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Day 14 Clean Sheets/Fresh Pajamas [ELLIOTT]   Cold fic   ⁂   "This really isn't necessary..." "Elliott?" "Yes?" "Shut up." "Okay." He would argue with him, but Bolormaa, despite being an entire foot shorter than he is, more than makes up for it with his presence and the intimidation that he thinks only short women possess. Or maybe it's just that he is, as he's told him affectionately, a 'pitiful twink who can't handle a hot butch'. It could be either, really, or perhaps even both. "So, as I was saying," he chases Elliott's hand away from the pot with a spoon, "I am under strict orders from the boss man to make sure that your fool ass doesn't try to get himself sent to urgent care with an everything-infection again." "It wasn't everything." "It was a sinus infection and both ears! How much more 'everything' do you want?" "Well--" "I am not arguing with a man in a bathrobe. Go sit down on the couch or I'm going to carry you there myself." He gives him a nudge towards the couch, and he sheepishly complies, turned around to stare at what the two women are doing in his kitchen. It's always nice to see them both, but this is perhaps a little overkill for just a cold, even if it's a particularly nasty one that seems to be trying to turn to cement in his sinuses and now trying to settle into his lungs. He's sure he looks silly, peering at them like a dog through a glass door, but he wants to help! If they're going to such trouble just to be kind to him like this, the least he can do is to make himself useful. He doesn't want to just sit around like a bump on a log while they do all the work. "Elliott?" Erdeni leans over the back of the couch to brush the hair from his face, and feel his forehead. "You poor thing, you're burning up. Bolkaa, he's feverish." "I know, but he won't take anything, and unlike the cat, I'm not willing to force-feed it to him." He glances over his shoulder at Elliott's sweaty face and grimaces. "Is he more pale than usual? It's hard to tell." "I think he might be. What does he usually look like?" "Pale." "I'm right here?" "The grown-ups are talking." "You're both ridiculous." "Ridiculous, sure, but we're also in charge." Bolormaa's smile and remark are enough to make him roll his eyes, which earns a laugh from Erdeni. "Listen, we're gonna take care of you or whatever, so be a good patient so I can tell the Captain that you're behaving like a little angel." "I'm sure he wouldn't believe it if you told him that." He coughs wetly, just as painful and productive as the sneezing has been, and the mere sound of it has them both wince as they look him over. "Yeah, alright, you're gonna go take a shower. Get some steam to loosen that shit up. Oh--yeah, Deenii, you weren't joking, he's hot." He finds himself being half hauled to his feet by Bolormaa, enough to shift the balance weirdly and threaten to pull them both over, because dragging him is like dragging the world's most gangly ragdoll. "C'mon, work with me here." "I can stand on my own, I'm not that sick." "You could've fooled me." There's something rather embarrassing about being fussed over by two people, but he has to admit, there's also something deeply nice about it. About being considered worth the effort by his employer to give a coworker the day off, just to make sure that he's alright. Apparently he'd sounded particularly wretched when he called out sometime in the wee hours of the morning, or else the Captain wouldn't have decided it was critical enough to go to the trouble. He pulls awkwardly away from Bolormaa, getting to his feet quickly enough that it throws her off balance and gives him the opportunity to snatch a couple tissues from the box to nuzzle into. "hyYIIGZZH'uhh! hH'DJZZHH'hue!" He practically whimpers in the aftermath, the packed feeling in his sinuses not eased at all by the pair of sneezes. If anything, it feels like it just made things worse, which is, admittedly, probably not a great sign. "Oh, honey, bless you. Bolkaa, he sounds so miserable." "I know, I hear him. We'll get him feeling a little better before we leave, I promise." Two hands are placed on his back as they shepherd him towards the bathroom, and he can't deny the will of the both of them--nor, really, does he want to, a shower sounds lovely. He hears them whisper something behind him, and even if he doesn't understand any Mongolian to