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prohistamine · 6 months ago

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Best Laid Plans - Part 2

Details: 12k, M sneezes, M/F (for now..)

Summary: A secret agent is going undercover for a few days, and his target has a sneeze fetish. It’s time for him to put his research to the test.

PART 1 - PART 2 -

AAAA EVERYONE ♥️ I am overwhelmed TwT. Thank you so much for sharing your likes, comments, reblogs, asks, and tags QwQ. My original stuff means a lot to me, so I’m really, REALLY touched that people enjoyed this!! To everyone who left kind words, you give me soul power 💕 I hope this part hits as hard as the first one did, and that you all like it!

Also wanted to quickly shout out @themiseryandcompany, @bestwhumpist, @juxtaposedrose, and @stormyweaver for going so hard in the tags!! Seriously kicking my feet and squealing, I felt spoiled by your commentary, thank you so much for all the love🥹

These are original characters, all in their mid twenties to early thirties!

(Warnings: Unrealistic science, Mess Lite™, fake contagion themes [nobody can catch this cold], exhibition / humiliation themes [main character gets horny in public], feeling pleasure from sneezing, masturbation).

THIS STORY IS NSFW!

It was a little after 1930 in this timezone, standard military time. They’d started their final descent to the landing strip with the beginnings of a sunset smeared across a cloudless sky. And during the flight, Omicron learned three key pieces of information.

Firstly, he absolutely could not stop sneezing. It was simply impossible. He’d swaggered to his plushy recliner with hubris and paid for it about 57 minutes later after dutifully repressing every single rising urge that niggled his sinuses over the course of the hour. It grew and grew in him, increasingly worrisome in its size, until the tickle was just too strong to hold at bay. No amount of snorting, nose blowing, or finger rubbing would ward it back.

It forced him at metaphorical gunpoint to the closet-like bathroom, blindly staggering through tears and wrenching hitches, where he dropped to a crouch and then to his backside with almost a dozen cataclysmic sneezes. Each one worked his lungs like a bellows, dizzying him until he saw spots, winding him until he felt breathless. By the end he was wrecked, and clinging perilously to his self control. He realized then that his sneezing wouldn’t bring him to orgasm alone; it could only lead him to the edge and trap him there until he finished the job himself. Which he obviously couldn’t do in the agency’s aircraft lavatory.

So. He gave up on the ‘don’t sneeze until the jet lands’ plan.

Instead, Omicron washed his face, dried his hands, and resigned himself to minding his nose’s whims. His original hypothesis was correct - if he did nothing to deter his sneezes, they’d come at regular, but controllable, intervals. This remained consistent as long as he didn’t make the other critical error.

Which led him to the second issue: if his mind strayed too far toward anything sneeze-related, he armed the tickle with more ammo. His sneezes became unwieldy if he held them back, yes, but they also magnified to arousing proportions if he imagined literally anything tickling his nose. This was the hallmark of Dr. Voster’s virus - the ‘suggestion sneeze.’ So to avoid a case of blue balls, Omicron did his best not to ruminate on the ceaseless, beckoning sensation that lived in him now. This was by far the most trying aspect of his predicament.

And the third and final bit of info was an exasperating realization: Agent Delta was a chronic and committed blesser even in these circumstances.

“H-ah.. DZSshuh!”

“Bless you.”

Omicron resisted the urge to rub his nose, and instead treated it to a dab from his beleaguered tissue. Any motion more substantial than that would goad it into further misbehavior. He wasn’t interested in another stumbling trip to the bathroom.

“Sir.” He sounded as congested as he felt; his voice was locked up in his sinuses. “You really don’t have to bless me every time.”

Delta patted Omicron’s knee. The two of them sat side by side, despite the sea of empty seats around them. “Aw, Omicron, you keep saying that. I really don’t mind.”

I mind, groused Omicron. That’s why I keep saying it. His gaze drifted to the porthole window and all the little, passing structures beneath. The ground drew closer meters at a time, just as the tickle, yet again, tugged him closer to a conclusion he’d given up fighting. He blinked wetly against the sensation, then let his eyes fall shut. The image of the tiny cars cruising down below lingered, each one speeding undeterred to a destination. They were perpetual. Indefinite. And it was far beyond Omicron’s ability to stop their momentum.

He felt the tickle lurch forward, ripping his breath into a shuddering, “-hUH!hh.. mbb..” Omicron swatched his finger beneath his nose, pausing when the tickle reprimanded him with a lancing spark. “eh-HEH!..hh..”

Hurry up already, he chided with a daring snub to his nose. His nostrils pulsed erratically, aggravated, and another gasp shivered out of him. “h-hh-hh.. HAH-TZSS!sss’uhh..”

“Bless you!” chirped Delta.

It was a particularly unsatisfying sneeze, and ridiculous as it was he felt mocked by his own nose. Omicron sniffled, sniffled again, trying to flare the tickle into action. But it wouldn’t budge. He dug at his eyes with his palms.

“Does your head hurt?” asked Delta.

Omicron dropped his hands and leaned his head back against the seat with another defeated sniffle. “Ndo, sir. Mby head doesn’d hurt.”

“Do you need more tissues?”

His fingernails bit into the palm of his hand. “Ndo, sihHH-”

Unwilling to endure another hygiene lecture, Omicron flinched both elbows to his face and kept his nose there. He heaved through a series of increasingly yearning breaths, light on the inhales, heavy on the exhales, shoulders lifting and dropping each time he thought the sneeze might grant him mercy. In the end it left him wanting. He dropped his arms and panted, eyes still closed, cheeks streaked with tears.

Delta cleared his throat and Omicron lulled his head in that direction, squinting through sticky eyelashes. His superior held a fresh pack of tissues in offering, and Omicron’s cheeks heated. How many of these did he bring??

He didn’t snatch them, but it was a near thing. Delta’s smile tilted with sympathy, and Omicron prickled like a wet cat. “You can vent your complaints to me if you want, I don’t mind.”

“Not sure what you mean,” he muttered through gritted teeth, scrubbing his nose with intentional strength. It stung, but served it right.

“It’s okay to be grumpy, Omicron.” Delta spoke like he was soothing a startled horse. “I’m sure this is a tricky situation to manage.”

What remained of Omicron’s professional decorum disintegrated, and he snapped with a waspish, “What would you know?”

Delta’s eyebrows flew up and Omicron’s blood flashed cold. He hadn’t meant to say that.

“P...Pardon mbe, sir,” he mumbled and lowered his tissue with a sniff. “I apologize. That was uncalled for.”

“Yes, it was,” Delta agreed, his tone contemplative. “But it was also very out of character for you. I’ve seen you stay composed during triage for a gunshot wound. Just what about this has you so out of sorts?”

Admitting to Delta that there was more to this than simply sneezing - disclosing the induced erections that were slowly eroding his self control - would be professional suicide. Even if this side effect wasn’t Omicron’s fault, it was his responsibility to manage. This was a chance to prove himself, and if he screwed it up he’d never get this chance again. That’s just how it was at the agency.

He’d have to lie. Lie until he could deflect.

“Dnothi’g, sir,” he said. “It jhhust tih.. iih..ckles-hh..hH..” Omicron’s eyelids fluttered and he crushed his crumpled tissue to his face.

Please, please, please, he found himself begging as the itch crawled around behind his eyes. Give me a good one.

Against his better judgement, a smoky silhouette sprung to his mind’s eye. Something lithe and graceful, skulking through his nasal passages heedless of the sorry state of them. It glided across raw nerves, pausing to snuggle against their warmth as Omicron sliced his lungs with a gasp. Then dragged the breath back out on a groan. Fuck, he could feel it. Could feel the dimensions of the tickle as it prowled and pawed, arched and sprawled, coy in its torture. He could feel his nerves recoil, his nostrils spasm - a panicked cry for action.

“h-YEH!hh..oh.. hh-HEH-”

Omicron panted as the tickle receded, plumeing into an indistinct but irritating mist. Like a phantom it spread through him, coating his quaking membranes as it drifted deeper.. deeper.. deeper still. It filled his nose with a sensation too ambiguous to do much more than hopelessly itch. His hiccuping breaths eased to stillness; he was trapped on this plateau, punished by a tickle that wouldn’t grow. It merely wanted to endure. A bit frantic, Omicron tried to grasp onto a more solid visual. It didn’t matter what it was, it could be anything, just so long as-

“Agent Omicron?”

The torturous mist evaporated, leaving his nose singed and no longer imminently sneezy. It took substantial restraint for Omicron not to pound his armrest in abject, miserable frustration. He blew his nose in defeat, raked his sleeves over his cheeks to clear the tears, and sniffled. His nose squeaked in reply.

“.. I don’t think I can adequately communicate how annoying this is, sir.”

“Well, it really must be a bother if it’s making you pout like this.”

Omicron puffed up in offense and casted for a snide reply before he remembered that this was his boss. He bit his tongue, figuratively and literally. “It’s true this is testing my patience,” he said, “but I assure you that it won’t impact my performance. I’ll achieve nothing less than exceptional results. And respectfully, sir, I’m not pouting.”

Then he shimmied in his seat to face the window.

Agent Delta considered him with a skeptical eye, and as someone who knew the extent of his subordinate’s gifts he was right to do so. Deception was something of Omicron’s specialty. Trained in the art of information extraction, he excelled at becoming whomever a target wanted to see: a cautious creative type, a severe and dismissive businessman, the gullible boy next door or the leather-clad motorcyclist your friends warned you about. This ability, among other qualities, landed him this case.

But tricking a stranger he’d researched for weeks and swindling his superior officer were two different beasts.

“As you say,” Delta conceded to Omicron’s back.

The jet’s landing gear grazed the runway.

+ + +

The destination was tropical, but close enough to a coastline that the heat wasn’t stifling. Their resort hotel was nothing short of opulent, offering amenities such as: a grand carpeted staircase, bellhops in uniform, and over a dozen glittering chandeliers. They’d changed into their civilian clothes before entering to better blend in. Well, blend was a strong word for Agent Delta; he wore Bermuda shorts with an equally garish aloha shirt printed with hibiscus flowers. Omicron doubted it was an officially sanctioned garment. He himself donned something understated - khaki shorts, boat shoes, and a white v-neck t-shirt. A pair of gold aviator sunglasses sat on top of his head.

He’d done what he could for his nose. When he caught sight of it in the jet’s bathroom mirror just before they deplaned, he could understand why Delta kept needling him. The skin was blushed an obscene red, the color deepest at his nostrils and fanning out across his septum, cupid’s bow, and as far up to the bridge of his nose. He also hadn’t been aware of how much it moved on its own, incessantly prodded by the tickle inside. Looking at himself too long just made him feel sneezier, and Omicron had braced his hands on the bathroom counter with helpless hitching until he coughed out a single, underwhelming, ih’BZSch!

Now watching Delta check in at the front desk from across the hotel lobby, Omicron tempered his trembling nostrils with a touch of his index finger. Settle down, he bargained. Stop teasing me.

His phone vibrated against his thigh. It was a burner; he got a fresh phone for every assignment and didn’t keep a personal cell. A glance at the number told him exactly who it was. He lifted it to his ear.

“Make it quick, Doctor,” he said. “I’m onsite.”

“Well, hello to you too, Mr. Grouch!” Dr. Voster trilled. His mood further soured at her enthusiasm. “New phone again, huh? How’d you know it was me?”

“I memorized your number.”

“Because I’m your favorite?”

Omicron wrinkled his nose. “I memorize all my numbers. Don’t get excited.”

“You really know how to make a woman feel special, O.”

“Did you want something?” he asked, eyes on Delta as the man chatted amiably with the clerk. His nostrils twinged and he gave them an appeasing rub. “I’m busy.”

“Just checking in. How’s your nose doing?”

As if to answer, the tickle squirmed. Omicron snorted reflexively and rubbed more sternly against his sore septum.

“You’re calling at..” He checked his watch. “..1:15 in the morning your time to ask about my nose?”

“Your viral load should be pretty high by now,” she replied, sounding wide awake despite the hour. “I want to know how it feels.”

“It feels-” He’d been gearing up for a snarky remark, but it died on his tongue. Between one breath and the next something changed. His nostrils slowly flared, grazing his finger where it rested against his lip.

“… it feels?” prompted Dr. Voster.

To his credit, Omicron tried. “I-hht.. h’tzuh..”

But then his eyes flickered shut as he became entranced by that incurable tickle. It advanced slowly, enormous in his nose, lumbering forward and promising him a bounty. The swell would have intimidated him if he hadn’t been waiting for the better part of a day. He dropped his finger from his lip and braced his hand against the wall instead. If this was as big as it felt, he’d need it to stay on his feet.

“hUH-… ugh..” A sharp sniff, and a mutter under his breath. “..chhome on.. h-hh-!”

Fuck, it was oppressive. Omicron cinched his eyes tightly shut as he eased a breath through his tingling nose. It didn't hasten the advance, only threw gasoline on a raging fire. The tickle licked at his nasal nerves, which began to spasm in alarmed reply. Suddenly he was gulping down air, hitching so loudly it felt lewd.

“hah!hh.. uHH!h.. HUH-.. HUH-.. HUH-!”

The fire burned on, colossal and all consuming, demanding so much of him that his lungs filled to the brim. He could feel his head ratcheting by degrees, twitching back even when he could take no more air. If he could open his eyes, he’d probably see the shimmer of those fancy chandeliers. The tickle seethed for an agonizing moment. A quiet ache of pleasure twisted his gut. And then-

“WRRUZZSSSSHOOO!!”

Ecstasy.

“HHHH-!.. RRIHSSSSCH’YUU!”

It scraped through him thoroughly with a crack of throbbing relief. Dazedly, he hitched anew. In, in, in-

“h-hH-HH-” And out in one fell swoop. “HPT’ZSSSCHOOO!!..nnngh..”

Omicron thanked himself for the foresight of leaning against the wall. Otherwise he’d probably be on the ground, or at the very least staggering aimlessly as his sneezes tossed him around. His nose didn’t seem to know what to do, other than grant him another.

“HAH’DIZSSSH’uh!”

And another.

“HEH’YIIZSSCHOO!ohhh..”

He gasped for breath, the hand holding his phone routing to his sternum. He could feel his heart hammering, his chest heaving. Each time he sneezed, his abs clenched. And with each release, a cloying ache spread through his groin. He was probably erect by this point but-

“Hih-.. HIHBISSSH’YAHhh!”

He didn’t want to stop. Omicron breathed deeply into the tickle, feeling it paint the inside of his nose with a swath of sensation. Something speared into his sinuses - the probing tip of a paintbrush, a thin piece of twine, a fiendish little intruder intent on undoing him.

“IIH’TIZZSCH’iu!!”

His lungs emptied and replenished themselves with another single, flowing breath. Despite his light-headedness and unsteady legs, Omicron felt himself smiling.

“HHHH!.. EHJZZSSHUE!!’hhhooohh by god..”

It resonated pleasantly, like he struck his body with a tuning fork, and the trancelike need to sneeze, gasp, sneeze finally ebbed. The tickle receded, mollifying his nose in its tide. He could still feel it floating around in his sinuses somewhere, sated for now but impossible to fully satisfy. And of course his dick wasn’t satisfied in the slightest. His balls ached terribly. He’d had the good sense to arrange himself before entering the hotel lobby, fully aware he might find himself in this predicament in public. Again.

A voice spoke intelligibly, muffled against his shirt. Oh right, the phone. He put it back to his ear.

“What?” he panted.

“Did those feel good?”

He sniffled and fended off a full body shiver. “Don’d all sdeezes feel good?”

“Mm. Yeah.” Her tone was weirdly stilted. “Well. So. This is awkward, but I might have-”

Omicron tuned her out as he gathered himself. He was in dire need of a tissue, and he’d caught his own shirt in the crossfire of those last few sneezes. A quick scan of the room confirmed that just about every guest and employee saw him letting loose without even an attempt to cover his mouth. Many people were staring, including Agent Delta. The man was agog, but as Omicron stared back, he got the prickling feeling that it wasn’t him Delta was looking at. It was a second after that when he heard who exactly caught his superior’s eye.

“Bless you.”

He clocked the voice before he turned, which gave him a split-second to prepare his expression. He arranged a look of chagrined surprise and hung up the phone on a still-nattering Anita.

“Oh!” He jumped, and flashed a shy smile. “Thagk you.”

She was taller in person, with legs a mile long and hair falling in thick waves to her waist. She wore burgundy lipstick, accentuating the plush shape of her mouth. A voluptuous woman, her Bohemian ensemble framed her curves and flowed around her like a modern renaissance painting. Her jewelry spoke of wealth, her painted nails spoke of elegance, and her eyes concealed a careful fire.

She held out a pair of sunglasses. Mine, Omicron realized.

“You dropped these.”

