The Sickness.

30+ he/they 🏳️‍⚧️, aro (fray) This is a fetish blog! Please proceed with caution! 🔞⛔️

[mimikusu]

I imagine a guided tour, the coffee ride kind, with a bunch of older ladies, bored of being freed of responsibilities for once. And I imagine a guide, desperately trying to keep them entertained. Now, what if all the effort was taking a toll on them. Or maybe the tour is during the most lush of springtimes and the group is bound for a number of paleolithic graves and old ruins, wandering through fields and grasslands triggering their allergies. Or maybe it's raining and they're not sufficiently equiped. Whatever it is, it leaves the poor guide sniffly and sneezy whith a bunch of very eager caretakers, they can't get away from.

[selene-and-the-cold]

Since I was reminded of this just now: Snuff. Trapped in a fine gentleman's moustache... 😏

[mimikusu]

Why is my social media trying to sell me sneezing as some sort of meditation? 'The only time we're not thinking is during a sneeze or an orgasmn.' Sure. I love both. You caught my attention.

[mimikusu]

I know I'm being very particular once again, but can I maybe have someone who's basically turning into a big whiny and very dramatic baby when sick? Someone who desperately needs their Mommy/Daddy to watch and fuss over them? Especially if they're very capeable and self-sufficient when they're healthy. Someone who's basically a strong top most of their time, but a very bratty bottom when they're having so much as only a hint of a cold.

[mimikusu]

I don't know if anyone even cares, but I needed a closure for this one.

[mimikusu]

Here's a little scribble loosly inspired by @empresskaze's backroom-post and @silklined's tags.

[empresskaze]

Person whose job is in a backroom/storage room, some place that's normally cold espc in the winter when their workplace doesn't heat those areas.

So person is back there doing w/e, feeling cold, maybe has a sweater on. Sniffles begin, needing to rub their nose.

Person doesn't think much of it as theyre used to it, but after working in that room for several days, they're sneezing, shivering a bit, coughing but need to do their job so they just continue on.

[xghostlightx]

For the prompts —

“Is there anything more annoying than being sick outside of cold and flu season?”

— for whoever it makes you think of first!

Well. This went places I wasn't expecting. I hadn't really planned to explore R/ipper and 1970s G//ethan, nor had I planned to play around with the idea of Kink!G/iles quite yet, but here we are. Can also be read as kink!E/than if you want, though that's not explicitly the case. Not quite 18+, but I think it's pretty clear where this is going.

Contains: male cold sneezing, mlm, a bit of mess, implied past contagion

“Is there anything more annoying than being sick outside of cold and flu season?” E/than asks petulantly from where he's draped over one end of the sofa. "Thatcher?" R/upert suggests with a lazy yawn, raising a knuckle to scrub idly at his left nostril. There's a tickle lurking just out of reach, not quite enough to actually make him sneeze, but it won't seem to go away either. E/than rolls his eyes theatrically, crumples the tissue he's just blown his nose into, and considerately lobs it at R/upert's head.

"Oi!" Rupert growls, but it's as conviction-less as it is hoarse; it's too hot, he's too congested. Too distracted by the intractable itch that keeps waxing and waning infuriatingly in a way that might actually be more annoying than Thatcher. Might even be more annoying than Ethan. He pinches the tip of his nose between thumb and forefinger, massaging both nostrils now, trying to either quash the sensation or coax it to culmination. Nothing.

No, wait…

He lets his jaw slacken as his breath stutters tantalizingly, hand hovering loosely in front of his face now.

Come on, come on, c–

"Hh-y'IHh'SHIeeEWw!"

Ethan sneezes. A drawn out, almost drawling, eminently satisfying sounding sneeze. Rupert glares over at him, his own sneeze once again retreating into a maddeningly itchy, watery-eyed limbo, just in time to see him dip forward with another languid, indulgent, thoroughly uncovered sneeze, and he suddenly can't decide if he's more annoyed or turned on.

Impulsively he pivots in his seat, swinging a leg around so he's straddling Ethan, pinning him to the couch by his wrists, their faces inches apart. He can see the way Ethan's nostrils, enticingly pink after days of abuse and just slightly damp at the edges, are already flaring needily again.

