#lyk writes

[leapyearkisses]

Nice Work If You Can Get It - (m/m) Eliseo/Padgett

So after a year of abject depression, I’ve decided I still like my writing so I’m reuploading it. For the time being, requests are not on the table. I have definitely flaked out on some people and I’m really sorry for that. :( Hopefully if people still want to read what’s already done though, this will be okay.

NSFW, MESS, CONTAGION - Eliseo has hired Padgett to get him sick.

___

"All right... close your eyes." Eliseo swallowed and did so, blocking out his bedroom, the red-gold sunset light pouring in from the windows, and Padgett, who was straddling his hips. He could still hear, quite easily, the other man's labored breathing and feel the heat of his thighs... and his crotch. Eliseo was under no illusion that he was in an incredibly compromising position at the moment. He hadn't thought much about the.. particulars when he'd first decided to strike this deal. "Are we really doing this?" he asked, voice weak.

Padgett laughed, voice tumbled and edging on hoarse. "Hey now. Not getting cold feet are we, my lord?" His exhale ghosted over Eliseo's forehead and his tousled black hair touched Eliseo's cheek. Eliseo cleared his throat. "No..." He could imagine the other man's smug look. They'd known each other long enough now that the image rose unbidden to his mind's eye. Padgett's eyes always glittered like opals when he was scheming something. The man surprised him with a tender touch on the shoulder, and Eliseo almost opened his eyes again. "The safe word is 'pumpernickel,'" Padgett said, managing not to chuckle. "We can stop whenever you want... Hhk-" He fought off a gasp. "Decide hh quickly, though." Eliseo shivered. "I'm okay. Let's do it." He didn't want to admit it, but Padgett's reassurance did put him at ease, even if this had been his idea to begin with. He relaxed and tried to lose himself in the late afternoon heat. "Yehh-s, my lord." Padgett leaned forward and took a shaky breath. It stuttered and caught on invisible hooks, sounding at once to be full of potential and then gone again, like a ghost vanishing at the window. Eliseo could feel his body tightening again with anticipation, especially when Padgett gasped and leaned back. "Hh-... hah-- "Huh-ktschht!" A warm rush of air burst in Eliseo's face, almost immediately followed by a watery spray over his forehead, closed eyes, and nose. His instant reaction was to curl back, or try to, and he had his hands braced on Padgett's chest before he could think about it. "Hey now," said Padgett, delayed by a sniffle. His tone was light. "Easy. You specified this in the contract, remember?" He rested his hands lightly on Eliseo's wrists. "How are you feeling about it?" Eliseo found he was holding his breath, but-- Well, that would defeat the purpose of this exercise. He cautiously let it go and then opened his eyes. Padgett was gazing down at him, looking neither smug nor concerned, just curious. "I- this was on instinct," Eliseo murmured. After a beat, he lowered his hands, and Padgett let him go easily. "Yes, I imagine so. It's natural." Padgett smiled then, and then his expression crinkled. "Wh- hh- want to do it again? Hkt-- hhh..." Eliseo forced himself to surrender again to his pillows. "Yes." Again, he closed his eyes. Padgett shifted forward on his lap and oh- but then he was sneezing once more. "Huh- hktsschit!" Again, the spray. This time it dusted over Eliseo's nose and mouth. He fought to keep from thinning his lips and... took a deeper breath. Padgett hadn't moved, was still fighting with his own lungs, reeling in another insistent sneeze like a stubborn trout. "Huh- hh... hh hh huh-" He made an annoyed sound. "Hah-- hah-krttschtts!" Eliseo felt droplets of saliva decorate his cheekbone. Padgett sniffled thickly. "...Bless you," Eliseo murmured. He was feeling hot. Maybe it was Padgett on top of him. The man was running a fever. "You are... doing the job admirably." That earned him a laugh. Padgett shifted his weight to his heels, which did interesting things to his cock's relation to Eliseo's own. "Thanks, I guess? I never would have thought anyone would be hiring for this, much less you." "Circumstances are dire," Eliseo intoned without a hint of irony. "Mmhm." Padgett sniffled again. "You must really hate weddings. Couldn't you have just gone on a hunt or something this weekend instead?" Eliseo sighed. "No. My sister would do anything to ruin my plans if I tried to avoid the party any normal way. But luckily, she's terrified of germs. I think a miserable head cold will be the ticket." Like hell he wanted to sit through another of his sister's weddings. Every time it was some new, world-changing drama. He wasn't even sure whether the groom this time was noble born. No doubt the reception gossip would be scathing.  What absolute drivel. "Lucky also that you have me around, hm?" Padgett's next chuckle turned into a bit of a cough.  Eliseo patted his knee awkwardly. "I- well, yes. Very. But believe me when I say that I would not wish for you to be so stricken if I had the power to stop it." "Of course, my lord." Padgett rubbed his nose. And though his breath hitched a few times in the following moments, he stayed where he was.  Eliseo blinked. "Are we...?" Done? He didn't really think the exposure had been long enough. "I am ready." Padgett blushed a little. Blushed? "Sorry," he said. "I can kind of feel that, uh, the uh, next ones are going to be kind of... wet. I could blow my nose." His voice trailed off, wavering again. His nostrils twitched, and Eliseo did see within the promise of moisture. Perhaps it was the taboo of it, but Eliseo was alerted instantly to a sudden thickening of his cock. It pressed at his trousers with some gusto as Padgett sniffled again. Eliseo swallowed. "No. No, this is good. This will... help." Padgett gave him a considering look, at least as well as he could between soft gasps and squinting against the itch in his nose. "If you're sure, my lord." "Just- call me Eli, like you used to," said Eliseo, stumbling over the words. He wasn't sure where they had come from, but now they were bare between them. Still, perhaps a bit of affection wasn't so odd compared to what they were already doing. Eliseo closed his eyes on Padgett's startled look. "Eli," Padgett said, and he sounded like he'd just come home from a long war to find the hearth kept warm for him. "I will." He leaned forward again, bracing himself. "Now, I'm going to- to hih-- to snhhsneeze, hah- haktschtsch! Hrh- Hnkgstschhiu! More spray this time, more wetness, and Eliseo gasped himself when he felt a thick drip against his chin. Padgett hadn't moved. When Eliseo tentatively looked up, he saw his friend caught in a limbo of urgency. His green eyes were shut, eyelashes fluttering. His nostrils, gently pink now, flared. A clear trail hung from one of them, quivering as Padgett panted. He looked wild and fever bright and teetering on a precipice. Eliseo ignored what it might mean that Padgett's desperate expression, his wet nose - even the mess - suddenly went to his cock. He was hard, looking up at a portrait of a sneeze. Carefully, he placed a hand on Padgett's thigh. "It's okay," he said, words coming of their own accord. "I've got you." Padgett's fingers tightened fitfully in the sheet as he shifted his weight again. He was making soft, irritated noises. His nostrils flared and Eliseo saw another drip lying in wait on the cusp. When the urge became too much, it was like watching a wave finally crash down. Padgett's breath caught; he tensed and leaned back. Eliseo hurriedly closed his eyes again, and none too soon. "Hhhhrektschuckh!" He felt the mess streak his face, fly to spatter his mouth and nose and chin. Padgett moaned and then gasped again, chest swelling with air. "Hah- Huhrttschuh! Hshtt! Hah- hsshtt!" Again, he teetered, teasing the air with shivering gasps. Then, he abruptly folded with a crush of vowels and congestion. "Hggtschiucht!" A baptism, pondered Eliseo's brain as it detached from reality momentarily. Pinned as he was to the bed by Padgett's sex, he couldn't move when he felt himself coming just as abruptly as the sneeze. Somehow the slick wash had become a mounting sense of urgency in each of his muscles, racing from his fingertips and toes to his abdomen, where, quite unbidden, his cock had tugged all that energy into a gut-wrenching orgasm that sent the shockwaves back out with renewed vigor. Padgett whined, and Eliseo took him firmly by the shoulders and drew him in for a messy, off-putting, contagious, blindingly good kiss. "Wow," said Padgett, when they finally broke for air. "Don't ask me why," Eliseo muttered, but he refused to be made a fool of by embarrassment. "C- come here." He shifted to sit up further and put his hands on Padgett's hips. "I want-" He wanted. "This. Yes?" Before he could stop himself, he swept his tongue over Padgett's mouth, under his nose, to rest at the edge of a nostril. He tasted salt. It was not entirely pleasant, but whatever pilot was captaining his body right now didn't care. He could still feel his cock pulsing against his trousers. Padgett moaned. "It feels... odd. But, my lord, you can do what you- I mean, Eli." He was breathless for different reasons now. Eliseo laved the tender skin above Padgett's lips, then licked up his septum. When Padgett shivered, Eliseo kissed him again. Slowly, he cleaned away the mess from Padgett's face. When he was finished, neither of them knew what to say. Eliseo was hard again. Finally, Padgett laughed shyly. "I think you'll be catching your cold, Eli." Eliseo blushed and shrugged. "I should hope so. I am-" He bit his lip. "I'm not ready to stop. Will you stay the night? I'll look after you." Padgett kissed him, tenderly drawing them together. "I would like that, very much."

[leapyearkisses]

And OMG, They Were Rollmates (m/m) - Oneshot

A D&D-inspired ficlet about an elf wizard and a human ranger sharing a bedroll, and also they fuck. And there are some feelings because I’m incapable of writing porn without them.

NSFW, MESS, sneezing on people

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Ingvar poked a stick between the smoldering logs he'd stacked in the firepit, but stabbing the coals did nothing to make the fire any bigger or warmer. The wood was just too wet, even this deep into the forest. The thick canopy couldn't protect against the north's seasonal storms. It was just poor luck that he and Aravel had to travel this way at this time of year. It was going to be another cold night. He sneaked a look at his travelling companion, who was setting up their tent.  Aravel blended uncannily into the scenery here. Maybe it wasn't surprising, him being a wood elf. His skin was the fine, rich red-brown of cherry wood. His hair was a greeny bronze that mimicked the hanging moss of his home forest. Even his eyes were camouflage, golden and catlike. In the dark, they reflected the firelight like those of a mountain lion, and Ingvar had been spooked more than once. Combine all that with Aravel's leaf-like, layered robes, and it was hard to pick him out at twenty paces. Ingvar had been trained as a ranger since he could walk, and he was jealous of Aravel's natural, inborn ease among all things wooded. "Almost ready?" Ingvar asked after another minute. Their tent was small, only big enough for two people and a dog. They'd unfortunately lost Ingvar's hunting hound in a landslide a few days ago, along with Aravel's pack, so it was going to be colder than he liked inside. "We only have the one bedroll," Aravel said, stepping back from his work. He was still limping, but there wasn't much they could do about that. 

