perennialsoft

[perennialsoft]

Primrose

link, zelda, implied ze/link ( BOTW / TOTK )

cw: snz kink !! brief mentions of mess, implied chara with kink

notes: hi!!! this one was a lot of fun to write(^_^) im in my totk era again let's see if i finally finish the game. this takes place pre-totk, but a few years after botw. this was inspired by this post when I saw it and went ok reverse that and also by the flower sanctuary in totk I found a few days ago doing the Penn quests !!! I hope u enjoy ( ´∀`) rbs and any tips very welcome!!

It was beautiful. 

Endless rows of flowers. Buds she had only seen in ancient texts, species’ even the royal labs couldn’t get to thrive, all displayed in a stunning show of color. Some, more adapted to the moonlight, were hiding away in their leaves, but they still stood tall. Others, newly discovered, were just beginning to peak through the soil. Zelda was speechless.

Magda didn’t hesitate to fill in the gap, rushing towards her the moment she spotted the princess. “Aren’t they so beautiful?” She asks, flitting about. She stops only to give Link an out-of-place glare. “Be careful with them.” She warns, before flipping back to Zelda, who’s yet to actually register any of it. 

”While the two of you are here, I need some muscle. There’s been such little help.” It’s, sadly, true. Most farmers are focusing their efforts on returning the agriculture to its former state, so there have been so few hands for something like this. As important to the ecosystem as these flowers are, food takes priority. Zelda remembers enough of her lectures to know that much. 

She would love to. This project is hers. But both she and Link had taken the day off from major projects. They’ve spent the day on a relaxing horse ride along quiet roads when Zelda remembered Magda’s gardens about an hour previous, and realized she hadn’t visited in months. She really ought to help, just as an apology for forgetting. 

On the other hand, Link had been seeming a bit tired. He was placed front and center at the monster clearing effort, and it was definitely taking a toll. When she looks over at him, at her right side as always, he’s looking right back with a neutral expression. 

“Would you like to?” Zelda dares to ask, trying her very best not to let any emotion seep into it. They’ve been running into a roadblock where Link struggles with individualistic things. A lot of minor details are still fuzzy for him, but Zelda suspects he hasn't had much time to think about himself anyway. They’re working through it together. 

But to her immense relief, Link nods. And again, before Zelda can say anything, maybe praise for the choice or just simple acknowledgment, she’s cut off. Magda grabs Link’s arm and drags him off in a whirlwind of argumentative noises and a “you just relax, princess!”

There’s not much else to do, so she stays. Maybe not relaxes, because she feels a bit too bad when Link is being put to work, but she finds a nearby stool and sits. Rehabilitation efforts have been successful but slow, and the princess (Queen? The line is still a bit blurred, and she’s not in any rush to clarify it, despite Impa’s nagging.) She’s in charge of everything. Zelda can’t really remember the last time she slept in a bed or house that belonged to her, and the warmth on her back here feels delightful. It looks like a dream. The whole area feels like the royal gardens, with its stone pathways and well-trimmed bushes. If Zelda unfocuses her eyes, watching Link as he hauls bags of soil, it feels like simpler times. Like the Calamity never happened. 

Halfway across the island, Link jerks forward. Does it again. What’s wrong with him- could it be a monster attack? Is he grabbing for a weapon?  Magda, who’s directing him animatedly, pauses and says something Zelda isn’t able to hear. Link waves her off with his free hand and piles another bag onto his shoulders. Stray dirt tumbles down his back, dirtying royal blues. 

Zelda’s hands are shaking. It’s a shock when Link appears near her, still hauling the bags. He looks annoyed and focused. It’s the kind of look he gets in a battle, brow furrowed and shoulders tense. Something must be wrong. It’s a monster attack just like she thought. 

Zelda can’t hide the worry on her face when the expression deepens. They must be closer. His hearing is better than hers- he’s surely listening to the thundering footsteps, war chants in the distance. When he takes in a breath, Zelda’s ready to jump from her seat. He’s about to yell, she’s sure of it. Tell them to run, or duck, or something. Then he jerks forward. Once. Twice. 

Oh. That makes more sense. Her heart’s pounding in her chest. Link straightens up, flipping hair out of his face, and sniffles, looking a little sheepish, but still slightly bothered. They lock eyes, and he smiles, but it doesn’t look genuine when his brows are creased. His face falls a little into a concern she’s too familiar with when she doesn’t move, but her heartbeat is still thundering. She has to swallow past a lump in her throat to talk. 

“Goddess, bless you.” Is what she manages, and it's a relief when his smile comes back. Despite her and many others’ pestering, she’s never been able to get him to sneeze properly. She’s adjusted to his restraint, even though she wishes he would let himself relax. 

Link sets the bags down with a thud a few feet away from her, wiping beads of sweat from his brow. Before she's able to offer him her stool, he sits down right in the grass, smiling at her again. She recently discovered that he has dimples. She observes as he takes a bottle from his belt and drinks. There’s a small scar on his neck, the edge of it just peeking out from his hair. His throat bobs as he drinks. After so long apart, she’s always trying to drink in any detail she can of him. His nose is a little pink, and when he scrunches it again she can’t help but giggle a little bit, because he looks like a wild fox like that. But then he does it again, and his breath gets pitchy, and he wretches away from her in a flurry of motion. 

“h’nGT-! e’nDT-! hi’nGKT-!” She can only watch his back tense with each release, but she’s certain that it can’t feel good. Something must be wrong if he’s sneezing so much. He can’t be sick- they’ve been together for the whole morning, and he’d been fine. He'd slept in as late as he could, eaten his usual heaping for breakfast, gotten the horses ready with his usual care, and hadn’t so much as sniffled for their entire ride. Link isn't sensitive to anything, either, and has never had a reaction to pollen. Could he have been hiding an illness this whole time? How could she-

“nKT - e’NGT-hh! ” Suddenly, Link jerks forward into his lap. He looks up, blinking at the sky as his shoulders tremble, lips parted. His expression crumples again and he jerks back down. “eH’TZCHh-iewh!”

Zelda’s face explodes with heat. 

Hearing something so - natural. So raw, out of Link, put an odd feeling in her stomach. He rights himself, sniffling, and Zelda can’t miss the wetness dripping down his lip before he wipes it off with his sleeve. It must’ve made it worse, because his nose starts twitching and twitching again. Like everything before wasn’t enough to cleanse whatever tickle he has. Zelda’s enamoured watching this silent battle- his breaths are uneven, his eyes squinty, brow furrowed. He looks up at her through his eyelashes and tears his eyes away with a new pink on his cheeks. Even his ears are twitching. He gasps again, finally, because Zelda can’t take this anticipation anymore. 

“ ‘tTZCHh-!   hiA'CHht- i'TZCHhih-!” Seeing his princess’s face must have brought back some kind of etiquette, because these ones are muffled into his elbow. They’re itchy. Needy. Strong enough that he can’t fight them. Zelda feels all tingly. Something must be wrong with both of them. 

“May Hylia bless you.” She says, and prays that he’s too indisposed to recognize whatever emotion is coating her words. “What’s wrong?”

Once again, he waves the concern off, this time with an expression so tickly it makes her own nose itch in sympathy. She wants him to sneeze again. She wants to study every reaction, every twitch in his face, and understand whatever is making her knight unravel like this. What she needs is to get a grip. 

“You’re certain you aren’t sick?” Why is the idea of that enough to make her feel too hot all of a sudden? Would he look just like this? Face flushed, hints of his voice peaking through raspy and low? Zelda must be the sick one. Link shakes his head a little wildly, like he might be able to get rid of the itch with it. Thankfully he doesn’t. Instead, he whines.

“ hI‘iISHHihh-yU! hI’TSCHh -e’TCHhih-! hiH’tZCHh-iew!” Four times, Five. Zelda’s dizzy. Warm in all the wrong places. She’s never seen anything like this from Link. He looks so desperate. He tilts his head back with stray tears tracking down his cheeks, chest heaving, before he sneezes again. Mist sprays down his front, glimmering in the springtime sun, his hands raised but not close enough. There’s warmth between her legs. Every release makes her spine tingle. This isn’t the usual thrill that experiments bring her. Watching him sniffle desperately, pawing at his face, red with irritation and maybe embarrassment, is unraveling something within her. It also allows her to see flecks of yellow covering his hands and tunic. 

“Link, stop!” She yelps, ignoring the part of her that doesn't really want him to stop at all. He freezes, looking at her through red-rimmed eyes. Now is the part where she has to explain herself and seem normal. Get it together. She’s done things much harder- she can say the words sneeze and allergy when referring to Link. 

“You’re, um” She's so, so warm. She clears her throat. “You’re allergic to something here, I think. There are several rare flowers here that you wouldn’t be used to.” Link gives her an owlish blink and she thinks, oh, she’s been caught. He’s too perceptive. But then his facial expression crumbles again and he buries himself in his elbow with a gasp that’s so unrestrained that she can’t think.

“ hyIHT'SHHhih-! ‘iISZHh-! hih - hE'ISHh-iewh!” They’ve taken on a wet quality. His nose is streaming when he comes back up. Hair unkempt and in his eyes. He looks tired. Undone. Natural. Sexy, Purah might say. She’s struck with these sudden, conflicting desires to wash him off and feed him tea, and to watch him unravel with sneeze after sneeze while her hands disappear under her skirt. She’s been away from civilization too long. Thank Hylia she doesn’t need to be much of a princess right now. The royal court would be in shambles. 

The first idea sounds a little more plausible. So she finds Mgda quickly, where she’s kneeling over a tiled bed of soil with her sleeves rolled up. She looks determined. Zelda, not for the first time, is overwhelmingly thankful that somebody so passionate gets to do this work, even if she can’t. 

Magda sends them off with well-wishes for Zelda and a promise to call for more help soon for Link, and the horses are already prepared once she comes back. He’s adjusting the reins and his hair is soaked, plastered to his forehead and dripping wet. He looks over when she comes closer and blinks at her, and he looks so pathetic like that that she just bursts into giggles. It gets worse when he shakes himself off like a dog, probably to make her laugh, and sends droplets splattering around that make the horses whinny with irritation. 

They’re both quiet for a few minutes, until they’re trotting down the path to the stables. Zelda tries to distract herself with the scenery and the rhythmic clack of horseshoes, and it works until Link comes up to her, rubbing his nose on his shoulder. While she’s trying not to think about the implications of that he brings up his right first and rubs a circle around his chest. Sorry. 

Zelda’s not quick enough to hide her frown. She really needs to get back into etiquette lessons. This has been another struggle in this uncharted time of peace. He’s guilty about so many things. Big things, like not being fast enough and remembering her enough, and little things, too. Tearing the champion's tunic in battle and having nightmares and being tired. It hurts her heart. “You can’t help it, link. It isn’t your fault.” She wisely elects not to mention that seeing him like that had awoken new feelings in her. “If it will make you feel better, you could cook me something?” He lights up at that. With a small smile on his face, Zelda can see how his under-eyes crinkle, like he has a headache. Even though he was looking better, his nose is a bit red again, too. It may just be sunburn. Her stomach does not get any sort of feeling of the possibility that he's still itchy. 

She can't hide the noise she makes a few moments later, when a “e'tSZHHhi-!” from behind catches her off guard. Her horse jerks to the side, caught off guard, and it takes a second too long to get her bearings back and fix their course. She tries to cover it up with an only slightly shaky “Goddess, bless you!”A moment later, when the click of horseshoes behind her stops, she tugs the reins of her own mare and chances a glance behind her. 

He's quivering silently, nose pinched in his hand. The sight of it does not bring back that warm and tingly feeling in her stomach. She's very collected when she says “Just let them out, Link. I don't mind,” and prays and prays that he can't sense any ulterior motives. To continue, she does not nearly fall from her horse when he obeys instantly. There must be some knightly manners still left in him. They're lying in wait, Link caught in a desperate, hitchy buildup and Zelda trying to suppress this too sensitive, wanting feeling in her body. His breath finally catches in his throat, whiny and needy, and Zelda nearly shudders. Finally, his body gives in. 

“e’EITZCHh-et’TZCHh’yu-!! hI'tSCHHh! hiA'tTZCHh-ieww!! hi’IDTCHHiew-!” They're back to that itchy and needy quality that makes her head spin. He washed off and should be alright now, but he sounds so allergic. So at mercy to his own body. He aims another needy release towards the grass, almost doubled over. Zelda does not feel any need to close her legs. 

She fumbles for a handkerchief, something to busy her hands and eyes. When she looks back up at him, his face is wet again, stray strands of golden-blond plastered to his cheeks. She hops off the horse and quickly presses whatever fabric she'd managed to come up with into his palm. If he doesn't get himself under control now Zelda doesn't know what will happen to her. 

This close, she can see pollen on his horse's chestnut brown coat. She clicks her tongue. The horses must have been rolling around in the fields. She tells as much to Link, watching him dab at the moisture on his face. She can't help but think about how sensitive he is, especially not when he rubs his nose a little too much and trembles into the fabric with a rapid “ ‘dschh-‘tszhhiew!” Warmth spreads across her stomach, even though she's too hot already. She needs to take off some layers, but she's already in a simple dress. Link will get suspicious if she dunks herself in some nearby water, too. She's trapped. “You both can wash off once we get to the stables.” Link nods and tucks the fabric, now useless and covered in wet spots, into his pocket and takes up the reins with more needy sniffles. 

Zelda has to wipe the sweat from her palms before getting on her own horse. It flicks its ears and throws her a look like it can see right through her, and that's how she knows that she's truly lost it. 

She’s infinitely lucky that a knight traditionally rides and walks behind his princess, because just the sound of another prickly sneeze leaves her white-knuckling the leather reins. If she'd seen it, that jolt of want would've run through her even worse and overwhelmed every too-sensitive nerve ending she had. 

When they make it to the stables, after both too much and not enough sniffling and stray one-off releases, Zelda orders her knight to the lake to bathe and seats herself near the fire. The sun, already setting, lights Link's hair aflame in gold as he leads his mare away. When his shoulders twitch once, twice, and he jerks forward, Zelda most certainly does not feel anything about it.  

[perennialsoft]

potion that prevents you from sneezing, or even getting itchy, for an hour or two, with the drawback that once it wears off, every sneeze you avoided comes back twice as itchy and rapid and forceful as it would have been, and all at once

[perennialsoft]

Her Arms (M)

Original Characters: Markus/Violet

Word Count: 1333

Violet didn’t look up from the browning pages of her book when Markus slinked through the front door. She knew from the way he listed and waned, like rough waves caught between high and low tide, he wanted her to look at him.

She did not look up.

Sharp words had been exchanged the night before. He had made a remark, recalling an old fault of hers— he did it without thinking, which was unlike him. But it hurt all the same. The quiet hours were not so quiet. The two of them were at each other’s throats, neither willing to be the first to falter. So, they went to bed. They both turned to the edges of the mattress, pulling the duvet tightly to their chins, desperate not to look let alone touch one another.

They didn’t sleep well at all.

Markus went to work early that morning, while she remained buried in old books and manuscripts. It was the only thing to stop her mind from repeating last night’s occurrences.

So, that was where she stayed. Lounging on her seat, her hand holding aloft a first edition.

He had barely taken a few steps away from the front door. His eyes trained on her, waiting for something to break the silence between them. After a moment, he knew it was up to him to pierce through the awkwardness.

“Enough.”Just one word. His voice low and short-tempered.

That was no way to get on her good side. What a poor attempt to sweet talk himself back into her good books.

She did not look up.

It was his fault, after all.

While she refused to acknowledge him, he took all the time to study her. Violet had painted her lips with that shade of dark red he found too harsh for her face. Lazily wrapping herself up in a silk dressing gown, he secretly admitted to himself how incredible she looked. The colours of the setting sun shining on her skin. The way her hair haloed around her soft face.

She turned the page of her book.

He wasn’t getting anywhere.

He sighed, one full of the heaviness of the day. “Enough of this, Violet. I’m tired of fighting with you.” His tone softened considerably, almost sounding upset.

Her eyes flickered away from the book, but only to the floor beneath his feet.

She did not look at him. Still.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Markus took a deep breath and gave her what she wanted.

“I’m sorry.”

Finally she looked at him.

He caught it. There, on her face… The tiniest of smiles. Her mouth had betrayed her.

Perhaps they weren’t so different after all.

She opened her arms ever so slightly, and he saw her as she was. An effigy of an angel trapped in a stained glass window, arms open to comfort the wretched soul who had called for her mercy.

He thanked god he was that wretched soul.

He ran to her, slamming himself into her embrace with such force, the book flew out of her hand and cracked into the floor.

Good, he thought. That damn book took all her attention from me.

His full weight was on her, his arms snaked around her waist, nearly pulling her up from the seat. His face buried into the curve of her neck. Her warm hands settled on his back and stroked him slowly.

“I thought so,” Her voice curling from the grin on her face. She hummed a soft melody to ease his tired body. “You will be forgiven in good time.” Purring, Violet pulled his head closer to her chest. He knew that tone of voice all too well; peppered, smoked, honeyed. He almost thought he was in danger, but she wouldn’t hug him if she was still angry. Not like this.

She smelled beautiful too. A velvet scent. Dark and alluring. A little familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“Won’t you stay a while? Comfort me. I’ve been so lonely today.” Her words trailed off and another sensation took its place.

It worked its way through Markus. His face twisted against the silk covering her chest. He breathed in— what a terrible mistake!

Her perfume.

A feathery itch. Burning. Tickling away at his resolve.

It was familiar. It was…

That perfume!

Good god, that trickster— that minx!

It was a trap!

“Stay.”

