Malaria, Cholera, and Bubonic Plague
I'm a mean, mean author... Well, here's a chance to meet our very own Mischa again in a cautionary tale about the effects of too much alcohol. And singing. And something about mean boyfriends, too. Oh, and you can listen to Mischa's favorite song, as well!
Oh, God. Oh, fuck. There was something seriously wrong with the world.
Mischa groaned and tried to hold on to the bed to stop that lurching, sick feeling he had from everything moving around him. He barely had time to realize that nothing was moving except for the content of his stomach before he had to yank away the covers and run to the bathroom. He only just made it to the bowl in time to throw up everything he had been eating for the last month or so. He spat a few times, and then he managed to pull himself up enough to lean back against the wall.
“Jesus, you’re a sorry sight.”
Mischa didn’t do anything to open his eyes; the tiles on the wall where so cool against his head. He heard the water running in the sink and frowned, the noise too loud. But it felt nice when Tom gently washed his face with the cold cloth.
“Here, you need something to drink.”
Mischa groaned. He wasn’t going to drink anything ever again.
“At least rinse out your mouth.” Tom’s voice was starting to sound a little impatient. “You have to have the taste of wet dog out of your… Oh.”
Mischa leaned forward and threw up again, and it felt like his stomach was trying to turn itself inside out. Exhausted, he leaned back against the wall. At least he was empty now. He might consider opening his eyes within the next hour or so, but until then, he would just sit very still.
“Okay, no more talk of… that.”
Mischa felt the glass at his lips and gratefully rinsed his mouth out before gingerly taking a small sip. It didn’t come back up.
“Good. If you can keep that down we’ll be able to get some Tylenol in you in a minute.”
Mischa didn’t move and he definitely didn’t nod. He was about to die.
“Mischa? Are you there? You can’t sleep in the bathroom.”
“I’m very sick.” He sounded sick, too. That would teach Tom. The man was way too unaffected by Mischa's imminent death.
“You’re very hung over. And by the way, how the fuck did that happen, Mischa? I left you for an hour, and when I came back you had managed to get yourself drunk enough to fall off your chair. Well, through your chair, which is even weirder. I had to have Andy help me drag you to the car.”
“I wasn’t that drunk.”
“You were singing, Mischa!”
Fuck. Mischa reluctantly opened his eyes.
Tom stood in the middle of the room, hands on his hips and an impatient look on his face.
“And by the way, what does it mean, ‘Moscow vetchera?’”
Oh, no. He had really been drunk. He never sang that one unless he got really sentimental.
“Can I go back to bed?” How could Tom be this mean to him when his voice sounded this pitiful?
“Take these first. So, what does it mean?”
Mischa gratefully took the pills, the cold water even feeling good now. He took a firm grip on the toilet and managed to get upright. Tom reached out for him, steadying him when he swayed.
“You’re not getting back to bed before you tell me.”
How could someone looking so innocent be this cruel?
“It means ‘Moscow Nights’, okay? It’s a folk song, about Moscow. It’s very beautiful.”
“Not in your version, it wasn’t.” Tom’s arm around him was steady, and it felt good. Almost as good as finally being able to lay down and close his eyes again.
“I think I’m really sick.” It couldn’t just be those small glasses of vodka.
“Yeah?” Tom’s hand on his forehead felt good.
“Yes. Something serious.”
Mischa could swear he could see that raised eyebrow, even with his eyes closed.
“Maybe you got a case of malaria. Wait, or cholera; you get really sick when you get cholera. Wonder what the symptoms are for that?”
Mischa groaned. Firstly, he was mocked, and secondly, he knew that curious tone of voice. And he wasn’t wrong; Tom disappeared and came back a moment later, sitting down in the bed next to him.
“I’ll just look that up…” Tom’s voice faltered, and Mischa knew without opening his eyes that his academic was lost in the search for new knowledge. It hopefully meant that Mischa could get some much needed sleep.
“Ewww. That’s not very nice.”
Mischa sighed. There just wasn’t any mercy for him today.
“Cholera is really bad, and you haven’t got it – even though the vomiting kind of fits.”
Mischa decided to ignore that in dignified silence.
“But it’s really easy to prevent. Or, you know, it costs money, but it can be done. What about malaria, let’s see…”
“Uh, you do have a headache, right?”
