#d/isco e/lysium

[nametakensff]

spring prompt request: hitching and inopportune for k/im ideally in your fet!h/arry x k/im setting

Hellooo, I am sooo sorry this prompt has taken months in the making but I am finally finished!! Thank you for your patience 💕 Please enjoy 8.4k of K/im having a hard time

K/im is already feeling under the weather when an allergic reaction to dust at the worst of times makes his day even more exhausting. At least H/arry is there to help 😇

~~~~~

Content:

M/M, H/arry has a sneezing fetish, K/im is a kinky motherfucker, (oncoming) cold sneezes, dust allergy sneezes, sneezing whilst hiding, stifles, rapid sneezes, handkerchiefs, tissues, some mild mess, spray, hitching breaths, K/im generally has a very persistent tickle, sneezing on someone, catching someone else's sneezes for them, brief cold denial, blowing nose into hands (in the shower), handjobs, frotting, masturbation, elements of domination/submission, embarrassment, some voyeurism/exhibitionism, dirty talk, fetishy dirty talk, praise kink, graphic descriptions of semen, mentions of phone sex, caretaking, not orgasm denial exactly but neither have nutted in a while

CW: mentions of drug abuse, mentions of homicide, standard police stuff, general mentions of lightheadedness and not feeling well

NSFW - Minors DNI!

Kim awoke with a distinct feeling the day ahead was probably going to suck. He’d been feeling out of sorts this week, in the way that one does when one is probably coming down with a cold. He sighed, covering his eyes with the back of one hand as he lay on his back. After a moment he peered at his alarm clock, promptly remembered he couldn’t see jack shit, then reached for his glasses.

The clock read exactly 04:45 AM. He’d only gotten around five hours of sleep, still had over an hour before his alarm was meant to go off. He could try and go back to sleep, but he also knew from experience that he probably wouldn’t get very far. Once he was awake, that was it. He sighed again.

Just after 5 AM, Kim crawled out of bed and set to getting ready for the day. He figured he could use the extra time to get through outstanding paperwork (although there was admittedly very little ever outstanding for him) and decided to eat breakfast at the diner nearby the 41st precinct. The artificial, glaring lighting paired with a black coffee would hopefully make him feel a little less like the walking dead.

Sitting at the diner just after 6 AM, his first sneeze (of which Kim hoped was not many) had him scrambling for his handkerchief one-handed, the other clutching his newspaper. He decided, gently wiping at his nose in the aftermath, that to pay it any mind would be to invite more, so he simply returned to scrutinising the daily crossword, occasionally taking sips of coffee and meagre bites of a breakfast muffin. The façade of normalcy didn’t last especially long; he wasn’t hungry, the coffee hurt his throat, and the crossword seemed to be taking up entirely too much of his mental energy.

It was as if the admittance that things were amiss operated as a kind of signal to his treacherous nose. In the wake of that earlier sneeze, the tickle that had prompted it – instead of being purged by the sneeze – had merely lingered, hidden away in the depths of his sinuses. It reared its head once again, giving him a little more time than before to prepare, but still peaking rapidly enough that he had hardly gotten his handkerchief to his face before his chest swelled with a definitive inhalation.

“Hhtt-!  Hh’gxt! N’Gkt!! Hh’NGxt’chu!!”

Instead of a sense of relief, the sneezes merely left him bleary-eyed and worse for wear. He snuffled discretely into the cloth, grateful that the other patrons hadn’t registered his outbursts (or more likely, that they just didn’t care). He allowed himself to rub indulgently at his nose, wriggling it from side to side in the hopes he could externally quell the internal irritation. It worked a little, but he was still sniffling against one crooked finger as he left the diner and climbed back into his MC, the leather of his glove coming away damp.

Luckily, nobody seemed to notice the desperate triple of sneezes he stifled between the pinching grip of his thumb and pointer finger, striking him right as he entered the station. They were nasty sneezes, total bullies that fought as hard as possible to burst past the barrier of his resistance. Kim winced more at the audibly liquid sound of them than the way they almost unbalanced him, walking at his brisk pace. He sniffled, trying not to cringe when the crackling resonance of it prompted a cop stood nearby to peer over at him in thinly-veiled disgust.

Once he was at his desk (and more importantly – sat down in his chair), he felt he could relax for a moment. The Major Crimes Unit was temporarily bereft of Major Crimes, so their officers were being lent out, as it were, to slightly more menial affairs. Jean had been complaining openly about this. The day before, as he stood in the kitchen whilst Kim and Harry picked at their lunches, he had grumbled that they were slowly becoming the Minor Crimes Unit, and the flat affect of his voice had made Kim laugh hard enough to almost choke on the crust of his sandwich.

Today, Kim was grateful they were evidently still the Minor Crimes Unit. It meant that half the officers were away on patrol, and that the rest were either plowing away through paperwork – or chatting amongst themselves in various nooks and crannies. It suited Kim just fine – this way he didn’t have to worry about stifling the persistent sneezes into total silence, and the lack of a fixed audience meant he could occasionally indulge in openly tilting his head back, nostrils flaring and face creasing, as any particularly irritable sneezes started to build.

So content had he become in the mechanical routine of write, pause, sneeze, resume writing that he was almost disappointed when Harry’s warm palm gripped him by the shoulder and shook him out of his trance. His partner grinned at him, gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder that they were getting the hell out of dodge. Kim offered a small smile back, tried to ignore the slight vertigo as he stood up and gathered his things.

Harry filled him in on the way to the garage – a new witness for a case that had gone cold years ago had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, promising vital information regarding the homicide of a 35-year-old mother of two. Harry’s enthusiasm could perhaps be described as in poor taste to some, but Kim understood. The thrill of all the pieces coming together, a case finally hurtling towards a successful closure was as potent a source of adrenaline for him as high-speed pursuits.

Kim pulled the MC out of the garage, more on autopilot than anything else, as Harry continued to natter. Kim found he was struggling to listen and drive at the same time – not good. Not usual, for him. He focused as much of his split attention as he could, thanking his lucky stars when Harry remained so wrapped up in his own hyper-focused ramblings that he didn’t notice as Kim’s head bobbed forward with three expertly stifled, silent sneezes.

~~~~~

The witness was a frazzled former meth user. Conversation with her seemed to bounce back and forth, and when Kim asked her what year it was, she was a decade off. Harry’s enthusiasm appeared to visibly wane as time went on – even his abilities as a human can-opener could only do so much in the face of synapses fried by years of abuse.

It seemed like a lost cause until Harry mentioned the name of a previous suspect – released from custody almost immediately due to lack of solid evidence of his involvement. Raking her hands through her hair, the witness seemed lucid and engaged all at once. Kim quickly flipped open his notebook and began to jot down the conversation in shorthand, even knowing Harry would memorise it entirely.

His nose tickled ever so slightly, and he sniffled, nostrils arching delicately. It was a mistake; he immediately needed to sneeze. The tickle was fast to come on but not especially strong – he did not find himself bending in half with the body-shaking force of it. Instead, his head gently bobbed forward which each sneeze, an unremarkable triple. It was a quick, efficient affair; he barely even shuddered with them. He might have been able to avoid detection entirely, had he not indulged in an audibly liquid sniffle immediately afterwards.

The witness glanced at him, a microscopic shift in body language, before her eyes were fixed back in the general vicinity of Harry’s shoulder. It was all that was needed for Harry to glance over at Kim - right at the moment that sniffle ignited the tickle into an unexpected fourth sneeze.

Kim’s eyes fluttered closed as he inhaled sharply. Harry was already watching him, concentration on the witness effectively broken. He needn’t have attempted to stifle this sneeze into total silence for his sake, but he felt he didn’t want to spook the witness out of her relative lucidity. His head bobbed forward again as he convulsed under the pressure of the release – stronger than the preceding three; strong enough that the sneeze was audible despite his best efforts. An awkward, entirely nasal stifle burst out of him, and with it a tiny stream of mess from his left nostril.

A gloved hand shot up to his face at once, pinching away the mess before dutifully returning pen to paper. Harry was rigid beside him; Kim bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from breaking out in a mischievous smile. The way he could render Harry dumbstruck with a single sneeze was one of his newfound delights in life. He felt like shit, and really didn’t want to be catching this cold, but now that Harry had noticed his struggles, he didn’t much feel like suppressing his sneezes any longer.

They thanked the witness, who had supplied them with a further lead in the form of a supposed hideout for the gang member she suspected committed the murder. It was probably a dead end this long after the crime, and both of them knew it, but it didn’t stop Harry from perking up in hope, just a little bit.

He perked up even more as Kim stopped walking, and Harry, several paces ahead, turned just in time to watch him sneeze an uncovered, unhindered triple of sneezes.

“Hh-Hh-h-!! Hupt’ISSHH’uu!! ‘TSScHh’iew!! Hh! Hah’AHDT’Tsziew!! Ahh, Mon dieu.”

“God, Kim. Bless you.”

Kim brought his handkerchief up to his face to snuffle into, smiling behind the fabric. It had felt fantastic to sneeze openly and as loudly as he wanted, and it felt just as fantastic to hear the poorly restrained arousal in his partner’s voice.

“Thank you. That felt good.”

Harry swore under his breath and continued to make his way to the MC, Kim following right behind him and doing his best not to beam in satisfaction. Back in the car, Harry turned to face Kim, eyes roving over his face in question. Kim simply sat there and gazed back at him, allowing the silent scrutinization.

“You okay, honey? Got a tickle?” Harry asked, doing an impressive job of sounding like he wasn’t sporting an extremely obvious erection.

“Hm.” Kim sniffled, starting the engine and glancing towards the road. “Yes. Just a tickle. A very persistent one.”

He pulled the car out onto the road, making his way towards the district of interest. Harry was squirming in his peripheral vision.

“That’s too bad. Hope you get some relief soon.” He offered after a moment of silence.

Kim nodded, stifling another smile. It seemed they were both refusing to take the topic any further. It was fine with him if Harry wanted to focus on work – he encouraged it wholeheartedly, and he didn’t particularly feel like surrendering to the other man how under the weather he felt just yet.

Fine. Let them both be stubborn, independent of each other. Kim drove a little less quickly than usual, on account of the occasional sneeze, and Harry did his very best to look entirely interested in everything that wasn’t his boyfriend sniffling several feet away from him.

~~~~~~

The hideout looked like any other drug den one might expect to encounter in Faubourg. Kim immediately felt uneasy walking up the short path to the front door, but it was a familiar unease he’d grown used to after decades on the job. Harry was alert and focused beside him. They turned to one another, reaching tentatively for their holstered guns – a habitual motion, just to confirm everything was in order in case things went south.

They needn’t have worried; nobody answered the door, which was unlocked, and a quick skim of the property confirmed it to be entirely empty. Harry nodded at him and Kim put his pistol back in its holster. They both wandered somewhat lazily around the shoddy bungalow in companionable silence, torches out due to the sheets pinned over every single window.

“Well. Fuck.” Kim heard Harry mutter, coming to the same conclusion as he that the only kind of organised crime this property had been related to in recent years was the procurement and consumption of drugs. The numerous needles littering the carpet were as good a sign of that as any.

“We got to her too late. This place is a wash. Shit.” Harry kicked an empty takeout box across the room, spreading fragments of ancient chow mein asunder. Kim sighed.

“It’s an old case, detective. We knew this was a likely outcome.”

Harry crossed his arms and let his head fall forward, sighing dramatically. Kim reached out and squeezed his bicep conciliatorily.

“There may be another lead yet. We’re not in any rush, we may as well investigate the property thoroughly.”

Harry looked up and smiled at him. Even in the dim light of the room, Kim could make out a grateful twinkle in his eyes. The almost childlike serenity of it had him smiling back in an decidedly uncool way, rife with affection and tenderness. The corner of his eyes were even crinkling, for fuck’s sake. But then again, this was Harry. He’d been a sucker for him from day 1.

Kim slapped him harder on the bicep than was necessary as he pulled away, then got to work.

~~~~~

He should have considered this. He didn’t understand why he never seemed to remember how irritatingly allergic to dust he was until he had already started to have a reaction. Breath catching and head tipping back for what was probably the tenth time since they’d entered this dust trap of a crack house, Kim briefly fanned at his face with a gloved hand before he was sneezing again, shuddering with the force of it.

“HhHH’DZZSTShhh!! Hih-!! Hup’TSCHhhht!! ‘TSCHhhuu!! Hh-Hhh!!  HAHDt’Tssieww!!”

The frantic post-sneeze sniffle he indulged in just seemed to stoke the tickle right back into fruition – another thing he ought to have remembered not to do in the middle of an allergy attack, and yet. He gasped, chest jumping uncontrollably with every hitching breath, and sneezed even harder.

“HUPTt’TZzSHHhh!! AhHD’TZSCHhuu!! ‘DTZSCHhttt!!”

Even through post-sneeze bleary, blinking eyes, he could make out a cloud of aerosol spray lingering in the light of his torch for several seconds before dissipating into the air. If he was with anyone but Harry, he would be mortified.

“Fuck. God bless you. Again.” Harry offered from the other room. He was audibly aroused, and Kim would be lying if it wasn’t getting to him even whilst he felt absolutely miserable.

He didn’t have long to dwell on the matter before the tickle, utterly maddening in its feathery intensity, had him gasping and sneezing anew, nearly stumbling forward under the force of it.

“HH-!! Hhh’AGKk’TSschtt!! Hupt’TSCHHhh!! Hup’TSZSHhieww!! HAGK’TSSHhhuu!!”

Harry blessed him again, but Kim could hardly focus through the supreme irritation. He reached for his handkerchief and blew his nose hard, trying not to blush when his congested sinuses produced a rather undignified honking noise. Relax. Harry likes this. The thought provided him with a little relief, though extremely short-lived as his sinuses started to fill immediately, triggering yet another tickle. He tucked the torch under his armpit and reached to steady himself on a nearby wall, gasping hard into the protective cover of his handkerchief.

“Hih! Hh-HHdt-!! HDTT’TZzshhh-‘TSSH’uu!! HdDDZT’Tzshieww! HAH-! AEESCHH’uu!! Ohh…”

This was no good. One might even say he was fucked. He was getting hardly any reprieve between sneezes now, and each fit left him increasingly weaker and trembling in the aftermath. He felt Harry’s broad palm reaching between his shoulder blades, stroking his back as his breath scissored in and out of him. He hadn’t even heard him approaching the musty bedroom he’d been stationed in, so consumed had he been with purging the tickle. His eyes leaked twin streams of irritated tears down his flushed cheeks and saturated the fabric of his handkerchief. Harry’s hand felt like a grounding anchor amidst it all.

“Kim. Babe. We’ve officially seen enough, okay? I’m ending this investigation. We need to get you some fresh air.”

Kim nodded, unable to speak as another vicious triple tore its way out of him. Harry cooed at him, wrapping an arm around his waist and standing him upright. Kim allowed him to press a soft kiss to the side of his face, unprofessionalism be damned given the circumstances. He felt horrible; his body arched towards Harry, seeking the comfort like a lifeline.

They’d hardly taken a couple of steps forward when the sound of approaching footsteps and gruff male voices from outside had them freezing mid-movement. Maybe the joint wasn’t abandoned after all. The almost marching and level sounds of the steps – the domineering, unwavering cadence of the men…it didn’t sound like a pair of drug addicts. They sounded like they meant business. Fuck.

Upon the sound of the men reaching the doorstep, Harry yanked Kim back into the bedroom and behind the door, slightly ajar. The front door opened, and they held their breath as the men strode inside. Their current hiding place was a terrible vantage point – neither Harry nor Kim could watch them, only listen as they rummaged around, opening draws and shifting furniture. They weren’t saying much of anything – there was no urgency in their banter, nothing frantic about the sounds of their movements. Kim clutched his handkerchief to his nose, pinching hard, and with his free hand clutched at the gun in his holster. Beside him, Harry’s hand rested on his own weapon.

Kim’s mind raced through the possibilities. Somebody must have been watching their approach and informed these men. Their MC was parked a couple of streets away to avoid becoming a spectacle, but perhaps it had been discovered, or they’d been seen entering the property and recognised by the RCM insignias on their jackets. Were the strangers actively looking for them? No. They would have moved with frenzied purpose, were that the case.

Maybe they were drug addicts after all. Maybe they were opportunistic scavengers. Maybe he and Harry ought to emerge from the bedroom, guns before them, and make their presence known? They’d hidden instinctually, perhaps preemptively. He frowned, rigid beside an equally rigid Harry as he thought and thought.

The most pressing matter, beyond all of these possibilities and their outcomes, was remaining concealed. Kim was excellent at this; he’d been described as catlike, both to his face and behind his back, and took pride in being light-footed and discrete. Keeping quiet was not a problem.

Correction. Keeping quiet was not a problem except for when he was in the midst of a terrible fucking allergy attack.

Like clockwork, the tickle peaked once more, and Kim shuddered in place with a harsh, punishing triple, stifled between pinching fingers into his handkerchief. Miraculously, they remained silent; the shivering exhale he couldn’t help but let out made more noise. He sensed Harry glancing at him, but he couldn’t so much as turn before his breath was snagging and another three sneezes forced their way out of him, wracking his slender frame.

This was no good. In fact, this was terrible. He barely had a moment’s breath where he wasn’t inhaling and sneezing, the allergy attack now in full swing. Try as he might to keep the sneezes absolutely silent, they were getting increasingly more difficult to suppress.

 “Hh’GKTt!! NGX’tt!! ND’Tt!! ‘Ngxt!! H’NGxtsh!!”

He felt Harry squeezing his shoulder – a gesture either meaning ‘Are you okay’ or ‘Shut the fuck up’ – likely a mixture of both. Kim merely shook his head before sneezing again. Gun forgotten (probably for the better – he would never live down a gunshot triggered by an unruly sneeze), Kim struggled to hold his handkerchief to his face, now drenched and clinging to the fabric of his glove. He leant his back against the wall behind him, free hand bracing himself as his knees weakened with the effort.

“’Hddtsh!! NGX’tshh!! H’GXT’shh!! NGt-GXT’tsh!!...Hg’GXTZshht’u!!”

Fuck. That last one had not only made his temples throb in pain as it forced its way past his trembling fingers, it had been messy. Worst of all, it had been louder, an explosive burst of sound. Harry’s grip on his shoulder flexed, just once. Through the roaring of blood in his ears, Kim couldn’t hear any significant change in conversation in the other room. Good. He managed to stifle the next few into silence once more, but it didn’t feel like much of an accomplishment. It was only a matter of time before he would simply have to let loose entirely.

Suddenly, the voices drew closer – so close, in fact, that Kim was certain the strangers would stride into the room and find them there. What a sight that would be – a Disco cop and his partner, currently almost doubled over sneezing his proverbial brains out. It would be a funny thought if it wasn’t such a viable outcome, and also perhaps if Kim didn’t feel as though he was about to pass out. This tickle was a bully; it didn’t matter how much he sneezed, it simply demanded more.

Miraculously, Kim at last heard the footsteps of the men receding, followed by the front door closing. He hadn’t been able to follow the conversation, but it seemed that whatever they’d been looking for, they’d found.

“’MP’tschh!! Hh! Hg’GXTtt!! NGXtt!! H-Hh-!! Hh’GKShhht!!”

God, just let this end. His eyes were streaming down his face in a constant onslaught of allergic tears, and his nose felt as though the ticklish fibres of the fluffiest feather possible were touching every part of his nostrils all at once. The itching sensation seemed to fill his entire head, even. It felt as though he would never stop sneezing.

He had been vaguely aware of Harry leaving the room, but it wasn’t as though he could inquire after, or indeed follow him in his current state. When he returned several minutes later – in which Kim was still sneezing, though admittedly much less quietly – he knelt in front of him. Kim peered through bloodshot, miserable eyes at his face. Before Harry, he hadn’t realised it was possible for human beings to wear expressions so perfectly torn between arousal and intense concern, but there it was, staring right back at him.

“Okay, they’re gone. I watched them leave, they’re not coming back. Probably just grabbed some product and fucked off.”

Kim nodded, sneezed, sneezed again.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Harry reached out, pulling Kim just enough that he gave in, let himself slide down the wall into a sitting position. He had not the least bit of energy to resist as Harry pulled his handkerchief clad hand away from his face, didn’t protest as Harry quickly swiped away with his thumb at the prominent mess under his nose and over his lips. He felt a fresh handkerchief – Harry’s – being held over his face, securely, by his partner’s broad, warm hand.

“It’s okay.” Harry murmured again, hand expertly following Kim as his head tipped back with a gasping inhale. “Let it all out.”

Kim didn’t have much of a choice either way. Gripping Harry’s wrist for purchase, he trembled under the force of the sneeze, fully unhindered as he practically roared into the handkerchief.

“hhHUPTT’TISSHHHIEEWwww!!!”

The bliss, the relief from finally sneezing without restraint, was monumental. Kim’s entire body shivered pleasantly, goosebumps breaking out on the surface of his arms. He moaned, losing himself for just a moment – and then geared up to do it all over again.

~~~~~~

They drove to Harry’s apartment, it being the closest.  Harry had taken the wheel, to their mutual displeasure, but it would have to do, given that Kim was still sneezing. He was winding down, gradually, the pauses between hitching and sneezing and sighing growing much longer – but sneezing nonetheless. In a way, Kim considered it a boon that he had been sneezing since that morning already. As the allergic reaction began to fade, the odd couple of sneezes every now and then felt almost like returning to a familiar baseline. God, he was tired. He felt weak and unwell, truly exhausted from the sheer number of sneezes his body had been subjected to, and the magnitude of those he had finally let loose. That Harry hadn’t cum in his pants as Kim had sneezed against his palm was truly impressive.

Towards the end of the journey, Kim wondered if it wouldn’t have been just as well that he had driven. Harry was so riled up and distracted it was a blessing he hadn’t gored any pedestrians with his drifting and last-minute breaking. He would jump when Kim sneezed, rigid and alert between each release as he expectantly waited for another. It was funny, and it was flattering, but Kim had reached out more than once to steady the wheel as his partner’s trembling palms lost their slippery grip.  Harry’s cock stood to attention the entire way home; it persisted even as they climbed the stairs to his apartment, Harry insisting Kim walk in front of him to shield the tenting of his pants from prying eyes. He moaned as Kim’s sneezes echoed in the stairwell.

“You shower first, baby.” He’d offered, pupils blown and shifting from foot to foot. “You need to get that dust off of you.”

Kim didn’t disagree – didn’t even have it in him to ask Harry to join him. He tossed his clothes into Harry’s laundry basket, grimacing as the dust the motions stirred up promised to bloom into another tickle. It did, several minutes later; he didn’t hold back as the sneezes ramped up again, aided by the steam opening his sinuses.

“AESCHhhh!! HdtT’TSCHHHhtt!! ‘DZSCHhh’uu!! Fuck…Hh! hHUPT’TSshhh!! ‘TZSChh’uu!! AhDT’TSsHhiewww!! Ah…”

They were harsh, full body releases. Each sneeze brought with it a stream of mess, hanging over his lower face before the next sneeze would displace it, soaring onto the floor of the shower. Within moments, his runny nose would be dripping, prompting another sneeze in what he was sure would have been an endless cycle had he not indulgently blown his nose into his hands, stemming the flow and dulling the itch.

He swallowed hard, clearing his throat against the tickle. At least the fluttering, allergic sensation that had made his entire face feel itchy and alive with irritation had now dissipated. Though brought on by dust, these sneezes, like this morning, felt distinctively…unwell. He sighed and leaned his forehead against the cool tile wall, allowing the shower water to sluice down his back for a time.

~~~~~

When Kim emerged from his shower, one towel round his waist whilst he tousled at his damp hair with another, Harry all but bolted past him and into the bathroom, hesitating for a split second to utter a small “love you” and press a kiss to Kim’s bare shoulder. Kim barely had a chance to blink before the door was closed just shy of slamming behind him.

He chuckled to himself before locating a change of his clothes in Harry’s dresser – folded neatly and just as he had left them, in sharp contrast to Harry’s own crumpled and pell-mell shirts and slacks. He took them and placed them on top of the dresser, noticing that Harry had placed there a fresh box of tissues, a glass of water and a small blister pack of antihistamines, some of the pills already missing. Harry must have taken some – or more likely, Kim suddenly realised, Jean. It would be just like Harry to keep some around in the rare instances Jean went without. Kim smirked, taking a pill himself and chasing it with the entire glass of water.

Kim began to towel himself dry, but the day’s exhaustion, more than doubled by that ridiculous allergic reaction, proved too much. He lowered himself, towel wrapped round his waist, into the armchair Harry had started using as a desk chair. (They’d had sex on this chair a good few times – Kim had absentmindedly wondered where it had vanished from the living room as they entered the flat.) His upper body was dry enough that leaning back into the fabric didn’t feel entirely awful. He sighed, resting his eyes and allowing himself this small break. He would get dressed when Harry was finished; they would be leaving together anyway. There was no rush – he felt he could claim this small pocket of time as entirely his own.

He'd been drifting between the periphery of consciousness and oblivion when an audible groaning sound caught his attention and pulled him out of his doze. He was a light sleeper, both a blessing in this line of work and a curse for literally every other reason. He listened, eyes still closed, focusing on any other noises over the gentle hissing of shower water. The distinctive moan he had heard didn’t come again – only the sounds of plastic toiletry bottles being rifled through.

He didn’t want to be nosy; he tried his best to allow others the privacy he so desperately clung to, reserving any meddling for his detective work. One could argue that the unmistakable sound of his boyfriend orgasming in the shower whilst he was sat in the next room was none of his business – if Harry wanted to masturbate in private, who was Kim to judge? One could also say, however, that when his boyfriend is orgasming in, no doubt, direct response to his allergies, he is entitled to speculate and enjoy whatever snatches of sound it may induce. Tired though he was, his cock stirred and started to harden in response. He palmed it lazily under the towel, humming as sordid images danced through his mind - of Harry moaning, fucking his own fist, legs trembling as the shower water washed away the evidence of his orgasm as quickly as it had materialised.

He stopped teasing himself when he heard the water shut off. A couple of minutes later, Harry emerged in his own towel, doing a quick double-take at Kim lounging in the chair and watching him.

“Not gonna get dressed?” He asked, sounding incriminatingly relaxed and amused as he began to go through the motions of drying himself. Kim peered at the nape of his neck, the way the damp tendrils of his unruly mane curled there.

“Oh, I will. I’m tired, though. I didn’t feel like rushing.”

Harry hummed in response, the sound morphing into a continuous melody, toweling wildly at his hair. Kim watched him, secretly wishing he could afford the same luxury of such rough treatment. He would rather die than admit out loud the fact that he patted his own hair dry with gentle tentativeness, hoping to avoid thinning out his receding hairline any more than nature had already cursed it to.

Kim smiled fondly at his back.

“You’re in good spirits.” He stated, resting his hand on his prick.

“It was a good shower.” Harry merely said by way of response, dropping the towel and walking naked towards his closet for a change of clothes.

“It sounded like it.” Kim said. Harry didn’t turn around, didn’t see him squeezing himself through the towel, though he did tense a little before exhaling a little laugh.

“Sorry, sorry. Had to…scratch an itch.”

“You’re insatiable,” Kim laughed, even as he reached under the towel and took himself back in hand. Harry rifled through his clothes, humming again.

“That’s twice in my career, now,” Kim started, “That I’ve had to hide in a dust trap and stifle my sneezes into near silence to avoid detection.”

Harry paused his rifling, face still hidden by the open wardrobe door. Kim smiled, lazily teasing his own urethra with a circling fingertip. He went on.

“The tickle is always so maddening, but when I can finally let myself sneeze unrestrained it’s such a rush. Though I’m sure I’m preaching to the choir. Still – that was an enjoyable fit.”

Kim had to fight back a giggle at the sight of Harry as he turned round with a tortured expression, cock already half-hard and standing out like an exclamation between his legs. His eyes widened at the sight of Kim stroking himself.

“See?” Kim drawled, leaning his head on one propped up hand against the arm of the chair and pulling at his cock with languid strokes. He nodded towards Harry’s erection. “Insatiable.”

Harry blinked, looking for all the world like he was short-circuiting, before uttering a comically resolute “Fuck.” Kim watched as he walked the short distance to his bedside table, reaching inside to extract a small bottle, and lay back on the bed. He started to laugh in genuine amusement as Harry, stony-faced, squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his hand and started masturbating at a frantic pace.

There was nothing else for it, really. He walked over to the bed and swung one of his legs over Harry’s hips, leaning forward on his forearms, framing Harry between them. The Lieutenant looked up at him with twinkling eyes, crinkling in the corners with affection. Kim smiled back at him, certain his eyes were a mirror image of adoration.

“Hi, Kim.” Harry mumbled between hitching breaths.

“Hello, Harry.”

Kim leaned down to kiss him, almost startling at the voracity with which Harry kissed him in return. He pulled back a moment later, sucking on Harry’s tongue as he went.

“Well?” He peered at Harry, who looked kiss-drunk and confused. “Aren’t you going to make me cum? You’re one orgasm ahead.”

Harry reached for him immediately, squeezing his slippery fingers in a warm vice around both of their cocks. Kim’s breath hitched at the contact, their solid lengths throbbing against each other, the sound of it morphing into a happy, shuddering sigh as he lowered himself down and onto his forearms. Hips pressed together, they were soon thrusting at a coordinated pace, chasing their mutual pleasure with a heated urgency. Kim’s whole body seemed to vibrate with elation.

“I’ve missed you.” Harry suddenly said in such a melodramatic voice that Kim’s eyes, having slipped shut as he lost himself in the hedonistic rhythm of fucking, snapped open at once. He smiled in exasperation, nosing at Harry’s sideburn.

“But I’m right here,” he muttered into Harry’s mutton-chopped cheek, enjoying the gentle scratch of facial hair against his lips. “We see each other every day.”

“Work doesn’t count!” Harry protested, cutting himself off with a loud groan as Kim’s hand, having joined his own, teased at his frenulum after a particularly languorous upstroke.

Kim thought work counted a little. They were fucking right now on work time. Harry wouldn’t want to hear this, though, and Kim didn’t particularly feel like having the conversation. Every stroke on his cock felt wonderful, incredibly sensitised.

“When did we last have sex?” He breathed out, half-thinking-out-loud and half-asking.

“Nearly two weeks ago.” Harry replied bitterly.

Shit. That meant Kim also hadn’t had an orgasm in just as long. That explained why he was feeling absolutely out of his mind with pleasure in this moment, despite Harry’s grievances. He could cum at any moment. He decided to try not to do so and cleared his throat.

“We can have sex all of this weekend. I want to have sex with you, I’ve just been – “

Kim groaned as Harry squeezed them both, his dick throbbing and throbbing in the tight tunnel of that huge fist. He hoped he needn’t finish his sentence – he was far too turned on to partake in any further mollification.

“It’s okay, I get it. We’re work junkies.” Harry grunted. Good, Kim thought. Crisis averted, orgasm very much on track.

Harry turned to press his mouth to Kim’s ear.

“If you really mean it, about this weekend – I’m gonna fuck you so hard, Lieutenant. I’m gonna make you scream. You’ll be limping into the office on Monday, and everyone will know why. So prim and proper, except for when you’re not.” He finished his statement by starting to suck on Kim’s earlobe, which he knew drove him crazy. Kim’s cock drooled down his knuckles in response, and his whole body shivered.

“Fuck,” Kim moaned. He hadn’t even realised how badly he’d needed this. Everything else had paled in the face of work, even when work was slow - a bad habit of his, he knew.

He wanted to reply with some acerbic, flirtatious comment about making sure Harry would be the limping party rather than him, but a sudden wave of exhaustion and lightheadedness overwhelmed him, rendering him incapable. He sighed and leaned forward, pausing the motions of his hand as it gripped their cocks and resting his forehead on Harry’s chin for a moment, waiting for it to pass.

“Hey, hey,” Harry said, frantically but gently, using his free hand to smooth down Kim’s back reassuringly. “You okay?”

Kim considered lying. He considered doing what he had done for years with various former boyfriends – keeping them at arm’s length the second any legitimate concern was levied his way. It used to be easy enough. But now his boyfriend was Harry Du Bois, human can-opener. Lying, or at the very least downplaying, was no longer an option. More importantly, he found he actually didn’t want to lie. And so he didn’t.

“I’ve been feeling a little…off.” He admitted, resting for a moment longer. Harry continued to rub his back and gently cradle their dicks. They were so hard that Kim could feel both of their heartbeats as they nestled together.

“Mm. I thought so. Tell me how?” Harry murmured, careful not to jolt Kim as he spoke.

“Hm. Like I might be coming down with something. A cold, maybe.”

Harry’s cock gave a significant twitch at that, and Kim couldn’t help grinning despite himself.

“Ohh, honey, that’s terrible.” Harry cooed, sounding perfectly concerned and saccharine even as his hand wandered down Kim’s spine before settling on Kim’s left ass cheek and squeezing it, hard.

“You’re awful.” Kim teased, allowing himself to lean back and resume his straddle above Harry now that the headrush had started to recede.

“I mean it!” Harry offered a crooked grin that seemed to imply anything but. Kim raised an eyebrow at him, then batted Harry’s sticky hand out of the way and resumed stroking his boyfriend’s cock with renewed vigour, transforming that devilish smile into a contorted mask of pleasure.

“Sure. I totally believe you.” Kim deadpanned, trying not to show just how turned on Harry’s open lustiness was making him.

Harry was a walking collection of vices, Kim had very soon realised. If it wasn’t drink and drugs, it was something else. He lived voraciously – he worked himself to exhaustion, thought himself to despair, ate himself to temporary immobility and fucked himself to stupidity. Kim didn’t mind the last one, especially, but the point still stood. Himself being a veritable pinnacle of self-restraint and deferred gratification, one might argue Harry was his polar opposite – and yet when they were together like this, everything felt electric. Kim had never put much weight into the saying ‘opposites attract’ – not until he’d met Harry. It just – worked.

Harry seemed to suddenly remember he was a human being on this mortal plane and that Kim’s dick was currently unattended to. His hand reached between them and resumed stroking and squeezing with such passion that Kim nearly swooned with it. God, he was going to cum embarrassingly quickly.

Kim soon felt regretful over the way his tempo was beginning to falter in exhaustion, his wrist beginning to ache. It made him feel notably old and unsexy. Harry didn’t seem to notice, bucking into his grip enthusiastically, loving it all the same. That was reassuring, at the very least. Harry deserved pleasure. He wanted to give him all he could.

Something Harry liked – listening to him speak. It hadn’t taken them long into their relationship for him to confess to Kim just how much he loved the velvety smoothness of his voice, in sharp contrast to the rumbling timbre of his own, one evening over the phone. (Kim had been quick to assure him he was mutually as appreciative, both verbally and by coming into his own hand as Harry uttered pure filth down the receiver to him). He could work with that, always. Now was as good a time as ever to put his voice to use and talk Harry up to orgasm before he fell into his own.

“You know,” He started, prompting Harry to open his eyes, temporarily closed in a rictus of pleasure. “It’s relieving to get it off my chest. I’ve been sneezing practically all day – it’ll be nice to let myself sneeze freely for the remainder of this cold.”

“Fuck, Kim – you can always do that. Please always do that.”

Kim smiled, kissed Harry’s bristly cheek.

“What if I don’t think you deserve it?” He teased, rubbing his thumb in a lingering swipe over the head of Harry’s cock. It drooled precum in response.

“I’ll – fuck, I’ll be good!” Harry was almost panting.

“Yeah? You’ll be a good boy for me?” Kim murmured, stomach tingling and tightening in arousal. “You know what good boys get? Hm?”

Harry groaned in response, hips starting to buck arrhythmically. So, so close. Kim leaned to croon directly into Harry’s ear.

“They get my sneezes all over them - on their face and their cock. I use them instead of a tissue, until they cum for me. Are you my good boy, Harry?”

Much as Kim predicted he would, Harry had no chance to respond before he was shuddering and moaning, tossing his head back as the efforts of Kim’s voice and his stroking hand tipped him over the edge. Kim watched his face, one of beatific torture as the pleasure washed over him, and grunted as his own orgasm lurched ever closer. He squeezed Harry throughout, milking his cock for all it was worth and enjoying the trickle of semen over his knuckles that hadn’t spurted over their stomachs. For a man who had had an orgasm no more than fifteen minutes earlier, he still came a great deal. Kim wondered if Harry had been actively denying himself release these past two weeks – waiting for his touch until losing it today. The thought of that made him moan, cock twitching and neglected, Harry’s hand having fallen to his side mid-orgasm.

Harry finally relaxed, sinking into the mattress with a long, satisfied sigh. He wrapped his arms around Kim in a bear hug, pulling him flat down onto his chest and sandwiching their sticky torsos together. Kim chuckled in exasperation, thinking about his recent shower. Ignoring the way his solid cock dug into Harry’s lower stomach, he allowed himself to be held. This kind of full-body, skin on skin contact always felt so good. He nuzzled his nose into Harry’s neck, enjoying the sensation of those ridiculous mutton chops brushing the side of his face.

“That…was so fucking good. Shit. Fuck. I love you. Oh God…”

Kim kissed his neck by way of response, allowing the post-orgasmic platitudes to wash over him. Harry was right – two weeks without moments like this had been too fucking long.

He was pulled out of his contemplation just seconds later when his burgeoning cold decided to strike again with a vengeance. That oh-so-familiar tickle peaked almost instantly, giving him no time to warn Harry or pull away. With a surprised gasp, Kim cringed into a small fit of outrageously tickly sneezes, leaving beads of irritated tears at the corners of his eyes in their wake.

“Hh-HDZ’tzshhh!! ‘Tishhuu!! Hupt’TSshht!! ‘GXTt’shuu!!”

He snuffled and rubbed his itchy nose against the skin he had dampened, drinking in Harry’s moan and the way his body tensed against him. His nose was starting to run in earnest, so he wriggled a hand free of Harry’s embrace and reached up to pinch at his nostrils. Harry reached wordlessly for the tissue box beside the bed and handed Kim a bundle of fresh tissues. Kim took them gratefully, feeling the exhaustion of the day suddenly intensify. He lay his head on Harry’s collar bone and worked his own nostrils in lazy circles through the tissue.

“Mm. ‘Scuse me. My timing was a little imperfect.”

“Bless you, honey. You really are catching a cold, aren’t you? Poor thing.”

Kim allowed Harry to slide him off of his chest and onto his back on the bed. He watched through lidded eyes as Harry swiped at the mess on his stomach for a moment before he leaned over Kim in a reversal of their previous positions. He had almost forgotten he was still very much hard when Harry’s damp, warm hand returned to his cock. He gasped and jolted a little as those fingers wrapped around him and gave a decisive tug.

“Ohh, fuck…” He groaned a little, reaching up to wrap his arms around Harry’s shoulders as the bigger man picked up the pace, jerking him hard and fast.

“Your turn, baby. Gonna come for me?” Harry drawled, back vibrating with the timbre of it under Kim’s hands. Kim shuddered and sighed.

“Fuck, yes – don’t stop-!”

Harry didn’t – he stroked and squeezed him expertly, just the way Kim liked. The build up to his orgasm was almost too much to bear; he clung to Harry, tense and leaking, hardly remembering the last time he’d felt so desperate as his world focused in on the sensations of his twitching cock, eclipsing everything else.

Remarkably, even as the pleasure started to crest to the point of no return, Kim’s nostrils twitched devilishly, flaring wide with the sudden and undeniable need to sneeze. His head felt fuzzy, like it was stuffed full of cotton; everything was so intense, and the warring teasing in his nose and cock were maddening in the most incredible way. The building tickle felt orgasmic in its own right.

“Ohh, baby – need to sneeze again?” He heard Harry say. He couldn’t respond, hitching and gasping in equal parts pleasure and irritation. Harry moaned, and the sound of it made Kim throb and pulse in his grip. He truly didn’t know how much longer he could exist like this, right on the precipice of both sneezing and orgasm. An irrational part of his mind wondered how it could ever end, how he could possibly handle both releases in such close proximity.

His body made the decision before he was consciously aware of it. Hitching breaths culminating into one final, wrenching gasp, Kim was thrown forward helplessly, pressing up into Harry and gripping him tightly. He peppered the air with sneezes, no doubt all of them raining down onto the skin of Harry’s back as he shuddered with them in quick succession.

“-!! AESHHHTttt!! ‘DZTSHhh-TSSHh’ieww!! HahDTT’TSHhh-Hupt’TISHHhh’uu!!”

Kim barely had a second to recover, gasping as his orgasm hit him, seemingly without pause from the tail end of that last violent sneeze. Temporarily mute from the euphoria, he trembled against Harry, fingers digging into his back as he held on for what felt like dear life. His cock throbbed rhythmically, deeply, sending waves of pleasure through his body as it shot arcs of cum over his stomach, the most powerful climax he’d experienced in what felt like forever. When it released him, he went boneless against Harry, moaning low and long, feeling like his body was now jelly in the shape of a human. Fuck.

