tg's annual sneezefic meme (2019)
Apr. 2nd, 2019 07:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tarotgal
Directions:
1. Post prompts. Any fandom (original fic allowed as well) and any pairing, as long as there is potential sneezing involved character. There is no limit to how many prompts you can post.
2. Please warn for anything current that might be potentially spoilery!
3. Prompt posting will be open while there's interest, most likely until this time next year
4. Reply to any prompts you like with art/drabbles/ficlets/fics in parts/links to fics in your blog. The entry must not be friends-locked.
5. Please warn for anything that might be a trigger including something an emetophobe like me might have a problem with.
6. Prompts can have as many fills as people feel like writing. Just because one person has filled a prompt doesn't mean you can't write for that prompt as well. Different spins on the same thing are absolutely welcome!
7. There will be no deadline for fic responses. If you see a prompt you like and want to write it, go ahead!
8. There's no limit to how many you can write either. WRITE THEM ALL!
9. Please feel free to pimp this on any communities and forums you think would be interested in this.
10. You are allowed to repost prompts from previous or other memes. If the prompt belongs to someone else, just give them credit. You're also more than welcome to reprompt your own!
11. My birthday is April 19. I'm just saying...
Have fun, everybody!
Fills:
Sneezing and wearing fingerless gloves.
Water Demons by
vergoftowelsMarvel
"Wow. How many times have you sneezed today?"
"I don't know, I lost count."
A Head Cold, Exhaustion, and a Complicated Washing Machine by
tarotgalMiddle Earth
It's a bit embarrassing to be the only Elf with allergies. Luckily, the elf's significant other finds it more than a little endearing.
Suffering is Temporary by
tarotgalOriginal Characters
A character has a cold but just feels a little like sneezing from it. The character doesn't have allergies but does get an itchy nose at really powerful scents. Combine the two and the character has to sneeze so badly!
They've Discontinued My Perfume by Anonymous
Character gets turned on by their own sneezing (whether just naturally, or because of a curse or something) and tries to ignore it. But then they catch a cold or have a strong allergic reaction to something, and it becomes harder and harder to ignore, so to speak.
Exhibit by
vergoftowels"Wow. How many times have you sneezed today?"
"I don't know, I lost count."
Untitled by
vergoftowelsPerson A is carrying something delicate (like a fresh painting, tray of china, hot bowl of soup) and there's nowhere for them to put it down when they feel a sudden sneeze coming.
Person B come over to steady them and ends up catching the oncoming sneezing fit for Person A while trying to protect whatever item it is.
Toward Satisfaction by
tarotgalTwo characters have to share one small sleeping bag, so small that there's barely room to turn over. One character is coming down with a cold and can't help but sneeze over the other person all night long.
And OMG, They Were Rollmates by
vergoftowelsSupernatural
Sam's got a cold, and colds and migraines really don't mix well.
Vigilance by
tarotgalStar Wars
Finn's been on suppressants all his life, because sexual urges are just a distraction for stormtroopers. Now that he's off them, he's discovering all kinds of new things, including that he really likes it when Poe sneezes.
Tell Me What You Want by
tarotgal
no subject
Date: 2019-04-03 12:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-04-11 05:47 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2019-04-03 12:33 am (UTC)One of the members of Vox Machina catches cold. And without Pike to heal him/her, the cold spreads to others in the party. Even advanced healing potions don't seem to work.
no subject
Date: 2019-04-03 04:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-04-07 11:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-04-05 12:23 am (UTC)A character has a cold but just feels a little like sneezing from it. The character doesn't have allergies but does get an itchy nose at really powerful scents. Combine the two and the character has to sneeze so badly!
Not saying I can write this, BUT...
Date: 2019-04-10 02:30 pm (UTC)Re: Not saying I can write this, BUT...
From:They've Discontinued My Perfume
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2019-04-18 10:08 pm (UTC) - ExpandRe: They've Discontinued My Perfume
From:no subject
Date: 2019-04-05 01:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-04-05 01:37 pm (UTC)FILLED: Vigilance (1/2)
Date: 2019-04-08 11:40 pm (UTC)“Sammy?” The word hangs there in the pitch black darkness of the motel room. It had taken all damn day to get the room this dark; Dean had been vigilant about it. First it was the glowing digits of the alarm clock, now buried under a pillow. Then it was the daylight sneaking through the thin curtains, now covered with a sheet and two blankets as makeshift blackout curtains. Then it was the stripe of light coming in under the door, now stopped up with a flannel shirt. No glowing television screen. No glowing laptop screen. Not even a glowing cell phone screen. There was nothing for Dean to do but sit and listen to Sam’s deep breaths in and out from under the covers as he tried to fall asleep long enough to drive this migraine away.
