M

They look like they could fall asleep right there. You sigh inwardly. The wind picks up a bit, and you wrap an arm around yourself. In the other, you clutch a beige knitted blanket. Just as you open your mouth to speak, a souped up car starts popping off loudly somewhere on the main road.

“Mbusic,” they mutter, if you’ve heard them right. Their head turns and they begin to cough again. It takes some effort to clear their throat, weakly cutting through thick phlegm.

“Just the sound of that exhaust gets you?”

“Fuck off, *sdrff!*” 

An earthy breeze turns, tainted with the smells of main road fast food.

“You know,” you begin, taking a casual step nearer. “if you’re dead set on waiting out here, I… figured I’d bring you a costume.”

As you’re unfolding the blanket, they look back at you. Their shoulders descend with an audible sigh that catches on the thickness in their throat. They cough lightly, lifting their forearm.

“A ghost?” Their voice is a rare sound. Thick, and fraying at the same time. “That seebs appropriate.” 

“Porch ghost,” you specify. “Ghost of our old porch. Before we redid it.”

They snort-laugh, unintentionally ejecting the stuffiness in their nose. Quickly, they start sniffling, turning away. “Sorry. *sdrfh! koF!* God…” Their hands pull a new pair of tissues and get to work folding them.

“That’s okay,” your eyes avert shyly. “Don’t worry about it.” You wait for their productive blows to end before checking: “You okay?”

“Yeah,” they say, bassy and nasal. “*sngk!* Thagks.” They tug the blanket around their shoulders.

There’s a pause and the rustling of a skittering leaf across the sidewalk. You wonder a little about where their ride must be. In the dim brandy-coloured light, they look a bit like Linus and his blanket waiting faithfully for the Great Pumpkin.

With good nature, you ask. “Your ride coming soon?” 

“Ub, yeah.” Their tone lacks confidence. “*sddrfh!* They said…” You peek over and see their brow wrinkling. “The’hheyy said- ESSCHh-!!-hiew- oh gosh, excuse be. *snrk!*” They sniffle hard, and sigh. “Sorry, ode sec.” Their back turns, and- “hihHH, hUHd’ESSCHIUE-!!”

“Bless you.”

“-‘Eshh!!”

“Bless you!” You can’t help but wince.

There’s a pause. Their frame is still frozen. “hAH’ESCHHiew!! ..ah. *snrff!*”

“Bless you, wow,” your hand lifts to gently stroke their back. “You okay?”

“Yup, peachy,” - delivered in a groan. They give in and blow their nose, hard and brief. Slowly, they pivot back around. The streetlights give their teary eyes a movie-like shine, and they’re pretty. Their nose is very flushed, scrunching, contorting with irritation. Somehow their humour soldiers through, surfacing in weak chuckles.

“Sorry, wow… *snrgk!* Umb…” They glance up again, out at the street. “They said there’s… *grmm!* traffic.”

The car, somehow still within earshot, begins to crackle and echo loudly off into the distance. 

“Probably cuz of, y’kdow, the codcert,” they add dryly, making you smirk.

You both sit, listening as it fades off like a drinking song. Another wind comes by, making you shiver. You glance sideways at the tired guest. Their eyes are drooping, and they sound pitifully congested. There’s an obvious soreness about their breaths and snuffles. As the cool air bites at your face, you start to speak.

The bedroom has seen better days.

It has also seen much worse days, when Lois has been chasing a lead for weeks and barely had time to stop home for a shower before she’s in the city or on the road again. College Lois was also a complete disaster, and her shithole apartment at the time suffered much more than a broken mirror and some hastily rearranged furniture. 

Her only real concern now is stepping around the broken glass when she gets up to start the coffee pot, but that’s still a minor inconvenience. Wholly worth it, too, for the sight that greets her when she returns with her first heavily-doctored cup. 

She’s already pulled the blinds all the way open, which reflects the scattered mirror shards and creates an oddly whimsical, disco ball pattern of sunlight cascading around the room. More importantly, it comes streaming in through the windows and across the bed with the kind of full force morning brilliance that was only an annoyance before she acquired a solar-powered boyfriend. 

Six feet and some change of chiseled alien boyfriend, in fact, his impossible body still relaxed with slumber as he continues to drool on her pillow. Lois masks her smile behind a sip of the jet fuel and sugar slurry she’s concocted. Even while unconscious, Clark has curled himself into the rays of warmth, chasing the heat and light that casts him in a resplendent golden glow. Every time. He’s like a cat in a sunbeam. 

She doesn’t think either of them will have the pleasure of sleeping in long, though it’s still early. She’ll take all the time they can get. 

Especially if she starts caffeinating now.

Lois sets the mug aside on her end table, which has survived so far and is therefore probably in the safe zone. If not, oh well. She’s careful as she slips back into bed, only because she’s trying not to wake him. 

Clark stirs anyway, with the sharpness of a sudden, deeper breath and the groggy shift towards her body, groping for her frame. She’s not sure she’d call it full consciousness. Still, Lois is preferable to the sunlight? She’s flattered. 

“Mmn,” he mumbles, curling an arm across her middle. Lois welcomes the weight of it as she lugs him over into a proper cuddle, guiding his head down against her. “Time’sit?” 

“Still way too early. Go back to sleep, farmboy, we’re good for a while.” 

She allowed herself the indulgence of exactly ten minutes to sift through her phone notifications while the coffee brewed. Just enough to confirm that nothing is actively, literally on fire. It takes incredible dedication to her relationship and not her job to go back to bed, but now she’s very glad that she did. 

This is what it’s all for, isn’t it?

She kisses Clark’s brow and takes the opportunity to assess him more closely, once he drifts back off into a compliant doze. He doesn’t look banged up and bruised like he did last night, all the marks of betrayal faded from cellular memory in the warmth of the sun. His skin is smooth and unbroken now, the curves and dips of it leading her gaze down and down his length to... 

Lois pauses. Okay, well that is some truly impressive morning wood that she’s now wishing she’d addressed before shushing him to sleep again.

Maybe they can circle back.

For now, she returns her attention to his face. Long, dark eyelashes fan over his cheeks, and Lois draws a musing touch down the line of his jaw. There’s a pleasantly rough texture there, a faint shadow of stubble that catches under her skin. He seems to grow a beard at approximately the same rate a human man does, though Lois still isn’t sure she believes him when he claims that he lasers it off every morning via heat vision. She’s refused to indulge him enough to ask for a demonstration, yet she knows she’s going to cave eventually. 

Lois pauses again, when she arrives at a darker smudge across his upper lip. Just under his left nostril, in fact, is a shiny mark that looks almost like pencil graphite or a sort of glittery eyeshadow. Frowning, she skims her thumb across the swatch and comes away with a faintly metallic smear on her skin. 

It takes a moment of studying the sheen as she tilts it in and out of the light before recognition clicks. 

So, she wasn’t seeing things last night. 

Clark looks better on the surface, sure, but she has no idea what’s going on internally. The answer, apparently, is thousands and thousands of microscopic robots that his body is still in the process of purging. She glances at the small drool spot on his abandoned pillow, and can’t decide if that also has a silvery look to it, or if that’s her imagination. 

“Weird,” she murmurs to herself, fascinated. 

There’s no palpable grittiness to the nanites when she rubs her fingers together, but the desiccated tech crushes down easily to a finer and finer particulate. She can see how irritating this would be clinging to the entire surface of his respiratory tract. 

Lois can’t feel any disgust like he seemed to be fretting about last night, just a fresh wave of sympathy. Dating a metahuman takes a lot of adjusting expectations, and one dedicated to global… possibly galactic heroism even moreso. They’re both very much still figuring the paces of it out, in addition to figuring each other out. The quirks of biology are sometimes the easiest thing for her to just roll with. Residual, nanite-laden mucus after a bloody battle is an oddity that barely blips on her radar.