“Fuck.” Harry said, mirroring Kim’s thoughts, and he wanted to laugh but the exhaustion was back again, and he was so, so tired…

~~~~~

Kim woke gradually, slowly brought to the surface of consciousness by the feeling of Harry stroking his hair with a feather-light touch. He stirred a little, opening his eyes and realising, as the form of Harry remained a blur hovering over him, that he was no longer wearing his glasses.

“Hey, Kim.”

“Mmrmmf.”  Was all Kim was able to manage initially, moving to sit up. Harry, however, pressed him back down against the pillowcase with a soft but firm hand. Kim was too exhausted to resist, going willingly. His brows furrowed in confusion before he remembered all at once that firstly, he was coming down with – or rather, had already caught – a gradually worsening cold; secondly, he had had an insane allergy attack earlier; and thirdly, he had seemingly fallen asleep immediately after coming his brains out. He chose to believe that the falling asleep part was due to both feeling unwell and the fact that he hadn’t orgasmed in a fortnight, not some newly encroaching middle-aged development.

“What time is it?” He asked after a couple more minutes of lying there, letting Harry pet him lovingly. He realised he wasn’t sticky and was securely bundled up in Harry’s duvet – he’d evidently been cleaned up and positioned thus whilst deep in sleep.

The blurry form of Harry raised an arm to presumably look at his watch.

“About three-thirty. You’ve only been asleep for ten minutes or so.”

“Sorry.” Kim muttered, watching blurry Harry shake his head. “Can I have my glasses? I want to see you.”

Harry gently placed the glasses on his face, and Kim smiled as he looked up at his expression of naked adoration.

“You feeling okay?” Harry asked, cupping Kim’s cheek in his palm.

“I’m tired. Really tired.” Kim sighed. “You tucked me in?”

“Sure did. You need to sleep.”

“I need to work, Lieutenant.”

“Nuh-uh.” Harry muttered plainly. “You were dead to the world, just now. You’re sick and you’re overworked, and you had an amazing – uh, horrible allergic reaction, so you’re going to spend the rest of the day and evening luxuriating in my humble abode. I changed the sheets last night, by the way. Lucky you, since we fucked on top of the duvet and all. No sleeping in the wet patch.” He finished with a wink and twin finger guns pointed at Kim, who suddenly no longer had any desire to oppose him whatsoever.

“Is that an order, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor?” He mumbled, feeling himself quite embarrassingly starting to fall asleep all over again.

“Oh, it certainly is, Lieutenant. And you’d do well to follow it.” Harry smirked down at him.

Kim laughed softly, feeling his eyes already starting to slip shut. He felt Harry removing his glasses, heard him placing them gently on the nightstand. Harry was saying something else to the tune of ‘I’ll be back later’, but all Kim could focus on before he fell back into a deep sleep was the gentle warmth of Harry’s fingers ghosting over his temple.

[arcann]

Why is Weekes bioware so scared of letting people do evil shit in their game have they seen their contemporaries.

[imadhatt3r]

NO BUT THIS IS SO TRUE... Like I like t/lou a lot, but it's DEFINETLY not the best story ever told by a video game, like I'm sorry... It's a very simple story that's just well executed, paced and acted, nothing about its themes or motifs or how they were enhanced by the gameplay (which is pretty basic imo). T/lou is like a solidly executed blockbuster movie, it's great entertainment and it manages to leave you with something to think about (if Joel did a right thing by saving Ellie), but that's really it. There's plenty of games who used their medium to push the boundaries of what a video game story can be, like the m/etal g/ear series, S/pec o/ps the line, d/isco e/lysium or c/yberpunk 2077, my current favorite that utilizes the first person perspective in a very unique way, that a movie just cannot replace.

Like I've said, I like t/lou a lot and it absolutely has influenced the medium in a big way back when it was released, but it's been almost 10 years since then, and while it's a solid, well made game that stands the test of time, it's far from "the best story games have ever told".

[melviships]

This D/isco E/lysium ASMR is ruining my life

[chronomally]

I had a dream last night about an incredibly fucked-up game where you're a child who is friends with another child and the other child brainwashes everyone you know (family, friends, etc.) into treating you like shit (half the gameplay is you sitting next to them at like a dinner party during the night cycle and you're fed rotten food and no one notices and you have to just put up with it or the other kid attacks you) and during the day you have to scuttle around the house finding tiny animated felted dolls of everyone and removing sewing pins to find small charms inside to place on their dinner plates so they'll regain their memories but there's an inspector character who will blow your cover if he finds the sewing pins or the dolls and I spent most of the day cycle hiding under the grandmother's bed grabbing dolls as they walked up to me and picking them apart but then the inspector blew up my spot

[protect-namine]

I started playing d/isco e/lysium and man this is probably the biggest call out that actually got me to change how I behave in the game

like........ I did it because harry genuinely was an asshole in the game and I wanted to smooth things out for him, but okay I might be overdoing it too much

anyway I refuse this label for harry so I said fuck you to my subconscious, and he said, "oh? you're cursing? huh okay, maybe we were wrong then" and I'm like yeah!! yeah fuck off, I'm gonna give him a little bit more dignity now!

anyway, I'm actually really bad at roleplaying pathetic and depressed middle-aged male with anger issues in a dark grim setting, because it's not a combination of tropes I am drawn to in media. that's just my own personal flaw and preference. but I will try to lead harry into a better life direction anyway

[imsorryithurts]

Spoilers for D/isco E/lysium, let’s go

I just played DE and I try not to “fandom-fy” or “whumpyfy” media right away but oh my god. When Harry gets shot. And Kim was taking care of him????? I love it. 

He also watches over you while you take a nap, that’s so sweet 😭

[nametakensff]

Revelation (D/isco E/lysium, M/M)

Okay. Follow up fic to 'Suggestible'! two of three down - this one ended up at 5.6K

H/arry remembers that he has a certain interest in sneezing after K/im has an allergic reaction to dust

~~~~~~

Content:

M/M (one-sided so far), past M/F, cold sneezes, sneezing from dust allergies, sympathetic sneezes, H/arry has a sneezing fetish, spray, stifles, sneezing into handkerchiefs, masturbation, PIV sex (past), sneezing while hiding, sneezing into someone's hand, little bit of voyeurism, embarrassment/humiliation, H/arry lowkey realises he is bisexual

CW: drug and alcohol mentions, self-hatred, H/arry is a general mess

NB - like the last fic, please don't read if you plan on playing the game and don't want certain elements of it spoiled!

NSFW af, Minors DNI Please!

“…etective. Detective. Harry.”

You stir, groaning as a soft voice awakens you from another restless sleep. Looking up, you see Lieutenant Kitsuragi sitting on the edge of your bed. He looks down at you – he does not smile, but his face is patient and calm. You realise that he has been gently jostling your shoulder, and the motion combined with his voice has pulled you out of the inky depths of primordial slumber. The one bleary eye you have opened locks with one of his own – now he smiles at you. It is a warm smile.

“Finally, you’re awake. I was starting to think no amount of shaking would stir you.”

He sounds amused. You struggle to remember why the Lieutenant is sat here, in your room, waking you up like a personal alarm clock. The arrangement these past few days had been to meet downstairs in the morning. An explanation for the change eludes you.

“How are you feeling?”

You groan. A garbling, miserable and melodramatic groan like a recalcitrant teenager being roused for school. The Lieutenant’s warm expression darkens ever so slightly. He sighs.

“That bad, hm? I was hoping some sleep would do you good, but…”

He trails off, looking troubled. You blink, stupidly, and focus all your might in an attempt to remember. It seems to be all you ever do these days. This time, however, your alcohol-pickled brain actually pulls through. A nap. You’ve been catching a cold, and it had finally proved too much for you. Kim said that he would wake you up. It all comes flooding back at once – including the graphic and picture-perfect memory of Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi sneezing. Just thinking about the sight and sound of it begins to rouse you more than a cup of the strongest, most bitter coffee the hostel has to offer could ever manage.

You feel suddenly, entirely insecure. You had been sneezing – loudly, frequently, all over the place. As you push yourself up in bed, you fight to suppress a blush. Kim stands and regards you behind his glasses, offering an outstretched hand. You look up at him and accept it, letting him pull you to your feet. He is stronger than you expected for his lithe, slender build. Your wrist seems almost twice as thick as his own. He looks at you, one eyebrow raised in question as he takes in your burning face.

“Detective, do you have a fever?”

Fuck. Nice one, Harry. You manage to compose yourself. It’s just the hangover, you tell him. He looks only partially convinced.

“Right. If you say so.”

The raised eyebrow stays there, and he shrugs almost imperceptibly. You head into the bathroom and quickly splash your face with water – from the bathtub faucet. The sink remains irreparably damaged as a result of your drug-fuelled bender. Over the sound of the water, you tell the Lieutenant you’re feeling much better – and it’s true. The tickle appears to have receded to more of a low-grade buzz. The cold sea air had clearly irritated you something fierce. After your nap, you can tell that you are still unwell – but it is minor, and certainly doesn’t make you feel much worse than you already did before.

“That’s good, detective. I’m glad to hear it.”

Kim smiles at you as you walk back into the bedroom. He means it, as well. Relief is practically plastered on his face. He would very much like to return to the case. You want to return to it yourself – get this fucking mess over with and remember who you are so that you can decide whether to drink yourself into oblivion or not.

Lieutenant Kitsuragi tells you that he will meet you on the ground floor in a matter of minutes – he needs to retrieve some things from his room. You go ahead and stand awkwardly near the bar once you’re downstairs – far enough away that you do not have to look Garte in the eye. You suddenly feel the tickle threatening to return. You press one forefinger firmly under your flaring nostrils – miraculously, this works. You do not sneeze, although you feel as though you soon might.

Kim joins you and the pair of you make your way outside. The Lieutenant lets you lead. You have a few ideas of where you ought to go next – you will try Klaasje later this evening, after a few more affairs. But first, you feel the need to empower yourself. You are tired of feeling like a loser. You refuse to submit to the cold in your nose. You are not the kind of man to let physical suffering beat you down – emotional, no doubt. But physically, you are stalwart. You are a fitness king – or, you have feeling you used to be, despite the unfortunate beer gut. You don’t know where this thought comes from, but you know it to be true. You remember the abandoned gym in the doomed commercial area – especially that heavily weighted barbell. It beckons to you and your machismo. You feel like you should be able to lift it – no, you can lift it. You will lift it. You jog ahead, leading Kim en route through the bookshop. You ignore the wary glances Plaisance directs towards you, clutching the totem at her neck as if you yourself are one of the evil spirits she so fears.

You walk into the gym. Dust motes spin and spiral through the air in the rays of the setting sun. They seem almost to dance as even the slightest motion of movement stirs them. You stride towards the weights. As you look down at them, positioning your feet in an optimum stance, your ears perk up at a small sound. It isn’t terribly loud, but it is intrusive in the otherwise silent room. You realise with a mixture of pleasure and dismay that Kim is sniffling. You want to look at his face so badly. You want to watch his nostrils twitch and flare. You still don’t understand these desires. With all your effort, you fight the urge to stare and wrap your palms around the cool metal of the barbell, gripping it tight.

Now this feels familiar. This feels practiced. You feel your muscles coil and tense in preparation of the lift. It is exhilarating. You take one last breath, and - you’re doing it! You’re lifting the weights above your head with nary a tremble. Perfect form. You are a muscle god.

You eventually drop the weights with a solid thud – they almost bounce on the floor, a testament to how heavy they are. The floor, caked so heavily in dust that the original colouring is almost imperceptible, shudders with the disturbance. Two clouds of dust arise, the plumes quickly dissipating into the surrounding air. The dancing dust motes spiral faster in the beams of light.

You look towards Kim with a cocky grin. Yes, Lieutenant. How do you like those apples? You are delighted to see that his lips have quirked up in a slight smile of admiration.

“Impressive form, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor.”

He uses your full title – a sign of respect. And you have earned it, buddy. You are the man. You feel confidence surging through you. You are going to solve this case. You’re going to solve this case so hard. You allow yourself to stand there a second longer, hands on hips and chest puffed out. It feels good to bask. Your morale soars.

“Okay, whilst that was definitely something, we should get ba-hh! Back t’to-!”

Your eyes are fixed on the Lieutenant at once. Those earlier sniffles appear to have done very little to quell whatever irritation is plaguing him. It dawns on you as you stare openly at Kim – the way his expression crumples, mouth opening in a yawn of irritation and eyes squinting closed – that it is incredibly dusty in this room. You had noticed this, of course – but what you did not notice, so distracted by your own drive to flex some serious muscle, was the effect it was having on your fellow officer. But you’ve noticed now. You continue to stare, watching as the Lieutenant falls to pieces in front of you.

A soft gasp graces the air as Lieutenant Kitsuragi inhales one final breath to fuel his sneezing. As before, he contracts into the protective half-cover of a raised fist. It is just far enough away from his face that you can still make out the flare of his nostrils, the way his mouth clamps stubbornly shut as the sneeze rocks his slender frame. He does it again, in just the same fashion as the first.

“hH’Ddt’ch!! H’Ngxttch!!”

Oh, but they sound so tickly. He has managed to bite them into submission – something that you find yourself continuously impressed by. This time, however, it sounds as though he is barely keeping it together. The furrowing of his brow and the clench in his jaw bely the intense effort he has to put into maintaining even this small amount of composure. Your mouth is dry in moments, and your stomach flips. You don’t think that even a gunshot could pull you out of your mesmerised gawking.

“Hohhh…”

Kim straightens up with a shuddering exhalation. Whilst he is finished for the moment, you see that he keeps a crooked finger pressed under his damp, twitching nostrils. It looks as though he will sneeze again very soon. You swallow – it is more of an audible gulp. You fight off another blush. These intense physical reactions require constant and taxing damage control. He squeezes his eyes shut, hard, then blinks reflexively several times. You notice that the whites of his eyes are suddenly quite pink. Bloodshot. By the looks of it, the Lieutenant is irrevocably, terribly allergic to dust. You try not to swoon as the realisation dawns on you.

“My apologies, detective. I’m allergic to the dust. It’s not normally this bad, but-!”

His expression crumples all at once. You continue to stare at him, ears burning as your mind loops this enticing confession, spoken with such dismay and desperation in the Lieutenant’s sultry accent. You cannot look away from the flared ellipses of his nostrils. The angry stretch of them is almost unrecognisable from their resting state. It is captivating.

The Lieutenant suddenly spins round, facing away from you. You are disappointed, and then deeply worried at the depths of this disappointment. You bury these thoughts and allow yourself to watch Kim’s shuddering back as he sneezes two more times.

“Hhupt’TSCHhh’uu!! HahDD’TZSCHHhht!!”

You cannot help yourself – you utter a small grunt as the sound of those unrestrained sneezes sucker punch you in the gut. You did not have to see the Lieutenant’s face to know they had been somewhat…productive. The spraying sound of them conjures the image of a fine aerosol bursting out from between Kim’s clenched teeth. You wish you could feel that spray on your skin.

Wait. What?

What the fuck??

All at once, it dawns on you. You like this. You like sneezing. Sneezing makes your cock hard. Sneezing makes you cum.

Of all the things to remember, why this? And why now? The Lieutenant is righting himself with an exhausted sigh. To your delight, you also hear him mutter an angry little ‘fuck’ under his breath.

Okay, Harry. You need to pull yourself together. You are moments away from sporting a solid erection the likes of which this world has never seen. Kim is an expert detective, and he will put two and two together immediately. You have to distract yourself. You try and think of Garte in lingerie. You try and think of dead puppies. House fires. World hunger.

These attempts to steer your mind away from this shocking revelation fail. Miserably. Your head is flooded with memories, coming at you one after another after another. You remember fucking her – you don’t remember who she is, just that it is her. You remember your sex, sometimes fumbling and over all too soon, sometimes languid and god-damn transcendental. You know, somehow, that you did not tell her about it. The sneezing thing. But you remember the sensation of her pussy contracting around your cock as she sneezed beautifully, all over your shoulder and catching the side of your face. You remember coming in luxurious waves, groaning loudly enough to make her jump before she was coming herself, gasping as you continued to fuck her right through it.

That memory used to be a fond one, you sense. An often revisited one as you took your cock in hand. Right now, it causes nothing but blinding pain – and an unfortunate erection. You thank whatever powers that may be that you decided to wear your long RCM patrol coat.

Even as you flounder, attempting to process the emotional pain these returning fragments of the past inflict upon you, your aching heart pounding in your chest – you watch as the Lieutenant yanks his handkerchief from his pocket and sneezes into it.

“hH-MPTschhh!! Ohh, mon dieu…”

He shudders with it. You hear the incredulity in his voice once the sneeze has torn its way through him, violently jostling him with its all-encompassing power. He is just as surprised by his own nuclear reaction to the dust as you are. This only makes your traitorous erection grow harder. You grit your teeth.

Another sneeze from the Lieutenant finally urges you to move. Do something, say anything, for the love of God. Kim is recovering from the sneeze, gasping into the handkerchief he clutches desperately to his face like a lifeline. You realise he will only continue to sneeze and sneeze if you do not get him out of this dusty death trap of a room. What you really want to do is unzip the fly of your trousers and go to town as the Lieutenant puts on a show for you. This is the stupidest thought you have had all day.

You make up your mind. Precariously holding the Tare bag in front of your straining trousers, you march up to the Lieutenant and wrap your arm around his slender waist, standing hip to hip. He understands instinctively that you are coming to his rescue; he reaches with one shaky arm to grip at the fabric of your coat between your shoulder blades. You tell him you’re getting him out of here, and to hold on tight.

He nods and attempts to apologise but is interrupted by yet another sneeze. He had foolishly lowered his handkerchief to address you and is unable to catch it in time. It is upon him so quickly that he only just manages to turn away from you. You shouldn’t be watching him, not if you want to gain some element of control over your burgeoning hard-on. But you do anyway. You see the cloud of delicate spray glitter briefly in the rays of sunlight before dissipating just as quickly as it appeared. You somehow manage not to cum in your pants and start guiding the Lieutenant out of the dusty gym, out of the bookshop. You gruffly mutter over your shoulder to an inquiring Plaisance that you have the situation under control. You are irritated that she called out to you at all – you do not want Kim to be more embarrassed than the flushed tips of his ears indicate he already is.

You manage to march him towards his Kineema as he continues to sneeze, opening the door for him and sitting him down while he recovers. You rub his back for a moment. He does not offer any resistance. The dust was definitely the source of his suffering, if you needed any further confirmation. (You did not.) He is already winding down, his breathing returning to normal. He is now able to take in measured breaths that do not immediately trigger further sneezes. You regard him in this sorry state. You think that a few days ago, when you first met the Lieutenant, it might have pleased you to see such a chink in his armour. But now, you feel no such enjoyment. You are happy that with the winding down of sneezes, so too has your erection wilted. The Lieutenant clears his throat. You stand awkwardly and wait for him to speak.

“I’m so sorry, detective.”

The embarrassment makes his voice thick. Or maybe it’s the congestion. Either way, you are saddened to hear it. You assure him that he has nothing to apologise for. You cannot bring yourself to bless him right now. You ask him how he is feeling. He sighs and removes his glasses. His eyes are overflowing with allergic tears. He swipes them away with the edge of one gloved finger.

“Much better now that we are out of there. That was really…something.”

It sure fucking was, you think. You ask him why he didn’t tell you he was allergic. You never would have dragged him back there, you insist. You sound embarrassingly emotional. Pull yourself together, Harry.

“It’s okay, really. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I didn’t think it would matter. I don’t normally react quite so – obtrusively.”

He blows his nose in the handkerchief. The productive sound of it makes you squirm.

“Sorry, again. I wonder if I’m coming down with your cold after all.”

Fuck. You cannot stand to hear him talk like that. The thought of the Lieutenant sneezing helplessly from a cold in his nose is so erotic you almost moan. This is insane. You can hardly believe it is happening. Luckily, Lieutenant Kitsuragi is too pre-occupied tending to his nose to notice your discomfort. In a few quick moments, he is climbing out of the Kineema and standing beside you on the road. You marvel at his capability to get his shit together in such a small matter of time. It is a talent all on its own.

You suddenly wonder again at the intensity of the Lieutenant’s allergic reaction. You have both wandered round the dusty interior of the doomed commercial district several times before, and you didn’t hear so much as a sniffle from your partner. Although your weightlifting efforts uprooted a great deal of dust in the gym, it didn’t stand to reason that Kim hadn’t been exposed to just as much cumulatively over a longer period of time prior. You know you shouldn’t invite further conversation regarding the topic – not when you have only just managed to calm your enthusiastic genitals. You know this.

Why didn’t you react that way yesterday, you ask anyway - we were in there for longer, and you seemed fine.

“It’s an interesting point, honestly. I’m not too sure I understand it myself.”

He seems just as curious as you – it’s endearing on him, that inquisitive expression. His pink nose is unbearably cute. You choose one of his eyes to focus on instead and don’t look away.

“I’m probably still sensitive from earlier today. Sneezing begets more sneezing. The dust was just my limit.”

An excellent deduction from the Lieutenant. Your cock threatens to twitch in your pants. You manage to offer a soft, companionable laugh in return. You joke that it is nice to be offering support for once instead of receiving it. You only consider after you’ve spoken that this might offend Lieutenant KItsuragi. You hold your breath. He smiles at you and offers a friendly, breathy laugh of his own. Your heart flutters in your chest. It is okay. You have avoided a sexual crisis and seemingly improved your relationship with Kim. This is good.

“This reminds me of an experience I had right at the start of my Lieutenancy.”

Oh, god. So now he chooses to open up to you. You had thought you were out of the woods, but no dice. Unlike earlier in the day, the Lieutenant now actively wants to discuss his sneezing with you. You wonder if breaking as spectacularly as he did in front of you has removed any hesitancy to call attention to his nasal sensitivity. You want to cut him off. Quick - spin around and shout at some unknown entity in alarm! Distract him!

You are too late. He is disclosing this story to you whether you like it or not.

“I was assigned to a case with a previous partner, around 4 years ago now. We were tasked with infiltrating and shutting down a local narcotics ring. It wasn’t an especially prodigious one, but certainly difficult enough to penetrate that we spent months gaining the trust of some lower-level ring members. We finally managed to gain entry to one of the main buildings of their organisation. My partner secured an electronic key card for us to return in the evening.”

You nod your head as you listen. Okay. This is a standard police story. Nothing of note. Yet.

“We managed to sneak in undetected – but the building was not as empty as we had previously been led to believe. We were foolish to think it would be as unguarded as our connection had informed us, but anyway. We heard footsteps behind us – and saw the light of a torch skimming across the wall near our heads. We had to find somewhere to hide right away – we stupidly were not wearing bulletproof vests, another terrible mistake. There was a room to our immediate left and the door was unlocked.”

You swallow. You think you can sense what is coming next.

“It turns out this room was a small storage closet – and a very unkempt one at that. There was barely enough room for us to stand beside each other amongst the shelves. It was more of a one-man only space.”

God. You watch as he smiles ruefully at the memory. You are almost sweating with anticipation.

“We had no choice but to stand chest to chest. He was a little taller than I, luckily not too big – otherwise the squeeze would have been painful. Anyway, we could hear the guard patrolling the corridor. It seemed he was taking his time, but it didn’t sound like he was actively opening doors to explore the rooms. We were incredibly lucky. I shudder to think of how badly the entire affair could have ended up. Such lack of foresight on both our parts. He’s getting closer to the closet and we’re holding our breath. But, detective, you have to understand - this was possibly the dustiest room I have ever stood foot in before. It had nothing on that gym.”

You swallow, but your mouth is so dry it does nothing for you. Kim doesn’t seem to notice.

“He’s getting closer, and I realise that I’m going to sneeze. It was the most insistent tickle, my god. My eyes were streaming, and we’d only been in there for a minute at most. I could not speak up and inform my partner – it was too risky, and the guard was too close. I couldn’t move my hands – they were stuck, wedged up against the shelves. My partner, though, he was perceptive. He told me later he could feel the change in my breathing due to our close proximity. His hands were pressed between us – he managed to free one just in time to press it over my nose and mouth.”

Oh. Oh no. Your erection is back. It is swiftly filling with blood, and there is nothing you can do about it. The tare bag returns to its place in front of you.

“I sneezed so many times I genuinely thought I would stop breathing. My head was spinning. It was unbelievable. I was trying my absolute best to keep as quiet as I could, and my partner’s hand was clamped down hard enough that it was almost silent. That was quick thinking on his part.”

He mentions this previous partner with an undisguised air of admiration. You feel, for a moment, quite jealous. You want him to go on.

“Eventually, the guard passes us by. We waited another couple of minutes, just in case. I was dizzy from the lack of oxygen – it was that horrendous. We squirmed our way out of the closet at last. It took another twenty minutes for the sneezing to subside completely, but otherwise we got the pictures and other incriminating evidence we needed, and returned with a SWAT team the following day. All in all, a success. I apologised profusely to my partner – I wanted to buy him new gloves. You understand, I had made…quite a mess. But he told me not to worry. He was very kind.”

He looks at you straight on. Try not to panic.

“As you have been to me. Thank you, detective.”

The Lieutenant smiles warmly at you. You wish you could fully appreciate the gravity of this moment – his gratitude towards you, and his willingness to share such an embarrassing story. But your mind is elsewhere – and your cock is throbbing. You cannot get the image of the Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi having the sneezing fit to end all sneezing fits, pressed up against the body of another man and trapped in a tiny little closet, out of your head. Not at all, you do manage to say. You smile back, though you are sure it looks strained.

“Luckily, unlike with him, I have managed to avoid sneezing on you. Let’s see how long I can keep that up.”

He is joking – you can tell by the playful lilt in his melodic voice. It is definitely a joke. But to you, it is also a tease. To your perverted constitution, it is a flirtatious promise of sorts that he will fail. You are almost floored by an intense wave of arousal. Your cock is at full mast.

You have to get out of here. You have to do something. You mumble to Kim that you have forgotten some tool or other in your room – you’ll be back as quickly as possible, and then you can really continue with the investigation. The Lieutenant nods his head, buying into your story but clearly a little confused at the frantic cadence you are unable to keep out of your voice.

You run. You have never run with an erection before. It is challenging. But you manage it. You race into the hostel, up the stairs, into your room. You slam the door shut behind you, not even bothering to make your way to the bed. You lean back against the wooden surface, unzipping your pants with as much care as you can manage. You take out your cock, the thick phallus resting in the familiar grip of your right palm. You regard it for a moment. You are a big man, and it is proportionate. Both thick and long, and in your current state of extreme arousal, leaking from its reddened tip.

You start to pump it, milking it with your fingers and teasing the head on an upstroke. You may have forgotten most of who you are but your body remembers this instinctually. You have had decades of practice. It does not take you long until you are panting with pleasure, writhing into your own grip on shaky knees.

Your eyes screw shut. You do not want to think. You just want to feel. You fight to keep your mind blank, but it is no use. You first conjure up that familiar, painful, wonderful memory of Her, but you have to stop. You cannot do this now. Your mind continues to wander, and it is of no surprise to you that you settle on a fantasy of the Lieutenant. You replay his story in his head, so painfully erotic. Suddenly, you are right there with him. It is you pressed up against him in that dusty closet, catching his sneezes in your palm. Except you aren’t wearing any gloves, and the fantasy is so vivid that you can practically feel the sensation of the repeated baptisms against your skin. You have slotted a strong thigh between his own. You imagine the weight of his own cock and balls as you start to grind against his hip.

You are so close now. You can virtually taste your orgasm at this point. You continue to stroke yourself, hard and fast. Your legs start to buckle under the mounting pleasure. In your mind, the Lieutenant sneezes over and over. You picture his desperate, tortured expression, his shuddering body, his gasps and moans. The Kim in your fantasy groans in response to your thrusting. He cannot get enough of you. “Harry, please-!” He cries out for you.

The thought of him begging for you is the final straw. All at once you are coming. You whimper with each throb and pulse, ejaculating freely onto the carpet in front of you. The intensity of it surprises you – you sense that you are normally lucky to achieve the weakest drizzle of an orgasm under such circumstances. Hungover, stressed and unwell. But it feels fantastic. It feels like a revelation.

At last, the pleasure subsides. You slide down the door and onto your ass, gasping like an asthmatic as you struggle to ground yourself. You sit for a couple of moments longer, the wilting dick in your hand drooling cum down your knuckles.

Okay, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor Du Bois. Pull yourself together. You have just masturbated to the thought of sneezing fetish closet sex with a man you met only several days earlier. This is far from the worst thing you have done, but it is certainly somewhat of a novelty. Do you even find Lieutenant Kitsuragi attractive? You suppose you do. It doesn’t feel anything like being attracted to a woman. Different, but not…bad. Look at you, taking this in your stride. Maybe there is hope for you yet, grandpa.

You walk on slightly shaky legs to the bathroom and clean up briskly. You return with a wad of damp toilet paper to clean up the mess you have made on the carpet. You shudder to think of the room’s upholstery under a blue light.

The orgasm has cleared your mind. You feel refreshed. This post-orgasmic serenity is something you have not experienced in a very long time. Normally, you feel nothing but shame and a deep sense of profound loneliness. Perhaps you should have tried jerking yourself to the thought of men sneezing years ago. Nice, Harry. It’s good to see you joking with yourself.

You make your way back outside to Kim. He smiles at you as you approach. He does not ask you about the tool you are obviously not carrying back with you. If he doesn’t address it, neither will you.

“Okay. Ready to get back to the case, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor?”

You are. You are about to tell him as much. But then…you feel it. The tickle. It has lingered in the background, waiting to strike - but it is back.

You have only just regained your composure. You cannot allow the tickle to crest. You hold your breath. You squeeze your hands into fists, nails biting into your palms. You are trying so hard. But it is not meant to be. No matter what you do, it is too strong. Your nostrils flare to capacity in a matter of seconds. You are going to sneeze.

You spin around as you inhale that definitive gasp of air to fuel the sneeze. It is a deep gasp – the sneeze it precedes will be another monstrous explosion. You let it happen. In all honesty, it feels great – the sensation as it overwhelms you combined with your post-orgasm buzz is a veritable headrush.

“HHAAEEESHHHHHUuuu!!!”

Luckily, it is just the one. You shiver. Such a delicious release. You cannot allow yourself to bask in it, though. You turn around, apologising as you do so. You lay your eyes on the Lieutenant. A mixture of both dismay and arousal pulse through you as the…’suggestibility’ of your sneeze appears to trigger Lieutenant Kitsuragi all over again. You watch helplessly as he trembles, sneezing thrice into his raised fist. He seems to have regained the ability to strangle them into submission once more.

“Hh’dDDT-!! H’Gxt!! Igk’t!!”

Your spent cock twitches in your pants with each little sneeze. If you were a younger man, maybe just 10 years or so, you are certain your erection would be back in full swing almost immediately. You thank god that you are an aging, washed-up drunk. This is perhaps the first time you have ever done so.

Kim looks at you, rubbing a gloved finger under his dampened nostrils. He takes in the bewildered, guilty expression on your face. The absurdity of the moment renders him temporarily speechless, and then he is laughing. It is a charming laugh – a little more raucous than you had expected from him. He is an enigmatic man full of surprises. You cannot help but laugh a little yourself. You are mortified, but fuck if this isn’t the most ridiculous thing to happen to you yet over these past few days of strange occurrences.

“We’re a miserable sight, officer. I doubt we’ll get through this investigation with our reputations intact.”

You scoff at that, remind him that you couldn’t possibly tarnish yours more if you tried.

“Don’t doubt yourself, Lieutenant Du Bois. You may exceed both of our expectations yet.”

Sarcastic bastard. You tell him to fuck off, which makes him smile – that subtle quirking of his lips again. You decide to head to the Frittte Kiosk to pick up some things – tissues, mostly. Maybe some antihistamines for Kim. You mention this to him.

“That might do me some good. I’m beginning to believe I’m allergic to this entire case.”

He is joking, again. It is good-natured, but for the sake of your dignity, you wish he would stop. You scoff at him. Bullshit, Lieutenant.

“I’m not allergic to that, at least. I can handle a great deal of it.”

Ain’t that the truth. You smirk, making your way into Frittte and hoping that your earlier orgasm is enough to tide you over for the rest of the day. More sneezing is inevitable. You are unsure whether this is a blessing or a curse.

[nametakensff]

Conditioning (D/isco E/lysium, M/M)

