marvel one-shots

it's only a cold // hawksilver

tw: none
word count: 487

Pietro woke up to a loud groan coming from his lover's side of the bed.

     The boy rolled over to face the blond man.

     "What's wrong, old man?" The boy asked, voice laced with concern for his boyfriend.

     "I'm dying!" The blond groaned, dragging out the 'ing'.

"Bleeding? Wounded?" Pietro asked.

"My throat hurts." The blond complained.

"Is that it?" Pietro asked, crossing his arms. "I was actually worried, old man."

Clint coughed. His nose was red, the skin rubbed raw by the tissues that littered Clint's side of the room.

Pietro pressed the back of his hand to Clint's forehead.

"You're sick." Pietro muttered, pulling his shirt up to cover his nose and mouth. "Good luck with this one, old man." Pietro chuckled. He got up and left the room, ignoring his boyfriend's scratchy-voiced protests.

Pietro found himself walking to the kitchen, probably to make some tea and get Clint some kind of medication. Returning to the room a few minutes later with a cup of tea and a bottle of ibuprofen.

     The blond man was stacking blankets on top of himself.

     "C'mere, old man." Pietro mumbled.

     Clint looked at his boyfriend.

     "Come on, sit up. The tea'll help your throat and the ibuprofen will help with your fever." The boy murmured.

Clint muttered something under his breath and took the bottle of pills from the boy, shaking two out of the container and swallowing them dry.

"You aren't supposed to swallow them on an empty stomach." Pietro commented.

"My stomach isn't empty, it's filled with all kinds of acids." Clint shot back.

"What the fuck."

"If it makes you feel better, your stomach is also full of acid and your intestines wriggle around inside of your body." Clint chuckled.

"What the fuck."

"That's a bad word."

Pietro sighed, shaking his head. "Just drink the tea."

"I am not drinking dirty leaf water." Clint turned away, crossing his arms.

"Old man, you are acting like a toddler. Drink it."

"Make me." Clint stuck his tongue out.

"If you don't drink the tea it'll be likely that the ibuprofen will irritate your stomach lining and it might bleed."

"I said make me, not bore me." Clint rolled his eyes.

     "Alright, have it your way then." Pietro snorted, setting the mug on the bedside table.

     He wrestled with Clint and won easily. He straddled the man.

     "You gonna drink the tea?" Pietro raised his eyebrow at the blond man.

     "Fine." Clint muttered, holding his hand out.

     "No, I don't trust that. I'm holding the mug." Pietro held the mug up to Clint's mouth.

     The blond man grumbled, but took a sip of the tea.

     "See? It's not so bad." Pietro smiled.

     "It's horrible and I loath it with every ounce of my being." Clint crossed his arms. "I can't believe you're making me drink tea while I'm dying."

     "Oh, shut up. It's only a cold." Pietro chuckled.