She steadies Clark with one arm and leans up with the other for the tissue box she spots near the headboard. Lois folds a couple sheets over and steals a swipe or two under his nose, while he’s still out. 

“C’mere,” she mutters to herself as she adjusts him closer. “You’re a mess.” 

Clark scrunches his features a bit at the attention, not quite awake. He’s getting there, especially as Lois checks her clean-up efforts with the brush of her thumb around the edge of his nostril. Back and forth a few times, idly, admiring the unusual softness of his septum as she bumps against it. Only when the rim of his nare twitches and trembles under her touch does she fully realize what she’s doing to him.

Oh… oops.

On the one hand, she’s treated to Clark’s quivery ‘I have to sneeze’ face, which is about as precious as it gets. On the other hand, she should probably give some consideration to damage control.

Does the finger under the nose thing only work in cartoons, she wonders. Does it work on Kryptonians? Either way, she’d feel bad denying him the relief — especially when she’s the one teasing him, however unintentional.

She gets another handful of tissues ready, instead. 

Clark squints his eyes open with the first, wavery “—h’uhHH…!” before his breath catches and his chest rises.

“Clark,” she warns, shifting so he can have his other arm. He’s already got one hand clasped clumsily to his face, and is now struggling to sit up and away from her. 

“I… I ndeed—…” He starts. The sentence dissolves as he hitches wildly, his eyes squeezing shut, nostrils curling open behind the splay of his fingers.

Whether he’s requesting tissues or alerting her of the imminent explosion, Lois has the same response. She presses her bounty upon him and spreads a hand to his back.  

“Here… take these, c’mon. Let it out.”

Maybe she should brace herself, too?

“Uh…!” Clark inhales. He still manages to take the tissues from her, crushing them to his nose and mouth at the last moment.

“HUH’EIDSZSHHHH—-SshhOO!!”

He gets it under the control behind the clap of both hands, for which she’s certainly grateful. Even contained, the strength of the sneeze is enough to make the bed creak dangerously. Lois is almost certain that the whole room shakes, but when she looks up from her instinctive hunch at his back, all of her windows are still intact and the ceiling isn’t falling down around their ears.

Well, that’s a relief. Especially since Clark is already building helplessly towards another. 

She keeps a hand pressed beside his spine, feeling the swell of his breath through thick muscle and overwashed cotton. She’s sure he doesn’t need a reminder of her presence or anything. Her interest here is a little more… self-serving than self-preservation. She’s aware that she has very little sense of the latter, she’s been told as much by both Clark and Superman, along with most of the bosses and boyfriends she’s had in her life. She knows. 

“Huh…. ! H-EHDTTSSH-sHHHH!”

Yeah. There’s definitely a weird little zing of arousal that shoots through her nervous system as Clark ducks over his lap and sets the bed to rocking. She wasn’t misremembering that from last night, either. 

There are several possibilities at play here.

Is Lois in the honeymoon phase where the guy she’s found herself really really caring about got imprisoned, poisoned, and almost squashed by his own clone? Probably yes. She’s just happy to have him here, warm and alive and evacuating strange tech from his lungs beside her. She’ll take Clark in any shape right now.

Is she always a little bit attracted to the display of Superman’s powers, whether he’s fully in control of them or not? Apparently also yes. The second sneeze managed to flutter the sheets, despite his efforts, and it trips an absurd excitement switch in her brain. Maybe it should be fear, and she got her wires crossed somewhere along with that healthy sense of self-preservation.  

“Gesundheit,” she offers. So far he’s tapped out after one or two, in her limited experience. Lois can’t be blamed, then, for the surprise surge of horniness when he gasps and dives forward into an uncharacteristic third.

“HD’JZSSHHH–SHHhoo!” And… seriously, another? She must have gotten to him more than she thought. Maybe this is just the result of his body pushing tiny irritants to the surface all night long, while he was unconscious. Clark is bent away from her now, but Lois can picture his crumpled expression just fine as he inhales at a shaky, broken clip. She swallows. 

“H-h-h… --hd’DjjJSZHHH-shhuh!”

The strength of his response seems to be lessening each time, yet the fire that’s stoking low in her belly is only fueled by the successive eruptions. 

“Oh m’by gosh,” Clark sniffles through a heavy sluice of congestion as he finally straightens. His curls are a rumpled mess, eyes watering and nose flushed a bright, wet pink. “…SNFFH! Excuse m’be.” 

“Jesus, Clark,” Lois laughs in a reflexive attempt to conceal her arousal as she fetches the tissue box. She puts it in front of him, since he seems relieved enough to manage his own exchange. “Bless you.”

“Thagk’s,” he murmurs on the recovery, dazed and sheepish in equal amounts. Clark makes a slight face at his persistent stuffiness, and plucks another round of tissues to deal with some of it. It takes a few tries, while Lois reaches for her coffee cup and pretends to give him some sort of privacy.

At last, Clark sighs and wrinkles his nose, scrubbing it on the backs of his knuckles. 

“Ugh,” he groans. “Sorry, if I woke you. I had the worst tickle.” 

Lois shakes her head and sets her cup aside. “You didn’t wake me. Other way around,” she says. Clark pitches the tissues into the trash beside the bed, and she kneel-walks the short distance between them closed. She leans in to test the waters with her lips pressed to his shoulder. “And I think that might have been my fault. It was only… mostly an accident.” 

“What’s that?” Clark laughs. One hand is compressing the tip of his nose into a rough pinch between thumb and forefinger, working it back and forth like he’s trying to get an unreachable itch somewhere inside. God, that’s really not helping… 

“Nothing,” Lois says quickly.   

Clark gives her a curious look, but he drops his hand and accepts her attention without fuss. An arm slips back around her waist, and he ducks readily into the distraction of a follow-up kiss. No hard feelings, then, not that she expected any. 

“Good morning,” she adds, once they’ve broken off, both a little flushed and glassy-eyed. Clark especially so. “There’s coffee.”

He smiles. “Is it coffee, or is it high octane mud?” 

She narrows her eyes. Brewing it strong is a side-effect of her masochistic relationship with what amounts to hot, rancid bean juice. Her methods don’t always translate to someone who actually likes the taste. 

“That’s rude.” She steals another kiss. “I followed the package ratio, just for you.”

His breathy chuckle turns into a twist aside into his shoulder, where he fields a series of light, repetitive coughs. The effort is enough to jostle her against his side. It also drives up her need to pin him down and bite him all over. 

“Hg’khmm, sorry,” Clark exhales afterwards. He leans without resistance into her hands combing back through his hair, the assertive kiss she presses to his temple. 

“Don’t be. Maybe I should make you some tea, instead,” she hums. “With honey.”

He groans, then pulls back to peer at her. His big blue eyes are limned with tears and warmed with a haze of pink irritation. “I promise I’m not sick. This is just…” He makes a loose, helpless gesture to his general upper body. Yeah. 

Lois valiantly resists the urge to smooch the tip of his nose, sensing that it might be disastrous. She settles instead for the brush of her thumbs across his cheeks. 

“... crud?” She suggests. It earns her another laugh-turned-cough, his head turned away in time. This one he manages in just a few beats before he’s swallowing and nodding. 

“Yeah, sure. Fight crud.”

There are sexier ways to put it, of course. Sadly, it really is working for her no matter what she calls it.

“I know,” Lois says. “But it might help your throat anyway.”

His gaze flicks over her face, seeming surprised. 

She must have said something right, because in the next second Clark has her buoyed into his lap as if she weighs nothing at all. To him, that’s true. The transition pulls a short, sharp gasp of delight from her, and Lois is too pleased to be embarrassed about it. Instead, her arms wind around his shoulders while Clark boosts her up and puts his mouth to her neck. 

