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writingforfishes · 2 months ago

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Otto and Atticus Part 10: Back Inaction

HAS IT BEEN A MONTH?!

Heck.

Well, here's a little something that I've been busy over-producing from when I lifted something wrong a few weeks ago and had to baby myself back to well.

Just imagine if I'd had a dorky tall dude to push away the affections of due to my inadequacies, instead of doing it all by myself anyway.

I'm just letting this story go so I don't obsess over the words anymore. It may be clunky and wordy, but if I stare at it any longer, I'll probably keep making it worse.

Atticus is in an arousal haitus during this. (I also just got done with one of those.)

Fast hiccups.

Otto getting annoyed by his hiccups.

Adjacent talk of Otto's recovery struggles.

Back pain.

Rejecting comfort.

Procrastination and issues with time management.

Massage (non kinky)

Detailed body talk (not related to genitalia)

Otto being a grumpy sleepy boy.

Atticus being a grumpy sore potato.

Being serious for a second.

Inadequacies with being taken care of.

Frustrations at growing old and being seen as old (so mild agism and something that could possibly be seen as ablism, though not intentionally).

Lots of teasing to cope.

Otto being a nerd.

Atticus being a dork.

Author trying reeeal haaard to let this go without another edit session!

Atticus hissed as pain shot from their buttox to the base of their spine. All they had done was pick up a can from a grocery bag on the floor and put it in the pantry. Seemed bad posture had caught up with them. The can was a metaphorical straw that broke the camel’s back. Atticus, in the role of the camel, was not amused.

Otto paused in putting away groceries to shoot them a questioning look.

“You good?” he asked, blindly putting the last frozen item in before closing the top door of the fridge and coming over to his partner’s hunched form, their hand latched onto the door jamb of the pantry and taking shallow, then deep, breaths.

“Mm...not so much…” Atticus replied. They hobbled away toward the couch and sat down on the cushions gingerly.

Though initially Atty had allowed Otto to help them that day, all of Otto’s attempted administrations of care had been brushed off every day after. (Though not in an unfriendly way. More in a “nah, I’m good, don’t worry about me, I got this, ooh look a bird!” way.)

Atty had taken copious amounts of Ibuprofen throughout the week. They applied heat and ice and did stretches and exercises, but the muscle strain was taking forever to heal on its own. They had even started adopting some of Otto’s Pilate’s exercises after seeing the similarities of them to the physical therapy recommendations online.

Still, the pain persisted.

What Atticus really needed was rest. But with an upcoming deadline and having to write furiously to get it done on time, rest was in short commodity. Otto realized this and respected the reason Atty was denying his offers of care. Though, admittedly, he felt a bit helpless for it. Watching his partner in pain while writing at his desk in a chair he was well aware was not exactly ergonomic was mildly distressing.

But, with teeth gritted, the writer charged through the story using the pain to inspire and empathize with their characters. Finally, after 5 days, the writing piece was complete. And, with a heavy-handed tap on the send button, Atticus collapsed back in the ill-fitted office chair they’d occupied during the spree. They’d only taken breaks in their furiously charged writing spree to attempt to use the bathroom, ice, heat, and stretch their back. (And, at Otto’s insistence, they also took breaks to eat. Though they frequently brought food with them to the desk.)

“Really loving this procrastination for my personal growth journey, but I could do without the stress it causes!” they exclaimed.

Otto, from the direction of his work bench, chuckled.

“You done?” he asked, hopefully. Perhaps now he would be allowed to care for them more than making food and giving monologues on various topics he’d distracted them with while they’d attempted to ease their pain.

Atticus gave a whimper and a nod in response.

The writer’s eyes were closed. Their hands clutched their lower back while still sitting in Otto’s office chair. Their fingers gripped the soreness that had only abated enough to withstand during the week they’d tried to ease it amid their furious attempts to make up for lost time in writing a manuscript they should’ve had done a week ago.

Atticus startled at Otto’s voice that had somehow gotten so close that it was right behind them as he spoke.

“How’s your back?” Otto asked. He didn’t miss the wince that came from the jump of their body and felt a bit guilty for causing it.

