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Steve came back from the gym at to see his boyfriend was still in bed. Tony was always one to sleep late, but 2pm was pushing it, even for him. Steve walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. He patted Tony shoulder and shook him lightly. “Wake up, honey.”
“’M dyin’,” Tony mumbled. His voice was raspy and weak. Steve’s hand went to Tony’s forehead. “Told you,” Tony muttered as Steve deduced that Tony had a fever.
Steve smirked. “You have a cold, or worse case scenario, the flu. You’re not dying.”
“People have died from the flu, Steve.” Tony squirmed under the covers. He had managed to tuck himself into a messy cocoon. Steve good up and began to systematically strip the blankets back and the rewrap Tony. “You’re harshing the billionaire burrito I had going on,” Tony grumbled, Tony, curling into himself. “What the hell!” he shouted, shivering.
“It wasn’t going to be effective like that. I’m fixing it,” Steve explained. Once he had swaddled Tony, Tony hummed his gratitude. “Better?” Steve asked. Tony just nodded. “Okay, I’m going to make you some chicken soup. Is there anything I can get you first?” Steve asked.
“Can you get me some water?” Tony mumbled.
“Of course,” Steve said. He ran to the kitchen and returned moments later with a bottle of water. He pulled the cap off and poured it into the glass Tony had beside his bed. “Here you go. I’m going to go get the soup ready. I’ll be back in a bit.” He was almost out the door when he turned around to see Tony blindly grabbing at the bedside table, trying to get ahold of the water. Eventually he managed to get his hand around it and took a cautious sip, before spilling a bit himself, swearing, and returning the cup to the bedside table. It was so pathetic but Steve could do nothing but smile. He didn’t go back to help Tony, instead went to the kitchen to start the soup.
True to his word, as soon as the vegetables were cut, the chicken boiled, and the pot set to simmer, he went back to Tony. Tony was lying on top of the blankets, stripped down to his boxers, sweating profusely. Steve chuckled. “Hot?”
“It was like rotating on a spit in hell!” Tony moaned. “What the hell did you do?”
“I was trying to get you to sweat the fever out,” Steve explained.
“More like give me a heat stroke,” Tony exclaimed. By the way his breathing changed after it, Steve could tell that it had taken just about everything Tony had in him to shout like that. Steve took off his shoes and crawled into bed. He pulled Tony close but Tony wriggled his way out of Steve’s arms.
“No,” Tony insisted. “You’re too hot.”
“Do you want a cool cloth?” Steve asked. Tony grunted and nodded. Steve got up and went into the bathroom. Han a cloth under the cold water while listening to Tony moan in the other room. He was halfway out of the door when he grabbed the thermometer. Might as well know how serious this was.
When he was back by Tony’s side, Tony had folded in on himself again. His eyes were closed and he was shivering “Open,” Steve instructed before popping the thermometer into his boyfriend’s mouth. He placed the cloth on Tony’s forehead for a split second before Tony made a squeak of protest.
“Too cold!” Tony mouthed around the thermometer. Steve sighed and tossed the cloth to the side. After what seemed like a year, the thermometer beeped and Steve took it out of Tony’s mouth.
“Holy shit,” Steve hissed. 105º.
“You’re sexy when you swear,” Tony mumbled, halfheartedly.
“Okay Tony, you have to tell me what else is wrong,” Steve insisted.
“Headache, back pain, sore thro—what are you doing?” Tony grumbled as Steve wrapped the blankets around him and picked him up.
“Taking you to the hospital.”
“NO!” Tony shouted and rolled out of Steve’s arms. He flopped on the floor and laid there for a moment before untangling himself from the blankets and slowly crawling back to the bed. If he wasn’t so concerned, Steve would have laughed. However, as it was, it seemed to take all of Tony’s energy to crawl across the floor and that was worrying.
“Tony, sweetheart, you have endured much worse and walked away. You can’t even stand right now. You need to see a doctor,” Steve insisted. Tony was currently trying to pull himself up onto the bed. “Tony, please listen to me.”
“Get Bruce,” Tony said.
“No, Tony. You have to go to a real doctor.”
“He is a real doctor.”
“No,” Steve insisted.
“No, you,” Tony said, wiggling under what blankets were left on the bed. “I’ll be fine in the morning. Like you said, I’ve endured much worse and walked away. I just need to sleep.”
Steve sighed and picked the blankets off the floor and covered Tony with them. He made sure to tuck them in, but not swaddle Tony again. The fluctuation of hot to cold wasn’t good for him. “If you’re not better by morning, you’re going to the hospital.”
“You said something about soup?” Tony groaned, desperate to change the topic.
“Oh!” Steve shouted, dropping the blankets and running into the kitchen. He turned the burner off and stirred the soup to make sure it wasn’t burnt on the bottom. It seemed okay and he sighed in relief. He got the ladle and spooned a small portion onto a bowl before dropping an ice cube in it to cool it down. He carried it back into the room to see that Tony had fallen asleep. He was drooling into the pillow. Even though there were bags under his eyes and his hair was sticking to his face with sweat, Steve couldn’t help but think Tony looked adorable.
Steve put the bowl of soup down on the table beside Tony’s head and stripped down. He fixed the blankets around Tony and crawled into bed with him. Since Tony wasn’t awake to protest, he pulled him into his arms. Tony unconsciously snuggled against Steve, spooning into him. Steve placed a kiss on the back of his head.
“Love you,” Tony mumbled, still half asleep.
“I love you, too. Now, shh baby, go back to sleep.”