But that sound was new. That wasn’t the sound of his brother’s peaceful snores. It was a sound he didn’t recognize following by a yell from Sam that he damn well did recognize. “Sammy, are you okay?” There is silence, and Dean can almost hear his own panic settle over him as his own breathing quickened and his heartbeat thumped. There is absolutely no way in hell a monster could get into this room; he knows that. They took all the usual precautions. But Dean can’t see a thing. All he knows for sure is that Sam is in distress. “Talk to me here, kiddo.”
There is a rustling of blankets then a gasp. Sam’s voice comes through clearly, so he must have stuck his head out from under the covers. “I’m… well, not all right. But it’s nothing. Don’t be worried about me.”
“That ship sailed a long, long time ago,” says Dean, who still dreamt of that night his mom died. Sometimes he woke up still feeling the weight of his baby brother held tight in his arms. He was always going to worry about Sam. And he was always going to do whatever it took to make Sam better.
Which is why he was willing to sit here in the dark, doing nothing at all, as they waited for Sam’s brutal migraine to pass. Maybe the headaches were part of the powers Sam seemed to be developing. Or maybe they were some new curse Sam was lucky enough to pick up. Dean didn’t know, and Dean didn’t care. All he wanted was for his brother to feel better. And lying on the backseat of the Impala with a damp washcloth on his forehead wasn’t going to cut it. Sam needed an extreme level of quiet and darkness. He needed rest.
Dean hears Sam settle back down. He hears a heavy sigh as Sam’s head hits pillow. He hears blankets getting adjusted. Then he hears Sam clear his throat. “Hey, I hate to ask… but…”
“What d’you need?” The question is a reflex, out so fast Dean doesn’t even realize he is already up out of the chair and on his feet.
There’s a hesitation Dean doesn’t like. The silence following the question makes Dean uncomfortable, restless. If he can do something to help, he wants to do be told about it. When the reply eventually comes, Sam’s voice sounds strained, “Ice water? M’thirsty, and I could use another cold compress.”
“I’m on it,” Dean is relieved just to have something to do that might help. “As long as you’re sure. You remember what this means?”
There is silence for another long moment then a little more rustling. A muffled. “Yeah,” finally follows.
“You all the way under your covers, buddy?”
That’s another “Yeah.”
Dean feels in his back pocket for the hotel room key card; getting locked out is the last thing he needs right now. Normally, the sound of boots against the carpet is so soft he doesn’t notice them. But in this silence, every step sounds way too loud as he walks all the way across the room, feels around on the bathroom counter for the ice bucket, then walks back to the door. They’re like the footfalls of giants. He undoes the chain and pulls the flannel shirt out, using the little light that comes in to ensure that the salt line is still intact. Then he leaves, trying to close the heavy door behind him as softly as possible.
He stands outside for a moment as his eyes readjust to the daylight. He hears another small yell from inside the room and resists the urge to dash back inside, throw on the light, and figure out what’s wrong. Sometimes Sam’s migraines are strong aches that turn his stomach. Other times they’re sharp stabs of pain. Dean assumes this reaction is just from a feeling like a knife stabbing into Sam’s temple. The best thing he can do is get Sam what he needs quickly and hope that helps. Because Sam would tell him if something were really wrong, wouldn’t he? Even if it meant a trip to the ER?
Shit. No, Sam probably wouldn’t. Sam would do what he’d been doing ever since he got back into hunting after his time at Stanford: he’d hide. He’d deny. He’d deflect. It had taken a migraine so bad Sam had very nearly ralphed during an interview for Dean to even know they had started.
Dean walked quickly over to the ice machine. It was their rotten luck that the only available ground floor room at the motel was situated right next door to the ice machine. Luckily, not a lot of people went to get ice, but when anybody did, it was loud and jarring and impossible not to hear from inside their room. The fact that Dean was getting the ice didn’t lessen the sound one bit. But if Sam had asked for it, Dean knew he really needed it.
So Dean holds the bucket under the dispenser and leans on the giant button. Chunks of ice shoot into the bucket, rattling as the machine rumbles. Dean winces at the loudness as if he, too, has a killer migraine.
When the small ice bucket is full, he heads back to their room, lets himself in, and then heads back to the sink. There’s a plastic cup somewhere there… and he finds it, but he also finds it’s still wrapped in plastic. Sam whimpers as Dean wrestles it out of the plastic, taking far too long, fumbling in the dark and doing everything by touch. He finds the faucet. He turns on the tap. And he soaks his hand and sleeve instead of the cup. Goddamn it! He moves the cup into place, filling it for a few seconds. Then he turns the water off and pops a bunch of ice cubes in. He feels around, almost knocking the ice bucket over, and then locates a washcloth. After wetting it and folding it around some ice, he heads in the direction of the bed.
