Monthly Bonus Content #1—Mason Version (Deep Romance) (Patreon)

“You can’t come in,” I splutter, covering my mouth with a tissue just before another hacking cough erupts from my sore throat.

“Why?” Mason demands from the other side of my door. “It’s not like I’m going to catch it.”

“Because it’s all so…,” I eye the pile of discarded, soggy tissues beside my bed and wrinkle my nose, “gross.”

A groan echoes from the door. “Sweetheart/Handsome, I’ve seen you in worse situations than this.”

I attempt a scoff but instead aggravate my lungs and set off another coughing fit.

“That’s it, I’m coming in,” he states before the door bursts open.

Through blurry vision, I can just make out the familiar shape of Mason’s lithe figure, though he seems to be holding something I can’t make out for the moment.

I narrow my eyes to get a closer look. “What’s that?”

“It’s food,” he explains, nudging the tray a little. “For you. Nat sent it up.”

My stomach churns at the thought, even if the aroma wafting from it smells delicious. “If Nat made it, why are you the one bringing it?”

He sits heavily beside me on the bed and eyes me with a withering stare. “I drew the short straw.” Sarcasm punctuates each word.

“You know I’m sick, right? You’re not supposed to tease weak humans,” I reply, adding an extra groan to the end of my words for effect.

A smile curves his tempting lips. “But then I’d never get to tease you at all.”

I huff out a grated breath and roll over, dragging my duvet with me so as he almost slips off the bed.

His deep laugh sounds from behind me and offers more comfort than I care to admit in that moment.

My aching body relaxes as his hand rests on my shoulder. “Come on. I’m sorry, sweetheart/handsome. I promise no more taking the piss until you can give as good as you get.”

“Promise?” I croak out.

“Promise.”

I ease myself around and sit up, wincing as my chest tightens, my lungs burning for a moment.

“Here.” He offers me a bowl, steam rising and curling up like a wreath about his face. “Nat said it would do you good.” His nose wrinkles. “Apparently.”

I meet his eye and see a glimmer of concern make them widen slightly.

“Maybe I should get sick more often if it makes you this sweet,” I suggest with as much of a rasped laugh as I can manage. I ladle out a spoonful of soup and pour it into my mouth. It’s hot but instantly comforting, searing the pain away as it slides down my throat and warms my chest.

He brushes the back of his free hand over my cheek before resting it against my forehead.

“You’re hot,” he states as a fact, not a flirtation. His brows shift down as he sighs. “You humans and your diseases. How you survive for so long has got to be dumb luck.”

“A cold is hardly a disease, and anyway, what happened to no taking the piss?” I say through another bolstering mouthful of soup.

He smirks, the sight of it seeming to do more good than any amount of soup could ever manage. “I was just stating a fact, sweetheart/handsome.” The expression fades as he pushes the bowl closer. “Now eat your damn food.”

“Yes sir.” I mimic a salute with my spoon before offering a smile of my own.

When I finish, he climbs onto the bed beside me. He doesn’t leave even when I rest my sweat-soaked body against his and fall into a deep, restful sleep.