.”

I tensed up in alarm at the thought of him leaving, though it was quite irrational of me to want to keep him in constant attendance.

“I’m fine.” Kir said, his tone stubborn. “Slept in the chair some. I ain’t going nowhere.”

“You don’t need to be here all the time. Jodi’s not dying or anything, are you?”

“No. K-Kir, you c-could sleep on b-bed.” I grunted as cramps hit me. Kir shifted, then he lifted the blankets and shoved another of the wonderful heating pads between my grabbing hands and my aching gut. “Th-thanks.”

You want me to sleep in the same bed with you, Jodi?

She’s right. You need to rest. I’m not going anywhere. I...like you being here. It’s reassuring.
I had no idea
why
but it was, and for him too, I felt.

Dede tsked. “Very well. Jodi, let me check you over, and then you should go back to sleep.”

I endured her checking my pupils and listening to my heart, checking my blood pressure and taking my ear temperature. When she finished, I realised I had another problem.

“Dede, I need to pee.”

“Not on your own. Kir?”

“I can manage. I did in prison,” I said grumpily.

“You’re not in prison, and you’re certainly not passing out and fracturing your skull on my watch, Arwe Jodimai. Kir, get his robe and slippers.”

This was ridiculous, but my two attendants wouldn’t believe I could manage, and I felt too exhausted for a fight. Kir took the drip bag in one hand and put his free arm around me.

Easier not to argue with her, seriously.

You could have stood up for me.

He grinned.
Yeah, but I don’t want you falling over neither. Careful.

I felt like a geriatric, but I was conscious that I’d normally be a lot worse twenty-four hours into withdrawal. The fluid support and the warmth made a huge difference, as well as the anti-emetic. Kir was an excellent nurse, no doubt about it—deft and matter of fact, and letting me do what I could manage, while helping me when I struggled.

Dede was still in my room when I staggered back in, and helped Kir get all the heating pads and covers arranged again.

“I’ll be back later with fresh heating pads and another bag of fluid,” she said. “Kir, you make sure you eat. I know you.”

“Run away, Dede. Jeyle’s got the mother thing covered.”

I ignored both of them, huddling under the covers and wishing I had three times the number of heating pads because the cold in me was bone deep. I could easily overheat, so they were right to be cautious, but I could not warm up enough to stop shivering.

“K-Kir? P-please. C-cold.”

He waved her out. “See you later, Dede. I need to sort this out.”

Someone dimmed the light down to the barest golden glow. I heard Kir walking around, cloth rustling and fasteners clinking as he undid them. Then his weight on the bed, and the covers raised, making me shiver harder, until he tucked in behind me, his arms carefully around me.
Better?

Yes.
I could relax with Dede gone. I hated looking ill around another doctor—just an irrational thing of mine. Kir felt so warm and firm behind me. If Ganwe had done this in prison, I’d have been throwing up in terror.
There’s something about you.

I’m just an ordinary guy who can read your mind, that’s all.

That’s not exactly ordinary.

Compared with the shit you can do? Nah. You warm enough?

