Role Reversals

[sprinkles287]

On 7/12/2024 at 10:29 PM, Alabaster said:

My god him blessing her just killed me 😍

Same. I love this story. So glad to see the update!!!

[2SHY222]

Oh my goodness this was such a great chapter. I can't wait to see his perspective and what he was thinking 😁

[VioletGarden]

Im more in love with them in each chapter

 

[Lunaconner]

OMG FINALLY IM SO HAPPH FOR THAT UPDATE him blessing her was literally everything i’m so exited for more!!!!! ( soon hopefully???🙏🙏) 

[pinkypie]

Oh my goodness I've been gone for a while but this was a fantastic welcome back to the forum. Your stories never disappoint thank you so much this was amazing!

[marzipan]

Thank you all so, so much for reading and commenting on the last chapter -and now, here is Medan's perspective! I'm very, very happy to be back.

@ichixshiro14: ...your question comes at a good time, as I'm plotting out the next chapter. 😉  

@RipleyToo: thank you! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story still (although I'm still slow as heck to update, lol)

@Alabaster: I didn't know how much I'd love that scene until I wrote it! I hope you enjoy this update with his POV 😁

@sprinkles287: Thank you! I love writing these characters -they're near and dear to my heart. 

@2SHY222: Thank you - and I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations! 🤞

@VioletGarden: Me too! 😂 I genuinely feel like I just keep getting to know them both better - they both still have the ability to surprise me!

@Lunaconner: Well, the update wasn't soon... but better late than never, I hope? 😂

@pinkypie: thank you so much for your kind words! It means a lot to hear that my stories don't disappoint - I think most writers worry about letting down people who have enjoyed their writing in the past, and I certainly do! I'm glad you've enjoyed the story thus far.  

********

Upon arrival back at my apartment, I tried (with limited success) to refocus on work. Looking for financial discrepancies and unexplained expenditures involves an absurd amount of cross-referencing, so maintaining concentration is vital if one hopes to avoid losing one’s place.

As I pried deeper and deeper into the recesses of bank statements, expense reports, and scrawled memos, the earliest substantive unexplained cost I could find was from just shy of a decade ago. A little more poking around indicated that the account appeared to be tied to my father’s employee identification number. Curiouser and curiouser. 

My parents were long-term business partners, and they were - at least technically - still married. They’d lived apart for the last six years, and Dad had a steady girlfriend. My father was what his friends called “a free spirit” and his enemies called “a flake.” Still, I couldn’t imagine him losing track of money like this. Losing track of his car key, yes. Possibly even misplacing his car. But failing to document a business expense? Never.

I scrolled mindlessly through unending rows of numbers for a while, wondering if I should give Dad a call before continuing. If he remembered what the payment was for and said so, it could save me some time and effort. If he didn’t remember, that would also be fine, if unfortunate. If he clearly remembered but tried to conceal it... I’d be forced to pen him into a checkmate situation in which he had to admit it - an eventuality neither of us would enjoy. Fortunately, though, I could afford to be patient.

However, as the hours ticked on, the necessity of coming up with a well-crafted presentation that would successfully thread the needle of apprising our upper-level staff of impending financial disaster without raising alarm seemed urgent. So, much of the night was spent typing a sentence, re-reading it,  wondering why I’d ever agreed to help my mother out of a financial bind, and deleting it. 

My brother, sister, and I had an ongoing in-joke that, throughout the rise(s) and fall(s) of our parents’ marriage, Leo was responsible for Dad, Hazel was responsible for Mum, and I was responsible for their business. While I tried to keep my mind from drifting toward Viola, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d given up too much of my personal life in pursuit of that end. I’d been all too happy to leave managing the interpersonal drama to Leo and Hazel, and had, up to this point, generally avoided deep relationships myself. Perhaps, by remaining in my lane and sticking to my comfort zone, I’d failed to develop the abundant generosity of spirit that I admired in both my siblings  - and that Viola so richly deserved.

********

The following morning, I woke up annoyingly congested but otherwise well. Being too stuffed up to even sneeze can occasionally be a blessing. Despite being in a hurry to get to the office early, I hovered for a moment in front of my medicine cabinet, wondering if I could afford to taper on my allergy meds. I disliked the way they made me feel -  a wee bit slow off the mark and foggy. I had a sneaking suspicion that today would be a day I’d want to be able to think on my feet. Weighing up the pros and cons, I took a maintenance dose and skipped everything else. I hope I don’t regret this.