In the dark, he finds it when his knees hit the bed. He winces, and he imagines that Sam does the same thing as he’s jostled a little. “Sorry,” Dean whispers, meaning it wholeheartedly.
“S’okay,” Sam mumbles back, though it sounds like he’s doing so through clenched teeth. “Water?”
“Yup. Right here.” It takes some concentration and trying for Dean to connect the cup with Sam’s hand in the dark without spilling any of the water on Sam. When they finally connect, both men are relieved. Sam takes a quick sip, hisses, then shoves the water right back at Dean. “What?”
Sam moves around, the mattress springs giving, the covers rustling. Then comes a muffled. “Shit shit shit shit shit! Hih-Hjxxphh! AHHHH!”
“Sammy? What’s happening?”
More rustling. “Sammy?” Silence. “Sam…”
FILLED: Vigilance (2/2)
From:no subject
Date: 2019-04-06 05:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-04-07 10:50 pm (UTC)"I don't know, I lost count."
Fill - Original M/M
Date: 2019-04-14 05:11 am (UTC)Fallon bent with the sneeze, clutching his schedule book to his chest and trying to direct most of the spray to the side. The abrupt change in posture sent his golden hair flying into his face and his glasses slipping down his slim nose.
"Wow," drawled his companion, who had long since given up on blessing his advisor. "How many times have you sneezed today??" Adrial was draped over the chaise lounge at the head of the room, as usual, observing with an annoying smugness. He wasn't a particularly sympathetic man on the best of days, and whenever Fallon found himself in a tight spot, it always seemed to be exacerbated by Adrial. Of course, Adrial was a duke and could do whatever he wanted. And he was Fallon's master.
"I've lost coundt," he muttered in response, straightening. The soft, pale skin around his eyes and nostrils was rosy with irritation and felt hot to the touch. He pushed up his glasses with an elegant finger and tried not to let on how terrible he was beginning to feel. Though he could often be taken by an affliction of sneezing, this was unusually intense. His ears and throat itched maddeningly and he wanted to wash the inside of his head out with cold water...
"That's unfortunate." Adrial's voice was light with mirth. "Come here."
Fallon tried not to let his jaw tighten as he walked up to the self-styled throne. He wasn't in the mood for this today. He took a knee, but when he glanced up to assess the duke's mood, he found Adrial shaking his head. Fallon frowned minutely in confusion. "You don't want my mouth, master?"
"Later," said Adrial. "Did you forget that I have an audience this afternoon? Get up. Try to act like a proper advisor." Rings glittered against his dark skin as he waved Fallon to the side.
Fallon swallowed, chastised, because he had forgotten. He rose stiffly and took a position behind the chaise, hastily reviewing the appointments in his book. Right, there it was. The head of the merchants' guild was coming to discuss tariffs for the new year. He sighed. Any hope of being dismissed early went out the window. Trade discussions were the worst and Adrial often took out any frustration with Fallon afterward. He sniffed, hoping that somehow this would fly by without requiring his input or him drawing attention to himself. But life would never be so kind to him. Even such a small sniffle caught in his chest and he felt his nostrils flare, the only warning he had before another pair of sneezes forced its way out.
"Eigschiu!! Hh-- hngschiuh!!"
"Hold it in, would you?" Adrial snapped. "I don't need you teasing me now." A bell rang at the door and a page ducked her head in to announce the guildmaster. "I will see him now," Adrial said. He glanced over his shoulder. "Behave."
Fallon wanted the floor to open and swallow him. Or maybe to punch out the duke. Unfortunately, neither option was likely. He rubbed his nose fiercely until their guest came in and then tried to fade into the background.
It was so difficult. Every breath felt like torture, even though he tried not to use his nose. His nostrils twitched with the intensity of the itch inside, until he was using all of his willpower to hold back. Adrial and the guildmaster were deep in discussion, but Fallon knew that if he sneezed now, he would hear about it later. So he shivered and struggled to hold back for the duration of the meeting, until his eyes were filled with tears and his nose was running down his lip.
"It has been a pleasure," said Adrial, after what felt like an eternity. He rose from his chair to escort the guildmaster to the door, promising to meet again after the new year celebrations to draft paperwork. He closed the door after, and drew across the chain to lock it. Then he turned and gave Fallon a look from head to toe. "Very well."
"Heischgiu!! Engktschiu! Hh- heh-- HH--" Fallon trembled, gasping, before sneezing again, and again. His nose was aflame and he couldn't hold back. "Eygschhiu!! The sneezes curled him into himself and he dropped his book. He tried to cover his nose with his hands, but Adrial came and took both of his wrists.
"Now now," purred the duke. "We wouldn't want to hide your pretty face." He leaned in and brushed his lips against Fallon's, though he drew back before his advisor could get him in the face. "Come here." He drew Fallon into his arms, tucking the other man's face against the crook of his shoulder. Fallon wrapped his fingers in Adrial's robe as he shook and tried desperately to free himself from the itch.
