5SOS Sickfics

Ashton by Michael

Michael's POV

Ashton lay, silently sleeping in an old arm chair. We were in my parent's front room, the fire was slowly dying out, and I was glad. Poor Ash had been sick all day, throwing up all over the place and struggling to keep down the water I force fed him.

His skin is oddly shiny and greenish, with yellow tints around his eyes. Soft curls are matted to his forehead and stuck with there with sweat, so are his clothes. There is a dark, damp triangle that starts at the neckline of my old Jack Daniel's shirt, which fits his form so closely I can almost see the contours of his abs.

Huffing in his sleep, Ashton turns a little, like he's facing me, and his eyes flutter open. I can't make out the hazel-green in the dim lighting, but I know that the unique shade of his mesmerising eyes would melt my heart if I could see it. The last embers of the fire start to die out, and I get up about to pour the glass jug of cold water sat on the hearth over it to kill off the remaining flames. Ashton sticks his arm in the direction of the fire, whining a bit.

"Leave them," he whispers. "Mum used to wait till they went on their own, you know," his eyes widen as I stay still, hand and jug poised, ready to pour. "When I was little she used to say that they were the only ashes as warm as her own."

I put the jug back on the hearth, kneeling down in front of him and his chair. I take his hands in mine.

"That's so sweet. Tell me other stuff from when you were a kid," I use my thumbs to stroke the back of his hands.

"W-when Lauren was born, my stepdad bought me a shirt that said 'big brother' on it with a smiley face. And I remember when I played drums after one of his shows for the first time- ohhhhh!" He whines suddenly, grabbing his stomach.

Ash screws his eyes shut and grimaces, beads of sweat ballooning and running down his forehead. His knuckles go white from grabbing at his stomach so desperately.

"Mikey! It hurts! Make it stop!"

"I know, I know. Sugar?"

Ashton smiles weakly at the sound of the fond nickname. "Yeah?"

"Do you feel sick?"

He ponders for a moment, before his eyes go wide as saucers and his whole face pales even more. Frantically, I search the room with my eyes, trying to find something Ashton can be sick into.
I grab the jug of water on the hearth and throw the contents over the fire in a haste.

Ashton gags violently and before I know it he's throwing up into the clear glass jug, the vomit sloshing around inside it in a similar way to how it must have been inside his stomach. He groans as some more vomit drips from his bottom lip.

"Ugh! Kill me now! Please, Mikey! A-and... The puke bowl is just there," he points round the corner of his chair; his arm is still shaking.

"Oh, God!" I facepalm.

Ash wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, so I take this as my signal to retract the jug as I chuckle quietly. "What are you gonna do with me, hey?"

"You killed the ashes."

"What?"

"You killed the ashes. Every last one of them."

I take a glance back at the fire. I spot one tiny little red ash I the corner. I take one of Mum's candles off its miniature plate and use the edge of a photo frame to push the lonely ash onto the painted china. Leaving the jug by the charred logs, I extend my arm to give the last ash to my wonderful boyfriend.

"Not all of them. See, this ash, right here, came from that fire. And that fire, that fire was supplied by wood from an ash tree. And I want you to keep this safe till I get back with some pain meds for you. Keep it just as safe as I'm going to keep the best Ash of all."

"You're such a cheeseball, Michael!" Ashton wipes a tear from underneath his eye.

I lean in and kiss his soft lips, deepening the kiss as he opens his mouth. A horrible, sour taste hits my mouth and I pull back. My mouth feels bitter and I feel like I have thousands of tiny ants crawling across my tongue.

"Sorry babe, vomit taste. Not nice, huh?" Ashton blushes a bit.

"Totally killed it, right?"

"Yep, now I gotta pee, so have some meds when I get back," and with that the love of my life stands up and leaves for the bathroom, while I go and wash my mouth out in the kitchen sink.