Atty opened their eyes to look back and up at Otto, his kind face giving a warm smile down at them.

“‘Sokay,” they lied.

“Mm,” Otto said a bit curtly. “So...if I asked you right now to walk to the kitchen, bring me something from the bottom cabinet, and walk back here you’d be perfectly fine and pain free?”

Atticus considered it before lying again, “Yup!”

“Go ahead, then,” he said, crossing his arms.

A beat passed between them, a bit of a stare down.

“Pssh! Dude! You have two legs and are up. You go get it!” Atty said, attempting to diffuse with humor.

Instead of laughing, though, Otto circled to face them and bent down to lock eyes with his partner in front of them. It was a stare that almost made Atty squirm. There was a deep honesty in those eyes, an intense interest and even more intense emotion.

There was also seriousness in those eyes that Atticus usually tried to avoid at all costs until they could no longer ignore it. It wasn’t for lack of wanting to be genuine or truthful that they avoided the seriousness, but for lack of wanting to reveal themselves out of instinctual protection.

Atticus did trust their partner. They didn’t trust themselves.

“Atty...” Otto started.

Atticus could’ve lost themselves with just that nickname and how it was said. Otto had an alarming ability to coat the simplest of words in an emotional subtext that could drown a sane person. For a person like Atticus, who considered themselves by no means, sane, it just made it a little harder to breathe. Otto had their attention.

“You have cared for me more than once when I was at my worst. It’s obvious you’re in pain. Why-why won’t you let me care for you now? Is it pride? Do you...not trust me?” Otto asked. The ‘why’ was a stutter, not a hiccup.

The clock maker took the tips of his fingers and ran them along Atticus’ hairline. He shifted an errant curl up into its usual place. A soft breath was drawn from the writer as he found the buzzed part of their undercut and pulled the pads of his fingers over it softly.

“Noooo…” they said like a whine when he asked about trust, “I do.”

Atty countered those dark brown eyes with pinched brows and narrowed eyelids. They held their lips tightly against each other and sighed.

“I’m just...embarrassed,” Atticus finally admitted under his scrutiny.

Otto, still on his knees in front of them, scrunched his eyes up and shook his head, incredulous.

“Why?” he asked genuinely. His eyes widened as he asked, and his brows edged up his prominent forehead in confusion.

Atticus had seen the clock maker in ways so much worse than a strained back, so Otto was truly befuddled at the reason for the embarrassment.

Atticus sighed, perhaps a bit dramatically.

“I-I don’t like needing to be cared for. I...feel like a burden, y’know? I don’t know how to act like someone who...who needs to be helped! My mom never...I loved her, and she loved me but...my mom didn’t really know how to treat me when I was sick. I’d feel...guilty for it happening. I don’t know why, so don’t ask me!

“And...I threw my back out while picking up a can! Less than a pound! It’s just...all so demoralizing and insulting and stupid and...I’m ooold and I don’t want to-to need anyone and...I—ugh!” Atticus exclaimed and buried their head in their hands.

Otto slowly coerced Atticus’ hands from their face and cupped their cheek in his hand in replacement. He was smiling again, soft and sweet. He was annoyingly understanding. Atty was always prepared to be a terrible person, but Otto never let them. His patience was very frustrating in that way.

“I get all of that. Trust me. But...I guess there have been too many instances in my life where I literally didn’t have a choice but to let people take care of me,” he said. “The number of times I’ve been at my worst have been more than I would ever want to admit. And, I guess, through that I learned some humility? Which is annoying. It doesn’t really help the guilt and shame go away but at least I know what it feels like to think you’re a burden on someone, and then find out that you’re not. A lot of people have convinced me of that. Margie. Mark. You,” he said, with a nod to Atticus. “And...it doesn’t always stick. I still have moments where I have a really hard time letting people take care of me. But I guess I’ve sort of had to be taken care of more so...I have more practice? Kind of?”

Otto shook his head with a sardonic chuckle and a shrug.

“But, throwing back one of your very apt observations from your birthday on which, remember, you were right because it was your birthday,” Otto continued, “allowing me to take care of you is a gift to me. It isn’t a burden, but something I look forward to providing, okay? And...so...I want to provide it!”