And like a dog, Markus obeyed. Although he didn’t have a choice. His arms were trapped beneath her now she had pressed her full weight down. Violet gently pushed his face against her décolletage, where his nose found more of the irritating scent. The perfume had already taken effect, draining all thought from his head and replacing it with a ferocious buzzing that threatened his nose with the fit of a lifetime.

He had to hold them back. He couldn’t let his wicked Violet win.

Oh, but his nose prickled with every breath he took! Trying to smother the sensation against her cleavage only exacerbated the itch more.

Perhaps a call for mercy would help him escape.

“I said —ihh! I-I was sorry…” He let the words fall away, his nose ringing out for sheer relief from this torment.

“I know, sweetheart. But actions speak louder than words.” Oh, she was enjoying this, wasn’t she? Markus bet she had been planning this all day. How cruel… v-vicious—

“Hh! ohhh… f-fuckkihh—!”

He moaned, before his chest heaved with desperate hitches, exhaling for a millisecond of relief before building back up again.

The perfume was overwhelming, one tiny speck—sparkling with an insatiable tickle—had nestled deep into his right nostril.

“ehh— hEH!!—“

No, stop! Markus tried as he might to pull his hands free and rub the itch away, but he couldn’t break free. Nostrils flaring in fitful twitches. Tears were welling up in his eyes from the effort of holding back the sneeze.

Markus was desperate, panting for the end of his torture. His nose was absolutely burning now, it couldn’t fight the impending attack off.

A tear rolled from his eye and down the length of his nose, right to the very tip.

Oh, that was enough.

He was going to sneeze.

“iihTSSHuu!”

That one sneeze lit the match to more. And more. And more.

“hh-uhhh… hhh—hh-Hhh’GNTsshh! huhhh-HH’KTSCHHh!” Fuck, he still wasn’t done.

The tickle bloomed—glorious and merciless—in his sinuses, fluttering like a hundred feathers dragging through raw nerve endings. Markus let it take over. His breath hitched violently, ribs tightening with the force of his restraint.

“h-hehh… hh’EHHhh!—” His nostrils widened again, pulsing with each quiver of anticipation. “Hh-hhh—HhH’RRhh…!”

He was unraveling. Every muscle tensed, locked in the unbearable moment before the very end—

And then—

“Hehh’TSCHHhh’uhh!—iiih’KTSHHuuuh!!”

Such loud, ferocious sneezes… Violet smiled. So violent they shook the lounge chair beneath them.

“Oh my poor sweetheart,” Violet cooed, “you’re not done, are you?”

Markus shook his head weakly, lips parted, gasping, desperate, lost in the throes of the tickle that bloomed deeper with every breath.

“Huhh…hhuhh— uhhhH-Hhehh! hhh’TSCHHHuh! hhihhh’KSSHHh! —hh… HEHH!! —nghhh’DZSHHhuuuhh!!!”

There. The tickle had disappeared. He took several much needed breaths. His entire composure; shaken, sputtering, completely overtaken by the sheer, relentless force of it.

Violet gasped softly, hand to her chest. “Good heavens…”

But it was over. For Markus’ sake at least.

Taking the full weight of his head in her hands, Violet observed her handiwork. Both his eyes and nose were weeping. His cheeks wet and utterly flushed with the shame, with the embarrassment of losing to a tickle. A hulk of a man completely sopping at the hands of his little wife.

He was panting still, the bridge of his nose an angry pink, twitching now and then in post-sneeze aftershocks. He blinked up at her, dazed, with a look of utter surrender.

Staining the tip of his nose red with a kiss, Violet sweetly whispered her finishing blow.

“Apology accepted.”

Markus groaned softly, eyes fluttering shut. Whether from relief or something else entirely, even he couldn’t say.

~*~

I’m posting my writing again. Hopefully you guys like what you read. This is a one-shot regardless. Thanks for reading 🌷

[perennialsoft]

Rowan & Fern | (OCs) | Part 1 of 2

Still not sure if I'm getting too weird, but whatever. Male human and female fairy, this time.

She arrived at his windowsill as she always did: cheerfully, completely out of the blue, and at an hour that would have been desperately inconvenient to anyone other than a bachelor.

Which was probably why Rowan already had an ear out for her.  He stood from his writing desk at the first, eager tap-tap-tap on the glass.

He unlatched the mullioned pane, cracking it wide enough to allow her through the gap.

“Lady Fern,” he smiled.  “This is a pleasant surprise.”

“I’ve come for a visit!” she announced happily, in case he’d missed that somehow.  She rose to the air on softly golden bumblebee wings, circling around him as he patiently shut and latched the window behind her.

“A welcome one, as always.”  He turned in place to face her as she rose to eye-level.  “I’ve actually been hoping you’d stop by.  I’ve got quite a collection of treasures for you, this time.  More than you’ll be able to carry home in one trip, I think.”

“Oh, that’s alright--I don’t mind coming back.  I rather like it here.”

Without waiting for an escort she turned, zipping across the whole of his chamber, to the little cabinet where he kept all her treasures.  Rowan passed a musing hand down his face before following her at a far more leisurely pace.

“You don’t say.”

She was a precious little thing, shorter than the length of his admittedly large hand, but in all other ways like a young human woman.   She wore chestnut-brown hair to her shoulders, the ends so choppy and wildly uneven that he suspected she took a razor to it when it got too long.  If not for her wings, it would be her eyes that gave her away as something distinctly inhuman: vibrant dragonfly green, always fixed wide, intent and inquisitive.

It couldn’t have been a more unlikely friendship.  Rowan was every inch as practical as Fern was magical, mature but not yet past his prime as a knight, likely to be described as staid and unadventurous.

But he was dependable.  Calm and kind.  Trustworthy.  He couldn’t say if these were the qualities that drew her to him initially, but they’d certainly kept her coming back.

That and the treasures.

He freed an iron key from the ring at his belt, unlocking the padlock that held shut the little cabinet, then delicately winged the hinged doors open for here.  She hovered so patiently as he retrieved a few items from inside, then followed him to the writing desk for a proper inspection.

Fern lit on the blotter, crouched down and with wings splayed, beaming as he set them down one by one for inspection.

“Oh, these are all new!” she marveled, reaching for the first one: a long, slender length of whittled whalebone that ended in a sort of shepherd’s hook at one end.  She held it in both hands by the staff end, stabbing and then swiping it at the air like a scythe.

“What is this?  Some sort of weapon?”

Rowan’s broad arms folded on the desktop, smile faint and bemused.

“I suppose anything is a weapon, if one is desperate enough.  Rather, this is for pulling buttons through shirt holes.”

She paused, eyeing him uncertainly, then held the device at arm’s length.

“Show me, please.”

Ever indulgent, Rowan took it from her, undoing one of the buttons of his tunic.  Patiently he the trick of poking the hook through the hole, snagging a button, and threading it back through.

“Very convenient for clothes with thicker fabric, or smaller buttons. Or if one’s fingers are in a bad way.”  He passed it back to her, and although she seemed to follow the logic of its intended purpose, still took a few seconds to stab and parry and swing it around aggressively, wings beating wildly for counterbalance.

“Neat!”  She lowered it to the desk.  “What’s next?”

Rowan moved through the entire assortment of little odds and ends he’d picked up and casually pocketed in the weeks since her last visit -- a brass thimble, a wooden drop spindle, a decorative knob from a cabinet -- and watched her ooh and ahh, both listening to his explanation of their use and cleverly devising her own.  He knew she was forbidden to be here, let alone to collect as many items from the human world as she did, and often wondered precisely where in the woods she was secreting them.  Clearly she had some cleverly-hidden and well-guarded cache of human bits and bobs.  It felt rude to ask, but as Fern grew bolder with each visit, and he more helplessly fond, he knew eventually it wouldn’t be inappropriate to wonder out loud.

The last item was one she’d seen before, but that he’d reserved anyway, knowing her fondness for containers.  The little metal box was special, in that it was delicately hinged, and had a tiny button that could be used to pop it open.  Fern was instantly delighted, testing the mechanism for herself and admiring the enameled decoration on the lid.  Oh, the things she could keep in there!

“There’s a bit of something left inside it,” she pointed out, laying it open.  He hummed faintly, resting his jaw on a fist.

“I think it was a snuff box, in another life.  I have one that’s similar, but a bit bigger.”  He reached out, scraping at the black residue in one corner, then inspecting his fingernail.  “Likely dropped from some noble’s pocket.”

Fern worked the hinges of the lid curiously, lowering it almost closed in an attempt to figure out how it worked.

“Snuff?  What’s that?”

“A sort of dried tobacco powder,” he explained.

“Do you eat it?”

“No, the current fashion is to inhale it, for its dubiously medicinal qualities.”  He shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t see the benefit, myself, but I do keep some on hand for when I have a cold.”

“Does it cure colds?”

“No, it… makes me sneeze.”

Fern closed the box again, pushing the lid tightly shut, and looked at him fixedly.  Oh no, now he’d piqued her curiosity.

“Show me, please.”

Rowan sat back, blinking.

“Show you?”

“I’ve never seen a human sneeze before.  But I’ve always wanted to!  It seems very interesting.”

“But certainly you’ve seen other fairies--”  No, she was shaking her head.  Ah. That was an interesting tidbit to file away.  He breathed out slowly, then pushed back from the desk, debating how best to indulge her.

And indulgence is precisely what it was, for reasons that still sometimes gave him pause.  He didn’t think Fern was enchanting him to her will, she’d swore she would never consciously use any sort of magic on him, but was he very certain fairies weren’t naturally, compellingly charismatic?  Did her suggestions seem like a good idea to him, simply because of what she was?

Possibly he was just a pushover.

Whatever the reason, he uncovered from the desk drawer his own brass snuff box, so disused that it took a bit of doing to get the lid open.  Fern fluttered from the desktop, landing on his arm where it lay across the blotter, and there perched for the best possible front-row view.

He took a pinch of snuff between thumb and forefinger, tapped off the loose powder, then raised it to his nose.  A deep, aggressive inhalation vacuumed it into his nostrils -- one side, then the other -- and he furthered it along with a few more deliberate, wrinkled sniffs.  From experience, the tobacco itself wasn’t a trigger, but if he could coax it to reach his sinuses, he’d get the desired result.

Not quickly, but it would come.  He sighed hard and pressed his fist to his nose, eyes already watering.

“...it just… needs a moment,” he said.

“Can you feel it working?” Fern wondered.  He nodded, blinking through the irritated well of tears, absently swipe-swiping a forefinger to his nose as it began to run.

“Very m… very much s…” His nostrils doubled open, a scissoring inhale catching him off guard, and he quickly shielded Fern with his hand.

“--ah’HISSCHUE!”

Oh, he’d forgotten just how well this worked. He turned his face further away, one hand still a loose umbrella over Fern, though she ducked down and peered excitedly between the gaps in his fingers.

“--ah’HISSCH!”

He ought have warned her he was no delicate sneezer… if she’d even have understood what that meant…

“--ah’HISSCH!”  Gods, but this was never going to end.  “--ah--!”  

The sneeze stopped, the urge withdrawing, and his eyes cracked open in dismay and desire.  Damn it, was this going to--Ah, no, here it came.

“AH’HISSCHUE!”

 Oof.  Thank God.

Rowan caught his breath, snuffling thickly, and quickly checked the fairy still half-shielded under his hand.  She was marble-eyed, seemingly with approval, and perhaps even a little disappointed that the show was over.

She sat up taller.  “Happy birthday!”

Welp. He hadn’t expected that.  He fumbled a hand in his pocket, blessedly finding a handkerchief, and blew as best he could with one hand.

“Ah… sorry, what?”

"It's what you say when someone sneezes."

He sputtered a laugh.  “It really isn't."

"No, I’m sure it is.  I think I read it somewhere.”

"You need to trust me on this: that is an exclamation reserved for an entirely different and specific event."

Fern side-eyed him.  “...how many different occasions do you have that require exclaiming specific things?"

“Well, er…--”

"Oh!  Merry Chri--"

"Still no.”

Damn it, she was sure that was it.

Three protracted blows put him in a better spot, and he exhaled deeply in relief.  Fern’s fascination was unallayed, and to his surprise she relocated from his arm to the end of his shoulder.  An unusually bold move, even for her.

He looked at her as best he could from the corners of his eyes. “...yes?”

“You said you make yourself sneeze?”

“At times,” he agreed, sniffling carefully and re-lidding the snuff tin.  “When I have a cold.  I can get quite congested, and sneezing helps open things back up again.  Though when I’m not sick, the snuff has a bit of the opposite effect.”

Her eyes moved back and forth, back and forth, processing and absorbing all that with fanatical interest.  Finally she looked up again.

“Can I see?”

“Can you see?”

“Inside your nose.”

What?  What?  What a completely absurd request.  When, in his right mind, would he ever consider letting her--

“Alright,” he said.

What the fuck.

He barely had time to debate how to submit to her request, let alone why he was okay with it, when she took it upon herself to launch an expedition.  A blurring hum of wings carried her to the middle of his chest, making him lean his head back in surprise.  Which was exactly where she needed him to be anyway.

She held open one hand, and in her palm appeared a pearl of light.  Brilliant, illuminating her brightly, but not in a way that made him squint or blink his eyes.  He’d never seen her magic in action before, and it held him exactly as quiet and awed as she needed him to be for her approach.

Funny thing, being this small -- or, from Fern’s perspective, being around a creature so unimaginably large -- she often forgot how things scaled up.  Fairies breathed just like any creature, she’d felt animals much larger than her exhale down on top of her in the past, but it was an entirely new experience feeling the warm, soft pulse of Rowan’s breath through his nose as she climbed his chest to his collarbone.

There was also a lot more to see.

She’d never gone poking around in any fairy noses, and -- even if she’d tried -- this was far more like being able to look through a magnifying glass.  Speaking of which, she was going to have to nag him to get her one of those.  

It was hairier than she expected, though -- to Rowan’s credit -- very neatly kept.  In the light of her little magic pearl it was like two curiously symmetrical and organic caverns, tapering to some mysterious point deep inside that the light couldn’t articulate.  The walls pulsed with each breath, thread-fine nerve-like blood vessels pronounced here-in-there in red against the pink.  It definitely looked more swollen than it normally would be. She laid a hand on his septum as she leaned sidelong for a better view inside, and the whole framework of his nostrils widened in irritation, blood vessels expanding.

“...Fern,” he cautioned.  She was barely listening.  This was super neat!

“Hm?”

“Just… be mindful, I’m still a bit… hh… a-a bit…”

A single breath pulsed down over her, more forceful than what she’d felt before, and she reached out to palm his nostril as a tremor went through it. She hadn’t realized how quickly she’d gotten to his face, nor -- apparently -- the growing danger to her.

Utterly heedless, she reached out and trembled her fingertips back and forth across a small section of his septal wall, like a pianist playing one-handed scales.

Well, that did it.

His nostrils vaulted open before her, air suctioning into them so suddenly that she felt its pull.  Rowan had to pull her away in both hands, one to support her and the other to umbrella her protectively as his body wrenched under the force of an epic sneeze.

“AH’HIZSSCH-UE!”

Like a bellow it echoed off his chamber walls, and he heaped back into his chair with a shell-shocked gasp.  Fern pushed his fingers aside, looking up in time to see a constellation of aerosol glitter and disperse into the air.

“Oh!  Bless you!”

He took one hand back to knuckle and wrist and finger his nose, sniffling raggedly.

“...well, you got it right that time…”  He transferred her back to the desktop, withdrawing his handkerchief as the sniffle persisted. “Forget snuff, I ought to just invite you over when I’ve got a cold.”

Fern, satisfied for now, waited patiently as he grimaced into the hanky and aggressively blew his nose.  He wiped his eyes dry with a knuckle.

“I wish you would,” she admitted.  “Most fairies don’t really get sick.  I’ve never seen a cold up close.”

Rowan grunted softly as he draped an arm across the desk, looking down at her.

“I doubt you’d find it as charming as you think.”

“I bet you’re wrong.”

After a moment he issued a small huff of laughter, eyes soft again.

“Mm. I probably am.”

“Then can I?”

She’d thrown him again, and he took a moment to squint and jaw before clarifying, “Can you what now?”

“Come see you,” she said, marching to her pile of treasures.  “When you’ve got a cold.”

He watched her figure-8 around the assortment of items before picking up the button hook, hoisting it back on one shoulder. She was definitely going to use that thing as a weapon, and woe be to whoever was on the business end of it.

“I wouldn’t object,” he agreed hesitantly.  “But they don’t happen like clockwork.  I can’t say when I’ll have one, or when I won’t.”

“Well… I’ll just keep visiting until I get lucky, I suppose.”  Her wings hummed as she lifted off, a bit burdened by the weight of the hook.  “How will I know?”

“When I’m sick?”  He laughed, gathering the other little treasures into one hand, no doubt for future retrieval.  She could only really carry so much at one time.  “Oh, trust me, little one.  You’ll know.”

He stood, attending her back to the window, and held it wide for her.

“I’ll come visit again,” Fern promised, pausing in the window arch for just a moment.  “I like it here.”

Rowan’s smile was small, and warmer than he knew it ought to be as he watched her go.

“You don’t say.”

