[boxofmushy]

Welcome to my weird little corner of tumblr-

Info

🍄 They/Them, 30s, ace/grey 💜 🤍🖤

🍄 Snz blog is very strictly under the NSFW umbrella. Minors DNI, I don't follow blogs without an age

🍄 I'm open to anons, sneeze fet discussions and making new friends! I'm not super comfortable with talking about my own self obs. Please respect that.

What I'm into

🍄 Colds & Allergies, Fevers

🍄 Holdbacks & Stifles, lengthy build-ups, basically anything that prolongs the sneeze 🤧

🍄 Both super fluffy, cuddly scenarios and spicy, dom/sub situations. I also love really niche and creative scenarios too! (SWH especially)

🍄 Vulnerability, teasing, etc etc etc.

FIC LIST

Fanfic

Original Work

Drabbles

[boxofmushy]

Hey everyone, I’m going to be taking a hiatus for the next two months. I’ve been very overwhelmed with real life pressures and I need to take a step back from online spaces. I’m still going to be present here but I won’t be posting any fic or drabbles for a bit. I’ve been feeling uninspired and disconnected from the fet, so it’s definitely a sign to hang up the hat.

Thank you to everyone who read and commented on my new fics, it meant a lot to me! I look forward to writing more in the future.

Take care of yourselves, rest when you can.

[boxofmushy]

a fantastical, untouchable figure, like a god or an alien or an elf, experiencing a sneeze for the first time. How do they fare?

[pepperandfeathers]

I really like a premature blessing causing someone to lose a sneeze, especially if it’s one that’s been teasing them for a long time.

Bonus points if it’s done deliberately.

[sneezeefferthekink]

Anybody else just prefer the sloooooow buildup? Especially when inducing?

The buzzing tickle. The hitchy breaths. The expanding chest. The false starts, the desperation, the succumb to the tickle before the release.

[boxofmushy]

ye old sitcom episode centered around a character who is allergic to something but can't figure out what it is.

[boxofmushy]

Relief (oneshot)

Broken-nose fanfic starring my oc's t/erry and c/live. You can read more about them here but honestly you can read this as a standalone too. Just very indulgent bandaged nose snz (and not snz). Threw some itchy kink in there too, for moral.

N/S/F/W 🍆 +18

Content - Contains mentions of sports-related violence but no graphic depictions of blood. Nose injury, holdbacks. Bathtub spicy time, but no 🍆 is mentioned or described. Lots of whump and some angst, but you don't have to really know the characters to get anything out of the whump. M/M. Terry, Clive, and Merle are in an m/m/f poly relationship, though Merle is not present in this one (she's filming a movie atm))

Dinnertime used to be lonely. It used to be a small meal comprised of whatever brunch the Pietre Hotel provided that day. Clive would read the evening paper and gaze at the aging wallpaper before calling it a night. It was a dreadful time, when all the frustrations of the day needled at him, and the best he could do was stew angrily in silence as the empty ballroom echoed with the sounds of lingering staff still cleaning up.

It was different with Terry. Now dinner was his favorite time of the day. Instead of the ballroom, he'd take a brisk walk to Terry's small house on the Hotel grounds with newspaper rolled under his arm and a plate full of the best sweets he'd saved over the course of the day. Terrance would already have a home-cooked meal over the fire, still being fussed over by the time Clive arrived. 

They'd talk over dinner, make each other laugh over the pitfalls and upsets of the day. Sometimes Terry would take Clive behind the cottage to show him the new batch of chicks in the pen. Sometimes Clive would bring Terry a new potted plant, one he spotted dying in a store window, one that Terry would always magically restore. His cottage was full of thriving plants now. 

Clive and Terry's new, happy dinner routine would only be disrupted by the occasional visitation from Merle. Then it was all champagne and adventure. Those were lovely times, but Clive cherished the quiet moments just as much. 

So it was worrisome when Clive knocked on the rain-worn door of Terry's cottage, and no one answered. 

He waited. Tried again. 

Still nothing. 

A knot twisted in Clive's stomach, and he made to turn away altogether when he heard timid footsteps behind the door. 

"Terry?" 

A pause. And then a hesitant reply. 

"…yeah." 

"Are you up for dinner tonight? I made sure to keep the rolls warm on the way over. Chef Jan really outdid themselves tonight." 

Terry didn't reply. The knot in Clive's stomach tightened. Something was wrong. 

"I can leave..if you're not feeling up to it. I'm—"Clive took a breath. "I'm sorry if I offended you the other night, I didn't realize you felt so strongly about—" 

"No! It's not…that. You can come'b in just..please don't be mad." Terry's voice sounded suffocated, as if he were talking from behind a wall of pillows. 

"What could I possibly be mad about?" 

"Promise?" 

"Yes! Promise! For god's sake, man, I'm going to catch my death out here in this chill, let me in!" 

Slowly, the door cracked open, and Clive dropped his basket of rolls at the sight. 

Terry was a wreck. Two black eyes and a bandaged nose, a cut cheek, and knuckles and fingers wrapped tightly in gauze. He hung his head, looking beaten and guilty. 

Clive couldn't keep his promise.

"Terrance. You were at that bloody fight today!" 

"You promised not to be mad!" 

"And you promised you wouldn't do it! God, just look at you—" Emotion rose up in Clive's throat, worry blinding his carefully managed politeness. He reached out to Terry, trying to hold him, but he was quickly rebuffed. 

"I'm fine Clive- trust me, I've looked worse when I did this thing for a living." Terry turned away,  hiding his bandaged nose with his hand. Flopping on the sofa, he still kept his face angled from Clive in a subtle attempt to hide the injuries.

"Oh, Terry. Is this about money? That bastard should have given you a raise ages ago. I'll see to it he pays you up front now and more later—" 

"No, no no. This wasn't for me. It was a charity round for my old school. They really needed the money." 

Clive sat next to Terry on the couch. He put a gentle hand on his back, slowly, careful not to scare him. Like petting a feral cat. Terry had told him bits and pieces of his past. It was a painful story, one he wasn't ready to fully tell. He knew about the school, how it was one of the few bright spots in a dark childhood. It should have been no surprise that Terry would stubbornly sign up for the match. 

Slowly, he felt the tension in Terry's shoulders loosen at his touch. In return, Terry placed a hand on Clive's knee, giving it a small, reassuring squeeze. 

"…did you win?" Clive asked.

"Of course I did."

"Good." Clive pressed a kiss to Terry's bare shoulder. "Don't think this means I approve of you getting beaten to a damn pulp." 

 Terry smiled broadly. "I was a little rusty, but I still knocked him flat out. You should have—shit.." 

Hissing, Terry quickly lifted his bandaged hand to his equally bandaged nose, wincing. 

"Tsk, Does it hurt?" Clive asked, "Do you have something for the pain? I can stop by the chemist if you need anything?" 

"N-no.. it's not—hhh—that—" Terry's eyes hooded, and he kept his hand poised in front of his mouth, a look of dread on his face before dissipating with a sigh. "..phew…" 

Clive cleared his throat. 

"..Bless you?" 

Terry dabbed gently at the underside of his nose, cringing as he sniffled. 

"Sorry. It's so weird. Ever since I got this stupid thing on my face, I keep feeling like I need to sneeze. The doctor said if I do, I need to sneeze out of my mouth instead of my nose. How the hell is that supposed to work?" He scrunched up his face, bothered and uncomfortable. 

"Horrible! How—I mean-how horrible!" Clive stammered, trying to find the right words to say in the right order. He felt a wave of guilt come over him, now was not the time to feel flustered over his poor partner. But Terry seemed to pick up on Clive's bashfulness and flashed him a mischievous wink. 

