I feel like this is a bit rough, but sometimes you've just gotta write sick!fic.
Kurt was in a funk.
He'd woken up at five thirty in the frickin' morning needing to run into the bathroom and barf his guts out for the next hour, probably because of the new sushi place they'd tried the night before. And then Blaine caught him trying to get dressed and out the door to work like nothing was wrong, even though he could tell he was paler than usual and still sweating a bit from puking earlier, so Kurt was forced to climb back into bed with only Bruce for company as Blaine ran down to the diner to cover for Kurt and then over to NYADA to get homework for the both of them.
A few hours passed while he napped in spurts, and he finally woke up for real around one, feeling a bit more normal and like his stomach might actually stay in place if he got up to grab some ginger ale out of the fridge.
So of course the full-body ache would hit him then.
"Is this some kind of cosmic payback for not properly tipping my barista yesterday?" Kurt whined quietly once he was upright. He shuffled slowly out to the kitchen, holding onto whatever furniture was nearest and easiest to grab while half-stooped over. "I swear I wanted to, but it's really bad form to ask them to break a ten just so you can only tip them a buck fifty!"
His temper finally boiled over when he twisted the top off the ginger ale and it exploded all over his hands, fizzing onto the counter in a swish that Kurt swore sounded like "fuck you" to his feverish brain.
"Fucking really?" He asked, thunking the bottle back onto the countertop. "I just wanted a goddamn drink to settle my stomach, not yet another problem on top of my already shitty day."
"Wow, three curse words in one go?" Blaine appeared in the doorway, looking concerned. "Did word break that Marc Jacobs is stopping production or something while I was gone?"
"Don't even fucking joke about that, B," Kurt said. "It could happen with the day I've been having."
Blaine walked over to Kurt and pulled the ginger ale out of his hands gently. Snagging the nearby glass, he poured while asking "What's wrong, sweetheart?"
"Well, there was the puking, which you already knew about," Kurt began. "That seemed to go away after I finished napping, but now I ache from my head to my toes and the ginger ale decided it didn't want to cooperate, so I'm also kind of sticky."
"Oh, baby." Blaine leaned up on his tiptoes and pressed a kiss to Kurt's cheek. "Will it make you feel better to take a shower while I clean this up real quick and queue up a bunch of Disney movies on Netflix?"
"It can't make me feel any worse," Kurt said, heaving a sigh. "I love you."
"I love you too. Now go, I can take care of this!" Blaine said, making a shoo motion. He started digging around the kitchen for cleaning supplies as Kurt shuffled off to the bathroom.
Kurt showered himself on autopilot, trying to rub some of the ache out of his muscles as he lathered up. His limbs refused to loosen up, though, and he eventually just gave up and rinsed the last of the suds off himself before he accidentally drowned.
Freshly clad in Blaine's old Six Flags hoodie and his oldest sweatpants, he hobbled back out to the living room, where Blaine was parked on the couch and immersed in Netflix.
"Feeling any better, baby?" Blaine asked, turning to face Kurt.
"It's a good thing you didn't go into medicine, Blaine, because your remedies are useless," Kurt grumbled. He made his way over to Blaine and flumped down heavily next to him, burying his face in Blaine's shoulder once he was seated.
"I was afraid of that," Blaine said. "Which is why I gathered some reinforcements: Tylenol, the microwaveable heating pad, your fluffiest socks, and me."
"And you?" Kurt parroted, raising his head enough for Blaine to see the unimpressed look on his face.
"You know you like cuddling with me, especially when you're sick," Blaine said. "Remember how you almost refused to let me out of bed when you got the flu last winter?"
Kurt just grunted, refusing to admit Blaine was right.
"So take your Tylenol, put the heating pad around your neck, and make yourself comfortable while I start our movie," Blaine instructed, smirking in victory. "You wanna watch Brave or The Little Mermaid first?"
"Is the theme for tonight feisty redheads?" Kurt joked once he was done swallowing the pills. "I think we should go chronological – start with Ariel, then Merida, then Anna if we haven't succumbed to naps by then."
"Clearly you're the brains of this relationship," Blaine said, clicking play. "Does that mean I'm the hot one?"
"We're both the hot one, Blaine," Kurt said, curling into Blaine's side. "Literally, in my case, since I'm still running a fever."
"Wow, you must be sick if you're willing to crack a joke as terrible as that," Blaine said, kissing the top of Kurt's head and pulling him closer.
"Yes, so be nice to me," Kurt said, scowling in mock-anger.
"I'm always nice to you."
"That you are," Kurt said, entirely sincere. "You're too good to me, B."
"You sat by my bedside for a week when I needed eye surgery," Blaine said. "The least I can do is baby you on the rare occasions you get sick."
"I am going to give you the best round of appreciation sex ever when I'm well."
"I'll note that in my planner," Blaine teased. "Now shhh, the good part's on!"
Kurt scowled again but allowed himself to get sucked into the movie. He was asleep before Ariel and Eric even met, but by the time he was awake, they were about to wed and his aches and pains were gone. It was like his own version of happily ever after.