Hicvember '25: Failed Cures
I was off today and considered waiting to post this tomorrow. But I'm going to have a long day tomorrow, so I decided not to wait.
CW:
Gulpy hiccups
Bad, unpleasant hiccups.
Basically, I'm whumping Otto.
Like more than usual via hiccups.
Mention of hiccups while in a bath.
Mention of arousal.
Pretty tame fic not focused on sex.
Burps and belches at the end.
Massages and cuddling.
Hiccups by self-sabotage, as Atty discovers.
Mention of (controlled) chronic illnesses from excessive drinking (pancreatitis and liver damage)
Mention of Otto's doctor (poor dude)
Smoopy gross couply stuff
Domestic as hell
Essentially a continuation of the previous Hicvember fic (not planned)
Mention of orgasm, but conversationally.
The writer’s conference after Otto’s little gift to Atticus during lunch on the second day had been tolerable. The stranger in the elevator, Joy, had ended up being a very interesting and pleasant person. She was a former slam poet turned motivational writer. And, apparently, she had developed quite the following on social media. The fact that she’d been at all interested in Atticus ended up being a compliment in and of itself.
So, with a little spring to their step, they unlocked the front door laden with all of their luggage to find a mildly frazzled clockmaker standing to greet them...with a great gulping case of hiccups.
No, Otto didn’t still have the hiccups from the day before last. Besides, Atticus figured they’d have been the first to know if his hiccups had become that chronic and quick to inform him to get to a doctor. Rather, these hiccups had started this morning and, as they soon learned after starting to unpack while Otto sat on the edge of their shared bed, they were stubbornly sticking around despite everything he’d tried that usually worked.
Judging from the squelching sound of them and the grunting effort he seemed to extend after each one, Otto was exhausted.
“HIMP’mpk!I’ve eaten enou-mmlpk!-enough sugar to HLMP’mlpk! to give myself dia—lgk!-diabetes, enough sa-ulgk!-salt to give myself a co-urgk!-uh, coronary and HI’ulmgk!-guh, enough lemon juice to HERmlk!-mm, to give myself an ul-ulgk!Hulgk!-ow!” He sighed and rubbed his chest. “To give myse-Hilgk!-myself an ulcer.”
“That sounds miserable,” Atticus agreed as they threw more clothes, and a towel, into the hamper beside them. “I take it you tried pickle juice, too?”
Pickle juice had been the less acidic answer to apple cider vinegar Otto’s doctor had recommended and had proven to be just as effective. At Otto’s forlorn expression as more squeaking thumping hiccups squeezed out of him, his slouched form forced to bounce up in time, the writer could predict his answer.
The clocksmith held up two fingers with a firmly heavy brow displaying obvious frustration.
“Two ti-Herp’k!-uh! Two times. Then I-H’mulgk!-I had to eat a bunch of pickles becau-Hulmgk!Mlgk!H’mu’ulgk!” Otto paused to put a hand on his chest as he was temporarily halted by having to ride through a number of deep almost belch-like hiccups.
Atticus took leave of unpacking to stand in front of him and allow him to lean his head on their chest as they ran their hands through the frazzled hair Otto had probably been running his own fingers through in annoyance.
“Oh!” Otto finally exclaimed when the hiccups slowed down enough. “These are no-HUH’ulgk! not fun.”
The clockmaker never finished his sentence, but Atticus had enough context to assume he’d taken in so much pickle juice that he’d had to eat the pickles that were exposed. They kissed his head and earned a hiccuping hum in response. He looked up at them tiredly and they cupped his face with both of their hands.
“Did the pickles help at all?” they asked, hoping he’d at least gotten some relief.
“A little-Hulmgk!-mm. Tried to Mlgk!Mlgk!-ah, tried to take a ba-Ngk’l!-a bath to relax my muscles,” He said. He paused as hiccups squeaked and thumped again, his head jolting in the soft hold Atticus had on it as he frowned. “But, they star-Urgk!-started getting worse. Got a-Urgk!-Got a-Ulgk!-Got a good video out-Ngk!-out of it, though! Think you’ll HULmpk!-uh, you’ll like it.”