"I believe the usual response is to say 'bless you'," Ethan grins, all teeth and glinting eyes, "Some people even bring gods into it I understand, although…" He quirks an eyebrow, smile positively predatory now as he casts an appraising gaze over the position he now finds himself in.

"The standard god conventionally invoked in that context might not entirely approve of this context."

Not that he looks like he minds in the least.

"You keep stealing my fucking sneeze," Rupert snarls, pressing him even further into the couch. "You th-hHh-ink I'm d… h-UHhh…! doing this on p… pur… hHuhnh – purpose?–huH'chY'ISHhhheuuh! Ihh… dj'ISHhhiuuue! h'ISSSHHEEyEEW!"

"I think you're doing it like that on purpose." He growls as Ethan, indeed, shudders against his hold with another series of desperate, wrenching sneezes, this time forcibly uncovered since Rupert has his hands trapped, misting across his chest in a way that has his nipples instantly erect beneath his t-shirt.

Before he can draw his breath back, Rupert catches his mouth in his, kissing him fiercely.

[mimikusu]

I totally forgot that I did this. Thank you for reminding me! It's an alltime favorite!!

[mimikusu]

Here's the promised second half. 🙏🏻

NSFW under the cut. 💕

[mimikusu]

Unlawfully sick!

Lately I can't help but be stuck in a loop of: going out dancing/drinking/whatever while getting sick and subsequently getting worse. And by the time they're home, they can't keep themselves from sneezing and sneezing and sneezing... and while the activity would have been enough to leave them craving, the fact that they keep sneezing like that is making it worse...

[empresskaze]