[perennialsoft]

Tickle My Nose (K/oitsuki)

Heyyy guys, finally finished my Secret Santa fic for @kawaii-kushami!! 🥳💫 I hope you like it, KK! Thank you for arranging everything 💕

Basically just some plain and simple G/olden K/amuy smut featuring fet!T/sukishima and happy to indulge K/oito with a sneezy cold

Ended up just over 8k!

~~~~~~

Content:

M/M, established relationship, modern AU, T/sukishima has the fetish, cold sneezes, induced sneezes, mentions of potential contagion, hand jobs, blow jobs, spray, some mild mess, sneezing on somebody's face, mentions of allergy sneezes, mentions of feather sneezes, mentions of sexual roleplay, fetishy dirty talk, sneezing into somebody else's hands, teasing, a little bit of exhibitionism, caretaking, elements of dominance and submission, K/oito is nasty and doesn't cover even in public

EXTREMELY indulgent and NSFW, minors DNI!

“Ohh, H-hajime….I need a t-tissue-! I’m g-going to - !!”

Tsukishima felt his skin flush, surprised to find that he was capable of becoming even more aroused than he had been for the past couple of hours. With shaking hands, he pulled several soft tissues from the box that rested between Koito and himself and dutifully pressed them into his love’s reaching palm. Koito could get his own tissues, that they both knew, but the dramatics certainly didn’t go unappreciated on Tsukishima’s part.

Watching Koito build up to what would be an undoubtedly desperate and all-consuming fit of sneezes, Tsukishima’s grip on his paperback tightened subconsciously, warping the poor little book out of reasonable shape. It was something he would only notice days later, when Koito’s cold-afflicted nose finally decided to ease up a little and allow him reprieve enough that his attention could be focused anywhere other than the twitching and flaring of those ticklish nostrils.

They’d been out in central Tokyo the night before when the sneezing had started. Both able to leave work at a reasonable time, they’d met at Shinjuku station and walked the short distance to a lesser known alleyway of smaller, though still bustling restaurants. The initial sneezes, sprayed haphazardly down at his lap to avoid baptising their table, had taken Koito by surprise as much as they had Tsukishima. They’d both put it down to a change in temperature, as Koito was prone to such nasal sensitivities when the weather turned each winter. The steam and the spices of their meal were blamed for the multiple fits the younger man muffled into Tsukishima’s handkerchief, proffered across the table when it became apparent the sneezing wasn’t letting up any time soon.

They’d finished their meal and headed to a nearby Izakaya for a couple of drinks before heading home. Koito barely went five minutes at a time without trembling convulsively into another intensely desperate round of sneezes. He’d sneezed on the way to the Izakaya, openly spraying the air in front of him and earning some disapproving looks in the process, Tsukishima’s handkerchief neglected and forgotten where it lay stuffed into the pocket of his coat. He’d sneezed as he and Tsukishima squeezed into the narrow alcove towards the back of the joint, increasingly aiming the aerosol at the older man’s shoulder until the fabric of his work shirt started to stick to his skin. He’d sneezed as they had then drunkenly wandered back to the train station, Tsukishima holding his briefcase firmly in front of his solid erection. He’d sneezed through clenched teeth down and into Tsukishima’s neck as they huddled together on the crowded train, appearing as though a considerate and embarrassed individual attempting to keep their germs to themself and their partner, though Tsukishima knew it was entirely designed to tease him to the point of public orgasm. His fingers had twitched reflexively around Koito’s waist as he held him steady, eyes scrunched shut and praying that the curiosity of the other passengers would be thwarted by their own various stages of inebriation and Friday-night chatter.

Koito had sneezed at him as he fumbled to open the door to their home, sneezed down into his face as Tsukishima pushed him up against that frantically closed door, sneezed even as Tsukishima pulled out his cock and came with a series of heavy, rhythmic throbs all over Koito’s expensive tailored trousers. The rest of the evening had been the best kind of orgasmic blur, the alcohol and intense arousal culminating into an intensely pleasurable evening of sneeze after tickly sneeze all over his cock.

Tsukishima had fallen asleep in such a state of unadulterated bliss he’d barely even considered that Koito might still be sneezing the next day. It was as Koito pulled away from their morning kiss to sneeze a rough, body-crunching triple across their duvet that they had both realised it hadn’t simply been a change of temperature. It hadn’t stopped Koito from taking the older man’s morning wood into his broad, tan hands and working him up to orgasm with a firm grip and a series of spraying sneezes to the face.

And so here Tsukishima was, several hours later, doting on Koito as he sniffled and huffed and made just about every grating sound of the miserably congested that he possibly could. As usual, Koito’s usage of both tissues or handkerchiefs was minimal at best. It was painfully sexy in a way that only Koito could be, this utter lack of consideration when it came to sneezing uncovered – Tsukishima knew that even if he didn’t have such an intense sexual response to his love’s nasal irritation, he would still be the recipient of many a sneeze to his person. Somehow, it just made the entire affair – and Koito, in general – even more cock-teasingly arousing.

Even now that Koito had actually opted to use tissues, he held them several inches in front of his face – he’d be sneezing at rather than into them. Tsukishima found himself unable to look away. It seemed no matter how often the younger man sneezed, he was equally as fascinated by the spectacle each time. This morning alone, how many times had he all but held his breath, watching Koito’s regal nostrils twitch violently into their fully flared state, his plush lips twisting apart in an irritated grimace? How many times had he listened with unwavering concentration as Koito gasped and hitched and moaned, breaths scissoring in and out of him as the tickle rendered him entirely helpless? How many times had he been caught in the crossfire of each desperate, masculine, wrenching sneeze, his skin feeling electric as the spray rained down upon him? He couldn’t know for sure. He could barely think. It felt like every drop of blood in his body was pooling in his groin, thankful at least to be at home and in loose sweatpants – not that they were loose right now in the slightest.

At last, Koito’s eyebrows drew up with a definitive gasp; he was held on the precipice of release for several moments longer before he was wrenching forward and aiming a violent triple towards the woeful little bundle of tissues he held up in front of his face. Tsukishima watched through unblinking eyes, attempting to commit to memory the beautiful agony of his lover’s crumpled features. It was one of the few times Koito could possibly be described as anything other than strikingly handsome, but if anything, that only made the spectacle all the more erotic to the older man. He was still beautiful, but that such a tiny tickle could contort that elegant face into a mask of utter irritation, almost a snarl in its desperation, turned Tsukishima on so much he was no longer sure his brain hadn’t melted out of his ears.

“H-Hh-HH!! HAGK’KISHHHHIEEeewww!! KISSSSHHHhhiew!! AH’KSHHiewww!! Ohh…”

As expected, Tsukishima felt the sneezes spray freely across the skin of his right arm, some of the release even catching the side of his face. Koito had curled inwards and towards him, so whilst he wasn’t in point-blank range, the heavy aerosol settled on his skin in a welcome burst. His cock throbbed violently in his pants, this time sending a small spurt of precum into his underwear. Fuck, but those sneezes had sounded relieving, like Koito had leaned into the sensation with everything he had.

“Bless you, love.” Tsukishima offered, plucking more tissues from the box between them with one shaking hand whilst steadying Koito by the shoulder with the other. He dabbed across the younger man’s philtrum, which had been left glistening in the aftermath of the triple.

“Ugh, thank you, darling,” Koito groaned, flaring his nostrils slightly as the tissue brushed underneath them. “I needed that.”

Tsukishima swore gently under his breath, head swimming.

“I’ve never seen you like this before. You just can’t stop.” He offered, voice embarrassingly thick with arousal. This seemed to please Koito, though, who leaned forward to close the gap between them and capture the older man’s lips in a kiss. Tsukishima kissed him back with more voracity than he knew what to do with, but he didn’t have all that much time to reflect on it before Koito was pulling away and gasping with a frenzied urgency.

“KISSSHHH’ieww!!” Koito buckled forward, sneezing along the length of Tsukishima’s throat and catching his stubbly chin as the sneeze barrelled out of him. Tsukishima couldn’t help it; he moaned loudly, feeling as though the slightest pressure on his cock would be enough to tip him over the edge. The younger man snuffled wetly, right into his ear, before pulling back and allowing Tsukishima to glance at his face. A small string of clear mess was hanging precariously from one reddened nostril, and twin tears of irritation rolled gently down Koito’s cheeks. The older man wordlessly swiped at the mess, pinching it away with thumb and forefinger before kissing each cheek free of tears.

“Oohhh…I’m a little dizzy.” Koito murmured as Tsukishima continued to pepper kisses all over his face, overcome with such a potent combination of endearment and arousal as he was. He reluctantly pulled back, cupping Koito’s cheek in his palm and pressing their foreheads together.

“You do feel warm, honey. Maybe get some rest?” He began to manoeuvre Koito back against his pillows, and surprisingly, the younger man went with no resistance.

“Tch. I was asleep not three hours ago.” Well – almost no resistance.

“That doesn’t matter.” Tsukishima brushed the younger man’s silky forelocks away from his face, a little worried to find them slightly damp. Now that he thought about it, Koito was looking a little worse for wear – flushed and watery eyed, a sure sign of a fever. He mentally chastised himself, feeling more than a little guilty that his overpowering arousal had impeded his ability to notice just how unwell his boyfriend was starting to become.

“How do you feel? You are quite warm.” Tsukishima spread one broad palm over Koito’s forehead, pressing the other gently against the column of his neck.

“Mm. Honestly? I don’t feel great. But this is helping.” Koito sighed, leaning into the pressure of Tsukishima’s hands and sighing dramatically, almost orgasmically. It was doing absolutely nothing to lessen the hardness of the older man’s erection, which he was almost certain his boyfriend could feel pressing into his hip even through the thick cover of their winter duvet.

“Yeah? Think a cool cloth would feel even better?”

Koito glanced up at him with those huge, dark eyes, framed as they were with an abundance of long, black lashes, and Tsukishima felt as though his chest could almost visibly swell at the sensation of adoration he felt as he stared back into their depths.

“It would. Would you mind, love? I d-don’t feelll-hh! HH’KTSCHiewww!! KISSCHH!...don’t feel well at all. Snnf.”

Tsukishima’s hips thrust against the bed, and he was powerless to stop them. He was blushing now, so close to the edge of orgasm he knew just one more beautiful sneeze would have sealed the deal for him. He’d been leaning close enough to Koito that each sneeze had burst across his face, the cool spray sending a shiver down his spine as it kissed his heated skin.

“Fuckkk, Koito. Yes, baby, whatever you need. Just – try and rest for me, okay?”

When Koito uttered a little moan of acquiescence, Tsukishima ducked down and pressed a kiss to those plush lips, still a little damp with spray, the recognition of which had his cock throbbing anew. He tucked the covers up to Koito’s chin with trembling hands, then made his way down the hall to their bathroom. He grabbed a cloth, filling a plastic basin to the brim with cool water before turning towards the door, intending to leave, when a series of increasingly desperate sneezes echoed down the hallway.

“KISSSCHH’IEWW!! AEGK’KISSSHHHiewww!! KITSCHHH!! IhHHKTSCHHH’IEEWwww!!!”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He scrunched his eyes shut, feeling his cock jerk and spurt a new mess of pre-cum into his boxers. It was just too much. Nearly slamming the basin back down on the bathroom counter, in several quick motions he pulled his sweatpants and boxers down his thighs, gripped his swollen cock in his right hand and pumped himself hard and fast until he came, shooting into a hastily grabbed wad of toilet paper. The pleasure of it was incredible, hours of over-stimulation and being kept on edge pulsing out of him in luxurious waves. He managed not to make too much noise, but couldn’t help it as a few soft whines pulled themselves out of him. It wasn’t as if Koito would be angry that he was cumming his brains out just down the hall from him, but he still felt a little bad about the fact that he was enjoying his second orgasm of the day at the expense of his boyfriend’s cold whilst all Koito had gotten out of the deal was a fever.

When he was done, he flushed the sodden tissue down the toilet and gingerly washed his hands, admittedly feeling much calmer in the aftermath. Maybe for a while he’d be able to pull himself together enough to actually tend to Koito as much as he deserved.

He made his way back to the bedroom, opening his mouth to announce his reemergence when he noticed that Koito seemed to have drifted off to sleep. Working as gently and quietly as possible, he placed the cool cloth on his boyfriend’s heated forehead, taking a moment to kiss at the slight furrow of his brows. It never got old, seeing Koito sleeping, so unguarded and so, so handsome. He sometimes couldn’t understand what it was that such a handsome man could see in him, but those thoughts were rare, given just how enamoured Koito was with him – he could plainly see it, anyone could. As long as the pair of them continued to be as obsessed with each other as their mutual attraction allowed them to be, he wasn’t one for overthinking it. He just knew he was happy, happier than he had ever been before, and it was more than enough.

Casting one last glance over his shoulder, smiling softly at the sweet mumble Koito uttered in his sleep, Tsukishima made his way downstairs to occupy himself with some long-neglected household chores.

~~~~~~

Tsukishima was just finishing prepping the ingredients necessary for dinner when his phone started to ring. He’d thrown himself into the chores, hoping they would operate somewhat like a cold shower and prevent his mind from wandering back to the thoughts, tantalising images and sounds of Koito sneezing his proverbial brains out as his cold tortured his sensitive nose. It had been…fairly successful. He had actually managed to finish everything on his mental list, and had only had to skulk off to the bathroom to orgasm one more time. That hadn’t been his fault – dusting had triggered his allergies, and the combination of his own pleasurable releases and the thoughts of Koito they triggered by pure fetishistic association had been too much for him to bear. Cooking dinner had been the last thing, and he had been just about to start.

He dried his hands quickly on a tea towel before picking up his phone and discovering with some degree of amusement that it was Koito himself calling him. He supposed it wouldn’t do his throat any good to shout, but still.

“You rang, sire?” He answered, dry tone only partially masking his good-natured sarcasm.

“T-tsukishiiimaa’hh!! HH!”

Any relief attained from cumming twenty minutes earlier was gone in an instant, and Tsukishima almost swooned with the rush of blood that headed straight to his dick, straining in his pants.

“Honey? Are you okay?” He managed to sound only a little ruined.

“Y-yess…But I need you. Please come upstairsss’hH-HH-H!!”

The older man held his breath awaiting the sneezes that were sure to follow that desperate, rapid buildup, but as he listened, heart pounding in his chest, he was greeted only with silence – and at last, a shaky exhalation.

“Come upstairs, Hajime.” And with that, Koito ended the call.

“…Fuck.”

Tsukishima willed his heart to stop racing, his breath to even out. That had been unfairly arousing, a total and complete tease. There was no chance of starting up on dinner in this state, so he may as well see what it was Koito had all but beckoned him to do. A spoilt brat through and through, the older man was not unfamiliar with the subtle ways in which Koito flaunted his pedigree and upbringing. It was something that at times Koito had expressed regret over, when it seemed apparent to him that he had slipped into treating his partner more like an assistant or a butler than his equal. Tsukishima reassured him that if it really did ever bother him, he wasn’t afraid to set him straight, and that Koito would have to take his word for it. As it was, he was a lovesick fool happy to wait on his spoilt brat hand and foot – at least behind closed doors.

He could hear Koito hitching and gasping as he reached the top of the stairs. He stood in place for a moment, listening to that torturous series of inhales and the pregnant pause that signaled Koito had finished preparing to sneeze – but in the same way he had been teased on the phone, he heard nothing but a heavy exhalation and aggravated cursing. At least Koito seemed just as worked up over the matter as he was. He swallowed, mouth suddenly all too dry, and made his way into the room.

“Hi, baby. You feeling okay?” He sat down on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on Koito’s blanketed thigh.

“Mm. No.” Koito grumbled, snuffling a little through his blocked nose, and Tsukishima couldn’t help but smirk a little. Here comes the petulance.

“What’s wrong, love?” Tsukishima reached out to touch his palm to Koito’s forehead, relieved to find that it at least hadn’t gotten any warmer. If anything, the younger man’s temperature seemed to have gone down. “You feel a little better than you did earlier.”

“It’s not that.” He fixed Tsukishima with a sudden intense gaze, those dark eyes boring into his own. “I have the most awful little tickle in my nose. It just will not stop teasing me. I get right up to the point of sneezing, and th-then I-! Ohh…hh-HH-HAH!!” Koito paused, his face a frozen rictus of pre-sneeze irritation; his nostrils flared, eyebrows furrowed and tongue stuck slightly out over his bottom lip – but nothing. He seemed to deflate with the subsequent exhale, shuddering slightly. Tsukishima exhaled and shuddered with an equal intensity; his cock throbbed in his pants, hard enough that it visibly jumped. Koito noticed, of course. He slowly dragged his eyes away from that tantalising sight back up to Tsukishima’s face to fix him with a devilish smirk.

“Ohh, excuse me, honey. Just as I said – I feel that I need to sneeze, I’m tickled and teased all the way up to my release but then – nothing. It’s incredibly dissatisfying. Such an awful cold.”

Tsukishima groaned. He was so turned on he was sure it wouldn’t take more than a few short strokes to leave him trembling with yet another orgasm. He imagined painting Koito’s tan chest with streaks of his release as Koito reached his own release of a decidedly nasal nature, attempted to vanquish the thought – couldn’t.

“Sorry to hear that, angel. That sounds just…terrible.” He managed, staring Koito down and trying not to let the gentle weight of his hand on his love’s thigh morph into a sordid death grip.

“It is terrible, Tsuki. I want to sneeze so badly – my poor nose tickles so much. I wish there was some way to alleviate my suffering.”

He was too good at this; knew just what to say to leave Tsukishima a brain-dead, quivering mess, even without the use of his clever tongue, fingers or cock. He watched through unblinking eyes as the cycle started anew, Koito hitching into another fruitless buildup, this time gripping Tsukishima’s bicep with one hand, fanning the other in front of his face as each dramatic breath scissored in and out of him. When he was once again left absent of sneezes, Tsukishima cleared his throat and spoke up.

“If you want some…assistance, I’d be happy to help, Otonoshin.”

He knew that was exactly what Koito had called him up for. Moreover, they both knew he was more than capable of eliciting as many sneezes from himself as he desired – Tsukishima’s proclivities had given him plenty of ample practice in that. He was clearly bored, and what he wanted was to play – Tsukishima, as always, seemed to be his toy of choice, and the man in question couldn’t be happier. Koito grinned.