He took them from her with a chuckle. “Ah, jeez, that’s embarrassi’g.” He sniffled and didn’t miss her swift glance at his nose. “I really mbade a spectacle of mbyself. Sorry about that.”

“Not at all,” she said. Her voice was dark velvet, soft and sophisticated. “I’m sure you couldn’t help it.”

Omicron juggled his phone and his sunglasses, keeping his eyes on her as he unearthed a half-empty package of travel tissues. He kept up his sniffling, in part for her benefit and also because his nose dripping onto his shirt was an imminent concern.

“Yeah, I’b kind of a mbess todahhy..” He tried to keep his eyes open even as they fogged with emergent tears. His voice scratched against a tender throat, tremoring around little hitching hiccups. “I do-hh!T huh.. don’t eved doe where th.. hh-hH!..mbghh, where all thad came fromb I-hhH!.. ndormally don’d sdnee-”

It overpowered him suddenly. He just barely rushed a tissue to his nose in time.

“hiH’TISsh’oo!” Back to the regulars, and just one didn’t quite cut it. Omicron huffed his way to a second. “..uh.. hck’KSSH’u!.. ugh..”

“Bless you,” she said.

That took care of the itch (for now). He wavered on his feet, fawn-legged from his earlier fit, and muttered a guttural “Pardod be” as he ducked away to noisily blow his nose. It took several tissues before he deemed himself presentable and by the time he got all the used ones shoved into his shorts pockets, he turned back around to see his sunglasses being offered to him again.

Omicron chuckled hoarsely as he took them from her. “I should probably start carrying a spare pair, at this rate.”

There was an amused tilt to her lips. “Perhaps.”

He shared in her smile until the pause between them stretched a little too long. Then he jolted into awkward conversation. “Ah, um- where’s my manners, jeez, I’m Nicolas.”

Nicolas Foster, his cover for this operation: an under-the-weather tourist in town for a destination wedding.

She inclined her head to him gracefully and held out her hand. “Josaline.”

Josaline Jewel, his target: business mogul of the fashion world with a clothing line, makeup brand, and lucrative designer bag collection all sold exclusively online. The agency suspected her of extensive cybercrime; Omicron’s job was to uncover any signs of money laundering, malware manufacture, or identity theft.

“I’d shake your hand,” he said with a self-conscious scrub of his palms against his shorts and another self-deprecating laugh, “but I’ve been sniffly all morning, I’m sorry.”

“Oh?” Again her gaze flashed to his nose when he wrinkled it with a sniffle. “Are you not feeling well?”

He sniffled again as he fiddled with his sunglasses, bashful. “I’m still hoping it’s the jet-lag, but it feels like I’m coming down with something, yeah.”

He punctuated this with a wrist swipe beneath his warm, chapped nostrils. They flared to caution him against further meddling. Josaline crooned in sympathy.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Doubt it, he thought to himself as he offered a warm smile. “That’s really sweet of you to say. Thanks.”

Omicron researched sneeze fetishes as thoroughly as he cased intel on Josaline Jewel. Operatives observed her engaging with unfamiliar men at industry events or galas, escorting them off the dancefloor and into private quarters. All these men had two things in common: they were shorter than she was, and they were at the time afflicted with sneezing. Though she didn’t seem deterred by illness, the agency lacked further details. To fill his void of knowledge, Omicron dove headfirst into a world of niche kinks; he read and watched a towering amount of sneezy content, some of it about fictional characters he’d never even heard of. But he left the experience a more educated man, enlightened and prepared to perform. Now it would be a game of discerning Josaline’s preferences.

“What brings you to town, if I might ask?” Josaline asked. She took a hesitating step in her peep-toe wedges and Omicron followed the cue to walk with her.

“A friend’s wedding,” he said, and it became obvious that his increasingly wet sniffles required maintenance. He sighed as fished around for his last clean tissue. “He’s an old college buddy, super nice guy. The wedding’s not until next week, but I had some time saved up at work and the flights were cheaper on weekdays, so..” Tissue acquired. “..I guess it worked out pretty well.”

“Do you enjoy traveling alone?” she asked, setting a sedate pace across lush carpet and spotless tile. “I find it invigorating, but it can be a little lonely now and then.”

He blotted gently at his nostrils. They fussed at the treatment, jerking and fidgeting against his fingers. Yes, that’s right, Omicron goaded. Tickle me. Go on. The virus humored him, unfurling and sauntering forward with ambition. Instantly his eyelids got heavy, and his voice grew heady.

“Oh, I couldn’t afford this place by mys-.. mys-hhelf..” He kept the tissue tucked to his face this time, muffling his voice and obscuring her view of anything but his fluttering eyes. “I’m hhuh-”

The tickle got to work, trailing feather-light fingers along his nasal walls. They writhed, trapped and helpless to the whims of a persistent itch. It stroked sensitive places, unhurried and secure in the knowledge he could do absolutely nothing to stop it. He tried to speak around the buildup, each breath a little blip or sigh he couldn’t repress.

“Ho, sorry, I’m rooHH-!.. uh.. rooming with another frihhend whose… als-uHH’h..H-H!”

He paused as the tickle escalated, now lounging indulgently as it guided him to a gasping high. Its approach was always rhythmic, an everlasting titillation that magnified as the tolerance of his nose diminished. Omicron shot Josaline an apologetic glance over the edge of his tissue and found her looking right at him. For the first time she lost composure, and hurriedly ducked behind a lock of her hair.

“.. Are you alright?” she asked, staring at the floor as they continued to stroll.

Omicron cringed through another playful swipe of the tickle, like fingers made purely of fluff skimming up the length of his nose. He gasped hugely, certain it would come, but then let it out on a near-moan. “..ohhh, sorry- it’s this cold, I-.. Iyyiieee..HH! iG’GZZSCHhu!”

It was a little stronger than he thought it would be. Instinctually he flashed a hand out and anchored his grip to whatever was nearby. The tickle gave him another long, firm stroke and his nerves begged mercy.

“HIH!PPSSHh’oo!” And another lancing tickle, like washing your car with a sponge, running your hand along a cat’s back, a frictionless glide but it was malicious in its softness and it agitated his nose into rebellion. With one hand, Omicron sealed the tissue more tightly over his nose and mouth. “MMPPHSssh!”

He emptied his remaining air in a desperate blow. His nose tingled with temporary relief. The single, brave tissue did its best, but he’d absolutely need to wash his hands and find another fresh package as soon as possible. Picking his head up, he balled up the trash and knuckled his nose with his fist.

“Sorry, that was gross, I’m-” Genuine anxiety prickled in him as he looked up and realized his other hand was clasped firmly to her upper arm. That was an accident. Omicron flinched away and clung white-knuckled to his disguise. “-SO sorry, oh jeez, I really didn’t mean to grab you like that, I wasn’t- I just, I had to sneeze and then it felt like it was gonna be a big one so I-.. guess I reached for whatever was around, I wasn’t thinking…”

Josaline stood and silently let him run out of steam. A molten heat pooled in her irises. A rose tint glazed her cheeks. She lifted her purse, an understated but expensive clutch with a golden chain, and popped it open.

“Not at all, Nicolas.” Her words melted from her lips. “I truly don’t mind.”

She slipped a swatch of white fabric from her bag and shook it. It unfurled like a flag of surrender, and she held it out with a coy smile. He lifted his finger once again to his nose to graze it just beneath his itchy nostrils and felt a telling touch of moisture. His ears flushed and her smile grew.

“Oh gosh, sorry, that’s..” Cupping one hand over his nose, he reached with the other. “Thank you, Josaline.”

Omicron took the handkerchief and paused when she didn’t let go. Their eyes met.

“I do hope this won’t be the last we see of one another,” she told him.

Just behind her, the elevator dinged. He blinked, only just noticing where exactly they were. She stepped back into the gilded lift, leaving him with her handkerchief and one last view of her burgundy smile. Then the doors closed. Omicron dropped his shoulders and blew a slow breath from his cheeks. Initial contact: not a catastrophe. Step two: arrange a serendipitous rendezvous.

Agent Delta appeared beside him. Omicron was certain he’d watched it all from a covert corner. He spoke softly, so as not to be overheard. “This is going swimmingly. Well done.”

Omicron ignored his heart’s little leap at the praise. He didn’t like to count chickens before they hatched. His mind raced to assemble all that he’d learned, the pieces of what intrigued her. “Thank you, sir.”

“Nicolas.” Omicron looked at him, and resisted shooting the man a withering glare when Delta brightly grinned and said, “Your nose is running.”

“Yes, thank you, sir,” Omicron snipped. “I’m aware.”

He tucked into the handkerchief. It was a balm to his sore nose after so many cheap tissues. The cotton was of superb quality, probably with a thread count higher than his bed sheets back home. Omicron nuzzled into it to snuffle and blow; seconds later, he realized with dawning dread that this was the wrong thing to do. For while this handkerchief was freshly laundered, it was also steeped with an overpowering perfume.

The tickle took umbrage with this. It bristled in his nose like a startled cat, sinking claws into his tender membranes and whipping its tail angrily against the sensitized border of his sinus. He couldn’t even suck a breath in before-

“Tssh! Ih’TSsh!.. HSH’u!” He ripped his nose away from the handkerchief, holding the cloth away from him with revulsion. “Hih’KSSh!.. h’KZSh’iu! Ugh!”

“Ooh, bless you, bless you.”

The handkerchief disappeared, and without any other options, he buried his nose into the prayerbook of his hands.

“IHPsh!.. h’PZSsch!.. fugk, ednough, plhHE- HH!BZSSh!”

“Bless you!”

At last it abated. He could imagine the tickle huddled far back in his nose, growling low as it continued to lash its tail. Omicron sniffled behind his hands and coughed from the effort.

“It’s impossible to say whether she doused this intentionally or not,” mused Delta, studying the handkerchief. He tried to pass the offending item back to Omicron, who shrunk away from it. He didn’t want it anywhere near his nose. “She couldn’t have known you were allergic.”

“I’b dnot allergic,” Omicron argued through gritted teeth. Delta gave him a look that plainly said, I don’t believe you, but I’ll humor you because you’re irascible and sneezy. Omicron fantasized about strangling him with a garrote.

They took the elevator up in silence. Delta passed over another package of tissues and Omicron plowed through several of them. More garbage to add to his pocket collection. He’d have to unload once he got to his hotel room, and used tissues weren’t the only load on his mind. His erection had yet to flag. It was easy to ignore during his conversation with the target, focused as he was on his work, but with nothing to distract him Omicron was getting tense and eager for alone time.

Which is why he balked when Delta tried to follow him into his hotel room. Omicron stopped just over the threshold. “Is this your room?”

“It’s our room.”

Omicron’s grip tightened on the doorknob. He’d been lying when he told Josaline he had a roommate. That was his cover story, yes, but not the actual plan. “I thought we were bunking separately.”

“I’ve reconsidered,” Delta replied, and while his tone was light there was a finality to his tone. “Sharing a room will reinforce our cover, and given this is your first high stakes case I’d rather stick close to support you on the ground.” He fixed Omicron with a pointed stare. “Unless there’s a reason you’d rather not share?”

Oh, you bastard, he seethed. You know what I’m going to say. Delta was already suspicious - giving him anymore ammo would just worsen things for Omicron. His hand slid off the knob. “Of course not, sir.”

There were so many reasons Omicron would rather not share a room with Agent Delta. He preferred solitude over company, silence over noise, and Delta was the opposite. The senior agent prattled about nonsense while awake and he snored very loudly while asleep. He hovered around Omicron all evening and compulsively blessed his sneezes and bullied him into watching crappy reality television shows. The hotel room was excellent, but small; there was no opportunity for privacy. The silver-lining was that there were two beds so they didn’t have to share.

After unpacking, discussing tomorrow’s plans, and sharing an array of delivery boxes from Panda Express while they watched some inane matchmaking show, Omicron collapsed into bed with a heavy head. All the congestion settled behind his eyes, and both nostrils were blocked as soon as he reclined. He jammed the charger into his phone with stuffy grunts of exasperation and then noticed the flurry of missed calls and text messages from Dr. Voster lighting up his screen. They were hours old, most of them berating him for hanging up on her and demanding that he call her back.

But it was late, he was tired, and surely by now she was asleep. He’d catch up with her tomorrow.

+ + +

Steamy hot water fell around him, sliding warm down his skin and thickening the air. Omicron tilted his head back. He hitched a single breath, and shuddered it out on a voiced sigh. “..huh..”

He braced his hands more securely against the shower walls and steadied his feet beneath him. He woke this morning with post-nasal drip and a too-big tickle in his nose. Just as Delta said before, it stockpiled power in his sleep and by the time he came to bleary consciousness, he could feel the itch in every nook and cranny of his respiratory system. It wanted out.

The tickle scuffled with his weary sinuses and his lungs snagged with a sharp gasp, “Hih!” and another slow, yearning sigh. “..hhuhhh..”

His prick throbbed and he brought a soaped-up hand down to grip the shaft. He was rock-hard, woke up that way, too muddled with arousal and tickling misery he could do nothing but stumble to the shower. Another grungy sniffle roused the tickle to action; it shimmied in the confined space, touching every nerve with its feathery borders. It was such an overpowering sensation that he couldn’t actually sneeze. Only suffer.

“h-H-HH!” Both he and the tickle waited, but to no avail. He deflated with a moan. “.. hhh-uuuhhhh..”

Omicron stroked himself, stepping forward to press an arm to the cool tile wall and lean his forehead there as he lost himself to the climb. Sneeze or no sneeze, he was going to come. Muggy air coaxed a dry cough, a snuffling breath, another flexing fidget from the tickle. It didn’t settle afterward, but instead began to twist and turn. Thrash and flail. His nose shuddered helplessly in the onslaught. Yes, yes, yes, chanted Omicron as his nostrils pulsed. That’s it. Tickle me.

He smoothed his thumb over his slit, arching forward. He panted hot breath against the sweaty tile. Water pounded down against his shoulder blades, muscles shifting beneath skin as the tickle wriggled and wormed against its prison. His nose frazzled at the attention, and Omicron’s parted lips flinched up with a little grin. He heaved with breath, whining his way through a monstrous buildup. All the while he pumped his hand at an increasingly feverish pace.

“..uh... hhUH-hh!.. HUH!’hh.. HAH-H-” His voice reverberated off the walls with obnoxious volume. The sound of wet skin squelching mingled with the patter of water on the shower floor. He gasped at the bolt of pleasure sparkling below his stomach. “-H-Hhh’oh-hh.. h’H-uhh..”

The arousal broke his momentum. He thumped a fist against the wall with an abysmally soupy sniffle. With warring sensations, neither could win. Omicron lifted his head to the shower spray to wipe his face and paused to chafe his index finger beneath his flitting nostrils. He slowed the rhythm of his other hand. You can do better than that, he challenged the tickle. C’mon, let me have it. He snorted, feeling his sinuses vibrate with the strain. Make me sneeze.

Wish granted. With a loss of sensation down below, the tickle rushed in to fill the void. It consumed him in an instant. Omicron inhaled as if the shower water suddenly turned to ice.

“HHHHH!! IIHDDZSSSCHHYOOO!!”

It was finally out, the start of what felt like a dozen. His whole body trembled, including his dick, and Omicron dazedly picked up the pace as his nose cramped with another powerful swell. Another butter-smooth gasp.

“HIIIIH!! EHTZZSSHHH’EH! Mmmbb-!”

A beautiful ache bled through his abdomen, mirrored in the tingling clarity of his nose. Fuck he didn’t know when Delta would be back from his morning run, but.. “nnnggh..HAAASCHHYUU!-uuooh..”

He’d never been a quiet man in bed and these sneezes were some of the best he’d had so far. His membranes twitched in relief each time, as did his prick, before another storm quickly gathered. Omicron instinctively sped up the tweak of his wrist as he rocked into each stroke. He wouldn’t last much longer; he’d been edged long enough. His flaring nostrils flew wide.

“h’YIZZSSSH’Iyuh!! hooh-.. hh.. H-HIISSCHH’OOO! hhhAH-!”

The orgasm hit like a truck. It rippled through him, wrenched him forward, and it would have been perfect if the shower floor wasn’t so damn slippery. As he shook his way through the aftershocks, the tickle snuck up on him.

“iiGGXSHH’TT- AAH-” Nothing about him was prepared. It exited roughly through his congested airways and upset his equilibrium. His feet went out from under him and rolling with the momentum spared him a concussion from the slick tile. It didn’t spare his pride however when he heard a voice from the other side of the door.

“Bless you, Omicron! You okay in there?”

Fuck, cursed Omicron, back flat to the tile as the shower pelted water into his eyes. When did he get back?

