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When Alphas get sick, unless they have a heath condition, is rather normal. They cough, sneeze, vomit, and do other sickly things one does when ill. The same for Betas.
Omegas on the other hand…
John groaned weakly, the Assistant wincing at the strain said noise put on his throat. The poor doctor had been up all night, a bin next to his bed incase any of the liquids in his stomach didn’t like the real estate. And as if the sore throat and vomiting weren’t bad enough, he even had a fever, which added a whole other issues.
Grimacing as he moved to a more comfortable position on his side, the Omega couldn’t help but make a face at the lubricant coming out of him.
It was one of the few things that confused him about his own biology. Oh, it made sense in its own way, but still. Apparently, when whatever sick god decided to make Omegas, they had decided to make it that when their bodies reached a certain temperature, they would naturally lubricate. And, well, release a few hormones that charged up their sexual desire. Apparently, this would help an Omega get pregnant easier as well as make it safer for any babies.
This may look good on paper and even make sense scientifically, but this mean that whenever a Omega passes a certain temperature, they will get wet and horny.
Which was why fevers were the bane of every Omega who walked this damned plant.
Whimpering, then flinching at the pain that inflicted on his throat, John reached down to his now oversensitive hole and placed two fingers in. It was both a relief and agonizing; a relief in that he was able to give into his need, but agonizing as it made his stomach rather unsteady. Biting back a moan for the safety of his throat, John crooked his fingers, having them gently hit his prostate. It was torture having to remain quiet, but even with the few moans he allowed out, it was just painful.
Suddenly stilling, John wrenched his hand out of his arse as he grabbed for the bin. After throwing up practically everything in his stomach once again, the army doctor allowed himself a small whine. Being sick was not only frustrating, annoying, and painful, it was also embarrassing.
Hearing the front door slam open, John’s only sign of perking up was the turning of his head to the door, hope shining clearly in his eyes.
His Alpha was home.
‘Please dear God, say he’s done with his case.’ John thought.
Before John had gotten sick, the two of them had been on a mad chase to find a serial flasher going around and showing her unmentionables. They had been close to solving the damn case when John had come down with his fever, rendering him of being any help.
With great force, the door to his old room (he didn’t want Sherlock to get sick because of him, so he decided to hold out there) was flown open, his Guardian right there in the door way. John was pleased to see that he had a hospital mask over his mouth on. Omegas were always contagious when sick.
“How’d the case go?” John asked hoarsely.
“Turns out the Flasher was a transvestite who binds their chest. Not important.” Sherlock said slightly muffled, his eyes never leaving his bonded as he entered the room, going to sit next to him on the bed. It was only when he saw the spray bottle in his Alpha’s hands that John really perked up. They had run out of throat spray due to a previous experiment the detective had to do and John had been busy figuring what else they needed that the spray easily left his mind.
After all, the two of them rarely ever got sick, the only medicine that they really needed was for headaches.
When he got better, he was going to buy a mountain of that bloody spray.
Opening his mouth wide, John watched at Sherlock pressed the nozzle, making sure to coat all the red it could reach. Swallowing down on the fast working spray, the Assistant sighed at the pleasant numb feeling his throat was going though.
“We’ll let that settle for now, but in about an hour I will try and get you to drink some water. You need to keep hydrated.” His bonded announced, gently stroking his hands through ash blond hair. John smiled at the feel, the sensation of soft, cool leather gloves on his body.
“But I know what you need now.” and suddenly, John couldn’t bite back the moan as his Alpha buried four fingers into his wanting hold, which practically swallowed those gloved hands.
He was really loving those gloves. They would defiantly have to remember them in the future for when John could fully appreciate them.
While one hand happily abused his prostate, the other one that had been in his hair trailed down his body, pausing at his nipple. John let out a whimper, not evening caring about the dulled ache in his throat.
His Alpha was taking care of him. His Guardian was helping him.
Sherlock was there just for him.
John let off a tiny whine when the hand left his nipple, but moaned when he felt a harder push against his prostrate. But as John was both distracted and a bit delirious, it took a bit for him to realize that wonderfully gloved hand was around his cock, pumping it.
Blinking down at it, the ill doctor noted the nice black glove looked arousing wrapped around his penis.
It took only one more stroke after said revelation for him to come.
Panting, the Omega whined when he felt those wonderful fingers leave his prostate. He wanted them back where they belonged.
“Shh, it’s alright my John. I’ll get some wet rags from Mrs. Hudson, maybe some soup as well, then we’ll watch your terrible Bond movies. Does that sound acceptable to you?”
“There’re not terrible.” John mumbled his answer.
“They have poor plot, poor planning, ridiculous characters, and the one character I actually do like doesn’t nearly get as much screen type as they deserve. They are terrible and I still do not understand why you keep denying this.”
“Shut up.”
“I will discount said reply due to your obvious deficient mental capabilities brought on by illness. Now I know you won’t be able to sleep, but at least try to relax; I’ll be back soon.”
Scowling (he was not pouting, no matter what anyone else said), John watched his Alpha leave. But despite himself, John couldn’t help but smile a small smile.
He was defiantly in good hands.
Though he hoped they would stayed gloved.