I woke with my lips on your shoulder, chocolate-flavored in the ravishes of last night's war. At my elbow, a single wrapper: it crinkled as I stretched, and I laughed against your spine. "Darling," I murmured, my nose at your neck, "it's time to wake up."
I struggled to sit, one arm still tucked under your hip, blunt nails tapping against the outside of your thigh. You sighed, still asleep, and rolled towards the edge--but you wouldn't get away so easily. Stronger now, propped and looming, I chained kisses down your side until you moaned, annoyed, rolling back into me with strong protest.
My fever met yours, and I could tell by the way we matched the sheets that neither of us had recovered. Coughing into your chest, and making my own moans, I finally heard you chuckle in response. "Well," you began, voice scratchy and raw, "at least we can tell everyone we spent Valentine's Day in bed."
We'd spent hours on old movies and classic cartoons, devouring truffles to chase the taste of chicken noodle soup and bitter tea. Sweating, then freezing, we weathered our chills and spoke of the flu as our common enemy, united through every sniffle. At one point we waved at the shower--which neither of us had seen in days--and decided that we never wanted to sleep on green striped sheets again.
You opened your eyes and smiled, bad breath and white tongue, and I kissed you anyway. "Good morning," I said. "How do you feel?"
"Like hell." I coughed my agreement. "Baby," you said, feet on the floor while you stared with longing at the toilet, "I love you."
Watching you waddle like an old man to the bathroom, I knew I loved you, too.
by GeneratingHype
