It was something he had been through before with both himself and – a handful of others. Watching the transformation of Daxon Ripley into a monster was something that Ian forced himself to do. It smelled like sick, the heat of his body radiating his temperature, and the hint of something else that was foreign and unpleasant. Later, he knew, he would call his usual maid service to clean the bedrooms. Or else he would just end up tossing the sheets on the bed altogether. Though without comment he had cleaned the vomit up from the floor, scrubbed until it smelled like chemicals and the stain was gone. The part of him that lived in a hospital went unphased by the violence of the young man’s reaction; then there was the part that understood it completely.<br/><br/>At one point during one of his more violent spells of convulsing, Ian found himself up on his bed that he had abandoned when Dax started his official change. He had woken from where he had crashed on his couch, a throw blanket over his legs, to the sound of the other male’s distressed moans hitting his ears. Sense alert, he had slunk up onto the bed behind the young man that had tossed his covers into a tangle around his ankles and now shivered violently. Dragging the covers back up, he wrapped the comforter around both of them as he pressed his chest against Daxon’s back. Skin to skin was separated by a thin cotton shirt, but Ian’s temperature had always run hot – since he himself had made the change into other<i>things</i>.<br/><br/>“It’s going to be fine, kid. I know you didn’t ask for this, but it’s going to be fine. I’ll help you get over the hard part.”<br/><br/>The words were conjured by guilt. It was obligation that made him determined, but had nothing to do with the fact that strong arms wrapped around the young man’s torso as Ian pressed himself close, arms crossing across the other male’s chest so that he could run his hands along bare skin to keep up the friction and create warmth. He propped himself up when he felt the young man stir, the convulsions pick up – Ian knew that all too well. He was quicker than the boy to lean over the young man and grab the waste basket from the side of the bed, his free hand moving to guide Daxon’s head so that he gagged into the bin. The glass of water he had put on the bedside table earlier was taken up as soon as the basket was set back down. This time his hand trailed to cup Dax’s jaw, maneuvering him to take a few drinks of the water.<br/><br/>“I know, Daxon. This is the hard part. Drink this for me then you can go back to sleep,” his voice rumbled close to the young man’s ear as he urged him to drink more of the water than he no doubt wanted to. Then he settled them both back down in bed, his hand lowering down to rest across his chest while his other splayed along the other’s abdomen, settling him back against his own chest. Only Ian didn’t fall back asleep as Daxon did. He waited until it was just past dawn, when Dax’s fever had broken into a sheen of sweat across his body.<br/><br/>~~~<br/><br/><br/><br/>The knock on his door at ten a.m. was more like a demanding pound that wouldn’t stop until Ian flung the door open to glare at Milo, whose face was split into a grin as mocha eyes looked him up and down. He still wore the cotton shirt and boxers he had went to bed in, hair mussed and red eyed. The other man wore his burgundy and gold stripped shirt with a pair of dark pants that fit his trim waist. While a hair taller than Ian, the muscles that weaved underneath his attire screamed about a runner’s sleek grace than the stocky build that the doctor sported. Tucked underneath his arm was one of those cardboard boxes the pet store gave you when she walked out with a new pet. Only the box rattled and squeaked under his arm under the force of the army he had purchased on his stop on the way to the condo.<br/><br/>“Want to tell me why I bought out Petco’s stock of guinea pigs? Because they didn’t really believe me when I said I was giving them out as a party favor at my niece’s birthday this afternoon. So either you’re hungry for something other than a bagel for breakfast or something nasty happened, boo. And you look like shit. That ain’t sex hair you have right now,” Milo commented, then pushed himself past the other man to stalk further into the comment to look for any indicators to the trouble in question.<br/><br/>“Shut up and just follow me, Milo,” came Ian’s perturbed growl. He swung around to face the other man while jerking his head in the direction of his bedroom. The cocoa skinned man merely grinned and brushed past the doctor like a cat brushing past its human to beat him through the door to his bedroom.<br/><br/>His laughter greeted Ian when he stepped up behind Milo, eyes narrowed first at the other man, then sliding over to where Daxon had sat up in confusion.<br/><br/><i>Soooo hungry.</i><br/><br/>The words were a groan that jerked Ian into motion. Snatching the squirming box out from under Milo’s arm, he stepped forward and set it down right in front of the boy right before his jaw extended to reveal the pointed pair of fangs. His eyes already blinked eerily in the gray lighting of the room. The reptilian grace that snatched the first squealing rodent from the box said the rest. Milo once again laughed, a startled sound that had him slapping his palm over his mouth as a pair of dark eyes gone golden focused back on Ian’s face.<br/><br/>“Ho-ly<b>fuck</b>, Callaghan. What the hell did you bring home with you? A<b>snake</b>? You brought home a disgusting snake. With you. In your bed. What kind of kinky shit did you pull with<i>that</i>? He looks like shit too. And what is that<i>smell</i>?”<br/><br/>The darker man was hunched over like he wanted to spring from the balls of his feet. Like Daxon’s, his eyes had taken an animalistic turn, lit up with gold and slit line a feline’s. His grin revealed sharp, curved canines meant to rip out the soft bellies of prey. And Milo was looking at Daxon as he devoured his little snack in whole swallows like he wanted to play with his prey first. Ian stepped in closer, his own demeanor calm and his presence unchanged to clap a hand on the male’s shoulder.<br/><br/>“<i>Stop. </i>Control yourself.” The command was spoken low in his throat, close to the other male’s ear, the underlying growl a warning rather than a threat. Milo twitched underneath the hand on his shoulder, but after swallowing hard, he relaxed under the grip. Retreating back a couple of steps, the formerly grinning man now looked warily between his Alpha and the freshly turned snake.<br/><br/>The sound of Daxon’s voice snapped Ian’s attention away from the were-lion back to him. He had finished devouring his morning time snack and wore his expression like a mask of horror. Ian hid his relief to see the boy’s eyes returned to their normal blue, but immediately stepped forward to lower himself down on the edge of the bed beside him.<br/><br/>“Daxon, look at me,” he started, his voice strangely soothing despite the worry in his eyes from the downward knit brows. “You were attacked a few days ago by something. But I want you to listen to me – really listen to me, kid.<i>You’re going to be OK. </i>How do you feel now? Hungry still?”