insatiable appetite [1/?]
sooo... this is one of the thirstiest things i have writtenāand also one of the only times i've written a character with the kink, ever T.T warnings in advance for mess, character getting sneezed on, implied contagion, possible ooc-ness, & me writing this entirely with my d instead of my head
ivan and till are from al//ien sta//ge (a very fun watch which will only take 30 mins out of your life; i really recommend it!!). that said, this fic takes place in a modern au setting, so feel free to read it without any prior context :)
special thanks to @6pmsoup for sending me a very cute alnst doodle of these two which altered my brain chemistry permanently
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Summary: Till shows up to a dinner outing with a brewing cold. Ivan suffers. (est. relationship, kink!Ivan, ~2k words)
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For all Till tries to hide it, Ivan can tell immediately.
Thereās this: Ivan has been paying attention to Till for most of his life. A full decade before theyād gotten together officially, and some moreāthis is how long Ivan has had to observe his tells. Always from the sidelines, always with a detached air of indifference that, in reality, was anything but.
All the signs are there the night before. Till, turning up the thermostat a couple degrees higher than he usually keeps it. Spending a little too long in the shower and using up almost all of the hot water. Clearing his throat one too many times in the morning before Ivan leaves for work, his smile distracted, the rasp of his voice nearly indistinguishableābut only nearly.
Now, Till is here for dinnerāitās a dinner theyāve had plans for a couple weeks now, at one of the nicer restaurants downtown, in celebration of Tillās recent promotion. Ivan had booked the reservation a couple weeks in advance.
When Till arrives, stepping out of a taxi cab, heās wearing a scarf, even though the weather is too warm for it. Ivan steps up to meet him.Ā
āSorry Iām late,ā Till says. āTraffic here was the worst Iāve ever seen it, swear to god.ā
āWas it cold outside today?ā Ivan asks, a little pointedly, tilting his head towards his scarf.
Till looks at him, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. āColder than usual, for this time of year.ā
āStrange,ā Ivan says, just to be difficult. āBut the weather forecast says itās the same temperature today as yesterday.āĀ
āItās probably just windier today,ā Till says, readjusting his scarf around his neck. His face is a little flushed.
āYour voice sounds a little off, though.ā
Till clears his throat with a scowl. āYou must be imagining it,ā he says. āIt always sounds like this.ā
No admission, then. Thatās fine. Ivan will get the truth out of him at some point. He lets Till guide him into the restaurant.
Itās a nice restaurantāworth the hassle of the reservation, Ivan thinks. Each table is set with flowers arranged tastefully in long glass vases, empty wine glasses turned on their heads. The serverāwho leads them to their table in a small, private boothāis wearing a suit.
Itās a shame, really. Ivan has a feeling that he wonāt be able to pay attention to any of that tonight.
They sit. Ivan looks down at the menu, picks out something at random in a matter of seconds. Truthfully, he can hardly think of anything less worth his attention right now. He turns his attention to Till insteadāTill, whoās seated directly across from him, the scarf still around his neck, obscuring the lower half of his face.Ā
Till sniffles, reaching down to turn the page, and oh. The sniffle is terribly liquidāhas he been sniffling like that all afternoon? Perhaps itās a good thing that they work at different officesāTill at a law firm, Ivan as a senior manager at a consulting companyābecause Ivan certainly doesnāt think heād be able to get any work done with Till sniffling like that.Ā
Itās not two minutes later that Till is reaching up to wipe his nose against the back of one knuckle. All in all, itās discreet. Just a quick brush of the fingers against his nose, which is still hidden under the scarf. Though, the look of sheer ticklishness that passes over his features for a brief moment there is...
āWhat are you thinking of ordering?ā Ivan asks.
āI canāt decide,ā Till answers. He turns the page again. āItās between the ribeye steak and theā¦ snf! The pork belly. Is this the kind of place that skimps on the portion sizes?ā
āNot from their Yelp reviews,ā Ivan says. āYou know, if you really canāt decide, I can flip a coin.ā
āIāll pick,ā Till says. āWhy? Hungry already?ā
He looks up, now. His eyes are a little watery. Thereās a faint flush over the bridge of his nose. Ivan thinks that if he reached out and touched him, heād probably be running warm. The thought is almost unbearable.
āYour taxi did take forever to arrive,ā Ivan says, by way of explanation.Ā
āDid you really wait that long?ā
He looks uncertain, for a moment. Ivan says, āNot at all. But you know, Iām always impatient when it comes to you.ā
Till rolls his eyes, but itās fond. āThere was a meeting that ran late. I wasnāt avoiding you.ā
āIs that also a part of your new position?ā
āI guess so, yeah.ā
āI can see why they were eager to promote you, then,ā Ivan says. āHow productive can late afternoon meetings be, anyways?ā
Till snorts. āNot that important. It definitely could have been an email instead. I was about ready to doze off.ā
He sniffles again. āOkay. I think I know what I want.ā The way he says know betrays the slightest hint of congestion.Ā
āAt long last,ā Ivan says, just to be a little bit of an ass. āIāll call over the waiter.ā
He flags their waiter down, waits for Till to order first.
āA spiced apple cider,ā Till adds on, at the end, with the slightest of coughs. āHot, if you can.ā
Thatās new, too. Till seldom orders hot drinks at restaurants, though heāll drink tea without complaint if itās offered. Perhaps his throat hurts, then, from the cold that has clearly started to settle in his system. Subtle, still, but Ivan is familiar with colds like this. He knows it will probably only be a few hours before this deceptively āsmallā cold turns intoā¦
Ivan orders, too, and thanks the waiter, who leaves with a curt nod. When he looks back over to Till, thereās aā¦ strange something to Tillās expression, a slight distractedness. Irritation.