Okay, good. This is good. They’re on a similar trajectory here after all. 

Lois scratches her nails across his nape, smiling as she feels his full-body shiver in response. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees, breathless and still sounding a bit stuffy, his huge frame warm and solid beneath the arch of her own. “That does sound good, actually. But… in a minute…?” 

Lois nods. Caffeine can wait. The rest of the world can wait. They’ve barely had any time to themselves the last few days, and she wants him. 

His teeth find her collar and she gasps again, her hands sweeping up into his hair for fingerfuls of loose curls. Bearing down into his lap grinds her against his cock, still stiff and wanting from either a good dream or her slow build of kisses. The meandering, sleepy morning intimacy is some of the rarest kind, for them, but she’s been thinking about it for… well. Since she knew he wasn’t going to die, anyway.  

“Can I assume that you’re feeling better otherwise?” Lois murmurs as she rocks her hips down into him. It draws a low groan from her partner, his fingers flexing against her thighs and riding up under the edges of her soft linen shorts. 

“I–… I feel great.”

Lois's smile sharpens. “And you’re up for some more rigorous physical activity?” 

“Yes,” his voice cracks on the word, which only makes her want to hear it again. She can’t tell if his glazed look is all from arousal, or if there’s still a fuzzy urge to sneeze in there somewhere. The expressions are remarkably similar, which is something she’s going to have to unpack later, with the rest of all this.

Not now, though.

She smooths his hair back, even as he ducks under her jaw so she can’t see his face when he sniffles. This time it takes greater effort, like he’s trying to curtail something. The sudden show of bashfulness is not helping her desire to pounce at all. Neither is the return of his normal, low baritone after a careful throat clear.  “I just… uhm…”

“Clark,” she laughs, hoping she reads him right. She rubs the back of his neck. “You can tap out to sneeze and blow your nose, you know. I don’t care.” 

His shoulders relax a little, suggesting that some of his anxiety was indeed tied to that. Ridiculous. This man can move literal mountains. 

“In fact, remember when I said that you were kind of cute like this?” Clark looks up from between the valley of their bodies, eyes a brilliant blue. 

“Very.”

Her brows raise, amused. “What?”

“You said I was very cute.” 

Lois pushes herself off his shoulders to get a better view of him, bleary and wavering a bit around the edges. Oh, he’s definitely fending off another sneeze. The way her pulse picks up at this is also patently ridiculous. That he can probably see her heart beat faster inside her own thoracic cavity is an eerie reality that she doesn’t always like to think about. In the moment, that sureness only bolsters her confidence. 

He’s kind of hard to lie to, after all.

“Okay, well I’m upgrading you to ‘weirdly sexy’.” 

He splutters a laugh. “That’s an upgrade?” Clark sniffles hard enough to inspire a cough. He gets a hand up to contain it – even so Lois can still feel a burst of air escape between them. 

Clark doesn’t seem to notice, but Lois is biting her lip and fighting not to squirm off his lap as she feels it rush across the tops of her thighs. Good God… 

“Now I know you’re… SNDFFH! You’re m’bessi’g with mbe. Ugh…” 

Lois resists the urge to roll her eyes. Nevermind, maybe she could have kept him going as long as she wanted. 

Clark switches the cover of his hand to a fitful rub against his nose. It appears successful at heading off the sneeze, which is a pity. The effort produces an audible click of his fingers itching at the edges of his nostrils, and Lois can’t tell if it’s her pulse or his throbbing so hard between their hips. She’s still ridiculously turned on by all the set dressing of the moment even without the actual discharge to follow, it seems.

“Alright, you be the judge,” Lois smirks. Her hand slips down over the large, sprawling shape of his own where it supports her. She redirects his fingers up over the waistband of her shorts, then down her midline until he finds the drenched and eager heat.

“Oo–kay,” Clark exhales. “Oh wow, you’re…” He’s dropped the other hand away from his face to help brace her. Likely for personal reasons as well, with the way one palm effortlessly cups her ass. He swallows with the nudge of his fingertips threatening to breach her entrance, but not quite… not quite. His whole hand spans the length of her instead, almost reverent. “I’mb uh– SNFF!” He gazes at her and oh yes, there’s definitely enamored awe there. “Happy to stand corrected.” 

Satisfied, Lois sinks down on his hand and gasps as he angles it just right. He lets her grind against the meat of his palm, bearing as much weight as she wants to give him. Delicious strain sings up through the muscles of her abdomen. There are many applications of enhanced strength in bed, as it turns out. Being a willing recipient of anything she can dole out is just as exciting as when he takes a more dominant role. Moreso, really.

Especially when he’s like this.

“Ssshit, okay… yes. Right there,” Lois breathes, twinging as she finally feels his middle and ring finger press up into her. She rocks into his hand, almost spasming already with her clothes still on and her stupid, sexy boyfriend barely two knuckles deep. She has both hands braced against his shoulders for balance as she twists into the roll of his thumb over her clit. Again, then again. “Don’t stop.” 

She nearly makes good on her earlier thoughts of biting him, when Clark suddenly maneuvers his hand away, gripping below her thigh with his slicked up fingers. She half-bucks into the emptiness of his absent touch, groaning. “Clark.” 

“I know,” he rumbles, voice gravelled from either arousal or the increasingly persistent sniffling he’s doing, the wet and urgent little sounds that are underscoring her own. “Just… is it the sndee–...?!” 

Her breath catches almost at the same time Clark’s does. Lois gets a second to process his watery expression, and eases back down into his lap with a thrill of anticipation.

He gets ahold of himself with a shaking exhale, but she can tell from his dopey look that the urge hasn’t gone far. “... hhhuh. SNDF! The sndeezing? B’cause I m’bight ha–aaave to…” 

No shit, Lois thinks to herself. At the same time, though, she feels her heart constrict with ferocious affection for this man who wants to know more, do more, make it the best experience for her possible because any other option really hasn’t occurred to him.

“I think so,” she does her best to answer, while she’s still deliriously horny and Clark is obviously trying not to sneeze. “I haven’t really examined it myself, yet.” Lois frowns as she watches him raise a shaky hand to his faze, focus fizzling out. “Just don’t…!”

Too late. Clark keeps her secured with one hand, but the other crushes his nose shut the moment he draws a sudden, gusting inhale. She swears she can even see the ends of her hair pick up, before…

“H’INGGKK’Ttt–uhhh…!”  

Calamity. Or… it probably would be at this range, if Clark hadn’t held it in so tightly. The tide of guilt lapping up over her is still secondary to the lust that surges in like a flash flood. 

As it is, the suppressed strength of it rushing through his body jogs her hard in place. Lois feels herself actually leave his lap, bounced for a fraction of an inch and a second of pure exhilaration. She doesn’t hear any resounding crashes in the background, suggesting that he’s managed to contain the tail end of it as well. She’s barely paying attention to collateral damage anyway. She nearly climaxes from that alone, just feeling his shoulders and thighs shake beneath her. She’d be a definite goner if she were still riding his fingertips. 

“Bless you,” she groans in her daze. That’s becoming a reflex too. Lois has never once in her life been a casual blesser, but it would feel somehow criminal not to say it to Clark. 

He can’t respond anyway, because he’s not done. Of course he’s not done. 

“Hh-hhh…! NGKT—… ssSHOO!!”

This time, Clark keeps both hands on her hips and throws his head to one side, scrunching his features into it and only half-hiding the display behind his arm. The hands-free stifle isn’t quite so patented a technique, and Lois is aware of the curtains flaring up on the edge of her vision, whipping in the backdraft. There’s a clatter of something hitting the floor that doesn’t sound important. She pushes up into his hands, arching like an animal in heat. 

His thumbs press against her hipbones, the two smallest points that keep her from climbing him like a tree while he sniffles through a punchdrunk recovery. 