"Snff. Don't worry, this thing'll be in commission again for you soon enough." He tapped lightly at the cast. "Think you can stand it until then?" 

That was the problem for Clive. He wasn't sure if he could. 

———————————————-

"P-pine-ap-apple—hh—hhh--" 

Terry braced himself against the kitchen sink, eyes squinting in concentration as he teetered at the edge of another dreaded sneeze. Clive couldn't help but stare owlishly at him from across the room, practically hiding behind the newspaper clenched in his hands. 

"—HH-P-Pinea—HYUHueehh.." Terry jerked with a hiccup of the failed sneeze, bringing up a bandaged knuckle to dab at his lips. "Snff—damn'd, Merle was right. Pineapple does do the trick."  He glanced over his shoulder at Clive, smiling nosily behind the bandages. 

"..What?" Clive coughed, turning over a page of the paper. 

"..You're red." Terry grinned. 

Clive buried his face in the newspaper. 

"No! I'm absolutely not." 

Terry straddled the chair at the table, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. As miserably sneezy as he was, he still loved to tease Clive. 

"It's okay if you like me like this. You know. Kind of flattered anyone would get flustered over this banged-up thing." Terry gestured to the middle of his wounded face. "To be honest, think my nose was ugly even before it got busted." 

Clive emerged from the newspaper, aghast. 

"Excuse me. You have a marvelous nose! Always thought so. I wouldn't be so..you—if you—oh you know what I mean." Clive fumbled. It was strange how ineloquent he became around Terry, as if being in sheer proximity robbed him of intelligence. 

"Had a nose. Who knows what it's going to look like after I get this off." Terry's voice darkened, the playfulness of the moment evaporating. He slipped into a melancholy, one that seemed to grow as the days dragged on. Clive found it hard to shake him out of it when the cloud overcame him. The best he could do was be present. 

The hotel manager had given Terry a generous leave of absence while his hands healed, as the wrappings made dexterous work difficult to accomplish. As such, Clive stopped by every day to help Terry with daily inconveniences. Opening jars, sweeping, and feeding the chicks outside. There was a timidness to Terry when it came to being helped, Clive knew he was unused to it. Little by little, Terry grew trusting and didn't apologize after asking to help open a door or cook. It took time for him to get there. 

But healing wasn't always so bad. 

——————————

"Feel better?" 

Clive whispered gently as he dragged the washcloth over Terry's arms. The pleasantly warm water sloshed in the bathtub as Clive adjusted his legs, giving Terry proper room to bend forward in the tub. The bath was barely big enough to fit the pair of them. 

"Yeah. Didn't realize how much I used my damn hands until I can't." 

"That's the way of it. One time, I broke my leg on holiday with Merle. Could you imagine she had me skiing, of all things? Imagine me? On bloody skis. Tsk, after months of limping about, I'd yearn for the days of trying to put on my pants without a cast." 

Reaching over the side of the bath, Clive fished for a hairbrush. It was a battered and beaten old thing, Clive plucked at one of the stray bristles absently, while Terry murmured a drowsy reply, only half aware. 

One of the many, many things Clive loved about Terry was his freckles. Visible on sunny days, they speckled his broad shoulders, mapping his skin. Playfully, Clive drew a soft line from one to the other with the stray bristle, connecting them like constellations. Terry's shoulders hitched at the sensation, his shoulder blades twitching like a horse's flank, and he tried to bend an arm behind to scratch at the tickle dancing along his back. The tight wrappings around his fingers made it impossible to scratch properly. 

"Tsk..Clive—" 

"Mm? Yes, love?" 

Clive was teasing him, a little gentle revenge. Clive knew Terry knew what he was doing. Both played along. 

Twisting the opposite arm behind him, Terry tried the opposite angle, thumbing uselessly at the lower half of his back, nowhere near where the bristle twiddled and danced. He grumbled, straightening his spine. Clive poked lightly at the undersides of his shoulder blades, smirking. 

"—Okay quit it Clive, this is driving me nuts—" he rolled his shoulders. 

"Ah, now you're awake. Thought I was losing you there for a minute." Clive murmured. With one hand he clawed firmly against Terry's shoulders, pulling a sharp hiss and a sigh from him, his body shuddering with relief. There was nothing more that Clive liked than relieving Terry. The man spent his entire life without it, and Clive felt it his duty to make up for lost time. His hand drifted deftly from Terry's back to submerging between his legs. He'd always been awkward at this sort of thing before he met Terry, but now he confidently tucked his head into the crook of Terry's neck as he stroked, pressing kisses and whispering soft words into his ear. 

It was heaven to feel him, warm and safe, coming undone with a gentle sob. Not from displeasure or sadness, but sheer relief. Terry grew so used to a life of discomfort. A life of frustration. Letting go was as satisfying as a sneeze. 

Though he still couldn't indulge in that.

"Hh—P—Pinaahh—" Terry's voice wobbled as he leaned against the frame of the bathroom door, naked as the day he was born. He flapped a bandaged hand in front of his pitifully broken nose, almost losing the fight until Clive stepped in with a finger to his upper lip.

"I'm so sorry, dear. You'll get to let it out, eventually."

"HH—I—I—Ah—HH—" Helpless, Terry's jaw swung wide and Clive saw his expressive nostrils flare against the bandages, fighting to suck in enough air, desperate to scratch at the healing itch inside. 

"Pineapple!" Clive pressed more firmly, seesawing his finger against the strong divot of the cupid's bow. It felt hot and irritated. 

"-AHD-hyew." Terry mouthed the sound of what would have been a good sneeze, if only he could let it out. He was near-crosseyed with the effort, stretching his upper lip as if his entire face was begging to crawl out from under the itchy confines of the bandage. "…that was too—hh-close.." 

Clive kissed Terry softly. 

He could be in love. 

Maybe he definitely was. 

——————————-

Finally, Terry was advised to remove the nose bandage. It was a momentous occasion, and he asked Clive to do the honors. Though as eager as Terry was to finally be free of the bandage, he still hesitated when Clive made to cut the tie of the bandage off with a pair of scissors. 

"What is it?" 

"I just.." Terry chewed his lip, nervous. "What if it's bad. Like really fucked looking." 

"Terry…" 

"It was ugly as is…" 

"Terrance." 

Clive's authoritative tone snapped Terry out of a spiral. He looked up at Clive, the black and blue around his eyes nearly gone, the cut on his forehead a faint knick.

"I don't care if your nose falls off your face. You think I like you only for that?" 

Terry blinked. He swallowed and shook his head.

Clive picked up the scissors once more and gave the bandages a quick snip. Carefully, he pulled the old bandages off Terry's nose. 

It was still a little bruised on the sides, and the bridge had a distinct bump, but otherwise the same expressive nose. His nostrils arched, free from the bandages, and Terry gently scrubbed a knuckle back and forth under the bulb of the nose, sighing. 

"Shit, that feels amazing…" 

"And wouldn't you know it. Unspoiled." 

Terry quickly brought the nearby hand mirror up to his face for inspection. He examined his profile, hovering a finger over the altered bridge of his nose. 

"Kind of bent..would you look at that?" He scrunched up his face, turned, and twisted his head at every angle to get a better look at a mostly unbent nose. 

"I never thought you could be vain, Terry. Truly, sometimes you're as bad as Merle." 

Clive took Terry's chin in his hand and gently turned his head towards him. Smiling, he brushed a quick kiss against the bump on Terry's nose. 

"Looks perfect to me, love." 

Terry was grinning, bashful from the praise, when his eyes grew unfocused and his eyebrows raised. Nose flaring wide, Terry leaned back a little, huffing. 

"Oops, sorry. Seems you're still sensitive." 

