Work Text:
Usually, being ill wouldn’t stop Brendon from performing. Even with a sore throat, he’d scream his way through a concert, desperate to please fans and not disappoint the band, and then he’d relax his vocal chords as much as he could for the next few days.
However, as soon as he sat up in his hotel bed, his vision blurred and his head began to spin. With a groan, he flopped back down on the pillow, crinkling his eyes in pain and confusion. He waited a few seconds, and then tried again.
This time, he managed to keep himself upright, but when he opened his eyes, he couldn’t see a thing. There were blurs of colour and moving shapes, but nothing he could define. Focusing his vision, the best he could, he was able to make out the faint outline of his image in the mirror. He blinked. He looked awful.
Leaning closer, he realised he’d lost all colour in his face; eyes glossy and skin clammy, whole body shaking and dark marks ringing his usually beautiful chocolate eyes. As soon as he realised, his whole body decided to shut down again, and as he fell back he heard a distinct ringing sound in his ears.
Fuck.
Whining pitifully, although there was nobody else in the room, he crawled over to the side of the bed in search of the bottle of water left there the night before, but instead he knocked the empty plastic onto the floor. Any attempt he made of sitting up or even raising his head was useless, so in the end, he just gave up, lying back into his pillow and forcefully closing his eyes in an attempt to block out some of the pain he felt.
He wasn’t really sure how long he’d been lying there. Unable to concentrate, a mass of jumbled up thoughts and confusing links of memories floated and pushed their way through, forming an unintelligible order that made him groan in frustration and upset. He could feel the cold sweat forming on his forehead, even though he felt freezing; could feel the heavy feeling in his head as it lolled to one side lazily, giving up on trying anymore.
“Brendon?”
It was a faint voice, outside the hotel room. In an attempt to respond, he whimpered again, but the person behind the door obviously didn’t hear him.
“Brendon, are you okay?”
This time, Brendon didn’t even want to reply. He just breathed in heavily, concentrating on clearing his hazy vision and steadying his mind. Before he could do anything else, he heard the pull of the door handle and gentle knock of the wood moving from the frame.
“Bren?”
The dark haired man pulled the covers up to his forehead, burying deep under the fresh white sheets. He couldn’t even tell who was speaking to him; couldn’t form a coherent sentence to reply, even just to ask who was there; didn’t have the energy to roll towards the door to glimpse at his visitor.
“Bren, we got sound check in an hour, and you haven’t eaten. What are you playing at; you should have been up hours ago!”
If Brendon concentrated hard enough, he could make out the tone and pitch of the voice, indicating it was Dallon. When the other determined he wasn’t going to get a reply, footsteps could be heard walking faintly across the carpet, and hands pulled the covers away without sympathy.
“Bren, come on! This isn’t the time to play around!” Dallon growled, frustrated. However, when he realised the position Brendon was in and how unresponsive he was, he grew concerned.
Eyes squeezed shut so he couldn’t see anything, Brendon was only able to register Dallon’s presence with a dip in the bed and a warm, soft hand pressing against his forehead. Pushing towards the source of heat unconsciously, he didn’t completely realise that Dallon’s approach had changed.
“Bren, you’re burning up! Are you okay?” He worriedly exclaimed. When he received a snivel in reply, the hand retracted, and Brendon could feel the absence of Dallon’s body heat retreat.
“I’m going to tell the others, okay? You’re not performing like this,” The taller man finally insisted, making his way to the door.
“No, don’t cancel…” Brendon managed to force out. Trying once again to sit up, he was able to see Dallon properly this time. Already fully dressed and ready for practice, hair
groomed and clean, Brendon immediately felt guiltier.
“You can’t even sit up,” Dallon deadpanned, watching the vocalist collapse once again, “And your voice is scratchy. You can’t perform like this.”
“But- can’t let anyone down,” Brendon paused to cough harshly, “They paid to see us.”
Dallon protested, “We’ll perform here when you’re better, we can just reschedule. But you’re not performing in this state, and that’s final.”
With that, the taller man exited the room, leaving Brendon flat on his back, dripping and sweating. Panting heavily, he stared up at the ceiling and waited for what felt like forever. At some point, he must have dropped off, as eventually he felt a warmth pressed against his side that definitely wasn’t there before.
When he was able to regain consciousness properly, he tried to recognise the source of heat next to him, hands running gently over a soft curve and gripping tightly at fabric. As he opened his eyes, he eventually realised it was Dallon again, relaxing next to him in what seemed to be fluffy pyjamas and a book in his free hand. The other was resting on Brendon’s shoulder, arm curled around his shoulders to hold him close, fingers moving soothingly across the cool bare skin.
“Dal?” He whispered cautiously. When he looked up at the other, he noticed the concentration etched onto his delicate features, eyebrows drawn and eyes narrowed at the book between his thumb and index finger. These softened as he heard the rasp in his bandmate’s voice, and the bright blue eyes flickered over to read the expression on the sick man’s face.
“How are you feeling?” Dallon asked quietly.
Brendon sighed, “My head hurts.”