Here's 3.3K of a quick little J/ean x H/arry scenario I couldn't get out of my miiiind! H/arry's poorly timed sneezes during sex awaken something in J/ean

~~~~~

Content:

M/M, established relationship, J/ean has a latent sneezing fetish, cold sneezes, sneezing during sex, spray, descriptions of mild mess, anal sex, handjobs, buildups, false starts, handkerchiefs, verbal teasing, pretty rough/animalistic sex, J/ean likes to be manhandled, mentions of future contagion, fetishy dirty talk, mentions of J/ean being a perpetually sneezy boy because that head canon is never leaving me

CW: graphic descriptions of semen, rough sex, sex without a condom, gripping someone by the chin and forcing them to stay in place

NSFW - Minors DNI!

It wasn’t exactly how he had expected the evening to go, but Jean wasn’t complaining in the least.

Harry got home around eight, earlier than Jean had anticipated him. He looked up at him from the living room couch, where he’d been lounging and half-heartedly flicking through paperwork on his day off. He’d hardly gotten a greeting out before Harry was lunging for him and kissing him fiercely, pawing him all over and sticking his large hand down the front of Jean’s boxers. Jean found himself reacting immediately, Harry’s naked enthusiasm triggering a kind of animalistic need in him.

Harry had seemed content to proceed with mutual fumbling but Jean urged him to his feet, intending to pull him to the bedroom. Before he had the chance to take more than a few steps, however, Harry had grabbed him by the bicep and marched him up to the nearest wall, yanking Jean’s boxers down his ass with his free hand. Jean moaned in appreciation, arching his ass back against Harry’s crotch and delighting in the sensation of his hard cock nudging him back, tenting the fabric of his slacks.

Harry carried lube with him almost everywhere, like some kind of nymphomaniac. Jean had said as much, jokingly, but Harry had made the excellent point that Jean, being the main recipient of said lube, never seemed to mind when he had him bent over his work desk late at night.

It was with this lube that he now made quick work of teasing Jean open – not in the least delicately, prodding into him in a way that made Jean squirm with overstimulation. Harry slicked his cock with the stuff and, panting, pushed his way inside, gripping Jean’s hips hard enough to bruise. Jean whined, the sudden sensation of being stretched wide open intoxicating. They stood there for a moment, Jean leaning his hands against the wall with his boxers round his ankles, Harry flush behind him. Then Harry started to fuck him in earnest.

As Harry grunted and pistoned in and out of him, Jean could do little other than moan and enjoy the ride. He didn’t know what had brought on this particular burst of frenzied passion from Harry, but he was hardly complaining. His hard cock pointed skyward, untouched and slapping against his stomach in rhythm with Harry’s punishing thrusts. When Harry shifted his hips and began to fuck him from an angle that thrust against his prostate more often than not, he moaned stupidly, reaching between his legs to grip his cock as the tell-tale building of his orgasm began. Harry slapped his hand away and replaced it with his own, jerking him mercilessly. Jean couldn’t imagine heaven would be sweeter.

Astonishingly, Harry began fucking him harder and faster, his hand a relative blur over Jean’s crotch. The speed with which Jean’s orgasm crested was almost painful, and he came with a surprised yelp that petered out into a helpless groan. He was still orgasming, eyelids fluttering, legs trembling and cock spitting hot ropes of cum all over the wall before him, when Harry promptly sneezed, twice.

“HAAAEEEIISHHHHhhh!!! IIIIESSSSHHHHHTTttt!!!”

They sprayed over Jean’s shoulder, dousing the wall and his left hand with a cloud of delicate aerosol. The second one caught the side of his face, rippling the collar of his t-shirt with the sheer force of it. Jean had never jumped out of his skin mid-orgasm before, but he did then. It was an incredibly strange sensation, that sudden jolt of shock amidst the pleasure, but it was soon subsumed by the completion of his orgasm, lasting longer than he had expected it to. He felt weak when it released him, and he struggled to keep his arms outstretched before him.

“Fuck, shit, I’m-!”

Jean heard Harry curse before letting out a satisfied groan, thrusting up into him, hard, and letting his hips pulse gently as his own orgasm overpowered him. Jean’s spent cock twitched in appreciation, drooling a little down Harry’s knuckles. He clenched around Harry to prolong the pleasure for him, relishing in the feeling of him shuddering against him as one strong arm squeezed possessively around him from behind.

When Harry relaxed with a soft moan, leaning against Jean as his knees began to cave, Jean finally allowed himself to lower them both to the floor. He hissed a little as Harry slipped out of him, the leaking deluge of cum that followed combined with the sudden emptiness a momentary lapse in the pleasure of his afterglow. Panting, he reached for his boxers and lazily swiped at the semen on his thighs and the wall before turning and sitting up against it.

He looked at Harry, kneeling in front of him in his work clothes, erection starting to wither where it stood proudly through the open zipper of his fly. Hadn’t even taken off his blazer, Jean noted the second Harry began to do so, flinging it across the room. Jean wordlessly held out his boxers to him, and Harry took them, wiping his slick cock on a clean part of the otherwise soiled fabric. He winced, pushing himself half-hard back into his pants.

Jean didn’t resist when Harry gripped him by the back of his knees and pulled him forwards, forcing him to eventually lie flat on the floor, laughing softly as he allowed himself to be manoeuvred into place. He sighed as Harry crawled over and lay on top of him, happy to be tenderly squished under his weight.

It was after a few minutes of lying there, both luxuriating in the afterglow of sex, that Jean suddenly recalled the sneezing.

“Bless you, twice.” He offered to the air, stroking a hand up and down Harry’s spine through the fabric of his dress shirt.

Harry cringed as though electrocuted, then lifted his head off Jean’s chest to look gingerly down at him.

“God, Jean. I’m so sorry, baby, I tried to hold it back but I just couldn’t help it. Did I get you??”

Jean recalled the gentle kiss of the spray against his cheek, the way it had settled on his forearm and the back of his hand. He felt absurdly tingly and pleasant when he replied “A little bit, but it’s okay.”

Harry visibly winced and opened his mouth to say something else when his expression suddenly shifted. His features seemed to collapse all at once, the familiar sight of a pre-sneeze grimace knitting his eyebrows together, nostrils flaring wide.

Jean found that he couldn’t look away. The cloudy, far-off look in Harry’s eyes, how the dazedness of them seemed at odds with the frantic scrambling as Harry leaned up on one elbow. The feeling of Harry’s ribs and stomach expanding with the rhythmic hitching of his breath, pressing Jean down against the floorboards. The apparent absolute torture of the tickle cresting, eyes sliding shut and eyebrows raised high, beyond the point of no return. And then everything was drawing tight, the sneezes exploding out of Harry and thoroughly spraying the air as he shuddered to one side.

“HHURRRESHHHHHhhh!!! hHAHHHG’TSSSSHHHH’uu!!!...HUH!! HUHRRRRISSSSHHHHhhh!!!”

Jean reached up to grip Harry by the shoulders as the third sneeze burst out of him. They were intense, incredibly violent and dramatic, as Harry’s sneezes tended to be. Jean was certain he would have collapsed painfully on top of him without the support, what with the way the sneezes seemed to drag themselves up from his very toes and render him trembling in the aftermath. The last sneeze skimmed the back of his hand, the right one this time, and Jean suppressed a shiver of his own.

“God, Harry. Bless you, again.” Jean muttered, feeling concerned but…elated, somehow?

Harry groaned his thanks and promptly lowered himself back onto Jean, both of them letting out a little ‘oof’ at the final impact as Jean removed his support.

“Fuck. Sorry.” Harry muttered, sniffling back against what sounded to Jean like a foreboding amount of congestion.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asked, trying to stop himself from actively listening to each sniffle with an unbearably rapt interest.

Harry stayed silent for a beat, and Jean waited.

“Ahem. I think I may be…catching a cold. Just a little one.” Harry admitted, sounding guilty, though notably less so than he may have had he not just had an orgasm. Jean sighed.

“Thank you for letting me know you were ill after you shoved your tongue in my mouth, Shitkid.”

Harry had the decency to look a little sheepish as he smiled up at Jean and shrugged his shoulders noncommittally.

“Sorry, hon. I figured you’d be catching it either way, and you just looked so fucking good in your boxers. And this old thing,” He smiled, rubbing his hand fondly over the worn material of Jean’s t-shirt, gently brushing over a peaked nipple in the process.

Jean scoffed but didn’t reprimand him. He was entirely fuzzy and happy and content, endorphins clouding any genuine irritation. Harry was right, anyway; it was an inevitability that he would be catching anything he brought his way.

As Jean continued to lie there, idly playing with Harry’s shirt collar, he heard the older man start to snuffle ominously. He steeled himself for a repeat performance of sneezes as he heard and felt Harry’s breath begin to hitch, both men holding themselves rigid in anticipation – when, all at once, the urge seemed to leave Harry, just like that. All the air he’d been greedily sucking in rushed out of him with a shuddering exhale. When he swore, sounding genuinely disappointed with the abated sneeze, Jean couldn’t help but laugh. He kissed Harry on the top of his head in way of an apology.

“Colds make you sneeze a lot.” Jean stated after a beat, for what reason he wasn’t entirely sure. It was as though that little nugget of information, cobbled together through years of observation, quite suddenly necessitated that he say it out loud. It felt oddly exhilarating to do so.

Harry shifted, peering up at him through wary, tired eyes.

“Colds make people sneeze a lot.” He muttered, looking a little embarrassed.

Jean wasn’t sure why he kept talking, but he did anyway.

“No, Colds just make people sneeze. They make you sneeze a great deal.”

Harry squirmed in Jean’s arms, making to get up. Jean held him firmly, and Harry grunted.

“I said I was sorry, Vic.” He grumbled, now refusing to look Jean in the eye.

Shit. Jean hadn’t intended to rub salt in the wound. He would have to remedy this before Harry became moodier than usual.

“Shush, I’m not reprobating you. It’s fine. Forget I said anything.”

Harry stared at him, those dirty green eyes probing Jean’s pale, orgasm-softened greys, and after an amount of time bordering on uncomfortable (those damned voices talking to him), he seemed to accept it. He sighed and nuzzled his head against Jean’s chin. Jean fought the urge to lean forward and inhale, feeling especially fond of Harry post-railing. He let himself play with Harry’s hair, wrapping locks around his fingers, pleased that Harry seemed to have recently washed it.

“Colds make you sneeze a lot, too. But then again, doesn’t everything?”

Jean’s face flushed in response to Harry’s sudden outburst. Fuck, what the hell was going on with him, right now? He scoffed, hoping he sounded nonchalant and calm, and also hoping Harry hadn’t felt his softening dick twitch.

“Watch your mouth, Shitkid.” He boxed Harry’s left ear, earning a displeased little grunt from the older man, so comically pathetic that he started to laugh in response.

He paused a moment later, realising Harry wasn’t laughing with him. He appeared to be trembling atop him, breathing uneasily. Jean, suddenly terrified he’d actually hurt Harry and made him cry, started to speak.

“Harry, are you –“

“HAHHH’EISSSHHHH’UUU!!! hhHHH’RRRRSHHHAHHHhh!!”

Jean gasped, hands gripping the back of Harry’s shirt, overwhelmed by both shock and a sudden tingling warmth that he refused to acknowledge as burgeoning arousal.

“Oughh. Fuck, Jean, I’m sorry.”

Harry did sit up then, snuffling miserably and holding his handkerchief to his face, which was flushed. The sight of it made Jean’s own cheeks begin to heat. He glanced downwards and saw that the grey fabric of his t-shirt, across his right pectoral and right sleeve, was spattered with a light scattering of mess, Harry having effectively pinned him and used him like a human tissue, intentionally or otherwise. Jean’s cock more than twitched; he was getting hard again, ridiculously quickly, and he could make no sense of it. All he knew was he wanted Harry back on top of him immediately.

“Bless you.” He offered, sitting up and trying not to feel silly clothed in only his t-shirt and threadbare socks.

“Sorry.” Harry repeated, still rubbing at his nose through the fabric. His expression, or what Jean could see of it, looked distinctly dissatisfied. Pensive. Like he might have to sneeze all over again, and soon. Jean held back a tiny whimper as his cock throbbed at the thought. Seriously, what the fuck.

“It’s okay,” Jean muttered, pulling Harry into a hug, wanting to hold him. “You’re not well.”

“I feel awful, though – I just sneezed all over you. Again.”

Jean rubbed a hand up his back, feeling warm all over.

“I told you I don’t mind. And you’ve sneezed on me before – you’re not the best at turning away.” All true, all matter of fact – and yet mentioning it felt deliciously filthy all of a sudden.

Harry laughed a little, wriggling in Jean’s arms to release his own and wrap them back around Jean.

“Still, during sex? My bad.” He sighed, hooking his chin over Jean’s shoulder.

They sat there on the floor, hugging for a couple of moments before Jean really did start to feel ridiculous. His sweeping hand ceased it’s motion up and down Harry’s back and swatted it decisively.

“Let’s get you to bed, superstar.” He muttered.

“Hold that thought,” Harry replied shakily as he pulled back, eyebrows furrowing in clear need to sneeze.

For the second time that evening, Jean’s traitorous brain seemed to make a decision before he had a chance to consider the ramifications of it. He reached out and, after tenderly tracing over the cleft in Harry’s chin, gripped it firmly and turned him to face him. He wanted to watch Harry sneeze; wanted to see it all in detail. Acknowledging this made him shiver in anticipation, body alive with adrenaline. He swallowed a mouthful of saliva and peered into Harry’s eyes as they struggled to focus on him, occupied as he was with battling the tickle. He was gripping desperately at Jean’s wrist, fingers twitching.

“J-Jean, I-! Let g’hohh, I-! HH! I N’hh’eed to-!!”

Jean stared at him, emboldened by the fact that Harry didn’t yank his face away, something he could have done with ease. He smiled and nibbled at his bottom lip, stomach twisting in pleasurable excitement. It felt as though he was right at the peak of a roller-coaster, ready to plunge over the edge.

“No.” He said, quite simply.

Harry’s eyes widened for one short moment before his eyelids were drooping again, forcing themselves shut as the tickle continued to tease him. Jean could tell that even whilst he wasn’t pulling away, he wasn’t inviting the sneeze to overwhelm him either. He looked pretty funny, the way one does when they’re trying desperately to hold back a yawn in a work meeting.

Those few seconds of Harry delaying the release was driving Jean crazy, the anticipation killing him. He was crazy, had absolutely no idea what had taken a hold of him and why he needed Harry to sneeze so badly, right here, like this.

Swallowing again, Jean reached out with his other hand, extending a pointer finger and, with a feather-soft touch, delicately traced the pinkened arch of one flaring nostril. He watched with rapt fascination as it twitched and stretched ever wider, as if chasing further stimulation. He pressed harder, just a little, just enough, and…

The intensity of Harry’s bristling inhale was the only warning Jean received before he was buckling forward with two more huge sneezes.

“HAHHH’AAEEESSSSSCHHHH’UU!!! HDT-!! IIESSSSSHHHHHH’IEWWWww!!!”

Jean watched through unblinking eyes, pleasurable tingling suffusing his limbs as he took in every detail. These sneezes were even bigger than before; Harry must have been truly indulging the tickle, leaning into each explosion for all it was worth. Jean saw, and more importantly, felt them spray across the fabric on his chest and stomach; felt them catching his bearded chin. What he hadn’t been prepared for was the sensation of the spray, floating downwards in a gentle cloud of aerosol, settling over his cock, which was now obscenely hard. He gasped, eyelids fluttering, then moaned through closed lips. Fuck. What the fuck was going on?

The motion of Harry wiping his dripping nostrils on his forearm prompted Jean to meet his eyes, peering up from where they had been glancing at his own cock, uncomprehending. Harry smirked at him, eyes glittering, predatory. If Jean hadn’t already been hard, that look would have sealed the deal.

“Something you want to tell me about, honey?” Harry said, deep voice rumbling in his chest. He looked hungrily at Jean’s twitching dick, and Jean felt the skin of his arms ripple in goosebumps.

He glanced at Harry through his lashes, heart racing, feeling almost coquettish as he replied “If I understood it myself, I would.”

“What’s to understand?” Harry purred, leaning forward and gripping Jean, stroking him with clever, teasing fingers. Jean swore, unable to keep his hips from thrusting spasmodically. It was stupid how hot he felt; embarrassingly so. Not enough to want Harry to stop, though.

“Want me to sneeze all over you, Vic?”

Harry’s toothy smile grew even wider as Jean whimpered in response, throbbing in Harry’s hand, the tip of his cock drooling. Harry palmed the head, spreading the liquid all over his shaft on the next, deliberate downstroke, making Jean keen and reach up to grip at his shoulders. He leaned forward, mouth right up to Jean’s ear, and continued.

“You’re right, baby. This cold is gonna make me sneeze so much. Got plenty more where those came from.” He punctuated the statement with a damp sniffle before sucking Jean’s earlobe into his mouth.

Jean felt something break in him, then; the very last of his resolve, his stubborn resistance to the fact that he was indeed moaning like a bitch at the thought of Harry sneezing. All over him. God.

He pulled himself to his feet, hoisting Harry up by the elbow and dragging him to the bedroom. He grunted in appreciation as Harry suddenly gripped him by the waist and all but threw him onto the bed, the springs squeaking in protest. He yanked his shirt over his head, toeing his socks off his feet, then got to helping Harry frantically strip himself of his work clothes.

Harry crushed their lips together, cradling Jean’s head gently as he kissed him, long and tender. He pushed Jean backwards after a moment, keeping his hand on the shoulder he was gripping until he was hovering over Jean on the bed, one knee between his legs and a dangerous distance from his balls. Jean was happy to see Harry’s cock equally as hard as his own, thick and heavy and happy to see him right back.

“You know, you should sneeze when I’m balls deep in you. That always feels fucking amazing when it happens.” Harry smirked down at him.

Jean groaned, covering his eyes with his forearm.

“Harry, stop talking right now.”

“Fair’s fair.” Harry stated, gently retracting Jean’s arm and forcing him to look back up at him. “You get to enjoy my sneezes, I get to enjoy yours.”

He pressed a kiss to Jean’s palm, staring and staring at him under heavy lids.

“Sneezy boy.” He muttered, before pressing a second kiss to Jean’s knuckles.

Jean decided to shut him up at all costs before he lost his fucking mind. He yanked Harry forward and crushed their mouths together again, Harry’s laugh reverberating in Jean’s chest as it rumbled through his own.

[nametakensff]

Worth It (D/isco E/lysium, M/M)

Okay - this fic follows up just over a month from my 3 part K/im x H/arry series (that you don't need to read, I just ended up accidentally writing my fics as part of a continuous AU...again lol), featuring the aftermath of fetishist H/arry dealing with the slow return of certain memories, his budding romantic relationship with K/im and his past hook ups with J/ean

It ended up at 12.9K 😅 All three of them sneeze but it's mostly a J/ean fic (H/arry x J/ean with established H/arry x K/im, and then some H/arry x K/im x J/ean)

~~~~~

Content:

M/M, M/M/M mentioned and ongoing, H/arry has a sneezing fetish, cold sneezes, contagion, mentions of hay fever, rapid sneezes, spray, sneezing on someone, some mess mentions, nose blowing, audibly wet nose rubbing, masturbation, hand jobs, cumming in tissues, tissues, handkerchiefs, coughing, fever, dirty talk, implied praise kink, embarrassment/humiliation, verbal teasing, fantasies and mentions of public masturbation, graphic descriptions of semen, mentions of anal sex, threesomes, brief phone sex, brief exhibitionism/voyeurism fantasy

CW: mentions of past abuse, mentions of alcohol and drug abuse, mentions of physical violence, toxic relationships, abusive language (this fic has J/ean in it it's unavoidable), H/arry has a brief fantasy about licking cum off his hands and using cum as lube, mentions of J/ean and H/arry fucking at an active crime scene, self-hatred, some dudebro jabs at homosexuality

NSFW - Minors DNI!

Jean had a cold. A miserable, eye-watering doozy of a cold. It had started as a few errant sniffles and coughs here and there, perhaps a slightly more notable weariness when he spoke – but nothing could have prepared Harry for the sheer amount of sneezing he would witness as the illness progressed. Four days in, and Jean was a wreck. He refused to take sick leave, even having amassed a considerable amount of days over the years due to pure obstinance. He pointedly ignored any glances of either concern or aggravation as he sneezed, over and over, either into the protective cover of his elbow or a bundle of damp tissues. Not even Judit could convince him to go home.

“We’re in over our heads as it is, Jude. I don’t have the time to laze around in bed with all of – this waiting to be finished.” He’d gestured with a wide sweep of his hand not only over his own desk, but at the general maelstrom of officers marching back and forth across the bullpen, coming and going in a constant stream of activity.

“We’re wading knee-deep through an endless river of bureaucratic bullshit with an incapacitated workforce.”

“I can hear you, you know!” Harry had piped up, sat at his desk with his head in his hands as the mountainous piles of paperwork loomed over him. Kim shot him a sympathetic look from where he sat at his own new desk.

“I meant you to!” Jean growled, before a sudden teasing gasp had him spinning desperately away from Judit and sneezing fittishly into the crook of his elbow. Harry’s stomach was aflutter with butterflies as he watched. He couldn’t make out a sound, not over the din of the office and with the sheer willpower Jean had managed to exert over keeping the sneezes as locked down as possible. He finished shuddering a few moments later and extracted his face from the protective covering of his arm. He somehow now looked even worse for wear.

“Désolé.”

This was meant for Judit – Harry was sure he didn’t particularly give a rat’s ass about what anyone else in C Wing and beyond thought about these increasingly recurrent sneezing fits. The patrol officer in question squeezed his shoulder, her face a mask of concern and frustration.

“Will you at least go home when your shift is over?”

“Yes.” Jean lied.

Defeated and entirely used to accepting it with grace, Judit withdrew. She was smart like that. Harry had watched Jean watching her leave, waiting until she was out of sight before allowing his expression to waver – a look of total surrender, mouth dropping open and brows lifting high before his entire face crumpled. He’d sneezed against his wrist - five times consecutively, if the rhythmic trembling of his shoulders was any indication. When he lifted his head at last, he was bleary eyed and snuffling most pathetically. It had gone straight to Harry’s dick. Sensing eyes on him, Harry turned and noticed with no small amount of embarrassment that Kim had been watching him watch Jean. Not knowing what else to do, he’d shrugged his shoulders apologetically. Kim had merely raised an eyebrow and smirked at him before returning to his own work as if nothing at all had transpired.

Harry had been grateful for the noisy ambience and Jean’s own stubborn tactics of suppression. As long as he didn’t look in his direction, he could almost – almost! – pretend that his fellow officer wasn’t clenching with a paroxysm of tickly, cold-induced sneezes every five minutes or so. He had actually managed to put a dent, although minimal, in some of the simpler paperwork. More importantly, he had kept most of the blood in his brain and out of his dick.

It also seemed as though the way Jean stifled his sneezes into almost near silence didn’t provoke much ‘sympathetic’ sneezing in Kim, as Harry had come to label it. In typical analytical fervour, he had come to understand the perfect conditions to induce a reaction in Kim. He had deduced the following:

Volume. The louder the sneeze heard and/or witnessed, the higher the exponentiality of sneezes on Kim’s behalf.

Desperation. The more irritated, aggravated or generally torturous a sneeze sounded or appeared, the more likely this bizarre form of nasal sympathy was to occur.

Pre-existing sensitivities in Kim. Exposure to dust, cold air, a general fatigued immune system – an already irritated nose was prone to further irritation.

Naturally, a combination of all three in Martinaise had given Harry the show of a lifetime. He had (secretly, sadistically) been hoping Kim would catch his cold, but somehow he had managed to avoid it, despite having been miserably worn down and concussed by the time they finally completed the case of The Hanged Man.

Harry kept these ruminations to himself, of course. Maybe he would share them with Kim at some point. For now, at least, there had been no major paradigm shift, and Jean’s sneezes, whilst undoubtedly desperate, were lacking in volume, and Kim was entirely healthy and irritation free. That wasn’t to say there hadn't been any response from the Lieutenant, no. Harry had looked over with depleting subtlety more than once, prompted by a soft gasp, to watch Kim shudder into a small fit of his own on the tail end of Jean’s, and damn near bit through his tongue each and every time.

This system of deny and ignore had proven useful only until the night shift began. Normally, the bullpen was busier and the officers replacing those having finished the day shift would more or less keep the building near constantly occupied. Whatever evil god ruled over Revachol had decided that day, however, to summon every gang banger and petty criminal imaginable and enlist them in the sole mission of keeping damn near all officers of the 41st entirely occupied – and, more importantly, out of the office. It also just so happened to be the night that Harry had reluctantly agreed to stay and get through some paperwork, and Jean had in turn stubbornly refused to leave him unattended. Harry was slowly regaining his trust, and in Jean’s defence, he had evidently been awful at staying on top of paperwork pre-amnesia, and just as resistant to completing it in his recovery.

It shouldn’t have been an issue – but with every officer that left, taking both their physical presence and ambient sound with them, it was increasingly difficult to ignore Jean and the steadfast progression of his cold. Whilst his sneezes were apparently on continuous lockdown, he had long abandoned any attempts to blow his nose in relative silence. Every couple of minutes, Harry’s heart raced in his chest as the loud, obtrusive sound of Jean forcing air and mess out of his miserably congested sinuses echoed out in the office space. His nervous energy was manifesting in a persistent shake in his leg, tapping his foot over and over.

Kim had left early, for him, as well. He had made a habit of staying a few hours or more post shift ever since his transfer to the 41st, realising just how much they had fallen behind in administration. Harry admired him for it – paperwork, though sometimes exciting to record in the moment, was undoubtedly one of the worst parts of being an RCM officer, tediously boring at times – and yet Kim was consistently fastidious, conscientious, and perhaps most importantly, punctual. Today, though, he had excused himself almost within a minute of the day’s end.

“There’s a pivotal race in the TipTop Tournée being broadcast tonight at 7pm – I’ve missed the last few. I’m dying to see how it turns out.” He explained in response to Harry’s wounded complaints about abandonment.

“Oh yeah…you did mention that, come to think of it.” Harry recalled that when Kim had been discussing the race, he had been paying too much attention to the way the Lieutenant’s face had lit up in enthusiasm to really retain any information pertaining to the date of the event in question.

“I’m also exhausted – and it looks like the both of you are, too.” He glanced pointedly at Jean. “Don’t stay too late, detectives. Insufficient health begets insufficient policework.”

“I’m fine.” Jean croaked. Neither Harry nor Kim offered a response, though both had winced at the sheer raspiness of it.

Harry looked up at Kim as the Lieutenant pushed his chair under his desk. His big, baleful and truly pathetic eyes signaled quite clearly ‘do not leave me alone with him’. Kim simply looked at him, shook his head almost imperceptibly, and smiled in response. Harry sighed.

“Bye, Kim.” He mumbled despairingly.

“Goodbye, Harry.” Kim replied pleasantly. He tipped his head at Jean, currently recovering from his most recent series of tightly stifled sneezes. “Officer Vicquemare.”

“Lieutenant.” Jean muttered, not even bothering to look up from his paperwork. He looked thoroughly unwell, and Kim’s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer before meeting Harry’s gaze. The pair of them shrugged at each other, and Kim was out the door moments later.

And so, here Harry sat, not 45 minutes later and already so unbelievably sexually frustrated he had practically eaten half a pencil. It just wasn’t fair. The bullpen was probably the most silent he had ever known it to be in his entire time at the 41st. He knew this in his bones, regardless of solid memories to go off. Besides the sound of the city beyond the windows of the building and the hum of various electronics, the only other noises to be heard were as follows: Harry’s audible pencil consumption. Harry’s tapping foot on the linoleum floor. Harry’s fingers drumming on his desk. Harry’s grunts of frustration. Jean’s throat clearing. Jean’s coughing. Jean’s sniffling, sneezing, nose blowing – every noise imaginable of the miserably congested. And the inexplicably loud clock driving Harry to the brink of insanity as it ticked its way through this test of mental and physical fortitude.

The tail-end of Jean’s latest sneezes caused his sinuses to squeak quite audibly. It was the final straw for Harry – he needed to take a fucking walk. He pushed back his chair and stood up much more violently than intended. Jean cast a weary glance his way.

“Not leaving, just – kitchen. Need anything?”

Jean stared at him a moment longer, leaving Harry to sweat and wilt under his stony gaze, before returning to his work. He cradled his forehead in one hand, closing his eyes for a moment.

“No.”

Harry waited to see if anything would follow. When it didn’t, he strode out of the bullpen and down the hallway, shielding his erection as best he could with what he hoped was a subtle hand in front of his crotch. He walked towards the kitchen, fully intending to grab a sugary snack of some description as a form of distraction, but decided last minute to make his way to one of the several payphones at the end of the corridor.

“Hello?” Kim answered after the third dial tone.

“Kim,” Harry sighed desperately into the handset. “I think I’m dying. Jean, He is - He’s. Driving me insane.”

Harry heard Kim sigh an equally desperate sigh of his own. In his mind’s eye and in Kim’s apartment, the Lieutenant cast a nervous glance towards the clock on his wall. The hands were rapidly approaching 7pm. He was comfortably settled next to his radio with a can of beer. This was not ideal timing.

“You’re not dying, detective.” He offered drily. Harry was undeterred.

“But you see, Kim, I think I am. I have no idea how to deal with this. You know I don’t. You know that firsthand.”

The entire reason he and Kim had fucked in the first place had been because this stupid fetish had rendered him incapable of keeping his dick in his pants. The results had been overwhelmingly positive – they were still fucking now. Regularly. They had even started sleeping over at each other’s apartments. They went on walks and to cafes together. Neither had vocally confirmed it, but it seemed obvious to Harry that they were at least kind-of sort- of dating. Pseudo-almost-boyfriends, one might say. It had been a happy accident, and his embarrassing inability to keep his shit together had somehow – inexplicably - won Kim over.

 Jean was not Kim.

Harry’s memories had been coming back incrementally – little pieces here and there with the occasional groundbreaking moments of picture-perfect recollection. He had remembered very little about Jean  – had forgotten him entirely with the initial amnesia – and this was evidently, and understandably, an extremely sore spot for the younger officer. It turns out that he was Harry’s bona fide best friend, on top of his partner. More complicated was the fact that they had fucked, many times. This had come to light when Jean had caught Harry kissing Kim in the precinct parking lot.

“Well. I can’t say it isn’t somewhat relieving that an Officer as competent as Lieutenant Kitsuragi has equally as shitty taste in men as I do.”

Harry had barely a moment’s notice to let those words sink in before the vivid memory of Jean writhing underneath him knocked the air out of him. From that moment, he had been inconsolable. Was he in a relationship with Jean? Was he actively cheating on him right now? Had he liked men before Kim?? Jean and Kim had in turn done their best to mollify him, settling him and themselves into Kim’s Motor Carriage to conceal this latest mental breakdown from any passing officers.

Jean had confirmed that they were not in a relationship, and they had done very little fucking, if any, for at least six months, for obvious drug-and-alcohol-spiral related reasons. Harry was a little relieved, but still devastated to have forgotten. He could tell that this gaping nothingness in his brain regarding Jean deeply hurt the younger man, and for that he was truly apologetic.

“It’s fine, Harry.” Jean had spoken to him in the kind of tone one might use to console a cornered animal. “You remembered something just now. You’ll remember more, over time.”

It was the softest Jean had been with him since Martinaise. Harry had felt the tears welling up in his eyes almost immediately.

“Kim wasn’t my bisexual awakening?” He’d asked in a tiny voice, sounding ridiculous but authentically devastated and confused enough that neither Kim nor Jean had laughed at the absurdity of it.

“It’s okay.” Kim had reached out and patted his arm. “It doesn’t change anything. I won’t take it personally.”

Harry had burst into tears anyway. He was still crying by the time Kim’s MC rolled to a stop outside his apartment building, and was only just winding down by the time he was escorted to his flat by both Kim and Jean.

In present day, he leaned his head against the wall beside him. Kim cleared his throat.

“I can’t stay on the phone for long. I’m not sure what to suggest other than finding a means to take the edge off. Actually-“ Harry could hear that he immediately regretted that particular phrasing. “What I should say is, find a way of achieving relief.”

“Kim.” Harry smiled. “Are you, for the second time since we’ve met, suggesting I rub one out during work hours?”

“I assumed it was par for the course with you, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor.” The way his voice dropped an octave with the flirtation was doing nothing for Harry’s erection.

“You’re not helping,” He whined down the phone.

“Probably not. I’m just telling you what I would do if I were you. Find somewhere private and have an orgasm.”

Now that really didn’t help. The thought of Kim masturbating at his desk, head thrown back in ecstasy as he pleasured himself in plain sight made Harry’s cock twitch. He ignored the ‘private’ part, instead picturing the smaller man surrounded by an audience of hungry onlookers.

“Dammit.” He growled into the mouthpiece. He heard Kim chuckle on the other end of the line. “I guess I’m going to have to. But I’m worried he’ll come look for me if I’m gone for too long.”

“Well,” Kim started. Harry could just picture the subtle smirk of his mouth. “It shouldn’t take you very long, all things considered. Maybe you could start now.”

“You know,” Harry breathed out, “I didn’t peg you for a sex pest. Encouraging phone sex on top of it all.”

“Relax, Harry, I’m just teasing you. You’re fun to tease.”

“Fucker.”

Kim just laughed. The sound of it made Harry soft all over.

“I guess I really should go and…take care of myself. I can’t sit there anymore, constantly on the verge of going off in my pants like a fucking teenager.”

“You’re just sensitive. It’s not a bad thing. Extremely impressive for a man your age, and with your history of substance abuse.”

Kim was, within reason, in the habit of putting a positive spin on all of Harry’s flaws and fuck-ups. Harry could see how from the outside this may appear overly mollycoddling, but even if that were the case, it had done wonders for his almost non-existent self-esteem. He drank the compliment in as eagerly as he would have liked to down a double vodka and lemonade.

“I guess, but – I mean, it’s so awkward. I don’t even know if he – you know, knows. About my thing.”

Kim laughed again, uncharacteristically hard for him. Harry blinked and said nothing, letting the younger man compose himself.

“Oh, Harry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh at you. But he most certainly knows. The two of us have actually discussed it in relative detail.”

Harry gaped, almost dropping the phone in shock.

“You Judases! Ganging up on me when my back’s turned-!”

“You’re being dramatic.” Kim drawled. He was clearly enjoying this reaction. “It was a short conversation, one smoke break. I don’t even remember how we got onto the topic. But rest assured, he definitely knows.”

Harry paused, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to probe for more.

“How…does he know. In what way?”

“Let’s just say…that you liked to take advantage of Satellite-Officer Vicquemare’s hay fever – which I’ve come to understand is quite impressive, in full swing.”

Harry’s cock throbbed dangerously in his pants, drooling into the fabric of his underwear.

“Fuck, fuck, fuckkkk…!”

“Mhmm. In fact, I believe you almost contaminated an active crime scene with semen residue following such an exploit. Jean seemed to imply this was the case.”

“God…” Harry muttered. He suddenly felt an overwhelming sensation of loss mingling in with the horniness – not dissimilar to the way he felt when Dora sprung to mind. “I wish I could remember. This sucks.”

“…I’m sorry, detective. I didn’t mean to upset you. For the record, I haven’t disclosed any particular details of intimacy between us to him.” He paused for a moment, sounding genuinely dismayed. Harry knew it hadn’t been his intention to trigger any amnesia-related sadness.

“Okay.” He muttered pathetically, suddenly on the verge of tears. He was slowly realising that even without the withdrawal or presence of narcotics in his system, his default setting as a human being appeared to be overly-emotional and very bad at controlling it. He heard Kim tut affectionately over the line.

“These things will come back to you, sporadically. The hospital has said as much. You don’t need to worry, I promise.”

“…Yeah.” Harry nodded, tears beading his eyes. Kim couldn’t see him, but the motion alone was soothing.

His erection seemed undeterred by this rapid swinging of moods. It felt like he didn’t often give his body time to catch up with his emotions. Either way, it was still there, tenting his trousers in plain view of anyone who might walk past. He glanced around. The building was still eerily empty. That one unearthed memory of Jean squirming underneath him as he pistoned in and out of him danced seductively behind his eyelids every time he closed them.

Kim was waiting patiently for him to speak. Harry knew the race would be starting imminently – he should wrap this up.

“Kim?”

“Yes?”

“I might have to fuck him over this. Would that…be a problem?”

He waited with eyes scrunched shut for Kim’s response. This was…a grey area. Something they hadn’t really discussed. Exclusivity.

There had been one evening – a particularly emotional one, in which Jean and Harry had been working through their past grievances. This involved a great deal of Harry being exposed to more and more news of the complete and utter asshole he had become as his alcohol and drug abuse soared. The pain on Jean’s face at times made him feel physically ill just shy of vomiting. He was disgusted with himself.

Kim had been present, a self-elected referee to ensure neither men whipped each other into an emotional frenzy from which there was no return – or at least to step in if things turned physically aggressive. The whole thing had ended up sort of like a strange counselling session with Kim as the occasional de facto therapist. It was funny, looking back. It felt like they’d made genuine progress together, but by the end of it Harry was exhausted and practically oozing self-hatred. What had started as comfort from both Kim and Jean in the form of a gentle palm rubbing his back here, a reassuring squeeze to the thigh there had…escalated. Quite rapidly. He didn’t even remember who made the first move but fantastically, miraculously, an evening of homosexual group sex had unfolded.

By the end of it, Harry had been physically sated but in a state of near disbelief. He could no longer tell if the amnesia had been the worst or best thing that had happened to him. An orgasmic gay threesome with his fellow police officers was definitely not what he had expected going into that discussion, but he wasn’t about to look that gift horse in the mouth. In a matter of weeks and culminating in this one evening, he had gained a kind-of-sort-of boyfriend and more or less patched things up with his forgotten-best-friend-cum-fuck-buddy. And he’d even gotten to watch them fuck each other on the living room floor when he’d taken a breather for a glass of water.

Nothing of that nature had occurred between the three of them since. Nothing had been awkward the next day at work, not even remotely. Jean and Kim seemed perfectly at ease with each other, at least from what Harry could see. In addition, Jean’s face seemed to light up with hope each time Harry remembered something about him – even the awful things. It was bittersweet, getting to know him all over again. He wanted to do better than before – couldn’t even imagine treating Jean the way he had. He wanted to respect his boundaries and take things slow – if that was what Jean wanted.

Fucking Jean in the office without Kim because all of the sneezing he’d been doing had gone straight to his dick was probably the worst idea he’d had in a while. Not a boundary to be seen – and he would be taking it about as slow as a Mach 5 missile.

Kim broke the silence in a matter of seconds, though to Harry it may as well have been hours, for the agonising anxiety it caused him.

“I…don’t recommend exposing yourself to the virus when your immune system is already so compromised.”

Harry huffed out a dead-pan laugh.

“I think you know that’s not what I mean. Is it…okay? Me and him, without you there?”

Kim hesitated for a moment, then let out a measured sigh. Harry could picture him massaging the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses.

“As much as I like to indulge you, I’m okay with not being sneezed on by Satellite-Officer Vicquemare for now.”

His voice had a playful lilt to it, which was somewhat reassuring, but wasn’t enough.

“I’m serious, you know.” Harry gripped the mouthpiece of the phone tightly, the plastic audibly crunching under the pressure. “I really l-!..like you.”

Fuck. He had almost, almost dropped the L-bomb like a batshit crazy person. He felt himself flushing like a bashful little boy. Kim said nothing. Harry swallowed nervously and continued.

“I want to be with you. Like a boyfriend, I think. I don’t know. I’m not – I’m not very good at this. I’m evidently horrible at relationships.”

“…Harry-“

“And it’s important for you to understand that. Umm. I’m not just using you. For sex.”

“Harry.” Kim said. His tone was warm and patient. Harry didn’t interrupt him this time.

“I like you too.” He sounded genuine, and happy. “If you’re asking me to be your boyfriend, then…yes. I would like to try that.”

Harry punched the air in a silent dance of victory. He managed to swallow the urge to whoop like a lunatic and let Kim finish.

“You have a shared history with Jean. He’s an excellent partner to you, and an exemplary RCM officer. You were never in a romantic relationship, and neither of you have expressed an active desire to pursue one. I trust him, and I trust you. And I really do like Officer Vicquemare…”

Harry listened, sensing more.

“I also liked the way he whimpered when I fucked him up the ass.”

Harry let out the strangest combination of surprised laughter and heated groaning. Kim chuckled in response.

“You still haven’t answered my question.” Harry pushed after a beat. “If it’s an issue – getting my rocks off, with him, like this – then I promise, I won’t so much as look in his general direction-!”

“It’s okay, Harry. Really. Again, despite everything, I trust you both entirely. Maybe I’m completely stupid, I don’t know. I’m still getting…acclimated.”

That was an understatement if there ever had been. Precinct 41 was everything Precinct 57 was not – chaotic, abrasive, action-packed, a clusterfuck of insanity. In Harry’s opinion, though muddled of mind that he was, Kim was doing an excellent job of taking everything in his stride.

“We can talk about what we’re doing when I see you tomorrow. My race started two minutes ago. Go and get sneezed on by your subordinate officer. Or, like I said, don’t. It seems like a particularly nasty cold.”

Harry had been doing a great deal of gaping stupidly over the span of this conversation. He did it again for good measure.

“I…don’t even know where to start. Man…Okay. I’ll…figure something out. We’ll talk tomorrow?” He asked, his heart fluttering in his chest.

“Tomorrow.” Kim agreed. “You’re ridiculous. Turns out, I like that.”

Harry grinned.

“I hope your guy wins.”

“Me too. Goodnight, detective. See you in the morning.”

“Night.”

Harry hung the phone back in its cradle before exhaling a huge breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding. He felt giddy and exhilarated with a hopefulness he hadn’t experienced in what had to have been years.

