Every Shade by Nora Phoenix

3

How had he gotten here?

Matthew groaned as he woke up on the floor, the plush carpet pressing against his cheek. His muscles protested as he tried to push himself up but failed miserably.

He’d been in bed, hadn’t he? Then why was he here on the floor in the middle of the living room?

Oh, wait. He’d tried to get to the bathroom to get ibuprofen. He’d actually made it there, but then he’d had to pee, and after that, he’d been too damn tired and disoriented to remember the Advil.

He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him, but his body was hurting all over, and no matter what he did, he couldn’t get warm. A fever, that had to be causing the shivers running through him, but he didn’t have a thermometer. He was never sick. He didn’t do sick. Rarely anyway other than the occasional cold. But this felt like something much more serious.

He lifted his head and looked to his left, judging the distance to the bathroom. If only he hadn’t been so stupid to buy a house without a master bathroom. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have had to cross the living room to get to the good bathroom. The big one rather than the sad excuse for a half bath he still needed to get redone.

Right. Priorities. If he had a fever, he needed fluids. Considering he was already halfway to the bathroom, it would probably be smart to pee again—if he could even pee. He hadn’t had much to drink in the last…

He frowned. How long had he been asleep on the floor? It was dark outside, so most likely a good few hours. He’d gone to bed by nine, too tired to stay up, but with a killer headache.

When had he undertaken his trek to the bathroom? It was all incredibly fuzzy. The drum band practicing in his head didn’t help matters either. How much time had passed? It couldn’t be more than a couple of hours. In all likelihood, it wasn’t even morning yet. Maybe six or so? It was winter, so dawn wouldn’t break for a while.

But if he was sick, he’d better message Jace and let him know what was going on. Where was his phone? In the bedroom. On the nightstand, where he’d left it. Okay, so…phone or bathroom? He wouldn’t have the energy for both.

Bathroom first. Peeing, fluids, and Advil took priority. And who knew, maybe he’d feel better after getting some meds in him and drinking water. He all but crawled to the bathroom, his legs too weak to hold him.

Once there, he pulled himself up by the sink. His hand was shaking as he opened the medicine cabinet and took out the Advil. Thank fuck he had a glass he used when brushing his teeth. He took two tablets, then greedily drunk four glasses of nasty tap water.

He couldn’t pee, no matter how hard he tried. That wasn’t a good sign, was it? He needed sleep. He’d feel better after napping a little more. He managed a few shaky steps into the hallway, then had to hold on to the wall to support himself. God, he felt like crap. And so fucking cold that his teeth were chattering. Shit, he’d forgotten to put his pajama pants back on. They were still on the bathroom floor. Hell no, was he going back for it. But he did need something warmer.

He had that stupidly warm fleece blanket he’d gotten two years ago when he’d bought the house and had imagined himself sitting in front of the fireplace on cold winter nights, huddled comfortably under that blanket. It had turned out fireplaces were a lot of work, especially dragging all the wood in, not to mention splitting it into manageable pieces, so that had never materialized. And that blanket was way too fucking warm to ever use with central heating. But it would be heaven now. Where had he put it?

By his reading chair. He’d put it in that woven basket, thinking it looked stylish. Well, as stylish as he could pull off anyway. He wavered several times as he made his way over there. Kneeling to get the blanket out of the basket proved to be too much for his muscles, and he sagged onto the floor, muttering something he couldn’t even decipher himself.

He needed the damn blanket. He’d never get warm without. With his last strength, he dragged it out of the basket and wrapped it around himself…then closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep again.

He woke up, then dozed off again. Stirred but couldn’t keep his eyes open. Why was it so hard to stay awake? He drifted in and out of sleep as time ceased to exist.

Jace. He had to message Jace. The kid would be worried about him. He was a worrier, sweet Jace. Sweet, sexy Jace, who was way too young for Matthew, way too pure and innocent. Who could never know that Matthew had jacked off hard at some pics Jace had posted, showing his body in just a pair of tight shorts. All that creamy skin on display, those smooth muscles, not a hair in sight.

The things Matthew wanted to do to him. Lick him everywhere. Eat him. Defile him. Dress him up as a schoolboy and discipline him. Play Daddy and boy with him. Doctor and patient. Oh, the options were endless, but they all ended with him balls deep inside that peachy ass, spilling his load. Mmm, yes. Jace. He needed Jace.

Not now. When he was better. When his teeth would stop chattering, and he’d stop shaking and shivering. Later.

No, he couldn’t ever pursue Jace. Not after what had happened with Geoff. His kink was too risky. What if history repeated itself? Jace seemed sweet, but so had Geoff. But he could dream about Jace… Mmm, such perfect dreams.

His head hurt almost as much as his muscles. And how could he still be cold with that blanket around him?

God, his back hurt. He had to get off that damn floor.

Jace. Jace had to be so worried.

Where was his phone? He crawled to the hallway, dragging the thick blanket with him, then collapsed again, his muscles giving in. And as his eyes sunk close, all he could think of was sweet Jace, who’d become Matthew’s best friend and probably didn’t even know it.