decipher it even if he wasn't feverish, the hushed tones, oozing with concern, are enough to tell him the rough gist of what they're discussing: him. What they'll do with him. Whether or not they should be genuinely worried that this is going to become something that necessitates a trip to the doctor. What they're going to tell the Captain. "Elliott? You're going to be fine to do this on your own, yeah?" "If you're not, we could help you--" "No!" He can feel how hard he's blushing from the mere thought of it. That horror deep in the pit of him at the idea of his coworker and his wife having to not only look at his nude form, but to touch it because he can't be trusted to do something as simple as stand upright for long enough to scrub himself clean. "No, I can do it on my own, I swear. You're very sweet to offer but I'm not so far gone that I need someone to bathe me. I'm not on death's door, just congested and sweaty." "You don't have to be modest if you need it..." Erdeni's brow is creased with sympathy, her cool hands instinctively pressed against the back of his neck and shoulder to feel his skin in the void between where the bathrobe ends and his tanktop begins. It makes him shiver. "You are so kind to offer, but I don't need that--I'm not just being modest! I swear! You don't--" He trails off into a flustered little cough, that morphs into something deeper and more brutal on his ribs. He can't help the 'oww' that follows as he presses a hand to his chest. "Alright, we'll let you shower, but the compromise is that you're keeping the door cracked. Not wide open, but open enough for us to make sure you're not about to keel over and die in there." Bolormaa keeps a firm hand on the knob, pushing back against his halfhearted attempt at closing it against the both of them. "If that's what it'll take to keep you both out there..." "It is. Right, Deenii?" "We're women of our word." Whether he believes them or not is irrelevant. He knows well that he can do nothing to actually stop them if they set their mind to something, and he has little choice but to take them at their word that they intend to let him shower in peace at this compromise. He coughs into his fist again, less harsh this time than the last, and gives them a beleaguered look as he slips behind the cracked door. "Don't look." "You have nothing to worry about in that department." He waits until he hears them walk away from the door before he's truly convinced of his privacy, and strips down as quick as he can manage to hop into the water. It's probably not a fantastic idea to boil himself like a lobster when he's already feverish, but the main point of this shower, other than getting the sweat off his skin, is for steam, so he cranks the temp way up until it's straddling that line between painful and just right. And good Lord does it feel divine. He sags with relief as the hot water runs over aching muscles, slowly twisting from side to side to try and--gently--crack his back, to ease at least some of the tension in his body. This may be the closest thing to Heaven he can achieve while on earth, and he intends to stand there savoring it. He doesn't even bother to do anything with his hair, just lets the water run down it and occasionally pushes it over his shoulders enough to let the water touch bare skin. He doesn't even attempt to fight the loosening congestion in his head or his chest, just lets the hot water do as it pleases as the heat sinks deep into the core of him to warm him against the chill that he hasn't really been able to shake since this morning. He sniffles sharply against the liquidy feeling in his sinuses, and it proves to be a mistake. He takes a shaking gasp before he simply braces against the shower well and lets it take its course. "H-hH! hiIDTZZHHyue! Huh...hH'DZZHHieww!" The tickle doesn't exactly abate so much as back away teasingly, and he can't find it in himself to really do anything to hurry it along. He's comfortable here, and certainly in no rush to get out. "Hh...h-hiH--! ...hyIIZZHHue! 'DTZZHHuh! 