“What the fuck,” he laughed in the empty corridor. This was insanity, but if there was anything this last month and a half had taught him, it was to go with the flow and enjoy it. He didn’t always need to be fighting tooth and nail for control in a Universe that did what it damn well pleased, no matter how hard he resisted. This acceptance of futility was nothing like the suicidal ideation of his drug-induced spirals. It was paradoxically the most empowering realisation he had come to perhaps in his entire adult life. Whatever happened, would happen. He would accept it with as much grace as he was capable. Which was admittedly not a lot, but hey. Nobody could say he wasn’t trying his best.

~~~~~

Harry helped himself to biscuits and tea in the kitchen and sat for a while, contemplating his approach. Jean and Kim were very different beasts when it came to the appeal of Harry’s…well, everything. Whilst Kim appeared – and still very much was – quite distant at times, Harry could practically see him opening up day after day like the delicate unfurling of flower petals. Jean had known Harry for years and had both the psychological and physical scars to show for it. Being a pathetic, horny freak had perhaps charmed Kim due to its novelty. Begging Jean for a quick office fuck, from what he could glean, was surely the go-to approach he’d used on his partner before he’d forgotten everything. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to go down that route again, especially when Jean was undeniably ill and pissed off about it.

He sighed, dunking his last biscuit in his tea and barely even noticing when half of it sank to the bottom of the mug in a soggy lump. He didn’t want to be overly direct, but he doubted there was any other way to approach the matter. He made up his mind and decided he would prefer any rejection coming from Jean in the form of a quick punch to the face rather than any awkward verbal letdown – the kind of which would inevitably follow any subtle attempts at flirtation on his part.  

When Harry arrived back at C Wing, Jean was mid sneeze. Harry watched him from the doorframe and knew with utter certainty that he had to fuck him. It was a primal need at this point.

“hH-Dtch!-Ngxt!-Gkkt! Hh! Dsh-tshh-tsh!”

Perhaps he hadn’t noticed Harry watching him – how could he, as preoccupied as he was sneezing himself stupid. He was stifling a lot less successfully, barely trying at all. His poor sinuses sounded miserably swollen, his inhales when he was given half a chance to take them shaky and exhausted, the poor bastard. Harry wanted his cock buried to the hilt inside of him.

Jean finished at last, sighing from the depths of his being and simply sitting still for a moment. Arms propped up on the desk, he leaned his forehead into his left hand, tentatively rubbing his nostrils with one crooked knuckle of his right. Harry strode towards him and stood before his desk, practically vibrating with energy. Jean lifted his head, cast his bleary eyes towards Harry’s face where they lingered for a moment, before taking in the impressive bulge Harry now made no effort to shield.

“What the fuck are you-”

“You’re driving me crazy. I want to pull my cock out and cum all over the place.”

Jean’s mouth dropped open. It was somewhat pleasing to Harry, to see such an expression on his partner’s face. These days, being most often met with derision, bemusement or melancholy, it was nice to shake things up a little, to know he wasn’t an entirely predictable cliché to Jean. He also liked seeing that mouth wide open – the suggestiveness of it. He wanted to see that more often.

Once the initial shock seemed to leave his system, Jean glanced around as if to confirm that there was nobody else to eavesdrop on Harry’s relative insanity. The room was as empty as it had remained for the past couple of hours – no other officers magically appeared from behind any furniture, ready to point and jeer. He turned back to Harry, but the older man cut him off before he could start chewing him out for his unabashed brazenness.

“I’m serious, you know. You’re painfully hot right now. I can’t think about anything else.”

He briefly squeezed himself through his trousers for emphasis. Jean’s eyes lingered long enough to make Harry grin.

“…And how would Kitsuragi feel about you touching yourself in front of me, getting off on my misery like the fucking pervert you are?”

Jean’s words were biting but there was no real animosity behind them. His bleary eyes seemed brighter, alert and pensive all of a sudden. Something about the way Harry’s cock throbbed in response to the derision, the ease with which the words poured out of Jean with no hesitation at all made it clear that this was an area of great familiarity for the both of them.

“Oh, don’t worry about Kim. He all but told me to fuck this out of my system.”

That wasn’t strictly the truth, but it wasn’t a lie either. Jean scoffed in response.

“I knew he was a freak but I didn’t take him for a cuckold.”

“Hey, that’s not-“

“Shut up, you presumptuous cretin! I should punch you in the face for calling your boyfriend and asking permission to – what, fuck me? Before you even asked me?”

Harry cringed a little. This was actual, legitimate anger now – and when Jean put it like that, he really did seem like an asshole. A selfish part of him loved hearing his partner refer to Kim as his boyfriend, but he buried it for the moment. He may be a presumptuous cretin but even he knew if he started giggling like a love-struck teenage girl right now he really would be getting a fist to the face.

He paused for a moment, taking in Jean’s ire and the way his pale eyes pierced into his own. And then he opened his mouth.

“Don’t take this out on Kim. You seemed perfectly fine letting us double team you a few weeks ago.”

Jean made a strangled sound and flushed so hard he looked almost purple under the shitty, fluorescent lighting.

“That was different, you moron! We weren’t in an office, for one. It just happened. And I could breathe out of my fucking nose then.”

Harry couldn’t help the little twitch of pleasure his cock gave at both the memory of their sex and Jean bringing attention to his current, miserable condition. He peered down his nose at him, happy the younger man was sat down whilst he stood. It gave him a little leverage, the illusion of domination, to be towering over him right now.

“I doubt we’ve never done it here before. And Kim told me that you told him – behind my back, by the way – that we’ve fucked at crime scenes too!”

Trying not to think about the grossly teenage sounding 'he said, she said' turn of phrase, he initially omitted the part about Jean’s hay fever before hesitating, reconsidering and adding:

“And from the sounds of it, you couldn’t breathe through your nose then either. And you still wanted it, Vic.”

Jean blinked at him, looking a confusing mix of sheepish, perturbed and aroused. Harry realised he’d called him ‘Vic’; it felt familiar, rolled right off his tongue. That nickname on top of the damning accusation of his willing participation seemed to have rendered his partner temporarily speechless. Whilst it was pretty fun, it also felt a little too much like bullying. Harry sighed, and dropped to his knees, resting his chin on the desk and peering up at Jean with big, watery eyes. He hoped that the shift in positioning would make Jean feel better, even if it made him look pathetic.

“Please?” He batted his eyelashes up at the younger man. “Getting off will help me focus on these cases.”

Jean scoffed, again, and scrubbed his animated nostrils with one crooked finger. Harry zoned in on the motion, biting his lip as an audible squishing noise filled the air and Jean’s finger came away slightly shiny.

“You want to get off? Go jerk off in the bathroom and quit bugging me.”

Harry growled, gripping the edge of the desk on either side of his chin and staring up at Jean, who was no longer pink with embarrassment but staring daggers at him all the same.

“But – don’t you want to watch me cum for you? Because of you?” He scrambled to his feet again, leaning over the desk and hovering his face right in front of Jean’s. The younger man’s breathing seemed laboured, and not strictly because of his cold. He was turned on by this. Harry decided to go for gold and flashed him the sexiest version of ‘The Expression’ he could muster. Jean looked pained.

“Harry…” He breathed against Harry’s lips, leaning subconsciously towards him. “You can make things up to me by doing your goddamn work.”

“That’s…that’s kind of putting the cart before the horse, though.” Harry mumbled. Jean likes horses, he remembered. Maybe he’d find that turn of phrase endearing.

Harry watched him take it all in. He could practically visualise the process of Jean’s thoughts as he worked through resistance, indignation, and then – at last – reluctant acceptance.

“God fucking damn it.”

He stood, pressing a finger underneath his red-raw nostrils as if another sneeze was imminent. Harry hoped that was the case. He staggered backwards, excited grin plastered to his face and heart pounding in his chest.

“Don’t look so fucking pleased with yourself.” Jean muttered, walking in the direction of the copy room. Harry continued to look pleased as punch, trailing after Jean’s purposeful stride with a slightly more awkward gait. The zipper of his trousers strained against his burgeoning erection, growing impossibly harder now that there was promise of relief.

Harry slammed the door shut behind them, locking it for good measure just in case the station inexplicably flooded with life. Jean was leaning back against the printer when Harry turned to face him, muscular arms crossed over his broad chest. In this stance, he could really appreciate the results of the many hours the younger man spent working out to an almost pathological degree. His biceps strained against the cotton of his shirt, and the way his sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, leaving his hairy forearms exposed…Harry fought back a sudden pavlovian deluge of saliva at the sight of him. The way Jean was regarding him with a mixture of irritation, arousal and amusement was doing nothing to calm the throbbing between his legs.

Harry walked the few steps towards Jean and stared back. When Jean made no move, said nothing but offered a congested sniffle in response, Harry tilted his head a little in confusion.

“So, umm…?”

The older detective motioned with his hands, a distinctive ‘what gives?’ motion. Jean just smiled derisively at him.

“What? I thought you came in here to jerk off. So jerk off.” Even though the cold had left him pallid and drained, Harry didn’t miss the way his pale eyes glittered as he spoke.

“But, can I? I mean, aren’t we-?” Harry floundered slightly. This was not what he had had in mind. He realised suddenly he wasn’t entirely sure what he expected from the interaction. He’d only really been thinking about having an orgasm. But Jean had lead him here – surely that was an invitation for – what, a quick fuck? Hand jobs, blow jobs, mutual masturbation? Just. Something…together.

Jean’s amusement visibly increased with every passing moment of Harry’s braindead confusion. Sadistic bastard, Harry thought. His dick twitched in earnest.

“Use your words, shitkid.” Jean smirked at him, rounding off his command with a waterlogged sniffle that sent a shiver down Harry’s spine. He didn’t give Harry so much as a chance to do so before continuing.

“I came in here to sneeze in privacy – you followed me. You thought I was going to drop to my knees and suck your dick?”

Harry visibly wilted, mouth dropping open in dismay. This was revenge. Petty, mean-spirited revenge. Sure, Jean hadn’t actually agreed to do anything – Harry had just followed him of his own accord but – but! The implications!

Jean watched his face as these thoughts whirled round his brain. Apparently, he must have looked about as pathetic as he felt, and Jean started to laugh. It was a nice laugh – a genuine laugh, maybe a little endearing and at odds with the spiteful way he had been addressing him moments earlier. Harry waited for him to finish, and he soon did, clearing his throat a little as if embarrassed at his own naked display of amusement.

“It’s okay, shitkid. You can take your cock out and enjoy the show. But I’m not touching you – I feel like fucking shit.”

Harry listened to him speak, watching his face intently. This was the first time Jean had admitted out loud to feeling unwell, even if it was blatantly both visually and aurally obvious to everyone else around him. It seemed he’d tired himself out with the domineering bravado, slumping a little against the copy machine, no longer having the energy to maintain his upright posture. His nostrils were also twitching, a surefire sign that he was about to start sneezing, and soon.

“Fine. Okay.” Harry muttered, already feeling the heat gathering and pulsing outwards from his groin at the mere promise of what was to come. He managed to extract his hard cock from the confines of his trousers, narrowly avoiding catching the delicate skin in his zipper, and wrapped one sweaty, spit slick palm around it. It immediately felt incredible, and he swore as he started to stroke it. This would not take very long.

Looking up from the tantalising sight of his own hand working his cock – a huge cock, a cock he was pathetically proud of – he focused his eyes back on Jean, and was glad he had done so. He stared as the younger man shuddered with a round of desperate, tickly little sneezes, all successfully stifled into silence against an outstretched pointer finger. Fuck, Jean looked good like that, cringing into that tight, pained expression as he bit down on every sneeze. His nostrils looked so lovely and so red in sharp contrast with the rest of his pale complexion. Harry wanted those nostrils pressed up against the shaft of his cock. He thought about Kim doing the same, willingly teasing him with sneezes and making him cum embarrassingly quickly, like the way he had done last week as they fooled around on his couch. His cock drooled precum.

Jean had a moment’s reprieve before he was scrambling in his trouser pockets for a tissue, extracting one at last that looked entirely worse for wear – balled up into no more than a lumpy mass, completely past the point of usefulness. All the same, Jean was bringing it up to his poor, flaring nostrils, giving Harry just a moment to take in his creasing eyebrows, the grimace of his open mouth as the tickle crested and he sneezed fiercely into it.

“Hn’tshh!! TSH’iew! Nd’Tsh! Tsh-Tshht!!”

He gasped, an intensely desperate sound that had Harry gasping too. And then the cycle repeated.

‘Ddtsh! Tsch’uu-TShht!! Hgk’Tssht! Huhd’Tishh-Tissh-‘Ddtshieww!!”

Harry was in pure, fetishistic ecstasy, squeezing and stroking his cock for all he was worth to those gorgeous little sneezes. It was so erotic, that such a gruff, muscular man was rendered entirely helpless by such proportionately tiny releases. His own huge sneezes were a lot more appropriate for a man his size, he thought, but the contradiction only seemed to turn him on even more than if Jean had sneezed with equally gigantic proportions. It was endearing, if one could describe something as such even whilst it resulted in an erection the hardness of which titanium couldn’t hold a candle to.

Jean paused for a moment, nose still buried in the pathetic knot of tissue, breath scissoring in and out of him. Harry steeled himself for more, slowing down his stroking so that he wouldn’t topple over the edge just yet. He wanted to cum so badly, but he wanted more. He wanted to watch Jean’s face completely unobstructed by hand or tissue alike. He wanted to see the way they would overwhelm him without the interference of suppression. He bit his bottom lip, trying not to whimper as his subordinate officer hitched, and hitched, and hitched -

“Please,” he gasped out, the sudden raspy outburst a lot louder than he had intended. It was evidently loud enough to throw Jean off balance, huffing in frustration as his sneeze failed to culminate past a desperate, vocal “Huhhdt-!!”. Harry groaned in response, felt his dick throb in his grasp as Jean’s face pinkened in embarrassment over the aborted release.

“What is it? You distracted me. Fuck, it burns!”

He proceeded to scrub at his poor nostrils with the sodden tissue, nudging the tip of his nose from side to side. Harry could tell he was genuinely tiring of the persistence of the tickle. Vague memories suddenly skimmed his brain of Jean at the tail-end of spring and over summer, bullying his nose with the knuckles of his hand when a pollen-induced sneezing fit lay just out of reach. Come to think of it, they were coming up to May very soon…god. Harry sighed, squeezing his cock to these happy thoughts and watching as precum beaded at the head. Fuck, this felt so good.

“Sorry, sorry, just please - don’t use the tissue. And don’t hold them back. Please? You’re so fucking hot.”

Jean’s blush deepened – whether in frustration or arousal at the compliment, he couldn’t be sure. Either way, it went straight to his cock.

“What? Fuck you. You don’t get to tell me how to sneeze.”

He was a little pissed, his accent thickened in overly performative and righteous indignation at the suggestion of catering to Harry’s specific whims. If Harry wasn’t mistaken, and his gut assured him he was not, it seemed like defensiveness against the fact that he would very much like to be told what to do. This felt, again, familiar. It made Harry harder to hear the way his loss of composure elongated the vowels in the word ‘sneeze’. He stroked himself a little faster.

“Come on, Vic. Do it for the station. I need to cum and clear my head so I can finish all that pesky paperwork. Please?”

He batted his eyelashes again. It wouldn’t have worked on just anyone, no – the sight of a 44 years old, recovering alcoholic police officer, wild-eyed and desperate with cock in hand, begging for his subordinate officer to sneeze uncovered so he could shoot his load. But this was Jean – normal rules did not apply.

“We’ve been through this, you prick. You should fucking do your paperwork without the promise of orgasm because it’s your fucking job!” Jean spat, raising his voice a little more than his irritated throat could take. He coughed harshly for several moments into a raised fist before sighing miserably, glancing up at Harry with a look of surrender. Harry shivered a little, resumed squeezing the head of his cock where he had temporarily abated in nervous concern at the voracity of the coughing. He ended up letting out an embarrassingly high-pitched whimper, bucking into his own grip. Jean sighed.

“Fine. I need to sneeze again, don’t distract m’hh-! Me…”

His breath started to softly hitch. To Harry’s delight, he shoved the soggy tissue back into his pocket and let his head fall back ever so slightly, allowing him to get a perfect view of his crumpling, desperate expression. Jean didn’t think he was a good-looking guy, but Harry wholeheartedly disagreed. He wasn’t one to preach the importance of self-love when he himself struggled to look in the mirror knowing how attractive he’d once been, only to squander it – even if recently, it was getting a little easier to do so. Bravado and charisma masked his discomfort – Jean’s buffer was merely rudeness and aggression. But either way, as he gasped his way into another fit of cock-throbbingly desperate sneezes, Harry had hardly found him more desirable.

“Hhd’Tschht!-D’tshh!! Hh! Hagk’Tisshhiew!! Hgk’Tschh! Hupt’TISHhhiew!! Ihgk’TSHhiew! Higk’TZSCHhhh!...‘DDTSH’uuu!!”

Jean shuddered, gripping the surface behind him as the force of the releases threatened to topple him. Each sneeze sounded positively ruined, as if his body could barely handle the cold-induced tickle that flared again and again. The first two Jean had stifled out of habit, before he’d remembered Harry would very much like to be sprayed with every single one of them. By the time he’d finished, his eyes and nose were leaking, and Harry’s legs were starting to shake with the effort of holding himself upright, a mind-numbing orgasm looming and sapping him of motor control.

“…You’re going to fall down if you don’t hold onto something. We don’t need a repeat of you nearly braining yourself on the edge of a table.”

Jean brought this up so readily, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. As if Harry should easily remember this fact, the fact that he and Jean had fucked around enough that he had (embarrassingly) injured himself falling to his knees in orgasm before. And he should remember. Why couldn’t he remember?

“I…don’t remember anything like that.” Harry confessed, throat tightening a little.

“I know. It’s okay.” Jean softened immediately, opening his arms up to Harry. “Come here.”

He shifted forward until he was stood between the protective embrace of Jean’s spread thighs, sighing a little as the younger man reached out to place both hands on his waist, steadying him. Harry himself reached out with his free hand past Jean’s waist to press against the sturdy surface of the copy machine. He watched as Jean took a moment to scrub at his nose with the wad of used tissues. It was such a handsome nose – prominent and strong, perfectly suited to his face. Watching it twitch and wriggle and hearing the soft clicks of moisture the motions created as Jean bullied it made his cock throb. He so desperately wanted to replace Jean’s hand with his own and play with it himself, but before he could even move to do so, Jean was dropping his hands right back to Harry’s waist and sneezing all over his chest.

“AEGK’Tssch’uu!! Higk’TSschTtt! ‘TSCHh’uu!! Hh’TISH’ieww!!”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Each sneeze sounded so incredibly desperate, so exhausted yet so overpowering, accompanied by a burst of thick spray. Harry’s cock drooled over his knuckles and he whined, low and loud. By the time the fourth sneeze had completed, Harry could feel (and see) the fabric of his shirt sticking to his chest, discoloured where the spray had dampened it. Jean’s tongue reflexively licked his bottom lip clean, thoroughly soaked by the force of his expulsions. He peered tentatively at Harry before his face eased into a relieved smile.

“You really do still like it. Getting drenched by my sneezes.” He was smiling – salacious and assured all at once.

“Yeahhh…Yeah, I really fucking do,” Harry sighed, staring at Jean adoringly as he worked over his cock with a renewed vigour. “Bless you.”

He all but purred the blessing out. It turned him on just as much as any dirty talk, he realised; it was a phrase that encapsulated his adoration, gratefulness and arousal all in one. Jean seemed to enjoy the attention, as well – his breath hitched in a decidedly non-sneeze fashion, and Harry smirked at him.

“Thank you.” Jean practically purred back, gently rubbing his thumbs against Harry’s sides. He stared back into Harry’s eyes, pupils blown so wide the pale irises were almost swallowed by black. “My nose tickles so fucking much. I just want to crawl into bed and sneeze until I fall asleep.”

Oooh, he was good at this. He had an undoubtedly extensive history of saying equally as specific things to Harry. The image of Jean curled up in bed and sneezing all over himself and his bed sheets was a potent one. Harry shivered, biting his lip hard as his knees quivered and struggled to keep from bending.

“Fuckkk…”

The arm he had leant against the copy machine was shaking too, elbow caving inwards and causing him to lean closer into Jean’s space. He didn’t seem to mind, nosing at Harry’s jawline and sniffling noisily. Poor fucking thing – he sounded so congested.

“Poor baby…” Harry breathed out, pressing a kiss to Jean’s cheek. If it was too intimate or too forward, the commotion of his impending orgasm made it very hard to give a fuck. The way Jean’s breath hitched and his solid build seemed to shiver a little at this crooning told him he was probably in the clear.

Jean suddenly pulled his face back from where he had been pressing a kiss to the underside of Harry’s jaw, frantically enough that Harry leant back himself to watch the inevitable unfold. Jean’s breath hitched again, this time due to the merciless persistency of his cold. His nostrils flared, damp and pink, threatening to overflow and make a mess of his moustache. Everything about his tortured pre-sneeze expression was a joy to behold. Harry could understand why he’d taken advantage of it many-a time before. His hand was a blur over his dick; he simply could not stop stroking and squeezing himself to the spectacle of it all. His brain conjured up the image of Kim, watching him watching Jean the way he’d done earlier that day, and he whimpered like a bitch in heat.

“KISHH’uuu!! IhGgKk’TSChhHU! ‘TShhiewww! Fucking h’hell…! hhAGK’TZShhiew!! ‘DZT’shieww!! Ihk’TSsschhttt!!”

Harry almost swooned as the sneezes caught his chin and the exposed column of his throat. He was hot, so fucking hot, even hotter with Jean’s too-warm body so close to his own. He could imagine the delicate aerosol of spray immediately sizzling and evaporating where it kissed his boiling skin.

“Ohh, fuck. Bless you, god, shit. M’gonna cum, gonna shoot…!”

“You make a mess of my uniform, you fucking die.”

Harry groaned through clenched teeth. If Jean didn’t want that, the last thing he should be doing was growling insults at Harry in that stupid, sexy voice of his. His cock throbbed, a decisive pre-orgasmic tremor of pleasure.

Jean seemed to realise any scolding or death-threats on his part were useless – he’d no doubt learned that, right on the brink of orgasm, a hoard of rabid zombies could be seconds away from attacking them both and Harrier Du Bois would be cumming his brains out even as the mauling commenced. Harry felt something press up against the head of his cock, moaning stupidly the second he realised it was the sodden tissue Jean had sneezed and snorted into. His body jerked with the first spasm of orgasm.

Through the roaring onset of his pleasure, he felt Jean wrap an arm round his waist whilst the other clamped the tissue to the spitting head of his cock. Both hands occupied, the younger man was pressing his face against the collar of his shirt, rubbing his nose frantically against him. Harry heard the deep groan he was making as the pleasure started to really crest, so fucking good, hours and hours of tension draining out of him with every blissful twitch of his tortured dick. When Jean’s breath started to hitch, he could feel the in and out of his expanding diaphragm, hear every minute snag in his breathing.

When Jean sneezed, an oh-so desperate triple, audibly and tangibly wet against his collar and bursting across his neck, he all but yelled as his orgasm sky-rocketed from pleasurable commotion to earth-shaking rapture.

“Hh’AHTTt’SHiewww!! KTSh’Schuu!! AEGKk’TSSHhh’uu!!”

His fingers spasmed uselessly against the copy machine, knees all but given out – Jean had had the right idea to hold him up. He was slumped against him, chest to chest, breathing as laboured as a bulldog as the final tremors of orgasm pulsed through him. He just leant there, propped up against Jean like a ragdoll and waiting for his body to cooperate. Jean was slowly rubbing his twitching, damp nose against his neck – it felt electric even in the aftermath of release.

“I never understood,” Jean started, speaking softly into the crook of his neck, “Why you ever felt the need to drink and do drugs the way you did when you can cum like that.”

Harry didn’t know what to say, his brain still a veritable puddle of goo. He’d like to know himself, but he was certain that this sudden resurgence of sex beginning in Martinaise with Kim had followed a relatively lengthy period of LDS – i.e. Limp Dick Syndrome. If he’d been having orgasms, they hadn’t been this fucking good. That he was certain he would have remembered.

“Hah,” He breathed out an awkward, monosyllabic laugh in lieu of anything even halfway intelligent. He smiled and panted, open-mouthed, at the sound of Jean’s responding scoff. He continued to lean there against the warm embrace of the younger man’s body until he felt him shifting in discomfort under his weight.

“Harry. Get off.”

He sighed, pushing himself off of Jean one-handed. He looked down between them, dick in his own hand whilst Jean’s patiently held the snot and cum-filled tissue in place as it threatened to overflow.

“Umm. Fuck. I think I have a handkerchief somewhere, hold on…” He started to root around in his blazer pockets, ignoring Jean’s glare as he unearthed one and started to wipe his hand and cock on the fabric.

“You had that the whole time and you let me use my last tissue to soak up your cum?” Jean rasped. Harry paused for a moment at how unwell he sounded.

“Sorry.” He flashed an apologetic grin at Jean, too blissed out to offer up any kind of excuse. He was getting sick of saying that he’d forgotten things, even if it was true.

“Whatever. Fuck.” Jean tossed the pulpy tissue into the nearby bin, following the trajectory with his eyes and looking pleased with himself when it landed on target.

Harry folded the handkerchief over, offering the clean surface of it to Jean, who took it wordlessly. He tucked his sensitive dick back into his pants, resisting the urge to start coaxing it back to full hardness as the sound of Jean’s lengthy, crackling nose blow forced a pathetic little twitch out of it in response.

Jean snuffled into the handkerchief, massaging his sore, red nostrils, seemingly perfectly content to stand there watching Harry. The older man noticed the prominent outline of the Satellite Officer’s erection, unattended to, straining against his trousers. He looked down at it then up at Jean again, wanting to broach the subject, but then paused, noticing the way Jean was frowning towards the general vicinity of his shoulder.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Jean swiped the handkerchief one last time under his nose before folding it over again and leaning forward.

“Hold still.”

Harry did so, obediently standing in place as Jean scrubbed at the collar of his shirt. He smiled like a dope as he realised his partner was attempting to clean away the prodigious results of that last triple.

“Messy boy.”

“Shut your damn mouth.”

“Is there even any clean fabric left on that handkerchief?”

“Shut up, Harry.”

Harry did. He felt like he was dangerously at risk of swaying in place, the endorphins and release after all the teasing and buildup leaving him far too loose and carefree. Jean pulled back at last, pocketing the handkerchief and rearranging Harry’s shirt collar and necktie. He looked up at Harry, catching him in the act of staring at his face, at the way his dark eyelashes fanned over his cheeks as he worked to smooth Harry out in an almost mechanical fashion. He flashed a little smirk his way, then yanked his tie just so.

“You’re lucky I didn’t use this hideous thing to clean up my mess.” He purred, the raspiness of his voice only adding to the allure. Harry swore under his breath.

“Are you trying to work me up for round two?” He whined. Jean dropped his tie.

“Absolutely the fuck not. Are you going to do your fucking job now?”

Harry sighed. What a fucking buzzkill.

“Yes. Yes I’ll do my job, you win. Although…” He leaned forward, pressing his mouth right up to Jean’s ear and murmuring in a low voice, “I’d like to do you first.”

Jean shivered and huffed a little laugh.

“That was fucking awful, oh my god.”

But he didn’t push him away. He wrapped his arms round Harry’s shoulders instead, humming in approval as Harry kissed his neck and trailed one broad hand down his torso before draping it across the bulge in his pants. He sighed, a gorgeous little exhalation of pleasure that sent shivers down Harry’s spine as he started to unzip his pants.

“Do you want this?” He asked even as his hand collected the moisture from Jean’s tip and spread it down his shaft, stroking him firmly.

“Hahh…Yeah. Mm’fucking tired though. So forgive me for – hah!” He cut himself off with his own frantic moaning. He didn’t bother to elaborate; Harry imagined he really was exhausted if his mouthy self was starting to economise his own verbosity.

What Jean lacked in words was more than made up with by the sweet, continuous stream of moans he let out next to Harry’s ear as he wrapped himself around him, resting his head on his shoulder as the older officer kissed and licked the shell of his ear, whispering words of encouragement and praise. His hand moved instinctually over Jean’s length – at least the easy muscle memory, built up over years of fucking, remained where his active memory did not. He clenched his teeth, pushing back the bitter thoughts and focusing on Jean’s gasps and sighs, the little “Ohh fuck”s and “Like that”s he would occasionally choke out as Harry stroked and teased. His own cock was hard again, but he ignored it, speeding up his pace as Jean’s hips started to buck arrhythmically.

He pulled back to watch Jean’s face as he fell to pieces – a different kind of vulnerability twisting his features into a mask of pleasure, though it wasn’t all that different from the irritated expression a pre-sneeze tickle would take. It was achingly familiar – a face he’d no doubt been made to make hundreds of times before at the mercy of Harry’s hands, his mouth, his cock. He’d watched Jean cum when the three of them had fucked, but this was different – just the two of them together in god knows how long, for the first time since the drugs and booze and misery made him an utterly reprehensible waste of skin. Watching those dark eyelashes flutter like that made his chest tight.

“Harrier, fuckkk…gonna cum-! Fuck!”

Jean started to convulse almost immediately, a shuddering gasp wrenching itself out of him as he trembled in Harry’s grip. Harry caught the spurts of semen with his free hand, a moment too late as the first spasm painted a white stripe over the yellow fabric of the thigh he’d pressed between Jean’s legs. He was too blissed out to care, kissing the corner of Jean’s open mouth as he continued to orgasm, mewling as the pleasure overpowered him. He ejaculated into the cage of Harry’s fingers a couple more times before he sagged in exhaustion, clinging to Harry and moaning, blushing face pressed firmly into the shoulder of his blazer. His voice broke on that last, whimpering vocalisation and Harry’s heart ached for him.

He stood patiently as Jean caught his breath and clung to him like a lifeline. One hand awkwardly closed around the dripping mess of Jean’s orgasm whilst the other loosely gripped his sticky, softening cock. He’d have to wait for Jean to unlock the door of the copy room first, holding both sticky hands upright until he located the nearest sink to wash them off. He supposed he could lick them clean – cum wasn’t the worst taste in the world – but the depravity of it would just make him horny all over again. He may as well just take his own cock out and use Jean’s cum as lube.

He was pulled out of this particular train of thought at the sensation of Jean trembling several times against him. The realisation that he was muffling a series of tiny little sneezes into near silence against his shoulder was doing absolutely nothing to keep the blood out of his insatiable cock. He closed his eyes and pictured his paperwork instead.

“Sorry…” Jean muttered, sniffling as he extracted his face from the makeshift covering.

“It’s okay.” Harry murmured, kissing his cheek. He frowned; Jean’s skin felt even warmer under his lips than before. “You’re burning up, Vic.”

Jean sighed.

“I figured as much.”

He unwrapped his hands from around Harry’s shoulders, looking queerly at him as if he didn’t understand why Harry was still stood there with a hand on his wilting cock until he realised the older man’s predicament.

“Oh, uhh…I’ll get you some paper towels. Wait here.”

Harry waited, eyes closed and replaying Jean’s sneezes and his orgasm over and over in his mind, opening them only once he felt the younger man gently wiping his hands clean. He smiled weakly at Jean, and Jean smiled back at him – shy, boyish. At odds with the lines of stress and exhaustion that marred his face, aging him beyond his years.

“I never meant to hurt you.” It was pouring out of him before he had a chance to think twice. Jean sighed, working on Harry’s other hand.

“Harry. You never meant to do any of the things you did, or so you keep telling me. I don’t need to hear this again. Not right now.”

His smile was replaced by the regular hard line of his everyday frown. Harry could have kicked himself.

“I’m sorry, Jean. I really am. I can’t understand why I did the things I did to you. Will you look at me?”

Jean hesitated, then peered up at him under eyelashes dampened by tears. Harry leaned forward and kissed each of his eyelids, lips coming away salty and damp.

“I never want to put you through any of that again. And I won’t.”

Jean’s lips quirked into a tiny, defeated smile – one that said he didn’t really trust him, but wanted to believe in him more than he ever had before. Harry considered it a success, and pressed their foreheads together for lack of anything better to do whilst his hands were still sticky, though notably less so than before. Jean uttered a soft little hum.

“You just jerked me off and this is somehow even gayer.”

Harry laughed.

“Fuck you, man. You’re ten times gayer than me.”

He kissed Jean for all of five seconds before the younger man couldn’t breathe, ducking into Harry’s shoulder and coughing all over his blazer. Harry winced – the dreamy haze of afterglow was beginning to fade and Jean did not sound good.

“You’re so getting this now. I hope you’re happy.” Jean muttered, wiping his mouth dry with the back of his hand.

“If you think for one second I regret doing any of that, you are sorely mistaken.”

“Hm. Whatever you say, superstar.” Jean drawled, tossing the soiled paper towels into the bin alongside the shredded remains of tissue. “Now, move it. You need to wash your hands and do your fucking work.”

Harry sighed and followed him out of the room, casting one quick glance back over his shoulder to assess the damage. Nothing, thankfully. Just the spray on his shirt and the cum on his leg.

~~~~~

Jean had gone home shortly after their excursion in the copy room, leaving Harry unsupervised. He had done some paperwork, but he had also called Kim from his desk phone when he was sure the race had ended and relayed the entire turn of events to him. He’d also jerked himself off again reliving it all, moaning stupidly down the receiver as he came. He was happy to hear the Lieutenant’s own groan of completion, and he’d ended the call, promising to talk again tomorrow. And not a moment too soon – the bullpen was suddenly flooded by a stream of Junior patrol officers, returning amidst a blessed lull in criminal activity.

The next few days at work had been uneventful. Busy, but monotonous. He’d gone out to dinner with Kim, and they’d fucked. Jean had miraculously allowed himself a solitary sick day, surprising them all. He’d returned the following day, still sick but markedly improved. And that had been that.

Until Jean’s cold finally caught up to him and Harry became a sneezing, sniffling mess almost overnight. He’d dragged himself to work and had hardly had 15 minutes free of sneezing since he’d arrived. He’d figured that Jean’s general nasal sensitivities had been the main cause of the sheer number of times that he’d been sneezing with the same affliction, but no. It was easily one of the tickliest, sneeziest colds he had ever encountered – even worse than his cold in Martinaise.

He wanted to lie around and sneeze in bed, away from the scorn and watchful eyes of his fellow officers. But no dice – he had to work, he had to get through this fucking case and oh – oh god. He had to sneeze.

“IIIEEEEESSSSSHHHTTTTttt!!!”

The sneeze had been cunning and entirely malevolent, not giving him the dignity of even a short buildup before the tickle spiked sharply and it was bursting out of him. It hadn’t been messy, thank god, but it had been wet, and his paperwork had taken the brunt of it as the force propelled him over his desk. He groaned, rubbing the underside of his sore, tickly nostrils with the back of his hand. The files were dappled with moisture, the ink of his chicken scratch handwriting bleeding across the page where the worst of the damage had been done.

Nobody had been passing within range of the spray this time, at least. The surrounding area of Harry’s desk had now been dubbed the less than subtle title of ‘The Splash Zone’, following McClaine’s misfortune to be making his way across the room and in front of Harry the second a particularly violent sneeze worked its way out of him – and all over the younger officer’s blazer. Harry had apologised, but in all honesty didn’t feel the least bit sorry for him – or his ugly, checkered jacket.

He snuffled thickly, wiping his runny nose across any remaining dry skin to be found on his arm and wrist. This fucking sucked. He had known the risks. He had willingly exposed himself to Jean’s cold for the sake of a nut. He had nobody to blame but himself. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t feel utterly, miserably sorry for himself. He cradled his forehead in his hands, doing nothing for the preternatural nasal drainage but feeling too rotten to care.

A shuffling noise prompted him to glance towards the source of the disturbance. Kim was using a pen to nudge a tissue box, half-emptied by Harry this morning alone, closer to him and into his line of vision. Harry peered over in bemusement as Kim, mission accomplished, settled back down into his own chair, looking back at Harry with a mixture of exasperation and concern.

“You really should cover your mouth, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor.”

Harry sighed, helping himself to a bundle of tissues.

“Sorry. I know. They’ve been sneaking up on me, is all.” He finished before blowing his nose with a resultant sound so thick and crackling that all other noise in the office seemed to dim in comparison.

“Oh, believe me, I’ve noticed.” Kim muttered, returning to his own work with a resigned sigh.

Harry knew he was referring to the way he had been sneezed on this morning, lying in bed as they shared a kiss. It had absolutely destroyed any chance of morning sex and earned Harry one of the iciest looks he had ever received from Kim. He counted himself lucky that Kim was not one to resort to physical violence when slighted, and that his blubbering, heartfelt apology was entirely successful in transforming Kim’s anger into a wilting, stony-faced acceptance.

“I really do have no means of avoiding this illness, now.”

For as bad as Harry had felt about the whole thing, he couldn’t deny that that admission of defeat and the mere thought of Kim catching his cold – this ridiculously sneezy cold – made his cock feel hard enough to cut glass.

A folder of documents was slapped down on his desk with a sudden, resounding slap, making Harry jump and swear behind the tissues. He peered up at Jean, looking almost radiant with healthiness compared the to the state he had been in several days prior.

“From the Boogie Street Stabbing case.” He smiled down at Harry, looking cocky and amused.

“You look like you’re feeling better.” Harry spat, dropping the soiled tissues on his desk and tossing the folder to the right with the rest of the ‘to be returned to’ pile. Jean smiled even wider.

“Apparently the best way to get over a cold is to give it to someone else.”

He directed his best shit-eating grin at Harry, eyes brighter and more focused than they had been in days.

“Wonderful.” Kim grumbled almost inaudibly to the side. He really wasn’t looking forward to getting sick, and Harry could sympathise. He made a mental note to spoil Kim rotten the second he started to feel under the weather. Jean didn’t seem to have heard him, and if he had, he was staunchly ignoring him and favouring bothering Harry the same way a bored child would tease a grumpy old dog.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than rub your health in my face?” Harry snuffled emphatically.

“You’ve rubbed much worse in mine. Consider this pay back.” He turned to leave, but at last minute turned around and deposited another folder – a thick, evil looking dossier on some mob boss or other – on Harry’s desk. “And this, too.”

Harry gaped at him in dismay.

“You’re cruel and unusual!” He groaned after a retreating Jean. His partner merely smirked and flipped him off. It was aggravating, but mischievous and about as light-hearted as Jean was currently capable of. Harry felt, through the weariness of his progressing sickness, a sense of relief. He flipped the bird right back at him, hoping he didn’t look too paradoxically gleeful as he did so.

Jean didn’t seem to notice this capriciousness, just patted his pocket to check for his carton of cigarettes and angled his head towards Judit.

“Jude – smoke break?”

“You shouldn’t be smoking anything – you should still be in bed.”

She followed him outside all the same, more to keep an eye on him than anything else, ready to provide medical attention should he suddenly cough up a lung. Harry envied her immune system – it seemed having kids constantly bringing bugs home was a truly effective form of inoculation to just about anything that was passed around the bullpen.

He watched them leave absentmindedly – before yet another cruel, bullying sneeze tore its way out of him.

“HAAAAEEISSSHHHhh!!...HUH! HAHHHGGGTTSSSSSHHh’uuu!!”

And it brought a friend along with it. A messy friend. Harry clapped a hand over his mouth several seconds too late, muttering an exhausted ‘fuck’ and snuffling into the cage of his fingers. Not getting any warning was incredibly inconvenient but the force of the sneezes, how they sent shivers of pleasure down his spine…that he could appreciate.

“Say it, don’t spray it, Mullen!”

That was Mack, shouting across the bullpen and earning a couple of sniggers in return. He was a meathead, and it was a juvenile, unoriginal and otherwise comically cliché comment. It wouldn’t have bothered Harry in the least had his sneezes been intentionally intrusive, but the fact that he was totally at their mercy brought a light flush of shame to his cheeks. He just wanted to go home and jerk off. He flipped the bird in Torson’s general direction and reached for another tissue.

Kim beat him to it, pressing a bundle of fresh tissues into his palm. Harry looked up and flashed him an appreciative glance, replacing his hand with the tissue. The Lieutenant stood next to his desk, a file underarm, ready to be submitted to Captain Pryce.

“Bless you.” He offered quietly. Harry tried as hard as he could not to visibly squirm. Kim smiled at him. “Was it w-worth...!”

Harry stared adoringly up at him, thanking all his lucky stars for Kim and his ridiculously suggestible nose. If he had a tail, it would be wagging back and forth in a veritable whirlwind of excitement, thumping against the back of his chair.

Kim’s nostrils flared violently and his gaze unfocused, even as he valiantly fought to prevent his eyes from closing. It’s too late, Harry thought. My paradigm is infallible. You’re going to sneeze. He was right, of course; within seconds, Kim’s expression was cinching tight and he was sneezing convulsively into a handful of tissues, plucked frantically from the box on Harry’s desk just in time.

“NGxtt! Hh’NGxt’tzschu!! Hh! hhdt’Tszchhuuu!! Fucking hell…”

In much the same way as Kim had been unable to fight the natural reflexes of his body, so too had Harry. His cock twitched in his pants, filling with blood in an instant. Even if Kim didn’t catch his cold, his own sneezing was an inevitability – which meant so too was Kim’s. Fuck, but he was going to have even more fun with this.

“Bless you!” He offered back, heart thumping so hard in his chest he could hear his pulse in his ears. “And honestly? I think it was worth every second.”

He laughed as Kim tossed his balled up tissues at him and strode irritably out of the room.

[nametakensff]

Tease (D/isco E/lysium, M/M)

I wrote this in one go whilst working on another prompt with a similar theme, whoops - anyway, have just over 3K of K/im finally getting some poorly timed sneezes out in a meeting in front of the rest of C-Wing 🤧