"Y-yeah..hhh—hh—" 

He smiled through it, excited to finally sneeze fully. The reaction seemed to waver right at the end of his nose, shy from constantly being denied. Mouth quaking open and shut, open and shut with every hitch. Clive's heart fluttered at the sight, though he couldn't help but find Terry's overeager, dopey expression to be a bit silly. 

A strong gasp finally crested, and Terry excitedly grabbed Clive's arm to brace himself as he bent forward with a wonderfully loud, uncontrolled—

"Ah!!-HYESSHH!!!"

He put his whole body into it, head snapping forward violently. Chest ballooning with another gasp, a second exploded wetly after. 

"HSHH-SHHIEEW!!" 

"Bless you—" 

"ACH-SHHHIEWW!" 

"Goodness! Bless you again.." 

Clive's face flushed red, stomach flip-flopping at the sight of Terry finally feeling the satisfaction. Finally feeling the relief.

That's all that Clive wanted, he realized then. He wanted Terry to feel safe, to be comfortable enough to indulge. Whether that was with him, with Merle, or altogether at once. 

He'd do anything for him. 

[boxofmushy]

In Good Company (Part 3/3)

When a lonely concierge, a scrappy gardener, and an outgoing actress walk into a bar...

Part One, Part Two Part Three

historical romance fic, sort of set in the Rookery Port 'verse but very loosely. If you like A/gatha Ch/ristie, P.G W/odehouse and T/he G/rand B/uda/pest H//otel with a side of polyamory exploration and snz threeway this one is for you.

Sex favorable ace representation, M/M/F, M sneeze, F sneeze, egregious old-timey transatlantic accents, allergies, feathers, snuff, induced sneeze, holdbacks, characters with the fet, poly relationships, mentions of body bits 🍆 , zero historical research, all vibes

N/S/F/W 18+

Merle Das sat on the floor and arranged the newspaper clippings in front of her. Lumber, chicken-wire fencing, ramps, and large beds for dogs, were advertised. She studied the listings carefully and picked the best prices, each written down in her notebook. Her dear emu, Lady Belle, was outgrowing her pen and needed the proper space. Merle had wished to bring Lady with her, but the hotel had forbidden it. She could hardly get mad, the great bird did have a tendency to bite. Her Lady Belle was happier back home. Besides, she had the cats and the raccoon, Mr. Fitz, to keep her company. She giggled to think about the trouble Mr. Fitz and Lady Belle would get up to back home, a nightmare for her housekeepers, no doubt. 

She hadn't planned to stay on sabbatical for so long. She knew she was purposefully holding up shooting that dreadful new picture but every time she planned to leave, she felt pulled back to the pools and gardens of the Pietre. Truly, work had frayed her nerves more than she let on, and she had begun to toy with the idea of early retirement as the weeks dragged on. She tried to ask her friend Clive for advice, but he'd been a bit distracted as of late. 

She grinned. More than a little distracted. 

Dear Clive. Tall and eternally stiff, always on the verge of embarrassment over everything. To see him in the throes of a real love-affair had been entertaining to watch. Truly, it was one of the reasons why she stayed at the hotel this long. She was enjoying the romance unfolding before her. 

And dear Terrance. She understood why Clive was so enamored with him. He reminded her so much of one of those little scrappy character actors, usually cast as a boxer of some kind. Mischievous but never cruel, she often caught herself wanting to pull him about by the ear. There wasn't a better match for Clive, she thought. Someone so buttoned-up needed a Terry. 

The new pen would look lovely painted green. Getting up from the floor, she stretched out on the window seat of her private suite and observed the marvelous grounds. Her thoughts drifted to the past. Wistful.

She and Clive, survived the hardest parts of the lower-end hotel work. They'd cried together, confided in each other. Clive had confided so much, told her his loneliness, his pain, and confusion. She'd done the same. One night, they took comfort with each other, both unsure if it was what they liked. It wasn't exactly what either of them wanted or needed, but it didn't pull them apart. If anything, it brought them together. She hoped he'd always feel safe to ask her anything. 

There was a tentative knock at the door. Merle knew it was Clive. 

"Come in, darling, just deciding on some construction for the ranch." 

Both Clive and Terry stepped in, both looking like they accidentally set a house on fire. Terry held his cap in his hand, head bowed. Clive kept his arms clasped behind his back.

"Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost." Merle greeted them both with a polite kiss to the cheeks before pulling them both further into the room. "What happened?" 

"Nothing! Just—" 

Clive looked to Terry, floundering for words. Terry could only stare at the ground and twist his hat into oblivion. 

"We just..wanted to ask you..somethin.." Terry muttered. 

Merle cocked her head to the side, trying to untangle whatever it was the pair of them wanted but were too terrified to ask for. Terry shook his head and whispered something to Clive, who took a deep breath and held the baton for his partner. 

"Miss Merle Das. I consider our friendship seriously, I believe you are a trusted, respected companion and I hold you in the highest regard. There is nothing that would hurt me more than to put you out of sorts, or make you feel obligated to do anything you wouldn't want to do." 

Clive had shifted into concierge mode, his voice firm and robotic. Merle took a seat on the bed and brought her knees up to rest under her chin. Smiling softly, she began to guess at what Clive was starting to ask her. But she left him take his time to ask it anyway. 

"Terrance and I have grown very close over the course of these months and have discussed our…needs..thoroughly with each other. Recently we have come to the—um—the realization that.." 

Terry cleared his throat. 

"We wanna ask if you'd like to fool around. With us."  

Clive's face burned red, but he nodded and held his ground.

Merle lifted her eyebrows. 

"A ménage à trois? With me? But you know I'm not interested in that sort of thing. Unless that's not exactly the sort of thing you want me to do…" 

Clive and Terry swallowed in synch. Merle grinned deviously and dangled her legs of the edge of the bed. 

"Why, you little darlings…"

"Look. Perhaps we can discuss this further, alright? And I want no judgment or teasing from you!" Clive tugged at his suit collar, flustered. 

"You know I never judge. And I will only tease if that's what you'd like from me, of course." Merle Das patted the empty spaces on either side of the bed, where Clive and Terry obediently took their place. 

"So then, what'll it be?" 

———————————————————————-

They agreed to 7:00pm.

Merle gave herself a final once-over in the hallway mirror, adjusting the burgundy feather boa and adding an extra spritz of the perfume Clive had asked for. It wasn't her favorite scent, too odorous, but that was the point, wasn't it? 

She pulled the headband tight against her dark, wavy curls, making sure the feather was cocked just so. It was a cheaply made band, one she used for filming when the costume department was underfunded, but it didn't matter. She'd be using it tonight, for other things. 

Standing at the door, she couldn't help but smile to herself. 

Sneezing. I should have guessed that's what he was into. It's just like him. Unusual and innocent all at the same time. 

She gave her entrance the best of her prima donna turns, the kind she used in the various romantic dramas she appeared in. She grinned.

"So. What'll it be then?" 

Clive and Terry both sat nervously on the chais longe. Terry was fidgety, looking starstruck, while Clive was a petrified tree of a man. The pair wore their best, all done up in tails and ties. It was Terry who wanted to live out a little dream of the three finding each other at a ball. Merle found Terry to be a bit of an actor at heart. 

Merle approached them, fluffing up her boa. The particles of feathers mingled with the perfume, filling the small room with an overwhelming, heady odor. Terry batted a stray feather away from his face, eyes watering with the scent. His nose wrinkled with a flare and he gasped suddenly—

"Hh-HESHH'eew!!" 

It was a quick, hiccup of a sneeze, uncovered and unexpected. Terry's face reddened as he wiped his nose against his knuckles. 

"Aw, sneezing already? I just got here." Merle sat between Clive and Terry, leaning in easily.

"—snff—Perfume gets to me.."

Merle turned to Clive, and plucked a feather off his shoulder. 