“Dammit,” Atticus ground out through their teeth. “I hate how good your memory is.”

Otto did laugh in amusement this time.

“Yeaaaah,” he drawled, “it’s a real drag, huh? It’s your fault for being so damn poignant.”

“Ugh, I really wish I was less insightful!” Atty agreed, grateful that they were back to lighter dialogue.

Otto smiled and held each of Atticus’ hands in his own.

“So, can you please let me care for you now? Cause, man, watching you suffer through this week has been a special kind of torture. Not to mention that chair hurts my back, let alone what it must feel like for you!” Otto said.

“Yeah, what the fuck is up with this chair? We need to get you a new chair…” Atticus mumbled before turning back to Otto’s waiting face. “Okay, fine. Take care of me. Or whatever.”

“Ooh, reign that enthusiasm in, Atty!” Otto said, smiling.

Atticus rolled their eyes in response.

Otto had obviously been planning to be Atticus’ knight in shining khaki ever since they’d hurt their back. He had a plan. The first part of that plan was a long bath soaking in Epson salts. The clock maker had even gotten a small bath pillow for Atticus to lay their head on while they luxuriated in the tub. He lit a candle, of all things, that smelled of lavender and vanilla. The writer didn’t even know that Otto had allowed a candle in the house; his nose was so sensitive to perfumes and powerful scents. As such, the candle was successfully mild in its odor, just enough to flavor the air.

Otto left Atticus to soak while he went downstairs and fixed dinner. Just as the water started to cool and Atty was about to get up Otto arrived with a towel and helped them from the tub. And, as their back gave a spasm from the change in position, Atticus was extremely grateful he was there.

“You okay?” Otto asked as he supported them.

“Yeah. Just one fucking back spasm away from chopping the whole spine out,” Atty grunted. They huffed at the edge of the tub until the pain ebbed.

“Mmm, don’t recommend it,” Otto said with humor.

“I dunno,” Atty continued bitterly, “politicians seem to do fine without one for the most part.”

“Wow. Okay! Pain makes you even more cynical than normal. Good to know. Afraid you’re stuck being a writer, though. Suffering for the art and all,” Otto said watching Atticus gingerly towel off as he handed them underwear, a white shirt, and their favorite pair of grey sweatpants.

“Yeah, choosing honesty over deception has been a real drag,” the writer said.

“Tell me about it,” Otto had agreed before walking his spouse downstairs.

To their credit, Atticus only faltered once, having to let Otto support them. However, every step triggered shoots of pain up their lower back and in one butt cheek. Being a pain in the ass and having a pain in the ass were two very different experiences, they were realizing. They quickly decided they preferred the former.

The writer took a moment to muse how on earth they’d scaled the steps without Otto behind them as support before now. Was that a testament to tenacity or idiocy? Both, at this point, seemed likely.

Dinner had been prepared. Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. As much as Atticus and Otto’s childhood had differed, they both had memories of their parents preparing tomato soup with a grilled cheese sandwich. It’s why Otto had ordered the same meal at the food market in the Antique’s Mall a month ago. Happy memories were spare for him and marrying them with moments he wanted to find joy in was very therapeutic.

Comfort food was also essential when someone didn’t feel well; Atticus more than appreciated the gesture. They spooned the warm liquid into their mouth noting the spices floating on top that their mom’s Campbell’s brand fare never contained.

“Ooh, it’s a little spicy,” Atty had said after taking a few spoonfuls.

“Too much?” Otto asked with some worry.

“Nuh-uh, nope. Just unexpected. Mm, do we have crackers?” they asked.

Atticus allowed Otto to retrieve the Ritz crackers. They allowed Otto to do the dishes. They allowed Otto to put a Tiger Balm brand menthol patch on their back to ease their pain. They allowed Otto to give them a massage on the couch. Or, more accurately, Attics allowed themself grace from doing things that would cause pain, and Otto was more than willing to support that decision.