Ingvar rubbed his own aching elbow. "Well, we'll just have to make do. Come over and let's eat." He produced some wolf jerky from his pouch and shared it out when Aravel came to sit beside him. "How are you feeling?" It wasn't just the landslide that prompted the question. For the last few hours, he'd noticed Aravel slowing down, stumbling occasionally, even sneezing once or twice. Really, it was just their luck. The elf shrugged. "I'm falling ill," he replied wearily. "We should have made camp in Boarstead." He rubbed his slim hands together and held them over the sad excuse for a fire. "We didn't know it was going to be so difficult to cross the pass," Ingvar pointed out. "And you didn't know you would take sick. Did you?" "No," Aravel was quick to say. "No, I would have told you." Hiding such things on the road could lead to mistakes, sometimes fatal ones. "Then it was all inevitable," said Ingvar. He started to rub Aravel's back. "We can share the bedroll. I don't want you to get any worse." "I think hih- that's inevitable as well," Aravel mumbled, leaning into the touch. He tucked his face into his elbow. "Hpptsch! Hh- hh- hh- hh-- haptschiu!" Ingvar chuckled. "Didn't think you'd get that one out, there." "Be silent," said Aravel, primly, before sneezing again. It wasn't quite dark yet when they turned in, but night fell extremely quickly in the forest and it was best to be tucked in and completely settled before losing the light. They washed up as best they could with a few handfuls of water, packed the remaining bag tightly and hung it from a tree, and tried to stoke the fire as much as possible. Ingvar pissed in a circle around their camp to keep away curious animals, a practice he was not able to get Aravel to join in on. Then they entered the tent. The bedroll was narrow but also a necessity. "You first," said Aravel. "You're bigger. I can fit in afterward." So Ingvar climbed inside. He was tall but leanly muscled. He didn't think this whole endeavor would work if he was packing slabs like the warriors they often passed in town, huge beefy fellows who hired themselves out to defend homesteads or hunt bandits. They all seemed to have the same hairstyle, too, a tail at the neck. Seemed to Ingvar like a good place for an opponent to grab you and slit your throat. He wore his own black hair short when he was on the road. Just more practical. 

Once he was settled, he held open the fabric for Aravel. "We'll go back to back," said the elf, and attempted such, but they soon found that the bedroll wasn't wide enough for their knees to point in opposite directions. Normally, Ingvar would have offered to spoon his smaller companion - had done so many times when travelling with various folk - but Aravel actually kept his own mossy hair quite long, and after about three minutes of blowing hair out of his mouth, Ingvar nixed that plan. Aravel had to get out again, then back in, carefully sliding in behind Ingvar, and that seemed to do the trick. It was so tight that Ingvar could feel Aravel's lips on the back of his neck, and the elf had had to tuck his arms around Ingvar's torso. At least the exertion of struggling in and out would keep them warm for now. Ingvar didn't think they would be moving again until daybreak. "Comfortable?" he asked, pointlessly. Aravel's breath was warm on his skin. "More or less," Aravel murmured back. "Good enough, anyway..." And then his breath fluttered uncertainly. "Ingvar..." "Yes? Hey, you can't-" Aravel had started wriggling against him, trying to extract an arm that was wound under Ingvar's own. It made his elbow hurt again and he gritted his teeth. "What is it?? We don't really have a lot of room, here!" "I know, I'm sorry, but I hh have to sneeze! Hah-" Aravel kept tugging, but he'd only managed to jostle them; his arm was still stuck down inside the bedroll when he was overcome. "Haptschiu!" His nose bumped against Ingvar's neck, which was suddenly moist from the spray. Ingvar shivered a little from the sensation, partially from discomfort. "...Bless you." Aravel's skin heated. "I'm so sorry," he said. "Honestly. I'll try not to sneeze." He extricated his arm carefully, finally, so he could rub his nose and dry Ingvar's neck with his sleeve. When he was done, though, there was nowhere for him to put it but back into the bedroll. It hurt Ingvar's back if Aravel tucked his arm anywhere but where it had been before, settled on his hip and chest. It quickly became clear to them both that Aravel struggling to cover every time he felt a tickle was just impractical. It was tiring, painfully jostling, and most of the time not even fast enough to make a difference. Finally, Ingvar just folded his hand over Aravel's. "It's okay," he said. "It's okay. Try to get some sleep. I'll wash up in the morning and we'll forget about it." Aravel's hand was soft and trembling lightly. Ingvar gave it a squeeze. "....If you say so." The elf was clearly reluctant, but he already sounded half asleep. "Sorry." "Shh." Ingvar settled, closing his eyes. He was tired after a long day of travel, and whether their arrangement was for better or worse, he was warm. It was quiet outside. The trees were full of the sounds of night, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He could rest. Or, well. He did want to. But even mostly asleep, Aravel was still unfortunately stricken with illness, and his breathing fluttered with every small itch. He made soft, irritated sounds. He hitched, sometimes for quite some time, before subsiding. Or before working himself up to sneeze again. "Ah... hih... ih- hih-" Ingvar rubbed his thumb over Aravel's knuckles. "Hah-- Haptsch! Apttschih!" Aravel trembled and moaned softly. He pressed his nose to Ingvar's neck, seeking some sleeping aid for the torturous irritation. Maybe every few minutes, then maybe longer, Ingvar felt a gentle, wet burst against the back of his neck. It was an experience unlike any he'd had before in his life, and he had trouble categorizing it into "good" or "bad." Finally, it seemed as though exhaustion won out, and Aravel subsided into a deeper sleep, sniffling but blissfully still. Ingvar tried to match him, and soon enough he also fell asleep. In the predawn, maybe close to 4 AM, Ingvar woke. Some sound had woken him, triggering his honed ranger instincts. A soft sound, quivering in the darkness. Aravel, he realized after a moment. He could feel the elf's chest rising against his back. Aravel was awake, he thought, and it was confirmed when he felt the elf curl his fingers tightly in the fabric of Ingvar's jerkin. "No," Aravel whispered, obviously self-directed. He groaned lightly and Ingvar heard his breath catch sharply in the dark. "Huah-- Aa" He was clearly going to sneeze again - maybe this is what had woken him to begin with - and it sounded itchy and urgent. "Aa- AA- Apptschh! Happtschuh!" Aravel's body was tense behind his, and his nose and lips were crushed to Ingvar's skin when he sneezed. He felt the rush of air, light spray, and a sudden hot wetness against his neck. Aravel coughed lightly and sniffed hard, the sound thick. Aa. Well, he probably wasn't feeling much better then. Ingvar wondered if he should move, say something... but Aravel had started up again. "Hah- hhah- hahktschiu! Ohh... Aa- Haksh! Hh-Hngksch! Ahkttschxgh!"  There was another rush of mess, pooling at his neck. Ingvar supposed he should have been revolted or something, but his brain was currently fixated on a different feeling entirely. Aravel was pressed all along his back, tightly, and he could feel the hard line of the elf's cock against his backside. Now, this was an inevitability, and something he'd experienced with other companions as well, part of the drill. But he'd rarely traveled with anyone whose sleeping interest spurred him to offer reciprocation. Aravel was sick, but that didn't really hamper Ingvar's steady interest, which had been growing since they started travelling together three months ago. And he didn't enjoy the frustrated noises Aravel was making as he wrestled with his wet nose. Ingvar squeezed Aravel's hand. "Hey," he said softly. "I'm sorry," mumbled the elf. His fingers twitched in Ingvar's grasp. "I know. It's okay. Let's come out of the bedroll for a minute." Aravel agreed, and the two of them managed to wriggle out. It was somewhat more difficult with limbs heavy from sleep, but soon both were seated in the very small tent. The air outside of the bedroll was starkly cold, and without thinking about it, Ingvar wrapped his arms around Aravel and pulled the smaller man to straddle his lap. "Wh-" "How do you feel? Can I do this?" Ingvar put one arm around Aravel's lower back to keep him steady. He rested his other hand on the elf's hip. "You tell me to stop if you want to stop." Aravel looked tired and somewhat uncertain in the dark. His upper lip and chin were shiny with mess before he abruptly buried his face in his elbow. "It's hahh fine. I... I'm fine with it." Maybe he would have been blushing, but he ducked further into his sleeve. "Huahh-- Hapkstcxh!!" His whole body rocked with it, and he was still hard. Ingvar could feel the press of Aravel's member against his own. "Bless you," he said, and kissed the elf's hair. "Are you warm enough?" "Hnngh... I'm not cold." "Is it okay if I touch?" "It's- hh hh hih- Hhokay. Aptschiu!!" Again, Aravel rocked.  Ingvar kissed him again and then moved his hand from Aravel's hip to between them. He slipped his hand under the elf's robes, finding velvety bare skin awaiting him. Aravel's cock fit in his palm and he closed his fingers around it gently, skin slipping on the beginning of wetness there. "Okay?" Aravel nodded. His cat eyes had gone half-lidded and he was biting his lip. "I might sneeze on you," he said, breathless. Ingvar laughed. "Tell me something I don't know." He rested his forehead against Aravel's. "You're paying for me to have a niiiice, long bath at the next inn we get to." That earned a wry smile. "I'd love to... but my wallet went over the cliff with my bag, remember?" Ingvar squeezed Aravel's cock, earning him a pleased moan. "That's right, isn't it. Then you can make it up to me in a different way." He nuzzled Aravel's hairline. "Can I kiss you?" "Yes, kiss me." Aravel sighed into his mouth, thighs trembling as Ingvar started to stroke him up and down. The elf tasted sweet and salty. Ingvar wondered for a moment if that's what his cock would taste like as well, but there would be time to find out later. Right now, he wanted to bring them both to pleasure before they got too cold to want it. Aravel curled against him as he worked, tucking his face into his sleeve still, catching and guarding against his frequent sniffles and sneezes. Ingvar ran a thumb over Aravel's tip and was rewarded with the sweetest moan. He teased again. "M' going to bite you," gasped Aravel, taking Ingvar's shoulders in both hands. "Please, please." "Easy, sweet one." Ingvar tightened his grip. "Ready?" He knew the elf was close, could feel it in the way he kept tensing his thighs against Ingvar's own. "Yes," Aravel half-sighed, nails just this side of painful in Ingvar's back. "Now, please." They kissed again, and Ingvar worked his hand over Aravel until the smaller man could do nothing but cling and gasp, shaking, as he came explosively over Ingvar's hand and lap. Ingvar followed soon after, although his release was trapped by his breeches. Not ideal, but he could hardly think of that with Aravel still pressed to him, chest heaving, warm and pliant. And sneezy still. "Happtsch! Akptsch! hah- HAH- HUAH-KTSCGH!!" Ingvar laughed and started to rub Aravel's back again, holding him close. "Bless you." Now the front of his neck was messy, too, but the aftershocks of his orgasm relaxed him and he found he didn't care at the moment. "How do you feel?" Aravel sniffled thickly, not moving from where he was leaning against Ingvar. "Tired. Good, but... mnn." "Let's go back to sleep. Hopefully your nose won't bother you too much now. Sounds like you must have got it out, whatever was bothering you." "I don't think that's how it works with a cold," Aravel replied, voice already muzzy.  Ingvar settled him again against his back in the bedroll. "I'll wake you in the morning to strike camp," he said, taking Aravel's hand again in his. "Sleep well." And at least the rest of the night went well. Aravel did sleep soundly until day broke and they had to move on. His sneezing failed to abate in the daytime, however, and when he began to stumble with fever, Ingvar picked him up to carry on his back, strapping their pack to his front. He'd not been expecting to have to deal with it again, but rather than distaste, Aravel's continued sneezing on his neck now made him feel something quite different. He hurried on through the forest to get them both out of the chill and into a nice, warm bed.