“Don’t what…?” He musters at last. 

It could be that she's a little punchdrunk too. Lois blinks down at him. “What?”

Clark squints, turning into his bicep to half-cover a few coughs. “You said ‘just don’t’ and then’d I…snfSNF!”  

“Oh.” She sits deeper against his pelvis, feeling the heat of his erection pressed close. She’d like to get to that very soon. She trails her hands down her arms in the meantime, now that she doesn’t need them for balance. “I meant don’t hold them in like that. It sounds miserable.” 

Clark sniffs, and sniffs again. It no longer sounds like he’s moving much air or congestion, just trying and failing to maintain some sort of constant drip homeostasis. 

“It looks worse than it is, I promise.” 

Lois gives him a skeptical look. “Do you hear yourself?” 

To her surprise Clark laughs full and open, despite the chastisement and his obvious discomforts. The sound warms her from within as keenly as his sneezing and sniffling does. 

“I do,” he assures her, with a kiss to her throat that softens her right up, the sap for him that she is. She runs her fingers over the back of his neck, scratches her nails up through his hair just so she can feel him shiver when he isn’t trying to tamp down on a hurricane. 

“Listen, I’ll try not to,” he sniffs. “But I do have to hold it in sometimes – SNFF! Just. There’s not always better options.” He doesn’t sniffle directly against her skin, but Lois swears she’s going to claw right out of it anyway. 

“Point taken,” she swallows. He would know the consequences of his own powers best, something she always inherently trusts him to. The admission of something he knows he can’t control is… that’s doing something for her. 

Lois pulls back to consider their position, and presses a kiss to his brow. It brings him to attention nicely – so sweet and present for her. The uptick in his sniffling and half-choked little coughs hasn’t escaped her, the slow distortion in his focus. There are more twinging moments with his nose, too, and have his nostrils always been so expressive? They’re sharply defined, and she’s noticed before that they flare dramatically when he’s upset. 

Ugh, how long has she been like this? 

Lois also needed him inside of her, like, yesterday. That might have plenty to do with it. She checks her own lust with another kiss, this time daring for the bridge of Clark’s nose. He permits it, apart from the crinkles forming beneath her lips just before she leans back.

“Ssspeaking of which, do you need a break?”

“Nn—…” Clark starts to respond in the dismissive, automatic, then catches himself and lets the thought actually gestate. His nose twitches with a sniffle, eyes fluttering. “…maybe. SNF! Two mbidutes?”

She gives his flank a couple of quick pats, like a faithful horse, and grins when he dumps her unceremoniously back onto the bed. “Take five.” 

His dick says he’s up for it, but she’d like for the rest of him to get there, too. 

Lois climbs out of bed while he folds himself over the opposite edge of the mattress, tissue box in tow. She makes a mental note to buy more of those, possibly even accounting for bulk purchases within her tiny apartment’s storage space. 

Unless… oh, God, how adorable would her ruffled dweeb of a boyfriend be, if she could convince him to carry a handkerchief? She puts a pin in the notion, for later. 

Lois slugs the rest of her coffee before it cools to room temperature, then strips herself from her top and bottoms without ceremony. She’s not exactly wearing her sexiest set, and there’s no real point in doing a stripshow for someone with x-ray vision. In the background Clark is already busy, making a valiant effort to levy some of the fallout from his sinuses. 

After several attempts to blow his nose, it sounds as if he’s relieved at least some of the burden, leaving him in a tingling and breathy aftermath. Breathy enough to get her attention in full. If he tries to suppress it again…

“I–...” 

He starts to say something, but is suddenly overwhelmed with sensation. Clark inhales loud and fast. He clutches the current nest of tissues back to his face, then spasms forward with an intensely muffled sneeze that leaves the windows rattling. 

“H’WHFFSZHHHhh-SHOO!!”

Lois jumps, despite having seen it coming. 

“Jeez. Can’t ding you for that one,” she says as she crawls back onto the bed, and across the distance between them. Once she’s sure he isn’t going to go again right away. “Gesundheit.” 

“Thangks,” he sniffs. “Snduck up on me.” He lowers his head into a last short, amending blow, then pitches the tissues into the trash and rolls back to face her. “I’m good now.”

His gaze travels down, clocking her naked body for the first time. His brows raise. “... really good.”

Lois smirks. She uses the front of his shirt to pull him back into a kiss, which he’s happy to return. When she gives them both a break for air, she switches her grip to pulling the tee up and over his head. Clark lifts his arms to accommodate, then draws her in and begins lavishing attention from a pulsepoint of her throat and wending downwards. She can feel the heat radiating off of his bare chest.  

“Fantastic. I’ve got an update for you,” Lois breathes as he presses a kiss to the top of her breastbone.

“Uh-huh?”

She twists her fingers in the curled ends of his hair where it brushes the back of his neck. “It’s definitely the sneezing,” she admits, swallowing. “Not just that. But it’s helping.” 

He kisses the center of her stomach, and she debates the merits of pushing him lower, guiding him to the blazing center of her energy. She’s so turned on, it wouldn’t take much. She wants him even closer than that, though. 

“Great,” Clark murmurs. He sounds genuinely interested. He’s also planning his path downward, palming and mouthing at hot skin as her hips lift into him. “That’s… SNF! Really good news. What can I do?”

“You can hurry up and fuck me before I go crazy, Kansas.” 

His laughter whooshes over her stomach and thighs with a warmth that makes her ache. 

“Well, I think I can oblige you there.”

He leans up and over her, not a moment too soon. Lois already has a hand skating down the hard planes of his stomach, dipping below his waistband to encircle the equally stiff heat within. Clark’s breath rushes out of him in a shuddery exhale as she gets a hand around his cock and palms it free.    

She gives him a few slow strokes, savoring the feeling of controlling a being so powerful with so little effort. Just her hand where the curve of his thick length fits perfectly in its center, squeezing just a shade tighter than she’d ever dare with a human man. 

“God, Lois–....!” 

He thrusts shallowly into the fist she gives him, wrapping her fingers around his shaft as tight and far as they’ll go. She’s aware of the faint crackle and catch in his breathing as his chest presses close. 

Undeterred, he sinks down into her as she guides him into place. It’s usually a very snug fit – she’s a small woman, and Clark is not a small man. There’s usually a good deal more teasing, of rubbing his erection leisurely across her dripping sex, kissing her breasts, mumbling the most ridiculous country-ism praises she’s ever heard. No matter how many times they’ve done this, regardless of her can-do attitude, there’s still an adjustment period. Right now she’s wet and ready enough that the glide is almost frictionless.  

“Oh,” she pants out when he’s fully seated inside her with so little effort. She claws at his back while acclimating to his size, his closeness, and the reality of her primal cravings being answered. “Wow, okay. Hi,” Lois breathes, and kisses his shoulder. “Missed you.”  

She gets a kiss smushed to her temple in turn, and the press of his cock bottoming out as far as she can accommodate. The burn of stretching and entry becomes an ache, which becomes a pulse that throbs white light and pleasure up through her core every time he moves. 

“Missed you too.”

Lois didn’t want to admit it, in case things didn’t work out, and she doesn’t want to be hyperbolic here either. Still, sex with Clark has probably ruined her for every other man on Earth. 

He is the only metahuman she’s slept with, but she sees no reason to expand her repertoire at this point. It’s also only partly due to his superior strength and stamina. Moreso it’s because Clark holds and touches and fucks her like she’s the only person on Earth. Being in the epicenter of his focus and adoration is a powerful drug. 

If anything, she has to bully him away from being too careful with her, sometimes. It’s better than the alternative, though, and Clark is a responsive lover in every sense. They find their rhythms quickly and easily.