This last one, allowing Otto to give them massage, Atticus saw as extremely self-indulgent. Otto was more than happy to oblige, though. And Otto was, innuendo jokes aside, extremely skilled with his hands. He had actually hoped Atticus would request a massage. The writer had massaged him quite often after more intense or longer hiccup attacks. Disregarding even that, both of them were very familiar with when the other would benefit from the easing of muscles by proffered massages, kink moments aside.

For his part, Otto enjoyed Atticus’ body. He enjoyed the freckles that powdered along their shoulders and down their arms. He loved feeling the soft sides of their waist and lingered admiringly at the dimples above their butt. There was nothing sexual about this kind of touch. No arousal happened from either one of them during the massage. (In fact, Atticus was in a bit of a hiatus from their arousal reaction from hiccups, so not even the regular forms of excitement would be happening this night.)

When Otto had first given Atticus a massage at the time they had started to explore each other’s bodies, he was terrified he would hurt them. Atty was slight beneath his hands which seemed so large compared to their body. But when the writer scoffed as he tentatively ghosted his fingers along their skin, that he didn’t need to treat them like some porcelain doll and that they were tougher than they looked, Otto took note. What he discovered, quite surprisingly, was that they were right.

Their body may have been small, but it was made of denser muscle than it seemed. The softness of their curves gave way to cords of knotted muscle that actually took some effort to break through. Atty was also communicative if he’d pushed too far. This gave him confidence and he treated his partner less like a breakable commodity and more like a person with autonomy who was simply a different shape and size. The novelty of them being such wildly different sized bodies faded quite quickly after this realization. (Barring when they attempted to kiss each other while standing, Atticus needing something on a high shelf, or cheap shot jokes about height during banter.)

The couple ended up one on top of the other on the couch. Otto had reclined against the couch’s arm with a pillow underneath him and offered Atticus to lay with their back top of his belly and torso, their legs between his, and a pillow at their lower back. The writer sighed, sinking into the softness of his midsection and relishing the feeling of menthol on their back from the patch. Otto offered a small pillow to put at their neck so it would have support. Atty melted in even further at the comfort. When Otto kissed their head, his spouse made a very contented noise in the back of their throat that encouraged a chuckle from him.

“You feeling okay?” he asked. Otto had brought out a book to read above them and raised his glasses at the small face leaning back to look at him.

The soft sounds of an orchestral record took the space of sound between their words.

“Mmhm. Yep,” Atty said.

“How’s your back?” Otto asked.

“Feels tight but it doesn’t hurt as much. I smell like an old man, now. The Tiger Balm. But it feels really good,” Atticus admitted.

“Good,” Otto replied, smiling.

“What’re you reading?” they almost cut themselves off with a sizable and audible yawn. They felt Otto stroking their hair affectionately.

Atticus had not been getting the best sleep. They had been tossing and turning in the loft bed instead of their shared bed because they didn’t want to disturb Otto with their movements. None of it had made for consistent or fulfilling rest.

“‘T’snot Melville again, is it?” Atty followed up with before Otto could answer.

“No…” Otto said in faux offense, “Hawthorne.”

“Nerd,” Atty teased.

Otto snorted with a laugh jostling Atticus’ body.

“Oh crap, did that hurt?” Otto thought to ask after watching Atty readjust themselves after his laughter.

“Nah,” Atticus responded, but caught the doubtful eye of their husband above them. “Seriously, this time. Just kinda bouncy and soft. I promise you didn’t hurt me. Go back to reading your fancy novel. I’m gonna...not fall asleep.”

Otto watched the writer pull the blanket from off of the back of the couch and shrug it onto their shoulders, adjusting again against his body with a small grunt.

“Are you comfortable?” they suddenly asked him. Otto smiled.

“I’m good,” Otto responded, easily. He’d propped himself up on the pillow, it supporting his neck and back. Holding the book aloft wasn’t much of a challenge as he’d rest it on the back of the couch while reading. Though he might get a little warm having Atticus laying on him, it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience if Atty was able to get some good sleep out of it.

“Kay,” they said lazily and turned their head again to get more comfortable.