[leapyearkisses]

I’ve Got It Good - (m/m) Eliseo/Padgett

NSFW, MESS, Semi-public - Padgett and Eliseo leave a dinner party due to distraction.

----

“Huhkshtt!”  Padgett ducked his head into his napkin, ears red, as he sneezed again.  His black hair was as messy as usual and he hadn’t gotten it cut since the summer.  His bangs were falling into his face.  One of the women sitting to his left blessed him, scooting her chair away a little bit.

Eliseo watched from across the round table, trying to keep a straight face.  Or at least trying to keep his expression wry instead of interested as Padgett sneezed again and tried to mumble an apology.  He was sick again.  Eliseo wished with all his heart that his- lover, he supposed, wasn’t quite as vulnerable to illness as he was.  Especially tonight, when Padgett was only here as Eliseo’s plus one.  No talking him out of it, though.

Eliseo wished he had been able to talk him out of it because listening to Padgett sniffle and blow his nose now was straining the capacity of his silk trousers.

“Maybe you should go home and rest,” said Lady Amalthea, at Eliseo’s right.  She was looking at Padgett with sympathy, maybe because he looked quite similar to one of her sons.  “Which of the villas is your family staying in?”

Padgett cleared his throat and tried for a polite smile even though his nose was red and his eyes tearful.  “Oh, uh, I’m here as a guest,” he said.  “Of the Jorvalds.  Lord Eliseo’s guest.”  He nodded across the table and sniffled again, nostrils flaring.  He felt pride at being able to say so.  He was wearing his best suit.

Eliseo wished he’d told Padgett that this dinner wasn’t a big deal.  That they could have skipped it.  But Padgett wanted to be seen with him in public, and as much as Eliseo disliked society gatherings, he did have obligations.  He shifted in his seat.  “My Lady, this is Padgett Foxborough, a companion of mine from my days at St. Richter’s Academy.”  Let her think they’d been classmates.  In reality, Eliseo had been dainty and slim and utterly useless at riding horses, about to fail his required physical examinations until Padgett, one of the groundskeeper’s boys, had stepped in to assist him.  He’d gotten Eliseo’s ass into the saddle, Eliseo’s perfect blond hair into a helmet, and his own hands into Eliseo’s pants.  And here they were, together again.

“Is that so?  How lovely,” chirped the Lady.

Padgett nodded and muffled another sneeze into his napkin.  “Uhkkshtt!”  He came away from the fabric only slowly, flushed.  Probably making sure his nose wasn’t running.

“My handkerchief,” Eliseo managed to get out, pulling it from his vest.  He passed it across the table.  Padgett had already soaked his own in the carriage over.  As seemed always to be the case, his sneezes had come on quite productively.  Eliseo wished, as Padgett accepted the cloth, that he could just whisk his lover away to their rooms, but it only just now that the cooks were bringing out the second course.

He dropped a hand into his lap to squeeze himself discreetly beneath the tablecloth.  It hadn’t always been the case, but ever since his eldest sister’s wedding, he’d… found himself quite attracted to Padgett’s sneezing, as odd as that was.  He would have excused himself from the table by now if it wouldn’t be completely obvious exactly why.  Sometimes he wished he could wear skirts.  Thankfully, no one was paying him much attention between the band and the conversation and poor Padgett’s nose.

A series of waitstaff were circulating now with trays laden with food.  It was cranberry-glazed duck with a pear and feta salad tonight.  The food interested Eliseo less than Padgett’s flush and the gleam of moisture at his septum. He wanted to lean across the table and kiss him, draw him down, touch his face, make it better.  He suppressed a groan and rubbed himself again.  He wasn’t in a good position.

Lady Amalthea was asking Padgett about his prospects now, and the young women nearby were trying to suss out his earnings, his potential worth as a husband.  Padgett was deflecting admirably.  Eliseo let himself tune out and- and he undid his buttons, pressed on the head of his cock through his undergarments.  The cloth there was as wet as Padgett’s handkerchief.  He could feel the heat of his own skin radiating through.  The drag of the cloth on his sensitive skin was maddening.  He ran his thumb over himself and tried to suppress a shiver.  It felt ridiculous and shameful.  

Then Padgett’s breath caught again.

“Hhktsciuh! Ngktsch!”  Padgett raised the handkerchief in time to fully catch the second sneeze, but not before Eliseo had caught sight of his slick upper lip.  He felt his neck heating and he squeezed himself.  He wanted Padgett to sneeze against his skin. He thought back to before the wedding, their fateful reunion, and the days that followed.  His eyes slipped shut.

A sharp pain caught him in the ankle and Eliseo gasped, horrifically guilty, sitting back and reflexively putting his hands on his thighs.  His cock throbbed.  So did his ankle.  It took him a moment to realize that Padgett had kicked him.

“And you’ll bring me there, right, my Lord?” Padgett was saying.  His green eyes were sparkling but he was giving Eliseo a bit of a pointed look.  The ladies looked to him, too, and Eliseo did up his buttons one-handed with a dexterity he didn’t know he possessed.

“Of course,” he said, smoothly, and rose from the table.  His arousal strained again against the prison of his trousers and he would have whined aloud if not for the present company.  Entirely sure everyone could see it, he extended a hand.  “After you, my good sir.”

“Why, th- thank you,” said Padgett, and he stepped around the table to take the lead, walking away from the patio toward the main house.  Eliseo followed behind, trying to walk like a normal human being.  He was probably imaging the soft titters behind them. He hoped he was... 

When he and Padgett were out of view of the dinner party, he grabbed his lover’s shoulder. “Where are we going?” he asked, and cleared his throat.  “I wasn’t listening.”

“I know,” said Padgett, rolling his eyes.  “I could tell.  Your, you know, the face you make when you’re turned on.  It’s really obvious.”  He put his hands on Eliseo’s shoulders and pressed him up against a wall, behind a shrub shaped to look like a swan.

“Good God,” Eliseo said, rubbing his face.

“It’s my fault, though,” Padgett continued, kissing the back of Eliseo’s hand.  “I should have known my hh- my cold would distract you.  Sih- hh- sorry.”  He started to undo Eliseo’s trousers.  “Oh, very distracted.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Eliseo moaned, and then Padgett’s pulled his cock free to the autumn air and wrapped his fingers around it.  He leaned back against the brick, knees weak.

Padgett leaned in close, kissed him on the lips this time.  There was that damn smug smile on his face despite his fever.  “Tell me what you want, Eli.”  He stroked his hand down the length of Eliseo’s cock. “Want to get off here, in the courtyard?”  Eliseo groaned.  “Want me to tease you?”  Padgett nuzzled Eliseo’s neck, leaving a wet trail.

“Are you going to make me say it?” Eliseo groaned, already moving his hips to try and bring them closer.  “Devil.”

“Your devil.”  Padgett rubbed his nose, breath catching again.  “Nh- now, whih- ihh what do you want, love?”

“I want you to sneeze,” Eliseo moaned, taking Padgett by the hips.  “On me. Aa, please.”

Padgett nuzzled him again and kissed his jaw.  “Good, Eli.”  He started to stroke Eliseo’s cock rhythmically.  “Already so eager.  I’ll forgive you for touching at the table.”

“I am in Hell,” Eliseo growled, and then Padgett leaned close again and sneezed against his neck, pulling back Eliseo’s collar to expose the almond skin below.  

“Hh-hrkschtt! Hgtsnchx!  Haah…”  Padgett groaned softly, although he didn’t stop his attentions below.  His nose was hot where it met Eliseo’s neck and so was the slight pool of mess that had settled under it.

Eliseo keened and then coughed, trying to keep his voice down.  He wasn’t going to last long like this.  A good thing, too, as the tinkling of glasses and murmur of conversation was still quite audible beyond their little nook.  “Bless you, hon.”  He moved one hand to Padgett’s nape.  “Are you going to, nn, sneeze again?”

Padgett sniffled thickly and Eliseo could feel his nostrils twitching.  “Y-yes,” he said, breath stuttering. “Are you going to hh- hh– come for me?”

Eliseo nipped Padgett’s ear.  “Barely holding it together,” he said, thighs trembling.  

Padgett laughed lightly.  “Here, then.”  He slipped the handkerchief between them to catch the impending release.  “Love it when you get like thih- hh-”  His fingers tightened on Eliseo’s cock before he made an effort to return to a smooth pace. “Hh- hah- oh, hngtsxchht! Haktschiu!”

Eliseo held Padgett close as he sneezed again, spray and more mess pooling now, a wet heat.  Each of the sneezes sounded desperate, a bid to free Padgett from the torturous urge, from his illness itself.  They left him breathless, leaning on Eliseo for support.  Eliseo came into the handkerchief with a strangled cry.

Coming down, he rubbed Padgett’s back and murmured sweet nothings to him as he tried to catch his breath.  Padgett’s face was wet with mess and tears from his efforts.  His eyelids looked tender and pink.  Eliseo kissed his forehead under his unruly bangs. 

“Back to the rooms?” he asked, when they had both calmed enough to move without drawing suspicion.

“Yes,” replied Padgett.  When he shifted, Eliseo could feel the length of Padgett’s arousal press against his thigh.  “You’re not the only one.  And I want a bath.”

“I’ll have one drawn for you.”  Eliseo fixed his trousers, wadding the handkerchief into his pocket.

“Have them send up the duck, too,” said Padgett, rubbing his nose.  “We’ll be hungry afterward.”

[leapyearkisses]

Carriage Shenanigans - (m/m) Eliseo/Padgett

I FORGOT ONE

MESS (like seriously, it’s GROSS) and sneezing on very willing participant, NSFW, semi-public - They fuck in a carriage.

No promises, but I might write another story with Eliseo sick since I know a few people have wanted that.

---

The countryside south of Harwichport was coloring with the first blush of summer.  Horses and cattle grazed in pastures alongside the road. Plants had unfurled from their sheltering against the frost and now reached curiously through fences toward the sun.  Early flowers waved in a breeze that had not quite shed the spring cold.  Eliseo glanced away from the carriage window to the seat across from him.  His lover, Padgett, was leaning against the wall, head pillowed against a rolled jacket.  He also hadn’t quite shed his spring cold, and he’d been snoring gently since falling asleep an hour ago.

He seemed  to wake now. After a moment, he opened his eyes and looked back at Eliseo.  In the dim light of the carriage, his eyes were a soft forest green.  He smiled.  “Hey,” he murmured.  “Bored?”

Eliseo put aside his novel after slipping a silk ribbon into place as a bookmark.  “Maybe a little.  The farms all look alike out in this part of the county.”  Picturesque stone cottages with wooden additions for growing families, red barns that needed a summer coat of paint, fields tilled for wheat or oats, scarecrows in plaid.  “Bellecourt should be turned out when we get there tomorrow, though.  Father sent Grimsley and the other servants ahead.”

“Will you have to work?”

