skullysniffles

[skullysniffles]

The fact that my partner actually does this ♥️ Always eager to tell me about how sneezy they were earlier in the day or to send me videos of them sneezing. Always quick to pull out the chinkini or even sniff some discretely before coming and sneezing on me. I have no idea how I got so lucky….

A partner without the kink who's way too happy to please their partner with the kink. They practice inducing, try to find that spot that always make them sneeze. Everytime they smell flowers or a new perfume they secretly wish it makes them sneeze so they can show their partner later. They record themselves sneezing while they can't help but think on how much their partner is gonna love to see it, making themselves flustered thinking on what they partner may say. Everytime they are close to something that may make them sneeze, everytime they do sneeze, they always think about their partner.

[skullysniffles]

So, this is a fic I wrote some time ago. I never posted it, because it felt too intimate/private at the time I wrote it, as it was inspired by a dream I had.

I found it again when doing inventory in my fic folders and since I nowadays - very shyly - could consider being the sneezer/induced, with the right woman, I guess the fic isn't quite as intimate/private as it was when I wrote it. Or something. Anyway. There's not really a lot of graphic sex, but it does contain some sex. And consensual inducing/light dominance play. Um. Yeah, I'm still shy, so I'll just post it and hide. 😆😳😬

Sandy’s Girl (female, F/F, feather inducing/allergies)

”This kink of yours,” Sandy asks one day, almost making me choke on my coffee. She ignores my spluttering and just goes on; “does it work in reverse too?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

I’m terrifyingly certain that I know exactly what she means.

“Do you like being the one sneezing as well?”

“Oh God no!” I burst out. “Absolutely not!”

“Why not?” She takes a sip of her latte, crossing her legs in that deliberate way that always has me staring at those gorgeous legs no matter how neutral I try to act.

“Sandy, I don’t think you understand this,” I say, but deep down I suspect that she does. Maybe even better than I do myself.

“I know I don’t,” she replies calmly, “that’s why I’m asking.”

“It’s the loss of control that does it for me.” I give her a look, and apparently it’s smouldering, because she bites her lip and arches her back a bit, and it doesn’t seem like she’s aware that she’s doing either. “A strong, powerful, composed woman, with unshakable self-control, completely unable to fight the persistent tickle and has to give in…”

Sandy smirks.

“Aww, just saying that got you all flustered. How adorable. It got me a little flustered too, in fact.”

She ponders for a few seconds and then says;

“So it’s a control thing.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re afraid of losing control.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement, but it’s spoken in a gentle, soft voice. “Why?”

“I’m not afraid of losing control,” I object.

“But you are,” she says, tilting her head to the side. “Oh, I know perfectly well that you enjoy watching me lose control, but you’re even shy about letting go when you orgasm. It’s better now, but it took some… encouraging.”

“Listen to you,” I tease, mostly because I don’t know what to say.

“No, I’d rather listen to you,” Sandy says, throwing my mind for a tailspin. “I’d like to hear you sneeze, for once.”

“I, it’s, uh, you don’t have a sneeze kink,” I eventually stutter. But even so. When she says it, it stirs something in me that doesn’t feel altogether unpleasant.

“No, I do not. But I think I’ve sneezed quite a bit for you, and I haven’t heard you sneeze even once. Isn’t that funny? All the time we’ve spent together, and I still have never heard you sneeze.”

“I don’t sneeze very often.”

“Oh that’s quite the understatement!” she laughs. “Well… if it doesn’t happen naturally, I guess we’ll just have to tease it out by hand, hmm?”

What is she thinking now??

“Love, I would never do anything to hurt you. You know that, don’t you? I mean, you really know that?”

I nod. I do know that.

“Losing control sometimes isn’t as dangerous as you think it is. Not under the right circumstances. I promise. I’ll teach you. Let me make you sneeze for me.”

This scares me. But it also excites me. So I agree.

Sandy leans in and gives me a very sweet, very tender kiss and I say this a lot but it’s true – I’ve never been kissed like this before. She’s an amazing kisser. 

“Sweetheart?” she says. “Will it be too much if I tie you up as well?”

I almost say it will, because I can only imagine how disgusting and messy I’ll be with no chance to cover, but it makes my knees weak to think about being so completely at her mercy.

“No,” I exhale and she puts both hands on my hips and pulls me closer, kissing me so fervently it feels like she wants to devour me.

I do not mind one bit.

***

Sandy doesn’t have this kink, but she’s no stranger to doing her research, and the long, fluffy feather, positioned on the nightstand next to a box of tissues, looks incredibly tickly. A perfect inducing instrument. I can only imagine slowly running the very tip of it underneath Sandy’s perfectly formed nose, just around the edges of her elegant nostrils…

… right. It’s not meant for her today.

She comes up behind me, puts her arms around my waist from behind, nuzzling my neck.

“Nervous?”

She sounds a little bit congested, but that might just be my imagination because I’m so used to sexy time including her being sniffly and sneezy. Not every time, of course, we’ve had some fantastic sex without the kink being involved as well, but quite a bit of it has included it one way or the other.

“Yeah,” I reply.

“What are you nervous about?” she asks, still holding me in her arms. I realise that she’s standing behind me because she knows it might be easier for me to speak openly if she’s not looking straight at me. I love her for that.

“I mean, sneezes are like sex to me.” I really don’t know how to word this. “I don’t know.”

“Hmm,” Sandy murmurs. “Can I say what I think, and you can just tell me if I’m right or wrong?”

“Okay.”

“I think there are two layers to this,” she says. “There’s the actual kink part, in whatever capacity it may be, you associate sneezes with sex. A sexual, mm, act.” She places her lips against my shoulder, not quite kissing me, more like just brushing against my skin. I shiver with pleasure and close my eyes. “And so sneezing in front of me would be equivalent to, shall we say, touching yourself. I know you still find that a little bit embarrassing.” She sighs, and I’m absolutely positive there’s a slight sniffle when she inhales again. “And tied into that is your shyness. You don’t want people to look at you. You don’t want to draw attention to yourself and absolutely not for a reason that’s not socially acceptable. Like performing sexual acts in public. Or like making a mess.”

Now she whispers close to my ear:

“But you don’t need to be shy around me, lovely. Never.” She nuzzles me again. “Was I close?”

Close to making me come in my panties with that momentary voice porn, if nothing else, but yes, that’s exactly it.

“I feel like you just read my mind. Including the fine print,” I reply shakily, and feel her lips form a smile against the back of my neck.

“Mm, well…” her fingers lace together right below my navel, the gesture feels both protective and dominating, but still respectful. “I’m a pretty good reader. So let me ask me you properly now, Cassie. May I tie you up and make you sneeze for me?”

“Yes,” I mumble. And then: “What if I don’t like it?”

She turns me around so I face her. There has always been something timid about her appearance, but there’s nothing timid about what she radiates. 

“Then you tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.”

I take a deep breath.

“Okay.”

She gives me a kiss.

“That’s my good girl,” she whispers and I almost purr with satisfaction. I love being Sandy’s good girl. Of course, I also love being Sandy’s bad girl. Well. I guess I just love being Sandy’s girl. 

***

She ties me to the bedposts with scarves, then leans back against the pillows, studying me, her legs tucked to the side like one of those glamour models from the fifties. All that’s missing is one of those fancy cigarettes in holder, but Sandy doesn’t smoke.

Rather than a cigarette, she holds the feather, twirling it slowly between her fingers, knowing I can’t take my eyes off it. My heart is beating out of my chest, I’m nervous, excited, aroused, and terrified, all jumbled up together.

“It even looks tickly, doesn’t it?” she says in a contemplative tone and brings it up to her own nose, deliberately brushing it underneath her nostrils. Then she shudders and wiggles her nose. “Oh yes, it’s tick-lyyISSSHew!” She turns her head and sneezes openly, spraying her (fantastic) legs with a light mist.

Oh God. I whimper and tug slightly at the restraints.

“Bless you,” I moan. Sandy’s brow furrows and she rubs a finger under her nose.

“I honestly didn’t expect that,” she says, then she smiles, that dimple-showing, flashing smile that steals hearts. “I’m usually not that sensitive.”

No, she isn’t. Unless her nose already is irritated for some reason, and I know she’s not allergic to feathers themselves. This could be double torture for me if that sneeze wasn’t a one-off thing.

“Now, I’d like to find out how sensitive you are, Cassie,” she purrs and tickles my face with the feather. Slow, broad strokes, across my forehead, my cheeks. I close my eyes, enjoying the touch while being simultaneously excited and scared of what will follow. I haven’t sneezed in front of anyone for decades. It’s scary. And it’s so intimate to me, so in a way, I want to share that intimacy with her. 

With my eyes closed, my other senses are even more hyperalert, and at this point there’s no doubt that Sandy is sniffling. Maybe it’s just a result of the sneeze. But I swear I heard her sniffling before the feather was even in her hand. It’s a really light, persistent, but watery sniffle that’s either allergic or the first sign of a head cold. Allergies are less likely for her this time of year but not completely unheard of, the season makes a cold more likely but she always lets me know right away if she thinks she’s coming down with something; she knows that I’m a germaphobe. Weird, considering my interest in sneezing, but who said life has to make sense…

My train of thought derails when she runs the feather across the bridge of my nose. It tickles. Not like I have to sneeze, but I would really like to just sweep the palm of my hand against my face. I make a move as to do just that before I realise that I can’t.

Sandy sniffles again, harder this time, and then moves in closer. My eyes are still shut so I can’t tell, but I think she’s kneeling in front of me, between my legs. I don’t want her that close. I mean, of course I do, I want her even closer than that, but I’m terrified I’m gonna spray her.

The feather’s light touch concentrates its movements to my nose. Still just the outside, the bridge, the tip, the wings, tickly but not sneeze-inducing. Not on me, anyway. But I find myself scrunching up my nose more and more, wiggling it, turning my head slightly to get away from the persistent tickle.

Sandy pauses for a moment and leans in close, whispering against my lips;

“Oh how fiercely you resist, my dear.”

She kisses me and I think to myself that I’d do anything for her to kiss me like that. I moan a little and open my eyes for a moment as she pulls back. This time I barely notice that she sniffles again.

“Be gentle with me,” I say. She caresses my hair with the hand not holding the fuzzy torture device.

“Always.”

Then she crawls up even closer and brushes the feather under my nose, slowly, torturously, and yet undoubtedly gently, back and forth. The fuzz is teasing my nostrils and I pull back a little, subconsciously trying to escape the sensation as I can do nothing about it. I scrunch up my nose again, shivering.

She runs the tip of the feather around the edges of my nostrils, then slightly past the edge. I don’t know if it’s actually her tickling me or if it’s some of the fuzz from the feather getting even further inside, but I suddenly need to sneeze.

I really need to sneeze.

But Sandy is sitting so close and has – probably unknowingly, most likely because it’s the most comfortable position for her to sit – placed herself right in the line of spray.

I draw a desperate, hitching breath, and then swallow the sneeze with a superhuman effort. Sandy bites her lip.

“Really?” she says in a sceptical tone, and I lower my eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

And she begins to tickle my nose again, more resolutely this time, more persistently… like I imagine the tickle from an allergen would feel. Like I imagine her nose feels when the summery fragrance of freshly cut grass teases her.

Don’t spray her, don’t spray her…

I don’t know why that’s so taboo for me, for real. I mean, if she wasn’t in on it and she wasn’t aware of the kink, sure, but I’m not quite this shy when we’re doing… other things. But I just… no. I can’t sneeze on her.

The tickle is filling my entire nose, light, feathery, persistent, unavoidable, and I can’t rub it away, can’t cover. I tug desperately at the scarves holding me captive, but Sandy ties good knots and the scarves are high quality; both my wrists are firmly tied to the bedposts, and the sneeze is overtaking me.

“Hehhh… hahTSCHew!”

I whip my head to the side and aim the spray downwards. I’m not that much of a wet/messy sneezer usually, but inducing gets me both stuffed up and snotty in no time. It’s like my nose is fully aware of the difference between a natural irritant and something that’s on purpose, and it does not want to accept that kind of treatment.

“Bless you,” Sandy says. I’ve always been too awkward about that phrase to like it said to me; I can actually only bless her, otherwise it feels too intimate. Yet, Sandy makes it sound… sweet. And sexy at the same time.

She strokes the feather along the bridge of my nose, and then all the way to my lips.

“You have an adorable sneeze.” She shrugs. “I suppose I can see why some find sneezes sexually appealing.”

She kisses the tip of my nose, it’s a soft, sweet kiss and I feel like I might swoon. At the same time I’m embarrassed, because I have no control over my appearance; for all I know I could have snot and ruined makeup all over my face. 

“Why do you try so hard to hold them back?” she says. Sniffling. I’m not sure if she even notices that herself, she often gets a bit sniffly, but I do. And I’m sniffling pretty good myself, but while her sniffles are soft and watery, almost ladylike, mine are, well… post-induced-sneeze-sniffles, there’s nothing dainty about them. I wouldn’t mind it coming from anyone else, at least not someone I found attractive, but not from me.

“I don’t know.” I break eye contact as the words leave my mouth, because on some level I do, but it’s a door I’m too shy to open.

“Mhm,” Sandy mumbles, rubs the side of her hand against her nose, sniffles again, then sits back, at least giving the appearance of giving me some space. “I think I do. You’re afraid of making a mess, aren’t you?”

I tug at my restraints again, meaning to wipe my nose which I can feel is starting to run.

“Maybe.” I know damn well that’s it. And now I can feel my nose revolting on me, a slight trickle of wetness sliding out of my left nostril. I sniffle to keep it from becoming visible to Sandy.

“You do know it comes off in the wash, right?” she says, and now she’s moving in closer again.

“I don’t want to get anything on you,” I reply, and by now I’m blushing so hard I feel like I’m glowing.

I notice that she notices the trickle of mess that I could no longer sniffle back, and I’m mortified. Sandy just reaches for the tissues on the nightstand, takes one, folds it and moves in.

“I’m gonna clean you up, sweetheart. You’re leaking.” She dabs the folded tissue under my nose, showing no sign of being repulsed or hesitant. “Just a little bit.”

The gentle dabbing makes my nose tickle again and I fight against the pre-sneeze face starting to form on my features. Sandy sees this, calmly unfolds the tissue once and holds it up. I have enough time to mentally measure the thickness of the tissue and calculate whether or not it can fully contain the sneeze – I’ve never done that before when using tissues, but no one else’s hand has held that tissue – and Sandy nods encouragingly.

“Just sneeze,” she says, and her voice is soft. Also a little bit… watery-sounding? As if I might not be the only one leaking. But I can’t dwell on that, I can either try to turn away from her the best I can, or sneeze into the offered tissue. I battle with the choice until it’s no longer a choice, and my breath begins to hitch.