“Would you, honey? Oh, that would be so helpful. I want to sneeze all these nasty little tickles out of my nose.”

“I’ll help you sneeze as many times as you want, you bastard. On one condition – you have no issue with my taking pleasure in it. And I mean that quite literally.” He stroked the hand resting on Koito’s thigh over to his crotch, where he felt the younger man’s hardening cock even through the thick duvet. Koito rolled his eyes.

“Oh, please. I invite it. A head cold as maddening and persistent as this ought to be put to good use.” Koito smiled, a cunning smile that made his handsome face even more striking. Tsukishima’s stomach fluttered.

“I’m so glad we can see eye to eye on the matter.” He smirked, his own grin stretching even further as Koito gasped and moaned at the manhandling pressure on his erection. Tsukishima gave him one last squeeze, relishing in the way his love’s hips bucked up against the contact, before reaching into the nightside table beside them.

Spread between two personal stands on their corresponding sides of the bed, amongst the various sex toys and lubrications, were various tools designed for the sole purpose of inducing sneezes. He nudged Koito’s favourite prostate stimulator aside and hesitated for a moment as his finger ran across the soft bristles of a long, ornate feather. A few weeks ago he had had the pleasure of gently securing Koito’s wrists to their bedframe with a (stupidly expensive) silk scarf and teased sneeze after desperate sneeze out of him with said feather. Neither of them had expected it to lead to quite such…prodigious results, even having used smaller feathers before. By the time Koito was finished, his face had been drenched in irritated tears, his chest covered in the results of both his own dripping releases and the long, white stripes of Tsukishima’s orgasm.

The feather was a tantalising idea, but it seemed to Tsukishima that Koito probably needed to resort to a more direct method. It wasn’t like him to struggle getting out a sneeze; the feather could wait for when he was healthy again. He rummaged through the drawer a little longer before his fingers closed over the item he had in mind.

Koito had been watching him, a look of lust, excitement and anticipation darkening the blush on his illness-flushed cheeks. He stared as Tsukishima held out in front of him a long, metal bobby pin – the same kind the younger man used on occasion to pin back his bangs when he needed ultimate concentration. A smile split his aristocratic face.

“Not the feather today, my love? You admired the effect it had on me last time we played.”

“Believe me, I considered it - but I think it would be too much of a tease for the both of us. You’re far too congested. And I thought you wanted to sneeze right away?”

Koito snuffled, squinting one eye against the immensely irritating tickle that suggested only more empty promises of release.

“You’re right, of course. I just want to sneeze, baby. Please, hurry.” Tsukishima watched as he rubbed the underside of his subtly flaring nostrils. The arousal he felt as he let his partner’s needy demand, uttered in a shamelessly whiny and breathless manner, wash over him was almost incapacitating.

He leaned forward, more than ready to help fulfill that request, when Koito gently halted him by gripping his wrist and holding that reaching arm in place. He shuddered slightly as he realised it was the same hand that Koito had been worrying his tickly nostrils with moments earlier; he could feel the dampness transferring from those fingers to his own skin. He looked at Koito inquisitively, patiently awaiting an explanation.

“Not like that, Hajime. If you really want to enjoy the ride you need to be prepared. Strip.”

Tsukishima grinned.

“Yes, sir.”

He did just that, making a point of peeling his clothes off much more slowly than was necessary, allowing Koito an excellent view of his compact musculature as he went through the motions. He loved to be watched, found it enthralling to put on a performance for Koito. He was delighted to see that the younger man was rather unsubtly massaging his cock under the sheets, watching as he pulled his underwear down. He started to crawl up the length of Koito’s body before settling in a straddle atop his waist, feeling the resistance of that huge cock under his ass. He wished very suddenly that the barrier of bedding would disappear so that he might feel it pressing up into him.

“Are you okay under the sheets for now, honey? Let me know if you get too hot.” He reached out to tenderly swipe a stray hair away from Koito’s face, carding his fingers for a moment through his silky, black bangs.

“I’m okay, love, but please – I just have to sneeze. Tickle my nose for me.”

Tsukishima nodded, breath catching and gaze focusing in on the ticklish appendage in question. Those gorgeous nostrils, twitching rhythmically and all but an angry red from the repeated abuse – he found that he couldn’t look away. Before slipping the pin inside of one, he leaned forward, tilted Koito’s face back with a firm hand to his chin and allowed himself to press a quick series of kisses all over them as they twitched and twitched. They were hot and damp against his lips, and he shuddered anew at the sensation.

Before Koito could complain about the tickle again, he finally eased the tool into Koito’s right nostril, taking no time to tease him further and probing directly into the deepest recesses. He felt the resistance at the back of his love’s sinuses, heart racing as Koito gasped in surprise and pleasure at the sudden contact, his broad, brown hands flying up to grip Tsukishima by the waist. It was so erotic that Tsukishima found his own breath coming out in little pants, not unlike the ones that tore themselves from Koito, building and building as he stroked and tickled and teased.

“Tsuki-! Sh’shima, I’m-! I’m g-going t’to-!!”

Tsukishima groaned, couldn’t have held back the desperate sound of it if he tried, eyes fixed on Koito’s crumpling expression as the younger man held himself right on the precipice of his release. He continued to probe at the sensitive nostril even as it was apparent that he had done more than enough; Koito was going to sneeze, there was no doubt about it. But still he tickled, hoping that the extra stimulation would result in an even more explosive climax.

He pulled the pin out just in time, Koito lurching forward helplessly as the sneeze tore through him, shaking the both of them and the bed beneath them with a thunderous force.

“aAAEEGK’KITTTTSCHHH’IIEWWww!!”

It was a monstrous release, stronger than his usual sneezes, so desperate and forceful that he seemed to shiver with it. Tsukishima felt his skin alight with pleasure, every fine droplet of spray dousing his chest in a hazy cloud of mess. He moaned, reaching his hands out to grip Koito by the shoulders and squeezing his muscular thighs tight on either side of his middle. As he had hoped, Koito wouldn’t be stopping at one, no matter how powerful. He heard the younger man’s breath snag, and moments later allowed himself to be thoroughly sprayed by a relentless series of sneezes, Koito’s tickly nose unable to stand both the cloying irritation of his cold and Tsukishima’s own teasing ministrations.

“UhHT’KISSSHH’IEwww!! KITSCHHH!! IhH’KSCHhhh!! ‘GKTt’TSCHIEWWww!! Oh-! Hh-hHh-HAH!! HAHHK’TISHHHH’IEWWwww!!!”

Both men groaned in the aftermath, Tsukishima squirming above Koito, grinding his aching cock against the fabric of Koito’s bed shirt. It occurred to him that he’d very much like to see the rock-hard abs he knew lay underneath, wanted to watch them contract with future sneezes, so with shaking hands he rolled it up and over Koito’s pectorals. Koito noticed, and shrugged it off over his head, sniffling all the while. He seemed to shiver a little once shirtless, and Tsukishima opened his mouth to voice his concern, but was cut off by one tanned hand cupping his cheek.

“I’m fine, Hajime. God, it feels so good to actually sneeze. Bless me.” He smiled smugly, rubbing frantically at his poor dripping nostrils with elegant fingers, eliciting a series of crude squelching sounds. He lowered his hand down once again to Tsukishima’s waist, damp fingers ghosting over the skin there, and eyeing the older man’s bobbing cock hungrily.

“Bless you indeed, gorgeous. That was incredible.” Tsukishima felt his cock twitch at the attention, even without any touch, and watched as Koito subconsciously licked his lips. God, he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.

“Want me to tickle your nose again, my love? I think you probably have a great deal more sneezes in there just begging to be let out.” Tsukishima offered, holding the pin just in front of Koito’s face. He could see a sheen on dampness on the rims of both perfectly flared nostrils as Koito sniffled back against the gathering wetness. His tongue darted over his lips and it took all the restraint he could muster not to lean forward and tickle them with his tongue until Koito sneezed helplessly onto his face.

Koito didn’t answer, at least not verbally, just settled back into the plush pillows and tilted his head back ever so slightly, presenting his nostrils to Tsukishima. Those perfect, twitching ellipticals; Tsukishima could probably wax poetic about them to anyone else crazy enough to listen. He reinserted the tool, more slowly this time now that Koito had managed his initial release. Each tender stroke, each little probe had Koito gasping over and over, but never achieving the relief of a sneeze as the older man would ease up the moment it seemed to be enough. He relished in it, the way Koito would gasp, once shuddering into a build-up of breaths so rapid they seemed to fall over one another, only to freeze with an expression of utter desperation and deflate seconds later, once Tsukishima had removed that feather touch of stimulation. A couple of these inexpressibly erotic false starts later, Koito grew aggravated, as Tsukishima knew he would.

“Tsukishima…” The younger man all but growled, squeezing him by the waist and pressing his straining cock against his ass. “You’re a tease. You promised to make me sneeze.”

Tsukishima smiled, incredibly calm and measured despite the fact that his cock was probably hard enough to cut glass.

“Hm. I’m not sure I did. If I remember correctly, the last thing you asked me to do directly was tickle your nose. I believe that this…” He twirled the pin deep inside Koito’s flared nostril, just enough to force a scissoring gasp out him, before returning to gently stroke it around the madly twitching rim. “…Is an undeniable act of tickling.”

Koito fixed him with a stony gaze, sending shivers up the older man’s spine and forcing a bead of precum to roll down his rigid shaft.

“Tsukishima.” Gone was the coy playfulness; he had shifted into commandeering, a role his spoilt background and leadership position at his company had more than primed him for sexually. “You will make me sneeze now, or I will see that I don’t touch you even once more for the duration of this illness. Do you understand?”

Staring back into those hardened eyes, Tsukishima shuddered and smirked.

“Yes, sir. Perfectly.”

He didn’t wait a moment longer, jammed the pin right back and up into the swollen, pink wall of Koito’s nostril, twirling it slightly for extra irritation, although the cringing look of a pre-sneeze expression plastered across Koito’s face in mere seconds was evidence enough that he was irrevocably going to sneeze again. Miraculously, Koito still had it in him to speak, a breathy instruction between hitching gasps that Tsukishima almost missed.

“H’hold out y-your-HHh!! Your h-hand-!!”

Tsukishima offered forth his trembling right hand. Koito scrambled to grip him by the wrist and brought the palm right up to his face just in time to sneeze into it, so violently he was almost snarling with the effort of it as he convulsed.

“AEGGK’TSSCHHHH!! ‘KTSCHH’IEWWWww!! HG’KTSCH-KTSCHHHIeww!! hHAGKSSSSHHTTt!!”

They were unbelievably wet, particularly the last sneeze that sounded especially angry the way it pulled itself out of Koito between clenched teeth. Tsukishima groaned, almost dizzy with pleasure, feeling for the world that he might actually come untouched; it wasn’t as if Koito hadn’t made him do so before. The sight of Koito, the sound, the sensation of spray as it doused his skin – and the muscular body contracting between his legs. God, but he must have died and gone to heaven.

Finished, Koito sighed heavily before licking his lips clean of residual spray. The older man watched as a single strand of saliva hanging precariously from that full bottom lip was swept away by his love’s searching tongue, wishing it was his own swiping those plush lips clean. His own thoughts, the utter kinkiness of them, made him impossibly harder.

“God bless you, Otonoshin.” He sighed, his voice embarrassingly unstable to his own ears.

“Ohh, bless me.” Koito agreed. “That felt wonderful. I have goosebumps.” He offered up the forearm of the hand not currently gripping Tsukishima’s wrist in place to show him, and the skin was indeed raised in pleasure. Tsukishima cursed as his cock throbbed, the hardness actually bordering on painful at this point.

“K-koito…I need to cum. Fuck, I want to come so badly. Will you let me?” He was begging. Not his usual style but needs must. Koito smiled at him, amused and looking incredibly pleased with himself.

“Of course, my love. In fact, I was just providing you with a little…lubrication.” He stated, and before Tsukishima could ask him what he meant by that Koito was guiding his recently sneezed-into palm, slick and glistening with spray, down to his aching erection. He instinctively gripped himself, gasped and felt a shiver pass through him as his arousal skyrocketed. The slippery mess felt great on his cock as he all but massaged it in, but it could have felt like sandpaper and he wouldn’t have noticed for how horny just the thought of Koito’s heavenly spray gracing his cock made him. He could have licked his palm clean; he was really just that gone for the man.

Koito gently pried the pin from Tsukishima’s left hand before slipping it into one nostril and beginning to tease. The sight of it was all the older man needed before he was stroking himself in earnest, hips bucking uncontrollably as he was finally granted a modicum of relief. He panted, gripping the bedframe behind Koito’s head for support, knowing when this orgasm hit it would be colossal, even with all the ones preceding it. He stared at Koito, eyes roving over his face, taking in every detail as he hitched and hitched. The flaring nostrils, the curling of his upper lip, his perfect eyebrows knitting together in irritation…

“Hh’ohh, it tih-! Tickles so much, baby…”

And that talking. That silky voice, both gravelly and smooth at the same time, with desperate and hitching breaths peppered between every word. Tsukishima felt his cock tingle, knew that orgasm was fast upon him. He couldn’t wait to shudder with it, cover his love’s beautiful chest with his cum.

“You’re m-much…hH! Hah, better at this, Hajime-! HHhh…So good at teasing out those tickly sneezes for me…”

Tsukishima felt Koito reaching up, securing his chin in a gentle grip and pulling his face ever closer to his own, almost nose to beautiful nose. His eyes fought to stay open, slipping shut reflexively as he felt himself hurtle even closer to orgasm, jerking and squeezing his dripping cock without pause. Koito continued to tickle himself, kept talking to him as he built and built.

“You look s-sooo’hh’HH!! So good like this-Hh! Hajime…So cute…You’ll look even-Nh! HH! Cuter with my cold in your little nose.”

Tsukishima’s mouth fell slowly open in a silent scream of ecstasy as he started to tip over that proverbial cliff, his orgasm temporarily rendering him incapable of doing little other than continuing to squeeze and stroke himself up to it. As the pleasure crested, he saw, heard and felt Koito at last reach a peak of his own, bucking forward and sneezing directly onto his face.

“HAHK’TCHIEWWW!! GXKT’SHIEWWWww!! HGK’TSCHHH!! KISSSHH!! HAEGK’KITSHIEEWWWww!!! Ohh, god…”

‘Oh, god’ was right. Tsukishima was reeling in pleasure, each violent kiss of spray that swept over his face elevating him high and higher, cock jerking uncontrollably in his grip as he gently prolonged his orgasm with feather light touches. It felt so good and went on for so long that by the time the intense waves of ecstasy receded he was red in the face, sucking in a wrenching gasp as he seemed to plummet back to earth.

“Yesss, Hajime…fucking hell, baby…Ohh, come for me. So hot...” He heard Koito murmuring to him throughout, eventually realised that he was holding him protectively by the waist as he bowed backwards, crumpling under the euphoria. A couple moments of helpless twitching longer and he was at last released from it, dizzy and breathless.

Koito continued to support him until at last, releasing his shaking grip on the bedframe, he sat back with a deeply satisfied sigh.

“Ohh, fuck me.” He managed with a laugh, relishing in the pleasant thrum of his afterglow and glancing at Koito, taking in the visual result of his orgasm where it garnished the younger man’s tan chest and stomach in a series of long, white stripes.

“You can say that again. Fucking hell, Tsukishima. You looked possessed.” Koito was blushing, smiling at him adoringly even as he teased.

“Fucking felt like it. God, that was…that was the hardest I think I’ve ever cum.” He ran a palm over his sweat-slick forehead, laughing again.

“It looked like it too. I nearly had an orgasm just watching yours.” Koito said, smiling and running a few fingers across the mess that adorned him. Tsukishima watched as he placed two cum-coated fingers in his mouth and sucked. “Mm. Bliss.”

Tsukishima giggled, unable to help it as a slew of endorphins rushed through him. He wasn’t one to giggle – Koito quirked an eyebrow, smirking at him before laughing himself. He seemed to deflate just as suddenly, and Tsukishima realised quite how exhausted he now looked. He could still feel the younger man’s rock-hard cock digging into his ass, which was a positive sign that he didn’t feel altogether too awful.

“You okay, honey? Those sneezes really took it out of you, hmm?”

Standing on shaky legs, Tsukishima managed to eventually steady himself enough to set about cleaning the copious streaks of semen off of Koito’s chest (“I can do that myself, you know. We don’t need tissues.” Koito smirked up at him. “Don’t be disgusting, honey.” Tsukishima smiled dreamily down at him). When he’d finished, he pulled the sheets up to Koito’s armpits and checked the temperature of his forehead with the back of one hand. Still warm, but not worryingly so. He sat back down on the edge of the bed, tentatively ran one hand up Koito’s thigh and over the tented covers between his legs.

“Shall I make you cum, darling? Or would you like to take a nap?”

Koito had nestled back into the pillows, one strong forearm swung over his eyes.

“Mm. I want both. In that order.”

Tsukishima nodded.

“That can be arranged.”

He started to pull the covers off Koito’s body and down to mid-thigh, exposing his straining pajama pants. He didn’t miss the way Koito trembled as the cool air kissed over his fevered skin.

“Wait, here, honey.” He grabbed a smaller throw blanket from the foot of the bed, urged Koito to lean forward temporarily while he wrapped it round his shoulders.

“Better?” He asked, pressing a series of loving little kisses to Koito’s forehead and cheeks.

“Much. Even better in a moment.” Koito smiled at him, adjusting himself so that he was leaning up in bed, watching as Tsukishima pulled down his pants, freeing his solid erection from its fabric prison. The older man started to pump it immediately, short and filthy little jerks that drove Koito wild. A stuttering gasp escaped him and Tsukishima worked him harder.