Mischa nodded fervently and groaned. Even though he actually felt a little better by now; it was the principle of it.
“Yes. However, no fever, so you don’t have malaria. Sorry, Mischa, but the conclusion is that you just can’t hold your liquor.”
“Hey!” It was meant to sound less pitiful than it did. “I’m Russian.”
“Not when it comes to drinking vodka, you aren’t.”
Mischa reluctantly opened his eyes. “I know," he admitted. "I’m a disgrace to my family every time we have a party.”
It said a lot about Tom that he didn’t comment on that. Instead, he leaned down and gave Mischa a light kiss. On the lips, which was very brave, all things considered. No tooth brush had yet been involved in Mischa's life this morning.
“Are you hungry?” Tom let his hand slide over Mischa’s hair. “I have some chili. It’ll be good for you.”
“Please.” Mischa still felt miserable enough to stay in bed when Tom went into the kitchen. It was nice just to doze a bit, and before he knew it, Tom was back with the food, the spices smelling delicious. He sat up and accepted the bowl from Tom.
“Here, have some. You’ll feel a lot better after you’ve eaten.”
Tom was right, and after the first tentative bites that stayed down, Mischa ate hungrily. When he had finished up, he put the bowl on the bedside table and leaned back, sighing contentedly.
“Lift up.”
Mischa stared as Tom moved the covers out of the way and pulled at his boxers.
“What are you…”
“We didn’t get to check you for bubonic plague. According to the website, you might have some swelling of your lymph nodes if you have it. Right about here.”
Mischa yelped, a very undignified sound, when he felt Tom’s lips on his stomach. Then he quickly lifted his butt and let Tom pull his boxers off.
“Jesus, Tom.”
Tom’s lips were warm and moist, and then the man dragged his tongue all the way up the crease between Mischa’s leg and body, making him arch up in pleasure.
“You don’t seem to have a problem here.” Tom’s words were half swallowed by his diligent kisses and licks, and then Mischa felt his tongue on the other side.
“Oh, God, Tom!” Mischa pushed up, suddenly desperately to get more.
“You do have a bit of swelling here, though. We might have to do something to make that go down.” Mischa caught a glimpse of the teasing gleam in Tom’s eyes before he shouted out as he was swallowed completely, Tom’s warm mouth around him and that tongue teasing just under his head.
“Oh, yes! Yes, Tom. More!” He grabbed Tom’s head, pushing his boy deeper. Tom’s yelp was thoroughly drowned out by Mischa’s cock, and Mischa liked it. He fucked his boy’s mouth, enjoying the sight of Tom kneeling and taking his cock.
He felt Tom’s moan around his dick and saw how Tom was jerking himself furiously. The thought of his boy being that excited because of giving Mischa a blowjob was enough to get him right to the brink.
“I’m coming. Take it, Tom!” Mischa roared, filling his boy’s mouth with his come, pushing it deep down Tom’s throat. He distantly heard Tom whimper as the boy came, too, and he fell back, panting as Tom pulled back, his boy’s mouth making an obscene sound as it let go of Mischa’s dick.
Mischa pulled him up and gave him a thorough kiss before he pulled the blankets over them.
“That was amazing. Thank you.”
Tom just mumbled something before he fell asleep. Mischa followed right after.
***
Mischa woke up what felt like hours later. It was dark outside, and Tom sat next to him in bed, doing something with the laptop. Mischa sat up, giving his boyfriend a kiss.
“It’s alive!” Tom grinned.
“It is. And it almost feels okay.” Mischa pushed close, curious to see what Tom was doing.
“I’m just giving a donation. All of those diseases you had earlier are really easy to prevent if you just have the means to do it. Well, not the plague, but that one’s almost eradicated. That was more to…” And then Tom was blushing, and it was lovely.
“Are you saying that you lied to me? That you led me on? That you told me untruths just to take advantage of me?” Mischa let his voice rise in indignation, and Tom fled. Mischa grinned; it was probably that or suffering lasting damage to the poor boy’s cheeks.
Still smiling, Mischa bent over Tom’s computer. Considering the man’s economic situation, his boyfriend was about to donate a generous amount. Mischa added a zero and changed the credit card information into his own. You should be grateful for being cured of the plague, after all.
***
Those diseases are, in fact, very real. Torquere Press' 2010 charity event supported Doctors without borders. Most of the stories are out of print, but you can still support Doctors without borders here.