Eliseo sighed with an edge of frustration.  “Maybe.  Marcello is having his prospective wife around at the beginning of the season.  He’s asked for me to get the place into shape for entertaining her family.  He’s far too busy to do it himself, of course.  Playing with his new cutter down on the Niamh.  I think he means to race it.”  He leaned his cheek on his palm.  “The sketch he sent me made it look like a potato with sails, but I expect it’s prettier in person.”

Padgett sniffed.  “Not very responsible of him.”  His voice was a bit thick with congestion, but his tone was good-natured.  Eliseo tried not to stare at Padgett’s red nose, but he wasn’t sure whether he was successful.  

“Not particularly.  But that’s Marcello for you.”

Padgett sat up and laid his jacket on the seat beside him.  “What happens if you can’t make those preparations?”  He paused for a moment, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.  “Anythih- hh– anything bad?  Hahktsch!”

“Huh?”  Eliseo licked his lips.  “Ah, he’d probably have to come down a few days earlier…”

Padgett sneezed again, a wet sound not well muffled by the cloth.  “Haptschiu!”  Without blowing his nose, he said, “You couldn’t work if you were sick. I wouldn’t let you.”

A thrill went through Eliseo from his heart to his groin, but he started to shake his head.  “Padgett.”

“Come here, Eli.”  Padgett held out a hand, putting the handkerchief to the side. “You’re hardly ever sick.  You might not even catch it.”  He smiled slyly.  “And you’ve been so good to me the past few days.  You must have been struggling.”

“For the love of God.”  Eliseo could feel himself blushing scarlet… and his trousers felt awfully tight all of a sudden.  “You are a scoundrel and a menace.”  He lowered his voice.  “What exactly do you mean to do in a carriage, Padgett?”  

“Whatever you’ll let me,” Padgett replied, matching his volume to Eliseo’s.  It came out sultry, heightened by the roughness of his voice.  Still, seeing that Eliseo was making no move to get up, Padgett braced a hand on the gently swaying carriage wall and inserted himself onto the bench seat beside his lover.  Eliseo made a token protest, but that was all.  When Padgett took his hands and laced their fingers, Eliseo found himself mute, gaze fixed on the wetness gathered at Padgett’s nostrils.

“We have to be quiet,” he said, finally, just to say something.

Indulgent, Padgett nodded.  “Of course, my Lord; quiet as church mice.  Now, will you kiss me?”

Their mouths met in a bloom of heat.  Padgett pressed their tongues together, treasured Eliseo’s lips, nipped until Eliseo deepened the kiss.  Between breaths, he chased Padgett’s mouth with his own, caught up, until he was practically in Padgett’s lap.  Padgett ran his hands down Eliseo’s back, reassuring, encouraging, until he could slip them up under the edge of Eliseo’s waistcoat and worry his shirttails from his waistband like an excited dog with an errant pillow.

Eliseo laid a hand alongside Padgett’s jaw, slipped his fingers into the unruly curls at Padgett’s nape, and kissed his nose.  He wasn’t shy; he drew his tongue over Padgett’s septum, tasted salt, pressed his lips to gently crush a nostril closed.  He shut his eyes in pleasure.  When Padgett’s breath hitched moments later, Eliseo drew back, flushed and loose, resting his thumb at the corner of Padgett’s lips.  “I want you to sneeze on me,” he said, almost inaudible over the carriage wheels but straightforward and plainly desirous.

Padgett smiled.  Eliseo was ever beautiful to him, but no more so than when he was free with himself.  “Hh- hh- I will, Eli.  Your neck?”  He could feel his nostrils flaring and knew his nose was running by the slick feeling on his lip and Eliseo’s soft moan both.  

“No,” Eliseo said.  He tilted his face and kissed Padgett again.  He didn’t move far after.

Padgett let his eyes slip closed and gave over to the itch in his nose.  It was deep-seated, caught in his sinuses, radiating outward in scratchy hints of irritation.  He had been at its mercy all of the previous day, so much so that Eliseo had postponed their trip, although probably equally for his own peace of mind as Padgett’s health.  He had no reservations now, waiting for Padgett to give in, face upturned.

“Hh- hah- hahktschiu!”  Padgett ducked forward, overcome in a rush.  Mess ran down over his chin; its evacuation filled him with a momentary ease, a relief from the thick prison of congestion.  Eliseo moaned and pressed closer.  His face was lightly dusted with droplets and now his mouth was on Padgett’s again.  Sighing into the kiss, skin heated, Eliseo had given up any pretense of reluctance.  He rocked his hips, rubbed his clothed erection against Padgett’s thigh.  His tongue darted out again and he started to lave Padgett’s lip and streaming nose.

Padgett groaned and moved to undo Eliseo’s fly before his smallclothes became a casualty.  He remembered the first time they did this and how shy Eliseo had been then, although he’d had even less control over his body’s actions.  “I love you so much,” Padgett said, trading kisses, letting Eliseo have him.  “You’ll make me hih- make me sn- nnh– sneeze again, love.”

“Ah, please,” Eliseo moaned, and he pressed his cock into Padgett’s palm, overeager.  “You ruinous-  you ruin me.”

“Hh-hold still, easy,” Padgett murmured, nuzzling against Eliseo’s chin, then his cheek.  The itch had come back and he trembled with it, chest working fitfully.  “Hh- hah- hhih-”  He drew back again, felt Eliseo tense in his lap.  “Hakschtcht!  Huh- huhktschiuh!”  Again, the relief, a hot tension through his abdomen. He felt Eliseo’s thighs close around his own, felt Eliseo’s cock throb in his palm.  He closed his fingers around it, started to stroke.  He was almost overwhelmed with an urge to take down Eliseo’s trousers and bury himself between those thighs but- but the carriage bumped over a rut in the road and he was shaken unfortunately back to the reality of where they were.

It didn’t seem to bother Eliseo anymore.  He rocked into the circle of Padgett’s fingers, his own precome serving to slick the way, raining kisses over Padgett’s face. “When we get to the hotel,” he said, half-gasping, “ I want you to sneeze on my cock.”  He moaned.  “Fuck, fuck-”

“God, Eli, I will,” Padgett groaned.  He increased his pace.  “Come for me, baby, come on.”  

It didn’t take long.  Never a special fan of sport, Eliseo was nonetheless more than fit for his lover.  He keened with his release, tucking his face into Padgett’s shoulder to muffle his voice.  Whether from temporary deafness or inviolable decorum, the coachman kept on without an inquiry.  Padgett enfolded Eliseo into a tight embrace and rocked him gently through his orgasm, his own erection trapped in his breeches still. He had no trouble encouraging Eliseo to see to it when the latter had calmed.

They arrived at the hotel by 7 PM.  The coachman opened the door to find both of his patrons looking as put-together as they had when they left.  If they blushed slightly to see him, he ignored that.  He was, and always would be, a consummate professional.

[leapyearkisses]

Overworking - (m/m) Eliseo/Padgett

Padgett comes home to find Eliseo working through a cold.

---

Padgett shed his heavy coat in the foyer and thanked a waiting servant for taking it and his hat.  He’d tracked in the snow on his boots but wiped them as best he could on the mat before venturing further into the house.  He’d been here only once before, when Eliseo had still been in school.  It was a stately townhouse with tall, narrow windows and architectural details in some dark, African wood. Padgett trailed his hand along the banister as he went upstairs.  He’d grown up in and out of rich houses like this one, running around his father’s feet and later, doing work himself, so the surroundings didn’t dazzle him.  It was still weird to think that one day this house might partially belong to him as Eliseo’s spouse.

He passed the sitting room on the first story and went up to the second, where the landing opened on Eliseo’s study.  The last time Padgett had visited, the room had still been laid out like a play room, although Eliseo had been almost an adult.  Since taking ownership of the townhouse, he’d purchased a fine writing desk and a high-backed chair.  Padgett hadn’t expected to actually find Eliseo sitting there now, but maybe he should have.  He tapped on the open door in greeting, trying not to sound chiding when he said, “So, still working?”

Eliseo looked up from his papers, a pair of spectacles perched on his nose.  He was quick to hide them when he saw who it was.  “You’re back,” he said, and though his tone was warm, his voice was rough with disuse, or maybe coughing.  He got up from the desk to greet Padgett with open arms.  Padgett noticed as they embraced that Eliseo was wearing a jacket despite the fire blazing in the grate.  He sighed.

“I’m back.”  He pressed a kiss to Eliseo’s forehead.  “You have a fever.  The letter I received in Brighton said you weren’t well, so why is it that you’re not in bed?”

“Who else was writing to you in Brighton?” Eliseo asked, irritated.  “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Your sister Brielle.”  Padgett let Eliseo go, but followed him back to the desk. “She was worried for you.  She said you hadn’t made it your parents’ for the winter ball.”  He looked down at Eliseo’s papers and found that he’d been doing more of the accounting.  Pages of sums crowded the writing surface along with furniture catalogs and real estate listings.  The Jorvalds were selling a property in Camden and were auctioning most of the interior contents, it seemed.  Of course Eliseo didn’t trust the numbers to his siblings, but Padgett didn’t understand why he couldn’t hire a consulting accountant to help with the workload.

Eliseo scoffed as he rummaged for a pen.  “My parents, good-intentioned as they are, are still waiting for me to fall for a society girl and propose at such and such a ball.  It would have been an endless parade of dances with sharks in satin and heels.  You weren’t even going to be there, so what would have been the point?”  He drew his ledger closer.

Padgett put a hand over the pages.  “Fine, no ball.  But she wasn’t wrong; you’re ill, and it’s easy to tell.  Won’t you put this up for now and lay down?”

“You’ve caught me in the middle of something.”  Eliseo pushed Padgett’s hand away.  “I just need to… Need to.”  He paused, blinking, then his mouth fell open softly and he ducked into his hands.  “Ecktsch!  Hehktscht!”

“Need to sneeze?” Padgett asked, tugging a slightly crumpled handkerchief from his pocket.  He passed it over.  “Bless you, Eli.  You sound rough.”

Eliseo wiped his palms off, blushing, and settled the handkerchief around his nose to catch another sneeze, this one sounding wetter.  “Hhktschnght!”  He coughed.  “I’m fine.”

“Well,” said Padgett, rising.  “I’ve been travelling all day, so I think I’m going to turn in.  Is there a room upstairs free?”  He gathered his bag.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Eliseo said.  “I’m not going to house you with the servants.  You’ll get a proper guest room.  The- hh- hngktsch! green room is free.”  He blew his nose, leaning on the desk.  

“The green room?  Oh.” Padgett cleared his throat.  “...I would have liked to stay in your room.  But I could see how that might be misconstrued.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Eliseo said, standing again as well.  His blue eyes were shadowed, but he looked flustered.  “It’s just that the green room has been freshly turned over and mine is… somewhat chaotic.”

Padgett went to the door.  “That hasn’t mattered before now.  You know, it’s been a long month away for me, but I do understand if it’s been somewhat out-of-sight, out-of-mind for y-”

“No!”  Eliseo had moved quickly across the room and now caught Padgett’s sleeve.  “No, you fool, I just don’t want you to get sick!”  He was panting slightly, eyes bright.  When he met Padgett’s gaze, though, he scowled.  “You’re an ass.”