Hsgschiu! Esschiu! Essch!! Hrgktsciuu!
It probably took at least fifteen minutes for the fit to calm. Fallon was gasping, leaning against Adrial. His knees felt like jelly and his head felt light and stuffed with cotton. Adrial's shoulder was a mess, the silk shiny with it, and Fallon felt his stomach rise to his throat when he realized. "I'm sorry," he tried, voice scratchy and weak. Adrial was going to punish him for that, and he didn't think he could manage oral right now.
It was a shock when he felt Adrial lay a warm hand against his nape.
"It's all right," said the duke, voice sweet. "You must be exhausted.
Whatever is troubling you this day must be very fierce indeed. Go to the springs and clean yourself. I am dismissing you for the rest of the day."
Fallon blinked and then scrubbed at his overflowing eyes. "Th- hih-- thank you, my lord." He craved the comfort of his bed and the cool dark of his room, where even though he would be alone, he would be able to rest. "I will attend to you in the morning."
"Oh, I don't think so," said Adrial, releasing him. "When you are done at the baths, you will go to my chambers, where I shall attend to you." He pressed another kiss to Fallon's mouth, relishing in the salt taste. "I will ensure that you are made free of this ailment and able to sleep deeply. You know that you are very precious to me."
And although Adrial could often be a cruel man, or a cold man, no friend to those he perceived had crossed him, Fallon flushed, and bowed. He has still sworn himself to this man, and he knew that Adrial's hands on him would ease the bowstring tension from his body.
"Yes, my lord."
Re: Fill - Original M/M
From:Re: Fill - Original M/M
From:FILLED: A Head Cold, Exhaustion, and a Complicated Washing Machine
From:no subject
Date: 2019-04-07 10:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-04-07 11:11 pm (UTC)This. YUM! Not sure I am in the mood for it today, but it just jumped up toward the top of my list.
(no subject)
From:FILLED: Tell Me What You Want
From:no subject
Date: 2019-04-07 10:54 pm (UTC)Exhibit, original, M/M, NSFW, bird people (not furry/anthro)
Date: 2019-04-24 09:33 pm (UTC)-----
Quetzal looked himself over in the mirror, turning his head this way and that. His iridescent white headfeathers were adorned with beads and gossamer golden chains for the night's festivities. The thin black choker he was wearing emphasized the grace of his neck and the paleness of his skin. He had applied kohl to outline his large blue eyes, already one of his most captivating features. They would have made him look doll-like if not for the handsome strength of his nose, which was slightly hooked, and his delicate but masculine jawline. He fluttered his lashes at his reflection. Like most Avians, he was fond of his reflection, but he thought he looked especially good tonight.
With one last look, he finally drew himself away. He didn't want to be late to the gala, or no more than was fashionable. He had laid out his clothing already on the bed and dressed quickly. Silks were in right now, and he wrapped himself in colorful skirts and scarves until he was satisfied, preened his wings one last time, and then headed to the museum.
The gala today was to celebrate spring, in a way, with an exhibit featuring the botanical paintings of Asterales lin Humboldt. Quetzal had studied her work at the Academy and had always been particularly captivated by it. Her canvases, with few exceptions, were larger than life and featured painstakingly detailed explosions of floral beauty. Indeed, as he stepped into the museum's reception room, it was impossible to ignore the massive sunflower taking up the feature wall. A significant portion of the crowd of attendees were just gathered below this painting, studying and praising it. Quetzal passed them by. While he was quite taken with it as well, it looked slightly less crowded inside the gallery rooms beyond.
The museum had set aside five rooms for displaying Humboldt's art. Quetzal soon settled into a comfortable artistic trance, drifting from painting to painting with other admirers, captivated. The galleries were full of a low hum of conversation, broken here and there by tinkling laughter or champagne flutes and the rustle of feathers. He felt his own feathers lift with a shiver when he laid eyes on a towering dahlia in the last room, visible over the heads of the guests. Quetzal felt drawn to stand below it and marvel. The 10 x 10 ft depiction of a pink star dahlia absolutely dominated the room. Each floret had been rendered in stunning detail, and dew clung to the flower and its leaves, sparkling and looking perfectly lifelike. The spiral of the radiant shape was perfect, demonstrating not only the diligence of the artist but the beautiful hand of nature as well. Quetzal found it hard to draw his gaze away from it, but his next breath caught lightly in his chest and he wrinkled his nose.
"Hh... htcht!" He pressed the pads of his fingers to his nose to cover and left them there. He always sneezed in pairs, no matter the circumstances, and he wasn't disappointed now. His eyelashes fluttered as he hitched again, but it wasn't long in coming. "Httcht! Slightly more insistent that time. He sighed gently on the exhale. As usual, the sensation had given him a gentle thrill, and he felt his ears color very lightly. He didn't care much to sneeze in public.