“Fine!” he barked back. The slip-scare soured what remained of his orgasm and the inside of his nose ached with raw exhaustion. He touched a knuckle to the tip. Before Delta could ask, he added, “I dropped the shampoo!”

“Well, be careful,” Amused, now that he knew his subordinate was alright. “Sounds like that nose of yours means business today!”

Omicron covered his face with his hands and sighed.

+ + +

Sunshine coated the simmering pavement. People kept their sandals on as they milled about for fear of burning their feet. Couples cuddled together in upholstered loungers around the pool’s perimeter. Loners relaxed with books on couches sheltered by giant, colorful parasols. A dual walk-and-swim-up tiki bar bustled at the far end of the pool, surrounded by wading, tipsy tourists. This was an adult-only area, so aside from the group of trust-fund college grads squealing and shoving one another off the diving board, it was quiet and classy.

Nicolas ignored wandering eyes as he maundered the water’s edge.

After his ill-fated shower, Delta informed him there was surveillance of Josaline Jewel in this area and it was time for a fated meeting. He’d put on a pair of colorblock swim trunks and a thin cotton cream shirt he left unbuttoned over a waxed chest. He was not a big man, but his work kept him toned. Defined abs, firm pecs, broad shoulders with muscles that rolled across his back when he moved. He’d use them all to his advantage.

Deep in his sinuses, the tickle swelled. His nostrils weakly complained and he hushed them with a quick back-forth sweep of his finger. He’d use this too, when the time came.

An arm draped over his shoulders, dragging him in for a chokehold hug. “The whole team should take a vacation sometime,” Delta said fondly. “This is fun.”

Speak for yourself, groused Omicron. Irked as he was to have Delta here, it would help his cover. Acting with a partner provided an opportunity that single performances couldn’t. Besides, jerking off in the shower took the edge off his temper, so Omicron weathered the affection without complaint. He only pressed an elbow to Delta’s chest when his own expanded with a fast-rising urge.

“G-Gonnaahh-” He hiccuped a hitching breath. Experienced now in dodging, Delta leaned away as Omicron pitched haphazardly into his opposite arm. “hih’DZSSS’ooh!”

“Bless you,” muttered Delta, and mercifully didn’t complain about the distinct lack of vampire-sneeze etiquette. Some of these sneezes just got away from him, no matter how slow or quick they came on.

They both paused for more, but after a couple uneasy breaths, none arrived. Omicron checked the damage: no shirt stains, a slight drink spillage but not on himself or anyone else, and Delta wasn’t caught by collateral. Insufferable as his senior officer could be, Omicron would perish if he accidentally sneezed on him.

Delta lowered his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. “See her anywhere?”

Omicron scanned as they walked, swirling his stemless wine glass before he took a sip. “Not yet.”

“Maybe she left before we got-”

“Hello.”

They whipped their heads to the left and there was Josaline. She wore the widest brim sun hat that Omicron had ever seen, black with a dramatic dip, and streaked with a white ribbon that matched the chic blacks and whites of her asymmetrical one piece suit. She still wore heels, toes painted to match her nails, ankles crossed. Her smile peeked at them from under her hat and designer sunglasses.

Nicolas roused himself and gave her a helpless smile, as if he hadn’t meant to stare. “Hi.”

“Were you looking for me?”

He fished a hand at the back of his neck, flushed to his ears, and Delta playfully tightened his grip. “Yeah, he couldn’t stop talking about you.”

Nicolas elbowed him with a hiss under his breath. “Harry!”

“I’m Harry by the way,” Harry told her, swooping in to offer his hand. Nicolas wrestled out of his hold in the meanwhile, straightening his shirt with a huff. Josaline raised a hand to her mouth to hide her widening smile.

“You must be the friend Nicolas mentioned. The one he’s rooming with?”

“Oh, he told you about me, huh?” Harry smoothed back his hair and waggled his eyebrows. “All good things I hope.”

Nicolas took another sip of his drink as they chatted, wrinkling his nose to one side and then the other. A quick, strong sniff flared his nostrils wide. He let the breath go on a sigh. Josaline tilted back the brim of her hat.

“Feeling any better?”

“Ndot really,” he conceded, then moved to sit across from her on an empty lounge chair. His shirt fell open to frame his sculpted chest and she curtly inspected the view. His pecs jumped with a brisk sniff, then another. He knuckled more aggressively at his nose. “But I’mb dnot gonna let it spoil mby vacation, if I can help it.”

Feeling lousy wasn’t actually a lie. Omicron woke up in the thrall of the tickle, yes, but when he had the ability to think afterward he realized he wasn’t at his best. His throat stung when he swallowed, scraped sore from all his harsh sneezing. His abs felt like they’d been through a ruthless core workout. And there was a disconcerting malaise settling over him, a woozy feeling that he refused to acknowledge in hopes it might just go away.

“Forgive me saying so, but should you be drinking in your condition?” she asked, nodding to his glass. He took a breath to reply but Harry interrupted with a booming laugh and an amiable slap to the smaller man’s back.

“That’s just lemon tea and honey,” is what he told Josaline and that was also true. He did lie to Delta about it just being a prop for his cover story though. In actuality, it took the edge off his aching throat. Harry carried on, unaware. “I told him to try a hot toddy but he’s a little goodie two shoes when it comes to nursing a cold.”

Nicolas narrowed his eyes, blinking as they began to glass over. All the while since he woke, the tickle in his nose continued to haunt him. Contrary to Dr. Voster’s claim to Delta, the sensitivity hadn’t diminished at all. He bodily turned from the conversation with his drink held far away from him. His other arm tucked snugly around his nose as he sucked in a shuddering breath. Then quaked in place.

“.. hik-.. iH-GZSShu!”

“Bless you,” chorused the other two.

He picked his head up by hesitating degrees before giving it a sharp shake. More sniffling, a thick clearing of his throat. His gaze darted to Josaline, who glanced away when he caught her looking. “Pardod mbe.”

“You know what? Try not to ruin my vacation either,” Harry griped at him, then looked to Josaline. “Nobody wants to get within five feet of me with him around. He’s like a walking cold medicine commercial.”

Omicron’s eyebrow twitched. “Well at least I don’d snore.”

Delta shot him a look that Nicolas met with innocence and a sip of his drink. Omicron shouldn’t push his luck, but he refused to pass up the chance to take pot-shots at Delta while he could get away with it. Josaline giggled.

“I can tell you’re old friends,” she said as she looked between them. “Do you see one another often, outside of events like this?”

This spiraled into deeper discussion. Delta and Omicron rattled off fake trivia to all her questions, and asked about her in turn. She was vague about her work but fairly open about her personal life. Almost all of it was useless small talk, aside from a compelling instance when she told them she created the software for her website’s security certificate herself. Her competency in coding wasn’t something Josaline Jewel advertised to the public.

Dr. Voster called him exactly three times during the chat, and each time he dumped her to voicemail. She knew he was working. Whatever she needed to ask him could wait, or ideally, be an email.

Soon the sun was past its apex and Omicron was running out of tissues. Mortifyingly, a passing poolside waiter brought him a little bin for him to toss his trash so he didn’t have to keep walking off to a garbage can. Over the course of their conversation Josaline’s attention gravitated squarely to Nicolas and both men took this as a cue.

Harry slapped his hands on his thighs and stood. “Alright, I’m gonna check out the casino. I’ll catch up with you later, Nick.” He winked. “Have fun.”

Nicolas waved him off with one hand and tended to his unruly nose with the other. His nostrils pushed against his fingers, pulsing irritably. The tickle seemed to get worse over the course of the day, and his sneezes were coming with frustrating regularity if he didn’t waylay them. He tried to strike a balance between holding back and letting go, observing Josaline’s reactions all the while. She definitely wanted him to sneeze as badly as he did, which is why he chose to press the flat of his forefinger hard against his septum until the urge receded. He huffed away the gasp he’d gathered.

“.. huh-hh, sorry, I’b probably ndot great combpadny right ndow..”

He opened his eyes to find Josaline staring at him from under her lashes. She’d taken off her sunglasses some time ago. “On the contrary, I find you captivating.”

Nicolas laughed, ducking his head to cough. “Really? Thad’s a relief. I was worried all… this,” here he gestured to his nose, “would put you off.”

He punctuated with a sniff, the sound purely liquid, and rushed a hand to cup his nose while he tried to free the last of his tissues from the pack with the other. “Ugh, sorry-”

“Did you lose the handkerchief I gave you?”

Omicron feigned surprise, as if he hadn’t been waiting for her to ask. “Umb.. so-.. hah.” He scrubbed his finger under his nose, subduing his wavering nostrils. “I did use it, but I thig’k you had someb kinda perfumeb on it?..”

Her lips parted in shock, and Omicron knew at once that the scent on that cloth wasn’t intentional. Maybe it was a habit of hers, dousing her handkerchiefs in perfume, but she didn’t know it would actually make him sneeze. There was a faint, petal-like blush spreading across her cheeks and her thighs tensed more tightly together. Well, well.

Nicolas blinked wetly, as if the memory of the handkerchief was enough to make his nose tickle. Granted, literally anything was enough. “As soon’d as I-.. as I-yee…huh-” He blinked again, and again, each time a little harder and with more moisture in his lashes. With a swallow, he tried to hurry through the rest, “As I used ihht I.. st- st..”

He pressed a hand to his sternum as his chest jumped with a little sip of breath. The tickle fluttered in him, enticing. Omicron gave in for just a moment, letting his eyes fold shut, relaxing into the sensation of it. Sometimes the virus felt mechanical, automatic, indifferent to him and his reactive nose. Like a machine chugging ever onward, so did the tickle continue to toil. Tickling.. and tickling.. and tickling… Blind to his convulsing nerves, deaf to his snagging breaths, just carrying on with its function with no regard for the consequences.

Unable now to open his eyes again, Omicron spoke around compulsive gasps and breathed his words on the exhales. “hH!S’made be-.. h-HH!Bade be-uhhh.. snd’HIH!.. sdeehEEZZSSHOO!”

Nicolas snapped forward, sneezing over his lap, and belatedly raised a hand to his nose. It was running copiously. He wouldn’t get the job done with what was left of his tissues, unfortunately. He squinted against another hopeful tickle, begging himself now to keep it together. He really didn’t want to sneeze again like this.

A flash of white caught his eye. Josaline, her gaze boring into him with palpable weight, offered another handkerchief. He swallowed. It was identical in every way to the first, and Omicron suspected it smelled the same too. But this was what she wanted, and he was a professional. He would deliver.

He took it from her and began to unfold it with both hands to give her an uninhibited view of his face. As he began to wind up for another sneeze, he gave the tickle full control over every micro-expression. The fitful flare of his nostrils. The crease of his crow’s feet. His quivering, parted lips. The way his nose gathered grimacing wrinkles at the bridge when the urge became undeniable. His voice bled into his heaving exhales, unintentional but not unwelcome.

“H’uhh.. iIH!hhh..h-h-!hohh.. mbbggh..”

This was the worst part, when it crested to a peak but couldn’t quite get him high enough to tip him over. Throwing caution to the wind, he lifted the aromatic cloth to his face and breeeeeeeathed-

“KZZSSSCH!”

Rough, wrenched out of him in fury. As the methodical tickle gave way to a fierce burn, Omicron had just long enough to wonder if Delta was right: he might actually be allergic.

His eyes rolled closed and he shuddered helplessly into the handkerchief. “iih’TZSsh!” A tight breath and then, “iik’KISHH!... hd’IZSSH!.. Tshh! it’TZSH!”

There wasn’t time for anything else. No wavering gasps, no bleary moment of respite before the next volley. It was a quick trigger release, too itchy and ineffective to do anything but wind him. “-DSSH’uu!.. hd’DZSSH’oo!! ohh..HH!”

He heard Josaline stir in her lounge chair, and then felt the jostle of his own when she sat down beside him. A hand smoothed up and down the line of his spine, pausing to feel his back expand with a single, catching breath.

“-ig’GEZSC’Hoo!.. GZSShuu!.. Chshh-IH’chzssh!.. HIH!chzsch! Ugh!” He finally managed a shaky blow into the folds of the handkerchief. A couple desperate hitching breaths and then he quickly committed to another. It cleared away most of the mess; he was able to free his nose for air.

His eyes were still locked shut, but he could feel his nostrils twitching like a rabbit’s. Rushing a finger beneath them did nothing. He sneezed against his hand. “iihpssh!... h’TZschh!h- hIKssh!! TIZSSCH’u!”

It felt endless, and nothing like the big, bad wolf sneezes that the tickle cooked up. No, these didn’t help anything. Each sneeze just somehow itched him more. “..hah-..hh.. hH’ZSSCH’yah!”

He nearly lifted the handkerchief back to his face and caught himself at the last moment. Loathe as he was to do it, he used the collar of his shirt instead. He had nothing else. Omicron lifted the corner to his nose, his nostrils so warm to the touch they felt feverish, and muffled what he could.

“MMFZSSH!.. hg’ISHH!..” At least it was slowing down. He sniffled, feeling muzzy, and finally cracked his eyes open. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He closed them again with a jumpy, “hih- IH!-..MMPHZSSH!!”

Omicron waited, tense, for the next one. It sizzled in his sinuses for a solid few seconds before dissipating in a wave of prickling dismay. It left his nose wary, on guard for the next attack, even as the virus insidiously labored away inside him. His shirt was a lost cause, so he shrugged it off and used it to blot at his face as he snuffled and hitched his way into presentability. Holy hell, that was more than he bargained for.

“Bless.”

A touch alighted on his bare arm. Nicolas picked his head up, squinting through puffy eyes and already cringing with apology. “Sorry,” he croaked. “I thigk I mbight be allergic.”

“Yes, so do I,” she breathed, and smoothed her touch to his back again. Without his shirt in the way, her palm glided up and down his skin. Her other hand thumbed a tear from the corner of his eye. “You poor thing.. I didn’t realize that’s what you were trying to say. Forgive me.”

They were both lying to each other now. Nicolas shook his head, both his hands coming to hold one of hers. “Ndo, ndo, it’s ndot your fault! I couldn’d explain itd well.” He gave her a pitifully tearful smile. “Had to sdneeze too bad.”

The tone shifted. Omicron could feel it keenly. Josaline squeezed, then let them go. Her hands lifted instead to cradle his cheeks, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I need to confess something.”

He blinked at her, wide eyed. “... Codfess whad?”

“I’m not the sort of woman to be repelled by all... this,” she said softly, with an equally soft graze of her thumb against one of his chapped nostrils. It flared in response, and Omicron fended off the visceral need to rub it. Josaline stroked him again, and his nose twitched away from her. The tickle bristled and he leaned out her hands, racked with fittish hitches. He jammed his finger beneath his septum, barely catching himself before a sneeze tumbled out.

She watched him avidly as he battled back the urge, one eye squinted shut in a lopsided wince. Her attention honestly flustered him; Omicron never liked attention when he sneezed, and her gaze in particular stripped him bare. He lowered his finger reluctantly, and kept his hand hovering at chest level. The sneeze was stalled but certainly not gone.

He sighed his words. “S-uh.. Sorry, I-.. hooh, I bight.. I-ihhm godda-HH!” He wiped his head to the side. “iih’DZSCH’iew!! ugh, b’sorry..”

Her voice wavered. “Please don’t be sorry.”

“I-hhuh.. hkrrm!” Omicron cleared his throat, bringing the edge of his shirt up to his nose to blot and then, with great disgust, blow. He was going to burn this thing when he got back to his room. When he finished he looked away from her, painfully embarrassed. “I’m seriously so gross right now, I’m sorry-”

“Nicolas..” She slid a hand up his arm, splaying her fingers on his shoulder. Her other arm came around to rest at the juncture of his neck so she could toy fingers at the short, fine hairs on his nape. “I want to be clear. I’m not put off at all by your cold. Frankly, I think it looks very good on you.”

He frowned at her as the gears turned, then perked up when they slotted in place. “.. Oh!”

Josaline smiled wide enough to show her teeth, humming a little laugh. “I would like to kiss you. Is that alright?”

She drifted into his orbit as she spoke, her smokey stare flicking between his eyes and his lips. He nodded, and met her halfway. As their mouths met, she tugged down the brim of her hat to hide them from view. They kissed behind a black veil, his hand reaching to cup her jaw as she pushed a palm up the plane of his bare chest. With his nose so completely packed, Nicolas gulped air between passes of her tongue and chuffed soft, stuffy breaths against her skin.

Something about Omicron. He was suited to his job in many ways, one of which being his attitude toward infatuation and sex. Romance made his skin crawl, and physical intimacy was to him nothing more than a nice dessert. Delicious? Yes. Mandatory? No. He desired sex as much as he desired bubble baths or a night at the opera. He never let it distract him from his mission, even when at times it was his mission. It was a point of pride for him.