"But you- you're always so clamped up. All that concierge work, must keep a stiff upper lip, must we?" 

Clive tried to speak, but his words were thin and inaudible. 

"Hihp'SHHH!!" Terry burst with another sneeze, this one caught between a pair of tented hands. Merle play-acted a pout and stroked Terry's hair comfortingly, but she was pleased with the results. She'd made sure her very presence tickled, and apparently, it was working. For Terry at least. 

"Bless—" 

"Hih-HISh'shhhh!!" 

"-You! Goodness. You're a bit of a sensitive one, aren't you?" She reached out with her gloved hand and playfully tickled the underside of Terry's nose. It was an expressive nose, wide and with a tendency to flare. He pulled away from her irritating touch with a sniffle and twiddled the end of his nose against the palm of his hand. 

"Sorry—snff—" 

"Poor thing, it's not fair that you have the sniffles and Clive is sitting over there all untouchable." She unfurled her feather boa and settled it over Terry's shoulders. For a brief moment, Terry's eyes hooded, looking ready to sneeze again before it sizzled away with a huff. 

"You're going to let your poor boyfriend suffer by himself?" Merle leaned towards Clive, undoing his bowtie. "Very selfish of you, Clive." 

"I..don't.." Clive swallowed hard and turned his eyes away. 

"Don't…what?" Merle reached to her garter, pulling a snuff box from behind the lace. It had a screw-on lid and an elaborate embossed tin. She poured some of the contents into the divot of her hand, where thumb met palm. 

"I don't..know how to. I always have to stifle for work, I don't think I can.." Clive's hands curled into fists, tightly held against his knees. 

For a moment, Merle broke the scene. She put her hand over Clive's, giving it a fortifying squeeze. 

"Would you like to do this together?" She whispered.

Clive nodded. 

Smiling broadly, she fell back into the fantasy. Dipping her nose into the snuff, she gave it a sniff and blinked away at the burn. It zipped up her sinuses like a strike of a match, and she pressed her face gently into Clive's chest just as she gasped for a quick, clearing—

"Haah—AHCHK'DSHHH!!—Good lord—snfff—bless me!" 

"..God.." Clive breathed.

Pulling back, she saw him looking down at her owlishly, the pupils of his eyes engorged, his chest heaving. But his body loosened, muscles no longer clenched. She dabbed lightly at her nose with the back of her hand. 

"See—snff—not so bad. All you have to do is loosen your jaw and go Ah—and then— Choo! Right, Terrance?" 

Terry's eyes were hooded, jaw hanging loose as he nodded. 

"Y-yeahhh—HSH'SHHHIEEH!!" His head snapped forward with a flurry of feathers, the boa framing his muzzy face. 

She cupped Clive's chin in her hand and lifted the bottle to his nose. 

"Just breathe, dear. It's alright, I'll talk you through it." 

Tentatively, Clive sniffed. The bridge of his nose creased at the sensation, and he jerked his head away with a cough. His nose, pointy and straight, scrunched up as he spluttered. Automatically, he pinched at the tip, eyes blinking away. Merle tsk'd, and pulled his hand away. 

"None of that. Just feel it." 

Clive furrowed his brow, concentrating, looking for the world like he was trying to solve a difficult puzzle. 

"I just feel—snff—burning." Clive tried to pinch once more, only to be blocked. 

"That's for you snuff. Not a fan myself." She knuckled at the underside of her nose, the prickle of the snuff had dissolved into a minty aftertaste. So much trouble for so little. "Now stop talking, it tends to scare a sneeze away." 

Perhaps being watched so intently was giving him a mental block, a form of performance anxiety, but Clive simply blinked and sniffed, nothing more than that. So Merle decided to push things a little further. Plucking the tall feather from her headband, she gently dandled the sharp tip against Clive's septum. He squeezed his eyes shut at the horribly tickly sensation, hands automatically rising to scratch before lowering. Whether it was the feather itself, or just the mere distraction of the feather, the reaction Clive had been dodging had finally caught him, his chest suddenly snagging with a weak, telling, "—heh—" 

Merle smiled, removing the feather. She didn't want to distract him while his eyelids fluttered and his lips parted. Carefully, she placed her hands on top of his wrists as a form of gentle restraint.

"snff—heh—" 

"There you go..just think about how good it'll feel.." She whispered, careful not to interrupt. 

He wavered, eyes still closed in concentration. His nostrils twitched open and he breathed in deeply. 

"Hiiihh—" 

"HH-AHD'SHHHHIEWW!"

Terry erupted again, and Clive's build-up stuttered to a halt. Shoulders sagging, Clive sniveled and excused himself. 

Merle turned to Terry, frowning. 

"How dare you, Terrance! Stealing your dear boyfriend's sneeze like that. You've had so many already.." 

"Sorry Clive—snff— I just can'd seem'd to st-stop--" Clive shook his head, nostrils already wide with another sneeze when Merle tucked an index finger right under his nose. 

"That's enough for you. Until Clive gets one, you get nothing."  She brushed up against his upper-lip a bit, the pressure light but distracting.

For a moment, it looked like Terry was about to sneeze, finger or no finger. His chest expanded with a watery gasp, trying to get there…

"HEH-HIHG-Hhh…" the sneeze stuttered in its place, and Terry sighed watery and relieved. Sniffling, he managed to breathe a watery "..thangk'd you.." 

"Anytime, dear. Which I fear is going to be many times." Merle pressed a kiss to Terry's cheek, and he grinned, all muzzy-faced and itchy. 

"Perhaps we should remove this hmm? Maybe Clive will look better in it." She lifted the feather boa off of Terry's shoulders and sat it on Clive's instead, taking her time to arrange it around his neck just so. She could see Clive was still on the verge of sneezing again, his nostrils flickered as the soft feathers of the boa poked and rubbed up against them. He just needed to get out of his head and relax.

"Hhhf—I thig I might—heehh— s'deeze—again'd—hhhh" Terry warbled. Merle tsk'd and fanned a gloved hand in front of his flaring nose, rolling her eyes. 

"So sneezy! Honestly." She could see Clive watch them both, a dark, hungry look in his misty eyes. "Say pineapple, sometimes that helps." 

"P-pine—pineAAHple.." Terry's voice lifted several octaves higher than normal, voice going thin. Merle couldn't help but be amused by Terry's face, all loose and sneezy, one eye fighting to stay open while the other drooped closed. He was drunk with it, and Merle understood why Clive was so taken with sneezing. It was a little orgasm, a crack in a shell that tempted break open. She pressed her lips against Terry's as he trembled open with a hitch. She could taste the sneeze on his tongue, the way it curled, the way his fluttery breath danced against hers. His hands found their way to her hips, and she pulled him close. 

"hp'tchIEW!!" 

Merle quickly pulled back and turned around to see Clive doubled over, face flushed and nose flaring. He sipped the air for a second,

"hish'ShIEW!!" 

His sneezes were small and shy, painfully Clive. But they were open and un-stifled. He looked up at Merle under wet eyelashes, looking for approval. 

"Oh Bless you! Wonderfully done!" She clapped her hands and dragged Clive closer. Enthusiastically, she began to remove his coat. 

"That felt—snff—amazing.." Clive muttered dreamily as he unbuttoned his shirt. "Thank you, Merle.." 

"Always, Clive." 

Merle rewarded him with a warm, gentle kiss before discreetly trading places with Clive on the seat. She helped peel the rest of his clothes away, exposing his bare skin as he crawled onto the sniffly, breathy Terry. As they melted together, Merle pressed a line of kisses down Clive's spine, leaving a trail of lipstick as she went. 