“Hhhyou feel so good,” he huffs against her neck, where his breath sticks to and then dries her sweat almost as soon as it forms. He’s like a handy, built-in HVAC system. In the stickiest and swamp-ass months of summer that was actually quite helpful for their intimacy, versus rutting near her geriatric window unit air conditioner. The memory of sprawling in bed like a princess while he exhaled cool air across her body and touched her slow and sweet is one of her favorites. 

Where is she going to find that convenience in a human man? 

Not that she’d be forcing him to do any tricks for her in this state. Even having recently evacuated a fresh round of nanites from his system, Lois can hear Clark sniffling and panting on the threatening edge of more. 

It’s hard to form thoughts when he keeps rocking on the edge of her sweet spot at the same time, but Lois manages to pull herself back from the event horizon of pleasure to check in, breathless.

“You okay?” She presses her mouth to his neck, then gives into the urge for a little nip. Clark’s hips jerk into her with a grunt. “Need a break?”

Clark shakes his head, curls scattered loose in his eyes. He looks beautiful like this, tear streaks starting to shine across his cheeks. He sniffles again, heavy, then turns his head over the barrier of his arm and coughs freely. 

Lois feels the blankets tug off the loose tangle of their legs. The involuntary lung squeeze manages to spasm his entire body against her, inside her, and she juts up with an involuntary cry of her own. Fuck, that’s good.

She can see the advantage of this position for multiple reasons, now. Usually she’s on top, although they both enjoy variety. Being pinned beneath him, with his arm propped on either side of her, gives him a little more freedom to redirect the ongoing nanite management. There’s less fear of either harm or just… sneezing them down onto her like this.

Actually, the jury is out on that possibility and her reaction. She might be okay with it. She can’t think over the stretch and the rhythm that makes her brain want to turn off and just ride the waves of rapture.  

“Im’b good. Just… SNFF! Godda… snff! …s-sneeze.” 

He says the word in such a casual hush, between thrusts, that she feels like she’s mishearing him. Possibly flirting the line of sanity here, but very much paying attention now.

“Should I–... ahh-h, should I… move?” 

She really hopes she’s not expected to, somehow, when he’s currently almost knocking on her liver. Rolling her hips up still gets him to respond with more of those short, shallow strokes that build pleasure rapidly inside her. 

“N’do, just… SNF! … s-sstay…”

Lois locks her ankles around his legs as she feels his trunk expand with an escalating draw. Not her first close-range sneeze, but it feels like he’s about to… like she’s about to… 

“H’UH..! H’uhh-hhhuh…! … HIH’GISSZSHHHH-ssSSSHHOO!!”

She did ask for this. Lois feels the blankets catch, pull, and take riotous flight in the backdraft, his sneeze discharged somewhere past the shield of an arm and shoulder curled around her. Something heavy hits the opposite wall. She feels the natural thrust of his body like he’s trying to spear her into the mattress, deep and tight and hot. A shockwave seems to start almost from her toes and radiate higher.

“Clark…!”

He barely gets time to breathe in from the first explosion, feeling her clench tight. She’s gone by the second sneeze that barrels out of him and into the bedding. 

“GZZSHSHHH–SSshoo!”

It’s loud and desperate and close enough to make her ears ring. 

The crest of orgasm breaks over her, crashing like a wavefall across her body as her nails dig into his arm. If she whimpers or if she screams, Lois isn’t sure. She could be squawking like an endangered toucan and neither she nor Clark would care right now. Her hips drive up into him in an aching undulation, drawing out her unraveling euphoria as long as she can.

She’s so busy chasing the last curls of pleasure, trying to drag him over with her, that she barely notices Clark’s recovery from the last, violent sneeze. He doesn’t have much of one, locked instead into an open grimace that she only observes when her spasms start to ease. 

“Clark…” She breathes, barely a whisper. 

He’s an impressive sight with nostrils open at full flare, the pearl-white tips of his teeth showing beneath an expression curled with torturous irritation. That tickle must truly be a monster…

“HURRESSSHZHHH-SHHhhoo!!”

The sneeze whips past them, crashing or blustering through whatever is in its path. She can still tell that he’s letting them go with a fraction of his strength, since there are no obliterated walls or spewing water lines in their wake. Meanwhile, Lois can’t decide if she’s even fully come down from her first orgasm when the second rips her off her moorings.

His too, judging by the way Clark goes suddenly, critically stiff above her. Tiny, controlled ripples down his spine push him into Lois as she feels him twitch inside, feels heat begin to spill deep within. He fills her up and up into overflowing as she rides him with every scrappy inch of her human enthusiasm, letting herself come and come apart, wrung out on his cock until she can’t take more.

At some point, when her blind, surging rush of dopamine and oxytocin have begun to gradually subside, Lois becomes aware that he’s either pulled or slipped out. Clark spends the last few rounds of his orgasm across her inner thighs.

He’s watching the mess through tear-glazed eyes, nose red as he fights for breath harder than she’s seen him after altercations with twelve story tall killer robots. He reaches down to fist himself through the final spasms, then sinks back… not unlike a collapsing kaiju, actually.

Lois gets her arms out of the way before he hits the mattress beside her with a whumpf. The pair of them bask there in a post-coital bliss that’s nearly a coma. She watches him catch his breath and enjoys the rare emptiness and peace that comes from having every last thought fucked out of her head. 

Slowly, the tinnitus in her ears fades, and the blurry edges of Lois’s world narrow back to the man sharing her bed. 

Clark is sprawled on his side, gazing at her with unchecked esteem in his starry blue eyes. His devotion feels like it’s still penetrating her, even when his prick is going gradually soft against his thigh. 

Not that that matters. Kryptonian refractory periods are shorter than even Earth women. Most of the time she and Clark match up nicely for rounds two, three, and so on. Right now, she just wants to cuddle him. 

“God bless you,” she says, stretching a hand down. She strokes his forehead with the backs of her knuckles, the only part of him she can reach without moving too much. His eyelashes flutter shut like she’s giving him the sweetest and most thorough petting in the world.

“Thank you, Miss Lane.”

Oh, God damn him. He knows exactly when to spring that on her to do the most damage. Lois fights the urge to shiver. 

Clark is back to staring up at her. “You were really into all that?” 

Lois snorts, regaining a few sparks of energy as she makes a flapping, come-hither gesture at him with both hands. Clark looks at her through a similar haze of exhaustion. He inches closer like the world’s saddest, most sniffly superpowered caterpillar until she groans and forces herself upright.

“Get over here. Was I turned on by you hacking and sniffling and sneezing your big beautiful head off? Of course I was.” She pulls him down against and atop her, slumping his not-inconsiderable weight across her ribs. “Oofh.” She buries a kiss in his hair. It’s satisfyingly fluffy after all the exertions. And some of the stray gusts. “Either that, or I’m a really incredible actor. I even had myself fooled.”   

Clark laughs, shaking her a little. Shaking her more when he makes himself cough. “Hk-KHMM, ‘scuse me.” He takes the bulk of his weight onto an arm as he pushes up, leaning to kiss her. She pulls him in for more. “That’s fantastic,” he sighs, when they break. “But I really, really need to blow my nose. Can I…” He pats a palm to her arm twice, lightly, and she lets him up without a second thought.

“Oh, yeah. Of course.” 

He only taps out as long as it takes to empty the rest of the tissue box. Lois closes her eyes and lets him work through it. She’s pleased when he returns and does all the moving hereon out, in fact. 

Pulling her towards him, Clark draws Lois atop his body, cleaned up and back at full stretch. For all of the impressive muscles, there’s just enough squish to him that he’s surprisingly comfortable to lounge upon. Very good to hug. Lois can tell from the weightless, nearly imperceptible bob that they’re also in mid-air, floating a few inches above the bed. She rests her head on his chest and ragdolls with contentment, listening to the improved sound of his breathing. 