Luckily, it didn't seem like anyone had noticed him. Normally, Quetzal adored being the center of attention, but there was a time and a place for some things... He turned his attention back to the painting. Or tried to. Someone was calling his name - no, Lir was calling his name. Quetzal's blush deepened before he could stop himself, and then the other Avian had caught up to him and joined him beside the dahlia. Lir had pinned back his gray and black headfeathers with wire accessories, which heightened his usual sleek look. His wings were folded daintily over a black robe and trousers. He smelled of the sea, and Quetzal's nostril's flared.
"It's nice to see you," said Lir, leaning down to kiss Quetzal's cheeks in greeting. "You look lovely tonight. Are you enjoying the show?" His voice was low and had a hoarse edge to it that always drove Quetzal to distraction.
"Yes," he managed in reply. "Humboldt's art is very..." - his mind groped for a word that didn't sound stupid or pedestrian - "Intense." Six years of art and art history education seemed to have fled at Lir's presence. "I studied them at the Academy, so it's nice to see them in person."
Lir nodded, examining the dahlia. "Yes, the vibrancy of the colors is amazing." He tilted his head, a small smirk creeping its way onto his face. "And the subject matter, of course... giant flowers. Rather like a sexual awakening right in your face."
Quetzal swallowed. It didn't help at all that he knew Lir was doing it on purpose. They'd been dancing around each other for some years now, since before graduation, and Quetzal was now sure that the two of them would have quite the time together. He just turned into a blushing mess whenever the other bird was around. "It is. We talked about that in my classes." Flowers were the sexual organs of plants - well, in a very simplified sense - and the significance of that in Humboldt's creations had been one of his professor's greatest passions, the old pervert. Quetzal didn't really want to talk about it now though, in a crowded gallery, with Lir, and- and he thought he was going to sneeze again.
His nose crinkled, and he narrowed his eyes. Yes, here wasn't going to be any helping it. Again, he pressed his fingers to his nose, stepping away from Lir self-consciously. The itch was stronger this time, prickling deeper inside. "Hh... hh- kttsch! Hih- hih- htktsch!"
"Bless you," said Lir, and Quetzal really wished he hadn't. Warmth suffused him, his fingers tingled lightly, and he could feel himself starting to get wet. He mumbled a thank you. "Is it the flowers?"
"What?" Quetzal raised an eyebrow. "The paintings??"
Lir laughed. "No, birdbrain, the real flowers. The bouquets." He nodded toward the other side of the room. Against the wall, there was a small dais and a podium, flanked by four very large bouquets. Dahlias, sunflowers, daisies in bright colors... they were clearly designed to mimic Humboldt's artwork, but while hers were oils, these flowers were all quite organic. Quetzal paled; he hadn't even noticed them when he came into the room. His expression must have been visibly displeased, because Lir frowned in response.
"I'm going to go get hors d'oeuvres," Quetzal said, maybe a little too loudly. He stepped back from the painting, only to realize that while he and Lir were talking, the room had gotten much more crowded. The reason became obvious when the lights dimmed and the curator of the exhibit took to the podium.
"I don't think we can really get over there right now," said Lir. "Are you all right? I was joking, but are you actually allergic?"
"Maybe a little," Quetzal said, weakly. It felt as though, by noticing the flowers, their effects had strengthened. His nostrils flared again. "Hktsch! Ih- iktschuh!" This wasn't good. Not only were his sneezes getting more forceful... his face heated; he felt his cock stirring in response to them. He could feel the head starting to slip from its sheath in the soft folds of his slit, and with it more wetness. A few sneezes here and there could get him excited, but he usually had more than enough time to calm down. He didn't think he was going to be so lucky tonight.
Lir touched his arm, and the gesture was soft and protective. "Let's get you over to the wall at least," said Lir. He was taller than Quetzal and able to make a small pah for them over to a more secluded corner. However, the door was still too far away to reach easily, and now no one was moving in or out.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm so glad you could make it today," said the curator, but Quetzal tuned out her words quite quickly. He had pressed both hands to his nose in an attempt to stave off any more expulsions... and pressed his thighs together to try and prevent much the same below. Lir was pressed beside him, their wings overlapping in the dark. He hoped Lir couldn't feel him trembling, although he doubted he had any privacy at all. "Hnktt- hngtt!" He pressed his fingers tighter. "hn hh hh-- HNGktt"
"Stop that," whispered Lir, frowning again. "You'll hurt your ears." He pulled Quetzal's hand away from pinching his nose. The smaller Avian's eyes widened, but he didn't have the breath to protest or the time to move before he was sneezing again - always in pairs.