A long while after Atticus had fallen asleep Otto marveled at how incredibly still they had been. Usually, they’d have turned at least once by this mark. This was probably an indication of how tired the writer was. They’d been asleep for a little over an hour without so much as a twitch.

Atticus had even fallen asleep with their glasses on. But as their head never turned enough to knock them askew, Otto decided not to remove them for fear of rousing them.

Otto was happy, also, that the heat from Atticus’ body wasn’t too overwhelming. It’d helped that he’d laid down in his boxer shorts and white t-shirt. He was only a little warm, but he hadn’t even started sweating. It was a relief not to have to deal with the heat, though he would’ve stayed regardless.

He suddenly felt gas rising up his chest and worked hard on letting it out as softly as possible to not disturb his spouse who slowly rose and fell with the movement of his body’s breath. He’d had the hiccups once today. It wasn’t anything special. Atticus teased him a bit on some of the sounds, able to be more natural with the occurrence during their break from feeling arousal from them.

The hiccups had been a little forceful, but sometimes they were like that. And, as usual, they’d lasted around ten minutes after his first sip of coffee before trailing off. That had been hours ago now.

But feeling his body jerk with a shock he started second guessing his culinary decision to spice the tomato soup he’d made as much as he had. He wasn’t lucky enough to have that be a single and, as many of his cases went, it started rapidly.

He tried to muffle the sounds by closing his mouth and putting a hand over his mouth but realized by doing so he was increasing the movements of his body which was visibly, at this point, jostling his partner. Otto tried letting the sounds out, then, but:

“Hup!-hu’up!-hulp!-huck!...hulp’m!-mk!-mmp!-MMP!” Otto groaned. It was a no-win situation. As expected, Atty shifted on his stomach.

Atticus became conscious to the feeling of a soft insistence of attention at the base of their spine. Fluttering thumps hit their body rapidly as their head seemed to jostle backwards. They blinked their eyes open and took a deep breath trying to make sense of the stimulus.

“S-sorry,” Otto’s voice vibrated on Atticus’ head through his chest as he spoke through the volley of hiccups that attacked him. “They-hup!-they jus-huck’m!-just started. Mk! I guess I-hick’m!-guess I should’ve b—been lighter hup!-lighter on the spice. Hip!”

“Aww,” Atticus cooed sleepily. “You have them again.”

Atty remembered the case from the morning. It was a pretty forceful attack from what they recalled. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he’d gotten them again, especially after the spiciness in the soup. But it’d been a few weeks since he’d had anything more than his morning cases, and even those had been sparse.

However, the day after they’d gotten back from the Antique’s Store had been littered with short cases. His diaphragm had apparently been quite offended with Otto’s antics in inducing and worsening the case and it wasn’t done grumbling from the first day of events. It had been a somewhat exhausting day for both of them. Atty’s new vibrator had gotten a pretty good workout, to be brief.

But now, in a hiatus of arousal, Atty simply rubbed Otto’s thigh in sympathy of the hiccups he had now.

“Y-you okay? Hmp!-I’m not—not rocking h’uck!-rocking you too much? Hm’k!hmk!hup!-uh,” Otto asked placing his hand softly on Atticus’ chest. The writer put their hand on top of his and rubbed it affectionately.

“No, I’m fine. It’s kinda like a...massage chair. Like a soft pillow hitting my back randomly. Not unpleasant,” they mused.

Otto laughed, shaking his belly with it and increasing the speed of his hiccups. He waited a few seconds before talking, but the hiccups had only slowed down a little.

“Glad I can h’mp!-b-hup!-be of huck’m!-of se—service.MMK!-uh!” Otto said and felt Atticus’ hand stroking his again and sighed as much as he could.

Atticus then breathed in a yawn and stretched, joints popping a little as they reached their arms up past Otto’s head and back down as the clock maker dodged the wayward hands with a smile Atty couldn’t see.

As the writer woke up a little more, they squirmed against Otto’s body, satisfied that their back was not near as sore as it had been previously. Still feeling the enthusiastic hiccups from behind them, they started to be more aware of where their body was and how that might affect their partner.

“Hey, are you okay with me here? On your belly, I mean? I’m not making it worse, am I? Or painful?” Atticus worried.