'ZZHHyue! hIH--!? ...guh!" From somewhere else in the apartment, he hears a pair of "bless you"s, and is grateful they can't see how ridiculously he's scrubbing at his nose, taking full advantage of the fact that he is both out of view and that the thin moisture that greets him from the action is easily washed off. He stoops low enough to let the water run from his crown, turn him into his best approximation of a drowned rat, and soaks the warmth in for another several minutes before extremely reluctantly shutting off the water and getting out. Despite how thickly he can see the steam in the air, turning the mirror into a useless white void and rising from his skin in hot coils, he is frigid from the change in temperature. Was it this cold before he stepped in? He wrinkles his nose again, irritation sparked back to life from the sheer indignation at being taken from a warm heaven to a cold hell, and doesn't find himself with time to do anything but sneeze openly towards the tiles. "hYEIZZHhue! Hih--hiISSHHue!" He groans, grabs a handful of toilet paper to blow his nose into to keep it from dripping quite so badly. Now that the congestion is moving, he half regrets wishing it would, everything seeming intent to flood forth all at once. He dries his hair the best he can without going to the full time commitment of letting it air out, and ties it back to keep it off his neck--or at least as off his neck as he can really manage, and realizes, as he stares at the counter, that the pajamas he was wearing have disappeared into the hereafter. Color floods his cheeks as he realizes he's been left nothing but his drawers, and wraps himself as decently into the towel as he can manage. The door cracks open further, and he peers out in a mixture of confusion and embarrassment. "Did you--where are my pajamas?" "In the wash. You were sweaty, poor thing, they weren't going to help you feel any better." "But--" "You heard her." Bolormaa nudges him towards the bedroom, Erdeni following behind with a bowl and mug clutched close to her chest. He is nothing if not obedient, and lets himself be shepherded into his bedroom. The bed's been freshly made, blankets folded back expectantly, a nightgown and the robe laid out in the empty space where he's clearly intended to occupy. He looks back at them in surprise, and they just laugh. "You're not usually one to take a hint, so we spelled it out for you." Bolormaa's grin is infectious, and he jostles Erdeni as she stands beside him, threatening to spill the contents of her arms. "Go on, get comfortable. We're not taking no for an answer." He can feel their eyes on him as he changes, and crawls under the blankets. They still smell faintly of the hall closet, and he's sure it's probably a lot stronger to the two people in the room whose noses aren't nearly deadened by the weight of a cold. "You didn't have to go to all this trouble." "Don't--" Erdeni elbows her wife's side to silence him, and takes a seat on the edge of the bed beside his legs. "Of course we didn't, but we wanted to know that you would be taken care of once we left. You should have everything you need: we made soup, and there's tea, and you've got clean sheets, fresh pajamas...there should be everything you need to shake this thing, as long as you just take it easy." "Yeah, if we come back and find that you've been pushing it too hard and are in worse shape, we're gonna kick your ass." Despite what he says, he's smiling softly, taking the mug from her to set on an ugly little coaster on the nightstand. "It's nothing crazy or fancy, but it should be enough. And if you need something else, you'd better tell somebody, and they'll come to it for you. No one wants to have to tell the Captain that you're in urgent care again." His chest and throat are suddenly tight, the weight of the affection nearly too much to bear. He wipes hard at watery eyes, willing himself to just play it cool for once and not absolutely come to pieces because someone did something nice for him. His voice is thin and hoarse from the effort when he finally speaks. "Thank you." Bolormaa waves a dismissive hand. "Don't mention it." "You feel better now, alright? We're only a call away--and call the Captain in the morning, he'll want to know how you're feeling." The pair of them give an affectionate squeeze to whatever they can reach on him, a knee and a shoulder, and he sinks down against the mattress. "I will, I promise." It's one he intends to keep.

I think we're all in agreement with that lol! Just need to focus on those really loud ones and less on the stifles and we'll be perfect 😝

Thank you!     Thank you!  Hahaha, maybe, if my body decides to go that way instead of the usual sore throat and achy joints.   I'd definitely prefer this, honestly.   