Trouble In Paradise Part 3 - Ambrose and Cecil

aka the picnic fic

Part 1 | Part 2

this part is more angsty then illness. not betad im too tired. oh there's an Easter egg in this part for readers ^^ wonder how many will notice

~~~~

Molly worked her magic as best as she could providing hot herbal wine to sooth Ambrose's cough. The mustard plaster wasn't his favorite but anything to rid himself of congestion if only for a few hours would be worth it.

“You look quite handsome, sir, if I may say so.” Molly said as she pulled Ambrose's hair into a ribbon tying it back.

“Thank you, Molly.” Ambrose smiled, tucking a handkerchief into his sleeve.

His reflection in the mirror looked better than he felt, the dark blue coat paired with the powder blue waistcoat was a nice change from his normal brown attire.

“Enjoy yourself tonight Mr Beaumont and please alert me if you need anything, I shall be helping Lord Lockhart's staff.” Molly said as she opened the door.

“Thank you and I will.” Ambrose nodded.

Letting out a raspy sigh, Ambrose once again fiddled with his tie before heading out and down to the main ballroom.

The halls were packed with guests socializing, laughing, gossiping as Ambrose weaved his way through the crowds trying to find Cecil.

Freddy caught his eye and winked at him then turned his attention back to the man on his arm and the woman on the other.

Rolling his eyes, Ambrose finally saw Cecil in with a large group of people right near one of the entrances to the ballroom.

The string band played, waiters offered drinks, and guests maneuvered their way in.

Ambrose relaxed a bit when he approached Cecil who was engaged in a conversation with a man Ambrose knew but not by name.

He waited for a break in the conversation before alerting Cecil to his presence but noticed Edmund Lockhart staring at him.

Swallowing hard, Ambrose cleared his throat hoping Cecil would turn but with all the chatting, it went unheard.

Several minutes passed before he caught Cecil's eyes.

“Ambrose?” He turned with a frown, then leaned in, “You shouldn't be here.”

Taken aback, Ambrose scoffed, “And why not? I told you earlier I'd be attending tonight, what gives you the right...”

“Cecil!” Lord Lockhart's voice boomed over Ambrose's as he approached both men, “You've many more suitors to meet, let's not keep them waiting.”

Cecil's expression pained momentarily then returned to stoic before his father noticed. “Yes Father.” He turned back to Ambrose, “I will speak with you at a later time.”

Ambrose nodded curtly. "Of course, I apologize for interrupting." The effort to keep his voice steady was taking its toll. So he stood silently several feet away while he watched Lord Lockhart efforts to find his son a better suitor bow, curtsy, and brown nose their way into the conversation.

Ambrose kept his mouth shut, taking a glass of wine whenever a servant passed with a tray.

Occasionally, Cecil would look his way but the glimpses were always fleeting.

He felt pressure building, that burning sensation in his lungs, so excused himself to a quiet corner where he coughed into his handkerchief, and desperately fought tears.

Closing his eyes he took a breath. This wasn't new. Cecil would always garner attention. Ambrose simply yearned for it not to be at Edmund's hand.

"Why doesn't he concentrate on Freddy?" Ambrose muttered under his breath as he rubbed at his nose again.

"Because even his Lordship recognizes folly." A tall man, probably Ambrose's age stood next to him now. Finely dressed in a deep green waistcoat and tan satin ascot, his light green eyes were friendly as smiled at Ambrose who was briefly taken aback.

"Oh where are my manners," He said putting out his hand, "Carlton Lane, nephew of Lord Lockhart, my mother is his sister, Lady Avis Lane." Carlton pointed to a woman in a lovely blue dress and hat near the center of the room, surrounded by others.

"Ambrose Beaumont, pleasure. But please do not take offense for not taking your hand, I am feeling a bit under the weather today." He sniffled quickly then bowed.

"Ah so you're Cecil's appraiser. He speaks very highly of you." Carlton said, taking out a cigarette case and offering one to Ambrose.

"No thank you and does he? With all the news over his Lordships recent acquisitions I'd assumed he'd forgotten about me." Ambrose said, forcing his tone to remain pleasant.

Cartlon chuckled, "I was with Lord Edmund as I've taken an interest in antiques. I heard Cecil mutter several times how his father was over paying." He looked directly at Ambrose, "Also weren't you the one who knew that Van George painting was a forgery purely based on where the artist had put the signature? Brilliant work."

Ambrose felt his face flush, "I thank you." He said taking a drink hoping to thwart the cough he felt brewing.

The music ended, both men clapped softly. The orchestra struck up music meant for dancing. Ambrose cast a fleeting glance at Cecil who seemed to be in depth in conversation.