Then my pearl-clutching mental block kicks in and I lose the sneeze right on the edge.

“Heeh-! Ugh, fuck…”

“There there, no need to swear over it. Though I know how frustrating it is, losing a sneeze like that.”

I actually wanted to oblige what she asked of me, so now I suddenly feel a wave of sympathy for impotent men across the world. Not exactly something I’ve ever thought about before, but, well.

There’s not a single sign of disappointment or frustration in Sandy though; it’s like she’s altogether here for me and that time has ceased to exist. She puts the feather down and just pushes up against me, almost like a cat, and even despite the congestion I can smell her perfume and a vague hint of her shampoo. I bury my face in her hair as Sandy puts her arms around my waist, hugging me tightly.

“Oh, your heart is beating so hard,” she murmurs, leaning her head against my chest. “Relax. Breathe.”

She’s sniffling again, I can feel the wings of her nose quiver against my skin, and then I also feel the watery mess leaking out of her nostrils.

“I need to sneeze,” she says. “Trust me, I’m n-not trying to put further pressure on y-you… huhISSSCHuh!”

She turns her head to the side and I feel the spray against my thigh. I tremble in her arms.

“Bless you,” I moan.

“Thank you,” she replies, sniffling again. “I’m so sniffly today.”

So it’s not just my imagination, then. She folds the used tissue over and dabs it under her own nose. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about that, but what I do feel is absolutely on fire, ready to combust. 

“Allergic?” I ask, breathlessly. “Or is it a cold?” I’m almost squirming against her body. I can’t embrace her, can’t touch her with my hands tied up, but I can rub myself against her, against the silk barrier of her nightgown and the radiating body heat from her skin beneath it.

“I know what it is,” she says, “but you’re going to have to wait and see.” She kisses me, sniffling even as she does. “Patience is a virtue.” She puts a hand on my breast, thumb stroking across my nipple. “A virtue you know very little about, my dear.”

I whimper.

Sandy reaches for the feather again, teasingly running it up my neck, my jaw, and then just kind of holding it against my upper lip, not quite tickling my nose, but the fuzz is teasing the edges of my nostrils, very lightly, but unbearably when you can’t do anything to get away from it.

Sandy is breathing heavier, and there’s a flush on her cheeks and a spark in her eyes; she enjoys this, it turns her on, and when she straddles my thigh and slowly begins to rock against me, I can feel that her panties are soaking wet.

“Oh, Sandy,” I moan.

“Now,” she whispers into my ear, sending little pinpricks of pleasure down my spine, “I’m going to make you sneeze, I’m going to slowly torture your precious little nose into complete submission – “

Fuck me, she’s either winging this with the skill of a high-end call girl, or she has done extensive research into the world of sneeze kinks, or she lied about having the kink herself.

“ – and this time, you are going to sneeze on me.”

“B-but you’re not…”

“Did I make myself clear or not?”

I swallow. One of her breasts presses against me as she leans close, playing with my hair, and she’s so, so wet. She’s not acting. She was before, but now it’s for real, she wants me to do this. I can still tell her no, I know that, but… oh God, I don’t want to tell her no. God help me, I want this, even if it at the same time makes me feel like a filthy slut.

“Y-yes…”

“Right here,” she says, placing one hand on her chest. Uh-huh, so she wants to know what that feels like. She’s done it on me dozens of times and she knows it drives me crazy. It’s not going to have the same effect on her, and I’m worried – but the worry is taking a backseat for now – that she’s going to be put off instead, and as usual she reads my mind. “Don’t you dare holding back this time.” She leans in really close, whispering against my mouth; “Sneeze on me.”

I feel a jolt through my body, and for a moment I don’t know what to say. Then I say the one thing that feels most natural for me to say in this situation;

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s my good girl,” she replies. The feather is once again teasing my nose, and this time I’m more sensitive, the irritation spreading quickly until the urge to sneeze is irresistible.

As irresistible as the breasts in front of me, and my mental block tries to kick in, but Sandy’s soft, eager voice egging me on makes me kick that mental block to the curb, finally, and I feel like a dirty slut, a shameless little whore, and I like it.

“HaaAASSCHHew!”

I sniffle, and immediately sneeze again. Wow, a rare double.

“AaaEESSHHew!”

“Bless you,” Sandy murmurs, and she kisses me. “My good girl… I’m so proud of you. Come here…” she keeps kissing me, and I feel like I just died and went to heaven. I feel liberated from myself, somehow. In the best of ways.

Sandy really looks proud, and she signals with her entire being that she’s not done with me yet, but now it’s going to be more… classic sex.

At least so it seems, until she begins to gasp for air in a very characteristic, very sexy way.

“Wait, I’m going to- eehhIISSSSHHuh! Sneeze agaihhh… hehh-ISCHhhiew! AahISSCHoo!”

That dreadfully itchy pre-sneeze expression is still there, the wings of her gorgeous nose are getting redder and redder, nostrils flaring, eyelids fluttering, tears overflowing. She slowly waves a hand in front of her face, not in that obnoxious way that some women do for attention, but in a tickly, slow-building, ‘oh come on’-gesture. Her breath is hitching wildly. I’m tied up right in front of this magnificent display of sneezy desperation and it’s driving me crazy.

“Bless you…” I’m as out of breath as she is.

“… s-so… itchy… hehh… hehhhIISSSSHoo!”

At this point I’m grinding my hips helplessly, unable to do anything about my needs myself, and Sandy is too focused on her nose, which is rebelling completely against her. She sneezes three more times, stifling the third and then pinching her nose hard into a tissue, as if trying to punish it while stopping the flow. It might help a little bit, because the fit seems to stop, at least temporarily. She lets go of her nose and takes a slow, shaky breath.

“Oh my God,” she sighs, then looks at me and a diabolical smirk comes over her flushed face. “That made an impression, I see,” she says, wipes her nose with the back of her hand, almost nonchalantly, and comes at me again, kissing me everywhere and letting me know exactly what she has in store for me as she goes; “I… am going… to… eat you whole…”

Yes, yes, no one does it like her, and I’m so ready for her, and Sandy never disappoints. She enjoys it as much as I do, she enjoys watching me enjoying her, and when I reach climax, I don’t think she’s far behind.

“Untie me, Sandy,” I plead, urgently, not wanting to waste the moment when she’s already this worked up. “Untie me, I want to… let me make it good for you too…”

She unties me and I pull her down on top of me, kissing her fervently.

“Oh my lovely,” she whispers. “If you only knew what you do to me…”

I let my hand slide in between her thighs, and she sucks in air sharply as if my touch burns her.

“Believe me, I know,” I whisper and kiss the tip of her nose teasingly, before I begin to rub my fingertips against the wet silk of her panties. Her thigh muscles clench, her hands digging into my hair, almost but not quite pulling at it.

“Ohmygod” she exhales, and it sounds just like that, like one single word, and her breathing is airy and hitchy against my neck, her body quivering.

Oh, I can’t help myself. She’s a hot, wet, trembling mess on top of me and I slow down my rubbing, little by little, until it’s halted. This is torture of the sweetest kind, and I would know, because she has made a habit out of doing it to me.

“Don’t… stop,” she whimpers. She wants to use her authority, wants her voice to sound demanding, but it’s a desperate plea.

“Ask me nicely,” I purr.

“Please,” Sandy says immediately, folding like a house of cards. Her voice is reduced to a husky sob. “Please, oh please, don’t stop.”

So I keep going, and she’s nearly weeping with pained pleasure. It’s interesting how a woman so put-together can melt like wax in a sexual situation, and I would lie if I said I didn’t enjoy the role reversal a little bit. Or a lot.

“Now kiss me.”

She does, almost desperately, and when I give her the orgasm that she’s so eager for, she moans loudly into the kiss. Her whole body tenses up, shaking with the climax, and then she collapses on top of me, panting and sniffling.

“Oh, lovely,” she whispers. “Oh, sweetheart…”

We just lie there for a while, letting our breathing and our heartbeats slow down, then she takes a sniffly, damp breath through her nose and sneezes, barely turning her head away from me.

“HeeeyIISSSSHHuuh!”

I caress her hair, then put my arms around her again, holding her tight. She’s soft and warm in my arms.

“Bless you. Again.” I put my forehead to hers, looking into her watery blue eyes. “Will you let me know which it is, yet?”

When her eyes narrow as she smiles, an itchy tear dislodges from her left eye and trickles down her cheek.

“You didn’t notice the new flower decorations in the windows, did you?”

Did I? No, I was too busy focusing on the feather. And on Sandy.

“Gerberas. They’re part of the aster family. I’m quite allergic to those.”

“Hmm,” I mumble. ”That is… hot.”

“I should hope so. My nose itches like crazy.”

I kiss her softly and very gently push her off me.

“What are you doing?” she asks as I get out of bed, walk up to the windows and take the flowers, then head towards the door.

“Cassie, what are you doing?” she asks, a bit sharper.

“I don’t want you sleeping with these in the same room. Because I happen to love you, Sandy.”

I put the flowers – gorgeous, colourful, bursting with pollen – in the hallway and close the bedroom door, then returning to bed. Sandy holds her arms out and I crawl into her embrace.

“You’re so silly,” she whispers affectionately, rocking me in her arms. “And I love you too. My silly girl.”

Well, good, bad, or silly, I don’t care. As long as I’m Sandy’s girl.

[skullysniffles]

Hello everybody! I'm so excited to share this wav with you all! I had multiple requests that were similar, so I combined them into one wav and collaborated with the AMAZING @waterfallofspace who was kind enough to lend me her amazing voice! This is as NSFW as I've gotten - implied sensuality, but nothing explicit.

My kink partner wanted to tie me up for some bedroom fun, and she decided to use a feather (amongst other things) to tease my nose. The catch is, I can't sneeze until she gives me permission... will I be able to hold back until she let's me sneeze, or will I fail?

Contains: Hitches like I've never hitched before, holdbacks, sneezes, playful banter, and talking through buildups.

Requests that this is fulfilling include inducing with a feather, some sub/dom dynamics (pretty mild, but about all I've got in me), being induced until the last moment then taking the inducing tool away, and playful banter.

Please let me know if you enjoyed, and for sure send some praise towards @waterfallofspace for her beautiful contribution! It's way better than my pitch-altered alien-sounding voice. Hit me up with any ideas/requests, and leave a comment if you enjoyed!

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

[skullysniffles]

favourite pre-sneeze eyebrow movement (and possible emotion/s implied by them) GO!

[skullysniffles]

Best Laid Plans - Part 4

Details: 11k, M sneezes, M/M/F🔥

Summary: A secret agent is going undercover for a few days, and his target has a sneeze fetish. He’s in for a long night.

PART 3 - PART 4 - 

Me, an aroace individual: (holding the porn I’ve written) is this… sexy?

Haha guysssss I struggled with this one 😭 I’ve never written a threesome before, but all the kind thoughts people have shared about this story encouraged me, seriously 🥹 I love hearing about what you guys enjoyed, so THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!! 💖 If I haven’t told you personally how much I appreciate it, please know that I do and I revisit your words to give me soul power ✨ I really hope I did this part justice for those inclined to read it!

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

Warnings: Mess [not graphically described but present], fake contagion [nobody can catch this cold], pleasure from sneezing, humiliation [character is embarrassed about illness/sneezing], exhibition [characters get horny/touch intimately in public], sneezing on someone [accidentally and purposefully], threesome, bdsm vibes, cunnilingus, anal sex, overstimulation, orgasm denial, sneeze denial, lol the sex might be intense guys BUT there’s aftercare!!!

EXPLICIT ALERT:

The sex is safe, sane, and consensual from all parties while still respecting the world of deception the characters exist in. Omicron gets worked over pretty good LOL, but everyone has fun and he gets aftercare. If you think the circumstances might bother you, or explicit material isn’t your vibe, please feel empowered to skip the sex!! You won’t miss anything plot relevant. I’ll mark the sex scene clearly with 🔥 emojis so you can skip if desired. This might be overkill, I’m just anxious and want everyone reading to stay comfy and safe ❤️‍🩹

---

Omicron was a punctual man, but he arrived a few minutes late to the venue on purpose. 

The Wooden Lantern sat at the top of the tallest structure on the resort campus, situated in what could only be called an observation tower. Every wall was a window showcasing views of the island’s coastline. With the sun slinging low over the water paired with the romantic glow of the restaurant’s interior, it was obvious why reservations spanned over calendar years. Couples leaned close to smile and share plates, knocking knees beneath long tablecloths to the sounds of smooth jazz. 

Isn’t it tacky to discuss the parameters of a threesome here?, Omicron thought with an arched brow. He lifted a handkerchief (lended to him by Delta) to dab beneath his nostrils. They’d tried to apply vaseline, then concealer, to ease some of its obnoxious color; of course he’d rubbed it all away minutes after application, teased to distraction by the smell and sensation. Even if Josaline and her husband would appreciate the abysmal state of his nose, he didn’t want to look like a sick, snivelling mess over dinner. He sighed to himself, resigned. Even an ounce of discretion is too much to hope for.

A stop by the host’s podium led to a winding walk through the venue that ended at a spot at the back. The table, he noticed, was a little larger than the rest to accommodate an extra person. It sat against a window for privacy, lit dramatically by the sunset sky and sparkling lamps. A man and a woman sat there — one of them was familiar.

“Nick!” greeted Josaline, in that dark velvet voice of hers. 

She rose from her seat with flowing grace, hugged by a glittering black gown, and even Omicron wasn’t immune to the way her hair spilled over her bare shoulders. Her lips were brighter tonight, a classic red, and they brought out the brilliance of her smile. She met him before he reached the table to take his cheeks in her hands and kiss them one after the other. Her smile fell to a pout.

“Ohh, sweetheart, you feel a little warm,” she said. Anita got his temperature down with reducers, but it had yet to break entirely. Josaline’s thumbs rubbed the apples of his cheeks, and just as he predicted, drank in the burgundy hue of his nose. He was uncertain how she’d feel about a fever, so he funneled the anxiety into his performance.

“Yeah, I’b-.. hkkrm!” He turned away to clear his throat when his voice cracked, then slanted a sheepish smile. “I’mb, uh.. ndot at my best. But I didn’d have your ndumber and wasn’t sure if you’d wandt to cancel, and I did really wandt to see you and mbeet your husband- uh-.. so-”

She silenced him with a peck on the lips; her eyes glittered in the lamplight. “It’s alright. We don’t mind as long as you’re feeling well enough to be here. Thank you for coming.”