"Htrreschiu!" The sneeze was swift and insistent, sending his head into a bob that fluffed his headfeathers. His ears were hot with embarrassment and arousal, and it worsened as he felt a gentle pull at his nose. He'd- he'd produced a fairly impressive trail of clear mess that wobbled gently with his movement. He wanted to sink into the floor. Lir was watching him! What was even worse, at the same time he felt his cock throb and fill, pushing outward to stand erect. The head, wet with his interest, pressed maddeningly against his silks. He felt lightheaded.
Lir had also turned red. "Are you okay?" he asked, voice crackling. "I have a... I have a handkerchief." He hurriedly fished it from a breast pocket and held it out. Quetzal practically snatched it from his hand and shoved his face into the folds. Lir looked away as the smaller bird started to blow his nose. "I think if we, ah, if we go right, we can get out into the courtyard. That okay?"
Quetzal nodded, refusing to move the cloth until he was sure his face was clean again. He didn't want Lir to come with him, he really didn't want that- But he was too short to make much headway on his own. It was only by the grace of Lir's height and presence that they were able to leave the gallery at all, and even then they had to duck and squeeze and tuck in their wings and elbows. Quetzal bit his tongue more than once trying to hold back a sneeze or a moan, or both combined. He was losing a battle with propriety.
Finally, though, Lir found the door and they were able to break from the gallery and come out into one of the museum's courtyards. Mercifully, from what Quetzal could see in the dim glow of subtle lanterns, there were no flowers in this one, just a small pond, benches, and shrubbery. His nose really didn't need any extra encouragement. Lungs working like a bellows, he stumbled around to turn his back to Lir, folding his wings around himself.
"Hrisctchiu! Hh- Hktschiu!" He buried himself in the folds of the handkerchief, soggy now, and bit back a helpless moan. He could feel his pulse in his cock. "Hh hh ih-- Irkttschiu! Kttschiu! Hnkgtschiu! Ih ih-" This time he couldn't help the sound he made, a low cry of desire. He was so, so close. "Hngkttscuhh!"
Lir made a sound beside him. "You- you, ah... You don't look so good," he said, breathless. "You doing okay? Honey?"
Quetzal moaned, and before he could stop himself, he was pulling up his silks and pressing the wet handkerchief down between his thighs. His cock was so hard, so hot. The damp felt so good. He didn't even have to stroke himself before he was coming into the folds with a desperate cry, thighs quivering and dripping with slick already. He came a lot. He could feel the heavy pulses through the fabric and he squeezed himself. He always came a lot when he was sneezing. It's why he usually doped himself up but good anytime he thought he might encounter allergens. Maybe he was an idiot for expecting that the museum would be safe. Maybe he spent too much time looking at the mirror and forgot. He sank to his knees in the grass. The pleasure was monumental. It felt like a long, long time before he was done.
The aftershocks still rippled through his legs and belly, but he felt his cock beginning, after some minutes, to soften and slip again back inside. He was panting. He had to pee, too, or maybe it was just that everything felt oversensitive. He could take care of that inside, though, before leaving the museum and walking straight into traffic.
He was afraid to stand, but he wanted to leave as soon as possible. Horrified and ashamed, he turned, expecting to find Lir fled, never to be seen again. He really wasn't sure if it was better that the other Avian was still in the courtyard. Although he'd walked to the other side and turned away, it was very easy to read the tension in Lir's wings and back. Quetzal swallowed, feeling nauseous and small.
"....Um."
Lir's wings twitched. "....You done?" he finally asked. He hadn't moved.
Quetzal was flame red. He looked at the grass. "Yeah. I'm. Gonna go home now." He clutched the soiled handkerchief. Lir was never getting it back. He was going to burn it.
"Wait," said Lir. Slowly, he lowered his wing and looked over his shoulder. "You sure you're okay? I mean." He turned a little more. Quetzal was incredibly red, the flush standing out almost alarmingly on his pale skin. His nose was even redder than the rest of him. Except maybe his cock, thought Lir, with a rush of guilt and arousal of his own. More importantly, Quetzal looked very close to tears.
"Yep!" Quetzal gave him an awkward thumbs-up. "Yep, really good. So good. I'm just gonna go die now." He spread his wings, but was thrown off by another pair of sneezes. More mess dripped into the grass. Quetzal made a sound sort of like a sob.
Before he could think better of it - for his pride? Quetzal's? - Lir walked over and pulled the other Avian into a warm embrace. "It's okay," he said. "Really, it's okay. Don't go yet. I'm not upset. I'm not- I just want to be with you. I thought we might look at the galleries together, but now I think a different date idea would work better." Quetzal was shaking, but he didn't pull away. "My house is closer than yours," Lir continued, words spilling out a little. He didn't want Quetzal to leave. "Why don't we go there? You can take a bath. I'll leave you alone, I promise. You can take some antihistamines. We can watch a film, or go for a walk, or..."
