joetrohman1984 this was kind of stupid and poorly written but here you go

Ship: Joe/Patrick
Words: 473

I woke up to coughing.

And then the blankets moving every five minutes or so.

More coughing.

A sneeze.

Sniffles.

A groan.

"Patrick..." Joe mumbles, his throat sore, "I think I'm sick."

"I think I'm a gay."

"What?" He frowns beside me.

"I thought we were stating things that were obvious." I say sarcastically, "Lemme feel."

He turns over and I rest my hand on his forehead, sure enough he's burning up.

"Mmm... baby I don't wanna get outta bed." He groans softly.

"I'm getting there," I reply, sliding my tires ass out of bed.

"Yay..." Joe smiles. I roll my eyes and head to the bathroom where I grab a box of tissues and deem it late enough in the morning to give him DayQuil. A small smile ghosts my face but I'm too tired to give it a lot of effort.

I return to the bedroom, set the box of tissues next to Joe and measure him out the orange medicine before handing it over. He downs it quickly with a grimace and I can't help but smirk at how comical it looks.

I turn and make my way downstairs where I pull out a can of soup from the cupboard, hoping this might help...

It's been a while since either of us were last sick. Neither of us get sick all that often but when we do, it hits hard and it can get extremely annoying, especially with work...

I pour the can into a bowl, put the bowl in the microwave, and set it for 2 minutes before I press my palms to my eyelids, trying to wake up as the soup cooks.

The soup finishes microwaving and after a moment, I pull it out, put a spoon in it and carry it upstairs to give to my husband of two years. He looks miserable, sitting on the bed with a stuffy nose, the blankets up to his neck, and sneezing every once in a while.

I set the soup on his bedside table before I crawl into bed beside him. My hands wrapping around his stomach and my face buried in his Afro.

He turns, facing me and a drowsy smile plays on his face.

"You're fucking adorable when you're sick." I smirk.

"Shut up, Stump." He growls.

"Make me, Trohman."

He flips us over so he's on top of me on his hands and knees, his hands pinning my limp wrists to the bed.

"I will kiss you." He threatens.

I squeal and turn my head, "Gross!"

"That's what I thought." He rolls back over and takes a sip of the soup, "Stay home with me?"

I smile and nod, "Of course."

He grins. It's cute.

"Thanks."

"No problem."