For someone who was apparently suspicious of Nicolas Foster, Josaline seemed calm and pleased to see him. It set Omicron on edge. Did she have an alternative plan up her sleeve that gave her confidence? Did she simply not care about the risks of spending an evening with someone who might be trying to apprehend her? He didn’t let anything show on his face as she led him to the table, but nearly faltered when he saw who he was about to meet.

“Nicolas, let me introduce you to my husband,” said Josaline, gesturing. “This is Cristoph.”

Cristoph Meyer. Josaline’s nonconcern over his cover made much more sense. 

Like her, Cristoph was powerful, well-connected, and capable of squashing any slapdash probing from law enforcement. Unlike her, he was suspected of operating one of the most prolific dark web identity rackets in the world. Josaline had the business and brains, but Cristoph had the means. The fact they were together at all was incriminating, but with their combined clout across facets of society and criminal underworld, it practically guaranteed them immunity from investigation.

It was now imperative that their hack tonight was a success, or else the agency wouldn’t have enough evidence to touch these two with a one-hundred foot pole.

Cristoph stood from his chair, hand extended, with a perfectly polite greeting, “Nicolas. I have heard so much about you.”

He matched his wife in height, her platform heels notwithstanding. Fair hair parted to the side, tidy salt and peppered beard, browline glasses with a tweed suit that evoked a professorial style at odds with the criminal Omicron knew him to be. A little bulky in the torso, thinner in the legs, silhouetted like a martini compared to Josaline’s hurricane glass curves. Together, they defined elegance. Omicron couldn’t help but feel embarrassingly outmatched in his slightly wrinkled suit, clutching a rapidly dampening handkerchief, with a nose glowing brighter than any light in this restaurant.

“Probably mbore thand I’ve heard about you,” he jested. There was an awkward beat where Cristoph’s offer for a handshake remained unmet. “I, uh.. sorry, I don’d kndow if I should shake hands while I’b still sdiffling all over the place..”

Considering what they were going to do tonight, Nicolas’ abundance of caution was silly, if a little charming. The crinkles around Cristoph’s eyes told him so.

“Nonsense,” he said, and when Nicolas finally took his hand, Cristoph cradled it with both of his own. “If it’s not too forward of me to say, I wouldn’t mind catching a cold from a man as lovely as you.”

Nicolas flushed, gaping for words, before finally settling on, “Uh! Well- uh, that’s.. thagnks, that’s a relief!”

Josaline smiled at the two of them, the cat who got the canary, before shepherding Nicolas toward the empty seat. He caught a glimpse of her loaded glance at Cristoph, a smoldering exchange, before she swept to her own chair. And naturally, as soon as they all got settled and ready to chat, Omicron’s needy nose demanded attention. Now you want to sneeze? he griped, tucking the edge of his hanky beneath his nostrils as they indulged in an indolent flare.

It baited him all afternoon, bringing him to the breathless verge of release and then dancing away just before he could finish. In spite of this, he stayed civil. He didn’t meddle, didn’t try to force relief. He heeded his nose meticulously, minding it’s every demand, no matter how much it wanted to mock him. He did all this with the hope it would behave during dinner.

I’m an idiot, he thought ruefully as the tickle struck its baton on a music stand, commanding a collective ripple of sensation through his nose. It snagged his breath, beat by beat, hitch by hitch, as he pressed the handkerchief more securely over his nose and mouth. Of course it’s going to do whatever the hell it wants.

“..h-h-H..-ih’MFZSSh’u!” One was never enough anymore. And thus, an encore. “..hd’MMPHZzsh!” Before he could be grateful for their manageable size, a ticklish crescendo ripped through him and he gasped helplessly, deeply, to bowl over his lap with a much louder, “-eEH’MBFZSSH!”

At a nearby table, a startled fork clinked against a plate. Ambient conversation paused and cautiously continued. Somehow it didn’t occur to Omicron until this moment how clamorous his sneezing would be in a muted space. When he finally opened his eyes, he found two hungry pairs staring back at him from over the table. 

Josaline spoke first, the words dripping from her lips. “Bless, Nicolas.”

“Mbbgh,” he replied eloquently, before leaning away from the table to blow his nose as quietly as he possibly could. Unfortunately this did next to nothing and he was left no choice but to sniffle most of it back into his sinuses. 

Wrong move. Moisture shifted against alert membranes, and he felt the ramifications all through his nose. The tickle snagged his breath, tugging in, in, in — “.. h-.. hh.. hHT-!” and then it vanished as quickly as it came. In its wake was that awful, unrelieved prickling sensation, lingering like an afterimage. 

He sat back up with dewy eyes and half a smile. “Ugh, sorry about thad.” He waved irritably at his face, the red rosy center of it, and tried to make it a joke. “Tricked mbe.”

Josaline laced her hands and rested her chin there, elbows on the table, shadows on her face from flickering candlelight. “Speaking of tricks, before this goes any further there’s something we’d like to get out into the open..”

“We’re aware you are not who you say you are,” Cristoph continued. Despite his directness, he spoke like he might speak of the weather. “Is it safe to assume you came to this resort because of us?”

Omicron wondered if they might take this route. It was certainly the simplest. He’d been prepared to play mind games all night, adding layer upon layer to his cover as the two of them tried to outwit him into revealing something. Assignments like those got complicated fast. Quiet jazz filled the seconds of silence as Omicron analyzed his options and the likelihoods of their best outcomes. In the span of one congested breath, he made his decision. 

“Ahh, you got mbe,” he said, with a wincing smile and meek rub beneath his nose. “I kdnew Ms. Jewel would be here, but ndot you.” He looked toward Cristoph. “I’mb shocked you let mbe mbeet you, under the circumstances.”

The man chuckled as he picked up a slice of bread from the table’s communal basket, scooting a plate of olive oil closer to swab it in. “I knew the risks, but Josaline insisted. She claims you’re quite special.”

“And you’re a smart man, Nicolas,” she added, and then bent over the table to give him a playful tap on the nose. “I’m sure you can see that between us, you have your work cut out for you.”

He didn’t have to exaggerate the effect of her touch. With his nose on a hair trigger, just the reminder it was there was enough to stir the tickle. Omicron blinked against it, bewitched, as it fluffed up like a startled animal. Knuckling his septum didn’t quite dispel the feeling.

“Youhh’ve g-..” Here he paused, nostrils trembling wide, before they reluctantly relaxed again. He sniffed hard, and the sound was hopelessly stunted. “... ndgh, got mbe there too.”

Cristoph watched them as he took a bite of his bread, savoring it before he swallowed. “I will be candid, so please take me at my word.” He fetched the napkin from his lap to wipe the crumbs and oil off his fingers. 

“We do not care who you work for, or why you came to this resort. What we do care about is having an enchanting evening with you. Would you be open to setting all other motives aside for the sake of a wonderful time?”

Interesting, Omicron mused. He digested the honesty in their expressions. It would be a relief to avoid juggling advanced psychological warfare with a fuzzy head and nose. Under his new directive he wasn’t expected to extract an ounce of information — he only had to keep them occupied and ensure they didn’t catch on. Easy enough, but agreeing too quickly would attract suspicion. 

Nicolas lowered his eyes with a stuffy chuckle, fidgeting with the edge of his bundled silverware. “I, uh.. I don’d thigk that’ll go over well ond mby end.”

“You’ll be returning to your employers empty-handed either way,” Josaline said. He jumped when he felt her foot slide up the side of his leg. “Why not go with a good memory?”

He pretended to give it some thought, but the furrow in his brow deepened when his sinuses twinged. They’d once again grown intolerant of his galvanizing cold. Omicron wrinkled his nose and got his hand halfway to his face when his lungs seized. The sneeze snapped his head down, aimed uncovered at the table and entirely unmuffled.

“-iihPZSSHuu-!..oh, HH-!” He couldn’t even convey his surprise, it came over him so fast. It felt like the inside of his nose was squirming, desperate to get away from the unyielding sensation of something tickling it. “-ht’TZSsh!.. huh.. HD’IZZSshoo!”

He caught the next two against his wrist, uncertain of where his handkerchief was and too sneeze-brained to open his eyes and find it. The usual size wasn’t cutting it, so it was ‘go big or go home’ time. Soft sounds snuck out of him, feeble with desire, each a little higher pitched than the last.

“..uh.. huh... iihh-!”

He could feel it mounting, feel his nose throbbing with want of it, feel the way his body waited for the tickle to overwhelm him completely before he finally jolted into the cup of his hands.

“HIDJZZSSHOO!!-ohhh..” 

That got it. Omicron snuffled muzzily in the tingling aftermath. A few wet blinks cleared his vision, and there was Cristoph holding out not Delta’s weatherbeaten handkerchief, but his own. It was covered with fleur-de-lis, monogrammed with his initials. Omicron took it with a hushed thanks and wasted no time treating himself to a long, gurgling blow. The reproachful stares of other patrons, including some waitstaff, seared into him. Even if this was all for the mission, it was still fucking embarrassing. Omicron funneled his mortification back into Nicolas.

“Jeez, sorry about that,” he huffed under his breath, clutching the patterned hanky in both hands. His cheeks burned. “They snuck up on me.”

A soft touch beneath his chin coaxed his gaze to Josaline. Her voice was liquid silk, pouring over him just like the tresses of her hair when they’d kissed behind her sunhat. “Baby, there’s no need to be embarrassed.”

He lurked a glance toward a pair of middle-aged women a few tables over that were whispering and glaring in his direction. “... but this is such a classy place, and the other people who-”

“Fuck them,” Cristoph said bluntly, and moved his chair to block the ladies from view. Then he gave Nicolas a disarming smile. “You’re here for us.”

So he was, and dinner proceeded to that end.

Josaline and Cristoph were in no hurry. The group split appetizers, sampling one of every dish, before ordering a family-style main course with the intent to share plates. His cold and mild fever wore him down over time; at their encouragement, he surrendered to his symptoms and let himself be as noisy as he needed to. The fact he wasn’t actually contagious eased his guilt, but not his self-consciousness. His only solace was that in dining with two very powerful people, no one dared approach the table to complain about him. 

Conversation revolved around boundaries, expectations, safe words, and preferences. It was obvious by the way they talked that the couple enjoyed this sort of thing — planning an erotic evening together to take a third person apart. It also convinced Omicron that despite their rampant cybercrimes against the public, they were exemplary and experienced practitioners. That dispelled any lingering doubt he had about tonight, and by the time they got to dessert, the three of them had cultivated a rapport.

Omicron was blinking sleepily at the elegant menu lettering, mulling over the merits of ordering gelato on the criminals’ dime, when Cristoph brushed elbows with him. He glanced up to find the man closer than he expected, wearing a wolfish smirk.

“So, Josaline tells me you have a unique talent, but I do not believe her,” he said, drinking in Nicolas’ delicate features before his gaze stopped squarely on his nose. It stood out in crimson contrast to the rest of his face and twitched under the scrutiny. “I would like to try it for myself.”

It took a few seconds for the implications of that to break through Omicron’s fever haze, but once it did, his gut swooped. He wants to make me sneeze in front of this entire restaurant.

“Here..?” he asked, eyes darting to other tables. “Now?”

Josaline clucked her tongue at her husband with a smack to his arm. “Cris, you’re incorrigible.”

Recollections of yesterday’s poolside humiliation flashed through his mind. No doubt this ensuing fit would be as bad or worse. Omicron had carefully avoided any ‘suggestive’ mental images leading up to the date to stay clear-headed; walking into this restaurant with half a boner would have been foolish.

“Not if you’re uncomfortable, of course,” Cristoph assured him, looking between his wife and their shared paramour. Omicron could tell he was genuine when he added, “I won’t pressure you.”

Omicron was unprepared yesterday when he stumbled nose-first into a lucky outcome at the pool, but tonight was different. He knew what he was here to do, what the situation required of him, and he knew he wasn’t alone; Delta and Dr. Voster were working hard behind the scenes to support him. They all had their part to play.

It’s showtime, he thought, and sniffled with a shy little smile. His nostrils flared, just once. He’s going to regret asking for this before we get to the room.

“Actually..” Nicolas lifted a finger to his nose and gave it a priming rub, back and forth beneath his chapped septum. His nostrils pulsed with an unsteady warning. “I wouldn’d mbind. Mbight give mbe someb relief.”

That wasn’t a lie in the slightest. Both of them saw first hand how tireless the torture really was. Even right this second Omicron could feel faint, idle irritation like a channel stuck on permanent static. It would make him sneeze eventually, whether he had help or not. Cristoph gave the room a cursory scan, probably assessing the likelihood of a waiter walking up on them.

“You will let me know if you’d like me to stop?” 

“Of course,” Nicolas replied. A hand grazed his knee and he found Josaline, doe-eyed, close on his other side. Her eyes asked the same question, to which he nodded in reply.

The two shared a look, and their smiles darkened. Nicolas swallowed. 

“From the way she described it, you can be influenced by psychosomatic suggestions, yes?” Cristoph murmured, his voice accompanied by the underlay of soft jazz. “Let me see now..”

He glanced around for inspiration and found it on the table with a sound of delight. Omicron followed his gaze: a small, lit candle.

“I suppose it might feel like this tiny flame,” he began. “Glowing deep in your nose. An urge in its infancy. Too weak to give you relief, but too strong to snuff out. So subtle you aren’t even sure it’s there.”

The image filled his mind and the tickle took form — a painless speck of light hovering in his sinuses. It was a less tangible feeling than usual, ghostly and almost as if he’d imagined it. Omicron wrinkled his nose with a stunted sniff, blinking repeatedly.

“Ah, yes. It tickles a little doesn’t it?” Cristoph continued. “Negligible at first, just an annoyance on your periphery. But given time, even something this small takes its toll.”

Omicron sniffled again and again, then tried to lift his hand to rub the edge off his itch. Josaline caught him smoothly, twining her fingers with his as her other hand glided over his thigh. Without relief, his expression pinched. Cristoph tsked at him.

“Ohh, poor boy. When you sniffle it only goads the flame. Makes it flicker. Makes it bigger.” 

His words sunk into Omicron, luring him down into a trance until it’s all he could hear, think, or feel. With each breath the light grew, guttering against nerves worn raw by ceaseless, maddening stimulation. They seemed to recoil from the tickle when it flared, futile as it was — soon there would be no avoiding it. Each time he blinked, his eyes were slower to open again.

“Mm, it looks like that adorable nose of yours is getting upset. Your nostrils are twitching. They’re so red and sore that I can only imagine what the inside looks like.”

The observations would have flustered Omicron if he’d been in a mind to process it. As it was, all he could focus on was the swelling flame of this tickle. It lulled his eyes shut, parted his lips, tilted his brows in hope as it spread like molasses wildfire. Ponderous. Intensifying. Each time the tickle wavered, licking against an ever increasing surface area, he felt a similar, encroaching ache of pleasure ooze through his gut.

