A/N: Warning for hangovers and nausea. Based on an anon prompt that I will put at the end.

Brrgh! Brrgh! Brrgh! Brrgh!

"What…the…fuck?" Sebastian exclaims, while somewhere behind him, another voice groans pitifully. "What the fuck is that!?"

Brrgh! Brrgh! Brrgh! Brrgh!

"It's called an alarm clock, lemon head," Kurt mutters softly. The blaring alarm might be driving through his skull like metal spikes, but listening to his own voice catapult inside his brain will make his whole head explode.

Brrgh! Brrgh! Brrgh! Brrgh!

"I know it's an alarm clock," Sebastian says, hearing Kurt's hushed voice through mental acuity alone. He flails out in all directions with his eyes shut to find the offensive device and smash it to smithereens. "But who in the hell still has an alarm clock that sounds like that? I mean, don't you have a…"

Kurt maneuvers past Sebastian's windmilling arms to turn off the alarm, and Sebastian realizes he's been yelling, which is doing nothing to stop the constant throbbing in his temples.

"Don't you have a cell phone or something?" Sebastian finishes, only a tick or two higher than a whisper. "Why didn't you use that alarm? Or are you a sadomasochist?"

"Must be," Kurt mumbles, determined to conduct this entire conversation without moving his jaw. He heads for the bathroom, planning on starting the day by being sick in the toilet, but stops halfway, sits, and finds an obliging waste basket instead when the world won't quit listing left and right. "Which leads to the obvious question - how come every time I wake up with a hangover, I find you in my bed?"

"Just lucky, I guess," Sebastian says, followed quickly by, "I think I'm going to hork," and a loud, disgustingly wet burp.

"Lovely," Kurt grumbles, his stomach flipping over, making digestive acids flood his esophagus, the lining sizzling like bacon grease. He picks up his tiny waste basket and cradles it against his chest, waiting for hell to break loose.

"I was wrong," Sebastian says in a weak, trembling voice. "I'm not going to hork."

"Well, that's good."

"I'm going to die."

"Still good."

Sebastian scoffs, then hates his life immediately after when his sinuses start to ring, pitchy and off-key like a cracked tin bell. "Now why would you say that?"

"9/10ths, babe," Kurt replies, mocking the way Sebastian normally says it. "You kick the bucket, I get most of what you own."

"Including my dead body," Sebastian says, crawling back under the covers when nausea becomes overwhelming.

"My dad owns a wood chipper. I'm good." Kurt follows suit, still clutching his waste basket, just to be on the safe side.

"Harsh," Sebastian says.

"You knew I was. Never said I wasn't."

"Well, if you can't stand me so much, then why did you marry me?"

Kurt peeks at Sebastian over the rim of his waste basket and smiles a woozy, dreamy, lopsided smile.

"Because I love you," he says. "With all of my heart. With every fiber of my being. Every day of my life. For better or for worse. For sicker or for poorer…"

"Or, in our case, hung over and filthy rich," Sebastian remarks, slapping a hand over his mouth when he thinks he might belch again. Kurt cringes when he does, but silently appreciates the effort.

"That, too." Kurt hands Sebastian his waste basket, since he might need it before Kurt does. Taking his life into his own hands, Kurt crawls carefully to his husband's side of the mattress, and rests his head on Sebastian's chest. He does his best not to jostle the bed, which feels like they're battling rapids every time one of them breaths. "Serves you right, though, doing body shots all night."

Sebastian scoffs again, softer this time, so he can still be snarky without throwing up. "Considering the fact that I was doing them off of your gloriously naked body, I think I deserve a pass."

"I don't think that's how it works."

"Well, it should. Like eating chocolate cake in the dark."

Kurt can't lift his head to judgmentally glare, so he does it in spirit. "What does that even mean?"

"If no one sees you eat a chocolate cake, then you don't gain any weight because the calories don't exist."

There's a beat of silence, and Sebastian follows up with, "Duh."

"You're such a schmuck," Kurt laughs, braving the pain since he can't fight the impulse.

"Yeah, well, now you're Mr. Schmuck" – Sebastian kisses his husband's head using the lightest, faintest brush of his lips since the smell of Kurt's shampoo suddenly makes him want to hurl. Vomiting vodka and tequila all over his new groom might not be the best way to kick off their new life together – "and don't you forget it."

***Based on the anon prompt 'I married you yesterday'