She eased him onto his back, kissing him deeply into the plush of the lounge chair. The new angle wasn’t great for his nose, shifting congestion in his head like tetris blocks until he whimpered against her lips. She finally let him up for air and he heaved in a breath, snuffling squeakily and then coughing when the air bottled up in his sinuses. He belatedly turned his head, and flushed up to his hairline.

“- guh, suh-sorry,” Nicolas whispered, his voice gravelly. “Can’d breathe through by dose at all.”

“Stop apologizing,” Josaline whispered back. She nudged the tip of her nose against his, nuzzling him even as she bit down on his lower lip to mumble around the flesh. “Can I help?”

He didn’t get a chance to reply before her tongue was back in his mouth. It was dark beneath the shade of her hat, with bits of sunlight dancing through the weave. While it was no mystery what they were getting up to under there, it was as subtle and as tasteful as public displays could get. She leaned more of her weight against him, pushing the planes of her palms up the span of his chest until he made another pleading sound.

Again she leaned back by an inch and again he tried to catch his breath. His nose fizzed with a wicked tickle. Sinuses immobile. Couldn’t agitate his nose with air. It would have to be something else, another method..

A bolt of inspiration struck.

“Josah-H!.. Josalind,” he mumbled. She was passing time sucking a bruise on his neck. “hah.. Josalind, cad you-”

She blew a puff of cool air over the patch of wet skin and smirked as he shivered. “Can I what, baby?”

“Hhhelp,” he gasped, and arched when she laved her tongue over his collarbone. His neck was sensitive, and Omicron resolutely continued even as he arched his back. “I’ll breathe better if I cad sdneeze, bud.. huh..” He sniffled in vain. The attempt ended in another disappointed cough. “.. id won’d combe.”

It was like he said the magic words. Josaline lifted her head and refocused her attention on his nose. It looked pitiful, so raw from rubbing and snubbing that the skin shined a brilliant red. His nostrils flared like a beacon, irregular but frequent. Nicolas gazed up at her, blotchy and half-lidded. She skimmed her pinky finger up the bridge of his nose, watching his eyes fall closed and his brows crunch and his nose wrinkle up beneath her touch. She sighed, besotted.

“I can certainly do something about that, but I’m not sure I should do it here,” she murmured. Fingers threaded through his hair, scritching lightly at his scalp. “I have things in my room-”

He slivered his eyes open. “Whhee.. cad d..” They fluttered closed again as he breathed, breathed!... And then sighed out a groan. “-ohh..We cad go to your roomb-h-H!.. hiiff you w-wand.. but..huh-”

Unable to help himself, one of his hands routed from her waist to his nose to grind beneath his throbbing nostrils. Just enough to take the edge off so he could finish what he was saying. His entire expression scrunched as he worked his nose, but he plowed onward.

“..I usually don’d ndeed buch,” he clarified. “Jusd thinking about id is edough to.. to…” He dropped his hand and snatched in a gasp so deep, his chest lifted Josaline where she lay across him. “HHHUH-!” But nothing came. He growled, his first real display of frustration in front of her. She comforted him with another rake of her fingers through his hair.

“Truly?” she asked, and when he fought his eyes open to look at her she seemed awed. “No.. external stimulation at all?”

Omicron knew of the methods to which she alluded, but Nicolas didn’t. He gathered his eyebrows together. “.. Ndo?”

“How do I help?”

“You cand just talk.” He anchored his hand back to her waist, his gaze glassing over. “About how buch id t.. tiihckles..”

She pressed her lips together, her cheeks beginning to darken. “.. could you demonstrate?”

Not the response he expected. He figured she’d want to take the lead, but Omicron was nothing if not flexible. “Yeahhh..h!IH-.. I usually thig’k about fhheathers or.. flowers or.. sombthig like..” He closed his eyes and conjured an image. “Like a little bug, crawli’g around up there.”

And just like that, it’s what the tickle became. Small, at first so unobtrusive as to be barely of notice but over time the irritation compounded. Omicron hauled in a hearty sniffle, coughing for his trouble, but the endeavor cleared up some of his consonants.

“It doesn’d know what it’s doing, but it’s tryi’g to escape and the luhh.. lohhnger it searches the.. huH!ohh.. the mbore unbearable it becomes.”

He could feel it zipping about, uncaring and unaware of how it stirred his haggard nose into motion. As it scampered along the length of a nerve, the membrane flushed and quivered. As its glossy wings grazed the tender pink walls, they shuddered. Another sensation pulsed further down; heat began to pool into his abdomen.

“And it’s tiih.. tiHII-!ckling mbe, but it doesn’t know that and I can’t tell it to stop and at this p-hhoint I don’dH! wantHH!- hhihht to..”

The little presence adventured in the wrong direction, into more sensitive depths, so deep in his nose he didn’t know it could tickle there. Omicron moaned at the honeyed ache in his groin. He desperately wanted friction, but common sense kept his hips welded to the lounge chair. He felt the tickle flutter, then flit, and then begin to panic. It realized this wasn’t the exit.

“Ahhnd th-then.. it starts freaki’g out. It’s buzzing all around and maki’g my ndose itchier and itchier, and I’m st.. start-HH!h’ingHH!!h-to.. IIH!”

Omicron imagined the wet, cavernous expanse of his tortured sinuses, every inch of it undulating in agitation all because of one little tickle. And that tickle persevered even now, darting around in the abyss of his nose unceasing. A smile flickered across his lips as another pang of pleasure swirled through him.

“.. and I just want it to keep..HHHH!” He huffed a momentous breath and his chest jumped under her hands. Words carried on his pining exhale. “.. -want it to mbake mbe-HHHHH!” Tingles trailed down his spine as he uttered the last few words in a high, airy voice. “.. make mbe snhheeze… HHDZZSSSCCHH’OOO!!”

Sparks popped behind his eyelids and Omicron moaned helplessly through a wave of carnal delight. He didn’t come, but the sneeze was paradise. He hitched gratefully up to the next one in line. “HH! HH! HHHH-” Something billowy and soft tucked over his nose and he pitched into it. “EH’JZZSSHHH’IUU!”

He groaned into fabric, stretching restlessly on the lounge chair as his cock twitched again. It was confined to the tight pressure of his swim trunks, a problem Omicron couldn’t think clearly enough to solve as he huffed and puffed his way toward another humongous sneeze.

“-ah.. haH.. HAAASZZSSSH’UE!” And still his nose craved more. Who was he to deny it? “-iihHHIIZZSSHEW!! mmbb..” Once they started, they felt too good to stop. “.. uhTZSSSSCH!!iuuhhhhh..”

Omicron keened, muffled by the cloth snugged over his nose. The break afforded him a chance to snurfle into its folds and reach up to brace his hand over the one that held it there. Deep in his nose, the tiny intruder buzzed brainlessly against nerves flayed raw. They were defenseless, vulnerable and so, so very sensitive. His chest rose and fell with an increasingly staccato rhythm, his expression frozen with need. He needed t-to.. He hhhad to-!

“ehhHPBBZSSCCH’IIYUU!”

He seized into the cloth and collapsed back to the chair. Heat surged through his veins, wondrous but left wanting as his erection strained against the front of his shorts. But at last the attack on his nose abated; the tickle retreated to the dark, hidden place where it liked to bide its time. Omicron mustered through a long, alleviating blow into the sturdy fabric. Sinus pressure dissipated from behind his eyes, just enough to take the sharpest edges off his encroaching headache. Then he just laid there panting and steadying his hazy vision when he finally opened his eyes.

He noticed a few things.

Nearly everybody in the vicinity was looking at him, sunbathers and staff members alike. Josaline was not an exception. Her hand rested lax in his, where she’d held his shirt to his face as he sneezed. And blew his nose. And he had a visible erection, blocked mercifully by Josaline’s position to the wider crowd but absolutely not hidden from Josaline herself. And for the first time, Omicron thought, Oh shit. I might actually be compromised.

“Um-..” he squeaked. All he could hear was a rushing noise, like standing in a wind tunnel, his heart banging against his ribs. Cold sweat broke out over his skin. “Um-..”

Josaline was similarly speechless. Paralyzed, even.

Did she not like it? Was it the bug thing? Fuck, he should have gone with pollen or something, that was more mainstream or at the very least, comparatively less weird. What was he thinking?! He thought this ‘sneezing untouched’ method might entice her, but a hell of an idea that was. Dr. Voster and her ridiculous pursuits. ‘Sneezing by suggestion,’ his ass. Now he was sprawled out here on display with a cock harder than diamonds and he’d just blown his nose into his shirt and practically into her hand-

Don’t panic, he counseled himself through shaking breaths. This is salvageable. Just play it off with a laugh, apologize for everything, then tactically retreat, regroup with Delta, fess up, come clean, apologize AGAIN-

“I-I’ll go,” he said, barely present as he gathered his shirt and held it in front of his crotch to stand. “I’m really sorry, very sorry about this. I just… um..”

Delta will be so pissed that he’ll take me off the case and the agency will put me on probation and I’ll be sorting files in the office for the rest of my career and they’ll never let me live this down, I’ll be the laughing stock of the force, I’ll-

A hand caught his wrist. He looked down and there was Josaline, coaxing him with soft, careful touches to sit back down. She smoothed hair off his sweaty brow.

“Relax,” she told him. “No one knows. They only looked because you were loud, and nothing more.”

If she meant that to be reassuring, it didn’t help. Everybody and their neighbor just watched him obnoxiously sneeze and moan for what might have been several minutes. So much for subtly, which was his entire job description as an agent. He was a disgrace to the force. Omicron buried his face in one hand, elbow propped on his knee. Nebulous plans to cut his losses and find a new job stalled at the sound of her chuckle.

“And didn’t I tell you to stop apologizing?”

He shrunk inward, painfully embarrassed and hissing a whisper into his clammy palm. “Yeah, but that was-”

“It was incredible.”

Omicron snapped his head up, blinking the blur out of his eyes. Josaline’s flushed cheeks and smile came into focus. She scooted closer to him, pressing her bosom to his arm and tucking her head in the crook of his neck. She raised the edge of his shirt, still piled between his limp hands, to dab beneath his nose. Omicron startled, recognized the feeling of something wet on his upper lip, and lost what remained of his composure.

“Could I not be a disaster for just five seconds? Please??” he demanded of the universe, of the virus, of anyone, and turned his head away to clean himself up without help. Sniffling and scuffing his nose prompted retribution. It tickled like a dangling string. Omicron ducked forward. “..h’HIDZssch!!”

Josaline swayed with him and pressed a kiss to his throat. She trailed her lips up and up even as he rushed to wipe his nose. “Listen, Nicolas,” she said against the corner of his mouth. “There is something else I need to confess to you. I want to introduce you to someone.”

Omicron’s nostril wrinkled as it was bestowed a kiss. “.. intro..hh.. duhhce me to someone?”

“Yes.” Silken breath glossed over the bridge of his nose. “To my husband.”

Everything grinded to a halt.

It was a good thing she expected him to be floored by that news. Husband? Husband?? The word echoed around in his head, immaterial; he couldn’t grasp the concept. There was no intel about a husband. Nobody mentioned a husband. She’s married? How can she be married!? His eyes jerked to her left hand, bare of a ring. She followed his gaze with a charming smile.

“Neither of us wear one,” she explained. “We married for practical reasons, and we aren’t interested in exclusivity. He and I consider ourselves free to explore as we like.”

She’s… married. The fact churned sluggishly in his mind, untethered and unexpected. She’s married. So..

“..uhh..” Omicron contributed intelligently. “Uh, s-so.. huh-”

Oh for fuck’s sake. He fought tooth and nail to keep his eyes open, watching Josaline bite her lip as the last sliver of light disappeared. Now the tickle was just kicking him while he was down. It snagged him by the lungs and hurled him forward over his lap.

“-eHTCHZSS’hoo!”

“Bless you,” Josaline purred, stuck to him from shoulder to hip.

Omicron tucked his fist beneath his nose with a couple convalescing sniffles. “-nguh, thagk you..” Another sniffle, sharper, and a crinkling blink to disperse the dark spots floating in front of his eyes. “So, you want me to.. meet him?”

“While my husband and I have similar tastes,” she continued delicately, “we find it more gratifying to seek pleasure with others than with one another. However..”

Here she guided him to look at her with a single finger to his chin.

“.. very rarely, one of us will meet someone special. Someone who would please us both. Together.”

This conversation was going at light speed while Omicron was still floating in space. He nodded, buying himself time, trying to gather more than just the word husband. So his mortifying sneeze-fit failure was actually a success, to the extent that Josaline wanted him to meet her husband, who also had the hots for sneezing? Presumably? Possibly? But wait, nothing in the files ever mentioned a husband, so that meant this was a secret husband..

“Do you understand?” Josaline asked. “What I’m proposing?”

Ménage à trois, his strategic mind supplied. Ménage à trois with the suspected cyber criminal’s secret husband.

Suddenly, and Omicron truly didn’t know how, everything was turning up aces. Not only did he have intel on a secret husband but he’d get to meet the guy. Talk to him. Learn more about Josaline through him. Find some incriminating indication that she actually was a white-collar mastermind screwing thousands of people out of hundreds of thousands of dollars. And then he’d get his ass kissed by everybody at head office and they’d crown him King of Spies and give him only the coolest assignments henceforth. Maybe he’d get a fancy company car.. or a commissioned self-portrait in a tuxedo.. or..

Omicron jolted, as if coming awake from an impromptu nap. Shit. He rubbed both hands over his face, dismayed when they came away sticky. The humidity must be getting to him. Moist air always made him groggy.

“Nicolas?” Josaline looked a little uncertain now.

“I’d love to,” he blurted, then ducked his with a sheepish sniffle. “Ah, I mean.. if that’s-.. if you’re offering..?”

“If you’re comfortable?” she asked back. Nicolas nodded, maybe a little too quickly because his head felt like it was on a string five feet in the air. Josaline broke into a toothy smile, reaching to smooth thumbs over the puffy skin beneath his eyes. “Really?”

“Well, I-... as long as you’re both okay with it,” he replied. His nose creased at the bridge when she nuzzled the tip of hers to his. Omicron hiccuped a breath, and huffed it against her lips. “I-hhah..”

“Dinner tomorrow night,” she promised him, watching avidly as his expression contorted. Omicron squirmed his nose in a bid for it to behave, but Josaline wasn’t having it. She kissed just beneath his nostrils as they flared against her own. Lurking in the recesses of his sinuses, the tickle emerged. “We’ll ask him.”

Then she sealed her lips over his as he contended with the damage in her wake. His nose felt full of fuzzy bits, and with his nose as his only source of oxygen, Omicron was forced to keep stirring them with air. Each inhale swept them in a wind, sending them spinning against every inflamed atom of his nerves. They moved deeper, joined by more, an escalating infestation drifting deeper into his sinuses until he was dizzy with it.

“mmm!” he hummed into her mouth. Both her hands sunk into his hair, holding him still, keeping him locked to her lips as the tickle grew and grew. He sucked a hitching, shaky sniffle that whipped all the fuzz into a storm. Omicron whimpered again, higher and sharper. “-MM!”

Only when he set hands on her shoulders did she part from him with a soft sound, and even then she did it reluctantly. By now Omicron was lost to his gasping ascent. “hih-..hIH!h.. IHT-!” On the cusp, he whirled to the side and rocked with a perfunctory, “-DZSHH’iew!!”

She draped her arms around him, tugging him into her side as he fussed with his nose. Nicolas topped backward with her to the lounge chair. “Bless.”

“Ugh, thagks,” he snuffled and shifted in her arms to see her better. “Had to sndeeze, I’m sor-”

Josaline pressed a finger to his lips to silence an impending apology, and when she was sure he’d gotten the message, she trailed her painted nails along his bottom lip. “It’s a date, then?”

Nicolas smiled. “It’s a date.”

/tbc!

I know what happens next, I just have to write it! Thank you so much to everyone who’s stuck around for part 2, I really appreciate you!💗Hope to see you again at part 3 ^w^

#on the edge of my seat for part 3 this is stupendous

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prohistamine · 6 months ago

Text

Best Laid Plans - Part 1

Details: 9k, Male sneezes, no pairing (yet..)

Summary: A secret agent is going undercover for a few days, and his target has a sneeze fetish. The agency’s best engineer has constructed something to give him an edge.

PART 1 - PART 2

My first original piece I've posted here!

This is VERY self-indulgent so you’ll have to excuse me lol. It’s like.. lizard brain horny. Seriously lol. Slapping NSFW on here for good measure. It’s rare I get embarrassed about my kink nowadays but I feel a little embarrassed about this one. Still, I had fun writing it! I hope someone else can enjoy it too!