Josaline’s hand crept over the tent in his pants. He flinched, and a breathy moan tumbled out of him.

“You like this,” purred Crisoph, barely a whisper as his words melted through Omicron like softening butter. “And it will feel so good to let go, won’t it? You are in luck because that tickle isn’t going anywhere. It just grows and grows.”

Cristoph had no idea how true that was. Ever since Anita sprayed this cold up his nose, he’d lived on the edge of a sneeze. When he finally recovered, he wouldn’t miss the permanent little niggle that stirred his sinuses to anarchy. He would, however, miss the way the tingle in his nose echoed in his groin. Omicron hitched in a knife’s-edge breath, and let it go on a soft, stuffy sigh.

“Tell me how it feels,” the voice commanded. Omicron bit his lip as pressure increased against his hardening erection in one long, continuous line down the shaft. He strived to comply. 

“..feels..h-hhh-..” A shivering inhale preceded a shuddering exhale, punctuated with a sniffle. “..huhh.. like mby dose iihss..h-hH!..hoo, whed I breathe, every t.. t-hhime it’s ti.. it’s t…HHH!” A pause, then the rest delivered on a defeated breath as he slumped against his chair. “-huhhhhit’s ticklig mbe..”

Josaline’s hand inched down his cock. Omicron, eyes cinched closed, nostrils flaring so hard he could feel them stretch, tried to arch into the touch. An iron grip pressed his thighs firmly to the chair.

“That tickle is written into every line on your face.” Fingers found the bridge of his nose and traced down to the twitching tip. “Agony.” The lightest touch circled the diameter of each spasming nare. “And ecstasy.”

A twinge raced down Omicron’s nasal cavity. A tear squeezed through his lashes. Oh, it was close. He could feel the urge becoming critical, nerves stimulated to a burning frenzy.

“.. Nicolas, I can see that it’s making you want to..”

Omicron heaved in a preparatory hitch and lost it in a frustrated groan. “-hUH-!..ngghh..”

“.. that you need to..”

Another surge of tickling coated his membranes like a hot, prickling blanket. He filled - “h-hhHH!” - and emptied - “..HUHhhh..” - his chest with another heaving breath.

“.. that undoubtedly you’re going to..”

The depth of his gasp came as a surprise, rolling through him as an entire body sensation that began in his nose and ended in his dick. When his lungs bottomed out and didn’t empty, the corners of his mouth tugged with the hint of a smile.

“-hhHHHHH..”

“Sneeze.”

“-EEHHDZZSSSCHYOOO-!!”

It crashed out of him like a calamity, uncovered and inexcusably loud. Omicron didn’t care. Felt so fucking good to sneeze that he couldn’t spare a thought for anything but the exquisite ache at his core. It would have taken his breath away, if the next sneeze hadn’t already.

“-HIH’YIIZSSSHHOOO-!!”

There was a small percentage of his brain power devoted to public decency, and it was this shred of awareness that kept him from moaning aloud as a powerful burst of arousal shot through him. Like a boomerang, what little relief the sneeze granted him came winging right back in a rush of furious, nose scrunching tickles. 

“HEH-.. HEHSSSHUHhh-!!”

Omicron jerked his head down, sneezing clumsily over his lap, and clenched his thighs together when his dick twitched in reply. He gritted his teeth against any noises trying to escape, fastening his hands to the bottom of his chair to ride it out because it.. it-

“-H’JZZSSSCHhh!uhh..” Fuck it just kept coming. He sniffled wildly, his nose streaming, and flinched with an itch that billowed up from his nostrils to his sinuses. Omicron threw himself forward. “-BZZSSSHOO!.. hhP’BZSSHYOO!!..” 

Each one caused him to crunch in his seat, hunching lower and lower toward the table, until someone pressed a hand to his sternum to push him upright. Omicron couldn’t even open his eyes to see who it was. His chest pressed into their touch with staggering hitches that slammed into a herculean sneeze.

“..iih-hhH-HHH-HD’DIHZZSSSCH!-hahh!” 

He couldn’t quite muscle down the moaning punch of pleasure. While not very loud, it sent ice down Omicron’s spine and he whisked a fist beneath wet, widespread nostrils. His other hand scrabbled blindly on the tablecloth for any shred of fabric he could utilize. In vain, he tried to speak.

“-hhah..” He pressed the edge of his hand harder to his septum as the pressure swelled. “..hhhangk.. KIZSSCH!... hH’KZZSSCH’UH!” 

The dismay at drenching his hand was outweighed by the savory zap through his veins. His erection ached for friction, and Omicron couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad thing that Josaline had stopped stroking him. He snorted, or rather tried to, but was met with a cemented clog. The strain made him cough, and then in a haze of dread, start to sneeze. It filled the spaces the congestion couldn’t, throbbing with a tickle so urgent he couldn’t have fought it off at gunpoint.

“-oh shihH-.. hH-H’PPZSSSCHH’IYA!”

It was a disaster of a sneeze, with consequences that left him in dire need of a tissue. Someone gently pried his fist from his face and cupped something crisp and fresh over his nose — a promise of relief. He didn’t think about it; he blew his nose immediately and as thoroughly as possible.

It took four big breaths before he ran dry, and a singular, jolting “-ihg’KSSHU!” that added insult to injury. Only then, in the panting aftermath, did it register to Omicron what he’d done. He froze.

Oh god, he thought, mortified. The fire was gone from his nose, now dwelling in his cheeks, neck, and ears. I just blew my nose into somebody else’s hand. 

He forced himself into a teary squint to assess the damage. Cristoph was gone, his seat vacant. The restaurant was dead silent. Omicron did himself a favor and kept his head down, absurdly grateful his back was to the room. A rustle of cloth against his nostrils caught him off guard.

“Bless you, Nick,” sighed Josaline. The sultry tilt to her tone reassured Omicron a tiny bit.

She was still beside him, gently tending to his nose with an unused edge of what he realized was yet another new handkerchief. The idea the couple brought extras for him was almost as embarrassing as his sneezing fit. He let her do it, still numb, before managing a croaky whisper.

“I-.. jeez, Josaline, I’m-”

“I hope what you are about to say is not ‘sorry,’ darling,” she whispered back, giving his nostrils a careful upsweep with the hanky. He scrunched his expression when it stung and she tutted in sympathy. “I enjoy this, just as I have enjoyed every moment of this evening thus far.”

“But..” Omicron couldn’t bring himself to look behind him, even as the ambience of the restaurant gradually resumed. “Is Cristoph… did I upset him?”

“Not at all,” she assured. Her warm smile verged toward wicked. “He’s just very eager to pay the check.”

Omicron sat there mulling it over, staring sightlessly at the open dessert menu laying forgotten on his plate. His mind was sluggish with fever, his heart still hammering from the humiliation of causing such a ruckus. Ludicrously resilient, his dick remained erect. And somehow, after all that, his nose still had the audacity to tickle. It came over him swiftly — a couple blinks, a flare of his nostrils, a quiet huffing inhale. Then-

“..ih-TSSHuh!” In spite of its size, he still shook in place. Josaline pressed close to breathe a blessing against his temple. Her teeth found his earlobe after that, a sharp enough sensation that it banished the nebulous itch of another waiting sneeze.

She looped her arm around his, tugging him up from his seat onto unsteady feet. “Come along.”

He felt like he was three steps behind her when he asked, ���What about dessert?”

“Oh, darling,” she chuckled, and ducked in to nuzzle her nose to his. “We’re getting it to go.”

+ 🔥 + 🔥 + 🔥 + 🔥 + 🔥 + 🔥 +

As I suspected, Omicron mused as he felt a warm, slick digit tease his rim. I’m the dessert.

The trip back to the couple’s top-floor suite was a steamy blur smeared with wet lips, wandering hands, and an unsuspecting tourist who had the misfortune of waiting for the elevator when the doors opened. After stumbling into the suite, Josaline unzipped her dress to unveil stark lines of lingerie filigreed over her skin, and while still wearing her T-strap peep-toe platforms, disrobed Nicolas like she was unwrapping a gift.

Cristoph wasn’t far behind, striding into the room with an air of impatience that dissipated once he joined them on the bed. It didn’t take long for the evening’s plan to unfold. He allowed them to arrange him as they wanted, pliant in their arms, amenable to their requests, a little shivery when his bare skin touched silken sheets.

The finger breached him, and Omicron knew for certain now that his symptom relievers were wearing off. Fevers made him sensitive; even that small intrusion was seismic, yanking a whimper from him before he could stop it.

Cristoph paused. “Is this okay?”

They checked on him often, and while the vigilance was reassuring, Omicron had to repress his reflexive annoyance. He wasn’t a particularly amorous person, but he was very competent in bed. He approached it with the same gravity as he would with any other aspect of his job, and it irked him that he wasn’t capable of his best performance tonight. As a result, they were treating him with the delicacy of spun sugar glass. 

This is what I get for roleplaying a persona with virgin energy, Omicron sourly deduced. Not to mention I look like a stiff breeze could knock me over. Stupid, debilitating, super virus from hell.

Nicolas nodded where he lay belly down with his head resting on Josaline’s pillowy chest, snuffling as quietly as he could. “Y-Yeah, just surprised mbe. Didn’t hurt.”

It took a moment for the man to continue, long enough that Omicron nearly reached back there to help him along. His erection from dinner had yet to fade, as constant as the itch in his nose. Between Cristoph’s glacial-pace prepping, Josaline’s occasional arching pressure against his crotch, and his intermittent, uncontrollable sneezing, it was no wonder. Speaking of which..

He dragged in a gurgling sniffle, one that vibrated enticingly against pleading nerves, and his eyelids fluttered closed. As best he could, he used his elbows for leverage and whipped his head to one side. “..H!heh..h’DZSSHuh!” 

By Josaline’s mandate, Nicolas wasn’t allowed anything for his nose — no tissues, no handkerchiefs, no hands. When he’d stammered out the question of what he was supposed to do if he needed one of those things, she’d bestowed on him a smile worthy of an heiress and said she was confident he’d ‘figure it out.’ What he figured out was that she was goading him into sneezing on her and that he was far too embarrassed to do so. He kept his head turned away as his breath jagged again.

“..iyeh-.. iih’KIHSSH’u!” 

Rather than punish him with a single, prodigious sneeze, the tickle strung him along with several smaller ones. It reminded him of a disgruntled customer ringing a reception desk bell deep in his nose; they waited just long enough to give the illusion that they’d given up before.. DING! 

He felt its call keenly, a request for service that he was helpless to deny. Omicron aimed for the blankets - “het’TEHZSHiew!!-mmgg..” - and trembled in the tingling aftermath. 

In lieu of a blessing, Josaline caressed Omicron’s flushed cheek. Each time he sneezed his muscles clenched, and it wasn’t doing Cristoph any favors as he worked on loosening Nicolas up for a second finger. It was an absolute miracle the two of them found this arousing because Omicron felt like a limp rag for all that he was contributing to the process. He should probably make an effort here.

Snuffling up the aftermath of his last sneeze, he shifted his knees to push against Cristoph’s intrusion. The man’s hands were thick, wide-knuckled, and long. Perfect for fingering, even if he was being incredibly slow about it. At the risk of slipping his cover, Omicron cast aside the shrinking violet act to insist, “I can take adother.”

“Oh, can you?” mused Crisoph. He pumped his finger in and out, inch by agonizing inch. “Care to ask nicely?”

So, he was being slow on purpose. And now he wanted the magic word? It was a testament to Omicron’s exemplary professionalism that Nicolas was able to muster a polite reply. “.. Mbay I have adother? Please?”

After a hum of approval, another slippery finger entered him — a split-second icy burn that heated into gut-clenching delight. A stuffy sigh fell from his lips, gusting across Josaline’s chest as she stroked her thumb up the bridge of his nose. Her voice was liquid gold when she purred in his ear. 

“What a good boy.”

Pressed prone against her thighs, his dick twitched. Hard. Fuck. 

She grinned and dipped to kiss him, soft and sweet, teasing out congested sighs that she muffled with her tongue. He lost himself to her, and soon two fingers became three. He snuffled clumsily when he felt the stretch, panting against her lips as he rolled his pelvis for friction. Then Cristoph crooked them to graze the spot that struck sparks behind Omicron’s eyelids. He moaned into Josaline’s mouth. “MMBgghh-!” 

“There we go,” Cristoph growled behind him. He arranged his fingers and presssssssed. “How does that feel, beautiful?”

Hopefully the fact Omicron couldn’t formulate a reply spoke for itself. All he could do was whimper and squirm against Josaline, kiss her senseless, and chase his pleasure with every rock of his hips. Momentum mounted, heat accumulated, his thoughts quieted to nothing but more, more, more. 

And deep in his nose, the bell rang. 

Omicron snapped his eyes open just in time to close them again. It overwhelmed him instantly — a singular, ticklish sweep down the length of his nasal cavity. Nostrils widening, jaw dropping, he only had time to rip away from her lips and jerk his chin down. 

“-eh’GZISSSHoo!”

It was just the one, but that was plenty.

Warm aerosol misted her bare chest. Cristoph’s fingers pulled away. Josaline gasped. Any pleasure he felt from the act shriveled when panic seized him. Before he could gather himself for a profuse apology, she had him by the hair. Kissed the shame from his lips. Fetched a tissue from a box waiting on the nightstand. She wiped his nose for him, then commanded him to blow. He didn’t dare defy her. 

After that he found himself face first in the valley of her long, smooth legs. Josaline snaked a hand down her waist to unhook the side of her thong and peel it away. Her vulva, like the rest of her, was groomed with exacting precision. The dark curls were trimmed to frame her glistening lips, swollen and open to him like a flower. She didn’t need to explain what she wanted. 

Obediently he lowered his head, guided by her hand, and glanced up at her through his lashes when he nibbled the inside of her thigh. Parting his lips helped with his lingering congestion, and he knew from experience the delectable sensation of hot breath gusting across wet skin. Josaline may not have minded (enjoyed..) him sneezing carelessly on her boobs, but he’d rather give her some top quality oral. He had it on good authority that his technique was solid, coveted even, among those he’d pleasured. Thus it was with confidence that Omicron resolved to blow her mind, his cold be damned.

Until he nuzzled into her curls and was slapped across the face with a familiar scent. Josaline saw him hesitate, and he watched in real time as her vulva undulated with anticipation.

“I’m surprised you can smell it,” she murmured, setting her heels against the mattress and arching just enough to skim the tip of his nose with her burning seam. Her words were a wanton sigh. “My gift for you.”