“I think that actually, finally cleared my head,” Clark admits. He sniffles for emphasis, and there is indeed much less drag on it now. His voice still has a slight, resinous cling, but from what she understands his lungs took the worst of it to begin with. “Thank you.”

Lois smiles against him, feeling warm inside. “I’m glad. I mean.” She tilts her head up and presses her lips to the rough underside of his jaw. “Bad news for me, I suppose. But you needed it.” The man deserves to breathe clearly after the week he’s had. 

She also deserved to get thoroughly dicked down after the week she’s had, so Lois considers it a fair trade. 

“I wouldn’t be too disappointed,” Clark chuckles. He cups her shoulder with one hand, steadying her in place while he adjusts himself effortlessly in their float. “This was very enlightening.” When he sniffles, it’s much closer to the shell of her ear than before. Lois trembles against him, toes curling. 

“Yeah, well. Don’t get it twisted. That might have been a one time thing because I was so happy to have you in one piece, or whatever.” She’s lying, obviously. If anything, she’s giving him more ammunition as he smiles and noses gently behind her ear. 

“Sure, okay,” he grins. “Then you won’t care that I’m allergic to cats, and that I always hold my breath when you put pepper on your turkey sandwiches?”

She shudders again. “God damn it, Kent. That’s not true.” Lois pushes herself up onto his chest, looking down at him. She has a leg straddled to either side of his torso, hanging down in mid air. They’ve fucked like this before, Clark on his back and untethered by gravity, arms folded cockily behind his head. Not that she’s thinking about that now, or anything. 

“Is it? Don’t tease me.”  

She’s sore and stretched out and still has what feels like a bucketful of his cum wanting to leak out of her, but Lois could go again. Shower off their sins before the world needs them and.... 

Clark shrugs. He takes one of her hands resting on his chest, framing where his emblem would be, and brings the backs of her fingers to his mouth. “I guess we’ll find out.” 

The romantic filter over her field of view finally widens, past the heart bubbles and lustful haze to her bed beneath them.

The room itself actually isn’t in too bad a shape – nothing that he can’t clean up by the time she’s poured his first cup of coffee. Lois can throw some spackle on the rest. She’s also pleased to see that her mattress and pillows have survived, even if they did get blown into the shattered mirror. 

The fitted sheet, on the other hand… well. It will probably wash out, she’s sure it will, but Lois is startled to a sharp and bleating laugh at the absurdity of the scene. From somewhere near the head of the mattress and streaking nearly to the foot, there is a whalespout spray of dark, metallic pinpoints striking at range and dispersing outward. Was that his last sneeze, and the last of the nanobots along with it? It must be. It looks like when one of the interns loses a fight with the toner cartridges, at the Planet. 

Okay, well now she really is cackling, head thrown back and fully enjoying it regardless of how pink his cheeks get in response.

“So, I was going to warn you. I’ll replace them.” 

“Oh, my God.” Lois grins, wild, but she only inches up and over him so she can dip towards his mouth. “No wonder you feel better.” She keeps breaking off into runs of giggles between kisses. Clark does not seem to actually mind being the source of her amusement. Or he doesn’t mind enough to fend her off, anyway, as she rains affection down on him.  

“You know what,” she says, peering past his shoulder to the impressive spread of micro-irritants below. It’s like a shiny soot print of his sneeze. “There’s something wrong with me, because that’s still pretty hot.” 

“Stop it,” he grumbles, pinching the tip of his nose. 

“I’m serious,” Lois laughs. “I like it.” She fights past his hand to capture his mouth, however briefly he lets her take possession. Clark waits to sniffle until she’s pulled away again. “But listen, while we’re up…” Very… literally up in the air. She lets him appreciate her pun with a begrudging smirk before she continues. “... and until a flying dog comes crashing onto my balcony, I’d like to open the discussion for round two.” 

Clark makes a face. “Lois. Come on. Why would you invoke him?” That he doesn’t immediately startle and bolt off to check on a forgotten pooch suggests that the day’s responsibilities aren’t far from his mind either. However… “And what’s to discuss? I’m already game. SNF!”

Lois grins. She leans down to kiss him once more. “Discussion closed, then. All in favor – hey!” She breaks off with a laugh as he pulls her close and into a crushing embrace, with the kind of restraint that suggests Clark is also suffering from cute aggression with his partner. She manages to free one of her arms to wrap around him in turn. 

“Fine, tough guy. Then I’ve got a few more things I want to try, before the world figures out where you are.” 

He’s already kissing up the side of her neck to make good on his word, a hand tangling in her hair. 

To say it’s been a long day would be an understatement. It’s felt endless, obnoxiously long in that particular way that makes every small inconvenience feel personal. Jayce is running on fumes, his head aching, throat raw, and nose so stuffed he can barely draw a full breath. He’s been impatient to get home for the past hour, but his bus had been delayed three times, it had started to rain, and his plans to pick up more tissues had been entirely forgotten. 

By the time Jayce steps into the lobby of his apartment complex, he’s running on autopilot. His limbs are aching and heavy, his body having forgotten how to function without discomfort hours ago. He barely manages a nod towards the security desk; he’d usually stop to chat, especially with the woman working tonight, who always engages in friendly conversation. He must look as shitty as he feels because she just gives him a sympathetic look and allows him to pass by in silence. 

Jayce quickens his pace as he notices the closest elevator shutting, just barely managing to slip through the narrowing gap in time for the doors to shut with a loud PING! Once inside, he lets out a stuffy breath of relief, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes and rubbing them slowly. It’s not the most hygienic move, sure, but considering that he’s already sick, he allows himself the small comfort. That is, until he registers a presence beside him, immediately dropping his hands to his sides and glancing over. 

‘Just my luck.’ Jayce thinks as he recognizes the man standing beside him, their eyes meeting for the briefest second before both of them glance away. 

He should’ve just waited and taken the other elevator, another minute of standing there wouldn’t have hurt him. But it’s too late now, especially after slipping in at the last second and making direct eye contact with none other than his next-door neighbor. They’d only ever had a few brief conversations – polite, out of necessity, and highly-performative on Jayce’s end. Afterall, he’d been taught to put on a well-mannered mask and adapt, so he did exactly that; at least he tried to, but his anxiety makes him far less calm and collected as he’d like to think he appears. 

‘Thank God we live on the third floor and not the sixth’ Jayce thinks, trying his best not to sniffle audibly as he feels an unwelcome trickle of moisture slip over his upper lip, ‘And thank God I’m wearing a mask.’

PING! They pass the first floor. 

Jayce is certain that he looks worse for wear, even with the bottom half of his face covered with not one but two medical-grade facemasks. It might be overkill, but his mom had raised him with the understanding that “just because you’re sick doesn’t mean everyone else has to be”. Besides, he doesn’t find it all that inconvenient to wear a mask, aside from those moments when he can no longer deny the itch that constantly lingers in his sinuses whenever he’s congested. 

He’s no stranger to sneezing in masks, but he’s certainly not a fan of it. The sensation alone is enough to make his skin crawl with discomfort, not to mention the either disgusted or pitying looks he receives from anyone nearby. 

Jayce feels his nose continue to run, the moisture beginning to collect on his upper lip and risk slipping further down, but he knows if he sniffles, it'll sound disgusting. The last thing he wants is to gross out his neighbor, who’s politely ignoring him and focusing instead on a loose string dangling from his sleeve. 

Jayce chances a glance at Viktor, feeling his heart thrum a little at the sight of him. He looks tired too, but Jayce ignores the prominent eyebags of the shorter man, drawn instead to the light freckles cast across his face. They’re not nearly as noticeable as his moles, but still, Jayce finds himself rather endeared by them – light, small, decorative things. He only realizes he’s staring when Viktor turns towards him, meeting his gaze wordlessly. 