These are original characters, all in their late twenties and early thirties! This story was inspired by @testingtwns writing. She has such captivating descriptions, spectacular characterizations, and fascinating world lore. This snippet can’t hold a candle to her amazing stories, but I was moved to try writing it after reading hers. (If you would prefer I remove this shoutout, Red, please let me know! Your stuff is just so great!)

(Warnings: Unrealistic science, my cringe attempt at sneeze characterization, Mess Lite™, questionable workplace dynamics, general horny undertones and overtones, accidental boners and feeling pleasure from sneezing).

THIS STORY IS NSFW!

It was never a great morning when Agent Omicron found himself in Dr. Anita Voster’s lab. She was a little eccentric, he thought, and liked to make mischief. Not a good combination for a scientist. Still, she was the best in the force and the one assigned to his case by the powers that be. He knew why he was reporting to Dr. Voster’s lab and he knew what his bosses would say - The sooner you report to Dr. Voster, the sooner you can begin your work.

Omicron reported to her lab sharply at 0800, shrugged off his suit jacket at her behest, and sat himself down in her vaguely threatening patient chair for the administration of her invention. Dr. Voster was far too giddy in handing over a small container of nasal spray. It looked harmless, but Omicron knew better.

“This,” he said, inspecting the bottle, “will make me sick?”

“Something like that,” Dr. Voster replied. She fetched the bottle from his hand as she spoke, and rolled a plush stool over to sit as they talked. “This virus was engineered specifically to make you sneeze, so think of it like a cold in your nose.”

“Similar to allergies?”

“Yes, if you were allergic to air.”

Omicron sighed. He wasn’t in the business of complaining, but this was going to be challenging. He crossed his arms, trying not to fidget. “How long does it last?”

“Just long enough to see you through the mission. Your symptoms should abate by Thursday.”

So he’d be sick the entire time, essentially. Great. His leg started to bounce.

“Will this slow me down?” he asked. Dr. Voster arched a look over her safety glasses. He clarified himself. “Am I going to feel like shit?”

She smirked at him. “Are you one of those man-cold types?”

Heat swept over his ears and burned the back of his neck, and her smile only widened. He crunched his brows with a glare. “No, I’m just being thorough. If this will compromise my performance in any way, I want to know about it.”

“It won’t,” she chuckled, and he tried not to get defensive at the amusement in her voice. “Like I said, the primary function of this virus is to make you sneeze. You’ll be contending with some nasal congestion, but aside from that you’ll be fine.”

That was easy for her to say. She wasn’t going undercover into enemy territory. He tensed as she snapped on a pair of gloves and looped on a face mask. When she uncapped the bottle, he cleared his throat. “The paperwork said something about me being more ‘suggestible?’ What does that mean?”

She huffed at his air quotes and yanked down her mask. “It means you’ll be vulnerable to psychosomatic triggers. In other words, if you think hard enough about sneezing, you’ll prompt one.”

“That sounds unlikely.”

“We have testing data to support it,” she chastised, and yanked her mask back up. “It was a goal for the formula. We thought you might find it handy to take matters into your own hands if a sneeze wasn’t forthcoming.”

“For.. what? Tactical measures?”

“Yes, strategic options. Now, tilt your head and relax.”

He reluctantly settled back into the cushioned chair, sniffing in preparation. One of her latex hands moved to cradle his jaw and keep him still as she nudged the applicator up the right side. It was wide enough to graze the sides of his nostrils, and he felt them flare in response.

“Okay, deep breath..”

Swallowing, he breathed slowly, deeply through his nose. A fffssh from the bottle yielded a mist of curiously warm aerosol that instantly coated the skin. He flinched a wrist up to his mouth to cough in response. It felt suddenly like his nose was running, so he sniffed, sniffed, and sniffed again. A strong flavor coated the back of his throat.

“Why is it salty?”

“Well, we didn’t intentionally flavor it,” she said, already moving to his left nostril. “Probably the saline. We used it as a base. Now, give me another big breath.”

He did as he was told, and again a warm puff of wetness invaded his nose. And another. And another. They performed this three times for each nostril, alternating sides, and the last one rubbed him wrong. A tiny tickle ignited. Omicron warded Dr. Voster back with one cautious hand as the other routed to his nose. He anchored his forefinger beneath his nostrils, pressing deliberately against his septum as he parted his lips to breathe. Voster snorted at him as she set the bottle aside.

“I thought that only worked in cartoons.”

“And on me,” he mumbled in a heady voice.

It took a moment of concentrated effort, but the urge passed. He sniffed, a little wetter this time as he blinked away tears. Agent Omicron was an old hand at holding back sneezes. Sudden, uncontrolled outbursts weren’t great for business when he was out in the field. That, and he generally didn’t like to draw attention to himself even in civilian life. He caught Dr. Voster smiling at him and his brows trenched.

“What now?”

“I’m not into sneezing,” she told him as she capped the bottle, “but that was pretty cute. Your target won’t stand a chance, Mr. Honey Pot.”

He replied with a scowl and one more see-sawing rub beneath his nose. “When does this kick in?”

“Give it twenty-four hours,” she said, and snapped off her gloves. “I’ll check on you then to make sure it took.”

He stood and slipped back into his jacket, straightened his tie. “Isn’t this cutting it a little close? I’m flying out tomorrow.”

“Maybe, but we didn’t want your poor nose suffering anymore than it has to,” she cooed, and punctuated this with a little tap of her knuckle to his septum. He swatted her away.

“Stop.”

“Oohhh,” she pouted, leaning a hip against her workstation. “Always so serious, Agent O.”

Omicron lurked a warning glare her way as he adjusted his sleeve cuffs and shirt collar. “I’ll be back in 2400.”

---

And he was, though he dragged his feet most of the way.

Omicron believed Dr. Voster when she said this nasal spray contained a virus that would cause his nose some hell, but he didn’t quite understand just how.. intense the experience would be.

He sniffled, a necessary indignity since he woke up this morning, and the slow, deliberate flare of that ever-present irritation beckoned him toward an unavoidable conclusion. Still, Omicron shoved the hard edge of his finger beneath his nose and tilted his head back for another whip-crack sniff. It flared the tickle dangerously, but the steady breakwater against his septum kept him in the clear. His nostrils twitched and he pinched them, rubbing rubbing rubbing until he heard the embarrassing squelch of something wet in his nose.

Another strong sniff, and a weak huhh on his exhale. Shit. He wiped his hand on the side of his pants with a grimace. He’d have to start carrying tissues.

“There he is!” Dr. Voster greeted him with a disarming smile, but he could see the hawklike way she zeroed in on his nose. He tried not to sniffle. “How’s my magnum opus treating you?”

It’s bullying me, Omicron thought, but as he laced his hands properly behind his back, what he said instead was, “It’s working.”

“Oh, is it?” she said. She wasn’t even trying to mask the delight in her voice now as she crowded him back into her exam chair. “Let me take a look.”

He stared hard at the ceiling as she slipped on gloves and wheeled forward on her stool, leaning over him like a dentist. He hated the dentist. A warm trickle of wetness prompted an automatic sniff, and a huffing exhale when that far-back tickle teased him.

“Runny nose?” she chirped, using her thumb to gently coax his nostril open. She held an otoscope with her other hand, using the little light to peer up his nose. Omicron tried not to shrivel in embarrassment as she crooned with sympathy. “Oooh, poor thing. You’re so inflamed..”

“Wasn’t that the idea?” he sighed, and sniffled again. A spark somewhere in his sinuses caused him a hard blink.

“Yes, but it must tickle so much..”

In response to her words, another spark snapped inside him. Like striking flint to burn kindling. Another reflexive sniffle. His eyes began to water.

“It must feel like something fuzzy is stuck up there,” she was saying, rubbing her thumb softly against the quivering edge of his nostril. “Every time you breathe, this fluffy thing, lodged in place and too far for you to reach..”

The frantic efforts of the virus continued, tenacious now in its purpose. The fuse caught, as did Omicron’s next inhale. His chest hitched with a stutter. He tried to reach up, finger extended and ready, but Voster caught his wrist and pinned it back down to the chair arm.

“It must be new for you, to be so out of control. This thing inside you, tickling so sweetly, growing unbearable, and there’s nothing you can do but submit.”

That tantalizing feeling got worse. The line of gunpowder trailing through his pulsing nostrils lit up with an unstoppable blaze. It raced through him, and Omicron couldn’t do anything but give it fuel. He gasped hugely, his chest straining against the buttons of his shirt. The exhale crashed out of him clumsily, unrelieved.

“H-HUHhh..”

Dr. Voster leaned away, but set her otoscope aside to pin his other wrist when he reflexively raised it to ward off what was coming. “Don’t fight it, Omicron. That tickle nestled in your nose was built for this. Listen to it. You two are a team, remember?”

Omicron couldn’t even open his eyes, the sensation held him so powerfully. It felt alive, calculated, somehow vying for control. He snatched in another soft breath, breathed it out on a moan, and then gasped again. His lungs strained to accommodate as that demanding tickle wanted more.. more..

He huffed out another helpless groan. “HHUHhhh..”

His hands flinched toward his face, but met resistance. A tear surfed down his cheek and got caught in his stubble. He gasped- gasped-! “.. hH-hiIHH-!”

The sensation crested, and finally, overcame him.

“HHZZZSSSCHOOO!!”

The force of it threw him forward. It was the loudest, strongest sneeze he’d ever sneezed, but somehow it didn’t feel big enough. Cool, tingling aftermath quickly gathered a second storm. This time, Omicron didn’t do anything but breathe into it.

“..hhHI’JJIZZSHHUE!”

Another uncharacteristically enormous sneeze. His wrists were free, but he didn’t even bother to cover his mouth or muffle into his elbow. Usually he’d rather disintegrate than sneeze freely even in his own home, but.. this tickle.. he just wanted to let it.. let it do..

“HEH’CHIZSHOoo!”

.. do whatever it wanted. And what it wanted was complete and utter domination. Omicron sniffled helplessly, half-aware he was leaking out of more than one orifice but too punch-drunk to do much about it. His breath caught fitfully in his throat and he-..

“-idzhih.. HID’ISSsshoo!.. huhh..”

Omicron leaned over to press hands over his eyes, his palms coming away wet. He was normally a one-and-done guy, with fairly normal-sized sneezes; this many at this size had him light-headed. His breath hitched again, quick like the strike of a viper, before he let it go on a sigh. And another, just the same. It felt like hiccups. He didn’t dare touch his nose, too wary of setting off the wrath of this thing deep inside him. Instead he just sniffled pitifully, catching his breath.

There was a tap on his shoulder. He glanced askance to a sheepish looking Dr. Voster who was offering a box of tissues. He snatched several, still too dazed to be properly embarrassed as he blew a wet, crackling sound into the wad of them. It took a few rounds, but when he finished he cleared his throat and blinked at her with teary eyes.

“What the fuck, Anita.”

“Sorry,” she winced, and she actually did seem sorry. “I wanted to test the ‘suggestible’ variable and you reacted more strongly than I anticipated. Also, um.. bless you, by the way.”

He sat back against the seat with a stuffy sniffle, arms crossed, and now that he was more aware of himself, valiantly fighting down the urge to blush. “Yes, well. You were just doing your job, so I can’t be mad.”

She hedged a nervous smile. “Can’t be, or shouldn’t be?”

He gusted a long sigh, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose when somehow even the rumble of his own voice stirred the residual dust of another sinus-deep tickle. “Do you need to test anything else, or can I go?”

His voice had lost most of its resonance from the sneeze attack as the congestion set in -- not yet enough to blunt his consonants but enough to dull the overall sound. Moisture skated down the side of his nose and Omicron wrinkled it with another snuffle that moved nothing at all. How could his nose be both dripping and completely blocked? He indulged a rub this time, soothing his nostrils to stillness with the tempering back-and-forth of his index finger.

The doctor’s voice broke the quiet. “How does it feel?”

Omicron peered up at her, finger still held to his upper lip. “Pardon?”

“Your nose,” she clarified, but not by much. “How does it feel?” He scoffed and stood to leave. She stood to stop him, holding both hands out as if to placate him. “I’m not teasing you. I really do need to know. Are you in pain?”

“No,” he said, chest lifting with another short sniff. He pressed harder against his septum, rubbing in earnest now as the tickle began gathering momentum. It stalled against the wrangling touch, but didn’t back down. “No pain.”

“But it does tickle?”

“I believe we’ve estahh..hkrrrm!” He cleared his throat to steady his voice. “.. established that, yes.”

She eyed him, her gaze trailing down to the finger glued beneath his nose. “You shouldn’t try to hold them off, Omicron. It might be why your sneezing earlier was so extreme.”

All this talk of sneezing was just emboldening the tickle. It’s like the sensation was surging forward, eager to answer to the call of its name. His eyes fluttered closed and he pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth to try and waylay another gasping breath. His nostrils pulsed against his finger, prompting him to pinch them instead, but still they tried to flare against his grip. He heard Dr. Voster sigh.

“I don’t know why they picked you for this mission,” she muttered, just loud enough to be heard. “If you’re too shy to sneeze, you’re going to lose your target pretty much instantly.”

His eyes sliced open, as defiant as his nose still squirming between his fingers. His voice was bottled back in his throat completely. “I’b dnot shy, I’b.. I’b jhhss.. hooh..”

The tickle hijacked his voice, tremoring it on a snatchy inhale. It prickled ominously behind his eyes, insistent, and Omicron stayed perfectly still in an effort to tame it. Even with his nose plugged and his fervent attempts to rub the sensation away, the tickle persisted. It dragged another breath in on a soft gasp, out on another dreading utterance.

“.. H-Ihih!.. ohh..”

“You’re so stubborn,” said Dr. Voster, and he could hear her rolling her eyes. He’d known her for years, and while he tried to rise above her goading taunts, there always came a point when she got to him.

Omicron let go of his nose and took as long and deep of a breath as he could through his trembling nostrils. The tickle welcomed it, greedily advancing, and rather than prolong the fight Omicron simply braced his hands on his knees to keep his balance as the sensation built inside him. As Dr. Voster so strangely asserted during his last volley, he and this virus were a team. He wouldn’t see the success of this mission without it.

It was this thought that compelled him to breathe again, a sniff that coasted directly into a gasp. He waited, hovering on the edge of it, but the sneeze backed away just before he could snatch it. Omicron squinted up at Dr. Voster, who was watching him with bald interest.

“Iihhff… hoo..” He sniffled, abandoning all dignity as he snubbed the wet edges of his nostrils against the sleeve of his suit. “If I let this tiH.. tiihckle ha..uuHUhh.. have its way ev..”

His eyes fluttered closed, and he snatched in a series of chuffing breaths. Each was a shrill gasp followed by a bleating exhale, utterly beyond his power to stop. The crescendo carried him into increasingly higher and faster octaves, before the sneeze ripped out of him with gusto.

“HAH’CHIZSHOO!-ohhhh..” He swayed on his feet, panting at the ground, and was shocked to find in the tingling aftermath how good that felt. It made it easier to let the next one swell and crash out of him. “..HIH’SSschoo!- fuck mbe..”

Omicron rarely swore, but the power and sheer abandon of these sneezes were so unlike his usual that he couldn’t help it. Through the haze of another rising tickle, he tried to hurry through the rest of his thoughts before he completely forgot what he was saying.

“If I let it have.. hahve it’s wayiiiiee..ig’GIZZSCHue!!-hah... I’ll be sdnee.. sdiizz.. HIZZSSSHOO!!..ughh, sdeezig for..fuh! UH!hhh.. for days.” He finished on a sigh, unrelieved, one hand now holding desperately onto the chair so he didn’t end up on his knees.

Dr. Voster didn’t immediately speak and when he finally blinked away blurry tears, he found her biting her lip with a worried crease between her eyes. “.. Do you always sneeze like this when you catch a cold?”

Even the very word caused his nose to buzz. His willpower was all but shredded, so he clamped onto the chair with his other hand and threw his head down with a body-shaking, “IID’DZZSSSSSTTH!!”

It was an unfortunate sneeze, one that painted his tie and the seat of the chair with its aftermath. Omicron didn’t have the energy to blush about it; honestly, this was all Anita’s fault so if he happened to catch her furniture in the crossfire of his helpless sneezing fit he.. heeeeeeee-

“HEEZZZSHOOO!!” He stumbled forward into a suspended tray of implements that crashed to the ground in a tremendous clatter. Omicron paid it no mind, tilting his head back to the fluorescent lights in an effort to keep his running nose at bay. “Bloody hell, won’t it st.. uh.. ohh.. hH!”

A bridge of pressure appeared beneath his septum, pressing firmly against it. He cracked his eyes open to find Dr. Voster beside him, her finger fearlessly anchored beneath his flaring nostrils. They threatened another revolt, under the tickle’s full command. That enduring, swelling force inside Omicron begged again for release and he gasped loudly against Dr. Voster.