“I don’t-himp!-I don’t think s—so. Hmk!huck’l! Th-mk!-they aren’t pul-hup!hup!-ling thei-hnk!-their punches but hmp!-but you—re not m-making it wo-hurp!hup!mk!hmp!-worse! Shit. Sorry,” he said, covering his mouth.

“You need to get up and cure them?” Atty asked. They pulled their head back to look at the vision of the upside-down head of their husband as it jolted with more hiccups with a look of concentration. The head shook ‘no’ in response and gave Atticus’ forehead and little peck before being jolted back again with another spasm.

“L—let’s see if hmk!hmk!-if they go hup!-go away on—on their own first. HU’UP!” he said and covered his mouth again at the loudness of the last hiccup.

Atty couldn’t help but laugh a little followed by a sympathetic face.

“Welp,” they said with a huff after a moment of riding the spasms of Otto’s diaphragm, “I need to pee.” Their back was fine, but their bladder was definitely being tested by the movements.

“You hup!-you n-need me to huck!-to help get hyup!-to the restroom?” Otto asked as he provided assistance to them sitting up, noticing the strain on their face.

“Nah,” they said with a grunt when they were finally upright. They gave his stomach a little pat and rub. “Poor guy. Um-no, I’m gonna use the guest one down here.”

Again, with some effort and help from Otto, Atticus finally found themselves standing, more or less. It was more of a near standing position as they leaned forward a little before slowly straightening their spine with a breath.

“You-huck!-you in hlmp!-in any p-huck-pain?” he asked.

“No,” Atty grumbled back. “Just stiffness more than anything.” They hissed. “And, okay, a little pain. I’ll grab an Ibuprofen after going to the bathroom.”

“I’ll ge-HUP!-get another pa-hilp!-patch,” Otto said, getting himself up with a hiccuping grunt from being in one position for so long.

“Sounds good,” Atticus said with a nod and an awkward hug to their husband who was now standing beside them.

“Calm down,” Atty whispered through Otto’s stomach to his diaphragm. They felt the motions of Otto chuckling in response and his hiccups quickening in response to that. “Stop that. I’m not that funny.”

At this, Atticus proceeded to scoot along to the guest bathroom as Otto desperately tried to hold in more snickering at their slow progress. The amusement tickled him unexpectedly. The way Atty held their back as they tried to stand up straight by activating their core was too reminiscent of the quintessential elder and, though Otto was hardly amused by the struggles of the elderly, the glare Atticus gave him served only to increase his mirth.

His hiccups, obviously, increased because of this and Atticus pronounced their lips with a harrumph.

“Forget what I said, diaphragm! Do your worst!” they said, entering the bathroom with a flair of attitude that sent Otto into more giggles and sacrificing him to the shortness of breath that came from rapid-fire hiccups.

When Atticus exited the bathroom, they could hear Otto’s hiccups from the kitchen and made their way, albeit slowly, to see their husband with a large white patch, destined for their lower back, on the surface of the kitchen island. He was bent over to his phone, which was also sitting on the island, reading something off the screen. One hand scrolled as the other pressed against his chest buffering against the barrage of hiccups he was still experiencing.

It was only at this point did the writer notice it was dark outside the windows. It made sense that it had gotten late, but it threw them off a little to suddenly notice it was nighttime.

“Hey-hmph!” Otto said, finally noticing them. “S-sorry, was just hup!hup’k!-just ch-checking some hmk!-some appointments.” He jolted with another cluster of two, silently.

Despite their chagrin at his teasing earlier, Atticus gave him a look of sympathy. It might not have been the worst case of hiccups Otto ever had, but they still looked pretty powerful.

“C’mon,” he continued, gulping another hiccup down and holding the patch by its edges. “Let’s hup’k!-g—get this on. Hmk!”

Atty was silently grateful that they weren’t aroused enough to physically react to the attack. The kind of hiccups Otto was letting out were the exact kind that got them the hottest. They couldn’t imagine the pain if their back had felt like clinching or arching in arousal.

