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It was a face. With a bacon mouth, and a big fried-egg nose, with fruit for eyes and strips of toast for hair. It smiled at Dick and he smiled back. Then he arranged the expression into something more nuanced. The plate went on the tray next to the orange juice and tea. He'd thought of going the whole nine yards and adding a lily in a vase, but such gestures were better saved for an anniversary or something.
Nudging open the door to their bedroom, Dick flipped the lightswitch with one elbow, illuminating the small lump under the sheets. As well as the crumpled tissues littering the floor by the bed, the empty Kleenex boxes, cups of cold tea-dregs, and blister packs of pills. He tutted, nudging trash aside with the toe of his shoe.
"I think it's time to get up," Dick said, standing over the small lump of sheets. "I brought you breakfast. Even though it's two PM."
That roused him. Death unearthed himself just enough to direct a bleary frown at Dick. He looked a mess; tangled hair, red nose, the bags under his eyes. Dick couldn't help finding it all rather cute. He lowered the breakfast tray for Death to see, and got a deeper frown in response.
"I can't taste anything," Death croaked, and sniffled as if to prove a point. He made no effort to sit up, and instead wiggled deeper into the blankets. "Turn the light off," he added, from within his burrow.
Instead, Dick sat on the bed at his feet, setting breakfast aside for now. "Come on. You've been in bed for days," he said, reaching over to rub Death's leg through the sheets. The covers had gone limp with ill sweat, wrinkled from endless tossing and turning. It stood to reason that Death made a terrible patient – he didn't have much experience to draw from. Still, a week in bed was excess, and not the kind Dick supported.
"Time to get up," he continued, when Death didn't make a move. "Come on." He patted the leg he'd been rubbing.
Death's voice was stuffy and weak, but he could still sound as haughty as ever. "I don't want to," he replied, curling into a slightly smaller ball.
Well, now he was just being stubborn. Leaving breakfast aside for now, Dick stood and stripped all the covers from the bed onto the floor. Beneath them Death was swimming in a baggy tshirt and roomy sweatpants that had once belonged to Dick – the old one, anyway. He looked as shocked and affronted as if someone had just flashed him their genitals, but in his weak state could do little more than flop indignantly.
"I'm sick," he rasped, "leave me alone."
"No," Dick replied simply, and pulled the other man up out of bed. He stumbled and leaned against Dick, snuffling into his shoulder. Stuck between the bed and his husband, he realized he had little choice in this matter.
"Fine," Death grumbled. "Where are we going, then?"
"The shower, by the smell of you," Dick answered cheerfully, and lead them toward the en suite.
Stubborn though he was, Death willingly undressed. It was true that so long in bed had left him feeling grimy. The shirt and sweatpants were laid on the toilet tank; he wore nothing else underneath. Naked, Death leaned back against the sink as Dick ran the water, letting it warm up. It was chilly outside his warm blanket cocoon, and Death was already shivering. Sensitive to the cold in more ways than one, Death curled forward with a little sneeze, shivering harder.
At the sound, Dick looked up from unbuttoning his shirt. Death still had his eyes closed, thin fingers hovering in front of his face. With a shivering inhale, he let out another, slightly more urgent sneeze. He swayed a bit, steadying against the counter, thin chest rising and falling as he gasped, and worked out the final sneeze, brow knit above his cupped hand. “Excuse me,” he mumbled, hardly thrilled to be in such a state.
“Poor thing,” Dick said, beckoning Death forward, still half-dressed himself. “It’s warm now, get in.” He undid his belt, toeing his socks off.
Sniffing piteously, Death wobbled into the shower with Dick close behind. The water felt amazing on his sore body, wrapping him in warmth - not to mention the solid comfort of Dick’s chest against his back. The spray was like a light massage and the steam was clearing his head, so it was no wonder Death started to doze off then and there. However, Dick wasn’t having it.
At the first sign of swaying, he pinched Death’s skinny ribs, grabbing up a bar of soap with the other hand. “I could wash you,” he offered, smirking, “if you’re not up to the task yourself.”
Death snatched the soap away. “I’m perfectly capable of washing myself,” he said, adding, “but thank you,” on second thought. Being ill had made him quite grumpy, even moreso than usual. Dick was being very caring - either that or he’d missed his playtoy. As Death scrubbed himself, Dick was rubbing circles with his thumbs on the back of Death’s shoulders, working his way down to the tense muscles surrounding his shoulderblades. Though it had broken the day before, the fever had left his skin still a bit oversensitive, but where touch had once been painful it was now pleasant, sending extra little nerve signals skittering over his skin. Dick’s thumbs worked at a sore spot between two vertebrae and Death let out a sigh as he felt it loosen. He lowered his head, watching suds run off his legs, between his toes into the drain.
Locating the shampoo, Death turned to hand it back in silent request. “If I wanted to do it I would,” he said in response to Dick’s mock surprise. “Just scrub.”
With a chuckle, Dick dutifully obeyed, covering Death’s head in suds and massaging them in. He took his time, fingers moving over delicate bone formations beneath thin scalp. He had missed Death’s presence, and had worried as well. He wanted to touch, as much and as thoroughly as possible. By the time he eased Death’s head forward under the spray to rinse out the shampoo, the other man felt completely lax under his hands. Leaning Death back against his chest, Dick could see that he was hard, cock twitching a little under the shower spray.
Even when ill and exhausted. “Brat,” Dick said fondly, nosing against Death’s ear.
“Couldn’t help myself,” Death sighed. “It felt so good.”
“Would you like me to...” Dick trailed off, fingers teasing along Death’s hipbone.
“Please,” said Death, head lolling onto Dick’s shoulder. His mouth fell open with a soft gasp as fingers wrapped around him, but he didn’t move, languidly melting back against Dick. His stamina and restraint were totally depleted, and by the time he came he was a shaking, moaning mess in Dick’s arms. He was left panting, coughing a little, feeling wrung out but in the most pleasant way.
Dick toweled him off and brought him clean clothes, and for the first time in a while Death was comfortable. Now properly hungry, he mourned the loss of his now-cold breakfast, its egg nose congealed and unappetizing. “Did you make all that?” He asked. The expression it wore was inscrutable, he didn’t ask.
“No, I ordered in,” Dick answered, “and I can order more.” He took down a folded blanket from a shelf in their wardrobe and handed it to Death. “Better go get settled on the couch, since you’ve ruined our bed.” He smirked. “What would you like? Burgers?”
In lieu of an answer, Death leaned up to kiss him.
“Careful,” Dick said, “you don’t want me to catch this.”
“Oh?” Death replied. “But then I could return the favor.”