Atticus’ eyes softened even more. They shook their head as they smiled.
“You didn’t have to do that, you big goof,” they said.
Atty’s hands were on his shoulders now, rubbing their thumbs in circles after trailing down his neck and chest.
“Hey, I go-Ulgk! something out of HI’murgk!-out of it, too,” he protested. Otto then went on to inform Atticus, as he continued to battle clusters of the deep throaty spasms, that an orgasm also failed to cure them. Though it felt good, it might’ve even made them worse.
“Good to know,” Atticus said with a smile. “We won’t try that, then.”
“Sorry.” Otto winced with another cluster of hiccups as the writer watched his belly almost painfully bloat out over the waist of his sweatpants during the attack.
They were turned on, but not to the point of needing anything for it. Besides, they had learned through their experiences with Otto while exploring each other’s bodies that intimacy didn’t need a climax or even arousal to be pleasing.
“No need to be sorry, man. How long have you had these?” Atticus asked.
Otto took a moment to look away from his partner to the clock behind them and squinted. His head jolted a few times in the hard gasps that settled firmly in his throat and ached in his chest before answering.
“Little sh-H’mulgk!Hlngk!-uh, little shy of an hour. Mlgk!-Mlpk!-Mngk!-guh!” Otto breathed a little desperately for a moment to catch up on his oxygen intake. These things were hard as hell and took his breath away in more ways than physically.
“That’s a long time,” Atticus responded sympathetically.
“Feels lo-Ungk!-guh, feels longer,” he admitted.
“I bet,” the writer said rubbing his back. “What about we lay here on the bed for a while and I can give you a little massage? We can wait them out together.”
“H’murgk!-uh, I’d like that. Mrgk!-mm, when I lay down HUH’mrgk!-uh, I start to be-Hilmgk!-belch more. Hrm’mk!Hrmgk!-uf!” he said.
“Wedge pillow?” Atty suggested.
Otto nodded.
The wedge pillow the couple owned was wide enough for both of them. Otto had taken off his shirt as Atticus retrieved lotion to massage his body. As the writer looked down, the dance his chest and stomach were doing was all the proof they need to confirm how powerful this case had to feel from Otto’s perspective. Atty winced to watch how deeply his chest sucked in as his belly pooched tautly and dramatically.
Every hiccup seemed to resound inside his body with deep slapping and echoes of motion after each spasm. The grunts he gave seemed less emotionally reactive than simply a rebound of physics in where the power behind the hiccup needed somewhere to be displaced and a grunt was simply the only physical reaction that sustained the runoff.
“Your poor body,” Atticus mumbled as they pushed their hands into his chest from being crouched at his side, sitting on their legs and leveraging their weight toward giving as much controlled pressure to soothing his muscles as they could. “Did you eat something, or…”
Atty shook their head. They shouldn’t be blaming Otto’s actions. Sometimes hiccups just happened and it wasn’t necessarily anything that the hiccuper did to encourage them. But as they looked up at a suddenly sheepish and quiet expression from their husband between the winces from his hiccups, they raised their eyebrows and locked eyes with him, pausing for a moment in their motions to catch his attention.
Otto’s eyes darted to their eyes and back a couple times before shrugging.
“I ate a Hrgk!Hmgk!-guh, an extra lar-Hungk’guh!-large pizza last ni-HI’guck!-uh, last night,” he said. Then he shrugged again, swallowing another cluster of hiccups down thickly. “Oof! After I for-NGK!-ow, forgot to eat lunch-HULPK! Aw, c’mon. Mm!”
Lately, Otto’s doctor had been stressing taking better care of his body, specifically what he ate. He had a history of pancreatitis and liver damage thanks to alcohol. It was well under control, now, but it was important to keep it that way. Staying away from bread-y, greasy, and cheesy foods was highly suggested as well as eating more frequent smaller meals during the day instead of fewer larger meals.
Atticus had to chuckle a little finally. They rolled their eyes upward as if asking some higher being they didn’t believe in to give them strength. But honestly, they were prone to the same slips of judgment. Sometimes humans just defaulted to the thing they shouldn’t do that gave them comfort because it was less harmful than the thing they really shouldn’t do that gave them comfort.
