The cuddling prompts. 9. + 16. + 19. With Poe. Maybe they're roommates and both sick and miserable and don't have anyone else. I envision Poe being the bigger baby when sick. Lmao.
They’re not both sick and miserable in this, and there are Hamlet jokes. I’m sorry. (But not really, because I really enjoyed writing this.)
“Baaaaaaaaaabe…” Poe whined. The pitiful sound pinged off the tile in the bathroom and drifted down the hall.
You sighed and dropped the magazine you had been reading to the floor before rolling off the couch. All of last night’s bad decisions had taken their own toll on your head and stomach, but apparently you were made from sturdier stuff than the Best Man. You grabbed the half-empty bottle of Pepto off the counter before making the umpteenth trip down to the bathroom.
“Did you barf up the coffee told you not to drink?” You leaned up against the doorframe and quirked an eyebrow at him, the pink bottle dangling in your fingers.
Poe frowned and sulked back against the tub. “No.”
Your eyes glanced at the still-warm cup of coffee sitting on the floor near him, and then back to him.
“Here, take some of this.” You unscrewed the cap on the Pepto and shoved it at him.
His nose scrunched up on his face, which if he weren’t such a sad pile of hungover and possible food poisoning, would be kind of cute. “I don’t like that stuff.”
With a sigh, you rolled your eyes. “And I don’t like that Pava and I had tickets to Hamlet tonight, but I have to take care of your miserable butt.” You shoved the medicine in front of him and didn’t move until he took the bottle and took a long swig out of it. His eyes never left yours as he drank the tonic, whether out of irritation or jealousy that you had won the battle with your digestive system, you weren’t sure.
Poe sighed and grumbled as some of the thick, pink liquid dribbled down his chin and onto shirt and sweats. “How am I such a mess of a person. This is the worst.” Again with the whining.
You couldn’t help but chuckle a little as you grabbed a towel and knelt down next to him. You cleaned the Pepto off of his chin and tried not to fall into him when he grabbed your hand and again looked into your eyes. “Why aren’t you a mess right now?” he asked, his voice soft, losing the childish whimper he’d been working all day.
“I drank water before the reception instead of doing lines of shots with the groomsmen. I also told you Taco Bell at four a.m. was a bad idea.”
“I’m never eating Taco Bell again,” he said rather seriously. “They’re not real tacos.”
A large grin spread over your face and you nodded at his sickroom epiphany. “We’ll get some real tacos tomorrow, okay? Come on.” You helped him up to his feet and motioned to his dirty clothes, now stained with pink droplets. “I’ll do a load of laundry and then we can watch a movie or something.”
You helped him pull his shirt over his head, but stepped back into the doorway and turned your head when he started pulling off his sweatpants. Not that sharing this apartment for the past year hadn’t already given both of you some accidental (and not-so-accidental) peeks at each other partially clothed.
“You don’t have to stay here. Go ahead and see Hamlet with Jess,” he said after handing you the clothes and stepping up the sink. He splashed water on his face and then squirted toothpaste onto his toothbrush. But you just stood there, barely even realizing that you had turned back to look at him and just stopped to admire the view. He turned and grinned, toothbrush hanging from his lips. “I hear the lead spends half the play without pants.”
“Uh-huh.” You shook your head and started walking down the hall. “Jess already asked Rose to go instead. You’ll just have to buy me tickets to make up for it.”
After you had dumped the dirty clothes into the wash and started the machine, you found Poe already sprawled out on the couch. He had brought a pillow and a blanket and left almost no room for you. You put a box of saltines and a sports drink on the table, then set a bucket on the floor next to the couch, just in case. When you stood in front of his face, blocking his view of the TV, he finally sat up slightly to let you squeeze onto the couch.
“I hate being sick,” he confessed and snuggled his head into your lap as the Disney logo and fanfare started playing on the television.
“I couldn’t tell.” You smirked and brushed your fingers through his hair. “What are we watching?”
“The Lion King. It’s basically Hamlet.” He grinned and turned his head slightly to kiss the top of your leg and then settled in for the movie. “Simba also doesn’t wear pants.”
You laughed and playfully pushed at him. “As if I haven’t seen enough sloppy, naked men today.”