"It appears dancing will start," Carlton looked at Ambrose, "Do you?"

"N-No...not really," He sniffled hard, "I'll stay near the wall for this."

Carlton nodded, "Pleasure meeting you." Then headed off striking up a conversation with another gentleman before they took their positions on the floor.

Ambrose let out a sigh which turned into a cough so he quickly went out onto the balcony for some air. The night was pleasant but still too chilly for Ambrose who coughed again hoping the fresh air would do his lungs some good.

The balcony overlooked the garden he and Cecil walked arm in arm, in several days beforehand. How he wished they could again.

Reentering, Ambrose once again took a glass of wine and looked to where Cecil had been conversing; however he was gone. Confused, Ambrose searched the crowd surrounding the dancers until his eyes fell on the dance floor. His heart sank as he nearly dropped the glass.

Across from Cecil on the dance floor stood a beautiful young woman. A finely crafted jeweled comb sat prominently in her shining black hair. Her dress, a vivid purple probably woven from the finest silks money could buy, draped perfectly over her body. Ambrose watched them as they danced, turning in time to the music, eyes locked on the other. Oh to be that close in public.

Ambrose swallowed hard before taking another sip of wine. A trio of women also seemed to be watching the dancing as they whispered between themselves.

"Excuse me, ladies." Ambrose forced himself to calm down. "Might one of you tell me who that exquisite young lady in the purple dress is?" He pointedly made no mention of Cecil.

The women exchanged knowing looks, then beckoned Ambrose closer. "Miss Amelia De La Croix, daughter of the Countess De La Croix." One of them answered.

"Rumor has it, her mother is eager to marry her off this season after the death of the Count." Another said, fanning herself, "Her mother wants an heir as soon as possible."

Ambrose felt his smile crack slightly, "Oh really?"

"Yes, apparently Lord Lockhart invited her personally to meet his son." The first lady answered.

Ambrose fought back his anxiety, which nearly bubbled over. "I...wasn't aware his Lordship was still pursuing options for his third son." He lied and then finished his wine.

"I heard it's because his son," The third lady motioned to Cecil, "is currently courting someone in the working class."

The other two women gasped playfully, one covering her mouth with a gloved hand. Ambrose suddenly felt quite light headed, the room went out of focus momentarily. Thankfully the gossiping women did not seem to notice.

"Really?" The first woman said, "No wonder he's trying to find a better suitor. However that's not as scandalous as Lord Jamison Cartwright apparently taking in a chimney sweep."

The other two women's mouths dropped, "Is that why Lady Agatha is here unaccompanied?" One asked but Amrbose was no longer paying attention. He held onto the wall for support as he felt his knees might give out any moment.

The music ended and he watched Cecil bow to Miss De La Croix as she smiled perfectly at him. Not able to take anymore, Ambrose rushed past the still gossiping women, passed the dancers, the orchestra, out the side door into the hallway as tears flowed down his cheeks.

"Mr. Beaumont?" Molly called to him as she followed down the hall.

"I wish...to be alone please." Ambrose forced out not looking back at her.

Slipping through the door meant for staff, Ambrose hurried down the hall towards the guest rooms exiting to the main hall.

Grasping his bedroom door handle, Ambrose had not even stepped one foot in before he bent over weeping. Leaning against the closed door he sank to the floor grabbing his knees. Choking sobs mixed with gasping wheezes escaped him.

The image of Cecil dancing with her wouldn't leave his mind.

Finally Ambrose could cry no longer, every emotion lay spent on the floor so he pushed himself up staggering to the bed.

Wiping tears away he heard the chamber door open. "Molly, I said I wish to be left alone..."

"Ambrose." Cecil whispered his name as he shut the door.

Ambrose looked over but then back down at the handkerchief he fiddled with in his hands. "Mr Lockhart, to what do I owe this honor? Shouldn't you be conversing with the suitors your father..." He stopped abruptly as Cecil had wrapped his arms around him from the back, pulling him close. He felt Cecil's warm face buried in his neck.

"H-Hart..." Ambrose's lips trembled.

Neither spoke, Ambrose could only hear how intense his heart beat against his chest, as Cecil clutched him.