Padgett couldn’t hide his smile, and he took Eliseo into his arms again.  “You’ve admitted it, now.  Won’t you feel better tucked up with me?  I’ll bring you soup and medicine, I’ll rub your shoulders…”  He nuzzled Eliseo’s cheek.  “I don’t mind catching your cold.  I’d probably catch it anyway, even from the green room.”

Eliseo blushed.  “I would hope to avoid that.”

“I remember giving you a cold once upon a time,” Padgett said softly, nuzzling him.  “You were all for that.”

“That was different!”

Padgett laughed.  “I’m sorry, you’re getting all red.  I shouldn’t tease you when you have a fever.”  He kissed Eliseo’s cheek.  “Let’s go to bed.”

Eliseo let Padgett lead him through into his bedroom, undress him from his working clothes, and put him in a nightshirt instead.  He let Padgett bring him soup and tea and brush his hair.  And he let Padgett curl up beside him in his four-poster when he was starting to fall asleep.

“You know I did miss you,” he mumbled, face to face with Padgett under the down comforter.  “Of course I did.  It felt as though I’d misplaced my own heart.”

Padgett pressed their lips together, running his hand comfortingly over Eliseo’s hip.  “I know.  I read your letters every day while I waited for a new one.  I’m very glad to be home.”  He swept Eliseo’s bangs from his face.  “Now, let’s just focus on getting you better so we can have a proper reunion.”

“It’s a deal,” murmured Eliseo, and he fell asleep with Padgett watching over him.

[leapyearkisses]

Consequences - (m, m/m preslash) Oneshot

Reupload. My brief attempt at writing an action thriller. Imagine if it were possible to buy a pill to make you sick. Then imagine you tried to use that pill to avoid the monumental consequences of your greed-motivated actions.

Probably a bit nsfw, mess, crimes against the environment, bastard men, capitalism, tw alcoholism

---

Murashiki Aritomo lifted the small white pill and examined it with a critical eye.  It looked no different than an aspirin or a breath mint, so innocuous as to be almost unbelievable.  But he was running out of options.  There wasn’t a lot of time to arrange anything different, and he wasn’t sure now whether there was any other course of action that wouldn’t land him in prison.  “This pill will make me sick?”

“It will, I can promise you that.”  The drug’s purveyor, Paul Gascoigne, had been Murashiki’s classmate in undergrad, although while Murashiki had gone into developmental chemistry, Gascoigne had pursued medicine.  Or at least pharmacology.  He looked the part now, dressed in a bespoke black suit and a white lab coat for effect, although his bright ginger hair brought a touch of life to the somber outfit.  “Flu symptoms for a week, starting about six hours after taking it.”  He shook the unlabeled bottle in his hand.  “If you double up, the symptoms get worse and last longer.  I’ll even give you a discount.”

Murashiki eyed the bottle, then shook his head.  “No, I only need to be unavailable for the length of the Summit.”

Gascoigne smiled in a manner befitting a fox.  “Yes, I’d heard on the DL there was some nasty business with the LiveBetter plastics.  Are you seeking new employment opportunities?”

Murashiki produced his wallet.  “I’ll give you an extra €50 to stop asking me questions.”

“Deal.” Gascoigne slipped the bottle back into an inner pocket and got up from where he’d been leaning against the wall.  He held out a hand for the money and didn’t make a secret of counting it before secreting that away as well.  “Pleasure doing business with you,” he said.  “While I have your attention, may I just say that my doors are always open if you’d like to seek out other opportunities as well.”

“I’m married,” snapped Murashiki, automatically running his thumb over the place where his wedding band used to be.

“Ah, young love,” Gascoigne said, mocking.  “You know, she’s a decade gone to Monaco, or Dubai, or wherever it is these days where they pay for high-class whor-”

“Get out.”

Gascoigne spread his hands, conciliatory.  “On my way.”  He turned on his heel and left the office, letting the glass-fronted door swing shut behind him.  Murashiki glared at his retreating back until it was gone, then glared at the door itself.  White frosted writing identified his sins.

Aritomo Murashiki, Ph.D.  Senior Project Lead, LiveBetter Development Group

He’d shredded all of his files already, but he checked the desk once more to be sure.  Everything he wanted to keep he’d put into a slim silver suitcase.  He wouldn’t be coming back here, God willing. The pill sat on top of his desk.  He swallowed it with a mouthful of whiskey from the decanter underneath.  With luck, he could make his excuses the next morning to the relevant people and be on his way out of the country by evening.

---

Murashiki reached his room at the Holiday Inn just past midnight.  He put his suitcase by the door and stripped to his shirtsleeves and boxer-briefs before going into the bathroom to splash some water on his face.  He’d always been one to keep up appearances for the investors, but after all the late nights and alcohol he was starting to look wan.  He rubbed his eyes, pushing up his glasses.  He hadn’t expected that, at 37, his life would be self-destructing in such a public manner.  As soon as the environmental compliance reports were brought up in front of the EU, the company would throw him under the bus and that would be that.

Not that he didn’t deserve it.  He drew away from the mirror and back into the darkened bedroom.  He’d been present for almost every step of the process.  His initial warnings had fallen on deaf ears, and then... well, the money had been too good.

“Lead me not into temptation,” he mumbled, laying down on the bed closest to the exit.  Maybe he should have stuck with the whole religion thing after Satine had left, but he hadn’t been too fond of faith in the months after.  He touched his ring finger again.  He knew he was a fool.  Gascoigne was right, if insufferable.  He closed his eyes.  Unbidden, the man’s face came to him.  Always looking sly and fit, he’d cut a dashing figure in college, too.  They’d made out once, twice... Murashiki had already been married then, but a little bit of beer and bisexual guilt had motivated a slip here and there.  He’d never felt like he was “settling” for Satine - in fact, he’d loved her quite dearly - but he’d always been afraid of missing out.

He set an alarm for 5 AM.  That would give him enough time to contact the VP.  Hopefully by then the pill would have kicked in so it didn’t seem like he was shirking.  Of course, everyone would know why he wasn’t there soon enough, but he’d have a head start.  He felt fine at the moment, if stressed.  It had been four hours.

For the price he’d paid, Gascoigne had better not have ripped him off.

------

Five o’clock came too quickly.  Murasaki groped for his phone on the bedside table, slapping at it uncoordinatedly to turn off the alarm.  The room was still pitch black.  He groaned.

The doctor hadn’t been playing him; he felt awful.  His head was heavy and his limbs ached dully - perhaps he was already running a fever?  His mouth was dry, and when he tried to moisten it he realized why: he couldn’t breathe through his nose at all.  Rubbing it produced no relief, just an irritating shift of congestion in his sinus that led to sharp gasp and a rushed sneeze.

“Hahkyusht!”  He caught it against his wrist, and the next two in his palms.  “Hhkyuschtt!  Hgkktschkt!”  Head throbbing, he wiped saliva and snot on the sheets and got out of bed.  He’d seen a tissue box on the toilet tank last night and was in great need of it.

The fluorescent overhead light set him cursing when he flicked it on.  It felt like high beams stabbing him in the face after a particularly intemperate night of drinking.  He shielded his eyes with one arm and grabbed a handful of tissues to crush against his nose.  He was going to sneeze again.  He could feel an itch clawing deep inside his left nostril.  He squinted against it, trying to take shallow breaths, but it didn’t help.  “Hahgktsciutsz!”

The tissues were a mess already, but he tried to blow his nose.  That lead to coughing, too, and he found himself leaning over the sink, trying to get his bearings.  “The fuck did you put in that pill?” he growled to himself.  Surely not a live virus?  The consequences would be staggering.  And not just because he felt himself a little dizzy and unsteady on his feet.  It would be easy to transport pills across borders, easy to disguise them as something harmless - they already looked it.  Influenza was already one of the most deadly of epidemics.  What if Gascoigne could take TB, rabies, ebola and weaponize it marketed as aspirin or loperamide??

In the mirror, his gray eyes were wide and Murasaki could see even without his glasses that he was sweating.  He shivered.  Right.  Things were getting out of hand.  He was just feverish and letting his tension take over.

He took the tissues back into the room with him and returned to the bed.  He just had to make a few calls and then get out.  Everything would be fine.  He could make flight arrangements in the taxi and then be on his way back to Japan faster than you could say “non-extradition country.”  

It was 5:12.  The VP picked up on the third ring.  “Dr. Murasaki?” she asked, sounding like she hadn’t had her coffee yet.  “What is it?”

“Good morning, ma’am.”  He didn’t have to force the coughing that followed.  “I realize it’s terrible timing...”

“You sound awful.”  

He coughed again in agreement.  “I feel awful.  I’m nih- not sure I’ll make it to the convention center.”  He pinched his nose, at least until he could feel the sneeze cresting.  Then he let it out, not too far from his phone’s microphone.   “Hahkgtschgt!”  Mess painted his lips and he struggled to breathe past it for a moment.

“Santé!” She was too polite to sound appalled, but she was quick to dismiss him.  “We’ll miss you at the luncheon and awards ceremony.” 

“Oh, I don’t mind,” he said, through more tissues.  “The team is just as deserving of recognition for this as I am.”

“Yes, of course.  I will pass on news of your absence to the event coordinators.”  In the end, it didn’t really matter to her whether the scientists behind the company’s products were there or not, just that the presentation was made on time and the right people (her) made the right headlines.  Someone would make sure the info made it to the European stage.  And that someone would not be Murasaki.  He didn’t envy whoever was left with the data.  He didn’t even know if anyone else who was going knew exactly what they meant.  But the audience would.

He was free, though, for now.  He thanked her and hung up, then let the phone fall from his hand to the pillows.  “Hah... haah-”  If he could leave off sneezing for twenty minutes, he would be golden.  His nostrils flared, and he fumbled for more tissues as the right started running, worsening the irritation to an unbearable degree.  “Hakgschtgnx!  Nktscgshx!”  His ears rang and he dropped to lay back on the bed.  He hadn’t felt this bad since back in college, junior finals week, when he’d stayed up for four days and then been bedridden for just as long.  His nose felt raw already.  Even his eye sockets hurt.  He lay his arm back over his face, enjoying how cool it felt on his forehead.

He would just close his eyes for a minute.  For one minute, he would try to will away the pain and heat.

------

“HEY!”

Murasaki startled awake to the sound of fists raining down against the door.  He tried to kick out at an assailant, caught the sheet, and struggled until he found himself on the floor.  Threadbare carpeting pressed into his cheek and he tried desperately to remember where he was.  Not the office.  Not his apartment in Montmartre.  He forced himself to sit up and had to lean against the bed to stay upright.

He was in a hotel, he finally remembered. He was staying here before he left the city.  Just a few phone calls to make- no, he’d called the VP.  The room was awash in the orange light of fading afternoon.  His stomach twisted.  That wasn’t right.

The pounding hadn’t stopped, but by the time Murasaki thought he might be able to address it, whoever was outside had forced their way in.  He expected a horde of angry journalists, armed with cameras and microphones like on TV, but it was only one man.  Gascoigne, he thought.  It took him a moment to place the man without his glasses, but that hair...