Jayce blushes crimson, his mind stuttering to a halt as he’s caught staring. He quickly diverts his gaze, looking anywhere aside from Viktor. First it's his scuffed sneakers, then the wristwatch his friend had recently purchased for him, then the smudges on the elevator door. 

Is the elevator moving slower than usual? Jayce swears it is, time dripping by like molasses as he tries to ignore the embarrassment swelling in his chest. ‘Great job Jayce’ he thinks sarcastically ‘what a stellar impression you’re making. Why don’t you just go ahead and–’ his internal spiral screeches to a halt as he feels the buzzing in his sinuses shift, prickling up to the tip of his nose and making the sensitive appendage twitch. ‘No… no no no no no–’

“hh–,” his breath hitches before he can do anything to stop it, the prickling swelling to a full on itch. Desperate for a solution, Jayce decides to do the thing he’d been dreading the entire elevator ride. He sniffles, feeling the moisture that had slipped over his lip shoot back into his nose and cram itself in his sinuses with a loud SNRKkk! 

For the second time in just two minutes, Jayce feels his face burn scarlet. He does his best to swallow his embarrassment, silently reassuring himself that a little sniffle was much better than him sneezing into his mask. Still, that thought does very little to dissuade the anxious voice in his mind. He stares fixedly at the elevator doors, trying to will them to open fast. Anywhere but here. Anytime but now.

Jayce glances at Viktor again, only for a split second, and to his surprise, this time he catches Viktor staring at him. ‘Oh God.’ Jayce’s mind immediately jumps to the worst conclusions: ‘This is it. Caitlyn’s never going to let me hear the end of it if I lose a chance with my crush before we even exchange more than five sentences.’

His fever’s certainly not helping with his mind’s anxious ruminations, causing him to spiral illogically without any end in sight. He barely registers the feeling as his nose begins running again, intent on making a mess inside his mask. 

PING! Only one floor left, Jayce can handle that. He glances at his watch again… odd… he must’ve misread the time before, but he swears, it’s been almost three minutes since he first entered the cramped elevator. It shouldn’t take more than two minutes for him to arrive at the third floor… he must’ve misread it. Afterall, he’s feverish and hopped up on dayquil and–

THHHHUMP! 

Without warning, the elevator jolts violently, lurching with a mechanical groan. The sudden motions throws both of them off balance, tossing Viktor straight into Jayce’s side. There’s no time to react, no chance for either of them to brace themselves, just a blur of motion. 

Jayce reaches out reflexively, arms wrapping around Viktor as the floor seems to drop beneath them. The two of them topple over, Viktor landing half on Jayce’s chest as Jayce hits the floor with a dull thud. The impact knocks the wind out of him, but he barely notices. His only thought (aside from ‘What the Fuck!’, that is) is that somehow he’d managed to catch Viktor before he could hit the floor too hard. Realistically, he would’ve tried to help anyone in that situation, but the fact that he can feel Viktor against him makes it a bit more satisfactory. 

Viktor’s breath is short with surprise, his body tense as it registers the impact. For a second, neither of them move, staying frozen in place as they listen to the elevator groan. Neither of them dare to move and risk plummeting down to the ground level. 

Jayce blinks up at the flickering light overhead, his mind scrambling to process what had just happened. He can feel Viktor’s hand pressed awkwardly against his ribs, the unmistakable pressure of the smaller man’s weight on top of him. 

Slowly, hesitantly, Viktor detangles himself from Jayce, doing his best not to make any sudden movements – both due to the elevator's instability and an aching in his hip. He’s only semi successful before the elevator groans again, and he stills. 

As Jayce’s mind finally catches up to reality, his voice stumbles over itself to fill the shocked silence, each word more useless than the last, “Sorry! I didn’t– I wasn’t–” His face burns, heart racing from both adrenaline and the sudden proximity. His flustered apology grinds to a halt as his breath catches painfully in his throat and he jerks forwards with a wet, scraping cough.

It bursts out of him before he can stop it, crackling deep in his chest and forcing him to bury his face in the crook of his elbow. His nose and mouth are already covered by two layers of medical-grade masks, so whether the action is a desperate attempt to muffle the noise or simply muscle memory, he doesn’t know. 

The cough blooms into a small fit – tight, rattling, as if his lungs are trying to turn themselves inside out. His whole body shakes as he desperately tries to muffle the sound, though he knows it’s a useless effort. Viktor is still pressed awkwardly against his side, cautiously leaning away, but remaining still enough that he won’t risk jostling the elevator. 

And Jayce? He’s one humiliating cough away from begging the elevator to just drop him through the floor. 

He finally manages to catch his breath, his coughing tapering off into shallow, shaky inhales. His eyes are glassy, bleary with fever and exertion, but he still forces himself to look over at Viktor. He’s half dazed, half mortified at the disgusted expression he’s sure he’s about to see. But instead, the smaller man looks at him with sympathy… No. That can’t be right. Jayce really must be out of it, because there’s no way Viktor wouldn’t be looking at him with anything but outright revolution at this point. He opens his mouth, preparing himself to stammer out an apology. 

And then the elevator shudders. And not the nice “wow the elevator is fixed!” kind of shudder, but rather the kind that causes the floor to drop a few inches with a dull, stomach-churning THUD!

Jayce freezes, his heart lurching up into his throat. How has his bad day somehow found a new level of awful? He’d already had a parade of delays, illnesses, and public displays of humiliation. But this takes the cake. 

He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t do anything aside from stare wide-eyed at the flickering overhead light and prepare to plummet to his death. He doesn’t even register his hand half-curled around Viktor’s arm. 

Caitlyn has always teased him for his so-called irrational fear of elevators, rattling off statistics about how rarely they actually malfunctioned. Afterall, he’d been in elevators hundreds of times and never had any issues aside from having to make awkward conversation. 

This, however, is starting to make his fear feel very, very rational. 

Jayce takes a little breath, trying to keep his cool. He looks at Viktor, who doesn’t seem to be any happier about the situation than he is, but significantly more calm. There’s no visible tension in his shoulders, no wild look in his eyes. He seems far more controlled than Jayce feels.

Jayce wants that, needs that – or any semblance of calm or comfort. So he takes a shallow breath through his nose, ignoring its congested squeak and focussing on not freaking the fuck out… Even though his chest aches, his fever simmers under his skin, and he’s sitting in a half-crumpled pile on an elevator floor with the guy he’s been admiring for weeks. 

But Viktor isn’t freaking out, so Jayce won’t either. 

He lasts all of one minute before his thoughts start amping up again. One silent, dreadfully long minute in which neither he or Viktor dare to say a word.

‘It’s fine, right? Elevators stall all the time, it’ll start moving again in a few seconds…’

Jayce shifts uncomfortably, trying not to let his anxiety build into panic as he realizes the gravity of the situation. He’s stuck in an elevator with none other than his nextdoor neighbor, who just so happens to be one of the most jawdroppingly gorgeous people Jayce has ever seen. And he has the worst head cold he’s had in years. It would almost be comedic, if it wasn’t happening to him. 

He clears his throat, hesitantly asking, “should we… uh… press a button?” 

In all his years of higher education, not once had anyone covered what to do if you get stuck in an elevator with your ridiculously attractive neighbor while sick and semi-delirious. There’s no syllabus for this, no instruction manual, no messy notes or annotations for him to reference. 

So, the most logical – panicked, deeply flawed, and purely adrenaline driven – solution he can come up with is to press the third floor button again; maybe the elevator just needs a gentle reminder of where it’s supposed to be going. 

Viktor doesn’t seem to have any better ideas, so he just nods, his expression unreadable as he watches Jayce slowly shift onto his knees and press the bright white 3. And then press it again. And again. And once more for good measure. 