It surprised him too. This was a testament to the power of her perfume that it could penetrate days’ worth of swelling and congestion. Even at this proximity, his eyes began to water. The tickle stretched like a lazy cat twitching its tail, on the verge of getting restless. His nostrils pulsed in unhappy reply. There was absolutely no way he’d manage this with any degree of finesse. 

Josaline had to know that, and she confirmed it when she told him, “Sneeze as much as your nose desires. As many times as you want, as hard as you want, but do not forget what you’re down there to do.”

The way she tightened her fingers in his hair told him he wouldn’t be lifting his head until she finished. Her vulva flexed again, inviting him in. Omicron allowed himself two steadying breaths before sealing his fate. He ducked down to her swollen folds and skimmed the tip of his tongue up her seam. The way she moaned, low and guttural as her head fell back against the pillows, was promising. He got to work.

Oral was a delicate process, but Omicron let experience lead him. Lick with the flat of his tongue; delve into the core of her for a taste; circle her clit with the tip before tracing the lines of her lips. When her folds fluttered around him, expectant and needy, he doubled down on the techniques she liked. He breathed only through his mouth, kept his nose away from her short hair, and did his best to ignore the way his nostrils flared with increasing frequency. Occasionally the tickle fidgeted, disturbed in slumber, and he sipped in a little gasp. Willpower alone helped him sigh down from the tempting high, each time letting his breath pass over her wet folds to hear her mewl. 

She was gripping him hard now, fingers kneading, thighs shaking, breathing heavy. Omicron smirked against her, tongue in her hole, the bridge of his nose barely grazing the edge of her clit, licking against her soft, pulsating walls with the intention of dragging this out until she made him pay for it. That is, until he felt something hot and slick press up against his ass.

In his concentration, he’d missed a couple telling sounds: the rip of a wrapper, followed by the elastic squeak of a lubed condom. Cristoph apparently wouldn’t be sitting idly by while Josaline had all the fun. Omicron had no issue with this, but what he did mind was the ramifications of the surprise.

At the feeling of a cock against his crack, Omicron gasped. With his tongue deep in Josaline, he did this instinctively through his nose and dragged a billowing cloud of perfume into his sinuses. The tickle woke from its fitful sleep and, as expected, flew into an irrational rage. It was a brutal itch, assaulting his tortured membranes with a storm of demanding, sparking sensation. 

Omicron couldn’t get a breath in, let alone jerk away from Josaline, before the first sneeze tripped out of him. “-PBBTHHhsht!!”

It was the least sexy noise he’d ever made, delivered messily into Josaline’s gleaming folds, but nevertheless she arched into his face with a high, breathy whine. Omicron sniffled reflexively and got a noseful of curls and that infernal, floral scent. His eyes rolled back as he hitched, his head ratcheting by increments and nostrils spasming with distress. The tickle hadn’t diminished at all; it remained an unrelenting, dominating force in his nose down to the deepest reaches.

“-MMBSSshh!” He muffled it into her vulva, feeling the way it contracted in reply, hearing how she cried out, and it was fortunate she liked this because he couldn’t do much more than hold onto her thighs and, “-MPHzssh!.. hk-MPHSshh!!”

Josaline’s hips left the bed, her hands forcing his face more secure to her. She was thrusting in earnest now, so Omicron did his best to slip his tongue inside her and meet her rhythm. Each time they pressed together, he angled himself so that his nose would rub against her engorged clit. Each time he eased back, his ass nudged more firmly against Crisoph’s firm cock. Pleasure skittered through him from both ends, sensations warring for control.

On top of all that, the tickle reigned terror. It led an army of irritation through his nasal passages, running roughshod over his worn membranes while they quaked with stimulation. His nose didn’t know what to do with this other than sneeze. The cloying perfume was all he could smell, overpowering even the scent of Josaline’s pleasure.

“-nggshh!.. hh-HGZssh!!huh-hhGXSssh!” 

There was a stuttering anguish to them in the wake of his body’s confusion. Why isn’t this working? his nose cried out. Please, it tickles so much. Makes us have to-

“-ihgGXZSSHT!!”

It was the closest to a stifle he’d ever come, and it scraped out of him with such misery that he decided he couldn’t do that again. Nor could he muscle through another second of this fragrance. Omicron leaned back with a weak huHH! and tried to aim where Josaline needed him most- 

“-hH’EHDSSH!.. h-HA’JZSSHEE!” Oh that was better- “hhHHH’CHZZSSSHHOOO! Fhhuck-!”

The physical recoil of that last sneeze popped Cristoph past his rim. Jeeeeeezus, he was thick. Omicron hadn’t caught sight of his penis, but he could feel the girth as it pushed into him, slick with lube. His toes curled with the stretch. 

“Mmmmm, god you’re tight,” Cristoph groaned, holding onto Omicron’s hips and shaking with the strain of staying still as the smaller man adjusted. “And so damn hot..” 

It was difficult to know if he meant aesthetically, or physiologically. Omicron could feel his fever thrumming through every molecule, heightening sensations, fogging his head, beading sweat along his hairline even as he shivered from intermittent chills. Lost in the feeling of being filled, he almost forgot about Josaline. She was kind enough to remind him by yanking him back down flush with her quivering hole. Given the rough handling, they’d probably realized he was more experienced than he let on. He grinned as he shoved his tongue in, lapping up her juices and moving up to lavish her abandoned clitoris with long, flat licks.

His nose, not to be outdone by either of his partners, reminded him of the scent he’d spent the last few minutes sucking into his sinuses. Breathing through his mouth did him no favors now that the damage was done. He got a second’s notice of buildup before the tickle waged war. 

“-eh’KSSH!.. hK’IISShh!” They toppled over one another in their hurry to escape his convulsing nostrils, his trembling lips, his shuddering chest. “-eHTSSH!-h’IKSH-.. kshh!- h..HIHkshh-! HEH.. KZZSHHOO!”

He’d never sneezed like this in his life. His nose was frantic with them, and not a single one relieved an iota of irritation. Tears broke their water-lines and painted his cheeks. His nose dripped freely. Each sneeze made him clench around Cristoph, who groaned in reply, and he showered Josaline’s spasming, wet core with a regularity she audibly appreciated. She wouldn’t let go of his hair, keeping him where she wanted him.

“-H’KSsh!-eh’SH!-.. hohhbygoh’DZZSH!-hahh..” This wasn’t going to stop until she came, so- “CHZsh- ehCSH!..h-HH’GZsh!!” -he needed to hurry up and- “TZSsshoo!- fugk-” -do something about it.

Omicron buried himself into her, tongue flicking like mad against her clit, swirling and wiggling and licking as fast as he could manage as her moans hitched to higher and higher pitches. Sneezing with his tongue occupied seemed hazardous, but when the first “eHPTTHHeh!” burst from him with no issue, he let the rest come as they pleased. One, two, four, eight, compounding on themselves so that when the ninth lagged behind with a shivery gasp, Omicron dove to suck her clit between his lips.

Josaline bent over him with a shout, nails scratching his scalp as she was struck with powerful, rhythmic contractions. Omicron polished her off with one last lick, loathe that he couldn’t tongue her through the aftershocks, but-

“-HAHZZSSHHOOO!!” 

His nose was pretty angry with him. He panted into the aftermath before roaring another huge, ab-clenching sneeze between her legs. “HEEHHSSSHHOO!.. ugh, huhh..ht!DZZSHHHYOO!”

They exploded from him with such force that he squeezed Cristoph mercilessly. The man leaned over, his huffing chest to Omicron’s heaving back, and reached a hand around to Omicron’s neglected cock. It was so hard it ached, beading precum every time he sneezed. He gasped to the brink of one, and then lost it to a whine when Cristoph’s thumb circled over the tip. Fuck fuck fuck-

“I’b godda-” he choked out, hoarse and out of breath. Cristoph seated himself to the hilt, deep. The tickle writhed in him, deeper. Omicron gasped out a hitchy, “Ghhodda c.. cumb-! uhh-h-HHT-”

“Not yet,” Cristoph grunted, and looped his finger and thumb just beneath Omicron’s cockhead. Then squeezed.

Omicron knew about this type of edging, but had never been on the receiving end. The towering wave of his orgasm hung over him.. and then receded. As did the hovering threat of his sneeze. Both sensations spiraled into nothing, the most unsatisfying thing he’d ever felt, and Omicron shocked himself when he pounded a fist against the bed.

To be fair, they talked about this technique at dinner and declared it fair game for the evening. Foolishly, Omicron didn’t think he’d mind it in bed. It was an unexpected discovery for him to realize he did.

He whipped a glare over his shoulder, and his face — the freshly falling tears, the fever flush, the uninhibited mess leaking from his nose, his furious scowl — did something to Cristoph. He tensed and fell unexpectedly into his orgasm, so unprepared he yelped. Omicron could feel the man’s dick twitching in his hole, but because he was pissed off, he did absolutely nothing to help it along. Just wiped his face on the blankets until Cristoph went boneless on top of him. 

On a better day Omicron would have shouldered the weight no problem, but pleasure and fever made him weak. He floundered, his dick still hard and trapped uncomfortably beneath him, before mustering a stuffy sound of protest.

Cristoph pulled out with a shudder and moments later there were hands on him, scooping him up, cradling him, and Omicron refused to look at anything other than the bedspread. He was angry about the denial, embarrassed by his anger, exhausted and feeling frustratingly fragile as new tears bubbled at the corner of his eyes.

“God, you’re cute when you pout,” Cristoph groaned, burying his face into Omicron’s neck to suck apologetic kisses into his skin. “I’m sorry, love. Had to be done. Wanna see your face when you cum.”

“Let us spoil you rotten,” Josaline crooned, recovered from her orgasm and swooping down to smooth sweaty hair away from his forehead. “After all, you’ve been such a good boy.”

His dick twitched and Omicron bit his lip on a whine. He wanted relief, he needed it, but when he tried to grab himself he was stopped by Josaline’s wrangling hands. The words burst out of him, “Fuck, please, I- I- ndeed to-”

“Shhhhh,” she soothed, kissing the pleas into silence as Cristoph’s big, firm hand came around to grip Omicron at the base. He arched, whimpering, and she ran her tongue along his lips before leaning back. “Listen to me, Nick.”

He laid against Cristoph’s chest, dazed, blinking through sticky eyelashes as the man warmed a handful of lube and applied it to Omicron’s straining erection. Omicron hissed, bucking into the slide, trying in vain to get himself off when he had so little energy. He shook with the effort until he was hushed by his bed partners. They rearranged themselves to settle a shivering Omicron against the soft mountain of pillows at the head of the bed, the other two by his side. Josaline drenched her hands in lube as well, speaking as she warmed it up.

“Relax,” she told him. “Close your eyes.” He complied. “Focus on what you feel.”

First it was just Cristoph’s hand lazily stroking his dick, too slow and light to get him anywhere. Then it was Josaline spreading his legs to sit between them, gliding her touch along his knee, his thigh, until she moved to his empty hole. One finger slipped in, joined by another, and she beckoned his prostate with gentle rubs. He gasped through his nose and mouth, dragging just enough air through his congestion that it kindled the tickle.

After that aborted sneeze, it had sulked in his sinuses for a while. Always present, but for a time immaterial. Just a reminder of something stuck and waiting. His breath emboldened it. 

Omicron’s nostrils twitched, alert to the urges that dwelled within, and Josaline must have seen it because her next words were, “Oh? Got a tickle?”

Always, he thought, but nodded nonetheless. Another tremor from the tickle, and a reflexive twinge of his nose. Someone would probably stop him if he used his hands to rub it, so he turned his head to chafe the ailing appendage against Cristoph’s shoulder. The man denied his orgasm so he deserved it; judging from his hum, however, he didn’t mind.

“I know it’s itchy, sweetheart, but let it come,” Josaline tutted. When he lifted his head he felt the pad of her thumb brush the raw skin of his septum. Her other hand never paused, petting a steady rhythm that she matched to Cristoph’s measured strokes. “Deep breath now..”

Omicron tried to obey, but the effort just made him cough. His membranes were so swollen they throbbed, and the tickle twisted against them with intensifying tenacity. He hiccuped a gasp, sighed it out on a moan, and fidgeted when his other urges escalated as well. Josaline and Cristoph picked up the pace and pressure in harmony.

“What a cold you’ve caught, you poor thing,” whispered Josaline in a honey-soaked voice, “You’re so congested. I bet that sneeze would like some help. It’s gotten stuck so deep in your nose, and there’s not much it can do, is there?”

No, and there wasn’t much Omicron could do either — except ride the electrifying waves of sensation circuiting through his penis, prostate, and sinuses. He was at the mercy of all three of them.

“Do you feel it inside you? Locked away somewhere and struggling. Probably searching for an escape.”

Her suggestions entered him, crawling and prickling as they went. He could see it, this imaginary force that fanned out into feathery tendrils to search the depths of his nose. First it was heedless of the way it lit up his neurons with need. It wasn’t long before it realized its power however, and the irritation was no longer incidental. It was intentional. 

“Yes, that’s right. It will do what it does best and stimulate those susceptible nerves of yours. They must be terribly sensitive. To have something squirming against them at this juncture, I’m sure it’s torture.”

Oh, it was. Hellbent on whipping his nose into hysteria, the tickle was relentless and targeted. The sinuous threads continued to spool, probing his membranes, brushing down his nerve pathways, slowly invading him. Nothing was safe, not his sinuses, not the shores of his nostrils, not anything in between. Omicron turned his head one way and then the other as if he could evade the tickle’s probing touch. The hands around him and inside him responded by shifting up another gear.

“Soon it won’t matter how stuffy you are. This tickle will taunt and tease you, caress those sensitive places only it can reach, entice you and remind you that it will feel oh so wonderful to sneeze until you’re desperate for it.”

Please, he pleaded with himself as he snorted and coughed. Please please sneeze. He could feel each individual tendril dragging against his walls, the stirrings of them deep inside him as they coalesced into an urge looming over him alongside his impending orgasm. He gasped, sighed, gasped again-!, groaned. Arched against the cool, sweat-sheened chest behind him. Dug his heels into the mattress. His head was spinning, nose twitching, on the edge of something enormous.

“Once it starts, you cannot resist. The way you hitch and moan. The way your nostrils pulse with uncertainty and your expression pinches with desire. You ache for it. Crave it. This elusive release.”

Again, the pulsating trio of stimuli doubled speed. The hand on his dick jerked him fast and sloppy. The fingers inside him bore down and swirled. The ticklish threads writhed in his nose, creating waves of irresistible feeling. Soft, yearning hitches became heaving gasps he couldn’t let go of. He felt the scales tip, the first toppling domino, a pleasurable chain reaction with an unavoidable end.

“Your body can only take so much, and I can see you’re at your limit.”