"Forgive me, Ambrose." Cecil finally managed, releasing his grip only to spin the other man round. "Though I will full accepted if that is never possible." It was then Ambrose noticed a dull wetness at the corner of Cecil's gray eyes. "Never did I wish to upset you as I have these last few days. Never have I felt so angry with myself at how I handled my affairs. Never have I wanted anything but what I have with you." Bringing his hand up he wiped away a tear from Ambrose's face. "I know I do not always make my feelings public but you are all I desire and wish for when I'm alone at night." He whispered breath shaking as he spoke. Cecil pressed his forehead against Ambrose's, thumbing his cheek. "I yearn for your gentle smile when you gaze in my direction, the touch of your hand against mine, your tender embrace."

Ambrose brought his arms up holding Cecil close to him. "You are forgiven, my Hart." He said softly as tears fell. Ambrose sniffled harder needing to pivot a bit to rub his poor nose. He could feel a sneeze building but Cecil's embrace felt so warm against him he did not want it to end. Hoping to deter it, he sniffed again, even moving the position of his arm to let him rub in a very ungentlemenly like fashion.

Cecil chuckled, stepping back, as Ambrose's brow knitted. "Bless, belle."

Before Ambrose could reply, his breath hitched, and he brought his handkerchief up.

Heh-TSCH’iew! Hhh’juschew!

"I'd hoped your health had improved." Cecil aaid as he walked over to the fire, adjusting his waistcoat with one hand as he ran a hand through his hair with the other. Using the fire striker to lite the tinder in the fireplace, soon the hearth glowed with warmth.

"It has...I think." Ambrose said behind in his handkerchief as Cecil stoked the fire. "Better than earlier when I met..." He instantly cut himself off as he had not mentioned Freddy to Cecil.

"Ephraim already informed me of your meeting." Cecil exhaled. "I must speak with him."

Ambrose did not think that would solve anything but kept his thoughts to himself. "Molly provided me with a mustard plaster and herbal wine, so I was feeling better for a while." He turned sneezing again. "It appears though that's worn off.”

"Promise me you'll stay in bed tomorrow." Cecil said lowly as he took Ambrose's free hand in his. "It pains me to see you ill."

"And what of you, Hart." Ambrose asked, squeezing Cecil's hand, "You try to hide it but I see the dark lines beneath your eyes, the beads of sweat which pepper your brow, you're fevered aren't you? Please be truthful."

Closing his eyes, Cecil's shoulders heaved a heavy sigh. "I am...not feeling my best, no. It is nothing...I will..."

"Rest accordingly tomorrow before the auction, then slip away after." Ambrose said sternly. "Let Clifford handle everything, that's his job as the first born. We could have time to ourselves again."

A pained expression crossed Cecil's face as he opened his eyes, "That does sound pleasant. However, there is too much on Clifford's plate currently hence why I'd been heading the auction and my aunt the subsequent parties. Also there's a fox hunt tomorrow."

Ambrose frowned, "You abhor the sport."

"I do yes, however Henry Forthright, the Earl of Westchester, will be attending, my father has requested I attend in Clifford's absence." Cecil said, still looking at the fire, unable to face Ambrose.

"I see." Ambrose replied quietly, sniffling again. "Perhaps then...I'll simply return to Holland House as I do not expect much time with you here." He rubbed his nose against his handkerchief.

Cecil finally faced Ambrose, "I...I will not stop you, belle. You have every right. But know the pain I would be in daily not seeing your smile, hearing your voice..." Placing his fingers beneath Ambrose's chin, he tilted his head up, "Please reconsider."

Ambrose's lips trembled, his chest burned from breathing heavily, he wanted nothing more than to bottle this moment but his weak lungs interrupted him forcing him back as he coughed dryly.

Cursing to himself, he shook his head, "I will...sleep on it, Cecil." He coughed again, a delicate wheeze escaping, "For now I must rest before I take a turn for the worse." He began unbuttoning his waistcoat.

"Of course." Cecil's stoic manner returned as he placed his hands behind his back, "Shall I send Molly to assist you, bring tea perhaps."

"That would be...appreciated." Ambrose coughed again. "As I expect to not be at breakfast, please pass on my apologies." He suddenly felt exhaustion washing over him.

Cecil nodded, "Of course. I do hope I will see you tomorrow after the hunt...but..." He paused looking longingly at Ambrose. "Please let me know of your decision." Cecil stepped forward again hand raised as if to cup Ambrose's face but then it faltered. "Goodnight Ambrosia." He said softly, then headed for the door.

"Goodnight."

He was alone again. Ambrose did want to attend the auction but it pained him that he wouldn't be up there with Cecil speaking on the items, he wasn’t sure if he could stand watching Reginald in his place.

Sitting on his bed, Ambrose let out a long sigh. "Perhaps returning is the best plan." He said to himself. Was being away from Cecil truly better than simply not being near him? Ambrose continued to mull it over as he changed into a night shirt and drank the tea Molly had provided.