Quetzal bit his lip. "Really?"
Lir nodded. "Really. And we can pretend this never happened. I promise." Tentatively, he bent to kiss Quetzal's cheeks; usually only a greeting, he meant for this to be a little more tender.
Quetzal sighed gustily, but Lir was deeply pleased when he also nodded. "Never talk about it, ever." Quetzal said, pulling away.
"I promise," Lir reiterated.
And he never did mention it, although he dreamed about that night very frequently for months afterward, and sometimes even years later, after they were married, although by then he had a plethora of memories to choose from.
Re: Exhibit, original, M/M, NSFW, bird people (not furry/anthro)
From:Re: Exhibit, original, M/M, NSFW, bird people (not furry/anthro)
From:Re: Exhibit, original, M/M, NSFW, bird people (not furry/anthro)
From:no subject
Date: 2019-04-07 10:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-04-07 10:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-04-07 11:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-04-07 11:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-04-07 11:08 pm (UTC)Fandoms?
Date: 2019-04-10 02:26 pm (UTC)Re: Fandoms?
From:(no subject)
From:We-ell...
From:no subject
Date: 2019-04-07 11:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-04-07 11:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-04-12 02:47 am (UTC)Person B come over to steady them and ends up catching the oncoming sneezing fit for Person A while trying to protect whatever item it is.
FILLED: Toward Satisfaction
Date: 2019-04-12 02:22 pm (UTC)The painting had seemed done already when he’d arrived. It had been striking and bold and emotionally charged and he had told Alex as much. But Alex had kept working, absorbed in the piece, obsessed with it, insisting it wasn’t perfect yet, insisting there were just a few more finishing touches to be made.
That had been more than four hours ago.
And as fascinating as his current game of Candy Crush was, Milo was feeling restless and a little bit annoyed, if he was truthful. He wouldn’t have even come over to Alex’s place tonight if he hadn’t thought the painting was pretty much done. He knew Alex got carried away with painting. Or, well, perhaps carried away wasn’t the right way to describe it. Carried away implied some amount of irresponsibility. No, Alex was an artist who believed in the perfection of a creation more than anything else, happy to put every ounce of human effort into the canvas to make an extraordinary, timeless result. Satisfaction was the ultimate goal.
From behind the large canvas, Alex stuck their head out. Their shoulder-length, died black hair was tied up messily, but a few loose strands fell into their face, almost like a living art piece itself. Alex rubbed the back of their hand at their nose and huffed, blowing a few of the pieces of hair up in two tiny, tight buns and away for a moment. “Almost done here, luv. I promise. I’ll be with you in just a minute.”
“That’s what you said two hours ago,” Milo muttered, rolling from his stomach to his side without a pause to the game on his little, glowing screen. On one side of the industrial loft, there was the comfort of a bed, the ease of technology, and a very willing and ready boyfriend. On the other was this painting. Anyone who knew Alex at all could guess what side of the loft they were in.
Alex took a step back, a fat brush clenched between their teeth. Their eyes, outlined in kohl, appraised the work of art. Alex removed the paint brush. “I mean it this time. I… I think I’m done.”
Milo sat up in shock and surprise. He’d been pestering on and off all night, but he hadn’t really expected Alex to actually finish before 1am. They never had before. “What, really?”
Milo pushed strands of black hair back from their face, tucking a few behind the ear and twisting one around their finger absentmindedly. Their eyes did not leave the canvas for a moment. “Yeah, really.” With a deep breath in and then, slowly, out, they nodded decisively. “I’m done.” Again, their hand rubbed at their nose, pushed the misplaced strands of hair back, and then it reached for the freshly finished painting. Carefully, one hand on either side of the large canvas, they lifted it off the easel to carry it over to the table to dry flat overnight. Putting a final coat of resin to give it a glossy finish as well as seal and protect it was the last step in the process, but it would have to wait until the painting was completely dry, of course.
That meant Alex had some time to kill. Milo put down his phone immediately. Loving an artist wasn’t easy; his patience was tested on an almost hourly basis. But free moments like this made it all worth it.
About a third of the way across the room, Alex stopped and shook their head. Then they puffed a breath out sort of to the side. “Ugh, there’s this… hair in my face. Driving me crazy.” They’d been fussing with it all night, but it wasn’t until the painting was finished that they really even noticed.
Milo smiled with adoration. “You look good like this, though. Kind of disheveled and raw.”
Alex smirked and continued walking—only to stop a few steps later. “Damn it!” Their lower jaw stuck out as they tried to aim another breath upward to blow away whatever was in their face. But it apparently didn’t work. “Now it’s tickling my nose.”
Milo laughed. “The great painter, defeated by a hairstyle.”