Omicron could only assume he looked wrecked, fucked out, fever-flushed, and splotched with fluids. He strained into their touches and into the unstoppable tickle as they sent him hurtling headfirst into release. It couldn’t come fast enough. Lungs inflated to the brim, throat blocked by waiting air, he couldn’t even beg. Couldn’t think of the words to do so. Could only tremble on the brink with a tiny, broken whimper.

It’s coming, it’s coming I’m-

And then - “Go ahead, my darling. Let it all out.”

His orgasm struck like lightning, followed by thunderous ecstasy. In a singular moment, tension snapped and broke over him in a deluge of powerful, convulsing delight. Omicron couldn’t make a noise, lungs still locked up with an impending sneeze that his body, even in the flood of endorphins, hadn’t forgotten. He was barely through the first spasm of his orgasm when-

“BZZSSHHh-hHUH, ahHH!!” 

It wasn’t the strongest sneeze of the night by far, but it sent a mind-blowing ricochet of pleasure through the core of him. With momentary control of his throat, he managed a short shout before his breath was whisked away on another gasp. His orgasm hovered on pause, building tension and expectation as his body struggled with executive commands. Stymied, it decided to do everything at once.

“H’BBZZSSSHHhuUHHHohgod!!” 

Omicron folded over himself as he ejaculated a second time, and shuddered with another devastating orgasmic rush. His abs clenched, his thighs trembled, he kept one hand on the bedspread to prop himself up as he groaned through seismic waves of sensation. Usually the pleasure centralized to his groin but now it was his entire body, every single inch of him tingling with residual energy.

When he felt his lungs stutter, his nostrils flutter, the come-hither squirm of something in his nose, his eyes widened before rolling closed. His dick twitched, weak but willing. He was helpless against the tickle, didn’t want to fight it, wanted it to tease his nose to insanity so he could sneeze and sneeze and sneeze and sneeze, but the rational side of him knew his head was spinning and his skin was prickling and-

A fittish hitch for every eager moan. “-hh!uh.. hHH!uhh..” 

Omicron’s mind spun, a touch of panic even as he fidgeted with anticipation. I’m so wrung out, I might-

Pressure building. Exhausted, but unsatisfied. “-HHH!uhh!..hHHH!-UH-” 

I might actually black out.

Regardless of the risks, when he felt the surge of sensation finally reach his nostrils flung wide and ready, Omicron smiled into the release. “HH!!- HP’BBBZZSSSHH-!!”

The sneeze reverberated through him like a gong, down to his very atoms. Pleasure overloaded his veins, too much for his body, and he sank down dizzily while he shook through the clenching aftershocks. He had nothing left, but his dick spasmed anyway, leaking what was left of his load onto the sheets. Faintly, he realized he’d never had an orgasm so intense. Probably would never have one quite like it again. It was this thought that made him savor the trembling bolts of brightness that coursed through him as he drifted.

His vision fuzzed at the edges. His heartbeat pounded in his head. I was right, he thought as he watched dark spots overtake his blurry view of the room. Gonna pass out. 

As he faded, he felt soft hands cradle his cheeks and heard a satin voice tell him, “Good boy.”

+ 🔥 + 🔥 + 🔥 + 🔥 + 🔥 + 🔥 +

Awareness came back in pieces. 

First, tactile sensation — a damp cloth wiping sweat, mucus, and cum off his skin; gentle fingers massaging sore muscles, raking through his hair; clean, dry blankets wrapping him up. 

Next, sound — quiet banter; hushed bustling around the room; a door opening and closing, the comforting drone of a television set to low volume.

Finally, Omicron cracked open his eyes. Turned out to be a terrible idea, as the rest of his body came online to remind him of what he’d just done. His head pounded, there was an awful taste in his mouth, and his rear end stung when he shifted his weight the wrong way. Not the worst he’d ever felt, but coupled with the immovable sinus pressure and overall fever-malaise, Omicron would have preferred more sleep to being conscious.

You shouldn’t have been asleep in the first place, came the conditioned response that he ignored. While it wasn’t exactly advisable to fall unconscious in enemy territory at the hands of international cyber criminals, after the intimacy they’d shared Omicron doubted they tried any funny business while he was out. He didn’t have the strength to berate himself for it.

With much effort, he sat up to an empty room bathed in low lamplight. All the traces of guests were gone, save for a few items on the bedside table: two unopened bottles of water, a fresh-bought bottle of NyQuil, a stack of clean handkerchiefs, and a note written in a looping scrawl. He picked it up and squinted at it.

To our dear Nicolas-

Very sorry we couldn’t stay. Thought it was safest for us to dash.

The room is yours for the week, paid in advance. Get rest and feel better soon.

It’s best if we don’t meet again, but we will miss you terribly.

Hopefully Cris and I will catch your cold to remember you by 😘

Kisses-

J & C

Omicron slumped there for a second, zoning out on the lettering with static on the brain. It was over. He completed the mission. Relief didn’t come because he had no idea how successful he was, wouldn’t know until he hiked back to his hotel room. Aside from feeling like shit, he couldn’t come up with an excuse to delay it.

And so after guzzling down an entire bottle of water, off he went.

If the scramble to Josaline and Cristoph’s room was a blur, the hobble back to his own was a blackout. Omicron couldn’t remember much from the trip, aside from glaring at a graveyard shift housekeeper who clocked his walk of shame. Yes, he was barefoot in a bathrobe, smelling of sex, carrying his wrinkled belongings under one arm. He’d also just been vigorously railed up the ass and had lost half his weight in cum, snot, and tears. Excuse him if he wasn’t in the mood to make pretenses.

When he reached the door, Omicron realized he didn’t have his key card. With a sigh, he let his sweaty forehead thunk against the door — after which he almost became painfully acquainted with the carpet when it swung open a second later. A firm body spared him that fate.

“Omicron!” Strong hands steadied him by the shoulders. He raised his head to find Delta, very awake despite the hour and scanning his subordinate like he expected an injury. “Oh, thank goodness. It’s been hours.”

Omicron squinted, partially because he was so exhausted his eyes were blurring but mostly because he was confused. Of course it had been hours. Then a terrible thought struck him. “W-Was thad ndot edough time?”

His voice was a raspy, gunked facsimile of itself. Delta started shaking his head before Omicron even finished speaking. “No, no, it was more than enough! Don't worry, the hack was a complete success. The crypto team is very pleased, as am I, you knocked it out of the park. I suspect you'll receive a commendation from headq- oop!”

For the second time on this mission, Delta caught Omicron before he could swoon to the ground. The knowledge of a job well done thrummed through his veins. He felt like Atlas letting the world roll off his shoulders; his knees were weak from the strain of carrying it. With one arm anchored around his waist, Delta lifted the other to test Omicron's forehead against his palm. He hissed at the heat he found there. 

“Oh, Omicron,” he muttered, exasperated, and glanced over his shoulder. “He's burning up.”

“Probably overexerted himself,” came Anita's voice, clearer as she got closer. Another hand, colder than the first, cupped the nape of his neck. Omicron couldn’t fight off his reflexive shiver. “Mm. Well, we still have some acetaminophen he can take.“

I'm standing right here, he thought, miffed but unable to marshal an objection. He let them bicker about what to do with him, limp in Delta’s arms, until his stuffy breaths grew shaky. For fuck’s sake, after everything, still?? Omicron groaned against Delta’s chest, eyes pinching and nostrils bucking in preparation for what was assuredly coming. 

Conversation abruptly stopped, and Delta stiffened. “Omicron? What's wrong?”

“heh-..eh’TZSSsh!” His head bobbed and Delta tightened his hold while Omicron blinked in the limbo of another. It came gently, a feathery wind through his tired nose, and he took his gasp in sips. “h-h-hH’TDZSsh!”

‘I'm in charge here,’ he told his cold mere days ago. To imagine he began this journey with such hubris. He was defenseless, drained, devoid of the will to fight the way it twisted his expression. Lassoed his breath. Made his nostrils flutter, his balance suffer, and yet-

“DZZSSh’uu-!”

-they delivered him a visceral satisfaction he couldn’t begrudge. Someone pressed a bushel of tissues into his hands. Logically he knew he should use them, but the tickle kept him immobile. All he could do was tighten his grip, helpless to the thrall, breathing into it greedily with a feeble hope it would give him something strong enough to feel satisfied. 

“..idzh.. h-HH!” It stalled out in his sinuses, and his expression froze in wait. Then-.. it rocked him forward. “..ZZSSH’uu!.. h’EH-” Stuck again. Omicron wavered there as the tickle smoldered, jogging his head back by tiny degrees. Oh, it felt big, then bigger and bigger as his nose wrestled with it. The back of his head bumped Delta’s shoulder before the tickle finally pushed him over the edge. He doubled over, anchored by the arm around his waist. “EEHCHZZSSSHHhhhhaa..”

A momentous sneeze petered out on a fulfilled sigh that dissolved into a muffled cough. He sagged, and Delta’s grip tightened. As the world came back to him, he realized he’d sneezed freely, possibly catching somebody in the crossfire, but he just didn’t care. He belatedly lifted the tissues to his nose and cringed when they grated like sandpaper. The skin was so tender he dare not do more than blot it.

“Are you injured?” demanded Delta. Omicron shook his head against the man’s chest. No, no injuries. Nothing beyond what’s expected from vigorous sex. Delta asked next, “Do you want a shower?”

That was the politest possible way of saying, You look and smell like an utter wreck and it sucker-punched the tattered remains of his ego. Omicron shook his head again, partly because doing anything aside from laying down might make him cry, but mostly because he couldn’t stomach the idea of needing help from either of them in the bathroom.

Delta hitched Omicron more securely to his side, a decision made. “Alright. Bed, then.”

No, wheedled his sense of duty. I haven’t given my report yet. Omicron could barely keep his eyes open. He mumbled, “But, the debrief..”

“Can wait,” his superior finished. There was a rare sternness to his voice and it brokered no argument. “You need rest. That’s an order.”

Well, the boss meant business if he was throwing around orders. They washed over Omicron with a comforting finality — he didn’t have to worry about anything anymore. Delta would handle it. Responsibility evaporated and it was sweeter than anything he’d felt that evening. Heat welled up behind his eyes, a lump in his throat, and Omicron turned his face into his superior’s shirt.

It was so rare he could drop all his walls and lay himself bare, not on a bed but in life. Trust wasn’t a word in his dictionary, but tonight he wanted to feel it. He sought solace in the steady thump of Delta’s heartbeat under his ear. Emotion loosened his congestion, forcing him to repeatedly sniffle as he tucked the sleeve of his bathrobe under his sore nostrils.

“Okay,” he whispered, and surrendered. 

The walk to the bed was slow, shivery, and stumbling, but Delta threw back the covers and lowered him to the mattress. Once Omicron was supine he brought the blankets back up and took care to tuck them in. He’d make a good dad, his fever mused as he watched Delta fetch a fresh box of unscented, lotion-infused tissues for him. He ripped out a dozen to hand over and Omicron gathered them to his nose for a strengthless blow. It didn’t do much for his congestion, but got his nose dry enough that he wasn’t constantly sniffling.

The vibration of his sinuses chased out a sneeze, one that came over him like a misty cloud — foggy, permeating, gentle. His eyes weighted gradually as the tickle filled him up, and he huffed little hitches as it mounted. Someone (Delta) exchanged his used tissues for clean ones. He brought them up to his nose just in time to catch it.

“-heh..TSSsh!” 

He blinked as the cool, tingling conclusion hazed into another declaration. As if it knew how tired he was, the tickle barely tried. It reminded him of the way someone might pet a small animal, with just one finger and very little pressure. Delicately, carefully, like you were scared of hurting it. The tickle was a repetitive, soothing stroke against his frayed nerves. What once wouldn’t have been enough was now plenty, and Omicron relaxed back against the pillows while he let it come. 

“hh!ih.. h.. h…mmbb..” A soft sniffle, a softer sigh, and oh- “.. ih’TZSssh!..” His eyes fluttered open, eyes tilted skyward under heavy lids. His nostrils flared methodically, hypnotized, and his lungs gathered breath with an unhurried hhhhhhh.. before he jolted into his pile of tissues. “TZSSshoo!.. huh..”

His nose tingled pleasantly, and while it would be temporary, Omicron let himself float.

“.. Bless you.”

Delta stood there with a hand on his hip, scrubbing the other back and forth through his cropped hair. There was a look on his face that Omicron couldn’t parse — knitted brows, lips pressed in a line, thoughts racing behind his eyes too quick for Omicron to guess at them. Anita walked up behind Delta’s shoulder, studied him for a moment, and then pinched her nose with a long, silent sigh. Omicron caught her smiling, a tiny, amused slant to her lips, before she stepped up alongside their team leader to give him a hearty slap to the back. 

“I’ve got him, sir,” she said with a grin. He turned to look at her, then back at Omicron, then Anita again. His feet stayed rooted to the spot until she arched a brow. Then scratched his head one last time.

“Alright,” he conceded, though he sounded unhappy. He bent down to Omicron, cupping his subordinate’s shoulder through the blankets, and gave him a genuine smile. “You did a stupendous job, Agent Omicron. Leave the rest to me. All you need to do now is sleep. Do you understand?”

Omicron nodded. The praise of a job well done, so sincerely and deliberately conveyed, sprung instant tears to his eyes. They gathered faster than he could wipe them away. Thankfully Delta didn’t see, already moving for the door with an authority he seldom exuded. 

“I’ll radio ops to update them. Call me immediately if anything changes.” 

It shut behind him, and Anita plopped herself down on Omicron’s bedside. Her smile was warm, not a trace of good-natured mockery, as she reached out to thumb a tear away from the corner of his eye. This wasn’t the first time she’d watched him come apart after a mission, or found him docile because he didn’t feel good. This also wasn’t the first time she’d seen him cry. Because of this, she knew how to handle him when he got this way.

Quiet voice. Yes or no questions. No unnecessary attention drawn to his demeanor. Simple instructions when she wanted something from him, and positive feedback when he accomplished it. She gave him medication, water, and ignored his weak complaints when she insisted on a quick physical examination to ensure the night went as safely as he insisted it did.

And when there was nothing left to do, as Anita stood to give him space, Omicron reached back to hook a hand at the hem of her shirt. She paused. He heard the huff of fondness and felt the bed dip when she sat back down. He turned away from her and closed his eyes when her hand smoothed up the plane of his back through the sheets.

“Until you fall asleep?” she asked. He nodded into the pillows, and sighed when she moved her hand back down his spine. Up again. And down. Steady and reassuring, a sedative that reached for him and escorted him toward slumber. 

But because this was Anita, and because she was the way she was, she couldn’t help but mutter around a smirk, “Why can you be this cute all the time, O?”

He grabbed a pillow and lobbed it at her. This time, it didn’t miss.