“Then I can hum’k!-I can hel-mk!-help you do-hup!-do some light stretches, hmk-hmk!-uh, if you want HUP’K!” Otto said, blowing some air out of his mouth with mild frustration amid a few more hiccups.

Having a kink made it impossible not to be completely unaffected by the subject of the kink no matter the libido level at the time. But Atticus’ arousal stayed at a low buzz instead of spiking and, as that was the case, Otto’s arousal never blossomed to either increase or interact with his hiccups.

As such, Otto seemed to react to his hiccups in a way that seemed more likely how he interacted with them before. He was mildly annoyed when they interrupted his speech, and he got a little frustrated as he had to navigate his words and breath around him. He was still mostly unbothered by his hiccups regardless his arousal level, or Atticus’, but it getting near bedtime was making them seem a bit more of a nuisance than normal.

“Doing light stretches might help, if you’re up for helping me,” Atty responded. They gave a soft smile as they watched him carefully peel the paper from the side of the patch protecting the adhesive.

The writer then stood with their shirt hiked up as Otto lowered to his knees to have a better angle at placing the patch where it needed to be.

Amid sounds of hiccups, Atticus heard Otto fussing behind them. They felt his fingertips ghost their lower back, then leave. Atticus felt the plap of the menthol infused patch against their skin and then it was removed again.

“Shit,” Otto whispered as he stifled another cluster. Four hiccups hit him and quick succession as he once again had almost lined up the patch to his partners back before “hmk!huck’m!hilp!mlk!” caused the patch to go askew again as his hands lost their steadiness.

If he hadn’t been on his knees he might’ve had a little more control over the situation. Or perhaps not. For the most part, his hiccups were pretty par for the course, but those deep ones seemed to come out of nowhere and jerk his body more than he expected.

Thank goodness he hadn’t had these when working earlier today. He might’ve had to abandon any repairs until he could cure them.

The more frustrated he got the more disruptive the hiccups seemed. Though he always got a little grumpy come bedtime, the hiccups were exacerbating it.

“Cra-hu’uck!-crap,” he muttered as his hands jolted again and folded the patch in on itself. “C’mon...HUP!-uh...”

“You good back there, bud?” Atty said over their shoulder. They couldn’t turn too far to look behind them due to pain and stiffness, but Otto saw their profile and a glimpse of their eye from the corner of their glasses.

“Yeah j—just can’t get hu’up!-get this th-hip’m-thing on str-hmp!hmp!-straight-HMPK!-ugh!” Otto groused.

Atty wasn’t sure if he’d groaned because of the hiccups or because of the issues he was having with the patch.

“You know, as long as it’s in the right vicinity I don’t really mind how it looks. Also...we don’t really straight in this house so slap that baby on however it goes, huh?” Atty said, hoping to lighten the mood.

The writer got a scoffed laugh as a reply and, they thought, that might have to be enough. Regardless, Atticus finally felt the soothing coolness of the patch cover their lower back and heaved a sigh as they felt Otto’s fingers smooth it out and reveled in the delicate touch. They turned around to face him as he stayed knelt on the ground in front.

“You tired?” Atty asked softly as their arms propped on his shoulder and their hands encircled his neck.

“A little,” he admitted as his head was thrown back in a “hrmk’l!hrk!” and he rubbed his eyes. “Sorry hrmk! I know I g—get grouchy. HUCK’M!hmk!hlp!mmk!-huck!”

“Those things aren’t helping, I guess,” Atty noted to his hiccups. “They starting to bother you?”

“Uh-HUP’K! Heh! Sorta. They’re j-hulpk!-just annoying. HMMK!-Mm, not painful, th—though,” he said a little sheepishly.

Atticus pulled him closer with that admission and hugged his head to their chest as they rested their head on his.

“My poor guy,” they cooed. Then their voice got a little deeper and sharper. “That’s what you get for laughing at your poor partner at how they walk when they’re in pain!”

“Ah!” Otto exclaimed, laughter muffled into their body, “Tou-hup!hup!-t—touch-hip!hmp!-touché! Dammit!”

Atticus was back to rubbing his back in their embrace, him on his knees making the writer feel more than adequate to envelop him in their arms.