“..hihHIT-!”

“Nope, nope, nope,” she muttered, pressing even harder against his nose. “Work with me here..”

Omicron had no idea if she was talking to him, or the virus, but both struggled to comply. The maddening prickle became tortuous. His nose cried out for relief, as the tickle played his sinuses like a fine instrument. Holding it back now seemed impossible. And to be frank, he was still a bit irked with Anita. He flicked his gaze up to the lights, sensitive enough that the bright flash of them set alight the simmering fuse inside him.

And, because he was a gentleman, he did try to warn her. “.. caahh.. cahhdd..”

“O, don’t you dare. I know you have more control than this, just-”

He heaved his way through an ominous buildup, letting the tickle dictate the pace of his breath until it brought him to the brink. His chest inflated, pressing against Dr. Voster as she fought to the end to keep him together. She pressed hard enough that he half-wondered if his nose would bruise, but no amount of pressure could tide it back. He threw both of them forward with a sneeze scraped up from the depths of his lungs.

“HAAAZZSCHHOOOO!!-ooohhhhh..”

His knees felt a bit weak after that one, but for the first time since he’d woken up that morning, his nose tingled with welcome relief. It would be brief, he was certain, but he’d take the reprieve while he had it. The satisfaction of the fit filled his head with a pleased emptiness as he teetered his way around the edge of the chair and dropped to sit there. He tried to catch his breath.

“Agent Omicron, I swear to god,” groused Dr. Voster. He cracked his eyes open to see her ripping out more than a dozen tissues to throw at him. “You did that on purpose.”

He gathered them up and groaned wetly into the white bouquet. His voice was an achy croak. “I had no control over that, I promise you..”

Dr. Voster washed her hands at the sink and joined him on her stool when she finished. By that time, he’d managed to make himself somewhat presentable. His suit was a bit of a lost cause, but with luck the stains would dry into something less noticeable before his flight.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, and there was a serious quality to her question. “Do you always sneeze like this when you catch cold?”

Omicron shook his head, bringing another bunch of tissues to his face to blow. ‘Sore throat’ may not have been an intended symptom, but it soon would be if he kept shouting sneezes on the hour. He massaged his sinuses through the thin paper, already hopelessly stuffed up as he tried to suck in a sniffle. It just made him cough.

Dr. Voster was muttering beside him. “.. may have hit you harder than intended..”

“Whad was that?” he asked. He didn’t bother masking the reproach in his tone. She sighed and adjusted her glasses.

“I said, I may have underestimated how reactive you’d be,” she admitted. “You rarely sneeze, so I thought your sinuses weren’t sensitive.”

“I have to sdneeze all the time,” Omicron admitted in turn with a sawing rub beneath his nostrils. “I’b just good at holding themb back.”

Dr. Voster stared at him a moment, then bent over her knees with a sound of pure frustration. “Omicron. You should have TOLD me that in the INTAKE INTERVIEW.”

Omicron startled in his seat, sputtering with insult. “Are you tryi’g to make this mby fault? I answered all your questions honestly!”

“I asked you if you sneeze a lot when you’re sick and you said no!!”

“Thad’s because I DON’D!”

His throat didn’t take kindly to the treatment and he turned away to cough. He yanked out more tissues, determined to free his consonants with a noseblow. Nothing moved, and all he got was another threatening jab from the tickle for his trouble. Oh, please not again, he thought, blinking at the sensation.

“Then what do you call this, O? Are you sneezing for fun?”

Anita’s voice called him briefly back to his ire. “I almost never sneeze this much when I’m sick! In fact I sdneeze more when I’m well, I-..”

He stopped, and Dr. Voster watched him with bare worry as he wrestled with what could be another punishing sneezing fit. Omicron learned his lesson from before, and he didn’t try to fight it at all. Just gave himself over to the feverish tickling until it snagged his breath in one fell swoop.

“H-ih.. TZSshoo!”

He waited briefly for another, but none came and Omicron could have wept with relief. That was far closer to what he’d expected at the start of this experiment. He wiped his nose with a tissue and was unsurprised to find the skin was already getting sore. His skin was prone to chafing with too much friction, which was just as inconvenient as it sounded.

Dr. Voster frowned at him. “Was that..?”

“My usual, yes,” Omicron verified with a sigh. He was numb to the embarrassment of discussing this by now.

“Okay.” Dr. Voster folded her hands in her lap and with a deep breath, marshaled herself. “Okay, okay. This.. is salvageable. I just have to create an antidote, or maybe a diluting agent, and then maybe I can administer a weaker dose before..” She glanced at her watch and hung her head in defeat. “.. you leave in less than an hour.”

Omicron gave her a half-lidded stare over his tissues. “You didn’t create an antidote?”

Dr. Voster threw her arms up and shot up from her chair to pace. “No, Omicron! No, I didn’t. It’s a cold. It’s a harmless, nose-oriented cold at that. Barely a case of the sniffles. But apparently you have the most delicate sinuses of all mankind because my dose was too strong and now you’re-”

She glanced over at Omicron to find him in a state of sneezy limbo, no longer listening as his nostrils twitched their way to a consuming finale. He stuttered a few breaths, each exhale a sound of unwitting surprise when the sneeze didn’t come. It took longer than Omicron wanted, but he finally got it.

“DZSSSH!” Another pitchy gasp, the corners of his mouth flinching upward in the barest hint of a relieved smile as he vented one down on his lap. “TSSschoo!! ahhh, tha’g you..”

Omicron wasn’t even sure who he was talking to, the tickle or his nose, but each succinct release felt wonderful and left him spent in a way that relaxed him. It seemed if he didn’t try to stop them, they would come in much more manageable waves. Hmm.. maybe that meant if he held them off, he could get another one of those punishing volleys when he needed one. It would depend on the target’s preferences.

“Omicron, are you listening?”

He glanced up to find a fretful Dr. Voster, her hair loose from her ponytail and lab coat a little askew. He sniffed. “No, sorry. What did you say?”

“I’m going to recommend we ground you,” she said. Omicron froze, uncertain if he heard right, but jumped to his feet when she snatched up her phone. “We can’t risk this compromising you.”

He tried to grab her phone from her, but she dodged. “What are you talking about? I thought that was the point.”

“The point was to give you a reliable way to sneeze,” she clarified, quickly typing something out with her thumbs. “Not make you a liabilit-HEY!”

Omicron managed to liberate her phone and held it high above to keep it out of reach as he tried to reason with her. He sniffed again when he felt his nose begin to run, and blinked against the throbbing reply of his nose-tickle. “Listen, Anita, I’ve been training for this mission for months. It’s our only chance t.. to..”

Her eyes narrowed as his fluttered. “You have to sneeze right now, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, but I’m telling you I’m hh!UHhh..” He sniffled again, fighting for composure. “.. I’m learning to work with it, alright?”

“If you can go thirty seconds without sneezing, I’ll believe you.”

Omicron swallowed. Thirty seconds yesterday would have been nothing, but today? His nostrils flared at even the suggestion. If he wasn’t certain viruses had no capacity for thought, let alone emotion, he would claim this tickle had a mind of its own and a chip on its shoulder. It was always simmering somewhere in the recesses of his sinuses, but the moment he committed to staving it off, it surged forward with pure intention.

Somehow, he could tell he’d be in for another seismic sneezing fit if he tried any tricks to keep it back, so he let his eyes fold shut. Rather than increments of jumping breaths, this sneeze was a smooth slide into fruition. He drew in a dreamy breath and felt his nostrils ease wide. Then-

“HETZChuu!” It was cleansing, a reset that cleared his mind. He welcomed another. “h-hHEH!h.. ohhH!hh..”

The urge abandoned him, and of course the moment he wanted to sneeze, he couldn’t. Clearing his throat, he realized with a measure of chagrin that when he sneezed, he hadn’t done more than turn his head. Where had his manners gone? The urges were so immediate, he could scarcely think of anything else.

Dr. Voster snatched the phone from his hand. “That wasn’t even fifteen seconds! I’m calling HQ.”

“Anita!” he growled, and darted forward. The two of them ended up in a spontaneous spar. While Dr. Voster was rarely on the field, she was trained in hand-to-hand as well as he was. They exchanged a series of blocks, strikes, kicks, dodges, and by the time Omicron wrestled her into a hold on the linoleum, they were both breathless. Splayed out on her back, he huffed heavy breaths into her hair. The silken strands ruffled in the gusts.

She threw him a dirty look from the corner of her eye. “Let me go, Omicron.”

“Not until you let go of this notion that I’m incapable of fulfilling this mission, Anita,” he leveled back at her. “It’s unlike you to worry like this.”

Her glare darkened; she didn’t like his choice of words, but didn’t deny it. “I oversensitized you. It will be my fault if you collapse in an uncontrollable sneezing fit and get captured by the enemy.”

He scoffed. “Is that all? I didn’t sneeze once during our spar and, in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got you in a lock on the ground. Not to mention the mission is information extraction. If I attract unwanted attention, that would be my own mistake.”

She said nothing in return, which prompted Omicron to slide off of her. Together they sat up, still sitting on the floor together. She tucked hair behind her ear, refusing to look at him. He sighed. “Anita..”

She shot him a side glance. “.. are you seriously going through with it?”

“Of course,” he replied, twitching his nose to one side. The tickle rippled, and he sniffled in response. Out of habit he reached up to rest his finger beneath. “If the target enjoys this as much as sources claim, th-h!.. then it’ll beeeeh-”

He tucked his finger more tightly to his septum, only realizing his mistake after the tickle churned restlessly against the tender, tortured edges of his sinuses. “Oh, fuck mHH-.. HIH!hh.. uhh… UH..”

Dr. Voster made a noise of exasperation and he caught the sound of tissues getting snatched from the box. As he gasped and groaned his way through another incredible buildup, a flurry of softness enveloped his squirming nose. He cupped his hand over hers as he flinched forward into their shared grip.

“iiiIHH’GGZSSCHOO!..oohhh, uhduther-..” He caught his breath in a desperate gasp, straight from the bottom of his belly. When he crunched forward, he heard a couple seams rip in his shirt. “AAHHDZZSCHOO!!”

“I guess I should said bless you,” grumbled Dr. Voster. She wiggled the tissues around his nose, which remained twitchy. He had yet to open his eyes. “Are you done?”

He shook his head.

“One more?”

He paused to consider, then nodded. And after another terrific gasp, the force of his doubling-over wrenched their hands down toward his lap. “EEHTTZZSSSCHOOO!!.. ohhh, wow..”

Omicron nearly shivered at the pleasant, tingling aftermath. Why did they always feel so good? The bigger the better, even if they winded him. Dr. Voster left him with the tissues as he muzzily blew his nose. He kept his head down for a moment to let the dizziness ease, so he was still facing his lap when he opened his eyes.

Oh. That was new. Side effect of the virus, perhaps..?

Omicron darted his eyes to the doctor, but she was already up on her feet and brushing off her coat. She hadn’t seen - his first and only stroke of luck today. Because if she thought his violent sneezing was grounds for calling off the mission, his sudden sneeze-induced half-chub would definitely warrant a mortifying and career-destroying advisory call to HQ. He rushed to adjust himself as she turned away, and then both of them jumped when the door opened.

“ - yes, yes, just tell them to fax it,” Agent Delta was saying, attention still focused on someone else in the hall. Omicron scrambled to his feet, standing at attention as Dr. Voster filed beside him, just as Delta turned to them both. He clapped his hands together. “Ah, there they are! Case 28947!”

That was the case number to which they were assigned, and the very case that would see Omicron leaving for the airport in the next.. his eyes flew to the clock on the wall.. twelve minutes. That’s probably why Delta was here.

“How’s our experiment? A success?” He strolled over to Omicron, over whom he held a few inches. Omicron stood his ground, resolving not to drop his eyes when Delta jovially scanned his features. His gaze lingered on Omicron’s nose. “Looks like it was.”

“It was.” Dr. Voster and Omicron briefly locked eyes before she continued. “It’s.. functioning as intended.”

“Really?” asked Delta, impressed. Dr. Foster preened under that look, in spite of the circumstances. The senior agent looked between the two of them with a polite smile. “I suppose you wouldn’t mind me testing it as well?”

Again Omicron and Anita met eyes. This time, Omicron cleared his throat and nodded his reply. “If you wish, sir.”

Delta scratched his cheek thoughtfully, studying Omicron in silence until the shorter agent couldn’t help but sniff. He also couldn’t help the need to briefly wrinkle his nose afterward. Delta grinned.

“From how it was described, it must tickle pretty bad in there, huh?” he said, nodding to Omicron’s nose. It must be blushed pink by now, if not darker. He waited for Delta to continue, and then realized that his superior was waiting for an answer.

Much as it humiliated him to say it, he replied, “It does, sir.”

“Mmm,” Delta hummed thoughtfully, and to the man’s credit he sounded a little sympathetic. “It must feel like.. hm, how did your poetic literature put it, Doctor? What was it?.. Liiike..”

Dr. Voster, who was busy putting her hair back up into its customary ponytail, darted an apologetic glance toward Omicron. Well, it wasn’t her fault. Omicron knew what literature Delta referenced and it was only part of protocol for her to write something thorough for their records.

“Like feathers.”

“That’s right, like feathers,” Delta continued, shifting on his feet in front of Omicron. His eyes never left his subordinate’s face. “Constantly and tirelessly petting the inside of one’s nose.”

The words seemed hypnotic to Omicron because he could feel it. He could feel those feathers, stroking so gently and repeatedly against the far depths of his sinuses. Somewhere deep, somewhere too far to scratch. They were careful with the fragile nerves there, but dauntless in their purpose. To make him sneeze. And sneeze.. And sneeze…

Omicron’s eyes fluttered shut, his breath deepening as his nostrils flared softly to the siren call of those thoughts. His hands remained firmly clasped behind him.

Delta continued as if he didn’t notice. “Yes. An ever-present irritation in the most sensitive depths, coaxed to greater and greater strength by your breath. Isn’t that ironic? That you yourself are the catalyst to this growing fire inside you, cursed to fan the flames even in sleep.”

Did it start while I was asleep last night? Omicron wondered. Because when he woke, it was to an itchy nose. So itchy in fact he snorted, sniffed, and rubbed it with such single-mindedness he nearly forgot he was due to Dr. Voster’s lab today. He breathed now, a slow and reverent inhale that squeaked around his blocked sinuses and added speed to the stroking sensation of those silken feathers.

His lips parted, his chest jumping with a sudden breath. He sighed it out, the ghost of a moan carried on his exhale.

“And once it starts, it is nigh impossible to stop. That tickle won’t let you. No matter how badly you might want a reprieve, those feathers are mindless. You can’t reason with them. They’ll just keep at their work, teasing and teasing that aching flesh until..”

The tickle buoyed him through a catching gasp. Omicron sighed again, his voice carrying, wanting. Another cresting gasp, the wave of something reachable, and then he fell short again. His nostrils pulsed plaintively, begging what dwelled inside to give him relief. But Omicron didn’t mind this limbo, this torture. He knew what came after would be well worth the wait.

“.. agitating.. working you over.. beckoning you with a relentless tickle.. until you can take it no longer.”

His chest swelled, and what he thought might be another forsaken gasp turned into the exclamation of climax. “HAH-.. BBZSSSSCHHUUHH!”

The first one came, because of course there would be more, and he snatched an arm around his middle when there was a strong, delicious undulation of pleasure deep in his gut. He groaned, his voice deep and gravelly and unfamiliar to his ears.

“Whoa!” came Delta’s exclamation. He sounded shocked. “That sure was something. Omicron, bless-”

“HEH-.. BBZSSSHHOO!.. nnnnghh.”

These were smooth as butter - one big, long, scooping breath and then a knee-shaking release. He sniffled thickly, wetly, with his eyes shut in concentration. Omicron wanted another, and this time the tickle delivered. Those invisible feathers rustled like wheat in a windstorm, and he caught himself grinning as he gasped another huge breath.

“HHHH!.. EHDZZSSSHUUE!!”

He swayed forward as another cramp of ecstasy swirled in his gut, and Omicron felt a strong hand brace his shoulder to keep him from tipping over.

“Is he okay?” was one faint voice.

“Yes, just-” came another.

Omicron sneezed.

“HIIH!.. IIHTDZZSSSHHHTT!! .. fuck.”

That one was particularly wet, fired haphazardly at the floor like the rest. It also contracted in a burst of stars behind his groin so intense that Omicron became instantly and fearfully aware that he would actually come in his pants if he kept this up. And holy shit he didn’t want that to happen. Not here. Not now.

He jerked his free hand out, holding it expectantly toward the voices. With tremendous effort, he tried to be understood. “Tiih.. Tiizzusss.. HUH-”

“One second, one second!!” he heard Anita’s tempering assurances over the rush of blood in his ears.

