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[courtinsession]

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for @dead_tongue

[courtinsession]

[Oh, the saddest little burrito there ever was. Corry chuckles a little, helping Iggy sit up enough to sip at the water.]

You're not dumb, baby. You're sick. [A pause, and he presses his lips together in deep thought.] I suppose I just -- dislike the idea of you being here alone with nobody to help.

[dead_tongue]

[He's so light it's not difficult. He sips gratefully.]

I'm an adult, you know. I've been alone before.

...I'm gross.

[courtinsession]

Yes, you're very much an adult, sweetie. [Another forehead kiss, no matter how gross he is.] My assistant's coming with medicine and soup and things. Any preference? I'm a minestrone guy myself.

[dead_tongue]

Chicken Noodle? Please.

[He exhales shakily.]

You're not going to like me anymore after this. But I'm glad you're here anyway.

[courtinsession]

Of course.

[Corry taps out a quick text, then focuses on smoothing Iggy's hair away from his face. He frowns a bit, lightly.]

I'm not? Says who?

[dead_tongue]

[It feels so good to be looked after. Iggy sinks back.]

Ruins the fantasy.

I'm supposed to be cheerful and willing to do anything you want and attractive and clean and only eat salads so you can fuck me at literally any given moment. I'm not supposed to be stinky and sick and depressed.

[courtinsession]

Ah, right. [Corry settles in beside Iggy, arm around him, stroking his hair again and again.] And you can't express any opinions, because they might be the wrong ones, and making that particular customer upset means you won't eat or have enough for rent or bills. And you especially can't ever say "no".

I remember, Iggy. I've been there too. [Very gently, but firmly:] But here's what you need to remember: nobody tells me who I can like. I decide that.

[dead_tongue]

Yeah.

[His eyes close and he leans into Corry's comforting presence.]

...see, this is why you're my favourite. Not that you have any reason to believe that.

[He's quiet a while, not quite dozing.]

You did what I do?

[courtinsession]

Mmm, I'll take it as a compliment, regardless. I'm very weak to flattery.

[Corry nods slightly, part of him counting on the fever to make Iggy not really remember any of this. But another part wants him to remember. To know.]

I did. For a long time. In the 90s, so much less high tech. No streaming for me.

[dead_tongue]

You are. But so am I.

Jeez. [He has to think about that - he wasn't even born yet.]

That's a lot more dangerous. And now you're hella rich paying for twinky dipshits life me to get Prada bags.

[courtinsession]

Stop making me feel old. [It's gentle, no real irritation behind it. Just another of those squeezes.]

It was, yes. And now I'm rich and old. Giving back to the community, in a way. In memory of the twinky dipshit I once was.

[dead_tongue]

Sorry.

[Iggy bursts into a laugh, quickly smothers it, and it turns into a coughing fit. He has to drink water once he recovers.]

Oh my god, sorry, sorry. That nearly killed me. You're going to kill me.

[courtinsession]

[Corry helps Iggy sit up, with some alarm -- though it turns quickly into a grin.]

Sorry, sorry, I'll turn off the genius charm for a few minutes.

[dead_tongue]

No, it's good. It's nice.

[He smiles, very nearly shy.]

You're actually really funny. No shit.

[courtinsession]

Careful. Flattery will get you everywhere.

[His phone buzzes, and he straightens a bit.] That's my assistant. I'll buzz them up, hm? Don't want the soup to get cold.

[dead_tongue]

Yeah, sure. Thanks. Uh. There's bowls in the kitchen and stuff...

I'm not flattering you. I'm too sick. If you ever wanted a brutally honest answer to anything, now would be the time.

[courtinsession]

Mmm, should still be warm. I had Ramon make it fresh. [Who is Ramon. What.

No time to explain, because Corry’s getting to his feet, calling over a shoulder:] I'll ponder my brutally honest questions for the moment. Make a list, perhaps.

[dead_tongue]

Ramon?

[But off he goes. Iggy sighs and settles back.

Corry is... different. He hates to think it, it smacks of romanticism, but none of Iggy's other guys would have come to his aid. He's not sure how to feel about it besides grateful.]

[courtinsession]

[There's a soft conversation, a higher, petulant voice insisting that they want to come inside and make friends, and then a short "absolutely not, go away" from Corry before the door closes. Then he returns with some fancy Michael-Kors-esque tote bag, out of which he produces a steaming to-go container of soup, copious amounts of cold medicine, water, Gatorade, the whole nine yards.]

Sorry. My assistant is -- shrill.

[dead_tongue]

That's okay.

[Iggy sits up, actually interested in the soup.]

People think I'm going to be shrill, you know. And then I'm not and it fucks them up at first, heh.

[courtinsession]

You're the least shrill person I know, baby. [Not true at all, but it's a nice compliment. So is the soup -- hot, steamy, full of chicken and veggies and spices and very clearly not from a can. There's a spoon too and yes, Corry is going to spoon-feed Iggy. Hush, he's caretaking.]

[dead_tongue]

Mostly! My voice is pretty low! Gay, but low.

[Iggy has no shame - he opens his mouth for soup.]

[courtinsession]

Mmm, compared to some. [Corry has a very deep, resonant voice, which he's very vain about.

Oh, like a little bird. Cute. It's almost the perfect temperature, too, not too cold.] Good?

[dead_tongue]

Well, not compared to you. You sound like James Earl Jones.

[He nods.]

Very good, thank you.

...you know. You're really very good to me. I owe you whatever you want.

[courtinsession]

He's the one in Star Trek, right? [Corry, no.

His expression softens a bit -- goes a little sad.] Not everything is transactional, love. Sometimes I do things because I want to. Not because I expect you to pay me back.