Sebastian rolled his eyes, forcing the spoon to Jim’s lips again.

“Jim, for the last time, just eat it, it’s only two goddamn table spoons,” he groaned.

“It tastes like shit, Seb! Just get me some morphine, or sugar coated tablets,” Jim muttered through gritted teeth so Sebastian couldn’t force-feed him.

“Morphine won’t help your throat,” he replied with an exasperated sigh, “Just one table spoon then. You can drink as much water as you like afterwards.”

Jim just glared at him, not parting his lips.

“You’re acting like a child,” he muttered, taking the spoon away from Jim’s lips and getting up, “I’ll come back in thirty minutes, don’t think you’ve gotten out of this.”

True to his word, half an hour later Sebastian returned to Jim’s bedroom with medicine and a plastic bag which he promptly dropped on the bedside table.

Jim shuffled from where he had been lying on his stomach - texting even though Sebastian had confiscated his phone - and raised a quizzical eyebrow at the sniper, glancing over at the plastic bag.

“Strawberry ice cream. You can have it if you take the medicine,” he began. Jim opened his mouth to talk but Sebastian beat him to it, “And don’t even suggest that it will make you fat, you barely eat anything and I know you like this stuff. Now, mouth open.”

Jim looked at him, frowning and mock pouting as he shuffled into sitting position.

“You know you’re getting punished when I’m better again,” he hissed with a hoarse voice, wincing at the exertion. He opened his mouth, and Sebastian grinned.

“I’d expect nothing less, Boss,” he replied, spoon feeding Jim the medicine before handing him the ice cream and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “See you again for your next dose in 5 hours.”

—-

((Hope you liked it, feel free to send prompts, headcannon asks and random spam my way))