“Listen, man,” they finally said after they resumed the massaging. “I’d rather you binge on pizza and end up with killer hiccups than binge on anything else and end up in a hospital or worse, okay?”
Otto gave a little smile.
“But maybe don’t do this exact thing again anytime soon, huh?” Atty added.
“Lesson Huh’ulgk!Huh’URGK!-mmph, lesson learned,” Otto said. He gave a weak scout's honor sign by his head.
As Atty continued to massage him they filled him in on the rest of the conference and hanging out with Joy and other writers she’d collected on the way. It turned out that Joy was actively seeking out diversity. In a conference full of white, cis, straight people, Joy was searching for those who didn’t fit the general vibe of most writers and authors there.
In rapt attention despite his hiccup attack, Otto silently nodded and smiled. Pretty soon, his hiccups became lesser, but belches were popping out.
“Hi’uck!EEEERRRRP! Oh man, scuse me! HIH!UUURRRUUP! Crap!” Otto exclaimed as he put his fist over his mouth while his body jerked with more hiccups followed immediately by long belches and burps.
Atticus had just started to massage nearer to his stomach after tackling the intercostal muscles at his sides and stopped for a moment.
“You good?” they asked with a bit of trepidation. They certainly didn’t want to encourage any possible expulsion more than air.
Otto nodded even while his face was terse, though he still kept a fist up to his mouth.
“Yeah, sorry. HIMP!brrrrrrrAUP!Augh! Shit. Sorry. I thi-Himpk!buuuuurb! Oh! Mmm, I think that nee-Heep!-eeded to get out Errrup!-uh!” He looked up to the concerned expression of his partner and smiled, his palms out defensively, “I’m good Hu’ulp! just gassy!”
“You sure?” Atticus raised an eyebrow. They looked down at his abdomen as if he might explode.
He chuckled.
“HI’ulp! Yes. I’m safe. Promise. Herp!-uh.”
“So, I can still…” Atticus wiggled their fingers in the direction of his tummy questioningly.
He huffed with amusement and nodded, “Please? Huh’urp!-mm.”
In total, Otto’s hiccups had lasted a little over an hour. Atticus latched onto his body, riding the last spasms which were much less violent than they had been, their head nestled into his wide chest, the skin there still flushed from the massaging Atty had performed. With a small amount of guilt, they relished the feeling of the jerks of his body as Otto trailed his long fingers on their scalp, humming after each hiccup.
It was this sort of intimacy that Atty loved experiencing with Otto. There wasn’t an expectation of sexy happenings. There wasn’t a need. Atticus could simply let themselves be aroused and not act on it. Otto wasn’t pressured to perform and appreciated Atticus for existing. There was something so very right and special about these moments. Everything seemed real and easy.
Atticus found themselves drifting, not realizing how tired they were after their long journey home until they allowed their body to stop. They were lulled by the motions of their husband’s body, even after the hiccups had faded away. His deep breaths, internal gurgles, heartbeat, swallowing, every little involuntary action happening inside his chest and belly was comforting. The smell of him, sour and sweet, his temperature which always ran a bit warm, the tickle of his body hair on theirs, it all felt like home. And boy had they missed home while they were away.
Otto kept running his fingers across the buzzed part of Atty’s head until he fully realized they were asleep. Making an amused sound in his throat, he sighed and shifted a bit to get more comfortable. He rested his head lightly on the top of the writer’s and gave a small kiss to the curls. Atticus hummed a little, unconsciously, and smacked their lips as they snuggled deeper into his chest, Otto feeling the hair of their mustache on his pec.
Carefully, the clockmaker unwedged his partner’s glasses from their face and placed them on the side table. Then he turned off the lamp and settled in for a midday nap. He was grateful for his full breaths. He was grateful for the settling of his stomach. And he was especially grateful for the small being at his side who had more patience with him than he had ever thought he was worth. He snuggled his cheek into the top of Atticus’ head again and allowed himself to relax into sleep.