At the office, I was irked to discover that Mum was so Busy and Important that she didn't even take the time to stop by my office to tell me that she’d relocated the upcoming staff meeting to an off-the-beaten-track conference room. Despite her office being just a floor away from mine, she texted via Signal like she was passing a wartime communique through enemy lines. 

When our building had been renovated a few years before, Mum had made a point of ensuring that the new conference rooms were centralized, high-tech, and transparent (literally - the walls were paneled glass). I imagined she was regretting that decision these days, given her arguably somewhat paranoid desire for privacy. She’d rescheduled the meeting for a room number I didn’t even recognize, in a part of the building I hardly ever frequented. 

Given that I was unfamiliar with the room, I walked over to survey the space forty-five minutes in advance, and I was glad I had - every visible surface was covered with a thick smattering of dust, with glimmers of sparkling cobwebs floating through the air. Goddamn. I should have seen this one coming.

I hesitated, deliberating over my next course of action. In terms of avoiding being an incoherent, sniffling, and undignified mess during the meeting, it seemed like tracking down a building custodian might be the most logical course of action. Why do that, though? Technically speaking, you’re capable of doing this yourself.  If you hadn’t played yourself by skimping on allergy meds, you might have been fine. If there’s one thing I never want to become, it’s an entitled git who waltzes up to busy fellow workers to request that they abandon their work to cater to my own comfort.

As soon as I brushed the first cobweb off the lectern at the front of the room, my eyes started to prickle, then to burn. I pushed my glasses to the top of my head to avoid clouding the lenses as my eyes watered. I then thought better of that precarious placement and took them off altogether. If I snap forward with an unexpected sneeze, knock my glasses off, and subsequently trod on them, that’d hardly make my mood any rosier.  

Perhaps it was my vision being blurred that made my other senses feel more acute - most particularly my eyes’ itching spreading to centralize as a thrumming tickle rippling in waves through my sinuses. I was tempted to pause and press the heel of my hand against my nose, hoping to rub the itch into submission, but I also knew for sure that touching my face would only make the subsequent fit last longer. A temporary delay was a Faustian bargain. 

Sans glasses, I didn’t notice one of our building’s maintenance workers standing in the doorway until she called out, “Honey, are you trying to take my job? Because I have to say, it looks like it doesn’t agree with you.” I startled at the unexpected sound but might have laughed, if I hadn’t been aware that any unregulated intake of air would have made me sneeze.

“Ma’am, you’d be correct. If I were pursuing a career change, my - htccht! - my talents would - txhhhct! - lie in another direction, as is - tccht! - patently obvious.” 

She took pity on me, shooing me out in a vaguely condescending way that I didn’t appreciate. However, I couldn’t help but be grateful that, upon my return, it was evident that she’d cleaned the room within an inch of its life. Unfortunately, the evidence lingered on in the form of a cloyingly artificial smell of some kind of pseudo-floral cleaner. I was grudgingly thankful that the fragrance seemed to be registering as an irritating tightness in my chest, rather than as a sinus complaint. A gritty feeling in my throat would be easier to speak through than an extended sneezing fit. 

When Viola walked into the meeting - precisely on time - I had to look away from her quickly to maintain the facade that she was “just” a fellow coworker. She’d pinned her up in a loose bun, and the soft curls slipping slightly out of place made her look like a gorgeous pre-Raphaelite painting. Her dark red sweater matched her lipstick exactly, which had the effect of a) making me think in vivid terms about a) how much I appreciated her lips and b) how much I appreciated her attention to detail, both of which were thoughts that I banished as soon as they crossed my mind. There are many times when such thoughts are perfectly appropriate, but this isn’t one of them. 

I was re-reading my notes when a quiet but unmistakably full and desperate sneeze rose to the auditory foreground. If my colleagues hadn’t been speaking in the muffled and morgue-like tones I associate with anxious meetings, it might have slipped under the radar wholly unnoticed. I looked up reflexively at the noise and caught a glimpse of Viola. She was blinking rapidly with a disoriented look that immediately let me know a) she was the source of the sound in question and b) more sneezes were on their way. 