The night had begun for Clive and Terry, but it was morning for Merle. She left her friends to their heavy caresses, both hungry in a way she wasn't. Closing the door quietly behind her, she walked easily down the hallway, fulfilled in her own way, and ready for a nice long sleep, choosing to rest by the pool in the warmth of the night, just her and the stars. Perhaps, she thought, she'd extend her vacation a little longer.

 Lady Belle and Mr. Fitz will have to wait. 

——————————————-

Clive woke from a dream at the gentle touch of lips. They peppered a line along his back, from the base of his spine to the top of his shoulders. He shivered from the sensation, and curled into the sheets of the bed. They smelled like Merle's perfume. It was both comforting and a little irritating. Scrunching up his nose, he let the tickle of the scent and the fuzzy sensation of the morning build, his mouth yawning open wide and uninterrupted. 

"H'PTshiew!!" 

It was so lovely to just let go, sneeze without stifling, without knowing it would offend or disgust. He smiled at the spray against the low light of the bedroom. 

"-Bless you." Terry's muffled voice croaked behind him. Another kiss fluttered against Clive's back. 

"Thank you, Terrance."  He rolled over to face his partner, reaching up to drag a hand through his tangled hair. "I mean it. Thank you." 

"Don't have to thank me. I wanted to try it." 

"Was it..fun? I know it was a little strange.." 

Terrance grinned, a little mischief in his eyes. 

"Fun? It's not every day a guy can say he gotta kiss from Merle fuckin Das!" Cheeks flushed, he pressed his forehead against Clive's. "And even if she wasn't Merle fuckin Das, it still was fun." 

"Really? But well..you have to admit it was really—" 

Terry cut off Clive with a kiss. 

"—it was fun, because it was with you." 

Clive breathed, letting his reply find itself. 

"I think I would very much like to keep seeing you, Terry. If you want me." 

"Yeah..yeah I do. I really do, Clive." 

They remained in each other's arms for the rest of the morning. Secrets were whispered between them, confessions, tales of childhood, hopes for the future. Whatever was between them grew and blossomed through the early hours. 

 It wasn't until noon that Clive realized it was Wednesday.

 He had completely forgotten to pick up the patisserie delivery. 

He sighed. The man would just have to wait. The entire hotel would just have to wait.

[boxofmushy]

In Good Company (Part 2/3)

When a lonely concierge, a scrappy gardener, and an outgoing actress walk into a bar...

Part One, Part Two

historical romance fic, sort of set in the Rookery Port 'verse but very loosely. If you like A/gatha Ch/ristie, P.G W/odehouse and T/he G/rand B/uda/pest H//otel with a side of polyamory exploration and snz threeway this one is for you.

Content- first chapter barely has any snz in it, this is a snz slowburn, trust me, it's for a reason. Sex favorable ace representation, eventual M/M/F, egregious old-timey transatlantic accents, allergies, feathers, SWH, mentions of F sneeze, mentions of mess but no intense descriptions, characters with the fet, poly relationships, mentions of body bits 🍆 , zero historical research, all vibes

N/S/F/W 18+

The truth was this. Terrance Penton didn't think Clive even liked him the way he liked Clive. The man was so polite and professional, he was unreadable. Sometimes he seemed to lean away from the subtle touches and gestures Terry made, as if Terry was poison. 

That really did his head in. Terry always thought he was a fairly slick sort, despite his rougher looks, but it didn't seem like Clive Fellowes was interested. For a while, Terry thought (quite embarrassed) that perhaps Clive wasn't interested in men at all, that he'd been barking up the wrong tree. Then he thought, perhaps Clive was stuck-up, and didn't want to loiter with the gardener. He certainly seemed just as fancy as the hotel he served.

But that wasn't true either. Not in the slightest. He'd learned a lot about Clive over the course of their slow friendship. Clive, despite his airs, grew up under similarly poor circumstances as Terry did. They even grew up in the same neighborhood, though the city was sprawling enough for them to have never crossed paths (that they knew of.) 

Clive was a hard worker and had earned his role as concierge out of sheer determination. His professionalism was a shield, one that was slowly lowered as the friendship grew. He wasn't standoffish, he was simply shy. And awkward. And adorable. 

And, as it turned out, Clive was interested in men. And women, and anyone really. This was also something he had in common with Terry. He fondly recalled their conversation while he pulled the weeds. They take about everything, from early discoveries to tragic crushes. That's when Terrance learned about Merle. 

Merle Das herself! He'd seen almost all her pictures. He thought Clive had been joking about when he casually told him The Merle Das was a good friend. Then he thought Clive was out-and-out lying when he admitted to having been previously intimate with Merle Das, though in a very tangential, platonic sort of way. Clive had turned red and fumbled through the story and what led to what. Terry had taken the entire thing as a cute attempt to impress him, until he finally met Ms. Das in person. 

It had been a week into them finally, officially "going-out" as a couple. They'd shared a kiss in the foyer when Merle caught them. She stood at the top of the stairs in all her glamor and glory, looking surprised and then triumphantly happy. She practically floated down the stairs, her smile making Terry's heart skip a beat. He felt like he was in a dream. 

"Is this the famous Terrance I've heard all about?" Merle turned to Clive, giving his elbow a friendly pinch. "It took you long enough.." 

Clive rubbed the back of his neck, an exasperated gesture he so often made. 

"And I thought you were on a no-disturbance sabbatical," Clive grumbled. "No new faces, no parties, no-" 

"I'm Merle Das, though I suppose you know me." She offered her hand to Terry, which he took and forgetfully shook like he was greeting his supervisor. 

"T-Terry..uh-Penton?" 

He nearly forgot his name. 

And then everything spilled out at once. 

"Miss, I just want to say- I've seen all your pictures! Every single one, I really love all the ballroom featuresandthetimeyouplayedthepiratequeenand—" 

He babbled like a fool, face hot, blushing to his ears. Merle drank in the praise unabashedly, smiling and quipping whenever she got a word in. The stiff Clive loosened and even smiled as they took the conversation to the courtyard, and the energy grew easier still. Terry felt a shift in Clive, an ease that he'd never seen before. He was quiet and content, and let Terry enthusiastically pepper Merle with questions about the industry while she, in turn, excitedly talked about all the adventures (and misadventures) she had as an actress. At one point, Clive took Terry's hand in his. Their fingers laced easily with each other's while Clive looked on at Merle with love and admiration. 

For a moment, Terry didn't want to be anywhere else in the world but with the two of them. 

And then… 

"Hhh—hup'tdhndk!!" 

Clive pulled away with a sudden sneeze, which he squelched between the harsh pinch of two fingers. Blinking, the back of his neck grew splotchy with embarrassment as he seemed to hover between breaths. 

"Oh dear. There he goes." Merle tutted and rolled her eyes. "The perils of being outdoors for Clive. I'm sure you've seen him like this plenty of times before." 

She was right. Terry had seen him like this plenty of times before. Being the chief gardener, Clive would often meet him outside with a light sniffle. But Terry noticed how embarrassed he seemed to be over the whole thing that he did his best not to pay any attention to it. Merle however, seemed to enjoy a bit of teasing. 

"Bless you darling. Oh, there you go again," 

"hhuuhh—s-sorry—I—HP'dnkd!! Damn it all!" 

"I wish you wouldn't squash them like that." She shook her head and turned back to Terry "I did that once, a few years ago when I was filming Queen of the Ice. Had a bloody cold the entire time, you should have seen me. Snot dripping all the way down my cleavage. I tried squashing a sneeze between takes, and I lost hearing in my left ear for a month!" 

Clive was nearly turned all the way in his seat, hiding from Terry and Merle into a crumbled pocket-handkerchief. 

"Ah, thought you sounded a little stuffy in that one." Terry grinned and patted Clive on the back, attempting to comfort him as the man shook with another suppressed stifle. 