Strangely, I was. The shivering had gone down to tolerable levels and if I didn’t move, the cramping didn’t start up again.
Soon be over.

~~~

Of course, it wasn’t, and my initial relief that it wasn’t as bad as previous bouts of withdrawal, was more than moderated by the fact that it went on for far longer than any of them. Kir stayed with me every second except when he had to relieve himself. He held me, he washed me, dressed me, kept me warm, and listened to me bitch and whinge like an overtired child when I was at the end of my tether, so sick of cramping and shivering and feeling like a reheated turd. He kept me asleep a lot of the time, but Dede and I both warned him not to overdo it because of the risk of blood clots. I had to get up and move around a bit, however difficult and painful.

After a week I began to despair of ever feeling normal again, and only knowing that it
had
to end kept me remotely sane. Kir was patience personified. I wondered whether he was innately good at dealing with whiny little shits or if it was remaining guilt over not being able to help me when I’d been arrested. There hadn’t been a lot of time to talk, and my concentration was wrecked. But I promised myself there’d be some enlightening conversations when this was all over or I’d want to know why.

The dreary business went on for so long, I knew exactly what to expect when I opened my eyes each ‘morning’ (or whenever Kir allowed me to wake up). So this time, it confused me when I didn’t feel like shit. I lay as still as possible, thinking if I moved, the cramps and shivering would start up again. But they didn’t. I wasn’t cold, my headache had gone, and my gut only felt empty. Was it really over? Behind me, Kir was breathing slow and evenly. I didn’t want to wake him up. He’d been so very kind and had done everything possible to help me through. And now I was through it.

Dede?

Yes, Jodi? Ah—you feel better?

I really do. I’m going to detach the drip, but don’t disturb us. He’s asleep.

Yes, he would be, poor dear. Don’t get up without his help, will you? Or call me?

Don’t want to get up at all. I can enjoy being in bed now.

She chuckled.
I know what you mean. I’ll be along later. Be careful with that IV port and give me a yell if you bugger it up.

I stuck my tongue out, and she got the message, because she chuckled again. Litter from my long residence strewed the side table, where I found gauze pads and tape. I pulled a pad out, and then held it over the bead of blood from the IV catheter. As I waited for it to stop bleeding, I cautiously checked myself over. I still felt weak, and rather tired, but my thoughts zipped along, clear and sharp, like they hadn’t in months. I felt alive, really alive. And I was free to do...well, that was the fascinating question. Free to do what?

A question for later. I held out my hand, revelling in the lack of tremor. My eyesight had returned to normal, and all the annoying tics and jerks that had plagued me had gone. Naksen was
vile
. If these people really wanted to try and get all other paranormals off it, they had my complete support, no matter what their plan.

I carefully rolled over so I could see Kir’s sleeping face. He looked so innocent and young, his thick eyelashes brushing his cheeks extravagantly. His best features—his eyes, his teeth—were hidden like this, but he still wasn’t hard to look at. He had a very masculine face, hard planes and lines, very different from mine which, much to my embarrassment, tended more to the delicately feminine side. Yet for all his rough speech and unpolished ways, he wasn’t aggressively male. He reminded me of Timo, and how gentle and kind he was with his boys. Hard to imagine Kir in prison. It pained me to try. If I’d suffered what I had as a full grown man, what he must have gone through as a child in such conditions was too horrible to think about.

I dozed a little, watching him like that. When I opened my eyes again, he was looking back. He smiled.

“Hey.”

“It’s over.”

My voice sounded rough, weak, and naturally he instantly wanted to do something about that.

“Want some—” he started to ask.

Don’t move.
I grabbed the front of the pyjama top he wore.

Okay.
He grinned at me. “You really are feeling better.”

Thanks to you. Thank you.

You’re welcome.
He fumbled his hand out from under the blankets, and hesitantly touched my cheek. “Need a shave.”

Uh huh. You don’t.

Don’t grow much of a beard. Dark Pindoni, you know what we’re like.

I do. I think you’re very handsome.

He flushed.
I’m scrawny.

I moved in closer, so I could nearly touch his face with mine.
No, you’re not. Kir...can I...?

“Yeah,” he breathed, warm and eager against my cheek.

He lay still as my lips brushed his, but as I flicked my tongue gently against his mouth, he moved his arm and put it around me. I couldn’t bear to wait, or be careful. I pressed in against him, and took his mouth in a demanding kiss, my hand twining in his short dark hair, so I could get even closer. He tasted...oh, so lush and masculine, his body warm and hard and strong against mine. I was starving and he was my feast. Greedily I ate him, drank him down, seeking out every molecule of his scent and flavour. I wanted to be inside him, inside his skin, I wanted to touch skin. He was greedy too, his hands searching, frustrated by the pyjamas, thrusting inside whatever gaps he could find, hard, calloused hands on my flesh. I licked him, nibbled him, wanted to consume him. Ached from needing this touch, from missing it for so long. His smell, clean and rich and male, rose from his skin and I buried my nose behind his ear to inhale it.

I was hard, a miracle after so long without even the least twinge of interest in anything sexual.

I want you.

What do you want?
His hand found its way inside the waistband of my pants, and then seized my cock, his skin so hot and dry against mine. I gasped against his neck, as I thrust into his hand.
That?

Don’t...for mercy’s sake...don’t stop....

My tongue demanded what his hand gave me, and the more I sucked and delved, the harder he squeezed and stroked. It took so little time to bring me off, it was embarrassing, but the climax left me shuddering, tremors of sensation shooting through my newly responsive body, even down to my toes. My skin flushed hot as if I’d run twelve temidecs, and I could only lie in the protective curl of his arms until I regained control over myself, while he kissed me gently, lazily, on mouth and eyelids.

Feeling better?

I...thank you.
I slipped my hand between us and reached between his legs, but he flinched.
You don’t want...?

Yeah, but you don’t have to.

I looked into his eyes.
You know I want to. I need to.

He grinned, showing his small, perfect teeth. “Well if you
need
to....”

It had never been anything but disgusting when I’d had my hand on men’s cocks in prison. But this, touching the warm perfection of Kir’s erection, felt right, and healing. I drove him mad, petting it, welcoming it, revelling in its soft skin over the rigid flesh. He shivered and squirmed as I played, stroking it with my finger tips, and then with a firmer grip. Later, I would look, but now I just wanted the sensation of touch. He kissed me, hard, begging, eager and wanton, while my hand tormented him, his eyes squeezed shut.