Day 11 Medieval Treatment “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” [ELLIOTT]   Cold fic, contagion, and a character borrowed from a vanilla friend who knows about the fet! (please read platonically!)   ⁂   He isn't aware of anything, really, except the distant notion that he's awake, until it clicks that he's awake for a reason. He's already awkwardly partially sat up to roll away from Cerine with a handful of sneezes, each one, while not soft by any means, lacking the usual desperation they carry when he's truly awake. He manages to drag a hand up in time to catch the last couple haphazardly, the splayed fingers and distance rendering his attempts particularly ineffective. He sniffles, or at least gets the closest he can when he's so terribly congested, and squints at the alarm clock on the nightstand. He hasn't actually absorbed the time before he feels a hand snake out from under the covers to grab at him. It pats along his arm, and up his chest, to lovingly (if awkwardly) pat sleepily over his face before finding his cheek and resting there. "Bless you." "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up." "You didn't." Truthfully, she may be accurate--she doesn't exactly seem awake, so much as conscious. Her skin is still sleep warm, rich and dark and absolutely beautiful against his sickly pallor. She practically crawls under his skin to get closer, nestling in against him and nuzzling into his chest. "Go back to sleep." He wrinkles his nose, and gives a tentative sniff. "Cerine, I think I'm coming down with something." "I know you are." "Wh--how?" "You always are." Ouch. Well, she's got a point. He leans away from her, much to her chagrin, to grab a handful of toiler paper off the nightstand--he really should pick up some actual tissues, he's worked enough overtime lately that it wouldn't feel so wasteful of a splurge--and stares blankly ahead, waiting for that vague, ticklish feeling he's been left with to become something properly actionable. "You might not want to snuggle so close, then. I wouldn't want you catching anything." He's delayed recommencing the snuggle for long enough that she seems like she's actually waking up now, enough so that she rolls onto her side and props herself up on one elbow to look at him with tired eyes. "Elle, if you've got something, I've already got it. I'm cuddled up to you, in your bed, where you've been sleeping and existing with your 'something' you're coming down with. Don't worry about it, just get--" "hH'HDdjzzhue! iIDdzzhhue!" "--cozy. Bless you." She sits up, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Better?" "No, I--hh-!--think I'm--huH-! uDZZHHieww! 'DDZZHHyue!" His breath wavers for a fifth, but seems to change its mind at the last second, leaving him somewhat dissatisfied, but his shoulders slump enough for her to rest her cheek against one of them. "Bless you." "You don't have to say it every time." "How long have I known you? I know. I want to." He can feel the color flood his cheeks at her remark, at the feeling of her resting against him like this, of her lack of fear and her glut of understanding and compassion in its place. "Well...thank you." "You can thank me by laying back down." He can't fight the smile that threatens to display the little gap between his teeth, nor does he fight her attempting to pull him back down against the mattress. "You drive a hard bargain." "I've been accused of as much in the past." She pulls him close, leaving him to rest his head on her chest, and entangling their limbs together. It isn't long before he's threatening to doze off again, lulled by the comfort of this moment. It's so cozy like this; the warmth of her body, the steady beat of her heart, the soft scent of whatever she's got on her skin... Oh. That last one is actually rather cloying. Now that he's aware of it, he finds it difficult to notice anything else--he swears he can feel it worming its way into his sinuses, sweet and light and positively ticklish, like its kissing every inch of an already irritable nose. He wrinkles it hard, gives a sharp sniff, but it doesn't do anything to really solve that buzzing itch--nor does he expect it to, unfortunately. He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth in the vain hope that it'll buy him enough time to do something--anything!--except sneeze directly onto her chest. It succeeds in buying him a couple extra seconds to instead openly spray the blankets, unable to free an arm quick enough to cover it. "eIZZHH'uh! iIZZHhyue! 