"Coudtry Med! Atted by mby side and led mbe your ears!" Merle pinched her nose shut and mocked her still-remembered monologue. "Oh, it was ridiculous. Remember that part when I was being woo'ed by the blue knight?" 

"Yea!" 

"I had to sneeze the entire time. All that eyelash batting and gasping was just me trying not to—" 

"Heh-Hd'PHBT!!" Clive spluttered into the handkerchief with a violent bob of his head. 

"Bless you!" Both Terry and Merle chimed in at once. 

Unexpectedly, Clive shot up from his seat and stomped away, still sniffling into his embroidered handkerchief. He seemed upset, his shoulders hunched in a humiliated slope as he excused himself and blew his nose. 

Terry grew worried. Had he offended Clive somehow? 

Was I getting too friendly with Merle? Was he jealous…

"Poor dear. He's always been a little embarrassed by that sort of thing." 

"What thing?" 

"His allergies. I swear, every time I bring it up or anything even suggesting it, he goes all squirmy." Merle took a sip of her tea and placed a reassuring hand over Terry's. She thumbed at the faint tattoos lettering each knuckle. 

"Don't you worry, dear. Clive is a strange one. I assure you, he likes you. Quite a bit." 

"I like him. And I think he likes you too, I mean—he told me about the two of you. You're a good friend for him, in a lot of ways." 

Merle smiled gently, the smooth arch of her eyebrows raising. 

"And what about you? Do you like me? Terrance?" 

Terrance swallowed, his stomach tightening. 

"I think I do, Ms. Das. Quite a bit." 

I like you. And I love that Clive likes you, and I like him.

There could be something lovely between us all. 

———————-

Before gardening. Terrance had been a thief. 

Somewhat. 

Not for the pleasure of it. For the desperation of it. There were a lot of things he had to do, to survive.

 He'd climbed through windows, snuck past cops, and squeezed through half-open windows. It was a part of his life he wasn't proud of, but he did learn a thing or two about being stealthy. It proved to be a skill he never knew he needed, until he needed it.

For instance.

If he was overcome with the need to seduce his new partner while dining a the Moonlight Riviera, but found the crowd too suffocating and prudish for public displays of affection, he simply pulled Clive into a nearby wardrobe to do so. Most well-to-do washrooms had one, and this banqueting hall was no different.

 In the cramped space between night jackets and overcoats, Terry excitedly unbuttoned and fumbled with Clive's suffocating suit. 

Clive trembled and panted between kisses. Nervous hands tore Terry's shirt collar open with a pop and hungry lathed at the side of Terry's neck. For a moment, Terry's mind drifted to thoughts of a seductive vampire film he saw last fall, and his heart raced with the memory of it. With his black uniform and angular features, Clive would have made for a perfect vampire, at least in some ways. 

An awkward vampire, perhaps. In his over-enthusiasm, Clive bumped his head against one of the hatboxes stacked overhead, sending a waterfall of old lace bonnets, feathered sunhat and nightcaps to rain over both of them. It stunk of dust and mothballs. They hadn't been open in years. 

"Sorry—" Cive breathed against the bare skin of Terry's chest. 

"You're fine mate," Terry dragged his fingers through Clive's hair as the man tried to crouch, attempting to unbutton Terry's pants. He took a deep breath through his nose and out his mouth, trying to steady himself. His eyes burned with the overwhelming cloud of dust that filled the small space full of clothes and bodies. The lingering scent of obnoxious perfume, the suffocating odor of tobacco. It felt like all excess of the rich and wealthy were shoved right up his nose. 

And then Clive stood up again. He peered through the darkness at Terry, and shook his head, whispering "sorry". 

He hadn't undone his pants, instead choosing to simply press his body to Terry in a timid embrace. All the desire cooled off in an instant, leaving Terry feeling pent-up and frustrated, and confused. This wasn't the first time this happened. It'd been a month now, and Clive couldn't seem to go further than this. There was no discussion around it. Clive would simply go cold, and apologize. Terry didn't want to force Clive into anything he didn't want to do, but it would have been helpful if he knew what Clive wanted to do at all. 

But all he could get was apologies. No communication. 

"It's okay, it's okay." Terry held Clive, stroking his back. He coughed, a bit choked up by the dust. At least they wouldn't have to be folded up in the terrible wardrobe for much longer—

The doors of the washroom opened up, and a gaggle of drunk gentlemen stumbled inside, all yammering loudly at each other about a million things and nothing at all. 

Terry and Clive froze. Though not indecent, they were both disheveled and would obviously look like they were in the throes of something if they were discovered. So they remained petrified in each other's arms and waited in the dark. 

Terry sniffled. 

Shit.

His chest skipped and fluttered as an all-too-familiar sensation tickled at the back of his nose. Sniffing sharply, Terry tried to untangle his arms from Clive's, a nearly impossible thing to do in close quarters. The movement upset a jacket, causing it to fall to the floor with a flump. Particles of dust and lint drifted in the air, making Terry's nose run, fully. He attempted another sniff, but this one was liquid, and audible, and followed by an itchy-sounding sigh. 

Clive's head snapped upward. His vision adjusted to the dark, Terry could see the look of realization on Clive's face as he watched Terry sniffle again. Sniffle, and sigh. 

Curious.

Terry could feel Clive. He could feel his body warm against his. Clive's hands dug into his back, his chest catching. Terry's thigh had been settled between Clive's legs, as Clive was significantly taller than he.

Clive swallowed tightly, and Terry's nostrils flared wide as he sniffled back a shaky hitch. 

This wasn't the first time Terry was threatened with a sneeze. His old life proved precarious, so he had to sneak around. He didn't get far without learning a few tricks. He rolled up his tongue and pressed it to the roof of his mouth, itching against it. It worked, a little bit, though he felt a dribble of mess roll down the front of his lip. Unable to do a thing about it, he wriggled his lip and sniffled, the closest he could get to wiping. 

That's when he felt it. The unmistakable feeling of Clive getting hard against his thigh. 

Did he like this?

The movement in the wardrobe upset more dust, and Terry, though pained to be caught, was also being overtaken with curiosity. Turning to the side, he took a quick sniff of one of the stored coats, scrunching his nose up at the fuzzy sensation of dust. Coughing lightly, his chest expanded, and his jaw quaked open for a relieving sneeze. Without a second to spare, he buried his muzzle into Clive's chest, pulling him in tightly. 

"hhheeehh—-hy'emphb!!"

It was as quiet as he could get it, muffled in the crest of Clive's chest. He could feel the man's heart beat furiously against his lips as he sniveled with another release—

"HmpD!!"" 

Clive's arms wrapped around Terry's body as he shivered with another build-up. 

"Heh—Hhh—HMP'T!!—"

Lips and nose wet against Clive's skin, he nearly got away with the last one, if it wasn't for a horribly loud "..Guuh…." Of an exhale. 

The wardrobe door cracked open, a confused face of a lightly drunk partier blinking at the pair, confusedly. Terry turned his head to the man, aware of the line of drool still connecting his lips to his partner's flesh. He held a finger up and gestured a pleading "shhh!" To the gentleman. 

The man winked and quietly closed the door. His voice warbled to the other men, hurrying them up and shooing them away. Soon, the washroom was empty again, Clive and Terry were free. 

"haaahh—HESH'SHHH!!" Terry bent forward with the sneeze, clutching his knees as he did so. It was exaggerated and incredibly relieving. It scratched away at his tickled sinuses, and he wiped surreptitiously at his nose with the heel of his hand. 

"Clive—snfff— why have you never told me you-snnff—are into this?" Terry smiled lopsidedly at Clive, nose still buzzy with dust. 

"Into what?" Clive adjusted his undone shirt and tried to lean behind a nearby chaise lounge, attempting to hide his excitement. 