His last thoughts before driftly to sleep was the feeling of Cecil's hold on him earlier.

[mimikusu]

draw skibidi toilet

Anon... I have no idea what it is that you require me to do. Believe me, I tried. 🥲 Unfortunately I'm not into the fandom... so unless you care to elaborate, I don't see myself doing what it is that you request of me... You're invited to enlighten me, however.

[mimikusu]

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

I was desperate for OC art and the wonderful @mimikusu agreed to an art trade. Here is the fic I wrote for Simon and Niko, based on this prompt they posted around Christmas last year. This was a treat to write and such a fun exchange. Thank you Mimi, and I hope you enjoy your fic!!

All The Way Home I'll Be Warm

“I don’t know why I put up with you, Nikolai,” Simon grumbled to himself as he threw his bags down in the hotel room he had just checked into. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth, I swear.” He huffed to the window and glared at the snowflakes drifting down, scrubbing angrily at his dripping nose. The town below was already bustling with life as the Christmas market prepared to open. Colored lights, pine boughs, red and green decorations, and what looked like hundreds of merchant stalls spread out as far as the eye could see. Simon rubbed his eye, behind which a headache was already forming. He groaned, coughed, and tried to blow his nose, but it was stopped tight with congestion. 

“I hate these damn festivals,” Simon growled. “Why the hell Niko loves them so much I’ll never know. God, I wish I could cancel. I already feel like shit. But he would think I’m just making excuses. Ugh.”

He let his head fall into his hand as he continued to glare out the window. He missed Niko so much, and that was the only reason he was here right now. Simon had been traveling for work nearly all of December, and it seemed like he had hardly seen his boyfriend. In a few days they would leave to see their families for the holidays, so this was their only chance to spend time together. Niko had been begging to go to this damn Christmas market for months, and Simon had finally caved and booked the hotel and flights, though he made sure to complain the whole time about the expense, and how foolish these markets were. It made Niko so unbelievably happy, though, and that was what Simon wanted in the end. 

However, Simon hadn’t accounted for catching a cold at the end of his last business trip. The weeks of travel and little sleep had caught up with him, and this was shaping up to be a monster of a cold. He already had a sinus headache and a nasty sore throat, and the buzzing high up in his nose told him he would be sneezing his brains out in no time. Walking around outside in the cold, surrounded by thousands of people and bright lights and smells sounded like absolute hell. Yet Niko would be arriving any moment, ready for a weekend of Christmas cheer, and Simon couldn’t bear to disappoint him now, though he would rather do just about anything else. 

“God, I’m so tired,” Simon yawned, thinking of the exhausting night ahead. “I could fall asleep here on the floor. I truly don’t know how I’m going to survive tonight.” 

Yet he knew he would have to find a way. If nothing else, he wouldn’t let the expense of this trip be wasted by getting sick. This was Niko’s Christmas present, and he would get his money’s worth, everything else be damned. With a heavy sigh, Simon went to change out of his traveling clothes and into warm things suitable for a night outside. When he bent over his suitcase, though, the itch in his nose flared up into the need to sneeze. He just barely had time to press a tissue to his nose before: “HA’ISSHIEW! Hihh–HIPSHH! hhe–ESHIEW!! Ugh, that’s disgusting,” Simon groaned, trying not to look at the mess in the tissue. His nose wanted to keep sneezing, but he roughly pinched and rubbed it until the urge subsided. Just as he threw away the used square, his phone dinged with a text from Niko saying he was waiting in the lobby. Simon quickly finished changing, then went down to meet him, fiercely scrubbing at his nose to quell the itch that was already building up again. 

Niko was practically dancing with excitement in the lobby, dressed in a gaudy Christmas sweater and ridiculous hat that made him look adorable. 

“Oh Simon, it's so beautiful outside! I can’t wait for you to see it. It’s just magical! Oh I’m so happy to be here with you! Come on let’s go, there’s so much we have to see!”

“Don’t you want to drop your bag off in the room first?” Simon grunted, trying to hide the congestion and hoarseness in his voice.

“Oh, right. I guess we can do that really quickly. But let’s not waste any time!” Niko ran back up the stairs that Simon had just come down, not even waiting to hear the room number. With a tired groan, Simon turned to follow. It was going to be a long night.