/tbc!

Omicron: (has mind blowing sex while sneezing his brains out) Omicron: Omicron: this better not awaken anything in me.

There will be a short epilogue to wrap up the story! Thank you for sticking with me this far! 🧡

[skullysniffles]

Hothothot

hnnngggggggg n/euvillette using w/riothesley’s own handcuffs to cuff him. and induce him

[skullysniffles]

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! 🥰

[skullysniffles]

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^

[skullysniffles]

What appeals to me about whump: an incomplete list

[skullysniffles]

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. I hope someone else can enjoy it too! 

Best Laid Plans

Details: M 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!

[skullysniffles]

Sneeze for Me, Cowboy - Striker Snz Fic

Hell/uva Boss - Millie/Moxxie/Striker Threesome

Snz Kink!Millie and Allergic Striker

—-

Thank you @rosieknows for beta reading this!!

Notes: This is a pretty established thing between them at this point so Striker's used to rolling with various “strange” things they enjoy or want to try. So a new kink no matter how unusual doesn't phase him like it did when they started out and immediately his mind is like ok lets try this out and see what works. 

—-

Dear I think anon who originally requested this and sparked this monstronsity, thank you kindly. This was a labor of love and horniness so if you like it please tell me with words or emojis. I could use the dopamine.

—--

Millie snarled like a wildcat as she jumped onto Striker’s back and clawed at his shoulders. He growled, tail whipping around her midsection to toss her across the room. Moxxie tackled him to the floor while his tail was extended leaving him off balance. They both ended up rolling across the floor scratching and biting at each other until finally Striker ended up on top.

Striker smirked and Moxxie snarled up at him. “Pinned ya,” Striker purred. Millie peeked over the edge of the bed Striker had tossed her onto with a wide grin. Then she winked at Moxxie and leapt, knocking Striker off him to roll across the floor. 

Millie was better at up close fighting so she managed to keep from getting pinned by the larger imp. He bit her shoulder and she tried not to be distracted by the pleasure of it, grabbing at one of his horns to push him back. Then suddenly he stiffened, going still.

She paused trying to catch a glimpse of his face. Uncertain if their play fighting had gone too far. He pulled back releasing her shoulder as his face wrinkled into a slight grimace. 

“Mils, did you…get a new perfume?” He asked with a sniff.

Millie tilted her head, confused. “Do you not like it?” 

“No it’s hh…Heh’RRSShhuh…” He pulled back entirely with a wince, arm raising up belatedly. Millie stared wide eyed and taken completely off guard as he misted her shoulder. She felt electricity race up and down her spine, all the way to the tip of her tail. 

“Oh my Satan, are you allergic to my perfume?” she asked breathlessly. 

She could just see Moxxie over Striker’s shoulder and he looked surprised as well. But he recovered first, pressing up against Striker’s back as his breath hitched again.

This time Striker tried his best to muffle the sneeze into his elbow, carefully aimed away from both his lovers. “Hhh’MMMPHsshh…hh’RRRsshmph… fucking hell. Sorry about that, Millie,” he growled out his apology, embarrassment coloring his usual smarmy tone. 

He made a smooth recovery, trying to brush off his sneezes. “But maybe the three of us could take this to the shower.”

Moxxie met her gaze with a question in his eyes: do they let Striker move things to the shower and wash off the perfume…or admit Millie’s kink and see if Striker was game to let her perfume keep bothering him. Millie licked her lips and then her expression went determined.

She gripped Striker by the jaw, meeting his eyes, and he looked uncertain, tail shifting behind him. Moxxie brushed his own tail down Striker’s and gave his bicep a soothing squeeze.

“And what if I don’t want to wash off my perfume?” she proposed calmly. 

His tail flicked, rattling defensively, even as his expression turned into a charming mask. “You asking me to leave?” he asked with a raised brow.

Moxxie chimed in, “We want you to stay, Striker. Just asking if you’d play a new game with us.”

Striker’s eyes flicked between them, shoulders relaxing as he read only welcome in their body language. He sniffled and licked over his lower lip, expression shifting into curiosity. 

“And what game is that, little one?” he teased Moxxie with the nickname. Moxxie glared, which only made Striker smirk wider, but the smaller imp merely flicked him with his tail in chastisement. Millie tapped Striker's jaw, pulling his attention back to her.

“I like other people’s sneezing. So if you don’t mind my new perfume, maybe you’d indulge me, Cowboy?” she asked running a hand down Striker’s chest. 

His eyes went wide with surprise for a moment before he let out a gravelly laugh. “You kinky motherfuckers,” he huffed, fond and amused. His tail wrapped around Moxxie’s playfully and he pulled Millie’s hand from his jaw to press a kiss to her knuckles. 

“Alright, I’m game to get a little sneezy for ya, darlin’,” he said with a wicked grin that had Millie’s tail curling with want.

Moxxie grinned at Milllie over Striker’s shoulder, delighted to see her looking like Sinsmas come early. “Then why don’t we all get a little more comfortable,” Moxxie purred into Striker’s ear as he shifted his tail to drag teasingly along the taller imp’s thighs.

Millie pressed closer to Striker arching her perfume scented throat alluringly. “Yeah, baby, let’s get rid of some of these layers.” She pushed his jacket off his shoulders and Moxxie seamlessly took over tugging it down off Striker’s arms. 

As soon as his arms were free Striker wrapped an arm around Millie’s waist and dipped down to nuzzle at her throat. He took a deep sniff, tail twitching as his nose wrinkled. He pulled back slightly as he took a shaky breath in. “Hehhh…Hh’hh…” Millie watched entranced as Striker’s nostrils flared with each hitching inhale. “F-fuck..it itches hhh…”

Striker tried to pull back and turn his head away from Millie but she reached up and grabbed one horn keeping him in place. 

Striker tried to warn her on instinct. “I’m gonna…hh…Heh’ESSHHHuhh…hh’hh’ERSSHHHuhh…”

Millie tossed her head back with a moan, rolling her body against Striker’s. Striker rubbed at the quivering tip of his nose. “Pardon,” he murmured before grinning as he took in Millie’s hungry expression. “You really do like this, don’t ya, darlin’?”

“Mhm, so much,” she assured him. She tugged him down by the horn still in her hand and kissed him deep and slow. Her tail danced over Striker’s hip to trail over Moxxie’s chest and wrap around his thigh.

Moxxie nipped at Striker’s shoulder and then reached around Striker’s waist to undo his belt buckle and remove his gun holsters. He tossed them onto the floor and then started undoing the button of his pants. 

Millie could feel Moxxie’s clever hands between them and pulled back with a low hum of satsifaction. She finally released Striker’s horn, but he didn’t pull back, just tugged her shirt from her waistband and then popped the button on her pants. Then she started on Striker’s button down shirt with a nip at the underside of his throat.

“Well aren’t you two eager to get me naked tonight,” Striker teased. Moxxie palmed his 

half-hard cock in response and Striker let out a low rumble of pleasure as Moxxie squeezed lightly. 

“You saying we aren’t usually eager to get you out of your clothes, honey?” Millie purred, teasing back as she paused in unbottoning his shirt to palm Striker’s chest and pinch his nipples into peaks. Striker was stopped from making a witty rejoinder by the tickle in his nose flaring back up, and he wrinkled his nose in irritation, expression shifting into a sneezy grimace.

Millie purred and drew him into a kiss with her arms around his neck. He made a noise of surprise against her lips, torn between the urge to sneeze and the desire to return her enthusiasm. But he finally pulled away with a shaky inhale. “Huhhhh’ERRSSHHHuhh…snfff” His upper body jerked forward as he misted the air with a fierce sneeze. When he looked back at Millie, she could see his eyes were watery and his nose was flushed. She licked her lips and finished unzipping her pants to drop them to the floor. 

She grinned when both boys gave her their undivided attention, Moxxie coming around Striker to stand beside him. She pulled her shirt and bra over her head in one smooth practiced move and sauntered towards the bed until she was leaning on the nearest bed post with her hip cocked and tail slowly shifting back and forth behind her alluringly. Then, she tugged her panties teasingly down her thighs and let them fall to the floor. “You boys are seeming mighty overdressed,” she purred.

Moxxie started to quickly undo the buttons on his vest but Striker stripped off his shirt and then came around behind Moxxie so they were both facing Millie. Striker tugged Moxxie’s hands away and took over much more slowly. “Now, there’s no need to rush a good thing. The lady deserves a show, don’t you think, sweetheart?” he rumbled right against Moxxie’s ear.

Moxxie flushed and shivered with a quiet sigh of pleasure, leaning back against Striker’s chest and letting him take the lead. Striker leaned down and nibbled along Moxxie’s neck as he trailed his claws down each bit of revealed flesh underneath his layers. Moxxie stared at Millie through his lashes and saw her palming one breast as she caressed the other hand down her happy trail. Moxxie whimpered and Millie grinned wickedly. Then Striker bit down on his throat and Moxxie’s head fell back with a moan. 

Millie could only stay away from a sight like that for so long before she closed the distance between them, kissing Moxxie soundly as Striker tugged Moxxie’s sleeves down to bunch around his wrists. Moxxie’s tail twitched and curled with desire as Striker laved his neck with tongue and teeth, and Millie kissed him stupid. Then Millie began trailing kisses down his chest as she tugged down his pants.

Striker kept one hand on the bunch of Moxxie’s shirt and jacket, keeping him bound, and with the other he tilted Moxxie’s head up to kiss him hungrily. Striker left his hand cradling Moxxie's delicate throat holding him close as they shared breaths between nips and licked into each other’s mouths. Millie finished drawing Moxxie’s pants to the floor and she knelt up to pet over his hard cock as she watched the two men make out.

Moxxie moaned around Striker’s tongue when Millie stroked a sensitive spot just under the head of his cock. Striker gave Moxxie's throat a squeeze that had him shuddering with a soft whine of desire. Striker smirked, “You like that, little one? Need me to…tuh…” Striker's expression twisted with irritation as his nostrils flared. 

He shook his head like he could shake off the itch, but his breath caught. “Pardon…huhh..” He turned his head away from Moxxie in preparation as his nostrils flared into wide twitchy circles, “gonnauh-Huh’ERRRSSHHuh!....huh’HUH-EIRRSSHHHooo…SNF!...damn. ‘Scuse me, Mox,” he huffed, embarrassed by the interruption. 

“Gesundheit, Striker,” Moxxie said sounding unaccountably pleased. 

He turned back and found Moxxie looking down at Millie and looking just as pleased as he sounded. He curiously followed his gaze and barked a laugh of amusement. Millie's pupils were so blown out she looked like she'd been drugged. “You like how allergic I am, darlin’?” he asked as he stroked Moxxie's throat absentmindedly. 

“Uh-huh,” Millie answered, sounding dazed. One of Moxxie's hands settled lightly in her hair while his other gripped at Striker's thigh, claws digging in a little just the way he liked. 

“Should I tell you about my allergies while you take care of our sweet boy here?” he purred, nuzzling Moxxie's cheek and rolling his hips against Moxxies ass from behind. Moxxie gave a pleased hum as his tail wrapped around Striker's thigh, tugging him more firmly against him until they were pressed together shoulder to hip, the only thing separating them the fabric of Striker's underwear. The material did nothing to hide how hard he was.

Millie let out a whimper at his offer, “Oh, fuck. Please, Striker…” 

“You don’t mind, do you, Mox?” he asked with smirk, more to tease Millie than out of any doubt in Moxxie’s desire to indulge his wife. His allergies certainly hadn't softened Moxxie's cock any. 

He expected Moxxie to join him in teasing a little more, but Millie took the opportunity to lick a stripe up Moxxie's cock that had his knees going weak with pleasure and leaning more heavily into Striker. “Not at—” he inhaled sharply as Millie sucked the head of his cock, voice gone rough with pleasure, “Not at all.” 

Striker sucked a mark just under his jaw and rumbled, low and gravelly, “Good boy.” Moxxie’s claws dug into his thigh even as the rest of him went loose limbed at the praise. 

“You know, this isn't the first time I've reacted like this to somethin’. Worked a ranch that had a field of these little yellow flowers…snff…set my nose off something awful.” Millie moaned, tail curling, and Moxxie shuddered as the vibrations sent waves of pleasure up his spine. Striker smirked at the chain reaction and wrapped an arm around Moxxie's waist to help steady him.

“Didn't realize the wind had scattered the pollen all over the…snfff, the hay bales until I started moving ‘em.” Just talking about it with his nose already sensitive had a sympathetic tickle building in the back of his nose. Millie had wrapped her hands over Moxxie's thighs, claws lightly scratching his hips as she sucked him in earnest. Moxxie was panting and whimpering, face gone lax with pleasure, and Striker couldn't resist kissing him. He tangled their tongues together and nipped at Moxxie's lips, drinking in his little sounds of pleasure. 

He pulled back and Moxxie whined, eyes half closed with pleasure. He rumbled with enjoyment at the sound and ran his thumb over Moxxie's flushed lower lip. 

“There was no one else to finish the job. But halfway through, I couldn't stop…hh…sneezing for more than a minute.” Striker watched one of Millie's hands move down between her legs, too worked up to wait. “Tried snff tying a bandana around my face, but it got too wet to keep on,” he made a note, as Millie moaned, that that detail was still a turn on. 

“My eyes and nose were a mess and you could see where I'd been trying to aim for my shoulder and elbow. Tripped a-huh…a few times and even dropped a hay bale once from sneezing so h-hard,” Millie was moaning and panting around Moxxie's cock as her hand rubbed between her legs. Moxxie's tail had released Striker's thigh to thrash as his pleasure built alongside hers. 

Striker wrinkled his nose trying not to instinctively fight the building sneeze as he remembered how it felt to be so consumed by his allergies. He briefly sucked and nibbled Moxxie's throat and then pinched and rolled his left nipple as he pulled back with a wavering breath. 

“I'd never sneezed s-huh-so much in my life. Even just thinking about how bad I had to…huhhh…had to sneeze no matter…hehh…h-how many times I…” his eyes fell to slits, nostrils fluttering as he tried to keep talking. Both Moxxie and Millie were close, shivering and moaning as they built up to climax. Just a little longer… “...huhhh…many times I…huh-Hh-sndeezed-EIHHHH!-SHOOO…” He sneezed openly into the air away from Moxxie, blinking away tears from such a torturous build up so he could focus on the sight of his lovers. 

Millie cried out and then swallowed repeatedly as she shook through her climax, claws digging into Moxxie's thigh. Moxxie followed over as the rush of pleasure and pinpricks of pain brought him to orgasm. Striker groaned low at the titilating display. 