Frowning, Dallon put down the small book, reaching to soothe down the dark matted locks sticking to Brendon’s sweat-slick forehead. As his fingers carded through his hair, Brendon felt himself relax, body and mind numbing in response to the calming motion.
“Does that make it feel better?” Dallon mumbled. Humming, Brendon nuzzled gently into the large hand, the ache in his skull gently fading as he concentrated on the new sensation.
“A little,” He muttered, slurring his words.
“Need anything?” Dallon offered. Brendon suddenly realised how many questions he was asking, and that Dallon had chosen to come back and stay with him. Even more so, Brendon was only wearing his boxers, and Dallon had changed too.
“Are we still playing?” He replied, ignoring the question.
Dallon sighed, “No, Brendon. You’re way too sick. Listen, I’ll go and get you some water, do you want something to eat?”
Brendon made a small noise before trying to shake his head, rolling it from side to side against Dallon’s bicep. Satisfied with the reply, the bassist lightly eased the younger’s head back onto the pillow, momentarily removing his arm and carefully covering him up. When he returned with a glass of water, Brendon was unmoved, but was still dripping slightly from the heat of his body. Dallon placed the glass on the bedside table, and then tucked his left arm back underneath the other, effectively sitting him up.
“Dal, no, head is spinning,” He protested. However, the other didn’t listen, manoeuvring himself so that he was sat behind the singer and the smaller body was leaning against his chest. The other didn’t notice, or if he did, he didn’t protest, but he did when the bassist raised the rim of the glass to his dry, plump lips.
“Dal,” He whined, but Dallon insisted.
“Brendon, you need to drink something. You won’t get better if you don’t,” He tilted the glass for the brunette and let him drink at his own pace, just happy that Brendon was finally getting some fluid.
When the glass was empty, Brendon’s body slumped and relaxed against Dallon’s, energy momentarily lost. Not caring about the added weight, the taller man just adjusted himself, wrapping his arms around his waist and caressing his sides with the tough skin of his thumb.
“Why are you here?” Brendon drawled sleepily, head tilted back to rest tentatively on Dallon’s shoulder. The arms hung loosely around his waist tightened.
“Because you’re sick, stupid,” Dallon argued, “I’m looking after you.”
“I’m fine,” Brendon protested, attempting to sit up and wriggle out of Dallon’s grasp. Instead, he gasped as dizziness hit him, washing over him like a wave and consequentially causing him to fall.
Dallon snorted, “Yeah, sure. Bren, you can’t even hold yourself upright.”
Brendon would have snapped back if he didn’t feel so lightheaded, and comfortable wrapped up in Dallon’s strong arms, “You’re soft and warm.”
Dallon raised a dark eyebrow at his choice of words, “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Brendon whispered sleepily. Turning himself so that he was curling into Dallon’s arm, cheek on his chest and hands clutching the fuzzy material he was wearing, he let his eyes close and tried to ignore the ringing in his ears.
“You feeling any better, Bren?”
There was a gentle nod against him, and Dallon moved his arm so he was cradling the younger, hand fussing his hair once again. Brendon sighed, content, and Dallon smiled.
Letting Brendon rest, he continued to soothe the sniffling body, encouraging slumber and effectively soothing him. Long fingers curled tentatively through his hair, and the other hand caressed the younger’s shoulder. Dallon found himself pulling Brendon’s head closer to his chest on instinct.
After some shuffling, Dallon had Brendon’s front pressed against his own, head tucked into the crevice between his neck and collarbone, and he entwined his skilled hands into the tousled locks at the base of his neck. Unconsciously, Brendon grasped at Dallon, leaning closer and burying himself in the soft material.
This was nice, Dallon decided. Brendon was probably only letting him do it as he was sick; probably didn’t even know what was going on with his muddled head and clouded vision, weak bones and deteriorated immune system. After a while, his motions made him tired too, and he let his head drop on top of Brendon’s. The steady beat of his heart thumping hard against his ribcage and the even breathing lulled him like a lullaby, and soon he was asleep too, wrapped around Brendon’s fragile body.
When Brendon awoke a few hours later, he realised that the hand in his hair had stopped and the soft caresses had ceased. Only then did he notice a small weight on his head; Dallon’s forehead pressed against his skull and snoring softly into his ear. It was so rhythmic it could have sent him back to sleep, but Brendon pushed himself up on brittle arms and nudged Dallon insistently.
“Dal, I’m hungry,” He whined, “Wake up.”
Dallon’s sleep-clouded eyes blearily blinked open, and he moved so that he could see the direction of complaint, “Bren, how are you feeling?”
“Better,” He replied, “I’m hungry.”
Dallon smiled slightly, easing himself up and cupping Brendon’s neck with his hand, “You’ll have to move if you want something to eat.”
Chucking slightly, Brendon complied, letting Dallon guide him to the pillow. He didn’t feel as dizzy as he did earlier, but there was still an intense throbbing in his head, and he hummed to himself to dull the pain as he relaxed slightly.
Wriggling his way out of bed, the taller smiled softly, eyeing the singer cautiously, “I’ll get you something light,” He walked from the hotel room, still in his fluffy pyjamas. Brendon blinked.