~~~

It was exactly as miserable as Simon predicted. The cold air made his nose start dripping immediately, and it didn’t stop the whole night, so he was perpetually wiping his nose every time Niko’s back was turned, and his upper lip was raw and stinging in no time. The cold air seemed to pierce through all his layers, and he found himself shivering right away, though he kept his arms locked by his sides so Niko wouldn’t notice. The noise of the crowds and cheering and music made him want to curl up on the ground and cover his ears. The flashing, twinkling, spinning lights reflecting off of everything felt like daggers going through his eyes straight to his brain. Worst of all were the smells, though. Food, perfume, smoke, pine, candles, feathers, dust, animals, incense– everywhere he turned, something else was assaulting his nose and making his breath hitch into almost-sneezes every other moment. Many times the irritation was too much, and he was forced to stifle the resulting expulsion into his scarf, hoping Niko didn’t notice. If his partner was far enough away, Simon would allow himself to sneeze messily into the sleeve of his coat, hoping for some small relief, but with each sneeze he felt worse, not better. 

Predictably, Niko wanted to stop at nearly every booth, even if it was exactly the same as the five booths they had just visited. The postman delighted over every trinket and costume and overpriced souvenir as if he had never seen one like it, and Simon had to refrain from rolling his eyes constantly, mainly because rolling his eyes made his headache worse. The only thing that helped was the mulled wine and hot spiked cider. These were the only stalls Simon asked to stop at, and from the beginning, Niko was puzzled. 

“You’re having wine? I thought you said it gives you a bad hangover?”

“I’m trying to get into the holiday spirit like you’ve been insisting, Niko!” he snapped. “Tonight I’d like a hot drink, and I think wine sounds nice. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Not at all. I just think you’re very confusing sometimes,” Niko said, shaking his head with a smile. 

As soon as he would finish one mug, Simon would order another, desperate for the warmth in his hands and stomach, and he quickly lost count of how much he drank. It helped the shivering though, and numbed some of the other miseries, and he was glad for it. By the middle of the evening the exhaustion from travel and illness finally faded into comfortable drunkenness. He was happy enough to watch Niko run around and exclaim and delight over everything, like a butterfly between flowers. The postman spent far too much money, and soon he was laden down with shopping bags, but he said again and again that this was the perfect night, so Simon let him have his fun, just happy to be with him. In spite of himself, Simon had to admit the night was pretty, with the snow gently falling and the tangible Christmas cheer. He could see why some people enjoyed such things. 

As the evening waned, Simon’s nose couldn’t take any more stifling, or else he was too drunk to care anymore, so he began to sneeze more openly. At first Niko laughed and thought it was cute. 

“hihhgg’KIHPTCHoo! Kih’IHT’CHOO!”

“Bless you, Simon! Are you feeling alright? That’s your third sneeze in as many minutes,” Niko chuckled, running a thumb under his partner’s eye to catch a stray tear. 

“I’mb fine,” Simon croaked. “It’s all the incense and cold air. And someone is smoking hookah nearby I think.” He coughed to accentuate his point. 

“If you’re sure. Then let’s go over to the figurines instead to get away from the incense.”

Soon, though, Niko began to realize something was amiss. 

“EhhHEHTCHHoo! Ehh–EHHIXTCHOO!!”

“God, Simon, that sounded awful. Are you coming down with something? Your nose is as red as a Christmas bulb.”

“Maybe I’m allergic to Christmas. I told you coming here was a bad idea.”

“No one is allergic to Christmas, crabby grinch. There is a lot of smoke around here, though. Maybe that’s your trouble. Let’s go over here. I think you should eat something anyway, to go along with all the wine.” 

“If you insist, nurse,” Simon mumbled, unable to care about anything at this point. He allowed Niko to seat him at a filthy wooden table and place a huge plate of food in front of him, far more than he could ever eat even on his best day. He gamely munched on a few bites of everything, though he was the opposite of hungry. He was unable to taste anything, and had to take small bites because he couldn’t breathe through his nose, but seeing him eat made Niko smile, and that was all Simon cared about. 

While Simon was still “eating” (mostly just pushing the food around on his plate), Niko excused himself to the restroom. Simon immediately put down his fork and laid his head on his arms, telling himself he would rest for just a moment and give his aching eyes a break. 

He woke some time later to Niko shaking his shoulder. 

“Simon, dear, wake up. Poor thing, you really are exhausted aren’t you? Why didn’t you say something earlier? Come on, let’s go back to the hotel. We can always see more tomorrow.”