“Want my mouth, baby?” He asked, unwavering eye contact pinning Koito down as he expertly stroked him for all he was worth. Koito was already starting to moan, cock jumping in his grip.

“Fuck, yesss…”

Tsukishima didn’t need to be told twice. Adjusting himself so that he was lying beside Koito, head hovering over his lap and legs towards the head of the bed, he took the tip of his cock into his mouth and suckled on it teasingly, just the way he knew Koito liked it. He was delighted to hear Koito groan raggedly, to feel him reach out from under the cover of the throw blanket and start kneading and squeezing at his bare ass. It felt so good – that lewd massage, his cock, still hard from his previous orgasm, rutting against the bed sheets. He was extremely grateful in the moment - in most moments such as these - that Koito insisted on such eye-wateringly expensive bed sheets.

He bobbed his head rhythmically, taking Koito in deeper, as deep as he could take him, relishing in the sensation of the thick phallus pressing onto his tongue and stretching his lips wide. The smell of the younger man’s arousal was thick, a heady, intoxicating scent that left the older man reeling. He could tell Koito wouldn’t take long to cum, as worked up as he already had been; just as well, since he felt like his own body had disintegrated and been put back together with jelly after that earth-shattering orgasm. God. He’d be thinking about this day for a long, long time.

“Tsukishima, I-I’m-!”

Tsukishima hummed in response, doubling his efforts in an attempt to pull Koito over the edge. It was moments later as he heard those desperate gasps, so similar in sound to Koito’s pre-orgasmic whimpers, morph into a series of rapid-fire little hitches that he realised he had mistaken his love’s announcement to signal orgasm rather than a gorgeous series of cold-induced sneezes. He moaned around the cock in his mouth, continuing to suck as he felt the hand on his ass tense, listened as Koito gasped and gasped until –

“HaEHHh-GKTSCH’IEewww!! KItTSCCHH’Uu!! HaH’GIKT’tshuu!!”

They were softer, shakier than previous releases, but still powerful enough to carry the resultant spray down the length of Koito’s body, splashing against the side of Tsukishima’s burning face where it rested in Koito’s lap. Something else that was softer and shakier than its predecessor was the sudden orgasm that travelled through Tsukishima, the sneezes and the pressure of the soft sheets rubbing against the head of his cock as he worked proving too much for him. He moaned stupidly around the cock in his mouth, eyes slipping shut as he welcomed the gentle pleasure, feeling his spent cock give an extra little throb as Koito resumed massaging his ass.

“God, Hajime-!” He heard Koito panting, felt him bucking into his mouth hard enough that he resorted to pinning his hips still with one muscular forearm. “You’re incredible, fuck, oh my god-!” Koito rambled, voice pitching up dramatically as he plummeted towards an orgasm of his own. Tsukishima resumed the previous speed of his efforts that had inevitably slowed as he came, wanting nothing more than to make Koito feel just as good as he’d made him.

It didn’t take long after that, Koito tensing suddenly with one long, hoarse cry as he trembled and emptied himself into the older man’s mouth, squeezing down on both the sheets and one of Tsukishima’s captured ass cheeks hard enough to bruise. Tsukishima swallowed, moaning and running his hands along any inch of the younger man’s skin that he could, knowing that if those sneezes hadn’t tipped him over the edge, his lover’s orgasm would have.

Koito’s muscles relaxed after several more moments of helpless shuddering and open-mouthed groans of ecstasy. He relaxed his grip on Tsukishima and seemed to sink boneless into the bed.

“Ohhh…” he managed after a short silence, and Tsukishima, who had crawled up to lie beside him on the bed after cleaning up the mess of his own orgasm as best he could, laughed in adoration.

“Good?” he asked softly, resting one palm on Koito’s gently heaving chest.

“So good, ohh. I fucking love you.”

“I love you too.” Tsukishima kissed his cheek, stood up and set to tucking Koito back into bed, ignoring every childish grumble as his boyfriend was passively jostled into place.

“How about that nap now, hmm? You were so amazing, honey. I can’t believe I’m so lucky.” He said, and he meant it. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he could experience a love so deep, with all the killer sex in the world to go alongside it.

“Enough with that. If anyone’s lucky, it’s me.” Koito murmured, snuggling into the sheets with a soft sigh. Tsukishima didn’t push it further, knew Koito could get a little bashful when it came to expressing just how intensely they felt for each other. Both of them were fairly awkward with it, one could say in all honesty. Sex was how they both knew best to communicate love and appreciation, and it worked for them quite beautifully.

“I’m going to start on dinner, now. I’ll wake you up in an hour or so, okay?” Tsukishima kissed Koito’s forehead, then kissed it several more times in response to the cute little squeak of pleasure it pulled out of the younger man.

He was pulling his underwear back on when he heard Koito shifting slightly behind him.

“What are you doing?” The younger man asked, sniffling a little and peering at him with bleary eyes.

“Getting dressed?” He answered, pausing with the boxers halfway up his thighs.

“Don’t.” Koito said plainly, closing his eyes again and settling back into his pillow. Tsukishima just blinked at him, waited for any further clarification, and received none.

“But?”

“I’ll just be stripping you naked again after dinner. There’s no point in it.”

Tsukishima huffed a small laugh. This fucking brat…And yet, he felt his cock give a twitch of anticipation all the same.

“Your wish is my command.” He said, shaking his head in slight disbelief as he prepared to head downstairs and cook in the nude. He’d have to close the blinds.

“Actually –“ Koito started, and Tsukishima turned round in the door frame, waiting for him to finish. “You can wear an apron. That little one. With the frills.”

God. Tsukishima’s cock was actually starting to harden again for the umpteenth time that day. The apron in question served no functional purpose – at least outside of the various roleplays the pair of them would engage in, taking turns to play the maid and the aristocrat, making great use of Tsukishima’s relentless dust allergies and Koito’s sensitivity to feathers. This man, this fucking man. He had definitely met his sex-crazed equal.

“Dinner. One hour.” Tsukishima deadpanned, turning to walk out of the room and smiling at the almost instant congested snoring that echoed out onto the landing. Retrieving the ridiculous little apron from the chest of drawers at the end of the hallway, he wondered how in god’s name he’d survive this evening, and prepared to welcome every second of it.

[perennialsoft]

Request here! Could you be in a library with your partner, checking out books but one of the books is very dusty and she just so happens to blow it in your face 👀 and it's hard to contain your sneezes? (She's a sneaky little thing that likes to watch you unravel, even at the cost of your hangout...😮)

Hello Anon! What a delicious request! I did the best I could with it.

POV: I meet you at a music library to help you find something for class. The musty smell starts getting to me, but I'm shy about the attention you're giving my sneezes, so I stifle (much to your dissatisfaction). We find what you're looking for, but it's covered in dust. You decide to get revenge.

Contains: playful banter, stifles, hitching, big sneezes at the end, and a few swear words.

**DO NOT REBLOG TO ANY NON-KINK BLOGS**

As always, let me know if you like this! If you have any requests/ideas, hit me up. I've got a bit of a backlog, but I'll get to them as I can. Some of them are super creative and funny, so keep 'em coming! I can't promise everything, but I'll do my best. I love you all!

[perennialsoft]

All your scenarios have the best banter and amazing audible hitching🫠✨

Most recently you've had a couple where the kink partner is being super mischievous tickling you with a feather duster or blowing dust in your face. How naughty of them.👀

My request is for a scenario to get mischievous too! You catch the partner with the kink by surprise maybe on a date or special moment (dealers choice) but you leverage your feather allergies to your advantage. You tease them mercilessly with a slow banter filled hitchy holdback slowly describing how tickly your nose is and how allergic you are to the feathers. You slowly amp it up tickling your nose more which you know your partner is not going to complain about. You torture your own nose a bit but you are controlling the situation this time leaning into things you know the kink partner will get riled up about.

However the plan goes off the rails when a small bit of feather gets stuck in your nose causing your allergic fun 🙈🔥. Even still you are proud that you got to take back the sneezy control even if you lost control there for a bit 😆.

Feel free to skip completely or pick and choose aspects you like over others you may not want to do. It will be fantastic as always whatever you do!

Hey Day! This is an amazing request - thanks so much for reaching out and asking! I tweaked it juuuuust a touch:

POV: You have work to do at home, and I'm cranky because I want some TLC. I decide to use a flower from the feather duster you've previously used to induce enormous sneezing fits from me to tease my nose, and to hopefully get your attention - for once, I have the upper hand. However, a piece of the feather gets stuck, causing some pretty big sneezes. Will my nose be enough to pull you away from your work?

Contains: lots of hitching, sneezing, big buildups, two quick noseblows around the 10:08 mark, and banter.

**DO NOT REBLOG TO ANY NON-KINK BLOGS**

I hope this is what you were hoping for, Daystar! Let me know in the comments what you all think! Hit me up with any requests/ideas you may have. I love you all!

[perennialsoft]

Oh my gosh that rather dusting wag was extremely hot *melted into a puddle* if you’re still taking requests would love a follow up where your partner wakes you by attacking your nose with the dusty feather duster! Those massive sneezes made my knees weak 🫠😍

Hey Anon! Thanks for your kind words! ☺️ This was a fantastic request!

I wake up from a deep sleep to the sensation of soft feathers (of which I'm highly allergic) caressing my nose, and sneezy chaos ensues....

Let me know if this hit you the same or not! As always people, hit me up with requests or just let me know if I'm scratching your itch. I love you all!

**DO NOT REBLOG TO ANY NON-KINK BLOGS**

[perennialsoft]

Today I'm obsessing over the fact that something as tiny and beautiful as a flower can tickle a nose so badly with just one sniff as to induce numerous fits of raucous, drenching sneezes

The imagery of nostrils flared wide over silky petals, an imminent explosion ready to blow them back and sometimes even loosen them altogether...A person sneezing with such immediacy after a delicate sniff that the flowers are instantly dripping, bowing under the weight of the answering spray...yeah. Going inSANE

[perennialsoft]

Best Laid Plans - Part 3

Details: 11k, M sneezes, no pairing (for this part)

Summary: A secret agent is going undercover for a few days, and his target has a sneeze fetish. When preparing his next move, he finds even the best laid plans go awry.

PART 2 - PART 3 -

EVERYONE 🥹💖 Thank you so, so much for your continued support and kindness!!!! 😭 I’m just over the moon that folks are enjoying this and I’ve deeply appreciated all the likes, comments, reblogs, and asks!! I feel like I’ll never be able to say thank you enough times to everyone 😂💕 Please know that I’ve read each and every wonderful word you all have said and those sentiments have given me soul power!!! 💫

This is a fluffy interlude, but it will spice up again in Part 4! 😏 These are original characters, all in their mid twenties to early thirties. Please mind the warnings if anything here might be uncomfy for you.

(Warnings: Unrealistic science, Mess Lite™, getting sneezed on [accidentally, not in detail], questionable coworker dynamics [discussing sexual pleasure in a professional way], humiliation themes [main character gets embarrassed from sexual discussion], micro/macro [it’s a dream], masturbation, being induced by another person [not on purpose], feeling pleasure from sneezing).

THIS STORY IS NSFW!

-

The Wooden Lantern, tomorrow, 6:30pm. 

Omicron knew the place. He’d studied the resort’s directory extensively before they arrived. It was a high class, low-light, white table cloth and well-dressed waiter kind of restaurant. Either Josaline and her husband booked a reservation far in advance or they had the clout to demand one. The backdrop set the tone — extravagant, intimate, an evening of whispered banter. They better not expect me to pay, he thought, weaving around a housekeeper with a cart of towels and sheets. Head office probably won’t foot the bill.

It took longer than planned to pry himself away from Josaline. She was content to lounge for as long as he’d let her, asking him idle questions and tracing shapes on his chest with the tips of her fingers. All the while, she watched his nose. To Omicron it seemed like she was reluctant to miss even a second of his nasal misery, and she was treated to a fair amount of sniffling, sneezing, and nose blowing while they talked. When he finally managed to extricate himself, he surmised his nose was as red as the sunset. The light painted brilliant streaks over the coastline and reduced distant seagulls to silhouettes as they flew over sparkling water. 

And somehow, looking too long at the birds flapping their wings meant he had to sneeze. Bitterly, Omicron tucked a finger beneath his nostrils. They began to flare, anxious as the tickle took flight somewhere in his sinuses. Indulging this in his hotel room was better than the hallway, so Omicron picked up his pace. He could feel the sensation worsen, his nerves trembling, and soon a whole flock of frantic tickles startled into motion.

“-hhHH-” He flipped his hand up over his nose and increased his power walk to a near sprint.

“-gUH!hhh..HHH-” He skidded to his room door and through tears he scanned the keycard, shoved himself inside-

“HHEH’DZZssch!”

“Oh, here he is. He just got back.”

Omicron eased his eyes open long enough to see Agent Delta with his phone to his ear, frowning at him.

“Bless-”

“-IHCHZSSH’oo!” He flattened a hand to his chest, feeling himself breathe and breathe and- “..hah!-CHIZSSH’uh!.. ngghh..”

Omicron groaned and belatedly nosed into his shirt, at this point a decimated, jumbo-sized rag hanging limply from his hand.

“Bless you.” Delta delivered it firmly, and asked in the same tone, “How are you feeling?”

“Whad?” he asked, muffled at first before he lowered the shirt. “I’b fine.”

The senior agent gave him a doubtful once-over, then spoke to whomever was on the phone. “He says he’s fine.”

Muzzily, Omicron looked down at himself. Then sidelong to the closet door mirror. He stood only in his swim trunks, bare from his hips up with hair made wild by hungry hands and a smattering of burgundy lipstick across his throat. Worst was his nose, just as raw and sore looking as it felt. It twitched as he watched, his nostrils slowly stretching wide. His expression collapsed by degrees, jaw slacking, eyelids fluttering, chin tilting, chest lifting in one long breath.

“hhhhhHHH’ADZSSHiew!!” he sneezed, and threw himself a step forward.

Delta sighed. “Bless you.”

Once again Omicron lifted his shirt late and huffed a frustrated sigh of his own. When the tickle came over him, he couldn’t do more than simply sneeze. His days of diligent etiquette were long behind him now. There was a tap on his shoulder and when he looked up, Delta was standing in front of him with a fresh box of unscented, lotion-infused tissues. Omicron could have cried.

“Thag’k you-” he choked, snatching a handful just before he “-hd’ZZSSCH!-guh..”

He transitioned his groan into a strengthless blow of his nose. Even for how little effort he used, the action was productive — more audibly than he would have preferred. At least the tissues didn’t chafe. It took several rounds, Delta patiently holding the box for him, until Omicron’s sniffling was stuffy but dry. The tickle relaxed as much as it ever did, tracing shapes against his membranes. It reminded him of Josaline. By the time he was finished, Delta had traded the box for the room’s little trash bin. 

“Yes, just a moment..” he said into the phone, then tipped the bin expectantly at Omicron. Meekly, he dropped in all his tissues (as well as his shirt, it was a lost cause) as Delta continued. “Let me speak with him first.”

Omicron tried to cobble together some semblance of professionalism. He straightened his spine and folded his hands into a parade rest to deliver his report. “Sir, there is a new development-”

“Apologies, Omicron, that will have to wait,” Delta bulldozed over him. “Something’s come up.”

A prickle of anxiety raised the hairs at the back of his neck. “… Sir?”

“It concerns your condition,” Delta replied, and his faltering loss of eye contact didn’t reassure Omicron in the slightest. “It’s a.. delicate subject, so I’ll leave this to Dr. Voster.”

Omicron closed his eyes in exasperation. He’d forgotten about her. Shit. Delta passed him the phone, and then very conspicuously occupied himself across the room.

Bracing himself, Omicron lifted the phone to his ear. “Yes?”

“Hi, Agent Omicron,” said Dr. Voster in a tinny voice from the receiver. “You’re a hard man to get a hold of lately.”

“Well, I’ve been a bit busy,” he said, then lifted a fist to his nose. Idle as the tickle was, the incessant, gossamer sensation of it was beginning to bother him. “Forgive me if I don’t have time to shoot the breeze.”

“You think I’d come to you for small talk? I’d have better luck with a brick wall.”

“Noted,” he replied as he glanced around for the tissue box. He found it sitting on his bed. “Are you calling to berate me or is there something you want?”

“If you remember from yesterday,” she insisted with unnecessary attitude, “I’m calling to talk about your nose.”

The tickle twinged, perking up like a dog to a whistling call. The rims of his eyes grew wet. His breath hiccuped. “I’d reahh- hly rather not.”

“Too bad, I’ll cut to the chase: are you getting erections when you sneeze?”

Her words pierced him like arrows, followed by the bleed of heat into his cheeks, ears, and neck. Omicron’s hand froze halfway to his face, tissues hovering. She knows, his mind shrieked. She knows. He whipped his head to Delta, who was faffing pointlessly with his suitcase while pretending to ignore the conversation unfolding across the room. And so does he.

“Your silence is telling,” said Anita.

“No.” His mind was static and his mouth was dry. Words wouldn’t flow. “I’m not.. No.”

The lie was so poorly delivered that it wouldn’t have fooled anyone. Sweat slinked down his nape. Dr. Voster blew a breath over the line, sharp and rueful. “Welp. That one’s on me.”

He darted another glance to Delta and caught the man staring just before they simultaneously turned away. Meanwhile, the tickle followed the path of a twitching nerve with a light, curious touch. Hunching his shoulders and scrunching his face, Omicron mumbled into the receiver. 

“What’s that supposed tuhh.. to mean?”

“Your reaction at the lab was extreme, in relation to the vigor of your sneezing as well as the presence of physiological responses indicating arousal,” she explained, her tone appreciably analytic despite the awkward topic. “Dilated pupils, shortness of breath, difficulty concentrating..”