Ivan swallows hard. He should look away.Ā
He should, but then, Tillās breath hitches. He pulls the scarf higher over his face preemptively, as if he anticipates having something to have to cover for. The sharp intake of breath that follows is breathy, though Ivan can hear Tillās voice in it. He should really look away.
Instead, he takes the scene in, painstakingly, little by little, as Tillās shoulders jerk forwards. As Till presses a hand to the scarf, presses the fabric closer to his face, to muffle a sneeze into his fingertips:
āhhH-Ih!! hiHH-āIESCHH-eew-!ā
God. It sounds utterly miserable, the harsh release of it scraping against his throat, the spray tearing into his scarf. Itās the kind of cold sneeze that is undeniably telling: this is going to be one hell of a cold. Itās not very quiet, either, even muffled into the fabric.
For more reasons than one, Ivan is glad theyāre in a private corner of the restaurant, not somewhere more public.
āBless you,ā he offers, once he can trust himself to speak. Itās a good thing that Till is too distracted to look up at him right now. Ivan isnāt sure he can keep what heās feeling off of his face.
Truthfully, he isnāt sure heās going to be able to endure a whole night of this.
The problem here is that TillāTill, of all people; Till, who Ivan has been pathetically in love with for almost as long as he can rememberāhas no idea about Ivanāsā¦ relatively niche interests. That is to say, he has no idea what effect it has on Ivan when he does that.
āThanks,ā Till says, a little stuffily. He sniffles again, lowering his hand.Ā
Ivan canāt help it. He knows he shouldnāt pursue this line of questioning, but he can feel his self-control dwindling by the second. āDonāt you think it would be better to take off your scarf, now that weāre inside?ā
Till freezes. āY-You know what,ā he says evasively. āItās pretty cold in here.ā
Ivan tilts his head in question. āAnd just how do you plan on eating like that?ā
āIāll take it off when our food comes.ā
āI can ask the waiter to turn the temperature up, if itās a problem,ā Ivan says.Ā
āItās not a problem.ā
Ivan rises from his seat. Till watches him, perplexed, as he heads to the opposite side of the table, where Till is seated.
When he gets there, he stops. Stands, unmoving, so he can study Till from above.Ā
āWhat are youāā
Ivan reaches out, settles his palm across Tillās forehead. As expected, itās warm. Not quite feverish, which is a good sign, but warm enough to be notable.Ā
āJust how long were you intending to hide this?ā
Till stares back at him, wide-eyed. āHide what?ā
Shouldnāt it be obvious? āThe fact that you have a cold.ā
āI didnāt think it was worth mentioning,ā Till says, slowly.
āHmm.ā Ivan drops his hand to his side. He is a little concerned, now. āWe couldāve called a rain check.ā
This time Till really does roll his eyes. āFor the reservation we planned weeks ahead?ā he sniffles again. āThat just sounds completely and utterly unnecessary. Are you the type of person to call things off just over a little cold?āĀ
Ivan leans over, tugs down the edge of Tillās scarf. Till bats his hand away just a moment too late, cups his other hand over his face to shield his face from view. For a moment, he looks faintly mortified.
Then his expression settles into something more disgruntled. āWhat are you doing?ā he hisses.
So uncooperative. āLet me see,ā Ivan says. Slowly, gently, he pries Tillās hands away from his face, and thenābecause the restaurant is dimly litātilts Tillās face up slightly so that it catches more of the overhead light.Ā
Tillās nose is redder than usual. Heās probably been rubbing it all afternoon, if the redness that percolates into his cheeks is any indication. ThereāsĀ a damp, liquid sheen on the underside of his nose.
āWhatās there to see?ā Till says, a little crossly.
āYour face, since youāve been so intent on hiding it under that scarf,ā Ivan says, leaning in to get a better look.
Till scowls at him, but thereās no heat to it. āYou see my face every day.ā
āOn the contrary, I donāt see it nearly enough,ā Ivan says. āAnd you hardly ever get sick. Is it so wrong for me to be concerned?ā
Without looking, he reaches behind him with one hand to grab a couple cocktail napkins. The other hand he keeps held up to Tillās cheek.Ā
But then, Tillās breath hitches. āWait,ā he says. Panic flashes through his face. āIvan, move, Iāā
Oh. Well, seeing as thereās no way heāll be able to get the napkins over in time, it looks like heāll have to improvise. If Till wants to cover, Ivan can help with that. He moves his hand to cup it loosely over Tillās mouth. Not a second too late, it seems. Till jerks forward unceremoniously, his nose twitching, his eyes squeezing shut.
āhHheh-! HHhāEIITShHhāyYiew!ā he gasps sharply. Two? āHh-! hHiiHāDSSCSSHh-IIew!āĀ Ā
The jolt of the sneezes is practically electrifyingāall of that force, brought to an abrupt halt behind Ivanās waiting palm. He feels the expulsion of air against his skin, the warmth of Tillās breath, feels the slight dampness behind his hand as the spray mists over his fingertips.
Ivan swallows, hard. Thank god itās so dark here, otherwise Till might notice what this is doing to him.Ā
āBless you,ā he says, withdrawing his hand at last to wipe it on one of the cloth napkins. It comes out slightly raspier than he intends it to, though perhaps itās a miracle that heās still able to talk at all. āSome cold, hmm?ā Belatedly, he hands Till the stack of napkins.
Till practically snatches them from him, turns aside to blow his nose wetly into the top few. The way he sniffles afterwards suggests that his nose is still very much running.Ā
āDo you have no self preservation? Itās as if you want to catch this,ā Till says, drawing back with another sniffle.
Oh, Ivan thinks, fighting back a shiver. That would be far from the worst thing.
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