“If you’re sure,” Simon croaked. He wanted to tell Niko that they could stay out as long as he liked, but in truth he was near collapse and going back to the hotel to curl up in bed with his boyfriend was the only thing he wanted now. As they meandered their way back to the hotel through crowds of strangers, Niko slipped his hand into Simon’s. Because he needed the extra stability, and because no one was close enough to see them, for once Simon didn’t pull away. However, he was caught in an awkward situation, because just as their steps fell into sync, Simon knew he had to sneeze. His tissues were in the pocket of the hand holding Niko’s, so Simon was forced to press his palm to his nose to catch the messy fit that followed:

“Kihht’CHOO! Err’IZZSOO! hihh–HihhEHTCHOO! EHHTTCHOO!! Hhh– hehhh– HehhEHHTCHOOOO!!”

Simon hastily wiped his hand on his pants, thankful it was too dark to see much as he mumbled an apology to Niko. 

“Bless you, Simon! You need to get out of the night air, I think. I’m worried you’re coming down with something.” 

“I’ll be fine when we get back inside,” Simon said with a cough. His chest hurt from stifling so many sneezes all night, and coughing made it sear with pain, even though he hadn’t had a cigarette all night. 

“You’re taking a hot shower as well. I can feel you shivering,” Niko scolded. “You should have told me you were cold. You’re so stubborn.”

“Not as stubborn as you. Anyway, you were having fun. I didn’t want to spoil the evening.”

“As long as I’m with you, I don’t care what else we’re doing. So let’s get you warm and in bed where I can take care of you properly.”

“Is that a threat?” Simon asked, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. 

“Only if you want it to be,” Niko said with a wicked look of his own. 

As it turned out, Simon wasn’t up for anything after he took a shower. As soon as he stepped out of the hot water he started shivering and couldn’t stop, even when Niko wrapped him in a robe, then a blanket. He also had a splitting headache, no doubt the beginning of the wine hangover he sensed was coming. As he lay groaning in bed, with plenty of sniffling and coughing on top of it all, he felt Niko come to stand behind him and press a hand to his forehead. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a fever?” Niko tutted, placing a cold rag on Simon’s forehead before crawling in beside him and pulling the other man against his chest.

“I didn’t know I was,” Simon muttered. “It must have started recently. The cold from hell is turning into the flu I guess.” He felt warmer right away with Niko in the bed, and slowly his shivers subsided. He didn’t even realize he had accidentally admitted his illness until the other man replied: 

“I was a fool to let you stay out when I knew you were sick. You never sneeze so much unless you have a cold, and you were sneezing almost every minute. Not to mention all the wine. Though I think you’re already regretting that,” he added as Simon shifted the rag from his forehead to cover his eyes instead with a moan. 

“I was just trying to give you what you wanted. I don’t want to hear any more about it,” Simon snapped. “I’m only sorry this damn flu ruined our trip. All that time and money for nothing.” 

“Nothing is ruined,” Niko soothed, tucking the blanket closer around them both. “We’re still together aren’t we? All alone in a hotel room for three days. There’s nothing more I could hope for.”

“I’m going to get you sick for the holidays though,” Simon spat. “You’d be better off to leave now and save yourself.”

“I’m not going anywhere, crabby. Someone has to take care of you.” He began to run his fingers through Simon’s hair, and Simon relaxed, immediately forgetting what they were arguing about under the haze of fever, exhaustion and alcohol. His heavy eyes fell closed and in moments he was nearly asleep in Niko’s warm embrace. 

“That’s right, go to sleep. I’ll be right here,” Niko whispered. The last thing Simon felt before he slept was the press of gentle lips to his hair and a warm hand rubbing the aches from his chest. 

[mimikusu]

I've been ungodly horny the past couple of weeks for something that involves mirrors, sex and a cold... and I finally decided to do something with it. I've been contemplating whether to post it here, because it's so shamefully graphic. But in the end, I couldn't resist. I put it under the cut, because I don't want to be banned and I care for my dear ace followers who can not be bothered with this! I love you and you're valid. 💕

So... queer NSFW under the cut. It was nice to draw some t!ts for a change. Hope you don't mind.

[mimikusu]

I just survived surgery and now I get to spend all day home in this apartment complex... You really can tell it's cold season when your neighbour all of a sudden is having fits of screamed sneezes throughout the day.