“What are you doing?!” Gascoigne practically shouted.  He shoved the door closed again and used Murasaki’s suitcase to keep it from swinging.  “You’re still in Paris?  There’s an uproar!  They were showing parts of the Summit live, you know.”  He grabbed Murasaki’s elbow and yanked him to his feet.  “I wasn’t sure whether Le Monde or Greenpeace would get you first, but it’s much worse than that.”  No lab coat today, Murasaki noted distractedly.  Jeans and a bomber jacket.  Did black-market doctors get weekends?

He tried to free his arm and failed.

“I can’t believe you’re still here,” Gascoigne was saying still.  He shook the smaller man.  “Idiot.  Did you hear what I said?  The Russian mafia put out a hit on you!  Hey!”  He grabbed Murasaki by the nape.  “They found out LiveBetter is behind the collapse of their fishing interests in the Black Sea.  This is all over the deep web.  Hey.”  He shook Murasaki again.  “What’s wrong with you??”

Murasaki pressed his hand against Gascoigne’s chest, tried to push away from him.  “You,” he said.  “You poisoned me, or s- somethih- Hahktsch! Haktschngx!”

“Christ.”  Gascoigne let him go.  

Murasaki lifted his hands.  “Hgkttschzx!  You... what is this?  I’m burning up.” He was shivering, too.  He felt sick and dizzy.  “I must have passed out.”

“Yeah, you look like shit,” said Gascoigne.  He shrugged at Murasaki’s glare.  “What?  Sometimes it hits harder for people if they haven’t taken it before.  S’not exactly FDA approved.”

Murasaki collected more tissues and blew his nose.  “How did you find me?”  This was not good.  He’d be stopped at the airport, probably.  The mafia had connections all over Europe.

“Your phone.”  Gascoigne had picked it up off the pillow.  “You have... sixty missed calls and messages.  Wow.”  He dropped the device unceremoniously behind the bed.  “We’re leaving that here.  Get dressed.”

“‘We’?” Murasaki tossed the tissues to the carpet and started trying to button his shirt.  His pants were where he’d left them, and he picked them up, leaning against the wall dizzily as he tried to get them on one leg and then the other.

Gascoigne moved the blinds aside and took stock of the street outside.  “Yes, ‘we.’  I didn’t come after you for my own health.  Get going.  Where are your shoes?”

The two of them, led by Gascoigne, left out the back stairwell.  Gascoigne had parked an unassuming tan Renault at the sidewalk and he pushed Murasaki into the passenger seat before taking the wheel and driving out of the courtyard.  After only minutes, the car blended seamlessly in with the local traffic.  “We’ll head to Germany for now.  I’m sure the mafia has people at Charles de Gaulle.   When we get a chance, maybe Brazil?”  He was driving admirably despite the pressure he’d put himself under.  Not drawing the attention of anyone.

It didn’t occur to Murasaki, with how terrible he was feeling, to ask why Gascoigne had actually come for him until they were close to the border.  “I mean, you didn’t have to get involved,” he said.  “No one would have connected our names.”  He was looking up at Gascoigne’s face from under his bangs.  The car window was nicely cold against his temple.

Gascoigne glanced over to him and rolled his eyes.  “You’re an idiot.”

There was a silence.  Murasaki coughed.  “Is that it??”

Gascoigne didn’t meet his gaze, focusing on the highway ahead.  “You didn’t think I was just hitting on you to piss you off, did you?”

Murasaki frowned, then looked away.  “Oh.”

“You don’t have to answer me,” Gascoigne said, voice carefully neutral.  “I’m doing this because I want to.”  He reached down and turned on the radio.  The point was clear: no discussion was to be had at this time.

Murasaki stared out at the passing countryside and tried to get a handle on the mix of emotions churning inside him.  Fear, gratitude, helplessness, lust... he couldn’t think through the fever and eventually gave in to a numbing haze.  With luck, he would live long enough to figure out what he wanted a day, a week, a month from now.

Gascoigne kept driving.

[leapyearkisses]

Orbs Are Bad News Part 1/2 - (m/m) Gerrit/Llewellyn

I ran out of Eliseo/Padgett stories, so I’ll post the rest of what I’ve got. Thank you to everyone who has liked, reblogged, and/or left nice comments. This community is truly so kind!

Anyway, I love these characters, so much. :)

MESS, sorta NSFW probably, sneezing on person (who likes it) - Elven sorcerer Llewellyn gets his hands stuck to a magic orb while he has a cold and has to be taken care of by his FWB(?) half-elf fighter Gerrit Truestride who gets off on that sort of thing. 

I fricking forgot Gerrit’s last name. This might be it??

---

"Okay, we don't know what we're dealing with here, so let's be careful." Gerrit pushed open the heavy wooden door and lifted his torch to illuminate the room inside. The firelight played over several tables covered in intriguing objects and glinted teasingly off of more than one hint of gold. Gerrit himself spotted a stolid wooden chest in the corner and his heart rate quickened. "Jackpot," breathed Remembrance, the party's resident ne'er-do-well. She rubbed her hands together, sharp nails clicking. Gerrit was sure she was assigning price tags to the lot of it, except for whatever she hid in her bags for herself, of course. "I know a guy in the capitol who'll pay through the nose for that pervy little statue there." "That is a religious object," chastised Cordes with a haughty tsk. "It's used in rituals of worship for the goddess Fortuna." "Oh, I'm sure he'll be worshipping," cackled Remembrance, and she slipped past Gerrit into the vault. "Few hundred gold and he'll be rubbing out a grand ol' prayer." Her pointed tail waved with greedy delight. "Hey! The proper course of action would be to bring it back to a temple!" Cordes went after her, pushing Gerrit aside. The half-elf grumbled but wasn't surprised. "At least TRY not to touch anything cursed," he called. He'd been the one to organize this little band, but although he was the one who reported to their patron, he had precious little influence over what they did. They were happy to point to him when some upstart had a problem with the party, though. Ingrates. He turned to the last member of the group. "What about you, Llewellyn? I thought I saw some books on the far table."

"Lead the way," replied the sorcerer, and his usually mellifluous voice sounded strained. Purple shadowed the hollows under his faintly luminous silver eyes, and he had his nose tucked into his handkerchief again. Gerrit hadn't spent much time around full elves, but he'd always believed they couldn't get sick, at least not like a human or dwarf. Llewellyn had been dragging since Saints' Day, though, and seemed to have come down with a flu. His skin, where visible under his fitted robes, was wan. "Sure," said Gerrit, and he stepped into the room, holding the door out so that Llewellyn could join him. "You, uh, you don't look like you're feeling any better." "Oh," said the sorcerer, "I'm not. I ran out of tonics." He entered the vault and walked over to one of the tables, investigating a strangely shaped glass bowl. "But as we were already down here, I'm not sure what you want me to say. There's no inn at which I might rest my weary bones."  "Cordes could make you an herbal remedy," Gerrit grumped. He went over to the chest he'd seen earlier and smashed the lock off with the pommel of his dagger. He didn't need any fancy lockpicking tools like Remembrance's. And hitting something felt good when his companions were all intent to be annoying, acerbic, or both. "I suppose," Llewellyn replied, sounding uncertain as his voice wavered. Gerrit tried to ignore the way his ears heated at that. That was the tone that overtook the elf when he was preparing to sneeze. It wasn't any of Gerrit's concern. His occasional roll in the hay (literal and figurative) with Llewellyn did not make it easier or more appropriate to acknowledge his odd attractions, especially since they were currently ransacking a dungeon with a priest and a psychopath. He focused his attention on searching the chest, and he was rewarded with a heavy coin purse, a stack of calfskin-bound journals, and a ruby the size of a robin's egg. He whistled. Llewellyn gasped. "Hah- hahttsch-ow!" "'Ow'?" Cordes appeared from behind a bookshelf, one arm wrapped tightly around a thick rug, the other reaching for his pack of salves. "What is it? Cut? Burn?" When Gerrit looked, their sorcerer was rubbing his nose with his left hand. "Bruise," Llewellyn said. He lifted his right hand, in which he held a blue crystal orb that was knotted inside a thin lattice of gold chain. "I got my hand caught." He'd apparently run the thing into his nose when trying to cover his sneeze. Llewellyn's thin face was already dusted pink from the embarrassment. Gerrit couldn't help but laugh. "Very graceful," he chuckled. "I will thank you for keeping it to yourself," Llewellyn replied, and that was elvish dialect for "fuck you." Gerrit laughed again.  Cordes had leaned over to see the orb better in the firelight. He was the only one among them whose vision was hindered by the dim light. "What kind of artifact is this?" he asked. "It doesn't resemble anything I've studied." "I'm not sure." Llewellyn held it up to the torch. The orb lit up like a lamp, but otherwise nothing happened. "Whatever this chain is, though, it's very prone to tangling." He tried to shake it off his wrist and failed. This was a task for both hands, and he set to freeing himself. And kept trying. And trying. Gerrit frowned. "What are you doing? Cordes, would you get that off of him?" "Sure." The priest reached out to help, but Llewellyn suddenly backed away out of reach. "Uh... I'm not trying to steal it, elf." "Oh, I would let you take it," Llewellyn said, scowling. "But I have a feeling we would be in for some trouble if you touch it now." He held up both hands. His palms were wrapped around the crystal and bound with the ball in that thin gold chain. "I am... I'm stuck."