She suspected it from the beginning? Omicron reeled. It made sense; she was impressively educated and one of the most respected techs at the agency. Her knowledge ranged from biology, physiology, immunology, and beyond. In retrospect, he’d been a fool to think he could ever hide something like this from her. 

“Even so, I couldn’t be sure. It warranted further research and I found something unexpected.”

Omicron pushed a hand through his hair, pressing his thumb into the soft indent of his temple. He’d walked in here with a headache and he could tell this conversation would only make it worse. “Oh?”

“It’s a little known fact that parts of the nose contain the same type of erectile tissue as the genitals, and both are linked to the body’s autonomic nervous system.” 

As she spoke, the tickle feathered a persistent, teasing swirl around a sensitive spot. His inflamed membranes pulsed insistently, as did his chapped nostrils. He tried his damned best to ignore it. “... Pardon?”

“I believe because I gave you a higher dose of viral particles than you needed, the overstimulation of your nasal nerves is causing an echoing effect to the erectile tissue in your penis.”

A dangerous emotion lurched up from Omicron’s stomach and got caught behind his teeth: anger. It warred, then mixed, with his humiliation. Exhaustion eroded his willingness to swallow it back down. 

“This is actually not unheard of. Kinks aside, some people experience this during intercourse, or even from simply thinking about sex, though usually the arousal causes sneezing rather than the other way around..”

Anita blathered on about speculative science, and the bubbling pot of annoyance he’d nursed since the start of this assignment at last began to boil over. Frustration erupted into rage.

“..Still, it’s a variable I completely overlooked. I’m sorry, Omicron.”

“Sorry?” he barked, raising his volume to a throat-scratching degree. “You’re sorry? Are you serious?”

There was a pause over the line. “.. Yes?”

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it.” The ardor in his voice vibrated in his sinuses, heightening the caressing sensations of the tickle, which only angered him more. “Yhh-You told me I wouldn’t b-be comprhhuh-.. hhmised by your stupid experiment!”

“That was before I saw its effects in action. I advised you not to go forward with the mission, remember? I only agreed in front of Delta because you looked so sad. It was foolish on my part. I should’ve grounded you.”

“So that I could suffer for your mbistake??” he demanded. His nostrils shivered and he shoved them with the heel of his palm. Congestion clogged his words. “I’ve waited so long for this mbission, Anita, you kdnow I have!”

“It wasn’t my intention to compromise you, Omicron,” and while she said it with contrition, there was also resignation. “I can’t predict every outcome. It’s just one of those things.”

The pragmatism in her voice only fueled his fire, but before he could assemble his response, the tickle struck. Even in the throes of wrath it wouldn’t leave him be. Its touch seeped through his nose like a spill. His lungs jumped with a single breath, and then Omicron’s head snapped down. 

“DDJZSSsh’oo!”

The sneeze staggered him two steps back and another was fast on the rise. It held him hostage in its grip, but Anita’s curt “bless you” in his ear waylaid the urge. He fulcrumed a finger beneath his nose to buy time. Emotion roared up from his chest and broke out of him in a rambling crash. 

“I get one chandce! One. To prove mbyself and if I fail they’re gonna relegate mbe to archives and filing duties for the rest of mby career!!”

He was peripherally aware of Delta, who’d at some point moved to stand in front of him. There was something in his hand, a gadget Omicron recognized but couldn’t think to name. His vision tunneled, dark at the edges. His heart pounded in his ears. His nose twitched ominously, not to be delayed much longer. 

“I c-.. hhhan’dt lose this case,” he was babbling, quicker and quicker when his nostrils began to flare. The burgeoning sneeze tugged his eyelids shut and stole his breath away. “It’ll- it.. iyeehh…h-HH!hck’KZSShiu!”

Dr. Voster took the opportunity to cut in; she sounded deliberately calm as he sniffled fitfully through a recovery. “Omicron, listen to me, you’re catastrophizing. Slow down for a second and breathe.”

“Ndo, you listen!” His voice cracked and an ugly desperation made itself known. “They’ll really do it, if I’b ndot perfect they’ll write mbe off a’d I’ll end up a cautionary tale, they’ll laugh mbe out of the agency, everythi’g I’ve worked for will be for dnothi’g, I-”

Glowing numbers flashed in front of his eyes. Omicron startled, teetering unevenly on his feet. At first he had no idea what it was, but as his vision steadied the image formed. Delta stood before him, grim, offering the readout screen of an infrared thermometer.

The numbers read 102.4°F / 39.1°C . Omicron squinted at them, uncomprehending.

“... what’s thad?” he rasped.

Delta’s reply was immediate and immutable. “Your fever.”

Omicron blinked. Squinted harder. Read the numbers again even as they started to blur. I have a fever? he asked himself. As his fury ebbed, new sensations emerged: the painful heat radiating from his head, a pervasive chill seeping from his core, the weakness in his knees and the cotton in his ears. He began listing to the side. The phone slipped from his hand.

Oh, he realized. I have a fever.

“Oop!” Delta dashed and caught him before he could swoon to the floor. Together they sank in a controlled descent as the senior agent muttered, “Easy now, easy..” under his breath. Once they were down, Omicron tucked his head into his knees and tried to fend off the headrush.

Indistinct voices floated around him. He could only catch snippets of conversation — “high grade temperature,” and “want you here by morning” — and he gave up on the rest. Instead, he concentrated on the bracing passes of Delta’s broad hand across the span of his sweaty shoulders. It took longer than he liked, but eventually Omicron raised his head with minimal dizziness. He stared into the weave of the carpet.

“Did she hang up?”

“Yes,” Delta said beside him. “She gave me a list of questions to ask you when you’re feeling a bit better.”

Omicron dropped his head back to his knees. “... is she upset?”

“At your outburst?” Delta asked, and his subordinate cringed. “She’s more worried about you than upset, but you wouldn’t be remiss to apologize when she arrives.”

In the aftermath of his tantrum, clarity pricked him like a thorn. This was as much his fault as it was Anita’s. It was true her virus yielded unexpected results, but by concealing them from her, he’d failed in his responsibility as a teammate. She put her trust in him, and he let her down. There were few things more painful for him than owning his mistakes.

Stewing in his shame, he sniffled and said the only thing he could say. “I’b sorry, sir.”

Delta’s smile grew warm at the edges. “I’m not the one you shouted at, but I’ll accept your apology since you lied to me too.”

God, he wished the ground would just swallow him whole. Omicron folded into an even smaller ball, arms tightening around his shins. The position made his nose run, which required frequent snuffling for maintenance, but he’d rather do that than look Delta in the eye.

“I expect honesty from you, agent. Full stop. Not a single lie moving forward, either directly or by omission. Am I understood?”

Omicron could barely force himself above a whisper. “Yes, sir.”

“Not just about the virus,” his superior continued, “but also your wellbeing. You’ve put so much pressure on yourself, Omicron. I had no idea you were under the impression that this assignment would be your only chance to succeed.”

Without anger as a shield, he’d lost his last defense. Delta’s sympathy felt like a punch in the gut. Even worse, his near constant sniffles were going to make him sneeze. He keenly felt each bead of moisture drip down his stressed passages, then skate back up with every subsequent snatch of air. It was unabating, alluring, and it coaxed little sighs from his lip when he exhaled. He didn’t have to wait long.

“..hh’MMPHssh!!Huh..” Omicron muffled it into his knees, his entire body trembling. Then he hurried to respond before he could be blessed. “-but it’s true, righd?”

“Come again?” Delta asked, and when Omicron spoke it again with more volume, he could hear Delta’s brow furrow just from the way he replied, “No, it’s not true at all. Did someone tell you differently?”

With reluctance, Omicron lifted his head and confirmed with a stuffy mumble. “.. Agent Rho did.”

“Rho!” Delta scoffed, as if he could scold the agent from here. His voice lowered to a grumble, and that told Omicron exactly how Delta felt about Rho. “Don’t listen to them. They enjoy scaring less experienced agents.”

(Here Omicron swore a silent, seething vow that he would exact calculated revenge upon Agent Rho for their transgressions against him. Delta continued, oblivious.)

“A reprehensible practice, but between you and I, head office rarely entertains my complaints on the matter.”

Head office… Fuzzy worries came into focus as Omicron muddled through another lazy, slow-to-arrive sneeze. The fog of it clouded his expression as he tried in vain to soldier on.

“Are you goi’g t-.. hih’KIZSsh!” he bobbed his head, then slitted his eyes open only for them to flutter closed again. “..ehKZSSh’uh!... mmbgh..” 

“Bless you,” said Delta, watching Omicron cup a hand over his nose. “Here, use these.”

Delta held out the tissue box, still half-full with soft paper, and Omicron plucked out several. His breath hitched high, voice heady, as he attempted to relay gratitude. 

“Th-hhah.. ah’NKZSSS’hoo!” He crushed it into the tissues, and then flushed with a fresh layer of chagrin when Delta chuckled.

“Bless you, Omicron, you’re welcome.” He waited for the nose blowing to stop before he continued. “You were saying?... ‘Am I going to’ what?”

Oh, right, his question.. With fever, congestion, and the pledge of sneezes crowding his head, holding onto a thought longer than a few seconds felt next to impossible. “Are you going to ground me?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Delta replied. “Considering your condition, I should say yes, but I’d like Dr. Voster’s opinion first. You’re making progress on this case and I’d hate to halt your momentum prematurely.”

That was fair. Uncontrollable boners and a fever on active duty would probably dissuade any overseeing officer from adapting a ‘push through’ mentality. Especially Delta, since the man had the most heavily bleeding heart Omicron had ever known. It would be up to Anita, then; he couldn’t muster the energy to fret about it right now. They sat together while Omicron tended to his fidgety nose, still side by side on the floor, until Delta made a sound of recollection.

“Speaking of the case, didn’t you mention a development? I interrupted you earlier. What was it you wanted to tell me?”

Ahhhh, dammit, Omicron lamented. I forgot about that too.

Even before Anita threw her wrench, he hadn’t been sure how his date tomorrow would go over with Delta. He’d had plans of carefully breaking the news, laying out the variables and working gradually to the big reveal. But now he could barely remember the basic idea, let alone complex and eloquent details. Wracking his boiling brain did nothing but cost him his opportunity; the meandering tickle of his cold stumbled yet again on sensitive territory.

“-Hah…” It lured a dreading sound from his lips as the urge niggled him. Hadn’t he sneezed enough? His count had to be over a hundred by now, and yet his nose wasn’t satisfied. Overworked as they were, his nasal nerves were as ceaseless in their goals as the virus was. “..hiH-.. ngh..”

Omicron cut his losses. Either he ripped the bandaid off or wasted another ten minutes sneezing while his cold tickled him senseless. He took a moment to steady his breathing before saying, “...She has a hus’BEHSsh’oo!”

It startled them both, barreling out of him freely and with an unfortunate lack of cover. Delta flinched away, visibly caught in the crossfire, and Omicron panicked. Both hands jerked up to cover his nose as a whiplash of shame froze him to the bone. 

“Fuck, I’b so siihH-” Oh god, again? His breath wavered at the top of his throat, almost a whimper, and he was so discombobulated from the first one that he couldn’t prepare for the second. “-ih’GXCHHT!”

It ran roughshod, mostly through his nose, and it scraped his sinuses on the way out. Very unpleasant, but fortunately the tickle had to play second fiddle to the stinging aftermath. Omicron hitched down from the high, hands still cemented to his face for modesty and eyelashes sticking with tears as he threw a glance to his superior.

“b’sorry!” he eked out, and he must have looked truly miserable because Delta’s eyes widened.

“It’s alright, it’s alright!” he said earnestly, with a shake of his head and a consoling pat to Omicron’s back. “I’m not upset, I know that was an accident. Don’t worry about it, hm? Here..”

He fished up the tissue box in offering before politely turning away as Omicron cleaned himself up. The mortification nearly crushed him, but still the junior agent reeled with relief. He could trust his superior at his word that he wasn’t upset; it just wasn’t in Delta’s nature to lie, unless it was for his cover. It took nearly the rest of the box before Omicron deemed himself decent, and even then he pinned a preemptive bushel of tissues around his nose in case another sneeze got away from him. Delta was looking at him with such effusive compassion that Omicron delivered his news without preamble, desperate to change the subject.

“I got invited to a threesome with Josaline and her secret husband,” he said from behind his hands.

Agent Delta was gobsmacked. “Wh- Josaline Jewel has a husband?”

Omicron nodded.

“We have no intel to suggest that at all. Are you sure?”

Omicron nodded again.

There was a bewildered pause, then an even more disbelieving, “And you’ve scheduled a threesome with them?”

For a third time Omicron nodded, bleary-eyed over the edge of his tissues. Beneath his hands, his nostrils spasmed around the shape of a sluggish itch. It stalled out somewhere in his sinuses, too present to dismiss but not yet committed to climax. Don’t tease me, he begged with a slow blink. Either hurry up or go away.

“Omicron,” Delta said, a note of wonder in his voice. “I knew you were talented, but this exceeds expectations. Particularly with the knowledge that you did this while contending with unforeseen complications. Well done.”

His heart fluttered weakly at the praise and Omicron squashed any pleased feelings that arose from it. There would be nothing to celebrate if he couldn’t finish the job.

“Th.. hhagk you, sir.”

“When are you meeting them?”

“T-.. Tihh-..” As he spoke the tickle squiggled like a banner caught in a breeze. He rushed the rest on an exhale — “..t-t’mborrow nhhigh..” — heaved in a huge breath, and then- “IDTZSSH’hoo!!”

“Bless, tomorrow night, hm..” Delta rushed the blessing as well, rubbing his chin with a long sigh. “This does complicate things. I doubt we’ll get a chance like this again, but I’m not granting clearance until Dr. Voster takes a look at you-”

“ht-.. HD’JZSS!uuh..”

“-bless you, because that fever of yours concerns me. That side effect wasn’t listed in the literature and it surprised her to hear that you’ve developed one-”

“.. eh-.. eH’TSCHHOO!”

“-bless you. So better safe than sorry. Your health and safety takes priority over any assignment, Omicron, do try and remember tha-.. oh, bless…?”

“.. h-HDT-!”

Omicron waiting on the cusp of another, eyes rolled skyward and lips parted in desire, still cloaked behind his curtain of tissues. He could feel he had Delta’s undivided attention, which made the tickle shy. It shivered inside him, sending his nostrils into a fit of flaring. Stuttered breaths filled his lungs in tiny bursts, emptying again on uneasy sighs, and he-.. he-!..

.. relaxed, defeated, with a groan. 

“Lost it?” Delta asked, then quirked a smile at Omicron’s moody nose-blow. “I’m sure it’s very disappointing. My condolences.”

Because Delta was being very gracious about all this — Omicron’s dishonesty and careless sneezing — he couldn’t summon up any feelings of exasperation. It helped that he was running on empty, too enervated by his fever to do much more than slump with a nod that made his head gently spin. He waited it out and only when he startled to awareness at a gentle touch on his arm did he realize he’d been falling asleep where he sat. He squinted up at Delta who was now standing, smiling down at him.

“Dr. Voster asked me to collect more data on your condition, but that can wait,” he said, and hauled Omicron to his feet. He guided the smaller man toward the bright fluorescence of their hotel bathroom. “Why don’t you wash up? It might help.”

Too dazed to protest, Omicron stood shivering barefoot on the cold tile in his swim trunks while Delta babbled about this and that. A couple blinks later he was holding a set of sweats from his suitcase, his toiletry bag, and a clean pair of fuzzy socks that wasn’t his. Probably Delta’s. He’d seen the man wear a different pair around the room just last night. Juggling the items and mumbling thank-yous, he nudged the door shut with his foot as Delta stated he’d be going out to grab dinner.

And thus commenced his character assassination. 

Omicron laid to rest and mourned what remained of his dignity. He was, in essence, sick on the job with an unseemly cold and his boss was playing nurse. In other words, a nightmare. Never had any of his coworkers seen him T less than peak health, and he hadn’t bargained on Anita’s monster virus turning him into… this. As he shambled through a shower, pajamas, and then curled up into bed, he hoped in vain that his fever would be bad enough to knock him out before Delta got back. No such luck.

Omicron knew how he could look, especially with fresh, fluffy bedhead and sleeves that drooped over his hands. He could only assume this aesthetic was exacerbated by his glowing red nose and glassy eyes. ‘Cute’ was a moniker he’d take to his grave unfortunately, much as it haunted him. He’d never managed to escape it in any disguise, not for all the leather, fake piercings, or platform boots in the world. 

So when Agent Delta turned around and caught sight of him, snuggled in a poofy duvet clutching the tissue box with a little twitch troubling his nose, Omicron beat him to the punch. “Please don’t patronize me, sir.”

Delta’s smile threatened laughter, but he reigned it in with a polite cough and clear of his throat. “I wasn’t going to, agent. I’m just glad to see you’re more comfortable.”

‘Comfortable’ was a generous word that only got further from the truth as the night wore on. Omicron was treated to dinner in bed, complete with a serving tray borrowed from the staff, and the gesture was enough to obliterate any shred of appetite he had for the hot and sour soup Delta brought him. He just wanted to dissolve into the atmosphere and disappear. What he did manage to eat sprung tears in his eyes and a menacing prickle in his clogged sinuses. He spent most of the meal with a tissue held to flexing, leaky nostrils.

The conversation after dinner was yet another exercise in torture. Omicron would have tried choking down more soup if he’d remembered Delta had orders from Anita to question him about his ‘condition.’