"Sneezing. You—" Terry pointed at Clive, now grinning ear-to-ear. "Are into it. Or at least when I do it, or when you do it? Or-" 

Terry slunk over to Clive, poised like a cat ready to pounce. "-Or when Merle does it." 

Clive tried to speak, but nothing came out. Terry sidled up to him, eyeing the man up and down with a new hunger burning in him. He could see the seams of Clive now, tightly wound, but a single thread had loosened, and all he had to do to unravel him was give it a tug.

"… All of the above," Croaked Clive. 

Terry grinned, thumbing the side of his nose. He could still feel the grains of dust fluttering up and down his sinuses. 

"I'm..so ashamed." Clive looked down at his shoes. Crestfallen. "Terrance, you mean a lot to me and—if you want to part ways, I understand." 

"Clive. Look at me." 

Clive hesitated. 

"Seriously—I-hh—t-think'd you—heh-shouldlookatme—" 

Clive's gaze flitted upward, just in time to get an eyeful of Terrance. He had his head tipped back, nose flaring, and jaw yawning wide. 

"HEHh—HSH'SHHHIEWW!!" 

It was a louder sneeze than normal. The tail end spraying between his lips, uncovered and indulgent. Snapping forward, he remained tipped for a minute and let himself breathe and recover before looking back at Clive. 

"Snff—how was that?" He licked his lips.

Clive's shoulders relaxed, and a look of relief washed over him. Tears danced in his eyes as he fished out a handkerchief and pressed it to Terry's nose. 

"..Blow." 

There could be something lovely between us, after all.

[boxofmushy]

In Good Company (Part 1/3)

When a lonely concierge, a scrappy gardener, and an outgoing actress walk into a bar...

historical romance fic, sort of set in the Rookery Port 'verse but very loosely. If you like A/gatha Ch/ristie, P.G W/odehouse and T/he G/rand B/uda/pest H//otel with a side of polyamory exploration and snz threeway this one is for you.

Content- first chapter barely has any snz in it, this is a snz slowburn, trust me, it's for a reason. Sex favorable ace representation, eventual M/M/F, egregious old-timey transatlantic accents, allergies, feathers, zero research, all vibes

N/S/F/W 18+

The patisserie always delivered on Wednesdays, and always at 5:00 am sharp. Mr. Clive Fellowes never missed the pickup. Ever. If he did, it'd only be because he was dead, and even then, he'd still try to crawl out of the grave for pickup. 

His staff could go ahead and tease him for all his worth, he didn't care. Clive had worked hard to become the head concierge, and he wasn't about to let quality slip for anything. The Pietre Hotel had seen better days, what it needed was some form of authority and care to survive the changing tastes of vacationers. The horse and carriage balls hosted by the hotel were long gone. Now it was all motorcars recklessly zooming up and down the cliffside, operated by screaming free-spirits drunk on champagne and never-ending cash from mummy and daddy. 

Speaking of which. 

Mr. Clive nearly dropped the priceless vase he was dusting when a bright yellow motorcar crashed through the topiary maze. Fumbling with the vase, he sprinted outside with a good scolding brewing in his chest. The front end of the motorcar was folded up like an accordion and steamed furiously while the frazzled driver tumbled out of the front seat. 

"Woo-wee. The dealer wasn't lying. What an acceleration!" 

"…Ms. Das?" 

The young woman beamed at Mr. Clive, her new and very modern short hair rustled by the crash. A bent cigarette still clenched between her teeth, she wobbled along the grass holding her bags under her arms. Wrapped around her neck in a death-grip was a bright pink boa that dripped feathers as she walked, leaving a trail behind her. 

"Clive! Wonderful to see you again. Sorry about the bush." 

Mr. Clive fought between two strong emotions. One was irritation and the other fondness, but it was hard to be irritated with Ms. Merle Das for long.

"-And a birdbath! You completely crushed it!" 

Merle spread her arms, smiling at Clive expectantly. 

"I'll buy a new bush. And a new birdbath. Hug?"  

Clive sighed and folded into her embrace, getting a face-full of feathers in the process.

"You're always so stiff, dear. Like I'm hugging one of those lawn statues." 

"Like the one you drove over last month?" Clive wrinkled his nose and pulled away from the hug, swiping a finger against his upper lip. 

"I replaced it!" 

It wasn't just the statue. She'd replaced many things in her semiannual visits. It was the least she could do. But despite her infuriating disregard for lawn decor, Clive considered her a friend. Possibly the closest one he had. It was a lonely life, being a concierge, but he never forgot good staff, even when they quit for a risky life as an actress in the picture shows, hit it big as a celebrity, and now occasionally, and accidentally, vandalize their old place of employment. 

Arm in arm they walked along the lawns while Merle talked of the new picture she was in (another desert adventure. Dreadful.) and shared all the latest gossip about her costars. Truly, his friend lived many lives while he lived half of one. 

Speaking of which. 

"And how have you been? My dear Clive? Please tell me you took that vacation I badgered you about last we met?" 

"You know I didn't." 

Merle huffed. 

"It's been peak boating season, we're understaffed as it is. Surely you remember how it was during the spring." 

"Vividly. I swear you sneezed your way through the three long months of Busy Season." 

Clive cleared his throat and tried to ignore the flush of heat warming his cheeks at the mention of that word. He quickly wrangled the conversation away from it. 

"No vacation for me, not while I'm a concierge. Where would I go that could be possibly better than here?" 

"Vacations aren't just places you go, silly. They're places you go with. Friends! Lovers.." A mischievous twinkle lit up Merle's dark eyes, and she squeezed his arm."Now that I mentioned it.." 

Clive's face was no longer warm. It caught fire. He coughed and brushed an errant pink feather off his shoulder. 

"Ms. Das…" 

"Oooh, please tell me you finally talked to him! Is he still here? Can I peak? Oh, please may I-" 

"Ms. Das!" Clive nearly slammed the hotel door behind them. He pulled at the starched white collar of his uniform, currently strangling the air out of him. Looking over his shoulder, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "…Yes, he's still working here, alright? And no I haven't.."

"Wait—it isn't inappropriate, is it? You being his employer?" 

"No! I'm not his employer. I have no jurisdiction over the gardens, he's just a coworker." 

"Well then? What's stopping you? It's been months of you pining." 

Clive groaned and gently pulled Merle to a more private alcove of the hotel, away from staff and guests. 

"We've talked. " 

"Talked! Yes!" Merle clasped her hands together.

"Quite a bit. I, I would say we are very good friends now." 

"Friends!" 

"And that is that. I just can't seem to… Oh, this is ridiculous." 

"You can't find the courage to push the boat to sea? Tsk, the agony of a crush." 

Clive straightened his shoulders and adjusted the cuffs of his uniform.

"Crushes are for schoolyards. I'm the chief concierge of The Pietre Hotel, I am beyond that sort of thing." 

Merle sighed and placed a hand on Clive's shoulder. For a brief moment, Clive felt like all the weight of responsibility was lifted for a moment, and his heart grew lighter at her touch. 

She always does this. Make me calm, make me feel safe despite everything. I would trust her with my life, which is mad considering she bought herself a pet emu. 

"You know me, dear, I'm also beyond that sort of thing. Love, sex? It's a party I'll go to, but I ain't interested in staying overnight. But you—I know you. You're my friend, and to me it sounds like you found someone who'd you'd like to stay at the party for. So I suggest you go to your lovely gardener and tell him how you feel." 

"Fantastic monologue. Award worthy." Clive clapped, sarcastically. Merle, ever the good sport, bowed dramatically, her feather boa flopping into Clive's face. Scrunching up his face at the irritating feathers, he gave his pointy nose a quick pinch and took a step back. For a brief moment of panic, he felt like he could sn—no, crisis averted. 

