Everything in life had its consequences. Like that time in the Bahamas with the models—serious case of herpes that Tony shivered at the thought of. Or perhaps the shivering was because of the fever. Or the wheezing. Hell, maybe he was shaking because his nose was running. Moral of the story: everything comes at a price. And this time, it's totally, irrevocably Clint's fault.
Mr. Cupid had the great idea to go to the park in the first place, which had led to the giant snowball fight. It had been fun, Tony would never admit, but of course something bad was to come of it. It came in the form of a bad cold that had him bedridden and pretty damn incapacitated.
Luckily for him, he had a loyal boyfriend who did anything he asked of him. Steve had woken up that morning to find him caught in a fever-induced nightmare, coughing and sneezing. Obviously, he felt terrible, as if it were somehow his fault, so he was determined to come at Tony's every beck and call to make sure the genius was comfortable and in minimal pain.
Tony was, unfortunately, incredibly high-maintenance when he was sick, which explained why Steve was currently shuffling down the hall with a tray of soup and crackers.
"Steeeeve, I need soup! Get your star-spangled butt in gear!"
Steve held his tongue between his teeth as he carefully turned the doorknob to the bedroom with two fingers, hands never leaving the tray. Noise coming from inside the room ceased once the knob clicked and he let himself in. Before him, Tony sat propped up in bed, book sitting on one side of his lap, tablet on the other. On his lap sat a box of tissues and on his face sat a very impatient expression. "It's about time you got here. I need more tissues."
Steps led him over to the bed and from there he smacked the empty box away and settled the tray on Tony's lap. The nagging caused him to sigh, yet he couldn't help but smile. Tony was a handful, but he meant no harm. Steve'd learned over the years that when in pain or discomfort of any sort, he always grew cranky and mouthy. Well, he was always mouthy, but that wasn't the point.
A brown eyebrow twitched, accompanied by narrowed eyes. "Steve. Hey. Snap out of it and fetch me some tissues. Do you want me to sneeze all over you? I will, don't you doubt me."
Steve chuckled, staring fondly at Tony as his fingers ran through his coarse brown hair. "I'll get right on it. Anything to make you feel better, Tony. Anything."
His statement was met by a hard stare, before Tony's Tony-ness took over and ruined whatever moment they were having. "Anything, huh? Well, I do have this problem that only you can fix, it's this itch—"
"Anything but that," Steve interrupted with a smirk. "Glad to know you're feeling a little less miserable, though."
Now where were those Kleenex boxes Thor had stockpiled somewhere.