I was genuinely surprised by my instinctive reaction; I felt like I’d just accidentally walked in on her while she was undressing, it felt so abruptly personal and intimate. I dropped my gaze back to my papers, mentally reciting “you are a gentleman” until I could convince myself to (almost) believe it.

It wasn’t my colleagues’ fault that they didn’t have the background information about Viola that I had. Regardless, I felt a stab of irritation as everyone else in the room turned their full focus on her, even for what was intended merely as a polite, everyday gesture. Can’t they see she’s uncomfortable? Isn’t it glaringly obvious?  

I glanced back over at Viola. The little crease between her eyes as she wrinkled her nose in an attempt to control its quivering was a tell I readily recognized. I knew from personal experience that at this point, one could only hope that the next sneeze would descend quickly and put an end to the temporary torment of waiting and wishing for relief. She was clearly distracted, and for good reason, so I wasn’t expecting it when she locked eyes with me. Her expression - wondering, vulnerable, tender, beseeching - rattled my self-possession, an unusual occurrence. In fact, my heartbeat accelerated so violently that I instinctively gripped the edge of the table as tightly as I could, watching my knuckles whiten as I recited to myself: Keep your eyes on the paper. Keep your eyes on the paper. Keep your -

“Ashhiiiiieew! Heh’tchiew!”  

My sharp mental monologue paid off. I could be confident that my face betrayed not a whit of what I was feeling - a muddled medley of protectiveness, tenderness, and attraction - and bewilderment at my own protectiveness, tenderness, and attraction. Concentrate. You’re going to have to sound like you know what you’re talking about in just a moment. Pull yourself together. Actually - wait a minute. What could be more important in this moment than Viola? The presentation can go to hell.  

I tried to check in with Viola as subtly as possible, mouthing “Are you okay?” after making sure no one was watching us. The glassy look in her eyes suggested that she was on the verge of tears, but she just shrugged before looking back at her hands like the secret of eternal life was inscribed across her knuckles. So, the answer to that question is a resounding “no.” Christ. She’s shaking. What do I do now? 

I mentally kicked myself, swiftly determining that what she likely needed was the exact opposite of what I was doing: she needed to feel like no one was scrutinizing her. In that case… back to business. “I see that we’re all present, so let’s go ahead and begin a bit early, shall we? First order of business… is it alright with you all if we open the windows? It’s a bit stuffy in here.” I had no idea if the sharp, vaguely hospital-like smell of the cleaner was the source of Viola’s need to sneeze, but on the offhand chance some fresh air would do her good, it seemed a worthwhile first step. 

As soon as I opened the windows, a buzzing itch started toying at the back of my throat. I instantly regretted having skimped on my allergy medication. It was the kind of obnoxious prickle that makes you feel like you should just be able to clear your throat and be rid of it, but I’d fallen for that trap one too many times before. Not only would it interrupt the flow of my presentation, but coughing inevitably triggered my stammer - a one-two punch that had been the subject of many tedious speech therapy sessions. 

I instinctively reached toward my face when I felt the first stirrings of an allergic reaction at the tip of my nose, but dropped my hand in a truly herculean display of self-control. Instead, when I had the opportunity to redirect viewers’ attention from me to a series of infographics, I swiped at my rebelling nose. It was probably pinkening in a decidedly indiscreet way - it made me wonder why I put in any effort to disguise what was probably quite obvious.

Once I finished speaking, despite explicitly inviting comments, the room was plunged into a bogged-down silence. This quasi-funereal hush would be very awkward to break with a sneezing fit. I froze in place, hoping someone would speak so I could take advantage of the room’s attention being temporarily diverted to release at least enough of a sneeze to take the edge off the infernal tickle for a moment. Even a half-strangled sneeze would at least take a bit of the pressure off my allergies’ figurative relief valve.