Rationally, Omicron knew he shouldn’t be embarrassed. He had sex on the job now and then, and those wild whims he pursued on his personal time were a cure for boredom more than anything. There was something different about this though, the pleasure he felt from sneezing. It felt intimate, self-generated, and to some extent outside of his control. That he might accidentally get aroused without a purpose, beyond that it simply just felt good, was a thought he couldn’t bare to share with anyone. 

“I find it endearing that you are so bashful about this, considering your line of work,” Delta said, understanding yet undeterred, “but as this pertains directly to your ability to perform on the job, I’m afraid Voster and I are on a need to know basis. I promise it will be quick and painless.”

The unyielding furrow in Delta’s brow told Omicron he wouldn’t escape this discussion, no matter how badly he wanted to avoid it. Maybe by some miracle he’d black out and not remember it after.

Once they got started, the questions were mercifully clinical: How often are you experiencing unexpected symptoms? Under what circumstances do they arise? Are you experiencing any unexpected symptoms beyond those already identified? And so on. All the while, Omicron dissuaded sneezes with nose rubs, nose blows, and general nose abuse of that nature. Each ticklish surge that scrambled for a foothold he countered with equal obstinacy. Nothing he did would rid him of the itch, so there was no reason to indulge it.

Yes there is, said the steady drip of tension into his abdomen. Feel that? It was a formless need, faint enough to ignore. For now. Given time the drip would form a puddle, then a pond, and eventually an ocean of want churning in the core of him. And it will feel so good to let go. 

Omicron resolutely ignored that feeling. 

When they finished with the questions, he didn’t even realize it was over; he dozed off while Delta prattled on too long about meaningless things, his voice soothing in its familiarity, and awoke with a start minutes or hours later from a soft touch on his elbow. Just Delta, whispering something about acetaminophen, offering pills and a glass of water which Omicron tossed back wordlessly before hurtling headfirst back into sleep.

He surfaced in and out of consciousness throughout the night, plagued by chills, sweats, and the strange dreams only a fever can cook up. Vivid, nonsensical adventures that ranged from confusing to harrowing, until Omicron eventually found himself spelunking. How he ended up in this damp, drippy cavern eluded him, but he remained committed to his single directive: explore. 

It was an odd place, even in a dream. Rather than rough-hewn stone, Omicron walked barefoot on a soft, plush surface that spanned the walls and even the ceiling. Caves were usually quite chilly, but this one was comfortably warm. Steady breezes cut through the humidity, first blowing one way and then the other, ruffling Omicron’s hair at each pass. He staggered when a particularly strong gust dragged him like an undertow and leaned against the wall to keep his balance. This immediately backfired because the wall was unexpectedly slick. With a frictionless glide, he tumbled to the ground.

“Sheesh,” he muttered, planting his palms to push himself up. When he did so, there was a near imperceptible shudder through the cavern. The rhythmic wind stuttered, stopped, then continued with an unsteady edge. He raised arm against a blast of air. “What-..?”

A light caught his eye, and Omicron glanced down to find a nexus of thrumming veins spidering out from his epicenter. They pulsed with a beautiful glow, casting a red hue across his face and illuminating the cave floor with a pink, stained glass iridescence. Curious, he trailed his fingers along the branching paths and watched the veins spread further. Again the cave floor lurched, stronger this time, and the wind around him escalated into trembling, intermittent squalls. For some reason he didn’t feel afraid, only determined.

Omicron clamored to his feet. He approached the wall where the veins began to climb. They pulsed weakly, wanting, and he felt that he needed to help them. Feeling around on his person, he unearthed something from his back pocket: a feather duster. The feathers waved in the strong breeze, plentiful and downy. How he’d managed to fit this in his pocket was dream logic he didn’t question. 

“Let’s see,” he mumbled, and crouched to sweep the instrument along the wall. It seemed to cringe from the sensation, twitching madly as the veins hungrily advanced. 

Omicron kept it up, dusting as much as he could reach even as the cavern began to shiver in earnest and the wind whipped his hair like a storm. But he couldn’t stop. He just had this feeling that if he lit the cavern completely, it would be a magnificent sight. As the paths flourished, they brought with them a gorgeous backlight to the tender, rose-petal surfaces of the cave. Funny, they looked almost inflamed. Irritated by his influence, intolerant of his presence here. The thoughts didn’t deter him. Omicron raised up on his tiptoes to take a swipe at the ceiling and had his feet knocked out from under him when the world tremored in response. The gale sucked inward with authority, and the feather duster was ripped from his hands.

Something was happening. Around him, the veins fanned out on their own and he’d been right: the radiance of the cavern was incredible with it all lit up at once. Beneath him the ground throbbed contentiously, convulsing, hot to the touch, and for the first time, Omicron wondered if he might have done something he shouldn’t have. No longer distracted by his goal, he became aware of a weird sound. Something deep, rumbling beneath him, the desirous moans of uhh.. uHhh.. uHHh-!... growing in volume, pitch, and power. 

And suddenly, he felt the echo of this urge manifest in his nose. Its vigor sprung tears to his eyes and his jaw dropped open, helpless as it consumed him. His gasps and groans synced up to the wild chaos around him, and he could feel the very nerves he squirmed against crying out for mercy. It tickled insufferably, teased to heights he couldn’t believe — and there was only one way down.

I’m inside my own nose? was his first bizarre realization. The second was, I’m going to sneeze.

Omicron opened his eyes, only to snap them closed again. “-HP’BBSZZCHHHOOO!!!-”

He groaned, arching against the mattress, as the sneeze went straight to his dick. Bleary, barely awake, all he could do was coast through a yearning gasp and “HEEHDZJJSSSZH!Nnngghh-!”

Raw relief tingled through him, shimmering through his nose and groin, and autopilot took over. Omicron plunged a hand down his pants and gripped his morning wood, firm and ready to burst. There was enough precum trickling from his slit and staining his boxers that he could smooth his thumb over the head and ignore the slight burn from dry skin friction.

His nostrils flittered in anguish, and his sinuses drummed with an insatiable itch. Please, they implored him. This tickle tortured us all night long. Do something. And Omicron was happy to serve. 

A monumental gasp - “hHHHHIIH!” - heralded an comparatively monstrous sneeze - “EEHDDZZZCHHH’Uh!!-hoohhh..”

This was so much better in bed. A tidal wave of pleasure rushed through him, from his nose to his toes, and he couldn’t catch his breath. He gritted his teeth, bowing his back as he thrust into the grip of his hand. It was just on the edge of too much; Omicron wasn’t normally so sensitive, but he’d woken with every inch of his skin tingling and thought it had to be the fever. 

The tickle flexed deep inside, and Omicron recalled the striking visuals of his dream. Wet, pink walls. Encroaching red veins. Sensitive nerves, shuddery membranes, the way he’d ignorantly worked himself up to this very fit with a bundle of soft, stroking feathers. He could imagine himself doing it again, deliberately this time, sweeping the inside of his nose deftly and thoroughly, tickling and tickling and fighting to keep his eyes open even as the sensation forced them tightly closed. Coaxing a hitching breath. Making him sn-..

“-hoh fuhhck-.. hh!HUH!. UHHZZSSSHH’iu!-ooh!” His heels slipped on the sheets, straining for purchase, as he panted his way up to another. “-igih.. iH’GISSCCHOOO!-hah!!”

Each one got him an inch closer to orgasm. He bobbed over every wave with surety the next one would break over his head and drown him. Omicron snuffled unsteadily, aware his nose was running without the care to wipe it, and began twisting his wrist when he felt his nostrils blow wide in preparation. 

Yes yes yes, he cheered. Let this be the one.

He hitched through a dazed smile, a deceptively dainty hh-hht-htt! that then curled him up with a bed-shaking, “HAH’TSSDCH’UE!..hh’mmngg-!..” 

Omicron’s whole body clenched, tense with the impending release, but before it could come he was hitching again. His dream self dusted away, dauntless with a single-mindedness to make him sneeze. And he’d assuredly succeed, as his real self shuddered through a fit-and-start buildup.

“-hihg..ihh!hhoh.. HHT-!chhhoo..” 

It wouldn’t come, hovering so close to the brink that whenever he breathed into the tickle he sighed out the approximation of its finale. His hand never stopped, the steady pumps easier now that he was wet enough. Through the haze of fever, grogginess, and arousal, Omicron imagined the dutiful brush of that duster against his quivering membranes. He was a thorough man, never one to leave a job half-finished, and he visualized himself venturing deeper, farther, to a cowering patch of nerves hoping to escape torment. The feathers caressed them, velutinous and inviting.

“.. iih!HHhhh..”

Deeper, to the responsive edge of his sinuses, where he trailed the duster along the border with deliberate care. The tickle’s magnitude tripled, aching in its eagerness. His dick pulsed in reply, hot and heavy in his frantic hand. 

“-HIH!..hh..hgIHH-”

Deeper still, to the end of the line, so far inside his nose he’d never hope to get it out. The feathers touched quivering flesh. With a smirk, his dream self stroked so gently, agonizingly slow, barely a tease and yet it tickled him to an unbearable degree. He could feel every fiber of the agitating feathers, the promise they whispered. 

Come on, he said to himself. You know you want to.

Omicron’s gasp cut the air like a knife, inflating his lungs to capacity, before he roared violently into his blankets. “-iihHHHHH-?!..WRRIZZSSSCHH’IIUHHH!!-mmbb!!”

He turned his head into his pillow to moan through his orgasm, stroking through it as a euphoric, tingling balm spread through his sinuses. It lasted longer than he anticipated, a continuous ripple of ecstasy that had him whimpering, panting, trembling. All his muscles relaxed, every part of him sated, and when the aftershocks ebbed Omicron sunk into the sheets, hand still in his pants, to let sleep call him back into its arms. It’s not like he had somewhere to be. What did he have to do this morning..? Vacuum the apartment..? Get groceries..? Cuddle with his cats?.............wait-

OH NO.

Omicron jackknifed into a sitting position, then immediately regretted it when his head spun. He drooped onto an elbow, coughing, heart hammering, and in a panic he scanned the room. Nobody here. No sounds from the bathroom either. The relief was so intense it sent him into another sickening dose of dizziness. He flopped flat to the mattress and tried to steady his breathing.

I didn’t just jack off in front of my superior officer, he assured himself. Everything is fine. He finally slipped his hand out of his pants and wrinkled his sore nose at the stickiness of his skin and underwear. But I have to clean up.

It took a pitifully long time to do so. Shivers wracked him the moment he crawled out of bed, and every step was a wobbly gamble. He forgot spare clothes and had to backtrack, then couldn’t figure out how to clean up without taking a shower he didn’t have the energy for. All the while his head pounded, his throat stung, and eventually the whims of the virus brought him to the brink of feeble, fallout sneezes.

Finally, with his dirty clothes stuffed into the bottom of his suitcase and most of the sweat wiped off his skin, Omicron zombied his way back to the bed and collapsed face down. Some flailing got him purchase on the sheets, mercifully spared from most of his fluids, and at last he was horizontal. Of course the position dutched the congestion to a new angle. It tickled him.

Omicron huffed weakly, wearily, and  ducked under the cover of his blankets. “-iih’KIZSSH!’iuh…” Only the one. He sighed, rubbing the edge of his sheet beneath his fussy nose. Now, maybe he could just….

From the door there was the sound of a keycard clattering, then the latch lifting, and a boisterous pair of voices entered the room. “Honey, I’m home!”

Omicron buried his head under the blankets.

“Anita, he may not be awake..” That one was Delta. “Shouldn’t he rest?”

“The sooner I examine him, the better. Where-?.. ah! There you are.”

Omicron tightened his grip on the blankets, and was right to do so because seconds later there was a tug from the outside. It was hot and stuffy under the covers, hard to breathe, but he’d rather suffocate than deal with Anita Voster right now. She tugged again and he didn’t budge.

“Oho?” she tittered. “Trying to avoid treatment, mm? You should know better, Agent O.”

He remained tense, blinking weakly against a flutterish niggle. His nostrils flared, nervous, and he would have soothed them with a touch of his finger if his hands weren’t occupied. He scrunched his nose instead, squirming it side to side when the tickle didn’t abate. Dr. Voster was on the move, he’d lost track of her-...

“Anddd.. voila!”

Cold air and light entered his cocoon. She’d rounded the bed and flipped the covers up from the back side, which was a dirty move. A chill swept up his spine, prompting a shudder that shivered into a sneeze. 

“h-hhi’hHTSSsh!-hh..” He flinched his knees to his chest, tucking an arm around himself as he threw the other behind him for the covers. “Gih-..ig’IIZSSH!”

“Bless bless you,” she cooed in a playful tone that made him bristle. Her hand cupped his shoulder and pulled. “Now, let me see… oh.”

Her smile dropped away as she looked at him, lips parting in genuine surprise, her manicured eyebrows marching up toward her hairline. She was wearing an obnoxious summery ensemble, no doubt excited to exploit the mission for a few days at the beach. When no reply was forthcoming, Omicron glared at her. The ferocity of it was undercut when a twinge in his nose prompted a squeaky sniffle.

“.. Whad?” he croaked.

“You’ve never looked so pathetic before,” she said in wonder. “And I’ve seen you faint after getting a vaccine booster.”

It was an open secret that he hated injections as much as he hated the dentist, but everyone kindly agreed not to acknowledge it after that one time. He growled his words, snatching the blankets back from her. “The ndeedle was really big and you said you’d dnever mbendtion it againd.”

“Voster,” chided Delta, hands on his hips. “Please refrain from teasing him when he’s not feeling well. He’s under enough stress as it is.”

As infantilizing as it was as a grown man to have another grown man scold somebody on his behalf, Omicron shot her a smug look that she met with an arched brow. 

“Fine,” she sighed, and crossed to his side of the bed. “I guess I’ll cut him some slack. Omicron, sit up a little.”

There would be no getting out of this. Delaying the process would probably get him another lecture from Delta, so Omicron reluctantly shimmied to a half-reclining position, arms crossed to ward off chills as she sat gracefully on his bedside. She crossed a leg at the knee, reached for his face, and cool hands cradled his jaw. He let her move him as she wanted, wrinkling and wriggling his nose to keep it appeased. 

The sly bullying he expected didn’t come. Dr. Voster was professional when she asked, “Any fluctuations in symptoms since last night?”

“Umb.. ndot really..” Omicron sniffed sharply and swallowed. He considered leaving it there, but his promise to Delta wouldn’t let him. He mumbled through the rest and could only hope she understood what it meant. “.. there was an.. idncident this mborning. That I resolved.”

“Gotcha,” she said, and didn’t press. Omicron relaxed under her handling. She took his temperature (101.3°F / 38.5°C), tested his glands, pulled down the edges of his eyelids, and then at last took a cursory glance up his nostrils with a wince. “I didn’t think it was possible to see a sneeze but the inside of your nose looks like one.”

Apt, since he could feel it forming between his eyes. He leaned away out of her grip, and without any tissues in reach, Omicron shook his sleeves over his hands and tucked into them. “hh!MMPSSH!..” 

“Bless you,” chorused the other two. 

He surfaced briefly as the tickle toyed with him, playing his nerves like batons on a xylophone. Every note vibrated, compounding in harmony, cacophonous as it crested, “..aak’KZSCHue!.. hh?..hh..”

“Bless you,” chorused the other two, again. Anita passed over the tissue box but he could barely keep his eyes open and his breath from shaking. She took pity on him as his hitches became jagged, pitching in his upper register, and she held out a few in his direction just as he- heeee-!

“-ick’SSHIEW?!”

It relieved him, but his shoulders flinched to his ears at the embarrassingly high sound. Delta quickly turned away with a hand to his mouth and Dr. Voster snorted unabashedly.

“Bless yew!” she parroted, and he kicked her off the bed. She rolled with the momentum into a smooth dismount before plopping right back where she’d been. “I’m done, I’m done! But you owe me a couple free jabs after yelling at me yesterday, you know.”

Right. His stomach soured at the reminder, and he stared at the blankets with a sleeved swipe under his septum. “.. I’mb sorry about that. I shouldn’d have taken out my frustration on you. Or lied to you in the first place.”

Dr. Voster softened, the lines of her face smoothing into something genuine. “Mm, I’m sorry for my sloppy science. It’s my fault you’ve got such a lousy cold.” 

Omicron never knew what to say after such sentiments. He considered and tossed out several replies, still boring holes into the blankets with his gaze, until she reached up and flicked the tip of his nose. His inhale was a hitch into the next before he flinched down toward his chest. 

“h-h-H’TZssh!” He brought a sleeve to his nose belatedly, throwing a scowl her way. “Whad was that for?!”

“For lying to me about that other thing,” she said, leering over him with a grin. “... Seems like you really are the man-cold type.”

Omicron hurled his pillow at her, which she dodged and Delta caught one-handed when it soared across the room. His firm voice broke up a squabble before it could begin. “Enough, you two.” He fluffed the pillow and returned it to his sheepish subordinate before looking to Anita. “Well?”

“Either his immune system is reacting to the engineered virus, or somehow he’s caught another cold on top of this one,” she said. Both looked to Omicron, who was trying to blow his nose without popping an eardrum. “If it’s the former, the mission can proceed. If it’s the latter, we bench him. That’s my opinion as his physician.”

“I’b righd here,” Omicron grumbled behind a mask of tissues.

Delta ignored him. “How do we know which is the case?”

Dr. Voster reached for the medical bag on the floor by her feet, which Omicron only just now noticed was in her possession. “By administering a test,” she replied, digging through it. When she found what she sought, Anita presented it to Omicron with an apologetic smile. “You’re not going to like it though.”

He thought it was a syringe at first. Before he could react, she peeled open the thin package to show him what was inside. Somehow, it was worse. Delta hissed through his teeth and Omicron hovered a protective hand over his nose.