He was aware that he was pretty ill, especially out of the blue, and Dallon was a very kind, caring person – but he was acting a little different. Getting into bed with Brendon, cuddling up to him, taking care of him… it was a bit confusing. His fuzzy mind considered it a while longer, and then came to the conclusion that it didn’t matter anyway. Dallon was probably only trying to be a good friend.
And, of course, Brendon was not opposed to cuddling up with Dallon. He was stupidly hot.
When Dallon got back, Brendon was able to make out a slight flush on his cheeks and a fond look in his beautiful blue eyes. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now Dallon was visible and approaching him gradually, Brendon was able to notice all the tiny details that made up his friend that moment. Obviously, the blush was probably due to the heat; Brendon assumed that curling up under the covers with his friend who had a fever would probably do that to him. Delicately smiling down at Brendon, he perched himself of the edge of the bed.
“I brought you some crackers,” He started. Only now did Brendon notice the small plate in his hands, being offered to him – he’d been too busy staring at Dallon.
“Thank you,” He rasped out, voice still broken slightly. As he raised a buttered cracker to his full lips, he noticed how Dallon was watching him – with so much focus, and so much care in his wide eyes, and the way that his features relaxed as he realised Brendon was feeling at least a little better.
When he’d finished his mouthful, he lowered the cracker and tilted his head curiosity, watching long lashes flutter in response to the movement, “Are you okay, Dal?”
The bassist’s lips curved in a tender smile, “I should be asking you the same question.”
Brendon cleared his throat and shook his head slightly, propping himself up on his elbow, “Come and cuddle with me again.”
Dallon frowned, obviously amused but trying to keep a straight face, “I thought you were feeling better.”
“I am,” Brendon insisted, “I just feel like cuddling right now.”
Dallon shrugged, slipping under the covers once again and wrapping Brendon in his arms. They shifted until Brendon was sat against his chest, facing him, still nibbling his crackers, “Any particular reason?”
Brendon shook his head faintly, “Just want to.”
Dallon’s cheeks darkened and his expression changed, and he quickly ducked his head to hide it in the crook of Brendon’s pale, slender neck, “I don’t mind.”
“I know,” Brendon murmured, against Dallon’s cheek, “I know you don’t.”
There was a comfortable silence. It washed over them as both men relaxed, Brendon finishing his crackers and then cuddling up to Dallon, hands gripping his shoulders and head tucked against the bassist’s ear. Dallon hummed in content, sighing as Brendon’s lips ghosted the soft hairs growing under his ear, and closed his eyes.
After a while, a soft noise broke the silence. Brendon’s full lips parted, forming a small suction at the top of Dallon’s jaw, ever so lightly kissing the flesh and smearing it with saliva. He heard Dallon’s intake in breath quicken, and nuzzled his nose over the same spot.
“Brendon,” Dallon breathed cautiously. Brendon ignored him and kissed again, slowly, savouring the taste of Dallon’s skin and the scent he naturally emitted, getting lost in DallonDallonDallon. After feeling the gentle assault on his face continue, Dallon instead relaxed and focused solely on the varying pressure of his bandmate’s rosy red lips. This trailed downwards, to Dallon’s chin, under to his neck, where Brendon instead pressed the bridge of his nose firmly and stopped, short, warm breaths fanning over the sensitive skin.
“Bren?” Dallon tried again.
“Yeah?” Brendon whispered. He could feel Dallon swallow nervously.
There was a pause. Eventually, Dallon pulled back from Brendon, hands firmly moving to steady Brendon before crashing his chapped lips into Brendon’s softer ones. Audibly gasping, Brendon opened his eyes in shock, before eagerly kissing back. Their lips stayed connected for a few seconds before both men pulled back cautiously. They could feel each other’s breathing, hot and rushed, out of rhythm.
“You’re gonna get me ill too, y’know,” Dallon breathed, beaming against the singer’s plump lips. Brendon scoffed, before stealing another innocent kiss.
“At least we’ll be ill together,” He argues. Shrugging in agreement, Dallon simply cups Brendon’s jaw and brings their faces closer, eskimo kissing before claiming his lips again.
This time it was far from innocent; which Brendon wasn’t complaining about. Hotly biting at Brendon’s lip and receiving a gasp, Dallon leaned down to wind an arm around Brendon’s waist and slipped his tongue in to tangle them together. Brendon moaned eagerly, shifting and pressing himself closer to Dallon. Suddenly, he shivered, and broke the kiss with a wet noise.
“You alright, Bren?” Dallon asked, concerned, grasping his hips firmly.
Brendon nodded, shivering again, “I’m cold.”
It was only then that Dallon remembered that Brendon was sat half-naked in his lap, only his tight black boxers hanging from his hips and no shirt in sight, “I’m sorry,” He apologised, kissing the side of his head, “Snuggle down with me; I’ll warm you up.”
Brendon hummed in content, burying himself under the blankets and nestling into the crook under Dallon’s arm. When the two were comfortable, Dallon kissed the younger on the top of the head and soothed them both back to sleep.