And the rush of ticklish sensation through his nose. He couldn’t get the visual of feathers out of his head. Delta, damn him. All Omicron could see behind the dark of his wet eyelids was a field of pristine, white, downy feathers positioned diabolically against every inch of his nasal walls. The tips of them wavered each time he hitched a stuttery inhale, and huffed a helpless exhale. They were devoid of life beyond that which he gave it, breathing intent into them as they swayed against swollen, irritated flesh. He could picture his nasal membranes flinching helplessly against the onslaught, crying out to him for relief. And he would give it-

“hH-.. uHH’TZZZSSSHHOOOO!!”

The feathers fluttered wildly and his nose calmed with a prickling balm, sated. Until he sniffled against the slogging block of congestion in his nose and what little air there was eeked through and-.. the feathers trembled, dragging their soft tips gingerly against his quivering flesh, an endless torment, so subtle yet compounding in its simplicity because he could feel the echoes of that tantalizing sensation all through his nose and as he snuffled against the feeling, the feathers trembled again as if in eagerness, excitement, their tendrils tracing long worn paths on fraught nerves as the aching pressure built and built in his nose, deep inside, and oh-.. ohh-

“hHHHHH-”

“Oh no you don’t.”

The sudden presence of a hand over his nose surprised him, frightened the sneeze away, and Omicron felt an irrational pang of frustration when his gasp escaped from him with a gutteral hhuhh unrelieved. He realized in retrospect that the voice was Dr. Voster, and the hand belonged to her too. He also realized, in a wash of cold sweat, that he was achingly hard where his prick was tucked into his belt.

“Blow your nose, Omicron.”

He struggled to comply. A hitching breath got out of his control, only emboldening the tickle, and again he thought of the feathers. They were everywhere, impossible to blow out, and they’d just keep… keep-

“RRZZSSSSCHH’HOO!”

It tore out of him with a passion, and the pleasure washed over him so fiercely he would have gone to his knees had Delta not stepped in to catch him. Omicron panicked, bursting into motion to put distance between himself and the others. They let him go, only for him to stumble backwards onto his ass. The impact shook an impending sneeze out the queue, and Omicron had a moment to collect his bearings.

He quickly got to his hands and knees, trying to keep his crotch pointed to the floor. He was still painfully hard, but thankfully he hadn’t managed to sneeze himself into orgasm. Now that he had his wits, he realized he still had the wad of tissues in his hand. He brought them to his face and blew as hard as he could, concentrating only on the act of getting something out rather than thinking too hard about what was happening inside.

Adrenaline and humiliation were quick and quiet boner killers; any residual arousal swirling in his thoughts extinguished as he assessed his situation. He was somewhat sweaty, stained with a few of his own sneezes, and his damn nose still tickled. Omicron threw caution to the wind and rubbed it with fast, punishing pressure against his septum, as if to admonish it. Rather than chance a sniffle, he breathed only through his mouth as he climbed to his feet.

Both Dr. Voster and Agent Delta regarded him warily. Omicron straightened his vest, his jacket, and smoothed back his hair where it had fallen into his eyes.

“Pardod be,” he rasped, still breathless. He coughed into his fist to clear his throat.

Delta’s features eased into genuine concern. The man’s flippant nature notwithstanding, he did care about his people. “Agent, are you alright?”

“Of course,” insisted Omicron. He cleared his throat again. “Just fine. Why?”

“Well, that just..” Delta looked over to Dr. Voster, who was refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. “.. it seemed very intense, don’t you think? Doctor?”

The doctor startled at her name, then reached to adjust her glasses. She looked now at Omicron, her expression as hard and firm as her voice. “Yes, I agree. And I would recommend..”

Here, Omicron bit his tongue. If Anita really did want to rat him out, he’d only dig his own grave if he tried to deflect. But then her eyes softened.

“.. that Agent Omicron desist from triggering the suggestion impulse until this initial sensitivity wears off.”

Tension left his shoulders. He closed his eyes briefly in relief.

Delta rubbed the back of his neck, contrite. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t realize it was an issue. You should have told me!”

“I wasn’t aware it was a pattern until you tried it, sir,” said Dr. Voster. She crossed her arms and nodded toward Omicron. “And with all due respect, sir, you should really apologize to Agent O.”

Delta turned to him with dewy puppy-dog eyes and Omicron wanted to evaporate out of embarrassment. He didn’t do well with anything sentimental and at times his superior was pure sentimentality. “Forgive me, Omicron. I hope I didn’t cause you any distress. I’m sure that wasn’t comfortable.”

On the contrary, thought Omicron, but admitting anything even close to the truth made his tongue wither. His cheeks burned, and to add further indignity, he sniffled. The brief, tickling swell prompted him to thumb the end of his nose to encourage good behavior.

“Not at all, sir. Please don’t trouble yourself over it.”

Delta clapped him companionably on the shoulder, and when he turned toward Dr. Voster, Omicron leaned around him to throw a scathing look her way. She only smiled. That prompted apology was likely just her getting some revenge. To be frank, the new complication of sneeze-induced arousal would absolutely complicate the mission, but Omicron begged to be given a case like this for months. More than a year, even. He’d take the risk rather than give this up.

Besides, it wasn’t his fault his nose couldn’t calm down. He didn’t conduct a half-baked intake interview and design an overpowered tickle virus, so why should he be the one to suffer the consequences? Beyond those he was already suffering, he supposed.

Once again, thinking too much about it summoned the tickle forth. Omicron refused to get stuck in another self-perpetuated sneeze-cycle, so he focused only on the wall as the urge lapped at the edges of his sinuses. Oh, the ones that made him wait were the worst.

“.. to it that we grab your luggage on the way to the jet,” Delta was saying. He still had his hand on Omicron’s shoulder and squeezed when he got no response. “You already packed right?”

Omicron took a breath to reply, but it hitched in his throat. Then rushed out with a soft uhh that he couldn’t suppress. Gone were the days when he could quietly build up to a sneeze; it seemed this virus wanted everybody to know as soon as his nose started to tickle. He fought to keep his eyes open, and his ears from flushing red.

“.. yeh..hssirr..”

Delta’s smile tilted back into concerned territory, and he rubbed Omicron’s shoulder. “Looking a little sneezy, Agent. Try not to knock yourself down this time.”

Omicron huffed a laugh that trembled into a gasping inhale, a fitful exhale, an even more urgent inhale-.. “-uUHH!” and then left him on a frustrated sigh. He rubbed his face with both hands. “Fuck,” he mumbled. Then his head shot up in alarm. “Oh-.. ah, sir-...”

Agent Delta only laughed, booming and cheerful as he slid his arm further across Omicron’s shoulders to give him a jostling side-hug. “Don’t worry, Agent. These are extenuating circumstances, I’ll let that it slide.”

Omicron nodded as he was jerked around by Delta’s strength, reaching up to push his hair back when it fell out of style again. His nose was still tingling, unrelieved, and he scrunched it with exasperation. Sneeze or don’t sneeze, won’t you?

“Off we go!” crowed Delta, escorting Omicron toward the door while still under his arm. He looked back to Dr. Voster. “I’ll be with him on the flight, so we’ll let you know if there are any case developments.”

He tightened his hold when he said this, and Omicron fought down a flash of annoyance that Delta probably meant any developments with Agent Omicron’s nose. Speaking of which…

Omicron let his eyes roll shut as Delta led him into the hall, their footsteps echoing down the corridor. He was saying something, probably about the jet, but Omicron let the words wash over him just as he let the tickle wash through his nose. Wary of what might happen, he strayed away from thinking too much about feathers. Instead, he thought of dust motes. A dandelion seed. Something small and irritating and hopelessly stuck somewhere deep inside him. Whatever it was, this thing wanted to escape. It squirmed and twisted, fluttered its wings or flicked its tail. The throbbing urgency of Omicron’s tender pink membranes wouldn’t deter it, neither would the gradual unsteadiness of his breath. He exhaled, yearning.

“..uh-..”

The invader redoubled its efforts, writhing against his most sensitive places. He couldn’t-.. he..

“.. huhh-..”

If only he could reason with it, but on a baser level, Omicron didn’t want to. He wanted it to flap and struggle, tickle and itch, uncontrollable and impossible to satiate. Fan the flames of this urge so feverish that he couldn’t do anything but-

“HAH-!”

Omicron found himself smiling again, delirious as he breathed into this unstoppable force. He was completely helpless to its thrall. This thing in him, nuzzling and ruffling and bothering his nose so fervently, dotingly, sweeping him up with its caress. He.. oh-.. oh-!

“S’combi’g-” He gasped out, if only just to himself. The breathy word preceded an absolutely euphoric sneeze. “WRIZZSSSSHUUU’uoohhhh…”

Omicron stayed as he was, one hand cupped to his nose and the other bracing his middle. Another dagger of pleasure had stabbed him through, but it was fast to dissipate as he sniffled into his palm. The way his nose tingled signaled a temporary relief. Omicron couldn’t decide if he was disappointed by this or not.

“Goodness, bless you!” Omicron jumped. Delta stood beside him, both hands in his pockets now, looking amused. Omicron had forgotten he was there. “That was a big one! Sounds like you worked your way up to it.”

Why was Omicron cursed with the chattiest superior Agent in the force? He snuffled again behind his hand, by habit searching his pockets for a handkerchief or a restaurant napkin, anything. He paused when Delta extended a travel pack of tissues.

“Thought you might need these, so I brought a few packs along.”

“.. Tha’g you.”

Omicron took it with grace, turning around so he could use both hands. He blew his nose yet again, dismayed with the sheer amount of moisture he was capable of producing. At this rate he’d need to stay hydrated. Once he finished up, he turned back to Delta to find him extending a small bottle of hand sanitizer. He eyed the other man.

“You can’t actually catch this, sir.”

“I know, Agent, but the public won’t know that,” he said, as carefree as ever. “And even if you’re not actually sick, better to keep your hands clean, mm? And maybe try the vampire trick too.” Here he demonstrated by lifting his elbow and tucking his nose in.

Omicron burned with the embarrassment of having his lackadaisical sneezing addressed in such an obvious way. Normally he was very thorough with his hygiene practices. He sneezed into his elbow or better, a handkerchief if he had one. He washed his hands frequently and properly. Something about this tickle just emptied his head of all sense when it came over him. It was a miracle he’d managed to even cup a hand to his mouth just now. He didn’t remember doing that.

So he could only nod, his cheeks burning, as he took the bottle and copiously applied. The stringent scent bloomed in the air. Delta could probably tell he was upset because he gave the shorter agent a lighthearted slap on the back. “You’re usually very conscientious. Just a gentle reminder, agent.”

Omicron nodded again, this time with a yip of surprise as his eyes slammed closed. Suddenly his nose was frenzied, filled to the brim with that strong, alcoholic smell. It burned, so sharp it brought tears to his eyes as he rushed his elbow to his face. Unlike the other sneezes of this morning, this itch wasn’t indulgent. It was almost brutal.

“Chssh-! Tschh!” Even without muffling into his jacket, they would have been small. Smaller than his normal sneezes, even. They were fittish, barely letting him up for air. “Itschh! HHtschh!.. uh-.. TSSH’hee!!.. fucking hell..”

It only lasted seconds, over as suddenly as it began, and Omicron picked his head up blearily. He sniffled, coughing again at the remaining scent on his hands as he fished out another tissue and nursed his nose. Stupid thing was so needy now, he couldn’t even use hand sanitizer without a complaint. Belatedly he realized he’d cursed in front of his superior again.

When he looked at Delta, the man was regarding him thoughtfully. Not his usual fond musing sort of look either. The kind of discerning expression that awarded him the rank he currently held. Omicron’s blinked at him, wide eyed over the edge of his tissues.

“S-Sorry for sweari’g, sir..”

Delta stirred from wherever he’d been, and dropped into a polite smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s alright, Omicron, I honestly don’t mind. But, I’ll ask this again: are you alright?”

Omicron blinked at him again, owlish. “Me, sir?”

Delta chuffed an airy chuckle. “Yes, agent, you. You’re sure this..” He warred over his words, trying to pick the best ones. “I know you’ve been waiting a long time for this opportunity, but are you sure? About this?”

Omicron bristled, and he was certain Delta could tell. He finished up with his nose, balling up the tissue and foregoing hand sanitizer this time. “Respectfully, why wouldn’t I be sure, sir?”

“This science isn’t exact,” Delta told him. His voice was lower now, the proper tone of a superior officer. “Dr. Voster is a genius, but this is the first time we’ve tried something like this. There’s bound to be a margin of error. So I’m asking you again, Agent Omicron..” Here he fixed his subordinate with a firm stare. “.. are you sure about doing this right now, as you are, in this state?”

Omicron didn’t have to think about it. He merely drew himself up to a force-standard posture and looked Delta in the eyes without flinching. “Yes, sir. Very sure.”

Delta held his stare, but when Omicron didn’t buckle, he sagged where he stood. With a long sigh, he once again patted Omicron’s shoulder. “Alright, agent. But if you change your mind or if you become compromised, you must be honest and tell me immediately. Am I understood?”

Omicron just barely managed to resist twitching his nose; he could feel it wanting attention, but didn’t want to give Delta any reason to doubt him. “Of course, sir.”

Delta gave him a jaunty thumbs up, back to his usual lofty cheer. “Grand! I’ll take you at your word.” He turned away, beginning to stride down the corridor with expectation Omicron would follow. “Now, we ought to get a move on. They’ve got the jet idling and you know how they are about the fuel budget..”

Agent Delta carried on, blind to his subordinate keeping step behind him. Omicron absently, then more purposefully, rubbed his nose. The skin was starting to sting, no doubt ready to peel by tomorrow like sunburn. The tickle stretched languidly, lazily working Omicron up to another toe-curling sneeze. The hedonist in him wanted to welcome it.

However, he had nearly twelve hours on a jet to contend with, surrounded by other personnel. And he was certain now after that little conversation with Delta that the man would be watching Omicron carefully from here on out. If he noticed anything suspicious, he’d ground the mission and take Omicron off the case without remorse. He couldn’t let it happen, not after how hard he’d fought for this.

His nostrils flared against his finger, a premature warning to what was brewing. But Omicron knew, and he was prepared for the impending battle. It wouldn’t be easy, but he fully intended to negotiate with his nose and keep sneezing to nil on the flight. Almost nil, if he couldn’t hold out. Again his nostrils flared, as if playfully chiding him. You’re not in control, his nose seemed to say. I am.

Well, thought Omicron as he stepped out of the jet bay and into the sunshine. The jet sat waiting on the tarmac, a flurry of activity around it. We’ll just see about that.

/tbc??

I’m not sure if I’ll continue it, but I hope you had fun reading!! Part 2 is in the works!

PART 2 IS HERE!

#this changed my life #Its like you reached into my brain and pulled this story out its crazy #Excellent work

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prohistamine · 6 months ago

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So fucked that my period makes me this horny and it’s literally the most inconvenient time to have sex. I’ve just been stuck in this cycle where I’m kind of horny so I go on tumblr, make myself more horny, repeat. And then I can’t do anything about it. I know it’s a bad idea to go one here but I can’t help it

#I don’t even wanna jerk off cause I don’t wanna deal with the whole mess

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prohistamine · 7 months ago

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Your poor new coworker is the sneeziest person you have ever encountered. Whether it's allergies, a cold or even a random tickle, her sneezing has become a normal part of your work day. The rest of your team seem to have tuned it out entirely, but you couldn't if you tried.

She very rarely covers - about a third of the time, you would venture to guess. Even then, she sneezes at, not into, her hands - hastily raised, sometimes after several sneezes have already occurred. She wipes them off on her stocking-clad thighs, seemingly oblivious of the wet streaks she leaves that glitter on the nylon, before she returns to her keyboard and mouse.

Her sneezes aren't exceptionally loud, but they are numerous, vocal, toe-curlingly desperate - and above all else, wet. Sometimes she gasps through a build-up, teasing you and priming you for what is to come. You try not to stare as she fans at her face, tongue curling in her mouth and squinting into the distance to encourage the oncoming explosions.

As your desk is right next to hers, you are regularly doused with the copious clouds of spray that blast out of her. If she notices the moisture twinkling on the skin of your hand or the dappled marks of dampness all over your sleeve, she doesn't apologise. More often than not, she'll mutter a cheery 'bless me!' and get on with her work. You bless her and use all your willpower to carry on with your own work, biting your lip as you see scattered droplets of her sneezes all over your papers.

You recently started bringing tissues to work especially for her. You love handing them to her after a long suffering fit, for which you are rewarded with a lengthy conversation about her tickly nose, and how she's been to every doctor and tried every medication to keep it under control. Nothing has worked, but she's incredibly easy-going about it. You blush as she mentions she actually quite enjoys a rigorous sneeze. You notice she uses the tissues to wipe her computer screen and keyboard down after an uncovered fit.