I was grateful when Luther, our outreach coordinator, started to talk. Unfortunately for me, he was a soft-spoken, shy kind of person, so not necessarily much of a distraction. In fact, I was a little concerned that breaking into a stray sneeze would make his train of thought stumble to a halt. However, when another colleague, Ian,  started to hold forth like he was launching some kind of ad campaign, I was more fully distracted from my situation. At first, I was mostly taken aback by how blatantly he wanted to dominate the room. I’m never impressed by that kind of puffery. Then, as he carried on, I became aware that I’d heard his speech before, just delivered with considerably less pomposity. It took me a second to place it: everything he was saying was a paraphrase of a research report Javeah, one of Mum’s longest-term employees, had given a few days before. 

If there’s one thing that could completely redirect my mind from the desire to claw at my itching face, it would be this. I know I have a quick temper, but I’m usually very practiced at keeping it under wraps - not really for any virtuous reason, but rather because I'm used to my stammer interfering with my ability to engage in pointed and timely commentary. 

I hate, hate witnessing someone getting talked over. It is a rudeness I cannot abide - particularly when it is so clearly a power play by a prick who thinks he can get away with it. I know I’m perhaps overly sensitive to it, given a lifetime of people finishing my sentences out of impatience or a misbegotten sense of pity - but I had deliberately cultivated a facade of nonreactivity when I was being verbally trampled. In this case, though… I was seething. 

When Ian finally shut up, I let the silence in the room grow for a second. Not only did the pause give me a moment to sniffle back the impending tides, it also provided a moment to gather myself to be sure I’d speak as sharply and precisely as I hoped I would. “Thank you, Ian, for so eloquently restating Javeah’s prior suggestion. I daresay repetition did not diminish her originality, but, rather, simply highlighted it.” Well, it looks like I’ve just made an enemy. 

The rest of the meeting was conducted on autopilot, my attention divided between trying not to make Viola self-conscious by looking at her too often (despite my reflexive urge to check to see if she was okay) and wondering if I’d bungled my response to Ian’s hubris. I always want to call out bullshit whenever I can, but that doesn’t mean Javeah wanted me to. When I adjourned the meeting, I was painfully aware that the moments in which I could appear appropriately coherent and put-together were drawing to a close, so I hurried to make amends, if necessary, to Javeah. Her ear-to-ear grin in response was a relief. 

I was grateful that I managed to complete a full thought to Javeah before I genuinely couldn’t keep myself from sneezing for a moment longer. I disengaged myself from the conversation as politely and subtly as I could, but was surprised when Javeah patted me on the shoulder in farewell. I wasn’t usually the recipient of that kind of collegial friendliness and good will. “Bless. You take good care of him, Viola, huh?”  

Oh, thank God. I’m alone with Viola. Perhaps it was the letdown of adrenaline and tension, but my legs suddenly seemed to turn to mush. I sat down much less gracefully than I’d have liked. “Htshuuuh! Hrshuuuh! He’hetshoo!”  Over the sound of my own ragged breath and the blood pounding in my temples, I could hear the creaking of windows closing. 

“Hey. You okay?” Viola’s voice seemed calm, but I wished I could see her face more clearly to get a fix on her expression. As it was, I could only squint at her through a blur of allergic tears.  

. “What about you?” I winced a little - congestion cracked my ability to articulate crisply - but Viola just smiled.  

“It’s okay, Medan. Just let whatever needs to happen happen, sweetheart. I’ll be here.” 

I know you’ll be here. What I’m trying and failing to communicate is that the promise is mutual. “Htchuuuh! Htchhhuuh! Tshuuuh! H’eerchuuh! Eh’tsch!” As soon as I could take more than one deep breath in sequence without sneezing, I shook my head hard, trying to convince myself that the fit was fully over.  “I’m fine. Just let me get my –” if I don’t blow my nose right now, I’m going to be right back to square one - the only thought that could get me to commit a social infraction like clearing out my clogged sinuses  in front of Viola. “Christ. Excuse me. Anyway. May I make a modest proposal? I need filtered air and a refresh of allergy meds. Would you like to join me in my office this afternoon? I’d welcome the company.” She brightened and nodded as soon as I asked, flooding me with a sense of accomplishment. 

I rested my hand lightly against the small of her back as we walked, hoping she’d take as much comfort from the steady pressure of my hand as I did in feeling her breathing gradually even out. I’d already gathered that Viola was less comfortable with dead silence than I was, but I didn’t want to make her talk before she was ready. I kept up as steady and low-key a monologue as I could manage, which felt a little stilted and awkward to me at first. Still, maintaining a quiet running commentary - no matter how splintered by an errant disfluency - felt easier and easier as Viola relaxed against my side. 