And for something lighter: If you're curious about Mischa's taste in music after too much vodka: Here's the song as Mischa thinks he's singing it:
Oh, God. Oh, fuck. There was something seriously wrong with the world.
Mischa groaned and tried to hold on to the bed to stop that lurching, sick feeling he had from everything moving around him. He barely had time to realize that nothing was moving except for the content of his stomach before he had to yank away the covers and run to the bathroom. He only just made it to the bowl in time to throw up everything he had been eating for the last month or so. He spat a few times, and then he managed to pull himself up enough to lean back against the wall.
“Jesus, you’re a sorry sight.”
Mischa didn’t do anything to open his eyes; the tiles on the wall where so cool against his head. He heard the water running in the sink and frowned, the noise too loud. But it felt nice when Tom gently washed his face with the cold cloth.
“Here, you need something to drink.”
Mischa groaned. He wasn’t going to drink anything ever again.
“At least rinse out your mouth.” Tom’s voice was starting to sound a little impatient. “You have to have the taste of wet dog out of your… Oh.”
Mischa leaned forward and threw up again, and it felt like his stomach was trying to turn itself inside out. Exhausted, he leaned back against the wall. At least he was empty now. He might consider opening his eyes within the next hour or so, but until then, he would just sit very still.
“Okay, no more talk of… that.”
Mischa felt the glass at his lips and gratefully rinsed his mouth out before gingerly taking a small sip. It didn’t come back up.
“Good. If you can keep that down we’ll be able to get some Tylenol in you in a minute.”
Mischa didn’t move and he definitely didn’t nod. He was about to die.
“Mischa? Are you there? You can’t sleep in the bathroom.”
“I’m very sick.” He sounded sick, too. That would teach Tom. The man was way too unaffected by Mischa's imminent death.
“You’re very hung over. And by the way, how the fuck did that happen, Mischa? I left you for an hour, and when I came back you had managed to get yourself drunk enough to fall off your chair. Well, through your chair, which is even weirder. I had to have Andy help me drag you to the car.”
“I wasn’t that drunk.”
“You were singing, Mischa!”
Fuck. Mischa reluctantly opened his eyes.
Tom stood in the middle of the room, hands on his hips and an impatient look on his face.
“And by the way, what does it mean, ‘Moscow vetchera?’”
Oh, no. He had really been drunk. He never sang that one unless he got really sentimental.
“Can I go back to bed?” How could Tom be this mean to him when his voice sounded this pitiful?
“Take these first. So, what does it mean?”
Mischa gratefully took the pills, the cold water even feeling good now. He took a firm grip on the toilet and managed to get upright. Tom reached out for him, steadying him when he swayed.
“You’re not getting back to bed before you tell me.”
How could someone looking so innocent be this cruel?
“It means ‘Moscow Nights’, okay? It’s a folk song, about Moscow. It’s very beautiful.”
“Not in your version, it wasn’t.” Tom’s arm around him was steady, and it felt good. Almost as good as finally being able to lay down and close his eyes again.
“I think I’m really sick.” It couldn’t just be those small glasses of vodka.
“Yeah?” Tom’s hand on his forehead felt good.
“Yes. Something serious.”
Mischa could swear he could see that raised eyebrow, even with his eyes closed.
“Maybe you got a case of malaria. Wait, or cholera; you get really sick when you get cholera. Wonder what the symptoms are for that?”
Mischa groaned. Firstly, he was mocked, and secondly, he knew that curious tone of voice. And he wasn’t wrong; Tom disappeared and came back a moment later, sitting down in the bed next to him.
“I’ll just look that up…” Tom’s voice faltered, and Mischa knew without opening his eyes that his academic was lost in the search for new knowledge. It hopefully meant that Mischa could get some much needed sleep.
“Ewww. That’s not very nice.”
Mischa sighed. There just wasn’t any mercy for him today.
“Cholera is really bad, and you haven’t got it – even though the vomiting kind of fits.”
Mischa decided to ignore that in dignified silence.
“But it’s really easy to prevent. Or, you know, it costs money, but it can be done. What about malaria, let’s see…”
“Uh, you do have a headache, right?”
Mischa nodded fervently and groaned. Even though he actually felt a little better by now; it was the principle of it.
“Yes. However, no fever, so you don’t have malaria. Sorry, Mischa, but the conclusion is that you just can’t hold your liquor.”