“Okay, I’m gonna take some Ibuprofen and maybe you should try and get rid of those? They sound like they’re getting worse.” Atty suggested.

“Yeah g—good idea HUP-uh,” Otto said and grabbed onto the kitchen island to pull himself up with a wince. “Oh! Hoop!” He grabbed his knees, the tissue around his patellae offended by the pressure put on them.

“Nuh-uh!” Atticus announced as they watched him struggle from their place in front of the cabinet the couple kept medicine in. “None of that! Only one of us can be down for the count at a time with old people pain! I already called lower back. You can have knees next week.”

“Heh hup!” Otto said with a small smile. “I’d hurmp!-I’d rather n—not. Hmk!-uh. I think I’m-hmp!hmp!-I think I’m good.”

Atticus watched him as he put the back of his hand over his mouth to cover a small burp followed by another cluster and finally lower that hand with a sigh onto his chest as he reached for the apple cider vinegar.

Ever since Rose and Bill had introduced them to the potential magic of a gulp of apple cider vinegar, as opposed to the three-step solution they’d used before, it was always a first line in curing Otto’s hiccups. If that didn’t work, then sugar, salt, and lemon resumed their position to be one of the more reliable cures. And if that didn’t work, which it usually did, waiting it out was the only other option. It was rare that they had to wait, but it had happened.

Atticus leaned against the counter as they watched Otto take a swig of the vinegar and wince, shaking his head, before swallowing it.

“Good?” Atty said, trying to keep the humor out of their voice. They smiled in amusement, though.

“I can still...sort of f—feel them. Yeah,” he sniffed, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand and sighed, jolting a little with another silent hiccup. “But I don’t think they’re go—O—nna last for much longer.”

“You sure?”

Otto nodded assuredly, the curls that had started to frizz on top of his head bobbing a little with the enthusiasm.

“Yeah,” he said, stifling a yawn that ended in another silent spasm. They had certainly calmed down, so Atticus nodded. “Hey, you want me to—to help you stretch before bed, n—now?”

“Yeah, let’s try that,” the writer agreed.

Otto unfolded the bench from his Pilate’s machine and helped Atticus on it.

“I wanna try some pa—assive stretches with me assisting. You game?” Otto asked.

“Yeah, sure.”

“J—just don’t let me push past the point of—of pain, okay?”

Otto handled one of Atticus’ legs and folded it up, their foot on his abdomen, as he leaned closer and pushed it toward their torso gently.

Atty chuckled. At Otto’s questioning look and pause in movement they shook their head.

“I’m fine, it’s just I can feel your tummy flutter on my foot when you, um, hiccup. It’s funny,” they said.

“Guess my diaphragm i—is giving you a food massage, too!”

“It’s working overtime,” Atty noted.

“Tell me ab—about it!” Otto groused with a shake of his head.

By the time the stretches were over, though, Otto’s hiccups had finally given up and Atticus’ back felt better than it had all week.

“Hey, what do you want to do for your birthday next month?” Atticus asked as Otto led them back up the stairs so they could sleep with Otto for the first time in days.

“I dunno. Haven’t really given it much thought…” he admitted.

Otto helped Atticus into the bed as he turned off the lights and settled in, himself.

“Hm. Well I’ll have to think of something amazing on my own, then,” Atticus said.

They snuggled into their husband as he laid down next to them. Then they hissed in discomfort at being on their side and relented to sleep on their back, instead, Otto’s arm moving to embrace them.

“I trust you will,” Otto said. “But...you know...it’s definitely not going to be as good as a banjo clock.” It was obvious he was teasing.

“I knooow. You really fucked up the precedent with that one, you know? Damn your kind heart,” they said.

“It really is a heavy burden to bear,” he said, dramatically.

“You’re so brave,” Atticus agreed.

“I know,” he said with a smile and kissed his partner on the forehead as they cuddled as far into his body as their back allowed them to squirm.

#minors dni #hiccup kink #hiccups kink #hiccups #hic fic #non kink blogs do not reblog #otto and atticus #hicfic #ottocus

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