(K/im x H/arry with ongoing casual K/im x H/arry x J/ean stuff in the bg)

~~~~~

Content:

M/M, M/M/M mentioned and ongoing, H/arry has a sneezing fetish, K/im is a kinky motherfucker, sneezing from unknown irritant, mentions of sex, spray, sneezing into (gloved) hands, mild embarrassment/humiliation, buildups, false starts, handkerchiefs, nose rubbing, mild exhibitionism/voyeurism, uncharacteristically loud sneezing, lots of irritation, small amounts of mess, some fetishy teasing, mentions of office sex fantasies

CW: mentions of past alcohol and drug abuse, H/arry licks K/im's recently sneezed into glove so yeah

NSFW - Minors DNI!

The sneeze had been teasing him all. Fucking. Day. It was getting to the point that Kim had started taking off his glasses with regularity, just to get some relief from the weight of the frame against his screaming sinuses. Removing them temporarily abated the tickle, but the second he put them back on it would return – a low-grade buzz that teased something more substantial on the horizon, but not quite enough for anything to actually materialise.

He was currently leaning against the wall at the back of a conference room that the entirety of C-Wing had loaded into, rather than just the much more diminutive (though ever growing) Major Crimes unit alone. Every Friday, a standard roundup of the completed week’s work - in addition to proposals for the general priorities of the following week - took place, and hardly anyone gave a fuck, especially those officers who wouldn’t be working over the weekend.

He had been less punctual to arrive than he usually would have with either Harry or Jean, no thanks due to the tickle driving him outside for what he thought was an imminent sneezing fit, but alas. He had merely hitched once, twice, and then the tickle subsided back into agonising but stagnant itchiness. He’d skulked back inside, bereft of sneezes and entirely pissed off about it, before noticing nobody was sitting at their desks in the bullpen and remembering the meeting. Luckily, he had nothing of substantiality to report, after a particularly quiet week of murders and other violent crime in Jamrock.

Jean was still assisting Harry in managing C-Wing, to Harry’s warring appreciation and irritation. The aftereffects of amnesia were much more manageable for him these days, almost a year from the onset, and he had regained much of the respect of the precinct in his newfound sobriety – though that hadn’t come without a great deal of hesitancy on everyone else’s part (Kim had come to understand there had been multiple previous, much less successful stints of sobriety that had ended in monstrous benders).

A round of chuckles suddenly spread through the room, and Kim realised he had missed an amusing back and forth between Jean and Harry that, by the sounds of it, had been legitimately comedic. He hadn’t realised quite how distracted he’d become in the face of this burgeoning desire to sneeze – enough to tune almost everything else out. His eyes were actually starting to water – to the extent that Harry, Jean, and everyone else in the room were contorting into shuddering blobs through the tears.

He sighed quietly, plucking his glasses from his face yet again, this time to dab at his teary waterlines. Somehow, this only seemed to exacerbate the lurking tickle, pulling it further down Kim’s nose beyond the deepest recesses of his nostrils and all the way to the tip. Now his entire nose buzzed unpleasantly, and had he not been in a packed room of his fellow officers, many of them his juniors, he would have groaned and bullied it from side to side in his clutching fingers – anything to alleviate the agony. He settled instead for scrunching his eyes shut tight and sniffling ever so delicately.

Harry and Jean’s bickering rose in a sudden swell of intensity, and in some cruel, inexplicable mimicry, Kim’s tickle did the same – an almost overwhelming wave of itchiness that now pulsated outwards so that the entire centre of his face was in ticklish anguish. A small, surprised cough escaped him, and he quickly raised his fist to his face – a gesture of politeness that he needn’t have bothered with, given that all eyes and ears were fixed on the arguing duo at the front of the room.

Ordinarily, by now, Kim may have stepped in – at least if the fight was turning nasty. That didn’t appear to be the case, what with the way the other officers were good-naturedly whooping and fist-pumping the air with every successive jibe.

“My money’s on Vic!” Chester called out suddenly, to an approving round of laughter.

“No, no, DB for sure!” Mack retorted, similarly happy to engage in some opportunistic insubordination.

“Your money’s on no-one, McClaine! Torson!” Jean quipped back at them as authoritatively as he could manage, all growls and twangy vowels. “Shut up and fuck off!”

An immature round of ‘ooohs’ followed. Kim’s previous precinct would have never allowed such unprofessional work-place decorum in meetings, at least not with such regularity and ease. It had taken some getting used to, and he didn’t always let these things fly – at least not in the face of his own authority – but he had to admit, the camaraderie and banter certainly lightened up the unavoidable drivel of police force bureaucracy. His eyes squinted again, involuntarily as the tickle flared almost painfully, causing him to hiss through clenched teeth.

Deciding the room was distracted enough that nobody would pay him any mind, Kim reached into his pocket with the hand that wasn’t holding his glasses and pulled out a pristine handkerchief. He dabbed at his eyes first, the tears now threatening to overflow, then snuffled delicately into the fabric, allowing himself an indulgent scrub at the underside of his nose and – ah, fuck it. With a pointer finger he pressed gently inside each nostril through the fabric, physically scratching what he could reach. It helped just a little bit, though now his nose was starting to run with the matched intensity of his leaking eyes. Dolores Dei help him.

Harry’s voice cut through the maelstrom of snickering, booming enough that Kim refocused his attention even as he continued to snuffle into the cloth.

“-that as you all know, not only is my proposal clearly the most awesome and exciting of the two, I was constitutionally chosen to lead you all!”

“Technically, Detective, this task-force isn’t a democracy.”

Special Consultant Trant Heidelstam piped up with his usual pleasant enthusiasm, somewhere towards the front of the room. Kim could make out, even in the absence of his glasses, the formless blob that was Harry visibly bristling and turning to face the source of this latest disruption.

“You’re not even a cop, Trant! Back off!”

“Don’t tell him to back off, you lunatic!” Jean - back in the ring. “And he’s right, you’re not some elected official! Nobody voted for you to lead!”

“That’s damn right!” Harry agreed, countering the argument as if it wasn’t his own. Kim smirked behind his handkerchief picturing the way his chest would be proudly puffed out in idiotic (and, heaven help him, stupidly attractive) pig-headedness. “This is a god-damn fascist dictatorship, and you listen to me!”

“Some communist…Oop!” That sounded like one of the newly recruited patrol officers, though Kim couldn’t remember which one. A sound distinctly like she had slapped a hand over her mouth rang out, as though she hadn’t intended for that comment to be spoken out loud and was just as surprised to hear it as everybody else.

Another round of gregarious laughter passed through the room, including that of both Harry and Jean, who seemed genuinely amused by the outburst - in a far better mood than their bickering implied, then. The poor young woman was now stumbling over an apology as the other officers continued to laugh, and it sounded like Judit was shushing them all, though her voice was tight and airy as if she was trying not to laugh herself. Kim decided he ought to put his glasses back on and engage, given that burying his nose and sniffling pathetically into the handkerchief had caused the tickle to retreat to slightly more tolerable levels of irritating – that is to say, almost exactly as irritating as it had been five minutes earlier.

Unceremoniously shoving the handkerchief back into his pocket, Kim placed his glasses back onto his face. The scene he had been picturing was now crystal clear. Jean and Harry openly laughing at the front of the room. The offending patrol officer – last name Reverdin, a short, brunette woman – sat at a desk towards the centre of the room, Mack slapping her back repeatedly in appreciation of her cheek. Other officers scattered around where he had previously been too distracted to notice.

“Okay, okay, quiet!” Harry started, having somehow wrangled his amusement into submission and now attempting to do the same with the room. Jean was also endeavoring to quiet the other officers, and Kim thought he should step in at last –

But before he was able to offer a modicum of authoritative support, the tickle reared its head so violently he immediately gasped with it. Luckily, nobody seemed to have noticed. Kim swallowed, attempted to curtail the desire to gasp in another desperate snatch of breath, but failed completely. The tickle flared, and with it, both of his nostrils, stretching into perfect circles of irritation. He was absolutely, irrevocably about to sneeze.

The general buzz of the room was receding, Harry’s voice cutting through the murmuring. In complete contrast to his regular temperament, Kim actually wanted someone else to say something equally as comedic or insubordinate as Reverdin - just enough to drive up the din to a level that would allow him to sneeze in relative obscurity.

If he chose to do so, he was often capable of biting sneezes down into near silence, an imperceptible shiver wracking his body as he aimed them towards a raised fist. Oftentimes he was subtle enough to remain completely undetected as he purged the tickle, unless someone had been looking directly at him at the moment of paroxysm. He could tell, however, just by the sheer power behind this particular tickle, the likelihood of achieving such an unremarkable sneeze was slim to none. His eyes slowly began to fall shut.

The tickle was cresting with such intensity and immediacy that Kim realised he didn’t even have time to reach for his handkerchief. Had he been alone, he wouldn’t have thought to do so anyway. He couldn’t deny how pleasurable it was to allow the urge to overpower him now that the tickle was finally culminating into a long-desired sneeze, especially after hours upon hours of teasing. He would have loved to allow it to spray unhindered, to really lean into it and let it have his way with him. It was just a damned shame that, being in (relatively) polite company as he was, he could do none of that.

Harry had ruined him. He couldn’t even sneeze in peace without thoughts of the other detective's reaction running rampant through his mind. He found himself wanting to inform Harry of every single sneeze he had missed, to work him up and drive him up the wall until he would show Kim just how much he appreciated him with his big hands, and his mouth, and his cock. Even now, he was taking perverse pleasure in imagining the way that the encroaching sneeze, certain to be audible enough as the room quieted down, would thrill Harry and potentially throw him off track mid-sentence. The humiliation from all other unwanted attention he would draw to himself – well. Perhaps it was worth it in exchange for such a pleasurable sneeze, and the bonus of arousing Harry.

Accepting his fate, Kim allowed his mouth to drop open, sucking in a final huge but silent gasp of air to fuel the oncoming eruption. Tears beaded at the corners of his eyes as they scrunched shut, whilst his nostrils stretched, opening wide. Anyone who looked at him in this moment would see the perfect, unmistakable grimace of a man teetering on the completion of a most powerful sneeze. He managed, as his head tipped back, to lift both hands in preparation to catch the results of his torment, which he predicted would be prodigious.

He heard Harry talking as though miles away. Had his mouth not been otherwise preoccupied with its pre-sneeze grimace, he would have smirked. The tickle continued to tease, flaring up far beyond the point of toleration as he held that breath with a pregnant pause - and then he was sneezing at last, buckling forward and burying his nose into the cover of his steepled hands.

“-AAEERRSHHHIIUuuUU!!”

Oh god, that had been even louder than he’d expected. Fuck. Shit. It was gruff and powerful, sounding like the sneeze of a man twice his size. It flung him forward with considerable force, nearly unbalancing him entirely. And, as he had expected, it was a great, spraying affair; had he not been wearing his leather gloves, he would have felt the moisture beading on the skin of his palms. Above all though, it felt amazing. His head was almost swimming in pleasure, a gentle little shiver of ecstasy travelling through his extremities as the skin on his arms burst out into rapturous goosebumps. And he wasn’t even done.

“Ehh-HH! TSSch’iew-Tssht!! Hupt’ISSHhieww!!”

These were smaller, much more standard sneezes. He continued to tremble into the protective covering of his hands, blood rushing in his ears as his heart pounded. The tickle seemed purged for all of one second, and then it was flaring up again, even more violently than before, one final hurrah of a sneeze that he practically roared into his hands.

“HhHAAEGK’TSCHOOOuuu!! Oh…”

He snuffled, blinking owlishly. His glasses had slid down the bridge of his nose in the onslaught, dangerously close to being thrown off entirely – probably just one sneeze away. As the pleasure receded, and with it – thank god – the remnants of the tickle, Kim became aware of the stunned silence that permeated the room. He didn’t dare look anybody in the eye, not whilst he still had his gloved hands clamped to his face, concealing the mess within. Keeping one hand firmly in place, he reached with blessed precision for his handkerchief and transferred it over his nose and mouth, skillfully obscuring the damage from the many eyes he felt trained on his person.

“I beg your pardon, officers.” He muttered, finally lifting his head up and trying not to cringe at the fact that everybody in the room was staring at him, many with looks of such barefaced shock he felt like a sideshow exhibition of some kind.

His eyes flickered over to Harry and Jean. Jean looked about as stunned as everyone else; he was clutching a hand to his chest in an unintentionally comical fashion, as if he feared a heart attack to be imminent – something for Kim to tease him about later. Harry was wide-eyed and cagey looking – unmistakably turned on, to those who knew what to look for. When their eyes locked, Harry jolted as though electrocuted – and like a switch had been flicked, he slipped right back into his prior jovial assuredness.

“Well, fuck, Lieutenant – if you had such a problem with my proposal, you only had to say so!”

Harry’s jab worked as a dual-action solution – to alleviate the awkward, shocked silence before it became unbearable, and to mask the almost irrepressible arousal he was feeling in the face of Kim’s ridiculously desperate outburst. Luckily for him, it succeeded on both fronts, and whatever spell had held the rest of the room in captive disbelief seemed to dissipate at once. A good-natured series of laughs and exclamations went round the room, with a few stray “Bless you”s here and there. Judit – closer to Kim than he had realised, to his left – reached out and patted his arm. Kim lowered the handkerchief at last and cast a small, appreciative smile her way, and that was that.

Jean and Harry wrapped up the meeting over the next five minutes, during which Kim allowed himself to luxuriate in the aftermath of the sneezes and the utter absence of any nasal irritation at all. Not an ideal turn of events – he would be burying the embarrassment for years to come, he was certain – but it could have been worse. He began to file out of the room after the other officers when he felt a familiar hand squeeze down on his shoulder.

“Fucking bless you. Shit!”

Kim laughed outright at Harry’s barefaced excitement, any and all composure he had manifested for the sake of the other officers now completely vanished. He pushed Harry to one side of the door so they weren’t in open view of the corridor.

Jean, the only other officer still in the room, made his way past them, catching Kim’s eye and giving him a cheeky, knowing wink as he walked out the door. Kim made a mental note to call him later this evening and make some future plans. Harry seemed to notice his departure only once he had gone, gently shuffling round Kim and sticking his head round the door frame.

“Come hang out this weekend!” He bellowed, and Kim made out a resounding “We’ll see!” in response.

Harry closed the door behind him – locked it, in fact, and Kim laughed as he stalked towards him.

“What,” Harry placed his hands on Kim’s shoulders. “The fuck – was that?”

“What?” Kim said in faux innocence, even as he felt an irresistible, devilish smile spreading across his face. “I had to sneeze.” He sniffled, and added for emphasis: “It really tickled.”

Harry moaned, and Kim laughed again, reaching out to straighten his tie and smooth out his lapels for him.

“I nearly died.” Harry groaned, reaching for Kim’s hands and halting his mindless preening. “Do you know how close I was to going off in my pants? Fuck, Kim.”

“I couldn’t help it.” Kim stated the truth plainly, shrugging his shoulders. Harry’s gaze burned into him.

The larger man sighed, pupils blown, and lifted Kim’s right hand to his face, nuzzling his cheek into the leather. Kim smirked at him, heart beating frantically in his chest.

“Careful, detective. I just sneezed all over my gloves.”

Harry’s response was to stare him dead in the eyes and lick a long stripe from the centre of his palm to the tip of his middle finger. Kim’s cock twitched in his cargo pants. It would be so easy to bend Harry over one of the desks, wring an orgasm out of him hands free as he fucked him so hard they were both mute with pleasure…

“Let’s go home.” Kim breathed, watching as Harry pressed a series of open-mouthed kisses into the palm of his glove. “I’m sure you can think of even better things for me to sneeze all over.”  

[nametakensff]

Exorcised this out of me. Sorry k/im 🤷‍♀️

[nametakensff]

Suggestible (D/isco E/lysium, M/M)

The first fic of a few I have for these two because I am deeep into this shit now lol. Ended up at 4K!

H/arry, whilst working on the murder case in M/artinaise and ever so slowly piecing his identity together, notices an interesting reaction in K/im to his budding cold. I guess the first part of a series that will become increasingly NSFW, but for now mostly just alluding to it!

Based on an insane little piece of dialogue in the game where K/im suggests that other people sneezing makes him sneeze

~~~~~~

Content:

Future/hinted M/M, cold sneezes, sympathetic sneezes, H/arry has a latent sneezing fetish that he doesn't remember having yet, spray, stifles, sneezing into handkerchiefs, slight elements of voyeurism but only because H/arry is a confused mess lmao

CW: lots of drug and alcohol mentions, lots of self-hatred

NB - I guess please don't read if you plan on playing the game and want to go in with no prior knowledge - it doesn't really have any plot heavy spoilers but takes place within the story

(also also - decided to write this in 2nd person narrative to somewhat resemble the style of game play - it's not perfect but it was fun to try haha)

Minors DNI please!

Lieutenant Kitsuragi trails behind you as you jog your way across the empty boardwalk and towards the fishing village. The air is piercing and bitterly cold – you are starting to feel the effects of it as the salty air whips against your face. It has been snowing on and off for hours, and you are woefully underdressed. This has not been a good day for you – few new leads, endless dead ends. And a hangover. The hangover to end all hangovers. Not even the frigid winter weather can distract you from the dull thud of a lingering headache, painful pulses beating in time with your heart. It feels as though your brain is too swollen – or your skull is too tight.

Suddenly, you feel it – the familiar, fluttering sensation of a building sneeze. You have been a little under the weather ever since you awoke in your hotel room several days earlier, having no recollection of who you are and woefully bereft of substances to abuse. You had put any subsequent discomfort down to just that – the miserable lack of alcohol, nicotine and narcotics in your system. This tickle, however – it is something all of its own. You stop dead in your tracks, practically skidding to a stop as it crests. You have no hope of holding back the encroaching sneeze. Your mouth hangs open, a great yawn of irritation, before – at last – release.

It comes out sounding more like a desperate shriek than anything else; a few startled seagulls scatter, flying away in a maelstrom of confusion and feathers. You didn’t mean to cause such a scene, but the cold air, the breeze, and now the beginning of a miserable cold – it all proves too much for you. You take in another shuddering gasp before you’ve even recovered from the previous explosion and do it all over again.

“HAAAEEEIISHHHHhhh!!!”

There are no seagulls left to scatter this time, but you hardly notice for the way this sneeze, even more violent than the one before it, sends you flying forward and staggering on your feet. You manage to catch yourself before you fall face down on the sandy ground, panting slightly in the aftermath. It practically tore itself out of you, leaving your throat more than a little hoarse. Perhaps a drink would be just the thing to remedy your misery…

You’re shaken out of your alcoholic deliberation by a familiar, soft voice. Lieutenant Kitsuragi is resting a gentle, gloved hand on your shoulder, hovering next to your crouched form. His voice is as placid as always, but you can’t help but notice a slight hint of concern. You right yourself immediately and snuffle at the mess that’s threatening to overflow from your nose, already a bright shade of red from years of alcohol abuse and the biting cold of the beach.

“Are you alright, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor?”

The Lieutenant notices the thickness of the sound, a barely perceptible look of displeasure passing over his face. You see him reach into his pockets and pull out a large handkerchief – the very same you have seen him use before to cover his face as you performed a field autopsy together. He proffers it to you and you hesitate for just a moment - then your nose starts to run into your moustache. This prompts you to take it from him and snuffle into it apologetically. You realise this pathetic sniffling will do nothing to stem the flow – you surrender and blow your nose with as much conviction as you possibly can. The sound of it is devastatingly loud, almost as disruptive as the sneezes preceding it. You glance at Kim sheepishly from behind the material. If it’s as disgusting to Lieutenant Kitsuragi as it sounded to you, he doesn’t so much as flinch.

When you’re finished, you offer the soiled fabric back to him with an outstretched hand. He looks at it with mild dismay.

“You keep that, officer. I carry a spare with me at all times.”

Stupid. That was stupid of you. Why would you hand him a snot rag? You dismiss the thought before the negativity drags you down further into the already miserable grips of your hangover. But for whatever reason, you keep note of this new information regarding the handkerchiefs. It’s not as though this is out of the ordinary for Kim. He’s so organised and focused – a great cop. Not like you. Of course he would carry a spare. Moving on, you ask the lieutenant for his opinion of what you ought to do next.

“Hm…We should return to the Whirling-In-Rags. Try Klaasje again and see if she’s ready to discuss the murder in more detail.”

It sounds like a perfect idea to you. The wind is fiercely cold and you never did get round to buying a windbreaker. Your hangover is making it impossible to tell if the major discomfort you’re feeling is from the alcohol dissipating within your husk of a body, or the virus threatening to take hold of your sinuses. Either way, getting out of the cold is imperative.

You approach the vicinity of the Whirling-In-Rags Hostel – at last. Your chest burns. Normally, a brisk jog is nothing to you – if anything, it energises your ailing body after a particularly lengthy binge. But today, you feel miserably worn out. You pause for a moment, look towards the Lieutenant, and attempt to speak. You fail, nothing but a series of wheezing gasps issuing from between your lips, followed by an increasingly hacking cough. You buckle over your knees and continue to hack like the washed-up middle-aged man you know you are. Kim places a hand on your back - he seems worried.

“This isn’t good. You’re unwell, detective. Perhaps you should rest a while in your room?”

Something tells you this isn’t a suggestion exclusively for your own benefit. A perfunctory glance tells you that Lieutenant Kitsuragi is tired, and as miserably cold as you. He wouldn’t mind a break inside a warm building, thawing out over a cup of coffee. Nevertheless, you feel disappointment blooming in your chest. As if you weren’t already a pathetic excuse of a policeman - missing memory, decked head to toe in questionable clothes and with a penchant for drug and drink on the clock – you’re now so weak you can’t even handle a mild case of rhinovirus. Pathetic.

You stand upright in an attempt to signal that you are and always have been a perfect beacon of health. You tell the Lieutenant that time is of the essence; you’ve been working on this case for days and have no time for further setbacks. He acknowledges this with a small nod; he seems to appreciate this professional, business-like approach to the matter. He doesn’t say anything more but merely walks beside you as you stride towards the Whirling-In-Rags.

You barely manage to take a few steps before the tickle is upon you again. You tense your jaw and attempt to quell the sensation by taking in shallow, measured breaths, but no dice. In seconds, it tears its way out of you as before, echoing off the walls of the nearby buildings. It is so loud that you wonder if the scabs protesting outside of the Union can hear it over the sounds of their own angry chants. Again, you stumble forward under the force of it, feeling light-headed.

The Lieutenant reaches out to grip your shoulder, steadying you just in time. You wait and sniffle miserably in preparation for the following sneeze, lingering in the depths of your sinuses, but it never comes. You straighten up, blinking tears of effort from your tired eyes, when you become aware of a certain sensation. Kim’s hand squeezes your shoulder with a sudden flex. Could this be a gesture of affection? Reassurance? This is not the Lieutenant’s regular style. He is far too cool for that kind of thing.

You look over your shoulder in curiosity as the Lieutenant continues his grip, despite your having collected yourself. You can see that behind the lenses of his glasses, his eyes are unfocused and heavy-lidded. His mouth hangs slightly open, and he is holding a fist – expectantly? – before his face. The expression is…familiar. You’d seen it before, though not on Lieutenant Kitsuragi.

As you furrow your brow in deep consideration, reaching for an explanation that only just manages to elude you, slight movement from Kim pulls you out of your thoughts. You watch as his head tilts back, stays there for a just a moment before he’s jerking forward into his gloved fist, pressing it against his nose and mouth. His features contract severely, moulding his ordinarily placid face into a twisted, almost angry and unrecognisable countenance. You feel his fingers flex again. His entire body shudders, and as it does so, you hear him utter a tiny sound.

“-hHdt’!”

You blink, still not putting two and two together. Maybe this amnesia was worse than you had initially assumed it to be. Was he – seizing? No. Of course not. You continue to watch in confusion as he seems to uncrumple with a gentle exhalation. You think he might be done, but no. Just as quickly as one breath is exhaled, a replacement is sucked back in hurriedly. You watch as he repeats the action, ducking forward into his fist again, more forcefully this time. His shoulders jump with the effort and his hand squeezes substantially harder against you.

“h’Ngxt-!! hh…”

That strange sound again – this time followed by an uncharacteristically shaky exhale.  A moment later the Lieutenant straightens up and assumes his regular composure, releasing your shoulder as if nothing just happened. If you hadn’t watched this series of events unfold right in front of you, you’re sure you would have missed it altogether. He blinks several times as if to clear away tears. Still you have no idea what the fuck just happened – any remnants of the pained expression that cinched his features tight has vanished, leaving him to look as calm and collected as before. You stare at him, eyes roving over his face. This intrusive observation gives you the last bit of information you need to understand. His nostrils flare delicately as he indulges in a sniffle, moisture gathering around the irritated rims and glittering ever so slightly in the afternoon sunlight.

Had those been…sneezes? Those tiny little swallows of air?! You feel a grin spread across your face, any discomfort of your own forgotten for the moment. You bless him enthusiastically. Ignoring the inkling that tells you not to tease or cajole him, you also comment on how adorable the Lieutenant’s sneezes are. Like a kitten. A badass cop kitten.

He thanks you somewhat reluctantly, blatantly ignoring the kitten comment. He clearly wants you to move on from him and focus again on the case. You continue to make your way towards Whirling-In-Rags, but don’t miss out of the corner of your eye the sight of the Lieutenant covertly pinching his nostrils shut, before pulling down towards his septum. He is wiping the resultant moisture of those sneezes away with his gloved fingers. This realisation makes your heartbeat spike for just a moment. You choose to ignore this.

You walk into the establishment – the increasingly familiar sounds and sights greet you as you pass through the door. The Hardie boys are in their booths, an unwelcome fixture. You glance sidelong at them – Titus glares daggers back at you. You think you should puff up your chest and stare him down in a battle of warring machismo, but at last minute think otherwise. It would do nothing to repair your already abysmal lack of authority if you sneezed at him mid stand-off. You glance away. He smirks, arms crossed firmly over his broad chest, clearly enjoying this silent display of dominance. You get an all-consuming urge to spin around and put him in his place – but you feel shitty. Much too shitty. It would probably end with his fist in your face.

You approach the staircase leading to the bedrooms when you feel that familiar, irritating tickle blossoming anew in your sinuses. Not again, not here! Not in a busy room full of so many people. You want to maintain your cool cop image – sneezing is not a cool thing to do. You briefly think to yourself that Kim is cool, even when he sneezes - but it is a foolish thought. You’re not him. You fight to suppress the gasp that fills your lungs, fumbling in your jacket pocket for the handkerchief the lieutenant had given you – but you’re too late. Two huge sneezes rocket out of you, sending veritable clouds of spray across the base of the staircase. They practically break the sound barrier, two near identical “IIIIEEEESHHHHhhtt!!!” screams of irritation. Kim doesn’t steady you this time – you reach out and do that yourself with the help of the banister.

Jeers erupt from the Hardie boys across the cafeteria floor – you only just manage to hold back an embarrassed blush from creeping over your weary face. You have finally managed to extract the handkerchief from your pocket. You decide a honking performance will do very little to remedy this utter humiliation, dabbing softly at your aching nose instead. You begin to climb the stairs; a sordid walk of shame.

“That’s just what this establishment needs, following the hanging, bloated corpse – a biohazardous drunk anointing his plague unto us all.”

That snark came from Garte – the bartender. No, the Cafeteria Manager.

“Just ignore him.” Kim mutters close to your ear. You proceed to flip the bird at Garte instead. As you make your way upstairs, you swear you can hear a tiny gasp from behind you. Without the sensation of a hand gripping your shoulder and signalling the completion of a sneeze, you have to strain your ears to even confirm they happen at all.

“’Ngxt’ch! h’ddt’! Hh’Ggkt!!”

Those are definitely sneezes. Slightly louder than before, enough that you can hear the Lieutenant’s own soft voice blending in with the strained sound of them. Your stomach is suddenly alive with butterflies. In your mind’s eye you can visualise the way his face crumples with each of them – nostrils flaring outwards as he valiantly bites down against them. You are sure if you try to do the same, your head will explode. Or at the very least, an aneurism is a surefire possibility. You shudder at the thought of it. You want to offer a blessing to the Lieutenant, but based on the previous reception it received, you decide against it. This could be the start of a beautiful partnership – Harry’n’Kim, Du Bois and Kitsuragi. Disco Cop and Cool Cop. You can always brainstorm on your trademark duo name at a later date. Either way, you decide to ignore the Lieutenant’s strangled outburst. A soft exhalation behind you signals that he is finished – for now.

You reach the top of the stairs. With great dismay, you realise that perhaps for the first time in your life, you are experiencing firsthand the effect of all those years of chain smoking. The wheezing gasps bend you over for a moment. Lieutenant Kitsuragi stands nearby, just short of nervously hovering, waiting for you to recover. You finally catch your breath and stride as confidently as you can towards Klaasje’s room. You extend a fist to knock on the door when you feel the soft touch of Kim’s hand on your arm, stopping you in your tracks. This has to be a new record. He has touched you on four separate occasions – all in a span of under thirty minutes.

“Perhaps you should take this opportunity to rest after all, detective.” Kim offers. You sense by the firmness of his voice that this is less of a gentle suggestion and more of a request. He smiles wryly.

“You are not very likely to get her to open up to you if you deafen her with your sneezing.”

Your stomach flips at hearing that word come out of his mouth. It is confusing but not entirely unpleasant. Whilst he doesn’t laugh, you can see the amusement held in the subtle quirking of his lips. You think for a moment that you should tell him your sneezes are the pinnacle of masculinity – ladies dig a huge, manly sneeze. You choose instead to sigh, practically deflating as any will to remain poised upright seeps out of you. You know he’s right. The filthy sheets of your bed beckon to you.

You agree with him and turn heel to your own room. He looks pleased – perhaps a little relieved. How disastrous did he think the interaction would have gone, had you proceeded? He turns to face you as you stand outside your respective doors.

“Don’t worry, detective. I will wake you up in a couple of hours, and we can resume our investigation. There is no point in making yourself ill.”

You nod. You are both about to enter your rooms when you feel it again. The tickle. It is persistent and increasingly difficult to control. You feel a gasp inflating your chest, helpless to do anything other than let the sensation overpower you. There is no time to even lift the handkerchief to your face. You do manage to turn away from the Lieutenant as the sneeze rips through you, baptising your own door with a trembling “aaAAAAEEEEGSHHHHhh!!!” A cloud of spray settles on the wood, droplets of spray shimmering under the harsh lighting. Gross.

“Bless you.”

A blessing. You feel relieved – and slightly giddy. Your stomach flips again. It is likely out of politeness, but the Lieutenant has at least not run for the hills in response to your disgusting display. You start to thank him when – oh, sweet confusion - he interrupts you with another sneeze of his own. He isn’t fast enough to bring a fist to his face this time. You can see every minute twitch of his facial muscles as he suppresses the sneeze through sheer willpower alone.

“Hh’Gnxt!! Huh’NGxtt!!”

The second sneeze follows immediately – his head dips twice in quick succession. That look of desperation suits him just fine, you think. You decide to abandon the thought as quickly as it forms. You are only partially successful in doing so. His hand reaches into the pocket of his trousers – he succeeds in removing the handkerchief in the duration of that second sneeze, you notice in great appreciation. You would never have managed to pull that off.

You watch as he raises the handkerchief before his face for a final sneeze. This one looks more irritable than the ones prior – the expression plastered on his face is openly more agonised than before. He pauses for what is likely only a second longer before the tickle reaches its apex, but that is more than enough time for another thought to cross your mind – one of an entirely salacious nature. You think that the face he is making resembles the sweet agony of another kind of release. You try to unthink it, but it’s too late – you’re absolutely, undeniably thinking it. The second passes. At last, the lieutenant smothers his final sneeze into the waiting folds of the handkerchief. It is considerably louder than before, even with the assistance of the fabric covering.

“hHh’nNGgxtt!!..chu…”

The soft vocal exclamation that rounds off the sneeze sounds weary, like it took a lot out of him. He sniffles briefly into the handkerchief, rubbing at his nose before tucking the cloth back into his pocket. Is it your imagination, or is said appendage starting to look a little reddened from the effort?

“Excuse me.” The Lieutenant mumbles, sounding uncomfortable. Embarrassed, perhaps?

You bless him before you remember to bite your tongue. Luckily, he accepts it with a soft “Thank you.” You watch as he removes his glasses and swipes at a stray tear rolling down his cheek. He replaces them just as quickly, giving you hardly any time to take in the sight of him without the thick frames. It is for a brief moment only, but the word ‘vulnerable’ comes to mind.

It dawns on you quite suddenly that he must be sneezing because you have infected him with your disgusting, no good germs. You ask him if this is the case, unable to hold back the shaking guilt as you voice your question-cum-self-abasement. He waves it off immediately.

“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that, detective, I assure you. I’m fine.” He pauses for a moment, looking hesitant to say more. You say nothing. This awkward silence seems to prompt him to continue.

“Sometimes the power of suggestion is too much for me. When somebody sneezes in my vicinity, I find my body often wanting to do the same. And your sneezes are particularly…” He trails off for a moment, in want of an appropriate term.

Masculine? Sexy? Bad-ass? You go with the first one. He shakes his head gently.

“…Suggestible.” He finishes. You’re not quite sure you catch his drift, but you do recall that he had mentioned something like this before. ‘Dancing makes you dance like sneezing makes you sneeze’. He had said that, in the church – he had been enthusiastic to interject, and then immediately changed the subject. You had had no idea what he had meant at the time – not once had you ever heard anyone say anything even remotely similar. It had been easily forgotten. Until now.

You smirk. You hope it isn’t akin to ‘the expression’, but is happening nonetheless. You cannot help it. This. Is. Gold.

You manage to hold back from laughing, but what you cannot help is calling him adorable. For the second time that day.

“I’m a 43 year old RCM policeman. I am far from adorable, officer.” He states firmly, almost as if he is chiding you. You do not miss, however, the softness in his eyes and the momentary twitching of his lips into a tiny smile. You do laugh at that. Bad idea. The laugh quickly morphs into a painful, wrenching cough. Whatever light-hearted moment you’d been sharing, you have ruined it. Your throat burns with the effort. God, but you want a drink. And a smoke. Maybe some speed. You finish at last, wiping spittle from your lips with the back of your sleeve.

“Please rest, Harry. I will check up on you soon.”

He casts a final worried glance your way before nodding curtly. You watch as the door clicks shut behind him. After a moment, you make your way into your own room, not even bothering to kick off your shoes as you collapse onto the pile of twisted sheets. Far too tired to think about the past that eludes you, about the case, about any of it, your eyes start to slip shut.

But it is back. The tickle. You have no means of fighting it, and you’re not sure you want to. You sneeze, smothering it into your sheets at the last second.

“HHHRRMMMPPPSHHHh!!!”

You peer cautiously at the sheets. You have left a considerably large damp patch on the section that covered your mouth and nose. Gross – that should be your middle name. You feel disgusting, but before you can begin another spiral of self-deprecation the exhaustion overwhelms you entirely. A final thought passes through your mind as you surrender to it. Did the Lieutenant hear you?

Next door, settling into the chair at his desk, Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi tenses at the sound of your sneeze. It was loud enough to be heard not only the next room over – indeed, anyone on the second floor may have been startled by it. His breath hitches, once, twice, before he is tipping forward into his gloved hands, steepled around his face. Depleted of energy from the prior onslaughts, he is unable to hold them back at all.

“-hh! Hck’tshuu! Hupt’Tshhht!! ‘TSCHH’uu!! hm...”

He glances in unmasked irritation at the damp speckling of moisture now adorning the palms of his gloves.

“Merde!” He grumbles under his breath. The Lieutenant pulls the gloves from his hands, pausing to scrub at his itchy nostrils with his knuckles for one indulgent moment, before resuming the paperwork he had failed to complete the night before. He hopes, for both your own sake and his, that once he wakes you your sneezing spell will have passed – due to a temporary chill and nothing more. Neither of you have the time for this absurdity. He sniffles once more and begins to write.

[nametakensff]

Happiness (D/isco E/lysium, M/M)

Final part of my little three fic series - here is the follow up to 'Revelation' and...it's a monster. 17.4K. If you actually manage to stick with it all then I commend you <3