---

"STUCK," hooted Remembrance again. She was crouched at the entrance to the dungeon - a root-cellar-like set of doors they'd found in a small bandit settlement - and hauling out a heavy pack stuffed with loot. In the daylight, she looked menacing and out of place, her horns, dusky maroon skin tone, and black eyes setting her apart from this land's primarily human residents. "And you even said not to touch any curses!" "I recall you said so as well," said Cordes, who looked exactly like a run-of-the-mill human resident except for the star-like scar on his left temple. He reached down and grabbed Gerrit's hand, steadying the half-elf as he climbed out of the hole. Llewellyn was hanging uncomfortably on Gerrit's back, arms looped around the other man's neck. They'd tried to find a more dignified way to get him out of the dungeon, but he couldn't manage the ladder well enough without the use of his hands. "The artifact didn't react to my detection spell," sniffed Llewellyn disdainfully, and Gerrit was quick to set him down before that sniffing could become another sneeze. He didn't want to blush in front of the others. "There must be someone in Veigh who can help you," Gerrit said. "We'll just swing by on our way to the capitol." The city was three days out of their way, but they couldn't have Llewellyn stuck this way for the two week trip back to their patron. With his hands bound, he couldn't cast any spells that required him to gesture, and that was almost all of them. He'd effectively rendered himself completely useless in combat. Veigh had a chapter of the Mages Guild in residence, though, and if no one there could help, they might at least be able to send Llewellyn on ahead via a transportation spell.  "I will hope there is." Llewellyn looked pale and worn, though his fine features still exuded the otherworldly beauty of the high elves. His hair was a silky black, although mostly covered by his hood, and the contrast made his silver eyes look even more curious. He fumbled for a minute at his waist before scowling heavily. "I can't get into any of my bags, of course..." "What do you need?" asked Gerrit. Remembrance had started off through the trees, humming, her bulging pack swaying with her sinuous movements. Gerrit really didn't want to let her get too far ahead, not least because she was scary good at concealing herself in the foliage and might slip the party completely. However, Cordes was with her, and Llewellyn couldn't exactly fend for himself right now. "My handkerchief..." The elf's voice had gone wavery again, and Gerrit watched as his nostrils flared. Fuck. Gerrit hurriedly patted his pockets until he produced his own handkerchief, or what he bothered with when necessary. It was a large square of flannel, rough around the edges. It wasn't embroidered or monogrammed like Llewellyn's, but he figured by now the flannel was a hell of a lot cleaner, and it was soft for an irritated nose. "Here, take mine." Llewellyn held out his hands plus the orb for it, breath hitching, but no matter how Gerrit tried to drape the cloth, it kept slipping off of the artifact. He supposed he could try to tie it around the- Llewellyn made a desperate sound and tipped his head back, exposing the long line of his throat. His breath was coming in soft pants now. And he was raising the orb reflexively.  Gerrit couldn't let him whack himself in the face again, so he did the only other thing he could think of. With one hand he reached out and took Llewellyn by the shoulder. With the other, he lifted the handkerchief and pressed it over the elf's nose. His fingers settled firmly on either side of Llewellyn's nostrils, and none too soon. After another half-hitch, Llewellyn ducked forward again with a quiet but insistent sneeze. "Happtsch! Gerrit was sure he was beet red. “Bless you,” he mumbled. Through the cloth, Llewelyn’s nose felt hot, and any gentle pressure resulted in a bit of a squish. “Let me just…” "Whh- wait-" Llewellyn leaned into the handkerchief. "I'm nh- I'm not done hhH-" His eyes slipped shut and he gasped again. Gerrit swallowed and tried to ignore the tenting of his breeches. "R-roger that." He could feel Llewellyn's nostrils twitching against his fingers. "Hh...Haah- Hapttschuh! Snrk... Aptschiu!" His body rocked, and he took a half-step forward. Gerrit could hear the thick sound of congestion in the elf's nose as he tried to stave off another sneeze. "Blow your nose," he said. "It will help." Llewellyn hesitated, but in the end, he had to comply. There was nowhere for the mucus to go except out. He started to blow with a gurgle. Gerrit moved the hand from his shoulder to start rubbing Llewellyn's back. The handkerchief and his fingers were rapidly growing damp, but he really didn't mind. "There you go."  He held the handkerchief to Llewellyn's nose until the elf moved back on his own. His nose was red and tender looking, and his cheeks were flushed rosy. He didn't seem to want to meet Gerrit's eyes. Gerrit didn't mention it. He didn't really want to look at Llewellyn either right now. It had been a while since the elf had looked so very fuckable.  He put the handkerchief in an easily-accessible outside pocket of his vest.  "Ready to go?"  Llewellyn coughed lightly. "Yes." "Excellent." Gerrit gestured for Llewellyn to precede him, and the two of them headed out through the trees, following the sounds of Cordes negotiating the underbrush and swearing about it. --- Travel proved easy enough once they made it to the road. They were fortunate not to meet anyone else along the way. The party could handle a group of bandits without their sorcerer, but they had their treasure to worry about, and Remembrance always drew stares, and sometimes aggression, even from normal travelers. Gerrit thought her skills more than made up for the extra negative attention they drew. And anyway, Remembrance was crazy but she wasn't evil. She did better out on the road than in town, but that was probably true of all of them. Llewellyn kept up with her pace, but it was clearly a struggle. He was usually fairly quiet, but he didn't speak at all as they walked, focusing on breathing and not devolving into coughing or more sneezing. There were a few times when Gerrit hastily reached into his pocket, at the ready, but Llewellyn fought back the itch with admirable determination. He kept his nose from running by sniffling heavily, which sounded somewhere between awful and revolting. Cordes commented on it multiple times with disgust, but nothing could be done. Llewellyn held his tongue, and Gerrit was reluctant in this case to offer the handkerchief without being asked. They found a place to camp about half an hour outside the small village of Tewks. Remembrance cleared out some brush to make a flat area for the bedrolls and then promptly decided she'd rather sleep in a tree with everything she owned. She found a good, solid oak a few yards from the camp and ensconced herself in the crux of its branches. She had a good view of the road in either direction and volunteered to take the second watch in the middle of the night, which was her favorite time. Gerrit agreed to take the first watch as Cordes started to set up his tent. The priest refused to sleep on the ground and always took an extra fifteen minutes to erect a curious one-person canvas canopy. It wasn't even large enough to sit up inside, but whatever. The priest never asked anyone else to haul it along, so Gerrit wouldn't complain. These arrangements left him and Llewellyn alone together on one side of the fire, and he supposed that was preferable during the orb situation anyway. Llewellyn couldn't handle his own bedroll, help with the fire, or unpack any of their supplies. Gerrit realized he would probably have to help the elf eat, too. And... Well, when he noticed Llewellyn fidgeting uncomfortably, Gerrit took him out into a thicker copse to see to his other needs. They didn't talk about it... Llewellyn could hardly undo his own buttons, though, and it wasn't the first time Gerrit had taken over. By the time the fire was hot enough to cook over, Llewellyn had tucked himself up to sit on a tree stump, exuding an aura of furious self-reproach. Cordes took some jerky into his tiny tent with him - for some reason. Gerrit made up two bowls of pottage and sat himself on the ground at the roots of the stump. He put one bowl on the ground for himself and then held up the other. "Hungry?" "Not particularly," Llewellyn replied, voice blunted with congestion. He coughed. "But you're going to make me eat something, aren't you." "I'd prefer you do it willingly." Gerrit tapped the spoon on the side of the bowl. "Come on. It's hot. You'll feel better." Llewellyn growled in a manner more suited to orcs than elves. "I feel like an invalid." Gerrit sighed. "Well, if it makes you feel better, we can pretend you lost your arms in an owlbear attack very tragically." He could feel Llewellyn's fiery glare on him and smiled a little. "Look, we've all done stupid things while adventuring. I'm sure you remember when I tripped and knocked myself out on that knight's shield during the tournament." "I remember," replied the elf, begrudgingly. "Besides, you're sick on top of the whole orb thing. Maybe your detection spell wasn't sensitive enough. Maybe the thing's not even cursed! Maybe it's supposed to do this, and we just don't know why." "I have a hard time believing that. What possible purpose could this serve?"  Gerrit shrugged. "Don't ask me. Dad says my mother was a druid, but I haven't got a magical bone in my body." He tilted his head. "We could always try smashing it?" Llewellyn's rejection was forceful. "Do you want to explode?!" Gerrit chuckled. "Not really." Llewellyn sighed. Gerrit held out a spoonful of pottage. Feeding both Llewellyn and himself was a bit difficult, but Gerrit did well enough when he could alternate. It would be better if he could use both hands equally like Cordes, but he couldn't, and so he didn't. He just thought about it wistfully as he worked. Llewellyn ended up eating most of his bowl, then went back to sitting quietly and sniffling. Gerrit finished the rest and put the utensils aside to deal with later. And... Even though Llewellyn hadn't asked, he drew out his handkerchief again. "Hey," he began, trying not to sound awkward. "You wanna blow your nose?" No one else was paying attention and Llewellyn didn't need to inhale any more of that crap. The elf gave him a shitty side-eye. "Come on," said Gerrit. "Don't be like this." He patted the ground in front of him encouragingly as if Llewellyn was a recalcitrant cat. "I'm fine," said Llewellyn, and then betrayed himself with a quick breath. "Hah--" "Come on," Gerrit repeated, "before you make a mess." Llewellyn came down off the stump to sit in front of him, legs tucked underneath, and rested the orb on Gerrit's thigh to balance himself. His eyes were pinched with reluctance, but Gerrit could see that the elf's nostrils were already damp. "Hah- hh- hurry," Llewellyn gasped. Again, Gerrit reached out with the handkerchief, enfolding his companion's nose. He could feel Llewellyn's breath fluttering against his hand through the fabric and hear quite clearly how it kept catching on congestion.  "Hah-hngk- Hahgkttscht!" Llewellyn ducked forward with the force of it and Gerrit steadied him with a hand on his hip. "Ngkttsch! Hnggktxch!!" Gerrit bit his lip sharply to keep from saying anything, but his body was singing with arousal. Llewellyn hiccuped a short gasp and Gerrit pulled the handkerchief away to present a clean corner. The current spot had become soaked and silvery. "Bless," he managed after a moment, and he carefully readjusted the cloth. "Are you going to sneeze again?" Llewellyn nodded, eyes teary with the effort of the first bunch. Gerrit wasn't surprised; the elf had been holding back since they left the dungeon. He couldn't imagine it had been comfortable, but Llewellyn had his pride. He never would let Gerrit give him love bites either. Annnd Gerrit was going to have to stop thinking about that. "Haptsch!" Easier said than done. Really. But Llewellyn's comfort came first. "Hahkptsch!" The sorcerer groaned softly. "Hah- hh- Hgnaptscxhx!"  Gerrit did his best to assist Llewellyn through the fit. He kept the handkerchief secure, moving it when necessary to keep it dry enough. He steadied the elf when the sneezes bent his body or when he felt faint from lack of breath. He even massaged Llewellyn's nose for him when he was trying to blow it and the congestion was stubbornly refusing to move. By the time he felt finished enough to lean back, Llewellyn was flushed and light-headed, swaying where he sat. Gerrit was sweating and needed a towel. "........Thanks," murmured Llewellyn, eventually. "Yeah," said Gerrit. "Sure." He swallowed. "Let's wash up." He helped Llewellyn to his feet and they went a little way to a creek (generously; it was little more than a ditch through the woods). Gerrit gently washed Llewellyn's face, careful of his tender eyes and nose, and sent him back to camp to lay down for the night. He lingered at the water's edge to wash the handkerchief and, well, to take other matters in hand. Llewellyn was completely out when he returned, and Gerrit was grateful. He smoothed the elf's bangs back and then settled beside the fire to take watch. The woods in the dark were full of the sounds of insects and small animals moving in the undergrowth. And Llewellyn snoring and sniffling in his sleep. Safe sounds. Gerrit rested his chin on his hand and looked toward the road. Damn orb. It was going to be a long way to Veigh.

[leapyearkisses]

On the Lupine Lawn - (m/m) Eliseo/Padgett

3 AM POST P0RN (like it matters to me what time it is lol)

NSFW, MESS, Outdoor sex, inducing - Eliseo and Padgett have a picnic.

---

Eliseo glanced over again at his lover and bit his tongue. He didn't want to say anything. He didn't want to say anything in case he was wrong. His being wrong was a very real possibility. And, if he was wrong, then it was pretty likely that Padgett would make fun of him. After all, even though they'd been together now for a year, Padgett knew himself best, and Eliseo didn't want to jump at shadows and ruin the moment.

It was almost July. The weather had been perfect so far this week, although they were coming off a stretch of rain. To celebrate the arrival of picnic weather, Padgett had suggested they actually go on one. Eliseo had been more than amenable to leaving his accounting for an afternoon, so he'd agreed, and now the two of them were sitting on a blanket in a shady corner of the Lupine Lawn at the Jorvalds' manor house, called Bellecourt. The lupines had started blooming a few days prior and were now a waving sea of blue and purple blossoms with a few cobble-lined paths going through.