Alex gave a short laugh as well, but they also looked a little nervous. “It’s…” They raised their shoulder and tried to rub their face into their shoulder and upper arm, trying to brush away the hair. “It’s actually not that funny. It really tickles—oh shit!” Their head snapped up, beautiful almond eyes closed, nostrils flaring. “Think I’m going to sneeze…”
As far as Milo was concerned, it was still pretty funny. But the painting was right there in Alex’s hands. They would have no choice but to sneeze directly on it, because they weren’t about to just drop it. Milo also knew that if the painting was damaged even a little, Alex would be up the whole night trying to fix it. Even worse, a ruined painting would mean starting over again completely from scratch. It would also mean Alex’s heart would break a little. They’d put their soul into this piece for more than two weeks now. It couldn’t be destroyed now.
So Milo jumped to his feet and raced over.
In the seconds it took to get there from the other side of the loft, the potential sneeze had become a certainty. Milo knew what he had to do. There wouldn’t be time to both grab the painting securely and move it out of the way, and he might put his hand on the wrong spot and smear some of the wet acrylic paint doing that anyway. There was only one option he could think of.
His long sleeve cuffs were unbuttoned, but he held the cuff against his palm by folding his fingers down. Stretching the fabric out on his arm was almost like pulling canvas tight across a wooden frame, and it provided a big enough area to fully catch whatever sneeze was about to strike Alex.
He pressed his sleeve to Alex’s face just in time. “ihPTSchhh! H’ktchhhh! HEPTShhhhhhh!” Alex rocked forward with each, and Milo put his hand out, touching the back of the top of the canvas to keep it steady, keep it from falling.
Milo didn’t lower his arm after the trio of sneezes, not wanting a stray sneeze to strike and ruin both their efforts. “You all right?” he asked, his voice soft but rich with concern.
Alex snuffled into his arm, surprised by the solution but obviously happy to have something to sneeze into. They looked up at Milo, gratitude filling their expression. “Yeah, I…” Their voice trailed off and eyes shut again. “ihh ihhh IHPTshhhh! HIHtchhh! Ihhpschhh! Hihhh-IHHHSCHHH! Oh!” With that, they pulled back, blinking repeatedly. That must have done it.
“No more tickling?” Milo wanted confirmation. “I mean, I’ve got a whole other arm if you still feel like you’ve got to sneeze.”
Alex smiled and shook their head. “No, that was it.” They inspected the painting, seeing that it was definitely undamaged. “Thanks. That was quick thinking.”
“At your service, as always.” He put a hand on Alex’s upper arm and rubbed reassuringly. “You’d better put the painting down.”
“Right. Wait for me back in bed?”
“Uh-uh.” Milo stooped over a little to kiss a small streak of blue paint on Alex’s chin. “I’m staying right by your side in case something else happens.”
Chuckling, Alex headed over to the table. Without incident, they laid the large canvas flat. They paused to look it over once more, and that was the exact instant Milo’s patience ran out. If Alex found one more thing to correct or change or even tweak, Milo was going to lose his mind. He wrapped his arms around his lover from behind, spun with them on his heels, and shuffled with them toward the bed. Alex continued to chuckle as they collapsed together on the mattress.
One hand on the small of Alex’s back, his other reached up and released the elastics holding Alex’s hair up. Alex shook his head, freeing the straight, black strands. Milo nuzzled close, kissing chin and cheek and ear and neck, breathing in paint and sweat and berry shampoo scents. He gasped and tensed up a moment later, realizing the light strands of hair had tickled his nose as well.
“Use my sleeve. It’s only fair,” Alex offered, holding out their arm. Their oversized red, black, and gray plaid flannel looked soft and thick, and Milo didn’t have more than a second to come up with alternatives anyway.
He hid his face in the flannel. “HAHPTShooo!” One sneeze, and the ticklish urge to sneeze was gone again.
“Just one?” Alex teased.
“Sometimes…” Milo’s fingers traced the waistband of Alex’s tight, black jeans. “Sometimes one is all you need.” He popped the button free. He felt Alex’s long, talented fingers in his floppy, brown hair.
Alex whispered. “And sometimes… you need more.”
“Mmmm,” Milo agreed, slowly easing the zipper down.
Re: FILLED: Toward Satisfaction
From:Re: FILLED: Toward Satisfaction
From:no subject
Date: 2019-04-12 02:52 am (UTC)Gotta love monsters and magic going haywire, amiright?
no subject
Date: 2019-04-12 03:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-04-12 11:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-04-13 03:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-04-13 11:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-04-15 05:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-04-19 04:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-04-15 05:24 am (UTC)This is similar to a prompt from a few years ago, too: https://tarotgal.livejournal.com/1036146.html?thread=4185970
no subject
Date: 2019-04-15 09:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-04-19 04:39 am (UTC)