(Rules: -750 words; LGBT+ Centric)
Clarice opened the door quietly. The room she stepped into was dark and small, containing little more than a bed, a desk, and a dresser. All available wallspace was taken up by DIY shelving. If she could see, Clarice would have been greeted by the familiar sight of stacks upon stacks of books and keepsakes. By memory, she found the standing lamp that does not glow as brightly and turned on the light.
“No,” a scratchy, tired voice mumbled.
“It’s time for your meds, Lily.”
“No,” Lily said, slightly louder. Clarice tamped down a sigh as she set the pills and the water bottle (no open-top cups this time. Not after the second spill) on the bedside table. Lily was a stubborn bastard on her best days. Sickness had only made that worse.
“How about a bedtime story instead?” Clarice asked, as though she were going to be persuaded. She could already hear the denial. For a moment, Clarice spared a thought to mourn the days when Lily was just stubborn about finding the exact right position on Clarice’s plump thighs, and was sure that one existed that had not already been tried.
“Go ‘way,” Lily mumbled. The bedding shifted when she turned over to see Clarice more clearly. It was as close to a green light as she would get.
“There was a little girl who had a little curl,” Clarice began. She moved the hem of a thick comforter off of Lily’s head to rub her fingers into the hair in question. “Right in the middle of her forehead.”
Lily shuffled forwards a little more to lay her cheek against Clarice’s bare knee. The soft huffs of air from her open mouth ghosted across Clarice’s thigh until they met her boxer briefs.
“And when she was good, she got better in no time at all,” Clarice continued. She played at the (thankfully) short ringlets on Lily’s head, currently tamped down and gross with sweat and a lack of washing.
“And when she was bad,” Clarice dropped her voice to a murmur before leaning down and pressing the softest kiss to Lily’s cheek. Her girlfriend arched into the touch as much as she could muster the strength to.
“She got no sex, because she was sick, and gross, and couldn’t breathe through her nose.”
“Uuungh,” Lily whines. She pushed herself up on her hands. The blankets fell away to reveal her undershirt. She shivered, despite the room being warm.
“Uh,” she reiterated, glaring balefully.
“Ah, the dragon has emerged,” Clarice said with a smile. She handed over the water bottle and the two prescription pills. Lily took both with one last, mournful glare, then handed the water bottle back.
“Thank you,” Clarice said with a saccharine smile. Lily flipped her off and abruptly gave Clarice her back. Taking her cue, Clarice switched the lamp off and departed for the kitchen. Even the short amount of time in the room had caused her to start sweating, and it was a relief to be cool again.
With any luck, Lily would be over all of this in a day or two, and Clarice could make good on her promise of sex. That, and they would sleep in the same bed again. And Lily would not feel like death warmed over. And then Lily would want to lay on Clarice and steal her much larger clothes and- well. All the little things that Clarice missed about living with her girlfriend will come back. Lily just had to rest. And take her damn meds.
Until then, though, Clarice was stuck in her red underwear and purple tank top, bemoaning the foul mood and illness of her girlfriend, and waiting for all that to pass. She sat down on their old, borderline decrepit couch and wondered if another bedtime story would work for next time, too.
