"Dirty little secret."
Sep. 11th, 2012 01:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Who: Santana Lopez and Kurt Hummel
What: Survival Celebration and Sordid Secrets
Where: Kurt & Santana's apartment, New York
When: Just after the end of summer
It turned out that Kurt's Hot Dog of Doom was more like Hot Dog of the Gastrointestinal Apocalypse. He had been so sick, with his body completely betraying him from all angles, that Santana ended up dragging him to the nearest ER where he had to spend a few hours on IV fluids for dehydration and they pumped him full of anti-puke medication and Imodium. It was only after that did Kurt manage to finally get some rest. Before, he kept being woken up by his stomach that it made it near impossible to rest. Santana dragged him back home in a cab, he crawled into his bed wishing like hell Blaine could be there to snuggle him, and crashed out in a deep sleep. And he pretty much slept for almost three days straight, save for getting up to go to the bathroom and getting bottles of Gatorade into him when he still had no interest in touching food ever again. Santana had just left him to it, staying close to make sure he didn't die in his sleep.
He had no finally re-surfaced, flopping out of bed and shuffling into the kitchen of the little apartment he shared with Santana. His pyjama pants had slipped down over his hips to reveal the top of his butt cheek and when he found Santana in there making coffee, he yawned, rubbing over his face sleepily with one hand whilst hitching his pants back up with the other. He was less than fabulous-looking right now, hair all in a disarray and crease marks from his pillow up the side of his face. He had paused only long enough at the bathroom to pee and quickly brush his teeth, but he was sure he had still be half asleep for that. On the upside, despite feeling weak in the wake of the food poisoning, the nausea seemed to have abated and in its place was just a sore stomach from the strain of throwing up.
He dropped down into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. "I didn't die," he announced, voice husky from sleep. "And apparently Puck nearly had to handcuff Blaine to a bed in Lima so he wouldn't get on a plane here right before school's about to start. I woke up to 73 text messages from Blaine. I think his next step might have been carrier pigeon."
What: Survival Celebration and Sordid Secrets
Where: Kurt & Santana's apartment, New York
When: Just after the end of summer
It turned out that Kurt's Hot Dog of Doom was more like Hot Dog of the Gastrointestinal Apocalypse. He had been so sick, with his body completely betraying him from all angles, that Santana ended up dragging him to the nearest ER where he had to spend a few hours on IV fluids for dehydration and they pumped him full of anti-puke medication and Imodium. It was only after that did Kurt manage to finally get some rest. Before, he kept being woken up by his stomach that it made it near impossible to rest. Santana dragged him back home in a cab, he crawled into his bed wishing like hell Blaine could be there to snuggle him, and crashed out in a deep sleep. And he pretty much slept for almost three days straight, save for getting up to go to the bathroom and getting bottles of Gatorade into him when he still had no interest in touching food ever again. Santana had just left him to it, staying close to make sure he didn't die in his sleep.
He had no finally re-surfaced, flopping out of bed and shuffling into the kitchen of the little apartment he shared with Santana. His pyjama pants had slipped down over his hips to reveal the top of his butt cheek and when he found Santana in there making coffee, he yawned, rubbing over his face sleepily with one hand whilst hitching his pants back up with the other. He was less than fabulous-looking right now, hair all in a disarray and crease marks from his pillow up the side of his face. He had paused only long enough at the bathroom to pee and quickly brush his teeth, but he was sure he had still be half asleep for that. On the upside, despite feeling weak in the wake of the food poisoning, the nausea seemed to have abated and in its place was just a sore stomach from the strain of throwing up.
He dropped down into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. "I didn't die," he announced, voice husky from sleep. "And apparently Puck nearly had to handcuff Blaine to a bed in Lima so he wouldn't get on a plane here right before school's about to start. I woke up to 73 text messages from Blaine. I think his next step might have been carrier pigeon."