He tipped the glass against his lips, swished the water in his mouth, and spit it into the sink.
“Think you can hold yourself up while I get the bath going?”
Wesley grabbed onto the end of the counter and dipped his chin in an approximation of a nod. The real thing would require more motion than he was willing to risk.
“I’ll be fast.” Jobe kissed his cheek.
“Don’t get too close to me,” Wesley said weakly. “It might be contagious.”
Shaking his head, Jobe snorted and walked toward the tub. “Glad to know you didn’t lose your sense of humor along with your dinner.”
A wave of dizziness hit Wesley. He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing and keeping his hold on the counter. Then a warm arm wrapped around his waist and the scent of cloves and cinnamon wafted over. Instead of making him sick, Jobe’s scent soothed him, so he leaned against him and sighed.
“The water’s still filling, but it’s warm and I think it’ll make you feel a little better.” Jobe talked as he led them through the bathroom. “Time to climb in.”
Wesley squinted and saw the clawfoot tub in front of him.
“Do you need me to lift you into it?”
It took every bit of energy to raise first one foot and then the other, but Wesley’s pride forced him to do it. When his knees nearly buckled and Jobe had to grab him to keep him from slipping, he told his pride he was an idiot and he let Jobe lower him into the water.
“Thanks.” He swallowed thickly and his eyelids drooped shut again. “I don’t ever get sick. Hopefully this’ll pass soon.”
“We can hope, but from what I hear, two months instead of nine means a rougher time. More of Mother Nature’s balance.” Jobe kissed his forehead. “I’m going to make you a drink. Be back in a minute.”
“Uh-huh,” Wesley said absently, lethargy closing in on him.
“Got here just in time.” The squeak of the faucet handle sounded followed by silence as the water stopped flowing. “Sit up a little and I’ll tuck this behind your back.”
Wesley blinked his eyes open to see Jobe kneeling next to the tub, a jar of yellowish liquid in one hand and a towel in the other. He must have fallen asleep and missed the period between Jobe leaving and returning.
“Okay.” Wesley crunched up and his stomach muscles protested. “Ouch.” He grabbed onto his belly reflexively and then hissed when his hands made contact with his scar, which was unusually sensitive.
“It hurts a lot, huh?” Jobe slid the folded towel behind Wesley’s back.
“Uh-huh.” Wesley nodded. “Must be from the throwing up.”
“I’m sure that didn’t help matters.” He lifted the jar. “I know you said you didn’t want to drink anything, but I ma—”
“Made it yourself,” Wesley said, finishing Jobe’s sentence. “Probably from something you grow right on this property.” He managed to smile. “Am I right?”
“If you’re well enough to tease, you’re well enough to drink.” Jobe frowned, but even in jest, his good-natured mate couldn’t pull it off for long, so only seconds later, he smiled again. “Bottoms up,” he said as he raised the jar to Wesley’s mouth.
Wesley parted his lips and sipped the sharp, tangy, fizzy drink. “It’s good.” He curled his fingers around Jobe’s, tipped the jar back, and gulped it down. The liquid flowed through his body and, like Jobe had promised, his nausea passed and the aches in his muscles eased. “What’s in it?”
“Ginger root, lime, muscovado, and water from our river.” Jobe set the empty jar down, reached for the shampoo, poured it onto his palm, and massaged it into Wesley’s hair.
“I don’t know what half of that means, but fair warning, if it makes me throw up again, you’re right in the line of fire.”
“It’s basically ginger ale and I’ll risk it.” Jobe cupped his hands in the water and poured it over Wesley’s head, rinsing out the shampoo. “Seems only fair since you’re the one who has to suffer and both of us get the benefit.”
“Nobody’s benefiting from this.” Wesley tipped his chin down to give Jobe better access to his hair and rumbled happily when Jobe leaned closer and his scent got stronger. “I’m throwing up with no provocation, which means no blow jobs for you because just the idea of putting anything in my mouth…” Wesley’s words died off as he stared at his groin where his dick was standing up to dispute his assertion. “What is wrong with you?”
“Me?” Jobe pulled his hands away and sat back on his haunches. “I wasn’t asking for a blow job. I’m just washing your hair.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
“Uh…”Jobe arched his eyebrows and looked around. “There’s nobody else here.”
“I know that.” Wesley rolled his eyes. “I was talking to my dick.” He curled his hand around his erection and shook it. “The dumb thing won’t stand down.”