Disclaimer: Standard Disclaimer. Take pity on a sick slasher and don´t tell me things I don´t want to hear. Pretending I own them makes me feel better. And yes, I will be blaming what I´m about to do on my 102.4° fever. Please send comments, questions, compliments, and otters to sdelcul@yahoo.com.

Author's Notes: I apologize for the list overload, but please bear with me (feel free to send angry emails and fling inanimate objects) until I catch up. Keep in mind that internet is a two hour bus ride away at the moment and I have to boil my water before it's safe to drink. Gotta love rural Ecuador!

Story Notes: Okay, it's technically rape/NC, but then again it's not. Since it's not a violence thing I chose not to put a warning for it. If you feel it does need a warning, let me know.

A virus was an amazing thing. Too small to even be seen without a fancy microscope (he remembered that much from high school biology with Mr. Young) and this fucking virus had him flat on his back. The flu wasn't on the list of dangers involved in going undercover. The only time you saw a Mafia don get sick and die it was only when they were old. Forty one wasn't old, even if he wasn't really a mobster anyway. He wanted to die.

It was bad enough being sick, but sick and alone surrounded by strangers who didn't know who you were?

He wanted Benny, and his mother, and Frannie. Sweet Frannie who as a toddler had always been the one to actually bring him tea, and soup, and crackers, and comic books.

The doctor his bodyguard had called in was barely legal and the little twerp had the nerve to actually say, take two aspirin and call me in the morning. He was obviously too stupid to realize that Ray could have him killed on a whim. Well, Armando could have even if Ray wouldn't no matter how much he deserved it. Frankie would do it for him, though.

There was a lecture about viruses, and Leonardo listened closely. Antibiotics won't help. Wait it out. Fever is part of the body's fight, but if it gets too bad take an aspirin.

He nodded as his boss drifted in and out. He did his best to hurry the doctor along, knowing the Bookman wouldn't like this smart ass. He made housecalls though, and wouldn't ask questions because he'd been put through med school by the Iguana family. It was his job to take care of Mr. Langoustini, and he liked his job. Mr. Langoustini was smart, and funny, and treated him like an equal, unlike his other bosses. It was his luck that he'd gotten the job when Mr. Langoustini needed a personal bodyguard.

His boss was also good looking, which was both a blessing and a curse. He'd never been sexually attracted to a person he was working for, and he'd made sure to keep his sexual orientation secret, but there was something special about Mr. Langoustini, a certain je ne sais quois that made his heart race.

It actually hurt watching the boss suffering. His fever was up to 102 F. Any more and he'd drag the doctor back here himself. It just couldn't be right not to lower his fever so he could sleep at least.

He considered his boss, his patient, at the moment. Armando Langoustini was in no condition to work, and a thought occurred to him and he checked the bathroom. Whenever he was sick as a child, the only thing he'd looked forward to was when his mom would finally get off work. She'd put some vaporub on his chest and kiss his forehead before heading off to her second job. He was in luck.

Mr. Langoustini wasn't asleep, so he asked if it was okay to make him feel better. He didn't really get a response, so he unbuttoned the pajama top, appreciating the feel of silk between his fingers. Mr. Langoustini had class.

He massaged in the liniment, innocently making sure it was spread thoroughly and evenly. Mr. Langoustini groaned, and he fought back a grin. A quick glance downward, silk made for very thin pajama bottoms, and he was pleased to see that Mr. Langoustini was becoming erect. This was better than he'd hoped. He'd honestly only wanted to make his boss a little more comfortable.

-enny, so good.

Should I keep going?

Yesssss.

Mr. Langoustini was breathing harder, but it wasn't congestion right now. His hands were guided downward, and he took the suggestion, unbuttoning the striped fabric. He knew that sick as he was, his boss wouldn't last very long, but he used every trick he knew. If he made it good now, Mr. Langoustini might allow him to try again later, when he was feeling better.

Love you, Benny. Mr. Langoustini cried as he came.

He wiped him clean and tucked him back in with a smile he couldn't quite wipe off his face.

Mr. Langoustini fell asleep quickly, and he moved to watch from a chair. Lenny. Sure guys said all kinds of shit when they were coming, but no one had ever given him a nickname before. He liked it, even marred by congested slurring.

End At your service by silvina: sdelcul@yahoo.com

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