He stroked Moxxie's chest through the aftershocks of pleasure, supporting most of Moxxie's weight. His tail snaked around Moxxie's legs to caress Millie's shoulder and down over her hip. She tangled their tails together as she caught her breath. But when she looked up at him, the hunger in her eyes had barely dimmed. He gazed just as hungrily back, only the desire to keep Moxxie upright keeping him from pouncing on her. He look a slow breath to calm himself and focus on Moxxie for a moment. 

“Let's get you on the bed, little one,” he purred low and affectionate. Moxxie was too contented to even complain about the petname. Striker scooped him up in his arms and laid him down with his back propped up by a scattered bunch of pillows.

Millie crawled onto the bed and kissed Moxxie with a soft caress to his cheek.

“Why don't you get comfortable, Mils?” 

Millie grinned and then shifted to laying with her back against Moxxie's chest, sitting in the V of his thighs. Moxxie wrapped his arms around her waist, nuzzling and kissing at her throat. 

Striker knelt on the bed, sliding forward to be in between Millie's legs and then laid down so his head was between her thighs. Moxxie drew his knees up to give him more room to work.

She trailed her hands along his jaw and then tangled them in his short white hair to tug him forward between her thighs. Millie clenched at the fresh rush of heat between her legs. She loved seeing such a dangerous man laying all that strength down before her and letting her take control. He lapped at the crease of her thigh and her tail twisted behind her. Striker snuffled against her thigh and jerked with a sharp sniff when he picked up on the scent of her perfume.

He looked up at her with a sniffle and a cocked questioning brow. 

“You’re not gonna leave a lady waiting, are ya, honey?” She gave a little tug urging him back against her. He grinned, and with a little huff of amusement, he returned to nuzzling her thigh and teasingly brushing against her labia. As he breathed in more of the light floral scent she dabbed on her thighs earlier, his breath came in itchy, wavering inhales. 

“Hhh…Huuhh…” He pressed his nose more firmly into her thigh as he took in a sharp breath. “Huuuh’RRRMPSH…Hhh’hh’ESSHHmphh..” She moaned loudly, practically collapsing back against Moxxie, who pet over her belly and thighs. “Christ…Snf! There’s somethin’ in that…that’s making me…hhhh’Huh’ESSHHHuhh,” he sneezed openly between her legs and she whined and shuddered with a fresh wave of pleasure. “Snff! ...Making me sneeze, darlin’,” he finished with a wide wicked grin. She was impressed he had already figured out just how to play up his allergic reaction for her. 

“Fuck, Striker,” she moaned, grabbing onto one of his horns just to ground herself. 

“Gesundheit,” Moxxie purred, looking down at Striker with a pleased little smirk as he wrapped his arms around her waist. He loved seeing his wife so worked up. Striker winked at him before he began to lap teasingly just above Millie’s clit. 

She whined and her tail coiled in the sheets as he gripped her thighs to keep her from bucking up for more friction. He licked and nuzzled for another moment before the tickle in his nose flared. He sniffled but didn't fight the urge. “Hihhh…..Hih-Gh-GZSSHHHuhhh… hh’heh’EHRSSHHuhh… Fuck, snff, your perfume is r-really getting to me, darlin’,” he purred in faux complaint. “My nose…ihh-itches…”

Moxxie grinned against her throat as she moaned and writhed against two sets of strong hands keeping her mostly pinned down. Striker rubbed his itchy nose against Millie's thigh and she moaned again as she felt his nostrils twitch against her overheated skin. 

“You wouldn't want to sneeze on my wife, would you Striker?” Moxxie asked, both teasing and offering Striker a new spin on the game. “You should try and hold them back.”

Millie whimpered, hips shifting restlessly at Moxxie’s words. 

“Don’t know If I…c-can..Hihhh…hold off for hh’huhhh…long..” He pressed two fingers against his fluttering nostrils as he built up to another sneeze. “Huhhh..? Snffff” He sniffled and sighed as the need to sneeze backed down. 

“Striker…” she whined as Moxxie kissed along her throat. Striker smirked and rubbed his thumb in circles around her clit. 

“You must be feeling neglected, sweetheart. I'm sorry my…huhhh…my nose is being so …suhhh-Huhhh…” he pinched and rubbed his nostrils as they flared wide with irritation until he managed to hold off the sneeze for a second time. “Snff...so distractin’.” Millie's hips were rolling up into his touch as she panted and moaned. He ran his fingers along her seam and she was dripping with need. He purred and used her slick to ease the friction of him rubbing over her clit. 

“Snf! Your perfume just tickles suh-so…hhh-Hihhhhh…fuh-fuck gonna-sneeze-HUH’IGGSHHHHuh…huh’UHRSSSHHHoo…” Millie panted open-mouthed, thighs quivering and tail thrashing. She was close. Moxxie pinched and rolled one of her nipples between his claws just as Striker's breath caught again. “Hh..onde mbore...hhh..Huh’UHJDSSSHHHHoooo…SNFF…Christ.” Millie cried out as he sneezed across her belly and between her thighs. And her body went taut as a bowstring as she came. Striker kept his fingers moving, drawing out her pleasure, until she collapsed against Moxxie. 

He flushed a little at the evidence of how wet his last sneeze had been, but it was overshadowed by the gorgeous view of how Millie had fallen lax, purring in the afterglow of her orgasm. Moxxie petted her hair, but with his other hand he beckoned Striker to him for a kiss. 

He crawled up Millie's body and rubbed his cheek lightly against hers in a casual gesture of affection before leaning up to meet Moxxie in a hungry kiss. Striker’s neglected cock throbbed between his legs. 

Moxxie pulled back to breathe and Striker let out a cutoff whine. “C’mon, beautiful, let's give Striker what he needs.”

Striker looked back down to see Millie smiling up at him with a wicked little grin that promised all kinds of trouble. His cock visibly jerked at the sight. 

“Of course, Mox. He's been so patient for us. He deserves a reward.”

She didn’t hesitate to reach up and pull him down into a hungry kiss by the back of his neck. He moaned into her mouth as she reached a hand between them, fingers stroking teasingly light over his aching cock.

Then Moxxie leaned in from behind her and tugged at his hair to guide him straight from Millie’s lips to his. Their tongues tangled, pushing back-and-forth in a playful bid for dominance. And Striker yielded completely when Millie guided his cock to rub between her folds.

He was so distracted he almost didn’t notice the signs of a building tickle until his breath wavered. He pulled back from Moxxie and rubbed his twitching nostrils against the back of his wrist.

“Oh, Striker,” Millie purred with false sympathy. "You gotta sneeze again?”

“Heh…Huuhhh…” he let out his sigh as the urge to sneeze backed down. “No,” he said with a little smirk. Millie let out a little surprised huff of laughter. He sniffled and gave his nose another rub against his wrist before lowering his hand to caress Millie’s waist and hips.

Millie rolled her hips up into his with a whimper and he tried to focus on building a rhythm between them, but the tickling in his nose suddenly rose to a burn, and he lifted his head with a sharp inhale.

“Hehhhh…HEH!…snfffff…Fucking hell,” he grumbled as the tickle teased him, leaving him just on the edge of a sneeze. His eyes were slitted and watery, and his nostrils were flushed and twitching with irritation. “Heheh…snf...”

“You all right there, Striker?”

“Fine. Just need to tuhh….huh?…Christ,” He rubbed more roughly at his nose with the back of his hand, but he only ended up hitching stuffily against his knuckles. “Huhh…sndff goddambit SDNF hihh…”

A few sneezy tears dripped down his cheeks, and his tail twitched with irritation.

“Do you want help there, darling?” Millie asked, coy and far too pleased with his situation.

“Yeh–hehhh….sndff please.”

She pulled his face down to her neck, where the floral scent was strong, and he snarled silently as it practically burned along his sinuses.

“Hehhhhh….” He hovered for just a moment on the precipice as the scent weaved its way back into his nose. And then finally, he collapsed forward with a heavy expulsion. 

“Huhhh…HUHH’ZSHHHUHH…hh’huh’URSSSHHhhuh…hh’Huh’HH’EIIDZSSHHoo…hh’UHRSSHHuhhh..snfffff..”

Millie moaned and shivered beneath him, panting alongside him as he caught his breath from his fit. Moxxie was leaned forward to kiss along Millie's jaw and Striker couldn't resist the siren song of his pretty throat, just begging to be marked up. 

He wrapped a hand around the back of Moxxie's neck and then he licked and nibbled along his pulse. But finally he bit down at the juncture of his neck and shoulder and Moxxie whined with pleasure. He sighed happily when Striker pulled back, pleased to bear a mark of his possessiveness. 

Millie recaptured his attention, wiggling her hand back between them and taking a hold of his dripping cock and then guiding it into her. He moaned, claws digging into her hips as he slowly pressed into her hot, wet heat. 

He could tell that neither of them would last long when they were this worked up even with this being her third orgasm. Both of their tails twisted and writhed against the sheets as they quickly built to a pounding pace. Moxxie’s hands danced between them, pinching, clawing, and petting them both as he pleased. 

Millie muffled her cries of pleasure against his throat as she bit and suck a possessive line of hickeys around the base of his neck. Her fingers clawed his back as her hips rose to meet his every thrust.

He could feel his own orgasm building low in his belly, and he set a punishing pace that he knew would drive her over the edge. He refused to let himself finally release until he felt her come around him.

Her movements grew jerkier and her rhythm faltered. Then, finally, she clenched down around him as her head fell back with a wild cry and he bit down on her throat in a mirror image of the mark he’d left on Moxie‘s throat. Two more thrusts and then he was following her over the edge into climax, keeping up the pace as long as he could to draw out their pleasure until it shifted into oversensitivity. 

He lowered himself onto her, careful to keep his nose away from her neck, but knowing she’d have no problem with his added weight. All three of them purred contentedly for several long moments, savoring the afterglow. Moxxie traded off between petting over any bare skin he could reach, gaze soft with warm affection. 

But finally, Moxxie shifted out from beneath them and helped them both clean up. When they were all resettled again, Striker was bookended between them, his arms wrapped around their shoulders as they rested their heads against his chest.

He sniffled, nose still a little sensitive, but too comfortable to move his arms, so he turned and rubbed his nose into the pillow.

He took in a breath and found a now familiar scent. He mentally cursed as his breath caught immediately. He turned his face back towards the ceiling, trying to get away from the allergen as he gasped two deep desperate breaths in. He struggled to focus on untangling his arms for his lovers to bring them to his face but he was too late. 

“Huhhhhh…HUHHH’ERRRSHHHHuhhh….ERSSHHHuhh…Huh’hh’EXSHHHmphh…” He managed to open his streaming eyes and see that Millie had brought a clean tissue to his nose, but then his eyes snapped shut as he launched into another fit of sneezes. “Hhhh’RRRMPHsshhuh…hh’hiiih- EISSHHUHhh…f-fuck can’t stop-EIRRSSHHHoo…ETSSHHmpphh…EKTSHHmpphh….” 

He finally managed to pause for long enough to blow his nose and Millie was quick to grab a fresh tissue and bring it back to his wet twitchy nostrils for him to blow again. “Hh’MPHHHshh…ESHHuhh…” He let out a last tired sounding sneeze, “Esshhm…” and snuffled into the tissues. He gave a little groan and found his eyes being gently wiped by another tissue held in Moxxie's gentle grip. 

“Christ. Snff. Pardon me,” he offered, embarrassed at being fussed over. He felt tired from both the sneezing and the sex, but he’d certainly never felt this good after an allergy attack before. And he relaxed as he tangled his tail with both of theirs.

But when he caught sight of Millie’s tail practically doing loop-de-loops behind her he chuckled warmly. “Another round, darlin’?”

Maybe this time in the shower.

-----

Thank you so much for reading this! I hope you enjoyed this very niche hot self indulgent mess.

[Snz Fic Masterlist]

[skullysniffles]

there's tenderly holding someone close to you while they sneeze, tucking their head against your shoulder, the spray misting your skin as they groan with exhausted resignation...

...and then there's grasping someone tightly as they press a sneeze into the crook of your neck, barely an interruption to their desperate touch as the spray falls on flushed skin as they barely suppress a moan of arousal and warning that more is to come

[skullysniffles]

Well. First time trying chinkini powder was incredibly intense. Holy shit. I don’t think I’ve ever sneezed that hard in my life. Normally I can completely control my sneezes and how they sound. That was simply not possible.

[skullysniffles]

There's something so intimate (and hot) about being somewhere that quiet is expected and someone next to you sneezes. And whether it's because of proximity or you just know them that well, you're the only one who notices them stifle a sneeze into near perfect silence, and so you're the only one with the privilege of whispering a hushed "bless you" to them

[skullysniffles]

A thought about sneezes while cuddling on the couch…

You lay contently upon the couch with a blanket tossed across your legs and your head resting in their lap. It’s been a brutal week so the lazy way they run fingers through your hair, nails lightly scratching your scalp, has your busy mind steadily losing focus. The threat of a nap has weighted your eyelids and the quiet hum of voices from the TV serves as delightfully negligible background noise.

Here you can finally rest.

Just as sleep edges into your vision, your eyes creeping closed, the soothing motion of their fingers pauses. You hear their breath catch quietly and can envision how their hand now hovers expectantly before their face.

One. Two. Three. Four heartbeats later their soft sigh delivers a stroke of disappointment. Your thoughts, all too quick to spark with arousal, begin to dissipate. Just a tease.

Their hand resumes its position, fingers once again combing through your hair. But only a moment later it suddenly stops again. They drag an abrupt gasp, their body suddenly jolting beneath you as a sneeze shatters the calm. They weren’t quick enough and a rush of mist kisses your cheek. Instantly they jolt again. Two more sneezes rattle out of them sounding desperately itchy and demanding. These appear to be better covered since the sound is slightly muffled behind their cupped hand. In the wake, you hear them sniffle and release a vocal exhale of relief.

“Guuhh, sorry.” They whisper with a hint of embarrassment.

“Mmm, bless you,” The words come out as a purr, a dead giveaway to the sizzling arousal now coursing through your veins. Gooseflesh dapples your neck when you rotate to gaze up at them, a smile pulling across your lips when you find them blurry eyed and rubbing a hand beneath their nose.

You certainly don’t feel like napping any longer.

[skullysniffles]

The hottest thing a person can do is try and talk through a sneeze, then say something about how it tickles. Fuck me.

[skullysniffles]

Obsessed with sick cuddles. I love it when people have a bad cold and just long for affection and warmth. I love it when someone is sniffly and tired and feverish and cold, their body begging to be held and comforted. I love it when they lean into the touch of their caregiver/significant other with such pleading affection, they just need to be held. I love it when said caregiver holds them close and lets them rest their feverish head on their chest, whispering sweet nothings into their ear, because the poor thing just doesn’t feel good.