K/im angrily confronts H/arry about his inappropriate conduct. H/arry reluctantly reveals why. Fucking ensues

~~~~~

Content:

M/M, past M/F, hinted past M/M if you squint, H/arry has a sneezing fetish, K/im is a kinky motherfucker, cold sneezes, sympathetic sneezes, manually induced sneezes, rapid sneezes, mentions of dust allergy sneezes, sexual fantasies, masturbation, hand jobs, dry humping, frotting, finger sucking, mentions of anal sex, mentions of blow jobs, some mild mess, spray, sneezing on someone, licking spray off fingers (sorry lmao), edging, (brief) orgasm denial, elements of domination/submission, some voyeurism/exhibitionism, verbal teasing, dirty talk, praise kink, embarrassment/humiliation, graphic descriptions of semen, crying a little during/after sex (guess who), K/im and H/arry like each other a lot more than either of them realised

CW: (unintentionally perceived) public masturbation, drug and alcohol mentions, potential heart attack mentions, potential priapism mentions, bullet wound mentions, self-hatred, H/arry is still a mess, internalised homophobia, H/arry experiences a lot of shame re: the fetish and describes himself with degrading language, K/im is perhaps a little too forward initially, mentions of dead bodies (in a murder investigation / gallows humour way), mentions of potential STDs (K/im is just being cautious)

Notes:

Takes place in the canon game timeline so again, please don't read if you don't want spoilers!

For the sake of the fic, the bed in the coastal shack is a proper single large enough for both of them to lie on and the room has a working sink. I had to let these men clean themselves up

K/im should not be doing this with a concussion but. It's my fic, so

EXTREMELY NSFW - Minors DNI!

It has been at least five days since you first touched yourself to the thought of Lieutenant Kitsuragi sneezing. You have touched yourself in a similar fashion every night since – up until a bullet to the thigh and your subsequent fevered unconsciousness prevented you from doing so. You did not mean to make a habit of it, but the orgasmic release the thoughts ultimately lead to is almost as addictive as any drink or drug. The fact that the Lieutenant has sneezed multiple times each day in your presence has made resisting your nighttime jerk-fests damn near impossible.

The fantasies have evolved into an increasingly varied (and sordid) collection of scenarios. Your favourite is the one starring Kim as your butler, burying his face into a feather duster to alleviate his allergic misery by inducing an endless series of sneezes. Naturally, you play the role of the voyeuristic employer, watching the scene unfold from your grand office chair and stroking your cock until you cum all over the hardwood surface of the desk that Kim has just finished cleaning. It is incredibly self-indulgent and fantastical, which naturally makes you cum with the force of a firehose. Every morning it is a little more difficult to look the Lieutenant in the eye. He is completely innocent to your sins, and you are a filthy pervert.

You still have your cold. Now that you have returned to the fishing village with the fierce seaside air whipping at your face, your nose runs without cease. You have been using an endless supply of Frittt brand pocket tissues, having abused Kim’s loaned handkerchief so much so that not an inch of fabric has been left unsoiled. Your nostrils are tingling, threatening to flare with every laboured snuffle.

It really isn’t a terrible cold – but it appears to be a persistent one. You’ve certainly sneezed far more from previous illnesses. One cold in your thirties left you bedbound and sneezing almost like clockwork – you had noticeable abs, then. You remember this, and you remember thinking to yourself that the torso-crunching sneezes that barrelled out of you were just as effective as any targeted exercise.

The persistence is one thing. The suggestible nature of your cold sneezes on the Lieutenant is another. You had both been good-natured about this admittedly comical routine, in which you try not to sneeze, fail, and sneeze anyway – followed immediately by Kim in a near-identical fashion. Today has been a difficult day, however – you are drawing closer to the end of your investigation, and you are both exhausted. Objectively absurd though it may be, neither of you can any longer find much amusement in these twin responses. Neither of you bless each other. The most excruciating (meaning: cock-teasing) thing of all is that Kim has abandoned any attempt at holding back. He is more and more frequently sneezing openly, or in the general direction of his fist – a lazy covering at best, doing little more than dousing his gloves in a delicate burst of spray.

Actually, there is something that arouses you more. As Kim continues to sneeze, his immaculate composure begins to falter. You are not referring to the ways the sneezing overpowers him. It is more so the fact that following each sneeze, the Lieutenant has started to moan. Quiet, shaky sighs at first – now full-blown groans of exhaustion - and what you hope is an element of indulgence at the post-sneeze sensation of relief. They sound practically orgasmic to your one-track mind.

Try as you might, every time the Lieutenant sneezes and sighs, you grow hard. It is perhaps more accurate to state that you have spent more time hard than soft. You wonder if this is enough for you to start worrying about a potential case of priapism. It is rather impressive – at your age and with the recent blood loss you experienced. Perhaps you ought to embrace this as a display of virile masculinity.

Either way, you have very little way of masking this unfortunate physical response. You shuffle awkwardly – you have also tried tucking your cock upwards and into the waistband of your trousers. You are almost one hundred percent positive that Kim has seen you pawing at your responsive genitals more than once but seems to be intent on ignoring it. You understand. You’re not sure how you would address the situation were you in his position. You ought to be more embarrassed but the triple combination of illness, drug withdrawal and injury saps you of fucks left to give.

You have no time to stew in your own thoughts. You are here to ask Lilienne if you can borrow her boat to get to the Islet. You manage to do so and almost leave the interaction unscathed. Almost.

“HAAAAEEEISHHHH!! EISHHHHHhHhuu!!”

The tickle once again renders you helpless and you sneeze twice – loud enough to send a nearby seagull sky bound. You turn away from Lilienne just in time to spare her an unfortunate baptism. The post-sneeze ecstasy leaves the skin of your forearms breaking out in goosebumps, hidden by the sleeves of your Disco blazer. It takes all of your remaining composure to fight off a full-body shiver. You straighten up sheepishly and wipe the result of your sneeze out of your moustache with a crumpled tissue. A blush is creeping over your face. Making a disgusting spectacle of yourself in front of a woman you have attempted at least four times over the past couple of days to ask out on a date (to no avail) does nothing for your morale.

“Bless you, officer!”

You mutter a small thank you from behind the tissue. If your dick hadn’t already been hardening in anticipation of Kim’s reciprocal reaction, that enthusiastic blessing would have done the job. Speaking of the Lieutenant – Lilienne has barely finished addressing you when he spins around – gracefully, controlled and completely balanced, unlike your own frantic whiplash motion – and sneezes thrice uncovered into the cold sea air.

“Hhp’Tsschhh! hHD’Tschh!! Hh! HahHD’Tzshiew!! Ahh, mon dieu…”

They sound like they feel incredible. Before you can do anything to avoid it, you are mentally constructing a detailed visual of the sneezes that the Lieutenant’s expert timing and manners had prevented you from witnessing. What do you expect after committing every sneeze you have glimpsed to memory to then masturbate to with vigorous abandon? Your prick is like iron between your legs. Lilienne turns to Kim with a look of surprise.

“And bless you too, officer! I don’t like the sound of that.”

Whatever Kim is saying to her in response, you miss. Your focus is lasered in on the tip of his nose, moving slightly side to side as he tends to his nostrils with a neat blue handkerchief. You want to be holding that handkerchief for him. Better yet, you wish it was your own hand wiping his nostrils clean. Thought after lewd thought overpowers you. You are painfully hard.

You should really rearrange things down there before Lilienne notices your erection to end all erections. You cup yourself as subtly as you can manage – you’re not sure what you’ll be able to achieve stood mere feet away from the two of them. The waistband trick requires two hands – maybe if you were to turn around?

Before you get a chance to try, Lieutenant Kitsuragi has fixed his eyes on you. You freeze in your tracks, as if paralysed by his gaze. A distinct feeling of combined shame and guilt overcomes you, not unlike the way a child feels when caught with their hand in a cookie jar. Except you are not a child – you are a 44-year-old man, with his hand on his cock. His eyes flash down to your crotch almost imperceptibly before returning to your face, darting about as if in attempt to locate any  visual cue that may implicate whether you have indeed gone batshit insane. It is likely a matter of seconds, but it feels like an eternity as you watch the subtle shifting of his facial features through a spectrum of confusion, shock, disbelief, shock again, and finally – rage.

This anger is unlike anything you have seen pass over the Lieutenant’s face in your week together. It sends a spear of utter self-hatred straight through you. You really have reached an all-time low, Harry-boy.

Lilienne appears not to have noticed the intense stare-off between the two of you – likely because it has lasted approximately 1.5 seconds and is broken by Kim thanking Lilienne for her cooperation and asking that she excuse the pair of you for a moment. His gloved hand reaches out and grips your bicep, hard enough to hurt. Anxiety overwhelms you – he is mad mad.

He marches you the short distant to the shack you have been staying in, shoves you through the door and follows behind you. He does not slam the door, although you can make out enough tension in his slender frame to see that he would very much like to do so. The screech of the rusty hinges is more than enough to amplify your anxiety. He turns to face you, and you shrink in on yourself, feeling naked and exposed within the shooting range of his ire. Your legs are weak – particularly the one in which a bullet had been embedded. You sit on the edge of the small bed and watch him watching you. He looks for a moment like he may be too angry to speak. At last, he opens his mouth.

“What the fuck is the matter with you??”

The Lieutenant’s thick accent and heightened emotions intensify the remark. You are sweating. Shame practically radiates off of you. You’ve truly done it now. You say nothing in response to him, hanging your head in misery. He continues.

“I have been nothing but supportive of your unconventional methods of policing. For all the outrageous things you have said and done, you have genuinely done some excellent work. I have given you the benefit of the doubt for your drug problems, the amnesia, your emotional outbursts - but public masturbation? In front of a female citizen? You really are a piece of work.”

Your face burns. Every word aches, cutting into you like a blade and whittling you down into a hollow receptacle of disgrace.

“I wasn’t – I wasn’t masturbating!” These words tumble out of your mouth before you have a moment to reconsider. The Lieutenant glares at you, clearly not buying it, but he makes no move to cut you off. Your mouth is dry and your hands are shaking. You open your mouth again.

“I was trying to…relieve some pressure. I wanted to hide it. I didn’t mean for you - or Lilienne - to see...”

Your voice sounds reedy, pathetic – incriminating. Maybe if you could stop sweating like a pig, you could actually convince Kim that you are not a sex pest. Shockingly, something in your expression as you look up at him with pleading, frightened eyes convinces him to believe you. He blinks owlishly, then reaches up to massage the bridge of his nose under his glasses. He sighs, a deeply exhausted sound – it seems to physically deflate him, as if the tumultuous anger trickles out of him with the exhale. You watch, clutching your hands together nervously, as he removes his glasses all together and drags a hand down over his face. It rests on his mouth for a few moments longer, and then he is putting his glasses on and looking at you with a mixture of exasperation and pity. His eyes are the first to dart away from your exchanged glance. He clears his throat. You wait.

“I can’t believe I’m about to suggest this, but…Listen, detective, do you-? Need some time to yourself? I’ve noticed you’ve been tense. I thought it might have been your injury, but I suppose I was wrong. At this point…” He hesitates, clasping his hands behind his back. “At this point, having a moment to relieve yourself might actually be pertinent to the progression of the investigation.”

It is your turn to blink, dumbfounded at what you have just heard. Is Lieutenant Kitsuragi actually suggesting you should jerk off? And that your jerking off is of utilitarian necessity? You should confirm this.

“You want me to whack off so that I can focus on the case?”

He looks pained by your turn of phrase; it is much harder to feign professionalism when his own suggestion is bounced back at him in cruder, less obfuscating language. He nods all the same and clears his throat.

“If you think it will help, I will excuse myself and be back in-” He glances at his sports watch. “Twenty minutes.”

Wow. Twenty minutes is probably a whole nineteen minutes too generous given your current state of rampant and unforgiving arousal. The way the Lieutenant falters indicates, however, that he is doubtful of your capability to achieve orgasm even once. You can’t really blame him. He did admit to thinking you were well into your fifties. You nod your head.

“You’re unwell, and injured – I don’t think it would do you any good to continue working this case when you’re also so – distracted.”

He is actively skirting around the issue and choosing his words carefully. It doesn’t change the fact that he is recommending that you pleasure yourself whilst he awkwardly stands outside and waits for you to finish. This makes you visibly cringe. Your own embarrassment only fuels the Lieutenant’s. He clears his throat again, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He takes your silence as an indication of consent.

“Well, then. I’ll leave you to it, officer.”

You watch helplessly as he turns to make an exit. Before the Lieutenant is even able to grasp the door handle, however, you hear a frantic intake of breath. Fuck. There is no mistaking the sound of the Lieutenant fuelling up for a sneeze – but this time it occurs with no prompting on your part. He is clearly very sensitive today.

“hHupt’TSSCH’uu!! Merde…”

You watch it all go down – the way his slender frame shudders, shoulders jumping as he is temporarily unbalanced by the voracity of his own release. It isn’t especially loud, but you can tell that it is powerful. You bite your lip. Do not moan. I repeat – do not. Moan.

You moan. It seems violently loud in the small room. Both of you freeze in response. If you didn’t want the ground to swallow you up before, you do now. Despite the humiliation, the utter mortification of it all, your cock is leaking through the fabric of your trousers. Maybe Kim, still facing away from you, will think you have already started working on yourself, and will simply step outside and pretend he doesn’t share the same planet as you for another twenty minutes. Crisis averted.

Luck is not on your side. The Lieutenant turns around. He is looking at you as though studying a particularly challenging crossword puzzle. Were he a dog, his head would have been tipped inquisitively to one side. You are sweating bullets.

“You know, detective…” He starts, and you do know. It is over. You know he has put two and two together. In a way, it is surprising he hadn’t clocked on sooner, but you imagine this is due to his general acceptance of your sporadic and unpredictable behaviour as a rule of thumb.

“If it didn’t sound so ridiculous, I would think…no.”

He turns to leave again. This should be an auspicious turn of events for you, but for whatever reason, you feel disappointed. Burdened. You realise you want the relief of exposure, like a sinner spilling his guts in confessional. You should keep your mouth shut and wank your miserable cock in peace.

“You’re right.” You groan. You do not look at him as he turns to face you. “I’m sorry.”

Was that worth it, Harry? Was it really worth it to confess? You can only wait for his response in silence. You aren’t breathing. You’re convinced that if you breathe, it will scare him away.

Since you are not looking at the Lieutenant, you do not see the expression of contemplative fondness on his face, nor the sparkle of curiosity in his eyes. He is taking in the sight of you, curled in on yourself like a naughty child. You hold yourself rigid as he starts to speak.

“So you mean to say – that when I sneeze…?”

Just hearing that word enunciated in his soft, enquiring tone is enough to trigger another rush of blood to the face. It is a miracle there is enough left north of your belt to do so. You whimper, which only makes you blush harder, and nod your head in way of response. This is pure torture.

“Hm.” The small sound that leaves the Lieutenant is a cross between a huff of laughter and a hum of consideration. Your eyes swivel up to meet his own. You had expected disgust, reproach – not amusement. He is smiling ever so slightly – the corners of his mouth are turned up as he takes you in, arms crossed over his chest. He no longer radiates waves of irritation and confusion. The man before you exudes confidence and control. Your cock throbs shamefully and deposits another glob of precum into your underwear. You open your mouth to speak, but words fail you.

“You really are an interesting man, detective. I’ve never even heard of this particular fétiche before.” His words must trigger a sudden realisation in him. A look recognition passes over his features, and you know he is connecting the dots – looking back at all your behaviour this past week and re-contextualising it. He snaps a thumb and forefinger together. “This makes perfect sense.”

His scholarly enthusiasm is somehow unsettling to you, as if you are a specimen he is examining. You now regret disclosing this sordid piece of information. What had you been expecting, really? For him to put on a show for you, like one of your sick little fantasies? Stupid. You hang your head.

“Yes, I’m a huuuuge pervert, Kim. Now please leave me alone to my shame.”

Oh god, are you going to cry? You’re actually going to cry, aren’t you?

“I never said that, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor.” His tone is suddenly overwhelmingly gentle. It only makes your eyes prickle harder with tears, threatening to overflow. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

He means it, too. He sounds incredibly regretful, perhaps even a little pained. You can’t look at him, but his palpable remorse at unintentionally beating you when you are down seems to open the floodgates. You feel the reluctant confession blurting out of you before you’re even entirely sure of what you’re going to say.

“I forgot about it, like everything else. Until I didn’t. Until you…” You wind your hand through the air.

“Sneezed?” Kim fills in helpfully, though you wish he hadn’t. It goes straight to your cock.

“…Well, I suppose in a strange way I ought to be flattered.”

You do look at him now, and see him smiling at you supportively. He looks a little apprehensive – but who wouldn’t in this ridiculous situation. Your heart beats wildly in your chest. A single tear runs down your cheek as you blink. You’re about to say something really, really stupid.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

God, Harry. Stop. Stop now.

“Thinking about my – my sexuality. And what it means. And you told me you’re a member of the ‘homosexual underground’. I – I think I might be too.”

The Lieutenant looks back at you, wide-eyed. You need to abort this. Kill him. Kill yourself. Anything that stops you in your tracks.

“I mean, I might be a partial member. I like women. I…there was…someone. She smelled like apricots and – oh, god-!”

A wave of sadness engulfs you. You start to sob, uncontrollably, like a little boy, and cradle your head in your hands. Wow. You really nailed it, Harry. You sure don’t do anything in half measures. You told him his sneezing gets you hard, that you have an inexplicable man-crush on him, and you even threw in an ex-woman-person reference to spice it up, all before crying! You should write a book on how to be the biggest fuck up known to man.

The bed dips as Kim comes and sits beside you. He rests a tentative hand on your shoulder. It is awkwardly limp – he is uncomfortable with physical displays of affection. Something tells you he has not touched somebody conciliatorily in a long time, likely by choice. But he is trying, and that is more than you could have ever expected you deserve. You cry a little harder.

“Harry,” he sighs. “You’re overwhelmed right now. Don’t force yourself to think.”

Ordinarily, he would have followed this with some comment about focusing on the case over personal matters. That he doesn’t shows you how much empathy he is affording you in this moment of distress.

Your crying eventually begins to taper off into little gulps and hiccups as the Lieutenant rubs tiny, tentative circles into your shoulder. Incredibly, your dick has barely softened.

“I’m –! Sorry-!” You gasp out. It sounds pitiful, almost hysterical. Kim just continues to rub your shoulder until you run out of steam entirely, before handing you an opened pack of tissues to clean up your face. As you do so, he takes the opportunity to speak.

“As far as sexual fetishes go, detective, this one is pretty tame. Harmless. A little unsanitary, maybe, but not without a certain appeal.”

You pause in your ministrations. He notices and seems suddenly ashamed by his own forwardness. He clears his throat and retracts his hand.

“Khm. Anyway – as for the homosexual underground – or bisexual underground, as the case may be for you…It certainly isn’t a crying matter. It can, at times, even be fun.”

Ooh, the Lieutenant’s got jokes. You appreciate this reassurance. The crying has left you wiped out and extra sniffly. You have to blow your nose in four different tissues before the congestion subsides. Kim doesn’t flinch at the gurgling sounds you produce.

“I’m going to leave you alone for a while, like I said.” Kim utters after a couple of moments of silence.

As the Lieutenant stands, a foreboding sensation of fear washes over you. You do not want to be alone right now. Before you can stop yourself, you are reaching out at lightning speed and gripping his wrist with one huge paw, halting his departure. Kim freezes and looks down at you. You stare back up at him. His face shifts through a series of emotions before solidifying into an impassive mask.

“Officer. You need to let go.”

There is not contempt in his tone, but his voice is firm and commanding. You are compelled to release him. You do not stop looking up at him. You have no idea what kind of face you are making, but it is apparently making it very hard for him to withdraw the way he had intended. His face is relaxed, but his eyes are burning.

He is the first to break eye contact with you. He strides towards the door and opens it in one swift motion, hesitating for just a moment to look back over his shoulder at you, and then he is gone. The door closes behind him with a decisive click.

Well. That was horrible. You are dejected and alone. You have driven the Lieutenant away, finally. Rejection stings in your throat and swollen sinuses. And you are still. Fucking. Hard. The brief respite of a mind-numbing orgasm might give you fifteen to thirty seconds of ecstasy before the pain sets back in. At this point, bereft of narcotics and alcohol, you will take it.

You flip yourself onto your back, pushing your head into the flimsy pillow and opening your fly with fumbling hands. You manage not to injure yourself as you pull your throbbing cock out of your underwear. It is a deep shade of red, almost nearing purple in your desperation, and even as you wrap your fingers around it in a familiar grip, it drools clear liquid from the sensitive head. You cannot help yourself. Now that you have started stroking and pulling, rubbing the copious precum all over your length, you cannot stop. The shame and the sadness recede at the pure animalistic pleasure of it all. Your head falls back and you moan. One of your hands reaches up to squeeze a nipple through the cotton of your shirt, and you gasp.

It will not take you long. You feel the heated pressure building inside of you, your cock twitching as you caress it in all the ways you like best. Pure, mindless masturbation. You do not want to think thoughts, but you are about to. They skim the surface of your consciousness – your fantasies, some memories. They blur together in a miasma, barely comprehensible the way you dart back and forth between them, but they are turning you on all the same. You are so, so close. Your mouth tips open in a pre-orgasmic moan.

The door of the shack slams open, and the shock nearly makes you orgasm on the spot. The Lieutenant is cursing and closing the door behind him, making sure to lock it. You push yourself up and fumble your dick back into your underwear, hissing as you attempt to close the zip of your fly. It is impossible, so you hold your hands sheepishly in front of your crotch instead. Kim watches you, an intense expression of – need? Desire? Surely that isn’t the case. You can barely think straight. You swallow, head spinning.

“Kim, what-?”

Your words set the Lieutenant’s in motion. He all but lunges at you, pushing you back on the bed and partially straddling you. Your hands fumble to grip at his waist, steadying yourself as the bedframe creaks violently at the activity. It occurs to you for a split-second that the elderly washerwoman outside may be able to hear the ruckus you have been making from where she sits tending to her clothes – she may be blind, but she is certainly not deaf. You banish the thought with a rapid blink of your eyes.

You look up at Kim in sheer disbelief. He is breathing heavily – not nearly as heavily as yourself, almost panting on the brink of orgasm – but heavily, nonetheless. His hands grip your shoulders firmly, and he worries his bottom lip between his teeth whilst his eyes rove over your face. And then he is leaning forward and kissing you.

For a moment, your mind short circuits. Not in a million – no, a billion-trillion – years, did you think the past week had been leading up to this moment. The Lieutenant’s lips are wonderfully soft as he works them against your own. It takes a couple of seconds for you to relax, shocked as you are, but then it is electric and instinctual and you are moaning against him, yanking his pelvis down against your own. You open your mouth and his tongue slips in immediately, and then it is even better. You both groan in tandem, as if neither of you can believe how good it feels. The kiss is like a practiced dance – you both know when to bite, when to suck, when to pull back and when to dive deeper. It is simultaneously saccharine and downright fucking filthy. You cannot believe the pair of you haven’t tried this before.

Kim breaks the kiss, sucking on your tongue before pulling back with a lewd pop – you chase him but he holds you in place by your chin.

“Do you want this?”

His eyes dart nervously back and forth behind the thick lenses of his glasses, slightly foggy where your activities have steamed them up. You lunge forward, intending to show him just how much you want this with another kiss, but he manages to hold you back. He is deceptively strong.

“I need to hear you say that you want this.”

He sounds so, so desperate. You realise right then and there that you are a fool for him.

“I want it.” You breathe out, and before you have even finished he is kissing you again. Your head reels, and you feel yourself beginning to tip back onto the bed. Kim goes with you, kneeling with a leg on each side of your torso. He presses the length of his body against your own, and you feel his hardness pressing against the soft flesh of your gut. Your hands travel up and down his back, frantically, squeezing his ass one moment and gripping his shoulders the next. Your cock pulses and pulses between your legs.

And then you feel it. The tickle. You have ignored it for far too long. All that crying and snorting has left you vulnerable to future attacks. All it takes is for one poorly timed deep breath through your nose as Kim explores your molars with his tongue, and you know you cannot fight it. You yank your head back, eyes beading with tears and face cringing in pre-sneeze agony. The resulting sneeze is going to be monstrous – more so than usual. Your lungs suck in a desperate inhale, chest expanding against Kim’s and raising him a good inch higher above you. He seems to understand all at once, angling his face as far away from your own as he can.

You manage through sheer willpower to tilt your head in the opposite direction and over the side of the bed. It tears out of you in a cloud of spray - an angry, irritated explosion.

“IIIIEEESSSSSHHHHTTTtt!!!”

Your hands squeeze reflexively at Kim’s hips. The intensity of the outburst shakes the both of you and the creaking bedframe. Fortunately, you have not pulled any muscles as you awkwardly crane yourself away. The Lieutenant scrambles for purchase atop you, reaching out to steady himself with one hand on the wall.

Your head has barely flopped back onto the pillow before you are cringing with a second, even deeper breath. Your nostrils flare wide in preparation, and you do the whole thing all over again.

“HHHAEEEEEESSSSSCCHHHHHhhh!!!”

You do not have enough energy to be embarrassed by the roaring, desperate nature of them. It felt so fucking good to let it all out. The tickle must have been brewing for some time and you had simply been too distracted to realise. You groan a little, reaching up with one hand to rub your tingling nostrils on the skin of your wrist. You mutter an apology under your breath before angling upwards, pressing your lips to the Lieutenant’s and resuming the kiss.

When he pulls back mere seconds later, you are terrified that you have disgusted him with your indulgent display. And then you remember.

Kim sits back, resting his ass on your pelvis and nudging up against your cock. You gasp as he shifts, clutching his hips hard enough to leave bruises. He calms your squirming with a hand to your chest, holding you down on the mattress. His expression is deeply irritated as his own tickle begins to crest – one eye squints against it, and his mouth drops open to take in gentle hitching breaths. Your hips give an involuntary thrust, jostling him slightly above you. The head of your cock, clothed only in your sticky underwear, ruts against him.

Your entire world narrows down to watching Lieutenant Kitsuragi’s building sneeze. You realise you are involuntarily holding your breath, eyes roving from the flare of his nostrils to his creasing forehead to the way his tongue presses just so behind his bottom teeth. He has raised his free hand loosely before his face. Your cock twitches as he fans his face once, twice, and the mere suggestion of it seems to be enough to have him gasping one last time, nostrils flared to capacity, before he is jerking above you.

“hHDT’TSZCHhhh! AhhDTt’TZsCHh’uu!!”

The bed shakes beneath you as he rocks forward twice.  Your entire body feels like a live wire of sensation as you watch him through unblinking eyes. Your fantasies were erotic, but being able to actually feel the Lieutenant’s body strain and tremble as the ticklish urge overwhelms him is something else; the unguarded, desperate expressions as he lets loose are painfully arousing. You do not make out any visible spray but you can feel, from behind the pathetic semi-covering of his hand, each burst of air across your collar bone and neck. You shiver in ecstasy.

The Lieutenant pauses for a moment and leans back again, preparing for a third sneeze. You take advantage of his shifting to free yourself from under the press of his palm, pushing yourself up on your elbows and leaning closer to him. You want to feel the next sneeze on your face. It really seems like it is going to happen, too; Kim is so overwhelmed by the tickle in his nose that he appears to look straight past you, focusing all of his concentration on the sensation as it builds, and builds. He shivers, a delicious little trembling motion that you feel travel through him and down to your own hips, before gasping one last time – an audible, desperate “Hahh-!”

At the very last moment, he tilts his face away from your own, raising the back of his hand in front of his face with his palm towards you. It is a poor attempt at shielding you from his sneeze – you can still make out every minute detail of his face as his features draw tight. It is the slight downwards tilting of his head that spares you any real contact, but the proximity and poor covering means that you can see the fine aerosol that bursts from his mouth and nose as the uncharacteristically harsh sneeze overwhelms him.

“hHUPT’TZSCHhh’uuu!! Nnn…”

The cloud of spray glitters briefly in the air beside you before dissipating just as suddenly. Your hips buck again and you cannot help the guttural moan that pulls itself out of you. His own little moan of relief drives you insane. You wish he hadn’t turned away, but you say nothing – the last thing you want is to spook him. One wrong move and you might wake up trembling in the throes of a nocturnal emission. It is starting to feel very much like one of those kinds of dreams.

But ohh, that third sneeze had been wet. As well as leaving the Lieutenant visibly shaken, it has left a tantalising sheen of dampness on his bottom lip. As Kim blinks, taking a moment to recover, you reach out to swipe across the surface of the moistened skin, drying his mouth and transferring the wetness to your thumb. You hesitate for a moment. The Lieutenant is watching you silently, one hand still outstretched and pressed against the wall, a little taken aback by this unpredictable action. Maybe you should apologise.

Fuck it. You lick your thumb clean, moaning a little in both arousal and shame at what you have just allowed yourself to do. It was a stupid thing to do. If Kim walks out of this room with immediate effect and refuses to work with you any longer, you have only yourself to blame. This time, for sure, you have taken things too far. You brace yourself, awaiting the Lieutenant’s reaction. You force yourself to lock eyes with him.

You were not expecting to see an even more intense look of desire boring back into you. You watch as Kim removes his gloves before using his own forefinger to finish what you started, wiping away any residual spray.

“You really do like this, don’t you?”

There is a hint of amusement in this question, which is not really a question at all but a damning statement. It does not sound manipulative or sadistic, however; he seems to be genuinely enjoying your lascivious responses.

“Sorry, god, sorry,” You mutter anyway. Once again, his enthusiasm has had an adverse effect on your own sudden brazenness. You do not know how to do this. The dreamlike haze of arousal has up to this point protected you from the sobering reality that you are now engaging in sneezing fetish sex activities. With a man. With Precinct 57’s Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi. Your life has been full of ‘what the fuck’ moments, but this has to be waaay up there, man. This was so much easier in your fantasies where you alone had control.

Kim shakes his head. His smile is heated, but kind.

“Don’t be.” He murmurs. “It’s intriguing. You’re intriguing, Harry.”

He reaches towards your face as he speaks. Your mouth is already hanging slightly open in gormless disarray, so it is with little resistance that he slips the middle and forefinger of his right hand – yes, Harry-boy, the very same one he used to tend to his mess – between your teeth and onto your tongue. You start sucking on them almost immediately, flushing with pleasure at the sensation and the compliment. Kim’s breath hitches and he moans, a deeply satisfied purr of a sound that goes straight to your throbbing cock. Your underwear is now drenched, sticking to the head of your cock in the aftermath of his most recent nasal display. You are painfully hard and entirely desperate, sucking on those fingers like they’re the best thing you’ve ever tasted.

“Ahh, detective…” Kim sighs. His voice is low and thick with arousal of his own. You shift underneath him so that he is no longer straddling you with a leg on either side, moving backwards slightly and manoeuvring one of your thighs – the uninjured one - between his own. He goes eagerly, enthusiastically. You press up and between his legs with purpose.

There is no lack of certainty as he bucks back down onto your leg – Lieutenant Kitsuragi is hard, and he is rubbing that hardness against you whilst you suck on his fingers. You have no idea how you have managed to pull this off, but there is no point in overthinking it – especially when every drop of blood in your body feels as though it has pooled exclusively between your legs. You clamp a hand down around his wrist for leverage and start to increase the intensity of your oral stimulation. Your head bobs slightly as you suck the digits in and out of your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tips of Kim’s fingers. His breath catches, and your eyes dart up to his face. Your cock twitches at the sight of his glittering brown eyes, heavy lidded and pupils blown as he follows the motions of your ministrations.

A swell of pride fills your chest. You realise that all you’ve ever really wanted since meeting the Lieutenant is for him to like you. He has stood by you despite the fact that you’re – well, you. And he actually does seem to like you, as inexplicable as this may be. You intrigue him. He said so himself. You don’t want to disappoint him – you want to make him feel good. Allowing yourself to acknowledge this desire for Kim outside of your own one-sided, pornographic fantasies fills you with a burning determination to do just that. Operation ‘Make Kim Orgasm’. Fuck the case, fuck this stupid murder, fuck police work – this is what you were made for. If that sounds dramatic, then so be it. You’re a dramatic kind of guy.

Kim rolls his hips against you as you press your tongue between his fingers, taking just the tips back into your mouth as you pull back up and suck hard.

“You’re a tease.” He says this in approval. You moan, and the hum this produces seems to please him very much.

A moment later, you regretfully pull back, another sneeze teasing your sensitive sinuses. This frequency and persistence would be irritating under ordinary circumstances, but with the promise of triggering a sneeze (or three) from the Lieutenant, you embrace it. You take a deep breath through flaring nostrils to stoke the subtle itch into an all-encompassing tickle. It is so effective that you sneeze immediately, on that inhalation alone.

“AEESSSSCHHHHHhhh!!! Hh…”

It shakes you so violently that you slump back against the pillow, bereft of all energy to remain partially upright any longer. Your back was starting to ache anyway. Your hands return to the Lieutenant’s hips as you look up at him expectantly.

“À tes souhaits,” he offers, even as a look of distinct irritation begins to cloud his features. You moan, and your cock jumps in your pants.

You only have to wait a matter of seconds before Kim’s breath begins to hitch. An irritatingly strong gust of wind from outside causes the entire shack to creak. You strain your ears in a valiant attempt to drink in every little inhalation over the sound of it.

What the Lieutenant says next could have been taken directly from one of your dirty little fantasies. As you gaze at him, your own breath hitching for notably more dick-related reasons, he raises a loosely-curled fist up to his face – or rather, just beneath it, leaving you plenty of room to watch – and begins to speak.

“Hh-! Ohh, Harry, you’re going to m-make me-! Hhdt-!!”

You almost cum on the spot. By sheer willpower you manage to hold back. Your forehead beads with sweat as Kim inhales definitively, bucking forward with four shuddering sneezes, supporting himself as before with a hand to the wall. You are certain if he had not done so he would have been thoroughly unbalanced.

“hhdt’Tszchhu! hHUpT’Tschu! HDT’Tzsshh! hH-!! Ahh’TSshh’uu! Ahh, mon dieu…”

You do not miss a single detail, intent on committing this painfully erotic performance to memory. The way his fine eyebrows draw together, contorting his brow in desperation. The way his nostrils flare with each contraction to almost double their resting size. The way his jaw flexes as his teeth clench together. It is a sight to behold, and you lose yourself in it.

You have been unable to keep your hips from bucking upwards, rubbing yourself against the surface of the Lieutenant’s thigh. He blinks, looking utterly drained for a brief moment, and it is one of the cutest things you have ever seen. No grown man has any right being that adorable. Once he has recovered, he presses his thigh firmly between your legs, binding your balls up and against your cock. You gasp, and he smiles, rutting against you.

“Excuse me.” He sniffles as you writhe. “That felt wonderful, I must admit.”

Fuck. You really must be dreaming. He has taken to this like a duck to water. How can he possibly know exactly what to say, and when? It is just as good as you imagined it could be – no, it is better. He is playing you like a god damn fiddle.

The Lieutenant shifts atop you, extracting his slender thigh from between the squeezing grip of your own as you dry hump him like your life depends on it. Your resistance forces him to pinch the meatiest section of your uninjured thigh – you jerk in shocked pain and release his leg as intended. He rubs the tender skin through your trousers, then squeezes into the space between you and the wall, lying on his side next to your supine form and swinging his right leg over your thighs. Your arm instinctively reaches under him to encircle his back.

“Sorry.” He apologises, smiling at the small frown on your face. “I’ll make it up to you.”

And just like that, he is reaching past your open zipper and into waistband of your underwear to grip your cock. You whine his name, embarrassingly loud and high-pitched. Your captured shaft throbs and leaks onto his fingers. His hand reaches up to collect the moisture, pulling back your foreskin ever so gently – and then he is pumping you in a steady rhythm. It is intentionally slow; you are close, and he knows this.

“Tu as une bite énorme…” You hear him mutter. Your chest swells with masculine pride. That’s right, baby. You are huge.

But holy fucking fuck, this feels – it feels – it’s so good. You wonder if he does this often – whether he touches himself just like this, or if this particular technique is reserved for other members of the homosexual underground. You groan, your head pressing back into the pillow and allowing him to work you. The skilful motions of his hand slowly build the pleasure until it sends small waves of ecstasy through your extremities, like miniature orgasms in their own right. When you do cum, it is going to be mind blowing. Your hand claws at the fabric of his bomber jacket, the other clutching the bedsheets.

“Kim…” His name rumbles out of you, a warning of the explosion to come.

Suddenly, his fingers encircle the base of your cock in a cruel, tight O. Your orgasm is halted in its tracks. Your cock throbs valiantly against its bondage, trembling as though in hope that the mimicry of orgasmic convulsions will trigger the real event – but no dice. A strangled groan tears its way out of you.

“Nooo…! Why…! You said you’d make it up to me-!”

You turn your head to face him. The look you flash him with your baleful green eyes would put the cutest puppy dog in the world to shame. They are glossy, wet with tears of betrayal. He looks at you fondly, but you can tell he is enjoying toying with you like this. Kinky bastard. You should have known.

“There’s no rush.” His voice is a seductive drawl. “I don’t want you to finish yet, Harry. I want to ask you some things.”

He is serious. The ring of his fingers does not loosen in the slightest. You sigh. You’re the questions guy, not him. You don’t much like the idea of an active interrogation whilst your swollen dick quivers dejectedly in his grip, but the promise of eventual orgasm softens the blow. You will humour him.

“Do your own sneezes turn you on? Do you remember that from before?”

Okay, wow. Straight to the meat and potatoes of the issue. Your cock twitches to hear the word ‘sneeze’ in his lilted accent again. You look to the ceiling for a moment of silent contemplation.

“I’m – not sure. They feel nice.” Your eyes swivel back to the Lieutenant’s face. “I like the effect they have on you more.”

Kim is softly biting his bottom lip. His eyes look heavy and heated – you imagine he might look the same after several glasses of wine. Except he’s somehow drunk on you – on this insane coupling.

“I can see that.” He shifts slightly, pulling himself partially atop you. He releases your cock from the grip of his right hand for the briefest of moments before replacing it with his left. His right hand begins to roll your balls in their sack, tugging at them expertly. You don’t doubt you could come from this sensation alone if he would only release your cock.

“You poor thing…” he murmurs against your cheek. “I must have been torturing you all this time.”

Arousal shoots through you like a bolt of lightning, electrifying and filthy.

“Kim, please-! Fuck…”

You could go insane. You cannot remember the last time you have been so intensely turned on for so long without the release of orgasm. Your entire body is an exposed nerve ending. Kim just sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to the dimple on your chin.

“Tell me what you like about it. Explain it to me. Try your best.”

He isn’t going to let you cum until you divulge this information to him. You could easily overpower him if you wanted – you are a hulking beast of a man compared to his compact frame. You could flip him over and rut against his ass like a caveman. But you won’t. You will do as he asks. You swallow audibly.

“I like – thinking about the way it feels, for you. About the t-tickle,” You are blushing like a maniac, tripping over your words. You cannot look him in the eye. “…And how good it must feel for you when you finally sneeze.” You pause, screwing your eyes shut in mortification.

“Go on.” Kim encourages you, making his way to your earlobe and nibbling on the sensitive flesh.

“I like the faces – and the noises – you make. When you lose control.” You swallow again. “You’re so put together. It’s a…nice contrast.”

It is simultaneously humiliating and invigorating, hearing in your own voice a comprehensive explanation and breakdown of your sexual deviancy. Kim pulls back from your ear and rests his cheek on your shoulder, fingers still plucking lazily at your sack.

“You know, I’m not all that put together.” He smiles. “I have my moments.”

Lies. He’s the most put together man that was ever put together. Granted, the amnesia hasn’t left you with much of a frame of reference for this, but still.

“I’m not very put together right now, or when I barged in here knowing you would be – touching yourself.”

He actually looks a little bashful when admitting to that. It’s cute. You kiss the tip of his nose.

“Could have fooled me. You quite literally have me by the balls.”

Kim smirks and squeezes your sack with considerable pressure. Your eyes roll back into your head with a throaty groan of appreciation.

You cannot take much more of this – this constant thrumming of arousal. You could have orgasmed any number of times by now, but either through your own or Kim’s suppression, you have not. You want to cum. You need to cum. You want the Lieutenant to cum, too. You want him to know how badly you want it. Say something, or you’ll go mad with desire.

“I want to make you cum. I want to fuck you ‘til you scream my name, and then I want to fill you with my cum while your writhe on my cock.”

Umm…Okay, then. Good god, Harry. You’ve only just had your first homosexual kiss. Reel it in.

Luckily, this pornographic confession seems to have been an entirely appropriate thing to say. The Lieutenant looks at you with a downright predatory expression of hunger. Your cock gives a frightened little twitch.

“We don’t have time for that,” His voice practically rumbles, both in your ear and vibrating against your palm where it rests on his back, sending a heated shiver through you. “But we can definitely do something else.”

He moves to sit back up, but it is poorly timed with an emerging tickle in your nose. You frantically pin him against your chest in a sudden bear hug – he initially squirms in your grip before the rise and fall of your torso against his own clues him in to the fact that you are going to sneeze yet again. He relaxes against you, pressing his face into your neck. The frames of his glasses dig in a little uncomfortably, but the closeness is thrilling and intimate.

You do not have time to enjoy the feeling of the Lieutenant draped over you – the sneeze rushes out of you, shaking the bed, and you, and Kim. You try to aim it so that your spray doesn’t just rain down on you both, but also angle it up enough that you aren’t sneezing all over Kim’s jacket. You imagine he would be less than thrilled if you did. You manage to avoid making a mess but the fabric of his jacket still ripples with the force of your release.

“EEEISSSHHHHHUuu!!”

Luckily, it is just the one - it leaves you trembling in equal parts exhaustion and hedonistic pleasure. The motion of your body bucking against the Lieutenant’s felt especially nice in this position. You loosen your arms and wait for Kim to pull away. You are confused when he doesn’t do so immediately, and then the sound of a wavering inhale freezes you in place. All sensation in your body seems to subside apart from the heated skin of your neck where the Lieutenant’s breath hitches, preparing to sneeze. You feel the tip of his nose pressing against your jugular, his glasses digging into your jaw. Time seems to stand still as Kim’s ribcage expands under your hands, and then he is shuddering against you, smothering his sneezes against the column of your throat.

“HH’Dtsshh! Hh’Mptschh!! NGx’tsshh!!”

You arch your back, gasping, each little sneeze sending a shivering wave of warmth through you. It is one thing to watch Kim sneeze, but to feel him sneeze against you, pressed as close as he is – your brain feels as though it is short-circuiting.

He gently shakes your arms off and sits up, wiping his mouth and nose with the back of his hand. He casts you a sheepish, almost embarrassed look that lets you know he had not intended to sneeze against you, but one glance at the dumb, almost drunken expression on your face and he looks a lot less sorry.

“Pardon,” he mutters, reaching into the interior pocket of his jacket. You watch as he takes out - a condom. Wait - he carries condoms with him on police investigations? Perhaps he carries them everywhere he goes. You should be more prepared yourself, quite honestly.

He rips the packet open skilfully with his teeth. You think he is going to slide the condom down your own length – it won’t fit, you want to say - but the sight of the Lieutenant opening his fly with one hand in expert timing and whipping out his cock leaves the words dead in your throat.

You stare at Kim’s erection. It’s not as big as your own, but it’s definitely a decent size. It’s pretty, too – a nice thickness, a neat head, curving a little off to one side. It’s fucking beautiful, actually. Your mouth waters at the sight of it resting in his loose grip. He watches you watch him, pumping the length of it a few times before teasing the head, making himself gasp. Your own neglected dick spits a jet of precum onto your lower stomach.

You reach greedily for his cock, but he gently slaps your hand away. When he rolls the condom down his length, panic hits you like a freight train. Is he going to fuck you? In the arse? Oh, god. You want him to fuck you up the arse. You think you might want that more than you want to fuck him up the arse. You gape at him, fingers flexing and eyes roaming his face.

“Listen, Kim, I- I’ve never done this before, and don’t get me wrong I – I want to, but I’m not – I don’t think I can-!” Kim silences you with a finger to the lips.

“Harry, I just said we don’t have time for that.” He laughs a little, and your entire body slumps back onto the bed as every muscle relaxes at once.

“Ohhh, thank god…” You hear yourself mutter, like a total asshole. Kim just laughs.

But then what is the condom for? Your brows furrow in confusion. He picks up on this immediately and sighs, still massaging his cock in a leisurely fashion.

“This is just a precaution, detective. I mean no offense, but I’m not sure I can trust your sexual history in light of the amnesia and unpredictable behaviour.”

It’s a totally fair point, but you still don’t entirely understand the point of it if you’re just giving each other hand jobs. Don’t ask. You have a feeling it’ll all make sense in a moment. You look up at Kim, and whatever expression you’re making seems to melt him, leaning forward and pressing a sweet kiss on your chin. He seems to really like the dimple there.

“Don’t worry. This is going to feel great, I promise.”

Kim shifts on top of you, hovering above you with a hand planted either side of your head. He pushes your shirt up over the expanse of your stomach then aligns your hips together until – fuckkkk. You toss your head back in pleasure. The Lieutenant begins to thrust against you, reaching between you for a moment to smear your wetness all over his sheathed cock, and you are sliding together with the most delicious friction. You buck up against Kim, arrhythmically at first before finding the perfect complimentary motion to his own thrusts. Nothing could have prepared you for how good it feels to have his cock sliding up against your own. Your toes are curling in an instant, and you are making embarrassing little mewling sounds.

Kim leans closer, hovering above you on deceptively strong arms. Your hands grip his jacket as his breath tickles your ear.

“I think I’m starting to understand, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor,” he murmurs, drinking in the sound of your groans. “The way you shuddered against me when you sneezed – it’s always wonderful to feel the physical result of somebody losing control. A good sneeze is like an orgasm in its own right.”

Ohh, fuck. He’s too good at this. Or maybe you’re just easy? Either way, your balls are starting to draw up and you can feel the pressure building as your cock gives a heavy, pre-orgasmic throb against Kim’s. And still he talks.

“Just now, you said you wanted me to fuck you. I can do that. I can make it so that it’s all you think about. You’ll dream about it every night, and wake up wishing my cock was inside you…”

He purrs into your ear, a continuous stream of dirty promises, and you’re imagining it all, imaging him fucking you, then you fucking him, images flood your mind and your cock is throbbing and everything tenses before –

Release. Pulsing, gyrating release. The pleasure is monumental – all you can do is submit to it, washing over you in waves and pulling a shuddering moan out of you. Your weakened heart flutters as the sheer magnitude of sensation incapacitates you. You had been denied for too long, and now it seems as though the orgasm is actively trying to kill you out of revenge. You do not care. It feels so, so good. The best you’ve had since god knows when. It feels like it could go on for an eternity. In reality, it is over in a matter of seconds, but when it finally releases you, twitching and gasping in the aftermath, you feel almost reborn.

As you wind down, you are aware of Kim murmuring gentle words of encouragement and praise. You feel him kiss your cheek. He is handling you carefully, like you are a delicate flower and not a muscular slab of a man. You are enjoying it immensely. You let yourself be soothed, sinking into the mattress as the afterglow leaves you floaty and relaxed.

It dawns on you, as you come back to earth, that Kim is no longer thrusting against you. Well, he is a little, but only minutely, barely enough for you to make out. He has shifted his hips slightly so that he is no longer pressing directly against your sensitive cock, but against your hip bone. His cock is rock solid against you, and you realise in a sudden wave of shame and disappointment that he hasn’t had an orgasm of his own.

“You didn’t cum,” You manage.

“No.” Kim confirms, resting his face in the crook of your neck and shoulder. He seems to like it there. You like that he seems to like it there. “I’ll need a little more time than that.”

You wince. You were so turned on and came so hard you barely had time to reflect on the fact that your orgasm had taken a whopping 40 seconds to crest from the moment Kim’s dick slid up against your own. You’re not even a minute man. Teenage boys last longer than you. You are unable to prevent yourself from letting out a pained, reedy whine as these thoughts consume you.

“S’rry…” You mutter, and to make it all worse, a couple of tears begin to spill down the sides of your face and into the burning shells of your ears. You focus on a patch of discolouration on the ceiling and attempt to astral project your body out of there. It does not work.

Kim pushes himself upwards and positions himself in a seated straddle above you. You offer no resistance. You do not look at him until he forces you to do so with a firm grip on your chin, pulling your face towards him. Even then your stubborn eyes only swivel to look at him once he compels you with an authoritative “Harry.”

He is looking at you fondly. You’re not sure how much more you can take of his relative kindness. It’s probably just the post-orgasm loopiness and raised temperature, but you swear you can make out the faint glow of a halo around his head.

“Don’t apologise. You held out for a very long time – an impressively long time, given how worked up you were.” He gets up off the bed then, taking the few steps over to the small basin and wetting the washrag lying beside it. You turn your head to watch and see that his erection hangs insistently in front of him, though it has wilted a little. The surface of the condom is slippery, covered in your semen and pre-cum.

“This was never about me, anyway. I got…carried away.”

He sounds…pained. You wonder if he is feeling a regret similar to that of an unsuccessful one-night stand, once the orgasm has cleared his mind. Only he hasn’t even had an orgasm. You feel a pang of guilt in your chest, not only for him but faint memories of various drunken affairs. You have a feeling a lot of women have slammed the door of your apartment behind them, their own orgasms neglected as you lay there in selfish completion. Fuck. Say something before you ruin things even more.

“I like when you get carried away. I want you to get carried away.” You push yourself with no small amount of effort to sit up against the wall, legs swung over the side of the bed.

You watch Kim’s profile. He says nothing, but he’s smiling. He slips the condom off of himself and flicks it into the nearby bin. You watch with a sinking heart as he tucks his half-hard cock back into his underwear. It feels like rejection. This is totally harshing the mellow of your earth-shattering orgasm, man. He turns with the washcloth in hand, takes one look at your face and smiles at you with such naked adoration you almost swoon with it.

“What’s that look for?”

You shrug, eyes darting around like a desperately guilty dog.

“Officer.” You look back at him. “We are still in the middle of an ongoing murder investigation.”

He is such a square. How he can be this level-headed and persistent whilst he’s still at half-mast is beyond you. You snort out of your nose like a petulant child. That was a bad idea – your forgot that you have a cold. You scramble around you looking for a tissue, but before you find one Kim is cleaning up your mess with the washcloth. Your ears burn. Having your nose wiped for you like a child should not be this arousing, but it is. Kim folds the washcloth and works downwards, cleaning the semen from your skin and the trail of hair that covers the length of your torso.

“Don’t look so disappointed.” His face is so close to yours. “If you still mean everything you’ve said when we’ve closed this case…” He whispers against your mouth. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

You lunge forward too quickly and awkwardly crash your teeth against his own. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, sinking to his knees in front of you and craning his neck upwards to maintain contact. You lean forward, clutching his shoulders with flexing fingers. He is such a good kisser. He does amazing things with his tongue whilst his hand still works on scrubbing your torso clean, working its way to your crotch, and –

Kim breaks the kiss and looks down your body. He is wearing an expression of utter disbelief, which you would find incredibly amusing if it wasn’t aimed at your person.

“What? What’s wrong??” You ask in horror, clutching his shoulders tighter.

He doesn’t answer you. He reaches one hand between your legs. You cannot help the obtrusively loud moan of pleasure that rakes its way out of you as he squeezes your cock.

“Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor.” He says despairingly. “You’re still hard.”

You look down. The swollen head of your cock peers back up at you, twitching happily within the constraints of Kim’s fingers. Huh.

“Oh. Uhh. So I am.”

The look of bemusement Kim flashes you is objectively too funny for you to not grin back at him, so you do. He raises an eyebrow.

“Is this normal for you? Do you remember?”

“I’m. I’m gonna say no.”

“No, you don’t remember, or no, this is not normal?”

“Yes.”

The Lieutenant blinks. He sighs heavily, releasing your cock. It throbs angrily at the sudden absence of his expert fingers. If a cock could pout, yours would.

“Harry.” He places his palms on each of your thighs, making sure to keep his touch light on your injured leg. “The entire reason I suggested you take care of things is because I thought it would provide you with some relief and mental clarity.”

The Lieutenant doesn’t seem angry – maybe a little concerned. You get the distinct impression that he is beginning to think you may actually have a medical issue of some kind. Your regard your stubborn erection. It doesn’t hurt – you hadn’t even noticed its persistence because you are still enjoying the buzz of your afterglow. Are you still aroused? You ought to test that. You picture Kim leaning down and sneezing all over your crotch. When your cock gives a heavy throb in response to this thought, drooling more clear liquid down your shaft, you relax. You’re not suffering the early stages of priapism; you’re just insanely horny.

Kim has been watching you think. He also watches your cock bob in the air with poorly feigned disinterest. You think, despite it all, he is secretly happy with this outcome. Perhaps a little flattered that he has managed to work you into this rabid state despite the multiple factors of injury, illness and drug withdrawals working against you. You are hyperaware of the grip of his hands on your thighs. He has very nice hands - angular and masculine, but delicate in their motions in a way your own huge paws are not. You should tell him to get to work with those hands of his.

“It’ll go down soon?” You offer instead.

Spoilsport.

Kim looks up at you like he doesn’t believe you in the slightest, because he doesn’t.

“Humour me, officer. When might that be?”

You shrug noncommittally. He sighs again, eyeing your cock. It twitches a little under the scrutinization.

“Do you need to have another orgasm?” He asks you. It is a sincere, almost clinical question for which he would like a straightforward answer, almost like a physician consulting with a patient. That doesn’t stop your hips from squirming in response.

“I…don’t know if I can.” You admit.

And you mean it. Earlier this week you may have suffered a genuine heart attack. You were shot in the leg just over 48 hours ago. Another orgasm of that magnitude may kill you. You ponder this a moment longer. There are definitely worse ways to go, and you trust Kim to take good care of your corpse should your petite mort just become…mort. The Lieutenant is patiently watching you, still crouched in front of you. You could do worse that Kim Kitsuragi, Harry-boy. Just blow your load like a man and enjoy the ride.

“…Fuck it. Sure.”

You stroke your cock experimentally. It feels as intense as if you’d never come in the first place – the only evidence to the contrary being the floaty, rejuvenated feeling your previous orgasm bestowed upon you. Once you start touching yourself you can’t stop. You groan and tip your head back against the wall. Yeah. This probably won’t take long either.

You realise after a moment of passionate self love that Kim has made no move to either offer a helping hand or leave you to handle yourself alone. He’s watching you work yourself with naked interest, eyes heavy-lidded and bright. When you groan in response to your own teasing fingers rubbing gently over your frenulum, you hear his own moan of appreciation and feel the flexing of his fingers on your legs. It is his own sigh of arousal that seems to break him out of this intense observation. He stands up, and you look up at him, meeting his heated gaze with your own.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” He says, pushing his glasses up his nose but otherwise unmoving. His own erection tents the front of his cargo pants.

“Don’t go.” You say. “Stay.”

He smiles down at you. It makes your breath hitch.

“You want me to watch?”

“I think you want me to want you to watch.”

“I want to get back to the murder investigation.” He teases.

“Please. Don’t talk about murder right now. I’ll never cum that way.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” He smiles at you. He is finding some enjoyment in this – standing over you while you masturbate yourself furiously. You find yourself enjoying it as well – so much so that it takes you a moment to take offense.

“I’m not! – not that fucking weird, damn.” You mutter. He just laughs.

“I want to make you cum.” You offer after several beats of silence. He fidgets in response, a small movement that would have otherwise signalled a routine shifting of weight from one leg to another, were it not for the obscene tent in his trousers.

“You should focus on yourself.” He breathes out, sounding almost as out of breath as you.

“What does it – look like I’m doing?” You get out between moans.

You’re getting close. It feels good to stroke yourself with your own practised hand, but you can’t help but feel like you need more. The Lieutenant is the entire reason you are in this position in the first place, and now he’s not even touching you. His sneezing was the catalyst for a whole new world of never-ending arousal and homosexual revelations.

You should ask him to sneeze for you. The thought is simultaneously thrilling and mortifying. It is one thing for Kim to barge into the room and start kissing you, and sneezing all over you because he can’t help it – yet another thing entirely for you to request his active participation. Perhaps you don’t need to ask. All you need to do is sneeze again, and it will certainly trigger a reaction of his own. You sniffle experimentally, but all you get for your efforts is an uncomfortable burning sensation. It is just your luck that the second you actively want to sneeze, you cannot. Fuck.

Why do you find yourself hesitating like this? You couldn’t have imagined a more positive response from the Lieutenant before. He called you intriguing. He dirty-talked you. He rubbed your dicks together and compared sneezing to orgasm. What’s the worst thing that could happen?

You regard the Lieutenant. Sexually charged energy practically oozes from him as he stands before you. His pupils are blown and his body bows towards you with a subconscious desire for closeness. All physical signs, not least his solid cock, point towards his want for sex with you, and yet – he’s just standing there. Watching. It occurs to you that he is potentially holding himself back now because his uncharacteristically enthusiastic advances have spooked him into a form of cowed paralysis. For a rigid professional like the Lieutenant, niche fetish sex with a fellow police officer is a huge deviation from his usual composed behaviour.

You take this all into consideration, and open your mouth to speak.

“I want you to sneeze for me. Please, Kim. I’m desperate for it.”

Your voice is steady, if not a little strained, but you have said it. It is out in the open. Your face heats in anticipation, heart fluttering in your chest, and your arousal seems to amplify at the thrill of voicing these most erotic desires out loud. Kim makes a low noise in the back of his throat, and you are worried for a moment that he is going to bolt out of the door, but then he is stepping closer, standing between your legs and cradling your cheek in his palm.

“Okay.” He smiles at you, and the relief is overwhelming. He looks excited– it is as if he had been waiting for you to put into words what you really wanted from him. You have a feeling that you had been dead on the money about the source of his reluctance. He had taken too much control of you, far too quickly. He didn’t want to look desperate, or lecherous in his handling of you, even though you went easily, enthusiastically. He had said you could do whatever you wanted to him – granted, he had meant this for a time in the future when you had more blood in your brain than your dick, but. Either way. Perhaps all you had to do was use your fucking words.

The Lieutenant is suddenly glancing round the expanse of the shack as if looking for something. When you ask him what he is doing, he looks at you as if it is obvious.

“I can’t just sneeze on command, but there doesn’t appear to be anything dusty in here for me to use. Isobel is clearly a fastidious cleaner.”

That last part expresses a deep respect for the old woman’s neatness despite her visual impairment. He says it so matter of factly that it takes a moment for the sheer eroticism of what came before to wash over you. Your cock drools down your knuckles at the thought of Kim willingly inducing an allergic reaction in himself, proposing he do so as if it is the most normal thing in the world. You picture him again with a feather duster, teasing his flaring nostrils until he cannot take anymore. He seems pleased with your immediate physical reaction, running his hand through your hair. You thank this morning’s Harry for the decision to shower despite the pain in your leg.

“Don’t you need to sneeze? That’s as effective a method as any.”

You sniffle again, but it is the same result as before – which is to say, nothing at all.

“Fuck…” You tilt your head back against the wall in disappointment. Perhaps you had better let this idea go and just think about tits or something.

You remember then, in a flash of foggy memories, a certain fool proof method for inducing a sneeze. A small, twisted piece of coated wire – the kind you might use to seal an open bag of food. You remember using it, tickling yourself into a relieving, shuddering sneeze when the urge refused to crest without external encouragement. God. Maybe you like your own sneezes more than you previously thought. You feel another stubborn memory, just on the periphery of your consciousness that refuses to reveal itself to you. Nevertheless, you have a hunch – no, a suspicion - that you are not the only person upon whom you have used that little tool. This confuses you. You had been so convinced this was a secret you had never shared with anybody, but now you are not so sure. But who? It wasn’t…her, at least. You decide to bury this troubling thought before you develop a headache or start to cry.

Anyway. This tool. You have a feeling. A feeling that in the lining of your blazer, through a small rip of the fabric…You reach inside, and moments later, you are staring at the small twist of wire pinched between your thumb and forefinger. The Pavlovian elevation of your heartbeat at the sight of it only confirms its intended usage.

“Umm. I think this should work.” You hold the small tool up to the Lieutenant, your expression a confusing amalgamation of sheepishness and excitement.

He takes the tool off you and brings it closer to his face, squinting a little at it through his glasses before a look of recognition spreads across his features. His lips quirk up into one of his small smiles. You swallow audibly.

“I’m assuming this is intended for internal stimulation?” His smile widens as you nod, squeezing your cock for good measure. “Very resourceful, detective.”

He twirls the small piece of wire between his fingers as if testing his grip. You are giddy with anticipation, practically vibrating with it. Kim uses his knee on the outside of your leg to push it inwards – you instinctively move your legs closer together, out of the wide spread you had adopted as you slumped back against the wall. He hums in appreciation at your quick understanding before kneeling in a partial straddle atop you, knees pressing into the mattress. It squeaks in protest anew at your combined weight, but neither of you pay it any mind.

Kim rests his left hand on your shoulder, twirling the wire between thumb and forefinger of his right and watching your reaction. You swallow thickly.

“Please,” You whine. “’M so close…”

“Okay.” He leans forward to kiss you for a moment, and you almost reach up to pull him back into it before you remember that more kissing means less sneezing. “But if you’re still hard after this, I’m driving you to the hospital.”

He isn’t joking. You nod obediently, trying your best to look innocent and failing spectacularly. Kim hesitates for the briefest moment, as if it dawns on him how ridiculous his current position is – how every decision and success he has undertaken in his career and life in general has led up to this bizarre turn of events – before slipping the tool into his slightly flared right nostril.

Almost immediately, he is pulling back with a look of pained irritation, but it is not the kind either of you were looking for. He coughs a little before rubbing at his nose frantically with the heel of his palm, eyes scrunched shut.

“Kim - shit, are you okay?” You ask him, concern overriding the way your cock twitches at the sight of him roughly manhandling his nose.

“Ahh, sorry, sorry,” The Lieutenant apologises, slowing the motion of his hand. He lowers it again and smiles bashfully at you, eyes watering ever so slightly. He looks so cute in the moment you barely suppress the urge to gnaw on his glasses.

“I think I was a little overzealous. I didn’t expect that sensation.” He moves the tool back into his nostril, trying again.

You watch in fascination, eyes roving over his face, taking in every little detail as he tickles his nose for you. His nostrils are your favourite thing to watch, predictably. They are incredibly expressive, and the shape of them lends to a wonderful flare. Each little twist and thrust of the tool triggers another series of uncontrollable twitching. The eroticism of this moment cannot be understated – you feel so good, so unbelievably turned on that your hand has paused on your cock for fear you will come before he has even succeeded in initiating a build-up.

Suddenly, the Lieutenant’s breath catches. You hold your own involuntarily, as if any sudden movement will scare his budding sneeze away. Your eyes wander from his flaring nostrils to his furrowed brows to his mouth as it falls open. His tongue cups itself, pressing slightly against his full lip. You briefly imagine the feeling of that tongue wrapped around your cock as he sucks it down. You resist touching yourself, intent on enjoying every moment of this. The second you do it is game over.

“Oohh, I think-!” Kim manages to gasp out before the sneezes are tearing their way out of him – a desperate little triple that leaves him shivering in your lap.

“hHUPT’Tschh’uu!! Hhdt’Tszschhh’uu! hHADT’TSCHhhtt!!”

He aims them at your chest, but mostly catches your neck and chin with the light spray. Your skin feels electric with sensation. You swallow your groans to avoid drowning out the sound of his releases, cock throbbing heavily with each one. It is hard to imagine that you could be more turned on than in this current moment, especially as Kim sighs heavily, orgasmically when he has finished.

“Ahh, my god. That felt so good.”

It doesn’t matter if he is only saying it for your benefit, or if it really is the case – you’d put money on both – and you allow yourself to groan openly at last. Your free hand reaches up to clutch at the front of his shirt, more to tether yourself to him than anything else.

“Did you like that?” He purrs, knowing full fucking well that you’ve probably never liked anything else quite so much in your life.

“Yesss…” You manage, hesitating for a moment before offering a “B-bless you” that you stumble over as if it is the naughtiest, dirtiest phrase known to man.

“Thank you.”

He sighs emphatically, delighted to see you squirm and blush. The Lieutenant rests the hand still clutching the inducing tool on top of your own where you are crumpling his meticulously ironed shirt into a wrinkled mess. He leans forward, holding his face just in front of your own. He sniffles, then smiles smugly at the flicker of your eyes to his flaring nostrils.

“Harry.”

You murmur an affirmative, unable to do much more as his deep brown eyes seem to stare into your soul. It makes you feel a little drunk – the fun, relaxing part before the anger and shame sends you into a spiral of self-destruction.

“Why aren’t you touching yourself?”

The Lieutenant could read a phone directory aloud and that voice would probably still have the same effect on you. Soft, but deep and commanding. It sends shivers down your spine. Before you can answer him, he is murmuring against your lips again.

“Touch yourself for me. Be a good boy.”

You can be his good boy. His best boy. You sigh against him, fingers moving to firmly encircle your cock before his words even fully sink in.

“Yes,” you breathe out, beginning to stroke yourself obediently. Your other hand releases the front of his shirt and moves to grip his waist instead.

“Good.” He smiles, leaning back once more, hand gripping your shoulder firmly whilst the other slips the tool back into his waiting nostril. “Here’s your reward.”

You watch in what can only be described as adoration as the Lieutenant starts to tickle his nose again. You are trying to hold out, keeping the squeezing rhythm on your cock as slow as you can manage, but the longer you touch yourself the harder it is to do so. A few moments later, Kim’s nostrils give a definitive twitch. You hear him suck in a shuddering breath. This time was much faster – he is figuring out the best spots to tease in an impressive display of aptitude.

The Lieutenant’s face freezes in pre-sneeze agony for a beat, and then he is tilting forward with another round of sneezes, hand squeezing your shoulder tight.

“hHPT’Tsschh!! HdDDZT’Tzshieww!! ‘TSCHhh’uu!!....HAHd’tsschht!!

These, too, were aimed in the general vicinity of your upper torso, though the last one – a straggler – seems to catch him off guard. You feel the delicate spray that bursts out with it settling over your left cheek, some on your lips. You shamelessly lick them clean. It wasn’t a particularly messy affair, hardly even wet enough for you to feel it, but a thrill rushes through you all the same. Kim doesn’t notice, pausing for a moment to scrub at his itchy nostrils with his knuckles and scrunching his eyes shut as he does so. It is both endearing and erotic that he makes no effort to hide just how much these sneezes tickle and tease.

“Bless you-!” You all but growl at him.

“Thank you, detective.”

He is enjoying this immensely, which only makes it better. You doubt, despite the lax and forgiving nature with which he has approached some of your more…unpredictable behaviours, that he is the kind of man who does anything in bed that he does not want to. He wears his arousal well – he doesn’t blush so much as he seems to glow, radiant and healthy.

“This is fun.” He admits, out of the blue, returning the tool to his nose. “I wonder why I’ve never thought to try this before.”

Because you’re not a huge fucking pervert, you do not say. You imagine he finds a certain appeal in having some power over when he gets to sneeze. He can enjoy the release when the reflex is triggered by his own hand and following his own decision to do so. It is an entirely different ball game to when his allergies or suggestibility render him helpless in environments he cannot control. Now he has an opportunity to indulge in the sensation – and it certainly does no harm that he is reducing a large man like yourself to a quivering mess whilst doing so.  

Before you realise it, your muscles begin to tighten in pre-orgasmic tension. Your hand is stroking your cock mercilessly, doing everything it can to drive you closer and closer to climax. It is working on autopilot, for which you are grateful – you don’t want to miss a moment of this thinking about anything that isn’t the Lieutenant.

“Kim…” You whine. You mean to say more – that you’re close, you’re going to cum, something to that effect. You don’t manage to, but the desperation with which you utter his name is enough for the Lieutenant to understand.

“Are you going to cum for me?” He murmurs, rubbing his thumb in small circles against your clavicle.

You sure fucking are. Your hand is a blur over your crotch, your frantic efforts almost sending vibrations throughout the protesting bed frame. You try not to think too much about the expressions you’re making. Kim has already been witness to your O face and certainly doesn’t seem to have been deterred by whatever he saw. He’s watching you with a hungry look even now, working his own face into a different but not dissimilar mask of desperation to your own.

Suddenly, his hand is squeezing your shoulder especially hard, thumb digging into bone and muscle.

“I think – if I -!”

He is trying in desperation to communicate something between hitching breaths, but it is futile. He inhales hugely, audibly gasping at the intensity of the tickle he has inflicted upon himself. He makes no effort to remove the tool this time.

“AhHH’TSchhTt!!-‘TSSChhh!-‘TSSh’uu!! – god, I-! AESSCH’uu! Hhp’Tzshieww!*

A wave of heat consumes you, the eroticism of the moment almost unbearable. You realise that Kim has found a sweet spot and deduced that simply holding the tool in place will result in an endless barrage of sneezes. Your cock throbs, drooling down your knuckles as you caress and squeeze yourself stupid. The hand resting on Kim’s waist grips him more firmly, a kind of anchorage, though for whose benefit you are not entirely sure.

“IhHd’TSsch’uu!! aAHDd’TszchhT!!-TTSChh’uu-ttschht!! Fuck, it’s so -! HahDD’TZSCHHhht!!”

The bed shakes under your combined efforts. You moan loudly, wantonly, almost out of your mind with desire. You wish you could shut yourself up – not out of any kind of embarrassment or shame. You’re beyond that now. But your own noisy exclamations are beginning to drown out the sound of Kim’s relentless sneezing. They have been increasing steadily in pitch as his body fights to mollify the tickle. There is no relief to be found, however – as long as he presses that little piece of wire against his sensitive spot, he will sneeze ceaselessly.

“Hupt’CHShh’iew! Hhdt’CHhhssh!! Hh-!! HhGG’TSzsch’uu!! TZSSCHh’iew!! Hhd’TZSCHshhtt!!”

They have been spraying your chest, neck and face indiscriminately, as it is all the Lieutenant can do to keep himself upright and find enough air to breathe between each convulsion. That most recent sneeze is also the most productive yet. You blink reflexively against the spray misting over your cheeks and nose, tangibly more wet than the preceding baptisms you have received. Kim’s pink, flaring nostrils are beginning to glitter with moisture. You almost feel envious that it has taken him such an intense series of sneezes to develop a bona fide runny nose. You can only imagine the mess you would have made by this point.

Unable to clean himself up throughout the continuous onslaught, you notice the tiniest string of saliva drips from the Lieutenant’s bottom lip. You want to lick it off, but all you’re capable of in the moment is fucking your own fist and moaning low and loud like a cat in heat. Your orgasm is mere moments away – it is building so intensely that your earlier fears of simply cumming yourself to death reemerge. You couldn’t stop the frantic motions of masturbation if you tried, however. You are a wanking machine, operating purely on animalistic impulses.

The Lieutenant, it appears, has reached his limitations. He looks dizzy and breathless, glasses askew and eyes streaming in irritation. He removes the tool from his nostril and drops it between you, realising much the same as you have – the cruel little press of that wire would have made him sneeze and sneeze until he passed out.

He clutches your shoulders with both hands now. You stare, utterly and totally enraptured, as his breath hitches towards yet another release.  Removing the direct source of irritation seems to have stoked some kind of residual tickle – and by the absolutely miserable twist of his features, it is perhaps the most intense of them all. Your cock shudders with the first pulse of your orgasm.

My god, you might die. You might actually die, you think, as the steadily cresting pleasure curls your toes and begins to pulse through you in luxurious waves. It is so overwhelming that you are unable to make any noise at all. You manage to watch through unblinking eyes as Kim tips forward with a punishing double.

“hHAhdt’TSZCHhh’uuu!! HhHDT’TSZSChhst!!”

They spray across your chin and neck, deliciously wrenching and wet. The Lieutenant gasps, head shaking almost imperceptibly as the tickle grinds vindictively against his sinuses – one final ‘fuck you’ - before he is lurching forward with a definitive, body-crunching explosion.

“hhHAHPT’TTZSSCHHhtt’iewww!!!”

It is the loudest and wettest sneeze you have ever heard from him. More importantly is the fact that he has managed to aim it down his body, chin squeezing against his collar bone. It drenches your cock in a teasing cloud of spray, the cooling sensation of it settling onto the delicate skin and elevating your orgasm beyond anything you thought imaginable. You are reeling with it, trembling pitifully.

Completely without means to control your own shuddering, you are helpless to fight it as your head drops back against the wall, thunking hard enough that there is pain even through the tremendous pleasure. You feel Kim slip a hand between your skull and the wall, cradling it protectively as you continue to shiver. The jarring movement seems to have triggered you to find your voice again and you moan stupidly, eyelashes aflutter.

Unlike your first orgasm, when the pleasure finally releases you this time, you slump as though dead. You have never come so close to losing consciousness from orgasm; you didn’t know it was something you were physically capable of (falling asleep immediately after the fact or passing out from drugs not-withstanding). Your breathing finally regains some semblance of consistency. Your eyes fell closed at some point and you make no move to open them. As you twitch with the occasional aftershock, wilting dick in hand, you feel Kim disembarking and hear him moving round. Your lascivious cock gives a few appreciative twitches at the sound of him blowing his nose.

“Harry. Harrier.” Kim calls your name softly from above, and you realise that you have started to doze.

“Mmf.” You grunt. You wish he would leave you to your peaceful oblivion.

A sudden cool sensation against your face makes you jolt slightly, eyes fluttering open. You look up at Kim, who is watching you with undisguised fondness and amusement, pressing a damp cloth to your cheek.

“Hi.” You manage.

“Hello.” Kim replies, before moving the cloth over your face and neck with a mechanical efficiency.

You grunt a little in indignation at being jostled here and there. You imagine this is what a milk drunk kitten being groomed by a fastidious and overbearing mother cat would feel like. Kim ignores your protests, wiping your dick clean with several quick strokes.

“Sorry.” He slows down just a little when you hiss and jerk as he works over the head of your cock, rubbing the over sensitised skin with tender care.

Your sticky hand is the last to be cleaned. You offer a lazy smirk as he wrinkles his nose at the sheer amount of mess you have made. The cloth, which you realise had been one of his many clean handkerchiefs, is tossed into the bin without a second thought. When you continue to sit there, arms hanging loosely at your sides, he clears his throat and looks pointedly at your crotch. Oh, right. You tuck your cock away, finally and blessedly flaccid.

“Do you normally make such a production of orgasm?” Kim asks in faux irritation, pulling his gloves back on.

You know he liked what he saw – he just likes to tease you. You ignore him, unable to formulate a witty or biting remark in response. Your brain is still jelly. Evidently your legs are, too – the second you try to stand, they are buckling under you. Kim steadies you, supporting your weight as best he can, until you are able to stand on your own. You swoon a little from the sudden rush of blood.

“You okay?” He asks, patting your back as you wash your hands in the basin.

“Fuck, man. I’m better than okay. I’m the living embodiment of Disco, baby.”

You giggle a little, loopy from the rush of endorphins. Your head also feels about a thousand times clearer, your morale at an all-time high – which gives you all the confidence you need to follow through on what you have been dying to do for days.

You turn to Kim, some variation of ‘The Expression’ plastered onto your face. With one fell swoop, you are scooping him up and depositing him roughly onto the bed, pulling a startled and rather undignified squawk out of him. Before he has time to stand up, you lower your mass over him, pressing a thigh between his legs and up against his cock and balls. The moan that escapes him is an unexpected and embarrassing to him as it is intoxicating and motivating to you. His hands reach up to grip your shoulders.

“You’re hard.” You mutter, before leaning forward and pressing a series of kisses to the exposed column of the Lieutenant’s neck.

“Astute observation, detective,” he breathes out, using his grip to pull you closer and arching himself up against you.

“I still want to make you cum. Will you let me now?” You nose along his jawline, careful to avoid pressing too hard and ruining the moment with a poorly timed sneeze. He shudders and bucks up against your leg, squeezing his thighs around it.

“Yes. Fuck, yes.”

That’s as clear an affirmation as you’ve ever heard. You reach between his legs, balancing over him on one arm. As nice as it felt for the position to be reversed, you can’t deny that your present arrangement is reaffirming to your masculinity. You spit into your hand, then manoeuvre his rock-solid cock out of his pants and hold it for a moment in your palm, getting a feel for the weight and thickness of it. You look down the lengths of your bodies in appreciation at the pretty head, beaded with moisture. You swipe over it with your thumb, spreading the wetness around and pulling a shaky sigh out Kim in response.

Before you can begin to stroke the Lieutenant, he is gripping your chin with one hand and forcing you to look at him.

“One thing before you start.” His brown eyes burn into your own. “If you ever pick me up like that again, I’m breaking both your arms.”

He is only half joking. He appreciates your wanton displays of virile masculinity, but he does not appreciate being caught off guard and thrown around like a toy. You nod within his grip, and he releases you, pulling your face to the crook of his neck and moaning in appreciation as your hand starts to pump him. He temporarily lets go of your shoulder to reach down and pull his t-shirt up to his nipples before resuming his hold, gripping you almost possessively.

“Is that an appropriate way to speak to your superior officer, Lieutenant?” You tease. There are times that you are especially grateful for the heavy timbre of your voice, and now is one of them.

You work your way over Kim’s neck with tiny kisses. His jugular flutters under your lips with each frantic beat of his heart.

“I believe it’s warranted when you’ve made your superior officer orgasm twice by sneezing on his person.” He murmurs, intoxicatingly breathless, into your ear, making you shudder involuntarily. You feel the smile on his lips as he nibbles gently on your ear lobe. Oh, god. He’s a monster. He’s going to eat you alive, and you’ll happily let him.

“God. You can’t be doing that. I’m serious, Kim, you’ll make me hard again.”

You don’t want him to stop. You want to lie there and let him tease every inch of your body. But this is no longer about you. You are overflowing with endorphins and post-orgasmic rejuvenation, and it is the Lieutenant who has brought you to such a state. He deserves your total and undivided attention.

It feels wonderful to stroke his cock, and you seem to be very good at it, if Kim’s increasingly enthusiastic moans and gasps are of any indication. His skin is velvety soft in your calloused palm, and everything feels perfect and grounded and right. A sudden wave of emotion overcomes you as you realise this is the happiest you have been in a very long time. You blink the traitorous tears away before they threaten to fall, but there is still a lump in your throat. You’re beginning to suspect you are just a regular sex crier.

“I can hear you thinking,” Kim gasps out.

You lift your head out of the crook of his neck to look into his face. He looks amazing like this, as though he can barely believe how good it feels, eyebrows furrowed and teeth worrying his bottom lip.

“I’m thinking about you.” You murmur, pressing your thigh even harder against his balls and squeezing his cock with a purposefully slow upstroke. He writhes under you, and the half-strangled sob he makes as his hands scramble for purchase on your blazer is possibly the best sound you have ever heard in your life (sneezing aside).

“Harry-! Plus fort, comme ça…!”

You obey, increasing the force of your grip as you squeeze him, a steady and punishing rhythm. His closed-mouth groan of approval spurs you on.

“I meant it all. Everything I said. And I’ll still mean it tomorrow, and the day after that.” You know this, with the strongest sense of clarity you have experienced since the start of your amnesia. “I want to fuck you. I want you to fuck me. Do you want that?”

You omit the ‘do you want me’ part.

“Fuck…” Kim mutters.  “Fuck, yesss.”

Your heart is overflowing. You feel hope, real genuine hope, for a better future. One where maybe you don’t hate yourself, and happiness isn’t something reserved for the rest of the world while you stand on the periphery looking in. You watch his face, his head thrashing from side to side on the pillow. He grits his teeth, eyebrows furrowed in ecstasy. He’s done for. Push him over the edge.

“I want you to cum all over yourself. Make a mess for me, Kim.”

The Lieutenant gasps, tossing his head back as his entire body tenses underneath you. His cock spits in your grasp, painting his torso with white stripes of pleasure. He is certainly making a mess; the sight makes your mouth water. You rub him through it, drinking in his soft whines and hitching breaths. You’re impressed by the amount of semen that spurts out of him – you wonder if he is as disciplined with his orgasms as with his cigarettes. Maybe he’s in the middle of a dry spell. Or maybe you’re just that good. It is probably an amalgamation of all three reasons.

You stroke him until he reaches down to tap on your wrist, signalling over-stimulation. Your movements cease and you loosen your grip, cradling his twitching cock like a delicate treasure. Your eyes haven’t left his face. The serene look of satisfied blankness makes him look youthful and handsome. Your heart aches to look at him, but it’s a sweet, gnawing agony that you would rather endure.

When he opens his eyes to glance at you, a shy little smile playing on his lips, you are unable to stop yourself from leaning forward and pressing your foreheads together. The frames of his glasses dig into your face, but you do not care. Still, you make a mental note to do this again sans spectacles. He reaches up to wrap both arms around your shoulders. He is much more affectionate post-orgasm than you would have expected, but you have learned a great deal of things about him today that have equally surprised and delighted you.

“Good?”

“Very,” He presses a small kiss against the side of your mouth. “I need a moment. Fuck.”

You cannot help it. You beam like a moron. You can add ‘Sex God’ and/or ‘Certified Orgasm Donor’ to your extensive list of talents. Let yourself have this moment before you must return to the cruel world of responsibilities and capital. You lower yourself onto Kim, soft gut resting against lithe stomach, closing the gap between the two of you entirely. You remember the copious semen a moment too late.

“You’ll ruin your shirt.” Kim protests weakly, but his heart is not in it. He sounds half-asleep.

“Whatever. I have a spare.”

Several spares, actually. A veritable wardrobe of bold fashion statements just waiting to be made as you limp around Martinaise.

The pair of you lie there in satisfaction until the threat of impending sleep urges Kim to shove your uncooperative mass off of him. You sigh, sitting up on the bed and removing your blazer and shirt. You use a dry section of the shirt’s fabric to clean Kim’s torso and cock before it is unceremoniously balled up and tossed in the bin, alongside the equally as tarnished washcloth and handkerchief. Sorry, Isobel. The room is muggy with the smell of your sex.

You look through your things for another shirt, pulling yourself together, and in time Kim stands and rights himself too. He wets (and wastes) another handkerchief going over his cock. The pair of you dress and clean in relative silence.

“Well.” You offer up to the air after several minutes, wincing only a little as you lean carelessly on your bad leg.

“Well.” The Lieutenant echoes.

The two of you wear matching expressions of smugness. That was some ground-shaking sex, and you both know it. You don’t need to say anything – following a successful conclusion to the murder investigation, this will happen again. It will probably even happen again following an unsuccessful outcome, unless that outcome entails significant maiming and/or death.

The Lieutenant lets you lead the way, and as you step out into the waning afternoon sunlight, the world seems just a little bit brighter.

[nametakensff]

Relinquish Control (D/isco E/lysium, M/M)

Sooo I wrote 5.8k of sickly sweet K/im x H/arry whump following on from this fic (though you don't need to read it)

K/im inevitably catches J/ean's cold from H/arry, but ends up feeling a lot worse than anyone had bargained for. Caretaking ensues 💕