The air was just a touch humid and filled with the scent of flowers and growing things.  The green aroma of cut grass wafted down from the front of the house.  The heat was punctuated by the sound of ice cubes shifting in their glasses and insects droning in the field.

Surely, Eliseo thought again, as he poured himself more lemonade from the crystal pitcher, Padgett would not have suggested a picnic if he were susceptible to summer rose-cold.

Padgett rubbed his nose and looked over to Eliseo with a smile.  "You've gone quiet," he said fondly. "I hope you're not thinking about work. Haven't you been busy enough this week?" The only one among his siblings with a head for numbers, Eliseo had been roped into managing the Jorvalds' several properties and their land interests. He was quite good at the work, but Padgett lamented how it kept Eliseo inside more often than not.  He thought that Eliseo, bright and blond, could use some sun; otherwise he tended to look a bit faded.

"Oh no," Eliseo replied. "I'm sorry if I seemed far away." He leaned over across the plaid blanket to steal a kiss, something Padgett was more than willing to allow. "Just enjoying the view. How are you finding it?"

Padgett chuckled. "Are you talking about me or the lupines?" He took Eliseo's hand on the blanket. "I'm enjoying it very much. As soon as I heard the manor had such a display, I was intrigued. I'm honestly surprised we're alone today. No society ladies wanted a tour?"

"I sent them to the back gardens. They'll be diverted by the Bernini fountain and the topiary."  The manor was the site of very frequent visitations from the elite families in the area and even some of the townspeople as well.  Usually Eliseo ignored them completely, but today he'd been motivated to provide himself some privacy.

"Ah, of course." Padgett rubbed his nose again. "How many acres did you say you had?" 

"Well, Bellecourt is 650," Eliseo replied. "Or did you mean in total?"

"All that and you don't keep anything but carriage horses," Padgett sighed. "What a shih- shame." He pinched the bridge of his nose.

Eliseo blinked, distracted. "What? Oh. The horses again." He tried to pull his gaze from Padgett's fingers. "You're single-minded. I did tell you that none of the family really likes to ride for pleasure."  He'd barely passed his physical exams on horseback with Padgett's help back at the Academy and had steered clear of them ever since.  But Padgett had a fondness for all creatures, up to and including irascible mares.  "Perhaps if you become a more permanent resident, I will order the building of a stable." 

Padgett leaned over to him, grinning. "Permanent as in you'll hire me, my Lord, or did you just float the possibility of marriage?"  His eyes sparkled with an opalescent gleam.

"Don't think I'll be down there cavorting with you," Eliseo soldiered on, feeling hot under the collar. "You know the hay makes me..." Padgett had become very close. In fact, he was almost climbing over Eliseo's lap.  "Makes me-"

"Sneeze," Padgett finished for him, looking coy.  "I remember."  He leaned more forward still and drew Eliseo into a lingering kiss. His lips were soft and insistent, and he opened Eliseo's mouth with his tongue.  The kiss tasted of lemonade.  Before Eliseo could protest - as if he would - Padgett had placed a hand at the back of his head and taken him down to the blanket so he was laying back in the sunshine with the shade of Padgett over him.  Their bodies were flush in a most interesting way.

Eliseo could feel himself blushing now, and he was breathless. "Yes," he finally managed, voice soft.  "That's right."

"You know," said Padgett, sniffling, wrinkling his nose, "I think something out here might be setting me off."

"Hadn't noticed," Eliseo lied, obviously, and Padgett laughed.  He bit his lip and reached up to touch Padgett's cheek.  "You're awful.  You should have told me if you were going to have a reaction.  It's not the lupines, is it?"

"It’s not," said Padgett, leaning into his touch.  "It's probably ragweed.  Did you know the pollen can travel long distances on the wind?"  He kissed Eliseo again, then nuzzled their noses together.  It didn't escape his notice that Eliseo's hips rocked upward at the same time.  "It bothers me much more in the autumn.  Right now, I'm just..."  He trailed off, eyes narrowing, but the moment passed.  He sniffled again.  "I'm just a little affected."

Eliseo sighed lightly in frustration.  His fingers found Padgett's buttons and he started to undo them.  "Maybe a more prolonged exposure will have an effect," he said, reaching the end of Padgett's shirt and pulling it open.  "Take some deep breaths.  They're calming."

Padgett laughed loudly and nipped Eliseo's jaw.  "You're delightful," he said.  "And a bit scary."  He helped Eliseo with his suspenders and belt, sitting back for a moment to slip off the trappings and put them to the side.  He kicked his shoes off.

"I trust you to know your own limits," Eliseo replied primly.  "And-" Even knowing they were alone in the field, and separated from the house by almost a mile of grass besides, he lowered his voice.  "I just know what I like."

"Oh, and will you tell me again?" Padgett asked, tugging Eliseo's belt and trousers off.  He pulled the pant legs carefully over Eliseo's black leather boots, ornately stitched and high-heeled.  He wanted the boots left on.  "I love it whih- hh when you say it."  He kissed Eliseo's thigh and then looked at him through his ebony bangs.

Eliseo was still blushing.  He might never get over it.  But he didn't hesitate this time.  He reached out to tug Padgett close again, murmuring against his lover's cheek.  "Honey, I want you to sneeze for me."  His pale blue eyes were half-lidded with desire.

Padgett brought their mouths together again.  "I'll see what I can do."

The picnic hadn't been a pretense - they'd had a very nice lunch - but Eliseo wasn't surprised when Padgett took a pair of towels and a bottle of oil from the picnic basket.  He made himself comfortable with a makeshift pillow and a towel under his hips, and then Padgett slid into him, one of Eliseo's legs over his shoulder, boot commandingly in the air.  They were still limber from the morning, and Eliseo moaned sweetly but didn't tense when Padgett was fully encompassed inside him.  "I love you," he sighed.  "Talk to me?"

"How much air do you think I have?" Padgett grumbled, but he knew Eliseo liked to listen to his breath catch and stumble.  He took a moment to massage his nostrils as he let Eliseo get used to the stretch.  "You look so good like this."  Eliseo's hair was falling from its twist already and fanning over the blanket like a halo.  His skin was rosy with his desire.  Padgett groaned and shifted.  "If I could paint, I would paint you just like this."

"Flattery," Eliseo murmured, pleased as punch.  He touched Padgett's sides, rubbed encouragingly.  "I'm okay.  I'm ready."

Padgett hummed in acknowledgement and started to move his hips.  He knew by now the angle that could make Eliseo crazy, and he teased up to it with steady thrusts.  All the while, he spoke sweet nothings or tried to rile Eliseo into blushing even more.  There was an extra edge to their excitement being outside, the sun gilding their skin with buttery light.  Their cries mingled with the the birds', and when Eliseo came, he didn't bother to try and muffle his voice.  No one would hear them here.  Padgett followed him over the edge with his own shout, and they both laughed breathlessly when it startled a pigeon into flight.  Padgett eased himself down onto Eliseo, careful not to drop too quickly, and started to kiss him passionately as they both relaxed through their orgasm and the tender moments afterward.

After a few minutes, Padgett felt Eliseo's fingers on his cheek.  He drew back.  Eliseo was looking up at him, eyebrows raised, looking half wry and all spoiled. "You didn't sneeze," he said.

Padgett blinked.  "I didn't?"  He sniffed.  There was a slight prickle in the back of his sinuses, but he certainly didn't feel as he did in the autumn when the ragweed was in full swing.  "I didn't even notice, my love.  I'm sorry."  He nuzzled Eliseo's nose with his own again.  "It looks like I might have overestimated the pollen's effect.  What do you want to do?"

Eliseo reached to the side of them, off the blanket, and plucked a long-stemmed blade of grass.  He twirled it between his fingers.

"Let me sit up."  Padgett rose and settled himself with his legs outstretched on the blanket, sticking his hands out behind him to brace himself up.  "It's going to be messy, my love," he warned.  "Did you bring a handkerchief?"

"I always have one in my vest," Eliseo replied, settling himself on Padgett's thighs.  "But you can have it after.  Is that okay?"  He reached back to take down his hair completely and it uncurled to hang heavy around his shoulders.  He spun the grass again.  Eliseo's cock had softened somewhat after his orgasm, but Padgett was sure he would come again from this.

"Yes, Eli."  Padgett sniffled a little to work him up.  "Whenever you're ready." 

Eliseo touched Padgett’s chin with his left hand and lifted the grass with his other, settling the point just inside Padgett’s left nostril so that it pricked the inside. Padgett settled his hand around Eliseo’s lower back. They’d done this before in the bedroom.  Padgett was always quite keen to indulge Eliseo if he felt well - and if he didn’t, then he was probably sneezing already and Eliseo could find pleasure while taking care of him.

Eliseo traced the edges of Padgett’s nose, eliciting a gasp, and then pressed the grass carefully further inside to touch the sensitive membrane at the back.  Padgett’s nostrils flared and his breath started to catch.  The low-level burn of the pollen in the air had been joined by a much more prominent itch from the grass.  Moisture began to gather as his body tried to fight the irritation.

Eliseo moaned very softly under his breath and pressed his cock against Padgett’s.  As Padgett has expected, Eliseo was quite hard again, his cock hot.

“Ih- it’s wh- working,” Padgett managed, letting his eyes close, sniffling. He took a deeper breath, hitched.  “I’m hh gonna snih-” He tightened his hold on Eliseo’s waist and ducked forward.  “Huhkscht!”  His nose had started to run, and he wasn’t done yet.  “Hh- huhptksch!”  That one produced more mess, and Padgett lifted a hand to wipe some of it away from his chin.

“Bless you,” crooned Eliseo, flushed again, embarrassed but unable to deny how very turned on he was.  He drew out the grass, sodden now, and kissed Padgett gently.  “Again, honey.  Please?  I’m close.”

Padgett plucked a new blade of grass himself and leaned in to nuzzle Eliseo’s shoulder.  “As you wish, my love.”  He kissed the tender skin there, then started to tease himself, a little more aggressively, looking for the angle that would produce the best results.  His nostrils were twitching as he worked, and he gasped, moaned a little himself in frustration or pleasure. He brushed the tip of the grass just at the back of his nose and-

“Hrushktcht!”  There it was.  He pressed his nose to Eliseo’s shoulder, letting the mess pool against his neck.  “Ahkttscht!  Kschtt!  Hh- huh- Huhkttschiu!”

Eliseo keened and clutched Padgett’s arm as he came again in a heady rush, painting Padgett’s belly with his release.  Padgett pressed another sneeze against him and Eliseo closed his eyes, letting the orgasm take him.

In the aftermath, Padgett let Eliseo kiss his face clean as he used the towel to dry them off and make them presentable again.  They dressed again, and none too soon, for it seemed that the society women had grown bored with the Bernini and wanted to make their own visit to the Lupine Lawn.  Well, the summer was early yet.  Padgett and Eliseo left to return to the house, picnic things packed up. 

They were already planning another.