Sick

Medicine

Oliver was so wonderfully content. He beloved sat cross from him, happily tearing his home cooked meal, exhausted from his day's work but willing to put in more effort for his partner's sake. Boxes of packed away kitchen appliances still sat in the corners of the room, their unpacking at least a month's overdue, and Oliver chuckled. He'd have to get to them later, maybe, if he felt like it. Allen wolfed down the last hunk of his meal and purred in satisfaction, offering the watching Brit a preditory smile.

"That was good, Doll. I kinda made a mess of it though." He half apologized, wiping his stained face with the back of his hand.

"Don't worry, poppet. I'm just so happy you're home. Would you mind moving to the lounge room? I want to cuddle a little." He cooed and Allen laughed, rising to pick Oliver out of his seat and to the worn green couch. Oliver happily nuzzled against Allen's chest, the wet patches of blood on his shirt hardly bothering him nowadays, just simply enjoying the strong arms around his torso that kept him from tumbling down. He was a little annoyed that he couldn't reach up to touch the American, but his dear sweet Allen had removed his arms long ago, his legs too.

'To keep you from doing something stupid.' He had said and the more Oliver thought on it, the more he made excuses to agree. Allen loved him, of course he would do anything to keep his darling doll by his side, and in Oliver's fractured mind that was pure romance. Whining a little and rubbing his head against Allen's chest, the American finally took notice and gave a soft smile.

"Are the bandages itching again?" He asked and Oliver only huffed and nodded, allowing Allen to unwind them and inspect the various holes in his skull. Labotomies weren't painful persay but they certainly weren't Oliver's favourite thing, but with a sigh he honestly just put it down to another one of Allen's precautions. With the wounds assessed and covered again, Allen planted a soft kiss on peeking tuffs of orange hair, trailing down to nibble at Oliver's ear. The Brit blushed and giggled, so so happy for the attention.

He loved Allen and Allen loved him, so this was normal. Perfect on fact. Or at least that's what he thought, but something dull and nagging stirred in his gut, warning that this was not right. He pushed the feeling aside as much as he could and shot Allen a wavering smile. The tanned man did not like that. He didn't like doubt. Rising to his feet, Allen let Oliver's frail torso fall and tumble with a thud to the ground.

"I love you." He growled out and Oliver whimpered, trying to roll himself belly side up. Allen didn't give him a chance, grabbing the scruff of his shirt and yanking him into mid air with monstrous strength. "Say it." He commanded and the red head faulted, replying back a fraction of a second too slow for the American's liking. Dropping Oliver face first onto the floor, he kicked the man onto his back harshly, beautifully black dress shoes digging into Oliver's slender throat. "I said say it." He spat and Oliver wheezed.

"I love you." He finally managed but the foot pressed harder.

"You're lying."

Oliver was being forced to expel what like air his lungs has suctioned in, his eyes beginning to bulge till the shoe was removed and he gasped. Allen straddled him, holding his chest up by his collar, both fists in a bloodless clench.

"Say you love me."

His weight immediately was completely rested on Oliver's paper thin body and the man wheezed again, pathetically spluttering out exactly what Allen wanted to hear. It wasn't enough. He didn't believe him.

"Say it!" He screamed and now fat dusty beads of tears were rolling down Oliver's red face.

"I-I love you. I love you. I love you."

A sickening crunch and snap resounded and Oliver tried so hard not to scream, not loose anymore air than he already was. His broken ribs poked into his lungs and against his skin but Allen wasn't having any excuses, still demanding his love be proven.

"I love you so much! Alfie please, it's hurting me!" Oliver begged but his cries were only met with a harsh growl and the hands he loved so dearly, wrapped tightly around his neck. "You're hurting me!" He screamed and the squeeze increased.

"Say it. That's all I want to hear you say. Say you love me."

Oliver sobbed, reddening eyes bulging, tears and snot cascading down his face. The blood in his body was wooshing passed Allen's ears in such away he could feel every cell in his blood hum with rage.

"I love you, I love you, I love you." Oliver chanted, in between wheezing and choking, flecks of crimsom adding to the colour pallette of his face. "I love you, I love you, I love-"

Pop.

His body stilled. His eyes grew dull. And Allen released his grip, deep black and purple bruises marking his hand's former place. With ragged breath, the American peeled himself off the warm body and craddled it to his chest.

"I know you do, Doll." He smiled sweetly, blushing Oliver's escaped tongue back into his mouth. Oliver didn't respond or move and now Allen was starting to panic. "Doll?" He asked, trying to make Oliver's eyes meet his but to no avail as his neck limply flopped his head in whatever direction he was moved.

"No, no, no, no." Allen was hyperventilating, shaking and scrambling to find any signs of life. When his deeds finally caught up with him, he threw Oliver's corpse off himself and kicked it away, scampering to just get away from that thing. He hadn't meant to go that far. He just wanted to know for certain. He didn't want to kill anybody. Shaking and coughing, Allen forced himself up and back to the kitching, returning to the lounge with a cleaver.

"My Doll. Don't go." He whimpered, swinging the blade high above his head and crashing it down with a nice clean thud.

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A/N: Hi kids. I told you we weren't done yet. And we still aren't. Have seen the pattern in the titles?