Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.
Basically 1,000 words of shamelessly indulgent sickfic. Enjoy.
One of Kurt's earliest discoveries about his fiancé was that Blaine tended to reach a state somewhere between sleepy to catatonic whenever he was on cold medication.
With a lapful of warm, sleeping Anderson, he couldn't say he was complaining, even if it had been alarming the first time he had insisted that Blaine take something to help him sleep only to discover that Blaine hadn't been lying about how he slipped into a small coma every time he did. Even Rachel's spirited – if involuntarily – attempts to rouse him were met with utter unconcern. Checking in on him at least twice every hour to make sure that he was still breathing was exhausting for Kurt, and so when Blaine had roused enough to drag a blanket with him out into the living room and curled up on Kurt's lap, he hadn't had the heart to worry about germs.
Besides, there was something immensely comforting about the solid, heavy weight in his arms. Kurt liked having him close, even if he did know that Rachel would never forgive him if he somehow missed her NYADA winter premiere due to sickness. Blaine had apparently been excused until future notice: Kurt suspected that Rachel's soft spot for him had a lot to do with the midnight coffee runs and constant supply of vegan foods that he arranged conveniently to be on hand at all times. As it was, Kurt's contributions to the Rachel Berry fund were still on the "What have you done for me today?" plan, something that he found at times exhausting and, surprisingly, refreshing.
If nothing else, to a fault, Rachel was always true to herself.
And she had brought home Thai takeout instead of food from that new vegan restaurant for a change. As long as he kept one arm anchored around Blaine's back, he was able to eat one-handed with relative ease.
Sniffing, Blaine emerged from his blanket cocoon as Kurt finished a box of noodles, blinking blearily at the box and asking thickly, "What's that?"
"Dinner," Kurt replied, reaching around him for another box and waving it in front of him invitingly. "Want some?"
Blaine reached out and took the box carefully, peeling open the lid and gratefully accepting the fork Kurt handed him. It wasn't the most coordinated way to eat noodles, but Kurt didn't mind, instead pressing a fond kiss to his ungelled hair instead as he reached for the remote and flipped on TLC. They had exactly two hours before Santana and Dani returned from their shift, and even with Rachel rambling in the kitchen about some new dish she wanted to try that week, it was still comfortingly quiet in the loft.
Blaine set the half-finished noodles aside and huddled back down in his pocket of warmth against Kurt's chest, utterly oblivious to Toddlers and Tiaras (even though Kurt was half-tempted to rouse him just so they could comment on how parent licenses needed to be mandated). Rubbing his back absentmindedly through the blanket, Kurt jumped when Santana flung the loft door shut, Dani already tearing into one of the Thai boxes eagerly while Rachel belted out the chorus to Don't Rain on My Parade in the shower.
Impressed that he hadn't noticed her before, Kurt stretched carefully on the couch before patting Blaine's hip and giving him a little shake. "Up," he said, kissing his head once while Blaine made a soft, noncommittal noise under the covers.
"C'mon, the bed's more comfortable," he insisted, ushering his fiancé to his feet carefully and grabbing his hips before he could crash back to the couch in utter exhaustion. "No, no, no, no," he chided, steering him away from Dani and Santana before they could descend – thankfully preoccupied with food – and also conveniently freeing up the couch for their use. He'd already learned that it was better not to argue with them after their last shift; Dani hadn't hesitated to sit on him twice already when he'd refused to scoot over, and Santana threatened to go topless if he didn't let them have more couch space.
Compromising, he removed himself from the equation, shutting the door behind them as Blaine padded wordlessly over to the bed and flopped down on the blanket nest already formed there. Kurt took a moment to survey the wreckage around him: there were half a dozen tissues off one side of the bed and a half-finished bottle of Nyquil on the nightstand. Scrunching his nose up, Kurt gingerly picked up the offending tissues with a clean tissue, tossing them in the trash bin when he was finished. Glancing at the Blaine-shaped burrito on the bed and deciding not to fuss about the covers, he settled down at his vanity and focused on his moisturizing routine, humming softly as he worked.
Shimmying out of his jeans and rumpled white button-up, Kurt tugged on a pair of black shorts and a gray tang-top before sliding into bed beside Blaine. Without rousing to more than optimistically ten percent consciousness, Blaine shuffled over to him so he could rest his cheek against his stomach, nuzzling it lightly in his sleep before settling. Smiling down at him, Kurt scratched the back of his neck lightly, shuffling down on the bed so he could cuddle him properly.
Blaine whined softly when Kurt stopped scratching, nuzzling his cheek against his shoulder instead. "Why'd you stop?" he mumbled.
"Go back to sleep, honey," Kurt said instead, kissing his fever-warm forehead once and running his nails down Blaine's back gently, eliciting a soft groan of approval. He repeated the gesture once, twice, three times, and was rewarded with Blaine curling up closer to him and drifting off, breaths deepening.
Hugging him close, Kurt closed his own eyes and let sleep claim him.