“Hey!” It was meant to sound less pitiful than it did. “I’m Russian.”
“Not when it comes to drinking vodka, you aren’t.”
Mischa reluctantly opened his eyes. “I know," he admitted. "I’m a disgrace to my family every time we have a party.”
It said a lot about Tom that he didn’t comment on that. Instead, he leaned down and gave Mischa a light kiss. On the lips, which was very brave, all things considered. No tooth brush had yet been involved in Mischa's life this morning.
“Are you hungry?” Tom let his hand slide over Mischa’s hair. “I have some chili. It’ll be good for you.”
“Please.” Mischa still felt miserable enough to stay in bed when Tom went into the kitchen. It was nice just to doze a bit, and before he knew it, Tom was back with the food, the spices smelling delicious. He sat up and accepted the bowl from Tom.
“Here, have some. You’ll feel a lot better after you’ve eaten.”
Tom was right, and after the first tentative bites that stayed down, Mischa ate hungrily. When he had finished up, he put the bowl on the bedside table and leaned back, sighing contentedly.
“Lift up.”
Mischa stared as Tom moved the covers out of the way and pulled at his boxers.
“What are you…”
“We didn’t get to check you for bubonic plague. According to the website, you might have some swelling of your lymph nodes if you have it. Right about here.”
Mischa yelped, a very undignified sound, when he felt Tom’s lips on his stomach. Then he quickly lifted his butt and let Tom pull his boxers off.
“Jesus, Tom.”
Tom’s lips were warm and moist, and then the man dragged his tongue all the way up the crease between Mischa’s leg and body, making him arch up in pleasure.
“You don’t seem to have a problem here.” Tom’s words were half swallowed by his diligent kisses and licks, and then Mischa felt his tongue on the other side.
“Oh, God, Tom!” Mischa pushed up, suddenly desperately to get more.
“You do have a bit of swelling here, though. We might have to do something to make that go down.” Mischa caught a glimpse of the teasing gleam in Tom’s eyes before he shouted out as he was swallowed completely, Tom’s warm mouth around him and that tongue teasing just under his head.
“Oh, yes! Yes, Tom. More!” He grabbed Tom’s head, pushing his boy deeper. Tom’s yelp was thoroughly drowned out by Mischa’s cock, and Mischa liked it. He fucked his boy’s mouth, enjoying the sight of Tom kneeling and taking his cock.
He felt Tom’s moan around his dick and saw how Tom was jerking himself furiously. The thought of his boy being that excited because of giving Mischa a blowjob was enough to get him right to the brink.
“I’m coming. Take it, Tom!” Mischa roared, filling his boy’s mouth with his come, pushing it deep down Tom’s throat. He distantly heard Tom whimper as the boy came, too, and he fell back, panting as Tom pulled back, his boy’s mouth making an obscene sound as it let go of Mischa’s dick.
Mischa pulled him up and gave him a thorough kiss before he pulled the blankets over them.
“That was amazing. Thank you.”
Tom just mumbled something before he fell asleep. Mischa followed right after.
***
Mischa woke up what felt like hours later. It was dark outside, and Tom sat next to him in bed, doing something with the laptop. Mischa sat up, giving his boyfriend a kiss.
“It’s alive!” Tom grinned.
“It is. And it almost feels okay.” Mischa pushed close, curious to see what Tom was doing.
“I’m just giving a donation. All of those diseases you had earlier are really easy to prevent if you just have the means to do it. Well, not the plague, but that one’s almost eradicated. That was more to…” And then Tom was blushing, and it was lovely.
“Are you saying that you lied to me? That you led me on? That you told me untruths just to take advantage of me?” Mischa let his voice rise in indignation, and Tom fled. Mischa grinned; it was probably that or suffering lasting damage to the poor boy’s cheeks.
Still smiling, Mischa bent over Tom’s computer. Considering the man’s economic situation, his boyfriend was about to donate a generous amount. Mischa added a zero and changed the credit card information into his own. You should be grateful for being cured of the plague, after all.
***
Those diseases are, in fact, very real. Torquere Press' 2010 charity event supported Doctors without borders. Most of the stories are out of print, but you can still support Doctors without borders here.
And for something lighter: If you're curious about Mischa's taste in music after too much vodka: Here's the song as Mischa thinks he's singing it: