Work Text:
“I thought you couldn’t get sick.” Oliver laughed, making his way through the piles of tissues that were littered across the room; a trail to a very sick, sniffly, Barry Allen.
“I'm a metahuman with super speed, Ol. ” Barry said, voice thick, a sniffle punctuating the sentence. “I’m not a vampire.”
Oliver smiled sheepishly, perching himself on the edge of the bed. When Barry had called him two days ago, coughing and sneezing, Oliver brought it upon himself to go over to Central and make sure his boyfriend was okay.
(“I’m fine, Oliver.” Barry coughed, yaking something up in the process. “Honestly.”
“You don’t sound fine, Barry.”
“I know. I sound like Howard the Duck on steroids.”
“You’ve been hanging around Cisco too much. I’m coming down and making sure you’re okay.”
“Ol-- N-”)
“I brought some things.” Oliver said simply, shucking off the rucksack that had been aching his back.
Barry rolled his eyes. “I told you I was fine. I don’t need medi--”
Oliver shuffled up the bed, shaking his head. “I haven’t brought medicine, Bear.”
Barry frowned, looking sceptical. “If you’re planning to secretly med me up in my sleep, I’m kicking you out now.”
Oliver laughed, despite side-eyeing Barry. “I’m not planning to secretly med you up. I think you have enough pain killers in your system anyway.” Barry hummed in agreement at that, watching as Oliver unzipped the backpack and turning it upside down, shaking it. Multiple things rolled out, and Barry’s curiousity got the better of him and he shuffled round, his blankets falling off him. He shivered from a brief moment before Oliver reached and tucked them back round Barry. “Yeah, totally fine.” Oliver mocked teasingly, pressing a small kiss to Barry’s sweaty temple.
Barry winced. “Might not wanna do that. You’ll get diseased.”
Oliver shrugged. “I don’t mind. I don’t get ill.”
Barry raised a brow before putting his full attention to the things on the bed. There were DVD cases, cans, chargers, Oliver’s phone. His brow didn’t stop being raised as he looked up to Oliver again. “And what exactly is that?”
Oliver beamed, and Barry was tempted to place his hand on Oliver’s forehead and check his temperature; the flu must’ve already gotten to him. “That,” he pointed to a DVD case, it’s bright colours catching Barry’s eye. “Is the complete first season of Chuck,” Oliver informed. “And all these,” he gestured to the rest of the discs. “Are the other ones.”
Barry returned the beaming smile, choking a little after. He put his hand up as Oliver knelt, worry in his eyes. “S’fine. I was about to say you really know how to please a man.” he paused, frowning. “But what are those cans?”
Oliver flushed a little pink, and Barry would’ve squished his cheeks if he wasn’t so ill. “They’re soup. I wasn’t sure how much-- how much you’d need.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Because you eat a lot-- and--”
Barry’s smile didn’t falter. “I would kiss you right now if I wasn’t as sick as Michael at the end of Season 4.”
Oliver smiled. “You really have to stop letting Cisco coax you into watching things. You’re becoming him.”
Barry pushed Oliver lightly. “Shut up and make the soup and put the disc in, you big dweebie.”
(bonus:
"What was that?" Barry said, surprisingly feeling better after a few more days.
Oliver covered a sniffle. "Nothing!" he defended, crossing his arms.
Barry laughed. "Okay, Mr. I Don't Get Sick.")