Ever since she moved to your department 4 months earlier, you've been sexually insatiable. You replay her sneezes in your head, and your thoughts are filled with increasingly more sexual scenarios and fantasies. You never dreamed of masturbating at work before you met her, but her gorgeous fits send you skulking towards the bathroom at least once a day. When you can fully indulge yourself at home, you cannot believe how good it feels to orgasm as she sneezes over and over in your mind.

Safe to say, she's driving you insane and seriously impacting your productivity. You don't care, though. Never before have you ever been so keen to get to work.

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prohistamine · 8 months ago

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SFW OC snzfic - lab experiment - Rowan and Daniel

I've been obsessed with this concept for a while, I can't stop thinking about it.

SUMMARY: Rowan agreed to be the test subject for his friend, who works in/runs a lab that tests pharmaceuticals for companies that make allergy meds. He has no idea that he's not testing an antihistamine; it's something a lot more interesting. WARNINGS: Sneezing, long holdbacks (in a way), mild scientific malpractice if you squint, something akin to sneeze torture but not really WORDS: 3,100

━━━━━»•»🌺

The door to the lab finally opens and Rowan's head perks up to see Daniel wheeling in a tray covered by a thin sheet of cloth. Rowan, ever eager to help, had agreed to be the first test subject for a compound Daniel's lab had produced. Although he works in data entry and has no connections to the actual lab practices—save for his friendship with Daniel—he always ends up getting dragged into these things. He has such a hard time saying no when he's the best test subject any of them can think of.

Daniel and his lab associates do contract work for various pharmaceutical companies, mainly companies that produce allergy medication. Because of this—and factors unknown to Rowan, though he knew there were some—Daniel had taken up a project in creating his own compound with some of the research money the lab had been granted.

The basic rundown he was given was that this medication was supposed to prevent him from sneezing. It's a challenge finding something that will halt Rowan's allergies entirely; he seems to be allergic to everything under the sun, and he's never found an allergy medication that completely mitigates all of his symptoms. Hence, he's the perfect test subject for whatever Daniel and his associates cook up.

"Rowan," Daniel greets him with a friendly smile after he crosses the short distance from the door to the side of the medical cot Rowan is sitting on. He stills the cart, adjusts it slightly to be within reach but not in the way, then turns his full attention to Rowan. "Are you ready to test this out? You haven't taken your usual allergy medication today?"

Rowan returns the smile , his back straightening up in anticipation for the test. "Just like you said. I hope it's worth it, I've been itchy all day."

"Even in the winter, with no seasonal allergens around, your nose is insatiable," Daniel replies, dry amusement coloring his usually professional tone. "And you swallowed the liquid ten minutes ago?" Rowan fixes him with a look. "I have to cover all my bases. It's important that everything is accounted for."

"Yes, I took the stuff when you told me to and then came right here," Rowan says. "I've been waiting here for you forever, you know."

"Ten minutes is hardly forever," Daniel says distractedly. He pinches the thin cloth covering the cart between gloved fingers and tugs it aside, folding it haphazardly and placing it on the counter lining the adjacent wall.

Rowan finally gets a glimpse of what's underneath. He's used to a sight similar to this because of his history of volunteering as a test subject: a tray of allergens, each guaranteed to produce some kind of reaction in him. Usually the tests are for antihistamines, so triggering his allergies doesn't make him react too horribly. This time, he finds himself getting slightly nervous. Daniel had never used the word antihistamine this time, he only said that it was supposed to stop him from sneezing. Daniel is nothing if not precise, so the sudden switch in vocabulary had instantly struck Rowan as odd. He's off his usual allergy meds, and he has an unknown substance working its way through his blood.

"Are you ready to begin?" Daniel turns his eyes back to Rowan, a flash of something Rowan doesn't recognize passing over his expression.

"Well, as ready as I ever am, I guess!" Rowan replies, trying to sound chipper despite his increased nerve.

Daniel nods once. He reaches for the tray on the cart and picks up a long feather, pointed at the tip but quickly morphing into soft disarray closer to the base. Rowan takes in a quick anticipatory breath as Daniel's hand approaches his face. The sharp tip of the feather begins tracing a gentle path along the rims of Rowan's nose and his breath catches again, this time caused by the tickle that instantly spreads up through his sinuses. Whatever it is that Daniel had him take, it did not make his nose any less sensitive to the stimulus.

Rowan pauses, his breath hitching sharply for a long moment. He's entirely prepared to sneeze and let Daniel mark this one down as a failure for now. But nothing happens. His breath evens out again only to pick back up into quick hitches and gasps. He sniffles and blinks his eyes open to look at Daniel.

"Wahh- hih! What's hahhppening? I need to… ihh!" Rowan stutters through his unsteady breathing. His vision is slightly unfocussed, but he swears he sees Daniel's lips quirk up into a satisfied smirk.

"It looks like the compound is working perfectly," Daniel offers as a simple, unhelpful answer. He continues teasing Rowan's nose with the feather, turning it on its side now to let the soft, flexible plumes rub against Rowan's sensitive nostrils.

Rowan twists his head to the side and Daniel lets him do it, lowering his hand to watch intently for a reaction. Rowan's hands hover uselessly in front of his face, steepled to catch a sneeze that doesn't seem to be coming. His shoulder shake with rapid breaths and his face is pinched in pre-sneeze agony. "Haa-! Hih! Ihhh! Ahh… HIH! Uhh…"

After a moment, the immediate need to sneeze seems to pass with no real result, leaving Rowan itchy and irritated. He brings the heel of his hand up to scrub at the underside of his nose, trying to rid himself of the tickly feeling. He turns watery eyes to Daniel. "Wha-hat's going on?"

"This compound is designed to stop you from sneezing, not remove the urge to do so." Daniel watches Rowan rub his nose, then reaches out with his unoccupied hand to gently take hold of his wrist and pry Rowan's hand away from his face. "It's going to take some… extensive testing to be sure it works to its full capacity."

Rowan lets out a shaky breath and sniffles softly. "How much testing?" His eyes fall down to the tray piled with allergens and he suddenly feels much more apprehensive than earlier.

"I'd like to see how far I can trigger your allergies before your body fights the compound entirely. If it does at all, that is." Daniel doesn't wait for a response before reaching down to set the feather back on the tray. He switches to a small, unlabeled glass container with a spritzer. He unscrews the cap, extends it out to Rowan, and lifts it. "Go ahead and give this a sniff."

Rowan can already smell the strong scent wafting out of the container. It's definitely a perfume. His nose twitches with a renewed tickle without even needing to sniff the substance. But Daniel keeps the container held out to him, so Rowan reluctantly leans forward and gives the pungent fumes a tiny sniff. His eyes glaze over with moisture and his nose twitches again and his breath catches.

Daniel urges the container forward. "Again. I need you to take a deep breath through your nose."

Rowan makes a small noise in his throat, half way between a whimper and a gasp, but he does it again. He sniffs the perfume until he has to pull back to gasp again, his nostrils flaring in instant irritation. His sinuses burn and his breath catches, his chest heaving with the rapid inhalations.

Daniel looks satisfied with that and he replaces the cap back on the top of the container. He considers for a moment, then seems to decide on something. He aims the spritzer directly at Rowan and gives a few sprays. The droplets land everywhere; on Rowan's shirt, on his face, on his lap, on his hands which are once again poised in front of his face ready to catch the sneeze that won't come.

Rowan's eyes widen in distress for a brief moment before they flutter shut again. The scent of perfume surrounds them, invading every inch of Rowan's allergic nose and giving him no reprieve from the overwhelming burning, ticklish sensation. He gasps in shallow, rapid breaths that brig him closer and closer to the relief he so desperately needs. It's being kept just out of his reach, driving him wild with need. His hands begin fanning in front of his face like it'll help him escape the feeling.

"Still working as intended," Daniel notes, his own interest barely masked by scientific detachment. He watches as Rowan struggles against his allergies.

Rowan is stuck like this for several minutes, unable to get a single breath in past his desperate hitching and sniffling. He briefly tries to rub at his nose again, but the scent of the perfume is still stuck to his hands and only causes him to break out into another fit of helpless gasps. Allergic tears well up in his eyes and he doesn't have the control to blink them away.

Wordlessly, Daniel lifts a cut sprig of goldenrod blooms from the tray of allergens. As soon as Rowan's breath has almost returned to a manageable pace, Daniel brings the pollen coated flowers up to his face and rubs them directly against his pink, twitchy nostrils.

Rowan's nose is a sight; bright pink, quivering uncontrollably, reacting to even the slightest stimulation. The pollen sets him off again nearly instantly. There's a light dusting of golden dust coating his flaring nostrils and tears streaming down his cheeks. The way he's desperately sucking in breaths is starting to sound closer and closer to whimpers and moans of distress.

"You're quite a sight like this, you know," Daniel comments. He sets the flowers on the cot next to where Rowan is seated and steps directly in front of him. He can see the way Rowan's nose is running, the way he's only barely managing to contain the mess by sniffling nearly constantly—as often as his frantic breaths will allow.

Daniel lifts his hand up to Rowan's face. He uses his thumb to swipe away a tear that falls down his face, then drags it across his cheek toward his nose. Gently, he presses the pad of his thumb against the twitching tip of Rowan's nose. Rowan only reacts by gasping deeply and then returning to his efforts to mitigate his suffering. Daniel can't help an amused hum. He begins rubbing a small circle on the tip of Rowan's nose, adding pressure to manipulate and squish the flesh under his finger.

"The effects of the compound can only reach so far. If we stimulate your nose enough, you might just be able to get a sneeze out," Daniel says thoughtfully, his eyes laser focused on Rowan's nose. He presses up on Rowan's nose and watches his nostrils flare frantically with every breath. "You'd like some relief, wouldn't you? We'll have to increase the discomfort before you can let it out, obviously, but it'll be worth it."

Rowan can only nod rapidly in response, the movement causing Daniel's thumb to rub and press against his irritated skin. Daniel's lips quirk up and he removes his hand from Rowan's face. He looks down at the tray again and takes a moment to scan his options. While he puts together a plan in his mind, he takes a vial of chinkni in his hand and absently holds it near Rowan's face.

"Here, sniff as much of this as you can," he instructs. He doesn't even have to look to know Rowan is eagerly following his instructions. He can hear the desperate little sniffs and feel the puffs of breath against his hand.

Once he can no longer feel Rowan's breath on his hand and he can hear his test subjects whines rise in pitch, Daniel sets the vial down and reaches for the feather again. He tips another vial on its side and sprinkles a layer of dust over the length of the feather, coating it entirely. He does the same with a pepper shaker, then lifts the feather to inspect it, making sure the entire thing is coated in the substances.

Daniel's eyes flick over to Rowan before he decides to start. Rowan has completely given up on sniffing back the tide of runny mucus in his nose, instead just letting it drip down his upper lip in a steady stream. Allergic tears are flowing non stop from his eyes and he looks like he might break at any moment. Daniel plucks a tissue from the small packet on his tray and uses it to wipe the clear mucus from the underside of Rowan's nose.

"If this doesn't make you sneeze, then I don't know what will." He tosses the tissue into a trash bin in the corner of the room, then brings the feather up to tease Rowan's nose once again.

The light tickling against the outside of his nostrils doesn't seem to do much of anything anymore. Rowan is too lost in the throes of his allergies to notice the light stimulation. Daniel hums shortly and begins inserting the tip of the feather into Rowan's nose. He doesn't stop, slowly pushing until every inch of Rowan's nostril is filled with the tickly plumes of the feather, coated in layers of dust and pepper. Immediately, he uses his fingers to twist the feather in a circle, dragging the instrument against the sensitive inner flesh of Rowan's nose.

Rowan gasps wetly and his nose twitches uncontrollably. The entire appendage seems to be quivering with anticipation of the release. His tears fall in thicker streams and his chest heaves with the frantic, rapid breaths he manages to pull in. Despite all of this, he tilts his head back to allow Daniel better access to his nostrils. He's so desperate to sneeze, he'd let Daniel do anything to him if it meant he could finally get relief.

But still, nothing seems to be happening. He whimpers as the tickle builds and builds, but nothing comes of it. Daniel slowly begins pulling the feather out of Rowan's nostril, the agonizing stimulation causing him to whine in protest. Once the feather is almost completely withdrawn, Daniel shoves it back in as far as it'll go. He repeats the process, quicker now, until he's thrusting the feather in and out of Rowan's desperate, trembling nose. With a quick flick of his wrist, he withdraws it completely, then wastes no time in inserting it fully into Rowan's other nostril to do it all again.

To Rowan's dismay, and to Daniel's enthusiastic interest, Rowan still can't seem to sneeze, no matter how helplessly allergic he gets. Daniel pulls the feather free, watching as a string of mucus connects the tip of it to Rowan's red, twitching nose. With his free hand, he plucks another tissue free and uses it to break the string and pinch the mess away from Rowan's nose.

"Still nothing? This compound is more effective than I thought." Daniel drops the soaking wet feather into the trash bin along with the tissue. He pulls a few more fresh tissues free and guides them into Rowan's hand. "Here, you're going to need these. I have a backup plan."

Rowan's hands tremble as they weakly grip the tissues. He doesn't use them yet, too preoccupied with hitching around several false starts. Daniel watches him for a moment; takes in the sight of his nose, which is bright red, irritated, and wriggling with a mind of its own. Rowan looks like the picture of allergic misery.

After allowing himself to indulge for a moment, he turns to pick up an unlabeled container resembling a sinus spray. He steps closer to Rowan. "This should completely counteract the effects of the compound. You need to be ready, because the effects will be nearly instantaneous. Are you ready?"

Rowan gives a small nod and Daniel nods as well. He lifts the nozzle of the small container to Rowan's nostril and presses it inside. The cold plastic makes Rowan's nostril flare.

"Get your tissues ready. As soon as I spray this, you'll need them." Daniel waits for Rowan to lift his hands, still clutching the tissues, then sprays a mist of the liquid directly into Rowan's nostril. He quickly pulls it away and steps back to allow Rowan a bit of space.

Rowan's face scrunches up at the feeling of a foreign liquid in his nose, but that only lasts for a moment. His sinuses are instantly filled with the tickle that has been building up this entire time. He clumsily lifts the tissues to his face but he doesn't even get them there before he's exploding into a wet, desperate sneeze.

"Haa'tISHhuhh!! Ha-ahh-! 'tISShhUH!!" The force of the sneezes has him jerking forward into the soft tissues. A shaky whimper of relief bubbles out of him.

"Bless you," Daniel supplies, knowing full well that Rowan is nowhere near done.

"I-ihhHH!! Hiih'tISCHHuh!! Ha'TSCHHh'tISHH'TSCHHuhh!!" Rowan can't drag in a single productive breath. Every inhale sends him into another fit of wildly desperate sneezing. "Hih'tishHh'tiSHhh'tSSCHHH! HaahH'tisHHUUHH! Ih'tSHUH! Hih'tshUH! Haa-ahhHH-!! HahHH'TSHUUh!"

Daniel stands a comfortable few feet away from Rowan and watches him dissolve into a helpless, desperate sneezing fit. After a moment of just watching, he reaches to take a few more tissues. He steps forward and gently takes Rowan's hands, swapping out the wet, used tissues with the dry, clean ones. He guides Rowan's hand back to his face, then disposes of the soiled tissues into the waste bin.

"Bless you," Daniel says again, his voice soft as he watches Rowan's attempts to soothe himself.

Rowan stutters through an attempt to speak, ultimately interrupting himself once again. "ThahhH- hih! Thahh'ank y-yo-ouhhH'tISCHHH! Ihhtshh'tiSHhuh! S-Sorhhuu'tiSHhhUH!" He gives up on it and instead buries his lower face completely into the tissues and gives himself over to the reaction. "IhhH'TIShhuHH! Haa'tshUH! Hihh'TSHhh'TISHHhh'TISCHHhuuhh!"

"Wow. Bless you," Daniel muses, a smile tugging the corners of his lips up. "You're a mess without your antihistamines, aren't you?"

Rowan cracks his eyes open to look at Daniel. He tries to shoot him a glare, but all he succeeds in doing is looking water eyed and miserable. He can't keep them open for long, either, because he starts sneezing again.

"Okay, okay," Daniel relents. He hands Rowan another bunch of fresh tissues, swapping them out for the used ones again and discarding them in the bin. "This has been really valuable information. I almost want to do a longer test to see if I can run the compound through its course. Another time, though."

"And… h-hh… hopefully a… Hihh'tSCHhuhH! Proper warning next time," Rowan requests.

"I can arrange that." Daniel smiles at him again before turning to pack up the cart.

#yeah this is what I’m fucking talking about

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