~~~~~

Content:

M/M, ongoing bg M/M/M, H/arry has a sneezing fetish, cold sneezes, spray, handkerchiefs, sneezing on someone's face, nose blows, mentions of mess (nothing graphic), contagion, fever, coughing, v whump heavy fic, lots of sappy feelings and caretaking, mentions of sex, mentions of erections because H/arry is insatiable

CW: Unintentional contagion with unintentional complications, K/im develops a chest infection, H/arry has a lot of self hatred, K/im has control issues, language mentioning animal death because J/ean is hyperbolic as fuck, all these men are emotionally damaged and immature in their own ways but trying their best anyway

NSFW - Minors DNI!

“I’m so, so sorry I got you sick.”

Harry gently pushed Kim’s sweaty hair back from his forehead, biting his lip in concern as the Lieutenant shivered at the contact. The fever had left his skin overly sensitised – even the slightest touch seemed to cause him discomfort.

“Harry, it’s okay. Honestly.”

Kim peered up at him, bleary eyes seeming especially bloodshot and vulnerable without the regular framing of his thick spectacles, mustering up a tiny smile that made Harry’s heart ache. This was all his fault. He’d fucked around with Jean when he was sick, he’d gotten himself sick, and then he’d gotten Kim sick. It had been as stupid as it had been wonderful, for the first couple of days. He’d taken a sick day and Kim had done the same, even though neither of them really needed it – they’d fucked within an inch of their lives and cuddled up with tea and tissues afterwards.

Of course getting the opportunity to indulge in such kinky, nasty, fantasy tier sex had been too good to be true. Harry was already on the mend, and Jean was almost entirely healthy – but Kim was another story altogether. Whether it was the recent stress of his transfer, the lingering physical and mental impact of the case in Martinaise, or plain old bad luck - what had been a simple, albeit nasty head cold for Jean and Harry was now shaping up to be a miserable chest infection for him.

Harry could feel his expression shifting into a countenance so pained he was grateful Kim’s eyesight was bad. He didn’t want to cry, but he felt so guilty and so useless in the moment it was feeling like an inevitability.

Apparently Kim’s eyesight wasn’t poor enough to misconstrue the pure misery etched onto Harry’s face – or he was already an expert at reading his supreme moodiness, like he had a built in barometer specifically attuned to Harry’s idiosyncrasies. He reached a weak hand out from under the veritable cocoon of bed sheets and squeezed his wrist.

“Harry. Really. It’s not your fault. I’ve been overdue something like this.”

His hand dropped limply back onto the bed. It was horrible, seeing Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi in such a state. To Harry, he was a knight in shining armour. He had seemed indestructible. He was beginning to see what Kim had meant about his putting people on pedestals, but all the same - Kim was strong, organised and composed. Harry just hadn’t been able to mentally picture him ever looking quite so unwell. ‘Weak’ and ‘Kim’ felt like antonyms.

Even if technically, yes, it wasn’t his fault Kim’s cold had worsened so dramatically, he’d still given it to him. He’d still reaped the benefits of all the sneezing, all the ground-shaking fetish sex Kim had indulged him in. He was itching to pour his heart out and lament about how truly awful he was, how irresponsible and insatiable he had been, but there was something else he was begrudgingly learning. People do not like to listen to overly self-indulgent, narcissistic proclamations of self-depreciation. Even for the ever-patient Kim, there were limits. He would not make this about him. He was trying to change.

And so, Harry merely swallowed back the guilt and the tears against the lump in his throat. He cupped Kim’s cheek in his palm, chest blossoming with warmth as Kim sighed and let his head loll sideways and into the contact.

“Do you need anything else? Seriously, is there anything more I can do for you? Just say the word and I’m on it.”

Kim was still burning hot to the touch, even after the assistance of a cool compress. It occurred to Harry that he was now seeking the relative coolness of his palm – which was worrying, considering Harry ran hot on a normal day, and his temperature was still a little elevated from his own lingering cold. At least his sneezing had stopped – he didn’t want to trigger Kim into more sneezes of his own, not with his throat as swollen and sore as it was. He never thought he wouldn’t want Kim to sneeze – at least not this early into their fumbling speed-run of a relationship. He wasn’t so delusional as to deny they didn’t still thrill him – he was a greedy, selfish man – but he could wait.

“Mm. No. I’m…fine.”

He wasn’t. They both knew he wasn’t, but Harry thought perhaps it occurred to Kim that admitting how poorly he actually was would be the final straw, the tipping point into relinquishing all control. And what could be more terrifying than that?

~~~~~

In the early stages of his cold, Lieutenant Kitsuragi had been sneezing and marginally lethargic – but, for all intents and purposes, not all that different from his regular self. When he’d started to feel worse - genuinely unwell - he had withdrawn. He’d been short with Harry in the office – he’d been short with everyone, his normal taciturn composure beginning to crack, and with it, his professionalism. Everyone had quickly given him a wide berth, which Harry could see he hated despite practically manufacturing the situation for himself in the first place. He’d called out sick on Friday, ignored Harry’s calls all weekend, and when Jean confirmed he’d called in sick a second time on Monday, Harry had been practically climbing the walls with anxiety.

Kim wasn’t answering his latest calls, every nervous one of them made hourly from his desk. The palpability of his anxiousness was concerning to both himself and everyone around him - he looked pathetic and desperate. He was pathetic and desperate. Jean kept casting him contemplative glances all morning before he eventually took pity on him.

“Go see if he’s okay. I’ll cover for you this afternoon.” He’d offered as he and Harry sat eating lunch in the communal kitchen.

Harry had looked up from where he’d been picking dejectedly at his sandwich, eyes round and glossy enough to put to shame any orphaned puppy.

“Really? Is that okay?”

“Listen, Shitkid. Life is a joke and as such, you're my superior officer. You don’t need my permission to check in on your boyfriend – a valuable member of our unit, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Harry smiled at him, delighting in the sheepish way Jean couldn’t quite maintain eye contact with him. He deduced that Jean was also feeling somewhat responsible for Kim’s misery - being patient zero, as it were.

“You’ll be alright? I’ll come back as fast as I can.”

“Yeah yeah, don’t bother. Just go.” Jean nodded. “I can’t watch you play with your food like that any longer. You look like a fucking box of kittens just got set on fire right in front of you.”

Harry jumped to his feet in an instant.

“You’re the fucking best, Vic.”

Jean halted him with a strong arm around his middle before he shot out of the room, forcing a soft ‘oof’ out of him.

“Take your sandwich with you. People who don’t obtain most of their calories from booze actually eat food instead.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

“Rich coming from the depressed masochist subsisting off of coffee, cigarettes and the occasional chicken breast, but okay.”

Jean scoffed and rolled his eyes but otherwise didn't take the bait. Harry snatched his sandwich up from the table, feeling warm and grateful. His partner’s words were biting, but his concern for his well-being and the obvious pleasure he had in knowing that Harry was maintaining his sobriety were loud and clear - if you knew how to look past the guarded, gruff exterior. He waved at Jean as he hightailed it out of the joint, practically running the rest of the way to Kim’s apartment block.

Winded by his frantic ascension of the building’s winding staircase, he probably overdid it with the pounding on Kim’s door – no, he definitely did, on reflection. It was just that with the lack of immediate response following all those missed phone calls, his mind was conjuring up every worst-case scenario in the book. To say he was overwhelmed with relief when Kim finally started to open the door was an understatement.

He’d been grinning in gleeful anticipation at finally coming face to face with the Lieutenant, but his expression promptly fell as he took in the sight of Kim - shaking, sweating, miserably unwell. He looked as though he barely had the strength to stay upright, let alone pull open the door.

“Harry, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

If Kim looked bad, he sounded even worse. In fact, he sounded as though he’d been gargling with razor blades. Harry winced.

“Oh my god, Kim…”

Kim huffed out a little laugh, both amused and insulted by the naked dismay directed at his person. He opened his mouth to speak but was promptly overtaken by an intensely violent and hacking coughing fit, gripping the door frame like a lifeline as he angled his face away from Harry with a fist pressed up to his mouth. It was a horrible cough, chesty and audibly painful. Within seconds, Harry was manoeuvring the door shut behind them as he stepped into Kim’s apartment and ushered him, still coughing violently, back into his bedroom.

The room stank of illness – that distinct, cloying scent of unhealthy sweat and misery. Kim was still going, gasping for breath with desperate little snatches of air between the coughs that racked his slender frame. Harry sat down on the bed beside him, stroking his back and biting his bottom lip so hard it almost bled.

Finally, some agonising moments later, Kim managed to stop. He sat there, slumped forward and breathing in a careful, measured fashion. Harry reached for the half empty glass of water on Kim’s bedside table and handed it to him wordlessly, cringing as Kim choked a couple of times at the sensation of the liquid trickling down his raw throat. When he managed to avoid triggering another attack, both men practically deflated with relief.

“Thank you – sorry.” Kim delicately wiped his lips with the back of his hand, letting Harry take the glass back off him.

“Kim…how long have you been feeling this bad?”

Kim looked at him, and Harry realised that he was sans glasses. His hair, normally slicked back, hung loose in a messy shock over his forehead, and his face was unshaven, several days of stubble growing in alongside his standard pencil moustache. His nostrils were chapped, pink and raw. Harry would have found his dishevelled appearance painfully attractive were it not for the overwhelming concern that was currently squeezing his heart in a vice-like grip. Kim sighed.

“Since Saturday evening. I was hoping it would go away on its own, but-!”

Harry swore and reached out to support him as Kim was cut off by another round of coughing, mercifully shorter than the previous attack but still leaving him shaking against the larger man when it finally released him.

“Fuck…” Kim muttered. He burned under Harry’s touch.

“Shhh – I’m gonna get you some water, and some tea, okay?”

“Harry – you don’t need to, I can- “

“Kim.”

Harry almost shocked himself with the authoritative tone with which he silenced the Lieutenant. Thank God for the gift of his irrepressible (and irresistible) masculinity - it ever so occasionally came in clutch for him. Kim shut his mouth and didn’t seem pissed off in the slightest that Harry had cut him off. He looked at him expectantly, like a dog awaiting a command. That alone was as clear an admission of illness as any to Harry.

“I know I don’t need to do anything.” Harry started. “But I want to. You could have called me. I was calling you. You’re – you’re really sick right now.”

Kim huffed.

“I’m not that sick.”

“Sure, and I’m Dolores Dei herself.”

“Hm.”

If Kim had been even the tiniest bit more prone to immaturity, Harry was sure he would have rolled his eyes at him.

“Will you please get back into bed and let me help you?” He patted the bed behind them, inviting Kim to crawl back into it. “You help me all the time.”

“I’ll let you help me when I actually need help.” Kim rasped, but dragged himself back under his duvet all the same. Harry watched him, the undignified crawl of defeat paired with the stubborn backchat causing him to reassess his recent impression of Kim as an obedient dog. No, he was instead a recalcitrant cat – if he’d had a tail, it would have flicked back and forth with displeasure as he nestled into the sheets. The thought was endearing, and almost comical enough to make him laugh.

Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi was, in fact, a huge, stubborn baby when sick. This was a delightful new discovery which made Harry both despair and rejoice in equal measures. He’d had years of experience (only some of which he could actively recall) of Jean vehemently denying affection and assistance when he needed it the most. Hell, he himself was an expert in pushing people away whilst simultaneously (and paradoxically) demanding their perpetual assistance. Kim, it turned out, was only marginally less emotionally constipated than either of them. The only thing for it was to match that stubbornness head on.

“There.” Harry crooned as he tenderly organised Kim’s duvet around him. “Doesn’t it feel nice being tucked in?”

Kim looked up at him with tired eyes. Harry could see that he was a conflicted mix of embarrassed and grateful. Good. This would be easier than anticipated. Unable to help himself, he leaned forward and peppered Kim’s warm face with tiny kisses. He nearly died when the tickle of his unruly facial hair made Kim actually fucking giggle in response.

“You’re adorable.” He murmured against Kim’s mouth, stroking his cheek.

“Detective, I’m a 43-year-old police officer.”

“An adorable 43-year-old police officer.” Harry corrected, pressing a quick kiss to Kim’s chapped lips. His voice was nasal, nose miserably clogged – Harry didn’t want to deny him oxygen any longer than need be.

“You shouldn’t be kissing me.”

“Why the hell not?” Harry kissed him on the tip of his poor, red nose, melting as he watched it wrinkle and squirm in response. “I gave you this cold in the first place.”

Kim sighed. Harry did not like the way his chest seemed to wheeze.

“I fear it’s become something worse, at this point.”

“Yeah.” Harry frowned at him, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles on Kim’s cheekbone.

Abruptly, he stood up, tossing his blazer into the corner of Kim’s room and rolling up his shirt sleeves.

“I’ll be back in a minute. You just rest, okay?”

“Okay.”