'ZZHhue! hH'DDZHuuee!" He recovers with a thickly congested sigh that sounds more pitiful than he means it to, and he's leaning over Cerine's shoulder to grab the toilet paper on her side of the bed instead this time, not wanting to completely peel themselves apart just to do something about the moisture threatening to drip while he can't sniffle it back. "Excuse me--gosh, I'm sorry--" "This is your bed, dude. You're the one who's gonna have to do the laundry, it's not any big thing to me." "Yeah, but--" "Elle." "...right." Well. She has a point. He'll have to do laundry in the morning anyway, so it really isn't going to be doing too terribly much damage like this. And, unfortunately, she also has a point that she's almost definitely caught whatever he's got, just from snuggling close like this. He sniffles thickly, and lets the thoughts roll around in his mind, weighed down by the clinging exhaustion of the absurd hour. "I didn't mean to wake you." He stresses it again, as if she may not have had it impressed upon her enough the first time. "I know." She shifts the blankets off of herself, swings her legs over the side of the bed and onto the cold floorboards. "I'm not mad about it." She circles around to the nightstand he's laying beside, and flicks on the lamp to look at him. "Oh, dude...you look awful." "You talk so sweetly to me." "You know I don't mean it badly." She runs her fingers through his hair, and he can't help but lean into her touch. Her hands always smell faintly of turpentine, of the lotion that's only sort of effective in fixing the cracks along her knuckles from trying to wash the paint and the inks off of them constantly. "This is day one?" "It is." "If this is first night, you're in for a bad one." She brushes a thumb up over his cheekbone, and then turns her hand over to press the back of it against his forehead. "You're not feverish." Not yet, at least. He has no doubt that he will be before terribly long. "I know. I'm--" He laughs, unable to really stop it as she sits down into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and snuggling close against him. "You're really trying to catch this, aren't you?" "I've already got it." "You're trying to guarantee it." "It already is." He lets her lean their foreheads together, the tips of their noses touching. "You're tempting fate, with your face right in mine like this. My nose is unpredictable." "Your nose is always unpredictable." She does seem to accept his protestations, even if he doesn't create a very strong argument, and he breathes a sigh of relief. He's going to sneeze--and, if he's being honest, it's probably going to be soon--and having her so close feels like a gamble he doesn't want to take. She might be willing to take the risk, but it's still on him, regardless, if she does provoke something and is caught by it. More than that, he can't imagine how absolutely mortifying it would be to be the one sneezing on her, even if she doesn't seem truly perturbed by the idea of it--nowhere near as much as he thinks she really should be, anyway. "Let's contemplate whatever you're thinking of while you're laying down." She rolls off of his lap, flopping down beside him onto the pillow. She pulls him down by the shoulder, and he can't find it in himself to resist even if he wanted to. He's so tired. It's, like, two in the morning, and neither of them have to work tomorrow morning, and there's something so delicious about being allowed to sleep in. He coughs into his sleeve, ragged and ticklish, and he wriggles more deeply into the blankets to get as comfortable as he can. She's got her arms wrapped around him, letting him be the little spoon--much to his delight, as his preferred position between the two for snuggling--and his eyes are drifting closed before he can fight it. ⁂ He jolts awake when someone grabs his shoulder and shakes it. She's got ahold of him, and he's suddenly aware of the fact that he's trembling and sweaty, her hand on him to pull him closer. "Hey, hey...you good?" "Uhmb--" He glances at the clock, and the wall, and down towards his lap awkwardly. It's disorienting to be awake so suddenly, to feel like his mind simply can't catch up with the rest of him. He snuffles thickly, coughs in response to it, and snags a handful of toilet paper to try and blow his nose. It does little to fix the way his consonants are all rounded out, but it gives him some semblance of his proper voice back. "Am I good?" "You seemed like you were having a bad dream...are you sure you're okay?" In the dim glow of the alarm clock on the nightstand, in the shaft of light that leeches in from under the door, he can make out the expression on her face. Her forehead is creased with sympathy, the way she touches him so gently. His thoughts are catching back up with him enough that he just leans into her touch, letting her bear his weight. "I think I'm okay. Did I--did I wake you?" "No, it's fine. Really I woke you here, I should be the one apologizing." Her hands trail down over his back, her fingertips drawing little designs over his nightgown to comfort him. He shivers. "Cerine, I love you. You're so nice to me." He can feel how her body shifts when she laughs, how she holds him close and rocks them both a little like they're both going to drift off just like this. "I love you, too. You're a good guy, y'know? I'm glad that we're friends. There's nobody else I'd rather wake me up while we're having a sleepover." She nuzzles in to kiss the crown of his head, and he feels like he glows from the inside, like every fiber of his being was made for this moment. "You're my favorite sleepover. Thank you for being here." "Ah, well, you know. I was free, and you were offering, so..." He grins. "Of course."

Nice sneezes