“No,” he told her, eyes glued to the offending object. “No, no. That’s not going to work.”

Dr. Voster twirled it between her fingers: a wickedly long plastic rod with a cotton tuft on the end. “A nasal swab is the fastest way, O.”

He shook his head, unable to look away from it. The sight alone caused his nose grief as the tickle found inspiration. Omicron did his best not to imagine how it would feel. “Anita, it’s not possible. I-.. I can’t evehhn.. look at- at it withhou..HH!with.. withhHHAH-”

Omicron jammed a finger beneath his nose and shoved the sneeze back inside. He could tell he’d be on a roll if he started, and while he’d literally just cum he was terrified this impending volley would get him going again. If at all possible, even if everyone was aware of the situation, he’d like to avoid erections in front of his fucking coworkers. He held his breath and waited until his pulsing nostrils quieted before letting it all go on a sigh. Pointedly, he avoided looking at the swab.

“Hmmmm,” Dr. Voster mused. “I wonder if we blindfolded you..”

“Trust me,” he said, knuckling his nose. It wasn’t happy he’d ignored its demands. “That’s not going to help.”

“Rather than hold them back, could you try holding them in?” Delta suggested.

“Absolutely not,” Dr. Voster said. “He’s terrible at it, and I wouldn’t recommend it anyway. Not everyone can be as proficient at stifling as you are, sir.”

Delta’s smile weakened, properly chastised, as Voster tilted her head back and pressed her palms on the bed. Her leg bounced in thought. The three of them sat in a contemplative silence broken only by Omicron’s sniffling before Anita slapped her hands to her knees and stood with purpose.

“There’s nothing for it,” she said. “You’ll just have to avoid sneezing.”

“I won’t be able to,” he told her. His cheeks flushed, and the flash of heat mingling with his fever made him tremble with a chill. Stubbornness alone wouldn’t deter her, so he forced out the rest with emphasis. “And it-.. might cause an unexpected symptom.”

That gave her pause, but only briefly. “When exactly did you last experience the culmination of this symptom?”

This was embarrassing. “... approximately ten minutes before you arrived.”

“And would you expect yourself to experience that again so quickly after the last occurance?”

Somehow, he felt miffed on behalf of his refractory period. “.... I guess not.”

“Then even if you sneeze your head off after this, you’ll be fine,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “If for some reason you’re not, it’s not a big deal. Agent Delta and I will just leave the room until it passes.”

I’d rather chew glass, Omicron thought, than have it come to that. The tickle nestled comfortably against his nerves, weighing his eyelids and prompting a reflexive sniffle. Cheeky bastard. He wouldn’t let it win this time. He grated the rough edge of his sleeve under his nostrils and squared his shoulders.

“Fine.” His flinty gaze locked onto the swab, his opponent in this battle. “Let’s do it.”

The other two exchanged a LookTM and preparation shortly followed. Delta announced he’d received a message from cyber security earlier that morning that required follow up, so he left to wire into the agency’s VPN in one of the hotel’s private conference booths. Voster snapped on some gloves and cracked open a fresh tissue box to place at Omicron’s elbow. He begrudgingly unearthed a wad of them to keep ready in his lap. Better safe than sorry.

Anita watched him carefully. “Would you like to get a few out before we start?”

If she was asking, he probably looked sneezy already. Omicron made an effort to sharpen his gaze and settle the tiny, twitching microexpressions that told plainly of a persistent tickle. “No. I want to get it over with.” He sniffled with a flutter of his nostrils. “Quickly.”

To her credit, Anita didn’t dawdle. “I’m administering a nasopharyngeal swab for the best results. If I can’t get enough from one sample, we’ll have to do the other nostril.”

Omicron nodded, tilting his chin when she stabilized him with a hand to his cheek. He blinked hard against a lurching itch as the swab came closer, hovering just in front of his flushed, prone nose.

“I need to rotate it for ten seconds, and then I’ll slowly remove it,” she told him. “Would it help if I counted?”

He flicked his gaze to the ceiling, hands fisted in the sheets over his lap. “Yes.”

“Alright, the count won’t start until I have it in place.” Dr. Voster eased his head back further, giving him a moment to arrange himself against his pillows before she touched the swab to the edge of one nostril. It pulsed, uncertain. “Here we go.”

This wasn’t Omicron’s first time with this particular type of swab. Normally he preferred it because of how deep it reached, so foreign and uncomfortable that a sneeze never crossed his mind. It was the shorter swabs, the ones that remained inside the borders of his persnickety nasal membranes that caused him agony. Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as he feared? 

A second later that confidence was swiftly and callously dashed.

This cold was unlike any respiratory infection he’d ever had. It was engineered to inflame every cell of his airways, heighten them to such a state of paranoia that the very act of breathing registered as intrusive. This tickle wasn’t a physical thing; his nasal cavity was affected by such sensitivity that it inevitably itched and twitched and worked itself up into mayhem. Sneeze was the answer to every problem, even nonexistent ones. So to have himself in this state and introduce a material object into the mix was an instant and powerful regret.

The swab burned as it was threaded through his sinuses, razing his nerves as it went, and when the tip of it touched the back of his throat he could feel every millimeter of its length. He slammed his eyes shut. There was a brief moment of shock, as if his nose couldn’t quite believe what had happened. Then the swab began to spin.

His nostrils flew wide. “HHHHHHHH-”

“Shit,” muttered Voster. “Stay with me, c’mon, it’s just ten seconds.. Two….”

Just?! his brain screamed, overwhelmed by nasal panic and frantic to sneeze. Oh, he could feel it. An instant and oppressive demand. None of the usual hitching hesitation, just a massive and mandatory release sitting at the shores of his dilated nostrils. He couldn’t even communicate to Voster that it was coming. 

“.. Three, fight it…”

Omicron pinched himself as hard as he dared by digging his thumb into the pressure point of his other hand. It took the edge off the swab’s insidious stimulation and downgraded the sneeze from automatic to imminent. Lungs at capacity, all the air sat at the top. His body wouldn’t let him exhale without irritation-induced force. A pitiful sound escaped, heady and weak without breath behind it.

“-uuhh-”

“I know, we’re halfway, hang in there.. Six..”

God, this was torture. His nose throbbed with need, the insides puffy and convulsing. Please, they cried. It tickles so badly. Too much. We have to! He hovered just on the verge of the inevitable. Grinding harder into the pressure point on his hand dampened the sensation enough to keep it from progressing, but it never diminished. Just waited an inch from the finish line. Another high, helpless whimper trembled his chest.

“-huUH!-”

“Eight.. you’re doing great, Omicron, nine..” The hand on his cheek shifted to brace him firmly. “.. almost done, try to exhale..”

He couldn’t. His lungs wouldn’t let go. All he could do was live on the brink, tears skating down his cheeks and his features frozen in what he knew had to be a ridiculous face. Yearning or dreading, he didn’t know, but his entire expression flinched when the swab retreated. She was slowly pulling it out, still twirling it. He could feel the thin ropes of his control snapping, the dam crumbling, the glass shattering. An urgent, breathy shout slipped out, pure desperation, and it heralded something enormous.

“-HUUHH--!!!”

The swab slithered out of his nose completely, leaving behind a trail of unbearable sensation. “Okay! Y-”

“--HHEZZSSCCCHHHHUUUEE-!” Omicron hurled himself over his own lap, dizzied by the release, and gasped immediately for more. “-hH-HH!IIHZSSSSHH’UUh!!”

More. “-HH’AADZZSSCHH’HOO-!!”

More. “-HEH’DTSSHHH’HAH-!!”

More still. “ohh-.. HD’DIZZSHHHH’HUH!!”

But the relief wouldn’t come. His nose was so angry by the intrusion, it would give no quarter. Big, heaving sneezes weren’t doing the job, so he found himself next encumbered by small ones. They burst out of him in a row, each igniting a furious itch to prompt the next.

“ihDSH!-.. hck’ISSH!.. uh-HH’TZIshh!.. ugh, god-hHIH!” Omicron fought his eyes open through another gush of tears and caught a blurry glimpse of white. Oh right, the tissues. He gathered them up as his gaze rolled skyward, mouth agape and nostrils vast. It took a couple hitches before the tickle caught again. “h-hHT.. idzz..iiH!..mgh.. aH!KZSSCHH!”

He sneezed through his teeth, then belatedly raised the tissues. His eyes fluttered closed as even the soft touch of them pried another sneeze loose. They mounted in power as his nose, fed up with the lingering tickle the swab left behind, puppeteered him through an increasingly vicious fit.

“-h’ETZsh!... huh.. TZSSCH!ue… h-H!...EHPZSH’Iu!!-oohh..”

At last, a wave of pleasure rushed through his veins. It was faint, but after the hellish holdback and punishing sneezes, Omicron welcomed it. The knowledge there would be more spurred him onward; he breathed into the next ticklish swell with hope.

“uh-HHUH-HESZSCHUUE!” Cool prickles swept through his nose, soothing the frazzled nerves even as they clamored for another. Omicron complied. “heh.. HET’JZZSSSCHHOOO!-nngh..”

He shivered as his skin erupted with goosebumps. A warm, wonderful feeling unfurled in his gut. Head spinning, nose twitching, lungs hitching, he knew the end was close. He breathed deeply, relishing the way it tickled all the way down. Then-

“HEH…uh.. hHP’BIZSSSHHIEW!!-oooohhhh..”

Omicron massaged his nose through the tissues with quiet noises of relief until somebody clearing their throat caught his attention. With wet eyes, he raised his head to see Dr. Voster across the room mixing the swab in a vial with some sort of solution. She kept her attention on it as she spoke.

“Feeling better?”

He paused to cough and swallow. The fit left him raspy. “Yeah.”

“Any unexpected symptoms?” she asked. Fuzzy headed, Omicron looked down at his crotch. There was no tent under the covers, and while he felt boneless, he wasn’t turned on.

“Ndo.”

“Great!” Dr. Voster chirped. “In other good news, I got enough particulate matter on the first try that we won’t have to do it again.” She continued her work, but glanced over to shoot him a smile. “Bless you a dozen, by the way.”

“Thagks,” he huffed, then collapsed back onto the mattress with the solace of a job finished. 

It took a few minutes for him to clean himself up, and as he got his wits about him, he was appreciative that Voster kept herself busy so he could tend to his nose without scrutiny. His pleasant haze dissipated and Omicron realized he was totally spent. His head hurt, as did his throat, and his abs were aching. Once he was huddled under the covers, Anita swung by with a bottle of water and hushed instructions to take another fever reducer, which he did without complaint.

Some time passed. He didn’t know how much. One moment he was nodding off to the tinkling the whirs of Voster’s on-the-go mini-laboratory, and the next he was startling awake to a door opening. For a split second he forgot where he was, what was happening, but then a hand smoothed over his hair. 

“Just Delta,” came Anita’s voice. Tension left his sore muscles and he melted back into the mattress. For once his nose took pity on him, smoldering with a widespread ticklish sensation he could chase away by pinch-rubbing the sides of his nostrils.

“Ah, I didn’t mean to wake you!” was Delta’s contrite greeting. Omicron cracked open dry eyes to see the man coming around the bedside, eyebrows turned up in dismay. “Sorry, Omicron.”

“S’fide,” he replied, voice creaking, and he had to turn his head into the pillow to cough. Fuck, felt like he’d swallowed a sword and left it there.

“Goodness, you sound terrible.” Delta turned anxious eyes to Dr. Voster, who was leaning a hip against her makeshift workstation at the desk by their balcony doors. “Did you get the results?”

“Yep,” she said, cheerfully brandishing the culture sample. “No secondary infection. He’s just having a pronounced immune response to the engineered strain.” Here, she smirked at the Omicron-shaped lump on the bed. “And being very dramatic about it.”

Delta caught the pillow lobbed in her direction before it could knock any lab equipment over. He arranged it back on the bed, then passed his hand over Omicron’s brow. The smaller man let him, closing his eyes as the cool touch moved to his cheek, to his neck, then glided to his shoulder to offer a reassuring pat.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. “Please be honest.”

Omicron thought of the mission. It didn’t escape him that Dr. Voster confirmed he wasn’t actually sick. His body thought he was, but with proper symptom management he could see this assignment to the end. Josaline would probably love seeing him like this; hopefully her husband would too. 

“Ndot great,” he admitted, and Delta’s puppy-dog expression ramped up tenfold. Omicron rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. “I’b ndot dying, sir. If I get someb rest, I’ll be ready for tomborrow.”

The fact that he’d said all this without even sitting up likely undercut his claims, but Omicron truly believed it. When the time came, he’d rally. He always did. Delta considered him for a long moment before plopping down onto the other bed with a dejected bounce.

“Even if that’s the case, the situation has changed,” he said, lacing his fingers together between his knees. “I got word from Ops that there were attempted hacks into multiple independent identification networks for a ‘Nicolas Foster.’”

Omicron struggled up onto his elbows. 

.. So, they were onto him. At the very least, they were wary of his cover. This wasn’t entirely unexpected. At the agency they explored every outcome, including this one. Josaline Jewel was a suspected cyber criminal. She was rich enough, powerful enough, smart enough to avoid the law. They’d chased her for years. This outcome wasn’t unexpected, but it still ripped a hole through Omicron’s sails.

All this work, he thought, blinking away a sting behind his eyes. For nothing? Because I wasn’t good enough?

“Don’t despair,” Delta commanded. “The hacks left traces and the cyber team is on it. It’s possible they’ll identify a source, and if they do, we can hack them back. This is a victory.”

It didn’t feel like one. Omicron slouched against the headboard, sniffling and sniffling as he compartmentalized any emotions he felt on the matter. Hopefully the others would attribute it to his cold. He nodded at Delta’s words, casting around for his tissue box. He’d knocked it off the bed at some point. Anita silently fetched it from the floor. 

“Intel also shows that they have not left the resort,” Delta continued, gaze glued to Omicron as the man piled tissues under his nostrils. “This suggests they either found nothing dubious in your cover, which I doubt, or…” 

Here, Delta paused and gave his subordinate a little ‘go on’ wave. Omicron flushed, but did as he was told. One big, trembling breath and then a gurgling nose blow. As always, it was much louder than he wanted and yet again he asked himself what unspeakable deed he’d done to deserve this level of karmic retribution. His nose didn’t feel refreshed afterward; rather, it was peeved. He wrinkled the bridge against a dull, undulating tickle.

“Or?” he prompted.

“Or.. they know you’re not who you say you are, but want to meet with you anyway.”

.. Could they be that horny? Omicron mused, swatching the length of his forefinger back and forth beneath restless nostrils. He recalled his time with Josaline by the pool. Yes, probably.

Sniffling, he asked, “Does this chhh..change anything?” 

“They didn’t hack our network directly, so they have no idea what your true identity is or who you work for,” Delta said. “But the nature of the encounter will be unpredictable.”

Red-rimmed eyes tightened at the corners and he gave up on the finger method in favor of tissues. He spoke as he gathered them, his voice wavering into breathier territory as the tickle took shape.

“I c-.. cahhn.. hh..handle unpredict-t.. tahbBBZZSH!” He caught it one handed, not bothering to open his eyes as he lowered the tissues just enough to continue as he contended with an encore. “.. I can handle that.. hhah..” A sharp sniffle. “.. but I doubt they’d t-.. they’d tehh.. hih!PPZSH’uh!.. nguh, tell mbe adythi’g..”

“Well about that, bless you, we need them occupied and away from electronics if we attempt a hack.”

Omicron squinted over his tissues. “So I’d be..”

“A distraction, yes.”

The original mission was to extract incriminating information from the target, but considering the new variables at play, this new directive would be just as effective. Honestly, with this cold, Omicron wasn’t sure he could finesse a subtle interrogation with stellar results. Acting as smoke and mirrors for the cyber team, however.. 

“..hh!uhh.. hHT-”

That, he could definitely do.

“-DZSSh’oo!”

/tbc!

Next up, the big date!! ♨️ Apologies to anyone who was hoping for the threesome this chapter 😅 Had to indulge my rabid desire for hurt/comfort lol. A big huge thank you to anyone reading who’s stuck around!! My next update might be a little slow because of work stuff, but hoping to have it up in a decent time frame. See you soon! 🥰

[perennialsoft]

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 late twenties and 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^

[perennialsoft]

usually argumentative, prickly character A letting a sick/tired/feverish character B—someone they've never gotten along with—lean their head on their shoulder without complaint...

usually such an action would warrant some kind of protest (or, at the very least, a sarcastic biting retort). but maybe despite A's dislike of B, they've noticed their energy flagging all day, noticed the distracted half-there smiles and the slight sluggishness to their movements, the uncharacteristic lack of vitriol to their usually sharp remarks. or maybe they don't notice anything until they feel the heat of B's forehead against their shoulder. either way, something about the situation prompts them to keep their mouth shut.

(perhaps they'll let it pass without comment, just this once.)

[perennialsoft]

cw: hitching, coughing, swearing

um so this is the hardest i have literally ever sneezed in my life and i don't even know why i've been inducing with the same method every time??

also sorry you can hear me drop my phone there is literally no way to edit it to sound normal

merry snzmas!!

[perennialsoft]

Best Laid Plans

My first original piece I've posted here! Around 9k words.

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! 

Details: 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.

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!

[perennialsoft]

that show was soooo good computer show me the main character sick to the point of passing out in front of everyone

[perennialsoft]

i ❤️ the let-down effect

reblog if you love a character getting out of a stressful situation only to immediately fall ill

[perennialsoft]

unedited inducing! cw: sneezing, moaning that was not nsfw but DEFINITELY sounds like it, coughing, sniffling, a little bit of talking

I’ve had an on and off tickle for like last 48 hours and could NOT sneeze, so I decided to get relief my way