"I'll get that nomination someday. Mark my word. I'm coming for it!" And with a dramatic whirl, she picked up her suitcases and darted towards the first lobby boy who crossed her path. She gave Clive a final warm smile and mouthed the words "Talk to Him!" Before disappearing with her feathers and her bags down the hallway. 

It killed him to admit it, but she was right. He was being cowardly. The thought bit away at him for the rest of the day, haunting his steps as he meticulously picked through the old magazines in the lobby, frowning at the clumps of dust falling from the thin pages. If he didn't step up the courage soon, he'd become as neglected as the dated magazines lining the dust-grayed shelves of the hotel. He needed to be honest with his feelings, as mortifying as that sounded. 

A sharp, sudden gasp behind Clive made him jump. 

"HEEh-HT'DSHHHH!!!—HD'SHHIEEW—snff—Fuck me." 

Speaking of which.

———————————-

Terry Penton snapped forward with a pair of itchy sneezes, both smothered in a well-loved bandana. Blinking, he sniffled and twiddled his nose against the palm of his hand. 

Clive's stomach raged with butterflies. He clenched his fists and cursed whatever god ruled the heavens who cursed him with his strange preferences. While normally inconvenient, when it came to dealing with his feelings for the chief gardener, it made his life a torturous nightmare. 

He couldn't help it. Mr. Penton he was just…

Bloody gorgeous. That's what Merle would say. But she thought everyone was beautiful in their own way. Truly, Mr. Penton—Terry— was less movie star and more enigmatic stranger who stepped out of a mystery novella. Admittedly, Clive had been intimidated by Terry when they first met, despite being more than a few heads taller than the man. There was an intensity to him and a sharp wit that bordered on mischief that always caught Clive off guard. 

-And his nose, it always flared when he smiled-

Lord above, get a hold of yourself.

"B-bless you, sir."  Voice cracking, Clive wrangled dignity and gave Terry a curt nod. 

"Ah- hey.. I didn't know you were there uh—sorry about the um, the language." 

Clive nodded, fully accepting that he was obviously invisible to Terry and therefore wasting his feelings. It would've been best for him to leave the room and continue with the rest of his life in pace. But he let his mouth run instead. 

"Not at all, you know me! Mr. Stealthy. As quiet as a cat. Subtle as a shadow!" 

Clive contemplated jumping out of the nearby window. What made it worse was Terry had the gall to break into that delightfully crooked smile and dignify him with a laugh. Giving his nose another twist of the bandana, his breath caught in his chest. 

"I hih—" a pause, and then a sigh. "—'scuse mbe—snff— sorry, the dust is setting me off again."  Terry waved the bandana around, looking sheepish. "I wanted to let you know we finally got the fish in if you still wanted to see them."

"They are? Yes, I'd love to see them!" Clive practically yelled.

"But, isn't it lunchtime? The guests-" 

"Don't worry about it, it's fine." 

"But it's busy season? You can always see the fish after hours." 

"No! No, no, I insist on seeing them now." 

It wasn't just the fish, though he had been excited to see the renovated pond finally populated. Terry had done a wonderful job overseeing the project, he beamed while he described all the details that went into seeing the waterscape completed. Clive only understood half of the process, but it didn't matter. Seeing how enthusiastic and knowledgeable Terry was made his chest tighten. He couldn't hide the stupid smile on his face while Terry crouched over the side of the pond, pointing out each new, chunky koi fish gliding easily in the water. He had named all of them. Because of course he had. 

"And that is blinker, 'cause of the eye. Poor thing, they weren't going to sell him to me, but I insisted. If no one else was going to take him, I would. And that's Shirley over there, I think she's going to get much larger than she is now, probably the biggest of the bunch, and that—" 

"Mr. Penton! I'mveryfondofyouandI'dliketotakeyououttodinner.."

The confession tumbled out of Clive's mouth. His clammy hands clasped tightly to his side, a look of horror playing on his face, shocked at what he'd done. 

Terry looked confounded. His mouth opened and shut like the koi fish. 

"Sorry. Sorry that was—incredibly..just ignore that. I should get back to the—back there." Clive turned on his heels like a wind-up soldier and began the humiliating walk back. 

He didn't expect to feel someone grab his hand. 

"Hey, hey, wait."

Clive turned to find Terry, wide-eyed, cheeks as red as his auburn hair. He still held Clive's hand. 

"Did you ask me out to dinner?" 

Clive swallowed thickly and nodded. 

"In a more than friends..sorta way?" 

"Mr. Penton, if you aren't interested, I completely understand. I would never—" 

Gently, Terry ducked his head and pressed a gentle kiss to the tops of Clive's knuckles. 

"I'd love to." 

[xghostlightx]

Everybody hold up, have we considered - lightening triggering someone's photic reflex???

[boxofmushy]

I got some broken nose angst coming your way

[boxofmushy]

Rookery Port | Fic Masterlist

A seaside town of discovery and adventure.

Meet the characters

art by squoonsquoon

Donovan Bell | Age 26, Pronouns He/Him A naturalist who teaches aquatic life science at Saint Gregor's Academy. He is a homebody at heart who enjoys a good cup of tea and a nice snooze by the fire with his beloved cat Hazel on his lap.

Francis Fog | Age 31, Pronouns He/Him

"Eccentric" is how people describe Fog. "Downright mad, a raving loony" is what they call him behind his back. Professor Francis Fog is a local inventor and dabbler in the occult, as much a magician as a scientist.

Herbert "Herb" Galloway | Age 34, Pronouns They/Them

Herb is the local bruiser who has lived a thousand lives and fought in a hundred pubs. A dock-worker in their youth, they now serve as personal bouncer and valet to local eccentric inventor, Professor Fog. An unusual turn for them, and a job they've kept way longer than anyone else before them. One can only wonder as to how big the paycheck is.

Hazel | Age 4, Pronouns She/Her, nickname is "good fluffy girl"

Beloved cat of Donovan's. His best friend. A good fluffy girl.

Stories

(listed in chronological order)

O, The Sea So Blue - Part One - Part Two

Seeking and Finding - Part One - Part Two

Between Two Colleagues (Prologue to Adventure, wherever it calls) - Oneshot

Adventure, wherever it calls - Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six

[deucewilliams]

Has anyone here ever considered....... chimney sweep snz.......? 👀

[boxofmushy]

this is crazy ‘cause I was just thinking about a fic with my oc’s getting stuck in a chimney.

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reblogging my restored ficlist! the links on the individual posts haven't been updated yet, but everything should be up and running now. Thank you all for your patience. Feel free to re-like any fics that were lost

[boxofmushy]

Welcome to my weird little corner of tumblr-

Info

🍄 They/Them, 30s, ace/grey 💜 🤍🖤

🍄 Snz blog is very strictly under the NSFW umbrella. Minors DNI, I don't follow blogs without an age

🍄 I'm open to anons, sneeze fet discussions and making new friends! I'm not super comfortable with talking about my own self obs. Please respect that.

What I'm into

🍄 Colds & Allergies, Fevers

🍄 Holdbacks & Stifles, lengthy build-ups, basically anything that prolongs the sneeze 🤧

🍄 Both super fluffy, cuddly scenarios and spicy, dom/sub situations. I also love really niche and creative scenarios too! (SWH especially)

🍄 Vulnerability, teasing, etc etc etc.

FIC LIST

Fanfic

Original Work

Drabbles

[boxofmushy]

sorry if any of the links to my fics don’t work after my blog name change 🫩 I didn’t realize it would do that. I’ll fix the links in the masterlist. All of my writing should be under the bbeez writes or bbez writes tags in the meantime. Hold tight everyone!