I got the inspiration for this while I still had my cold, and figured that if I was sick, there was no reason why my characters shouldn't be, too. Yes, I'm a meanie. This story idea just puttered around in my head for a while, then I started writing it after my cold was gone. For lack of anything else to write, I finally got around to finishing it.
This would be from several weeks ago- Lark's cold is long gone by now, same as my own. Also, have I mentioned how much I love my characters? >.>
(I'm not forgetting Rheugan's post, just need to finish writing it. >.>)
There were, Pitch reflected, some advantages to being bigger than your mate- one of those being she couldn't push you out of bed. Not that she wasn't trying.
"I dode wadda gib you by code!" Lark's feet pushed futilely against his hip again. Pitch suppressed a sigh.
"You won't give me your cold," he told her again, patiently. "I'm too stubborn to get sick anyway." He didn't mention that his throat had been scratchy that morning, so he'd probably already caught it. Which was why he'd helped himself to his brother's "cold tea" when Alanon had brought some by earlier; if he was catching it, it wouldn't last long, not with that tea.
Lark herself had had two cups of the tea, plus as much soup as he could get her to eat- and thank Elune her morning sickness seemed to be mostly gone. An added benefit was that with her belly full, she was too sleepy to put up much of a fight.
Almost as soon as he had that thought, she suddenly gave up the fight, rolling to her side and pulling the blankets up. "Fide den," she muttered, slurring slightly. "Dode blabe be if you get zick." Pitch smiled to himself. "I won't," he told her, though he was doubtful she even heard him.
He gave her a bit to fall asleep, then slid under the blankets next to her, snuggling up close with a contented sigh. Within minutes, he too had fallen fast asleep.