The differences between us couldn’t have been put in sharper relief by our respective offices. Hers was full of color, flora, and character. Mine was virtually empty but for a desk and a series of filing cabinets. In the absence of any welcoming furniture, I offered Viola my desk chair, but she didn’t sit. As soon as I’d stepped away for a moment to fetch her a chair, it seemed her anxiety had returned a thousand-fold. 

When she spoke, her knees were quaking, but her voice was determined. “Thank you for opening the windows for me and also I’m sorry that you’re not… feeling well… now, and also I’m sorry that I didn’t say last night how  different and special this all feels. And also you make me feel really special. And that’s because I think you’re very different and special. And I could probably be saying this a lot more eloquently than I am right now and… um… I’m sorry if this is a weird complication in your workday. That being both the allergies and me standing in your office while yammering on and on and getting in the way. Which is to say - uh, to sum up - I’m just… really happy that we’ve met up again. And I’m excited to see where this goes. And I’m also really, really nervous about this. But I don’t think that’s a bad thing. Do you? Think that’s bad?” 

By the time she reached her concluding questions, I was still reeling from “you make me feel really special.” Did I actually? I couldn’t imagine that I could make anyone feel as much as she made me feel. I realized I had been silent too long when I noticed her expression shift from “nervous” to “pleading.” 

 “Viola. I don’t think that’s bad. I do think it is unnecessary to judge how you feel on a metric of ‘good’ or ‘bad,’ but p-p…perhaps that’s a subject for another day.” I reached for her hand, but a resurgence of allergic ticklishness made me snatch my hand back. “Just a moment - I need - Tshuuuh! Htshuuh!” I was foggily aware of Viola’s presence at my side, but my attention snapped toward her sharply when she gently reached her arms around my neck, and, after a moment’s hesitation, pressed her lips to my throat.

“Bless you.” I could hear the fond smile in her voice, and I wondered if she could tell that my unsteadiness wasn’t due to endless sneezing and air deprivation. It was all her. At first, her kisses had been tentative, but when I leaned toward her slightly to invite her embrace, each kiss became deeper and more urgent. When her teeth collided with my skin, even I wasn't sure if my gasp was a prelude to a building sneeze or an involuntary response communicating how keenly I wanted more.

When I hit a reprieve, I straightened up, steadying myself against my desk. Viola got up on her tiptoes, softly brushing her lips against my collar bone before murmuring. “Bless you. Again.”  Her words sparked a kaleidoscopic whirlwind of brief but vivid mental snapshots: scooping her into my arms, her wrapping her legs around my waist, slipping my hands under the soft cashmere of her sweater…. However, given the time and place, I stuck with a heartfelt “thank you.”

I wished I could communicate more clearly how much I cared, how genuinely curious I was about her likes and dislikes, how sincerely I wanted to know her - all of her. I could only hope that my question - “I noticed before… do you not like to be blessed yourself?” - was a serviceable proxy for those thoughts. 

“Oh! Um… um… I think… if you did it… I… definitely wouldn’t mind.” Her voice was trembling, enlivened by a desire that I couldn't quite believe I had prompted. 

“Well, then. In that case… bless you.” 

[Privatedancer]

Wow- love this update!  They are both so empathetic, protective, and caring towards each other- Viola by nature and Medan exclusively for Viola (although I suspect is far more considerate and caring than he gives himself credit for).  I love how hard they are each falling!

[RipleyToo]

7 hours ago, Privatedancer said:

Wow- love this update!  They are both so empathetic, protective, and caring towards each other- Viola by nature and Medan exclusively for Viola (although I suspect is far more considerate and caring than he gives himself credit for).  I love how hard they are each falling!

I agree! I missed them soo much! 

[Alabaster]

Kicking my feet!

[2SHY222]

Wow what an update 😱. I absolutely love these two. I can't wait for the next part 🥰

[noroomfordoubt]

Incredible, looking forward to more!

[asapyams]

I love them omg!!

[Masking]

This is adorable and delicious and everything that I could want in an original fetish fic. Also inspiration to finish my own...