~~~~~

Harry fumbled about in Kim’s kitchen, trying not to make a racket as he hastily put together a cup of tea. He also filled a pint glass with water, cursing under his breath as Kim began to cough from the other room - a nasty, punishing sound that seemed to go on and on. He needed to see a doctor, Harry thought. He’d breach the topic with Kim in a bit.

He'd helped him sit up in bed, first to drink some water, which Kim sipped gingerly. Harry could tell he was dreading every cough that threatened to burst out of him. He’d taken the glass from Kim and exchanged it with the tea, asking him to drink as much as he was able.

“Have you taken anything for this?” He asked, watching Kim with a worried frown.

“…Not since Saturday. I didn’t have a lot of medicine on me.”

‘I rarely need it’ went unsaid, but Harry heard it all the same.

“When did you last eat?”

“…Yesterday. I’ve been meaning to go grocery shopping, but…” Kim sighed, wincing as the tea rolled down his throat.

“Well, shit. I’m running out to get you meds and soup as soon as you finish your tea, okay?”

“Detective, you have a job.”

“Jean-Jean gave me explicit permission to come and check up on you. He told me not to bother going back today.” Harry grinned at him, pleased both by Jean’s leniency and the way Kim could no longer leverage work to get him to leave. Kim sighed.

“Honestly, you’re acting like I’m terminally unwell. I’ll b-be…I’ll be f’fi-hh!”

Harry’s eyes zoned in on Kim’s flaring nostrils in an instant. Despite it all, despite the concern, he couldn’t help the way that ominous catch of breath went straight to his cock, twitching briefly in his trousers in anticipation. Kim was unmistakably going to sneeze.

“Ohh, can you - !”

Harry took the mug of tea from Kim and placed it safely back on the bedside table. He watched through unblinking eyes as Kim’s eyebrows rose, mouth dropping open and revealing his pink tongue as it cupped itself in ticklish preparation of the sneeze to come. It really didn’t get old, watching Kim like this. His poor, reddened nostrils twitched devilishly against the cold-induced tickle, urged along by the warm vapours of steam.

He took in one final, sharp little gasp, briefly waving his right hand in front of his face before pitching to the side, away from Harry and into the protective cradle of that same hand. Harry reached out to place a strong arm around his trembling shoulders, half in support and half out of the raging desire to be touching him every time he sneezed.

“HgGK’TSSChh!! Hpt’TSCHGHHh!! Hagk’TSCHOOouuu!!”

They shuddered through him, the vibrations running through Harry in turn and leaving him to break out in an excited rush of goosebumps from head to toe. Kim was miserably congested, and the sneezes were much thicker, much more nasal than usual. The definitive sneeze of that violent little triple was deliciously desperate and vocally rich. Harry was almost entirely hard when Kim snuggled into him, snuffling into his hand and trembling against the crook of Harry's neck.

“Ough. Désolé.” He muttered, sounding entirely wiped out.

“Bless you, honey.”

The pet name rolled out of him so naturally that it took Harry a whole few seconds to realise that he had even used it at all. He tensed in sudden anxiety, kicking himself for the slip-up. Were they ready for ‘honey’ yet??

 When Kim didn’t pull away and instead snuggled even closer, he let himself relax, circling both arms around Kim and holding him for several moments. It was only when Kim sniffled again, keeping his hand securely over his nose and mouth, that Harry realised he’d probably made a spectacular mess of himself.

He pulled back, rubbing Kim’s back and looking around the room. It didn’t take him long to locate a handkerchief, half buried in the bed sheets, which he held out to Kim. The Lieutenant reached for it gingerly, uttering a small “merci” before skilfully obscuring his face from Harry and indulging in a quick nose blow. It was crackling and thick, but judging by the sound of it, not awfully productive following the initial few seconds. He sighed, swiping at his twitching nostrils for a couple of seconds longer before folding the handkerchief shut and snuggling back into the crook of Harry’s neck.

They sat together for a few moments before Harry cleared his throat.

“Ready for more tea?”

“Yes. God…I’m so tired.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Harry cooed, reaching out for the mug, helping Kim into position and nobly ignoring his throbbing erection.

~~~~~

After he’d finished his tea, Kim had been exhausted enough to fall asleep within minutes. Harry stood over his bed and watched him sleep for a while, feeling a little like an invasive creep but also finding no fucks left to give. Now that Kim was unconscious again, the all-consuming panic was returning.

He hurried through the store in a daze, buying an assortment of different foods and canned soup for Kim. He bought cough medicine, decongestants and tissues before saying ‘fuck it’ and buying a huge carton of orange juice for good measure.

Kim was still sleeping when he got back. As he set about making him soup he listened to him snore, the sound so congested even through the wood of his bedroom door that it made his chest ache.

Harry left the pot to simmer for a while, collapsing onto Kim’s sofa with a heavy sigh and dragging the palm of his hand up and down his face a couple of times in exhausted resignation. He wouldn’t let himself lie there for long, knowing any more than five minutes in a supine position was a dangerous game to be playing if he didn’t want to fall asleep for hours on end. The soup would be done soon enough, but the waiting was agony. He was happy that Kim was able to sleep but he just wanted him awake; he wanted Kim to reassure him that everything was okay. Stupid. Childish. He needed to snap out of it. He slapped his own face in reprimand and immediately regretted the power in his swing, cursing the sheer size of his palms.

His body jerked violently, suddenly, a terrible falling sensation. The shock of it had him scrambling to his feet. He’d been dozing off, exactly what he’d been hoping to avoid. He glanced frantically at the clock on the wall and was relieved to see that at most he’d been borderline moribund for no longer than 10 minutes – just enough time for the soup to be done.

He ladled a decent portion into one of Kim’s pristine bowls and helped himself to a spoonful. Not bad, he decided; the flavour could be a little stronger but Kim likely couldn’t taste much anyway. He placed it on a small tray with a clean spoon and another glass of water.

The domesticity of it all made him nervous as he carried the tray out of the kitchen; it was like he was a little boy again, nursing his first serious infatuation. He must have done things like this for Dora – unavoidable, in a relationship that long, and yet. Thoughts of her still ached. He pushed the blurry, blonde image away, replacing the vague outlines of her with a clearer impression of thick glasses and slick black hair. He would overwrite her, record over their memories together the same way he would have eventually recorded over their wedding tape – had he been good enough for her to marry in the first place.

Kim was still asleep when Harry entered the room and placed the tray gently on the bedside table, careful to avoid disturbing the Lieutenant’s glasses. He was facing Harry, but only partially visible, tangled up in the cocoon of his blankets. It was fucking adorable. He looked like the world’s weariest caterpillar. His mouth hung slightly open to accommodate his poor stuffy nose, painfully pink and nuzzling into the fabric of his bedding. Harry buried the devious thought of waking Kim up by teasing his sensitive nostrils into a sneeze, instead reaching out and gently shaking his shoulder.

The Lieutenant was an incredibly light sleeper normally, so when he hadn’t woken upon Harry’s entrance and only cracked open one bleary eye after twenty seconds or so of increasingly vigorous jiggling, it was another nail in the coffin of Harry’s soaring anxiety.

“Heyyy, sleepyhead. How are you feeling?” He smiled as encouragingly as he could muster at his sick boyfriend, who groaned and promptly launched into a lengthy coughing fit. Harry swore, helping Kim to sit up and stroking his back.

“Here, Kim, fucking hell…” He handed him the glass of water and the Lieutenant gulped it down greedily, panting when he was done. He was struggling valiantly to maintain an even breathing pattern between the warring hindrances of his blocked sinuses and tickly throat.

“Better?” He asked when he’d helped Kim relax back into the pillows he arranged between his back and the headboard.

“A little. Thank you, Harry.” Kim smiled at him. “I’m okay.”

That meek little smile was clearly manufactured for Harry’s benefit, and that only made it feel worse, somehow. Kim yawned into his duvet, one hand clutching the fabric to his face.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“About an hour and a half.” Harry answered, turning to retrieve the soup. “I made you something to eat – wanna give it a go?”

He proffered the tray towards Kim, taking in his surprised expression with pleasure.

“Did you cook this?”

“Well, it’s canned soup, technically, but I tossed in a couple of things to spice it up.”

“You didn’t have to, you know. I could have done this much.”

Harry sighed, waiting for Kim to take the tray.

“A simple ‘thank you’ would have sufficed, you stubborn ass.”

Kim flashed him an apologetic smile and took the tray.

“Sorry, sorry. And thank you. I really do appreciate it.”

“That’s better.” Harry huffed, adopting the authoritative tone he used to whip out whenever his high school students were testing him. “Now eat your damn soup.”

Kim grinned.

“Yes, sir.”

It took Kim an exceedingly long time to get through even half of the soup – he kept needing to cough, and Harry decided to permanently hold the tray in place for him whilst he ate. It was much easier than repeatedly leaning forwards and backwards in anticipation.

It was as he held the tray in place, angled over Kim’s lap and several inches away from his face, that Kim’s breath started to hitch. Harry barely had a second of recognition before Kim was swallowing frantically, dropping his spoon onto the tray a moment too late to be able to catch the desperate sneeze in the palm of his hand.

“Hah’AEGK’TSChhuu!!”

Harry shivered, eyes closing reflexively against the delicate smack of spray that misted his face. On the technicality that he was needed to hold the tray in place and prevent Kim from spilling the soup, he didn’t bother moving.  The second sneeze baptised him in much the same manner, barrelling out of Kim almost immediately after the first.

“hAGK’TISHHH’Uuu!!”

The brief hesitation as Kim sucked in air to fuel a definitive third sneeze allowed Harry to open his eyes, taking in the Lieutenant’s tortured expression, his damp, flaring nostrils stretching to their limits. Instinctively, he leaned even closer, watching as Kim’s face froze for a moment in a rictus of irritation before he was sneezing hard enough that some soup sloshed over the rim of the bowl. He had managed to bring up a hand last minute, but the covering was lazy at best, spray escaping through the gaps between his fingers and misting Harry again.

“hHH’GKKT’TTSschoouu!! Ugh, excuse me…”

He snuffled miserably, blinking away a few stray tears. Harry handed him a clean tissue, feeling giddy and electric but trying his absolute best to disguise it. He was doing a horrible job; he was entirely hard, painfully so, and he could feel the smug grin that parted his lips despite his best efforts to remain placid. He tried to subtly wipe his face clean with his shirt sleeve as Kim busied himself with blowing his nose.

“I take it you enjoyed that?” Kim asked suddenly.

Shit. He’d been even less subtle than he’d hoped. Harry winced and cast a guilty ‘well shucks, you got me’ grin his way, relieved to see that Kim didn’t look bothered in the least. If anything, the cheeky lilt of his voice and the smile that reached his eyes seemed to imply a sense of endearment and satisfaction.

“I did. Sorry. Bless you three times.” He wiped the spilled soup away with another tissue, offering out his hand to Kim to take his own used tissue and tossing them both.

“Mm, Thank you. No need to apologise, detective. It’s quite nice, you know. To feel desired at one’s most disgusting.”

“You’re so not disgusting right now. But trust me, Kim – I get it.”

They smiled at each other until Kim broke eye contact, reaching for his spoon and clearing his throat. Naked adoration, both giving and receiving, was still relatively uncomfortable for him - Harry understood this implicitly - but the tension of his mouth belied how much effort he was putting into repressing a most persistent smile. Noticing this just made Harry beam at him even harder.

~~~~~

To Harry’s dismay, Kim’s condition only seemed minutely improved after eating. He’d cuddled with the smaller man until he’d fallen asleep again, then pulled up KIm's desk chair and sat beside his bed, leafing through one of the Lieutenant’s books on Aerostatic Pilotage. It was good to distract himself like this as his boyfriend wheezed and snored several feet away from him. The endless stream of information that he filed away in the recesses of his brain was always a decent method of channeling his focus within the relative chaos of his noisy mind. Besides, it was much less destructive to overload his system with facts than substances. He tried not to think about the cooking wine he'd seen in a kitchen cabinet earlier.

A sudden whimper from the pile of bedding and limbs that was Lieutenant Kitsuragi had him mobile in an instant, hovering by Kim’s bedside as he groaned again, opening his eyes ever so slightly and panting for air. Before Harry even reached out to touch him he could feel that he was boiling, burning up as the heat radiated off of him. He was damp with perspiration, loose hair plastered to the skin of his forehead.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

Kim turned towards him, eyes unfocused and glassy with fever. When he didn’t say anything, just peered miserably in Harry’s general direction, almost through him without the aid of his glasses and with the sickness fogging his brain, Harry had to dig his nails into his palm to prevent a full-blown panic attack.

“I’m gonna get you a cold compress, okay? Just hold on a minute.”

He scrambled round the small bathroom for a face towel before rushing back to the kitchen, filling a bowl with ice cubes and water. The bowl was too small and the towel a little too big, but it would have to do.

~~~~~

Kim’s attempts to convince Harry that he was fine eventually came to an end. As Harry cupped his cheek and lay beside him on the bed, adjusting the compress and supporting him through the occasional bout of coughing, the Lieutenant’s resolve finally broke.

“Harry…” He started, and before Harry’s eyes he seemed to physically shrink down into the bedsheets. It was as though the determination and stubbornness left him all at once, his energy positively depleted. “I feel terrible.”

Kim’s eyes squeezed shut. Harry didn’t know if he was cringing, humiliated by his own admission of defeat, or whether he was trying his best not to cry. It might even be that he had a migraine coming on. It didn’t matter. None of that mattered – all that mattered was making him feel better. His chest physically ached.

“Okay. It’s okay.”

He kissed Kim’s burning cheek, took one of his clammy, limp hands in his own and laced their fingers together.

“Will you stay here tonight?”

“I can’t believe you even felt the need to ask.”

“Mm…apologies. I’m not used to this.” Kim spoke gently, squeezing Harry’s hand softly, far too softly.

“What - being looked after?”

Kim smirked at him just a little.

“’I can’t believe you even felt the need to ask.’”

“Ha ha. Funny man.” Harry deadpanned, pressing their foreheads together, forcing Kim’s eyes to cross as he stared at him down the length of his nose. The Lieutenant huffed a small laugh against his lips, just as Harry had intended.

“Listen, being a lonely, touch-starved, middle-aged man is my shtick, okay? If you come for my gig like that I’ve got nothing.”

Kim closed his eyes and smiled against Harry’s mouth.

“Not even communism?”

“Political alignments alone do not a personality or archetype make.”

“So find a new archetype. Maybe the loving, doting boyfriend.” Kim muttered. “You’re doing a very good job of it right now. It suits you.”

Harry moved down to nuzzle his face into the crook of Kim’s neck. His skin was sweat-slick, hot, and smelled distinctly unwell, but it didn’t bother him. He wanted to bite down into the flesh and taste him. He wished he could physically crawl into Kim and live inside of him. The feelings that overwhelmed him brought stinging tears to his eyes.

“You think so?” He asked round the lump in his throat.

“I do.”

They lay there for a little while longer, jostled only by another round of coughing from Kim that urged Harry to prop him up in bed again. The change in position seemed to shift the congestion in his poor nose, and with it, triggered an irritating tickle. Harry watched in adoration as Kim’s expression twisted, then gasped softly as Kim turned and sneezed twice against the column of his throat.

“Hupt’TSHHUuuu!! HGKk’Tschoouu!! Ohh…”

He rubbed his runny nose against Harry’s skin, causing him to stiffen and moan in pleasure. Kim now had intimate knowledge of exactly how to drive him crazy, but he sensed that this particular, miserable little motion as his boyfriend attempted to quell the tickle in his nose was simply enacted out of sheer exhaustion, rather than any active desire to work him up. Somehow, it just made him even hotter – that Harry was simply a means to an end in that moment, a substitute for a tissue or a hastily raised fist to rub against his nostrils was – well. His pants were torturously tight.

“Bless you, baby. You poor thing.”

With all the willpower he could gather, he lay Kim down again and wiped his dripping nose clean with a tissue. He couldn’t help taking his time, luxuriating in the sensation of playing with his nose through the thin material. He swallowed back a groan when Kim’s nostrils flared wide, flexing under his fingers and pushing them apart. He didn’t sneeze again, for which Harry was grateful – that might have been the final straw before he was forced to sneak off and rub one out in the bathroom. Not that Kim would have minded, he was sure. Enabler.

“You should try and sleep now, okay?”

“Yes.”

“I’m gonna stay here until you’re out and then I’ll crash on your couch.”

“Do you need – there are no clean sheets –“

“It’s okay, Kim. There’s a throw blanket, and it’s getting warmer. I’ll be fine, honestly.”

Harry stroked his cheek, something that Kim seemed to like a lot. The Lieutenant nuzzled into his palm and hummed an affirmative. Harry clucked his tongue softly - he was still much too hot, burning into him.

“Gonna take you to a doctor in the morning, honey. You’re not well at all.”

“Okay.”

“You sure? Gonna let me drive you there? No complaints, and no apologies?” He teased, relaxing just a little bit when Kim’s lips twitched into a tiny smile.

“I’ll behave.”

“Good boy.”

[nametakensff]

Cat For Grabs (D/isco E/lysium) (M)

Okay, here is 4.3k of cat allergy K/im K/itsuragi because why the fuck not 🐈‍⬛️💞

J/ean and K/im arrive on scene at a murder, where the victim's pet cat takes a particular liking to K/im. Allergic misery ensues

(Set in the kind of AU I've cobbled together where H/arry and K/im are an item, maybe like 8 months post M/artinaise. They hook up with J/ean regularly)

~~~~~

Content:

M/M/M mentioned and ongoing but mostly in the bg, cat allergy sneezes, spray, handkerchiefs, rapid sneezes, stifles, nose blows, mentions of anal sex, mentions of hay fever sneezes, mentions of blowjobs, H/arry has a sneezing fetish (but he isn't here), J/ean and K/im flirt a lot

CW: Graphic descriptions of a dead body at a crime scene, K/im performs a brief autopsy, mentions of gun violence, they are cops so you know. Just doing cop things

NSFW - Minors DNI!

Jean was the first to arrive on the scene, alone. Absolutely not ideal – he was at real risk of danger if the shooter – or multiple shooters – were still on the property. The precinct was in absolute maelstrom - an unprecedented amount of crime this week, even for Jamrock. Jean had driven here by himself once he realised Harry was entirely incapacitated. He’d fixed him a look of annoyance until the older man had returned it with a look of his own that said ‘please don’t be mad at me, I’m drowning.’

Jean had sent out a general radio request for backup to any nearby officers for this apparent shooting, which had taken place in a fairly quiet and respectable part of town. He’d been grateful to hear Kim’s confirmation that he would be there within minutes, as well as some other patrol officers affirming the same. Jean should have waited outside, perhaps, but he had a gut feeling as he pulled up to the small, bungalow-style apartment that it was empty. A quick search with his gun held steadily in front of him confirmed that he was entirely alone.

Unless you counted the gory remains of the sole resident splayed out on the kitchen floor.

“Well.” He said to the corpse, nudging its ankle with the toe of his boot. “You’re certainly very dead.”

The metallic scent of blood in the air was overwhelming. An even more overwhelming and unpleasant scent of sewage indicated that the bullets littering the torso of the corpse had also passed through the colon multiple times. Jean wrinkled his nose and covered it with his hand. He almost wished his hay fever was still hindering his ability to smell.

But god, this was a bloody, violent murder. The surrounding cabinets were littered with bullet holes that appeared to have been sprayed in wide arcs across the room indiscriminately. It had to be the work of an automatic weapon. Jean spared another glance at the corpse, then made his way back into the living room. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance.

He thought it better to wait for Kim to perform a conclusive field autopsy. He didn’t want to leave himself distracted and vulnerable to any potential attacks by performing one alone now. And, if Jean was being honest with himself, Kim had a stronger stomach for corpses - perhaps thanks to his time and experience in Processing - and a markedly weaker sense of smell. He glanced at his watch. Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.

He peered round the room. It always felt intrusive entering people’s apartments like this if he had spare time to overthink. This particular home was exceptionally drab; hardly any items or photographs to indicate personality or interests. Just ugly greys and browns and lumpy furniture. There were a few books stacked on a coffee table, but their covers looked just as banal as everything else.

A sudden shuffling sound to his left made Jean jump and reach for his gun. He looked round frantically, cursing himself and half expecting to see some crazed gunman crouched behind one of the armchairs, ready to mow him down like the man in the kitchen. Thank the lord, he did not. What he did see, however, was a visibly well-fed cat with thick black fur emerging from underneath a nearby bookshelf. Heart beating wildly in his chest, he let out a long sigh of relief and regarded the doddering approach of the supremely rotund animal. Come to think of it, he had noticed a litter-box in the bathroom.

The cat slumped at his feet, looking incredibly at ease and not at all as if its owner’s bullet-riddled corpse was resting in a pool of his own red-black blood just one room over. It mewed at him, butting his boot with its head before rolling onto its side. Jean couldn’t resist kneeling down and getting closer. He scratched gently behind an ear and smiled as the tip of a little white fang stuck out of the cat’s closed mouth, giving it an endearingly goofy appearance. A small blue collar was secured round its neck (no bell, just his luck) with a metal nametag hanging from a loop of metal. He lifted the tag up with his thumb and forefinger to examine it.

“’Beau’.” He read the name out loud. “Well, you are a handsome boy, aren’t you?” He cooed down at it, stroking it from head to tail once it was clear he wouldn’t be leaving the encounter in receipt of a mauling.

Around thirty seconds later, he could hear the familiar rumble of an approaching Coupris motor car. He kept his hand on his gun just in case, allowing his arm to drop to his side when Kim made his way through the living room door, gun outstretched before him. His orange bomber jacket was a sight for sore eyes against the surrounding bleak topography. Once Kim spotted Jean on the floor looking back up at him, he lowered his own gun in relief.

“My apologies, Detective Vicquemare – I came as fast as I could, there was some congestion nearby.” He peered at the cat for a moment, then back at Jean’s face. “The premises is secure, correct?”

“Would I be on my knees playing with a cat if it wasn’t?” Jean muttered, scratching under the cat’s little chin and smiling in adoration as it closed its eyes in pleasure. “We have a single body, in the kitchen.”

Kim nodded, holstering his weapon and scanning the living room with a perfunctory glance. The cat shifted under Jean’s broad palm, turning to face the source of this most recent disturbance. The second the lethargic feline lay eyes on Kim, it jumped to its feet and strode away from Jean and towards the Lieutenant, tail raised high. Kim froze in his tracks and glanced down in what looked to Jean like mild dismay as it drew closer. The cat began without a moment’s hesitation to wind itself lovingly between Kim’s ankles, nuzzling into his legs and pressing every inch of itself against him. It meowed loudly between little rumbles and purrs.

Jean couldn’t deny that it was both an endearing and amusing sight. The cat had certainly been friendly enough to accept his pets, but for whatever reason, it appeared to be especially enamoured with Kim. He didn’t think the feeling was reciprocated; Kim lifted an ankle, tsking as the cat, instead of moving away as intended, reached up with its front paws until Kim put the foot back down. It then resumed its figure 8 of adoration whilst Kim looked down in a gentle kind of exasperation.

“He really likes you.” Jean smiled at Kim, getting to his feet and brushing cat hair from the knees of his uniform.

“I can see that.” Kim did smile softly then, regarding the happy little creature, but made no move to reach down and stroke it. If Jean had been on the receiving end of that magnitude of love from a cat, he would have scooped it up into his arms in seconds.

“Not a fan of cats?”                     

Kim looked up at him for a moment, then back down at the cat, frowning slightly as it increased the intensity of both its purring and nudging.

“It’s not that. I like them well enough. It’s j-just…!”

His breath wavered, and Jean watched as he brought a gloved fist up to his face. He recognised the desperation of the pre-sneeze expression on the Lieutenant, and patiently waited for him to finish. Under normal circumstances and with anybody else, he probably would have looked away for the sake of the other person’s dignity - but he’d seen Kim sneeze more than enough times in extremely abnormal circumstances to bother with any pretence.

He didn’t share Harry’s interest in sneezing in quite the same way, but there was an element of enjoyment in watching Kim fall apart. No matter how he sliced it, he couldn’t deny the analogous nature of sneezing and orgasming; Harry had long since hammered that into him. And so, he watched with a certain degree of appreciation as Kim’s eyebrows drew up and his jaw fell open in surrender, before his entire expression cinched tight, the tickle cresting.

“Hh! Hh’gxkt! Ng’xt! Hh’Ddtch!! NGxt’tsziew!”

They were quiet, polite and almost perfectly restrained – much like the Lieutenant himself. Both he and Kim were prone to multiple sneezes, but it seemed to take a lot more out of the older man to strangle them into submission. Jean had always sneezed in small, ticklish fits that rarely resolved the irritation without multiple repetitions. Every now and then he was prone to a more productive and vigorous sneeze, especially following prolonged attacks that forced him to take in a final, desperate gasp of oxygen to round off the fit. It didn’t make too much of a difference to him physically whether he stifled them into silent little shivers or not. It honestly depended on company whether he would bother.

He wasn’t sure why Kim bothered holding back when it was just the two of them. He’d save himself a lot of congestion and sniffling down the line if he let those sneezes out now - Jean could honestly say he knew that from numerous past observations. But he wouldn’t mention it - it was best to leave Kim alone and let him do what he wanted. He was a bit of a control freak – not that Jean could really fault him for that, being a stubborn ass himself – so there was no point in nagging him. He himself hated when others commented on his frequent and persistent sneezing, especially when his allergies were killing him. Most of the Major Crimes unit now knew to leave him well alone, particularly on his most miserable – and therefore volatile – hay fever days.

With the exception of Harry, of course. In a completely inconvenient and Pavlovian fashion, he had almost come to associate his hay fever with sexual gratification. Both he and Harry knew his initial rejections of Harry’s advances were merely for show, and a matter of pride. Every time his superior officer would sidle up to him and suggest they find some privacy, he would eventually break and let the older man fuck him, or suck his cock. He may as well get an orgasm out of the endless torture that plagued him throughout late spring and summer. It wasn’t even that bad, being fucked and sneezing your head off at the same time. Aggravatingly, if he were to be honest, it was actually rather fun. He supposed he was more or less an expert at this point.

Kim was more recently initiated into the whole fucking and sneezing thing. For what it was worth, he seemed like a perfectly kinky motherfucker who enjoyed watching Harry squirm. And there was almost no better way to do that than to tease him with this fetish, which Kim took to like a duck in water. Jean had to admit whenever the three of them fucked around and Harry inevitably begged to be indulged, it was reassuring – and very fun – to know that they had the numbers against him. Brothers in arms. God, what a life.

Kim lowered his fist with a shaky exhale, looking worn out by the onslaught for just a moment before his regular placid countenance was restored. His nostrils flared briefly with an audibly damp sniffle.

“À tes souhaits.” Jean offered.

“Merci.”

Kim looked up at him and flashed him a sheepish sort of ‘haha. Look at us. Sneezing in the wild’ conspiratorial glance. Jean smirked at him.

“As I was saying. I don’t dislike cats. I just dislike that they tend to make me sneeze.”

Jean nodded and looked round at the flat. Cat hair covered most surfaces, if only sparsely. A beam of sunlight coming through one of the narrow windows illuminated a few stray hairs dancing round on the currents of air. He winced a little in sympathy. The sight even made his own nose tickle a little; he subconsciously reached up to rub the side of it with a crooked finger.

“You’re shit out of luck, then. It’s cat hair heaven in here.”

Kim sighed wearily, accepting his fate. As if picking up at last on Kim’s less-than-satisfied state of being, the cat paused in its motions to drape itself over the toes of Kim’s boots and glance up at him with a sweet ‘Mroww’, which Jean could swear lilted up in pitch as if to question the Lieutenant. Kim looked down at the cat with soft eyes.

“It’s not your fault, little one. Don’t worry.”

He hesitated for a moment before reaching down and gingerly stroking the top of the cat’s head with a gloved hand. It was an awkward and brief motion; he pulled back before the cat could nuzzle its docile head into his palm. Both Jean and Kim watched as even the minor scritches unearthed a tiny cloud of soft black fur. Kim jerked upright almost violently, and Jean had to stifle a laugh.

“I’ll be paying for that in a while,” Kim sighed again, rolling a pair of black nitrile gloves over his leather ones with a pleasing snap. He gently shifted the cat off the toes of his boots one foot at a time; it went easily, seemingly exhausted by its own outpouring of affection and allowing itself to sink into the carpet like a puddle of fur. It really was a lazy motherfucker. Jean was quite in love with it.

“Excusez-moi.” Kim muttered as he stepped over the liquid pile of cat, purring happily in its heap.

He looked up at Jean as he made his way over, doing a small double-take as he noticed the way Jean was beaming at him.

“What?” His lips quirked up ever so subtly, thankfully taking the taller officer’s grin in good humour.

“Nothing. You’re just cute with animals. Awkward.”

Kim just smiled at him, warmly.  

“I should really get to work.” He said, moving past Jean into the kitchen. “In here, you said?”

“Yep.” Jean followed behind him. He could see that the numerous rotations the cat had made around Kim’s legs had deposited a great deal of soft black fur sticking to the camo. He would help Kim get rid of it all before he got back into his MC. He watched as Kim knelt next to the body, careful to avoid the coagulating puddle of blood that spread outwards on the cheap linoleum floor.

“Have you had a chance to examine the victim?” Kim ran his hand over the chest of the body – it was practically shredded through with bullet wounds. He performed a brief ‘Stations of the Breath’ ritual before resuming his inspection.

“Not extensively, but enough to see all of this.” Jean gestured to the wounds and the endless shards of glass spanning the ground. “Looks like he was shot through the window with an automatic rifle. He fell onto the glass, and some of it is implanted following the initial explosion of the window shattering. Most of, but not all of the blood is from the bullet wounds.”

Kim nodded, inspecting the body more thoroughly. Jean continued.

“He looks to have died around the time that gunshots were reported forty-five minutes ago. Definitely not long enough for his cat to start eating his face.”

Kim wrinkled his nose at that, uttering a small sound of disgust.

“Gross.”

“Not as gross as this mess.”

Kim nodded his head in grim recognition. He dictated notes to Jean as he conducted the examination but couldn’t find anything counter to Jean’s initial conclusions. The cause of death and injuries to the body were easily explained. The reason for this extremely violent murder – not so much. Kim extracted a wallet and driver’s license from the victim’s jeans – not a name or face either of them were familiar with from any ongoing gang related investigations.

“This was overkill.” Kim murmured, righting himself and removing the nitrile gloves. “Far too extreme for a run-of-the-mill civilian.”

“I agree.” Jean nodded. “Since the shots are from outside, and I can see no sign of disturbance inside the apartment, it doesn’t look like a break-in or burglary. I – oh.”

He paused, noticing the slight sneer Kim was wearing as he fought off another allergic tickle, nostrils flared wide. He was wildly unsuccessful, whipping round and into the raised collar of his bomber jacket seconds later with a violent series of sneezes.

“HdDDZT’Tzshieww!! Hgkt’tsh!! ‘TTSCH’uu!!”

The first one burst out of him in angry, dizzying rush of spray through teeth clenched just a moment too late to provide any effective suppression.  The next two he managed to bite down on, barely, shoulders jumping under the pressure. Jean reached out to grab him firmly by the bicep as he shook, threatening to unbalance himself and, heaven forbid, topple down onto or next to the corpse. Though not remarkably loud, the sneezes were forceful and audibly desperate. The smaller man sighed once he was done, and Jean released his arm.

“Bless you!” He offered, a little impressed by the display. He imagined Harry would have jizzed on the spot.

“Ughh, Merci. Désolé.” Kim replied, sniffling and blinking one itching eye shut. A single tear of irritation started a slow descent down his cheek. Jean reached under the frame of Kim’s glasses and swiped it away with his thumb on a whim, before realising he had been petting Beau with that same hand. He felt relieved when Kim didn’t fight him on it, perhaps not even realising his mistake.

“Carry on, detective.”

Jean continued to explain his theory surrounding the murder whilst Kim pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief and tended first to his bleary eyes, then to his twitching, irritated nostrils. The skin on their rims was left slightly pinkened after some uncharacteristically rough manhandling. He must be more allergic than he let on, Jean thought, and began leading the pair of them out of the apartment.

He jumped when in the living room Kim jerked forward with another desperate fit, halting their progression and eliciting a sudden, loud meow from Beau. Said cat watched on with expressionless green eyes from his position stretched out on the sun-warmed carpet as Kim shuddered, sneezing into the hastily raised cover of his elbow.

“Hh’GXTSsshhh!! ‘GXT’Tchieww!! HDd’TZSchh!! ‘TSCH’oo! Ahh, mon dieu.”

These sneezes were particularly viscious, wrenching themselves out of Kim and leaving him bleary-eyed and shaky in the aftermath.

“God, Kim. Bless you.” Jean offered, his hand rubbing absently at the small of the Lieutenant’s back.

“Thang’k you. Let’s go.” Kim said, snuffling into his handkerchief and walking out through the front door without a second to spare. Jean cast a glance at the cat, mewling again as its beloved Lieutenant marched away, and followed him out of the door without a word.

“Hmm. No known or suspected connections to any street gangs or drug cartels. He may have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Seen something he shouldn’t have.” Kim offered as they leant against the wall of the building. He blew his nose softly. It didn’t sound at all productive as his sinuses started to swell. “Somebody meant to silence him.”

“Maybe.” Jean took a drag on his cigarette. “But the MO is unlike any of the regular gangs in this area. I mean, a machine gun?? For one unarmed guy, at home? It’s too messy, outlandish and loud – in other words, way too risky.”

Kim nodded and paused for a moment. Jean wondered if he was going to sneeze again, but he spoke up after a beat.

“There…was another murder, a few months ago – on the other side of Jamrock, with fatal injuries confirmed to have been sustained via an automatic rifle. I’ll have to check, but the circumstances are shockingly similar. That victim also had no apparent connections to any gangs, or a previous criminal record.”

Jean made a small noise of recognition. He remembered, now – the case was still ongoing. It had intrigued both Harry and himself, but had been brushed aside as several more inflammatory and pressing cases had arisen. They’d passed it off onto some junior officers that had recently joined the Major Crimes unit, enticed by Harry’s newfound sobriety and the assurance of Kim’s fastidiousness. He would be taking that case right on back.

“That was also a murder in a residential area – some kids say they saw somebody hop a fence but couldn’t give us any more details.”

Kim looked up at him, nodding. He scrawled a couple of notes in his notebook before slipping it back into his pocket.

“We should look into that. It’s not much to go from and the cases appear unrelated, bar these few details but – we can’t afford to write it off. They’re both too irregular.”

Jean put out his cigarette on the wall next to him, ignoring Kim’s look of disapproval.

“Right. I’ll call in to the station and update them.” He looked at his watch in annoyance. “There were supposed to be more officers on the scene twenty minutes ago. Where the fuck are they?”

“Before I left the station earlier it seemed frantic – I think it’s just a particularly bad day.”

Jean grumbled but conceded. The entire reason he had arrived alone and Kim had joined him en route from another crime scene was because Harry was buried with the recent influx of crime on top of the years of unprocessed paperwork. He knew that. To Harry’s credit, he had cut down the latter a significant amount, despite the slow and confusing process of dealing with his memory returning in sporadic and often extremely stressful bursts. Jean was secretly very proud of him, if he even had any right to be.

“We need to get in contact with the victim’s relatives, if any – can you do that?” Kim asked, sounding a little shaky as he finished. Jean turned to watch him shudder into a fairly rapid-fire quadruple of sneezes.

“hh’dztch-T’zschh-Tschht! Huh-!! AESSCH’uu-!! Merde!”

He had sneezed entirely uncovered and straight out in front of him. Jean pretended not to notice the resultant light aerosol that hung in the air for a fleeting moment, glittering in the late morning sunlight. Kim clapped a hand to his face immediately afterwards as if suddenly remembering he was on public display, sighing into the leather of his glove.

“Bien sûr.” Jean answered. “And bless you, again. You’re starting to sound like I did over summer.”

Kim replaced his hand with his handkerchief, scrubbing at his pink nostrils through the soft cotton. He pushed his jostled glasses back up his nose when he was done.

“Thank you. Fucking cat hair.”

Jean smiled and lit another cigarette. It was always delightful to hear the Lieutenant drop an F bomb. He and Harry were clearly rubbing off on him.

“I’ll sort out the family – and once the other chuckle-fucks arrive, we can start questioning witnesses and get the body taken to the morgue.” Jean offered.

“Good. I need to head back to the station and submit some reports – I can relay what we’ve discussed here to Harry.”

“Great.” Jean exhaled heavily, thankful for the soothing rush of nicotine. He’d seen enough dead bodies this week to last anybody a lifetime – Kim probably twice as much. But c’est la vie. There was always another body.

“Can you wait until the cavalry arrives?” Jean asked him. “I know things are fucking batshit insane right now and you’re needed elsewhere but I’d rather not be the only officer here.” He looked pointedly at the surrounding houses and the curious faces lingering in the windows. More pressing than warding off curious bystanders, however, was the very real risk of the murderer returning to the scene and spraying him dead with bullets.

“Of course.” Kim patted his arm. “You should never have been here alone – I’m sorry I didn’t get here faster.”

“Thanks.”

They spent a couple of minutes in companionable silence, interrupted only by another small fit of sneezes from Kim and an emphatic blessing from Jean whilst they listened out for the sound of approaching sirens. Kim sniffled a couple of times while Jean was working on his third cigarette, audibly stuffed up. Jean said nothing. Harry would be fretting over Kim more than enough once he got back to the station, anyway.

“Hopefully the victim has family that can take on the cat.” Kim broke the silence.

Jean beamed at him.

“His collar said his name was ‘Beau’. You sure you don’t want to adopt him?” He smirked around his cigarette.

“Funny.” Kim deadpanned. He was struggling to pronounce his ‘n’s around the congestion.

“Maybe I’ll take him.” Jean teased. “He’s a cutie. And then he can visit you.”

“That would mark both the end of our friendship and my capacity to engage with you on any level beyond professional.”

Jean laughed.

“You’re no fun.”

“That’s not entirely true.” Kim smiled at him, voice low and flirtatious. “Don’t you dare let Harry know that a cat is up for grabs. Contrary to what I let him get away with, I do like being able to breathe through my nose.”

“Something I’ve discovered,” Jean took a drag on his cigarette before continuing. “Is that orgasms are actually pretty effective as a decongestant.” His eyes glittered as he looked over at Kim.

“Good to know.” Kim returned that look with an equally mischievous glance from behind the thick lenses of his glasses. “But I think I’ll leave Beau out of this arrangement. Three is already a crowd.”

Jean choked on his latest puff of smoke, laughing and coughing in turn. Kim looked incredibly pleased with himself.

“Compose yourself, officer. This is a crime scene.”

Jean wiped a tear of mirth from the corner of one eye.

“Yes sir.”