And a fifth time because his panic is gaining momentum and the only thing keeping him from thoroughly embarrassing himself is the vain hope that maybe the fifth time is the charm… No? Okay. What about a sixth?

After Jayce presses the button upwards of ten times, Viktor finally pipes up, “It was probably disabled when the elevator…” he gestures vaguely with his hand, unsure what to say other than “fucking broke,” and that didn’t seem like the most suitable option, given Jayce’s evident panic. So Viktor lets the sentence trail off, doing his best to remain calm in an attempt to ground Jayce. 

Jayce sinks back down to the floor, nodding a little and saying, “Right… so we just… wait.” His voice is strained, resigned to the fact that he can’t do anything aside from sit and do his best not to completely freak out. He leans his head against the cold metal wall behind him and exhales through his mouth stuffily. 

Viktor nods, shifting so he can lean back against the wall and relieve some pressure from his hips. The motion is practiced, subtle, like he’s done this before – and he certainly has, he knows exactly where the strain lives in his body. 

Jayce taps his fingers nervously against the floor, taking a steadying breath and doing his best to ignore the steady thrum of anxiety pulsing through his body. It’s fine. This is fine. Except realistically, it’s anything except fine. Jayce must’ve done something truly horrible to deserve whatever karmic shit the universe was throwing at him today. 

As if the situation just had to get worse, Jayce feels his nose twitch, the lingering itch making itself known again: persistent, teasing. He scrunches up his nose beneath the mask, moving it from side to side in an attempt to lessen the itch, but it only serves to make it run more. He can feel a drop of mess slipping over his upper lip and towards his chin, and once again he attempts to sniff – afterall, it solved his problems last time, why wouldn’t it work again?

SND-RKk! Jayce’s attempt at containing the mess is all but humiliating, halting halfway upon entry into his nose and resulting in a soggy, congested squeak. The sound is deeply unflattering, breaking through the stillness of the elevator and doing nothing to help relieve the irritation in Jayce’s nose. 

His eyelids flutter as the buzzing worsens: a sharp, needling sensation that blooms right behind the bride of his nose. His eyebrows knit together in a grimace, and he clamps his mouth shut in an attempt to stop himself from hitching. 

He presses his tongue to the top of his mouth, holding his breath and repeating ‘I don’t have to sneeze. I don’t have to sneeze. I don’t have to sneeze’ in his mind, as if he could mentally block the sensation prickling through his nose. He can feel his nostrils flare beneath the mask, wet and sensitive against the fabric. At the risk of making things worse, Jayce rubs his finger along the base of his nose over the mask, but it barely provides him any relief. 

‘Please. Not here. Not now. Not in front of him,’ He begs internally, squeezing his eyes shut for a second.

Despite his best efforts, Jayce can feel the itch worsening. He clamps his jaw shut stubbornly, refusing to draw a breath, but his head still snaps forwards with a pitifully stifled runt of a sneeze, “h’nNGKSXgTCHh’uh!”

The stifle (if you can even call it that) is harsh enough to jolt his whole body; his shoulders hunch, his legs twitch involuntarily, and his torso forcibly curls in on itself. It’s muffled into the fabric of his masks, but messy all the same – wet and uncomfortable and clinging to both the fabric and the base of his nose. Within seconds, he feels the heat of it seep through the first layer of the material.

‘Oh. My. God.’

For a second, he doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything aside from sit there dazedly, his eyes fluttering half-closed as the itch lingers. 

Then, a mortifying sense of shame burns through his chest, and he feels himself flush with embarrassment. He downright refuses to look at Viktor, desperately trying to think of some solution aside from the obvious one. He has to clean himself up somehow, and he has to manage it with the few tissues he has shoved unceremoniously in his pocket… but in order to do that, he’d have to remove his mask and risk Viktor seeing the absolute mess he’s made. 

Jayce’s thoughts are interrupted by a soft, almost tentative “Bless you,” from the man sitting beside him, and he feels his face flush an even deeper shade of red from his cheeks to his ears and down his neck.

He doesn’t dare try to speak; he doesn’t trust his voice right now – he doesn’t trust anything about his body right now – so he just dips his head in a quick, polite nod. He can feel the mess sitting inside his mask, humid and awful and clinging uncomfortably to his lips and skin. But the thought of taking off his mask, of drawing attention to himself, makes his chest tighten with anxiety. So he just… endures it. Miserably. 

Within seconds, Jayce’s nose twitches again, and this time he doesn’t even have a moment to prepare before a harsh sneeze grates against his throat, “hHH-hHRRRSZZCHhuew!”

He takes in a shaky breath, realizing in horror that there’s no possible way for him to avoid removing his masks. They’re already soaked anyways, and Jayce is almost certain there’s a visible damp spot where the mess has been clinging to the inside of the fabric. 

“Sorry,” Jayce apologizes sheepishly, holding a hand over his masked-mouth out of habit, “do you mind if I -sNDFf- tagke off my masgk for a secgond?”

His voice is so congested it’s almost incomprehensible, but somehow Viktor doesn’t seem disgusted with Jayce, in fact, he seems almost fascinated by the sickly man. No, Jayce must be misreading the signs… maybe Viktor just happens to be a very good actor, and his disgust is merely hidden behind a neutral expression. 

“Not at all,” Viktor responds, his voice heavily accented and softer than Jayce remembered it, “you seem quite uncomfortable.”

Jayce blushes once again, rubbing the nape of his neck sheepishly and saying, “Yeah… id’s nodt the ideal scenario,” before realizing how that sounds and quickly trying to recover, “nodt that you’re– idt’s mbe. I’mb… uncomfortable,” he finishes lamely. 

Somehow he earns a smile from the smaller man. An actual, real smile, the kind that makes Viktor’s eyes crinkle at the sides and reveals thin but visible smile lines along his cheeks. 

For just a moment, Jayce’s hatred of the situation lessens. 

But then his body reminds him of the circumstances, forcing him to clear his throat as he feels phlegm start to build at the base of his throat. Now that he at least has Viktor’s permission, he feels slightly more comfortable with the prospect of taking off the masks (and besides, he really can’t handle the sensory discomfort of them while they’re coated in mess). 

He turns away from Viktor slightly, pinching the material around his nose to try and contain as much of the mess as he can as he removes the bands from around his ears with his other hand. He shoves the masks unceremoniously into his pocket, making a mental note to throw them away as soon as possible. 

As soon as he takes off the masks, his nose twitches, apparently upset at being exposed when it's in such terrible condition. With the barrier removed, Viktor can see just how sensitive Jayce’s nose is: bright pink, chapped, and twitching in irritation. 

Jayce fumbles to pull a mostly-intact travel pack of tissues from his pocket, noting that he only has a few left. He can’t quite sum up the confidence to blow his nose, so he just does his best to wipe away the residual mess while sniffling wetly against the tissue. 

He knows he’s being gross. He feels gross, but he seems to have caught a cold that downright refuses to be tamed. Usually, he’d hole himself up in his apartment with a bottle of NyQuil and do his best to sleep it off, but the universe decided otherwise.

Viktor, who’s been respectfully quiet, shifts slightly beside Jayce before saying, “I don’t think anyone looks particularly dignified when they’re sick.”

Jayce glances at him in surprise, the dampened tissue still pressed to his septum. Viktor doesn’t look directly at him, instead choosing to pick at the same loose thread on his sleeve again. Neither his tone nor expression reveal his intention in saying that… but Jayce has a feeling it wasn’t meant to be an insult, though it certainly could’ve been interpreted that way. 

“Whadt, you don’d thingk this is dignified?” Jayce tries to joke, tucking the used tissue into the same pocket as the soiled masks and offering Viktor a tired grin. 

“Do you?” Viktor replies, his lips curling up ever so slightly – just enough to reassure Jayce that it’s okay, he’s not intending to be an ass, he just comes off a bit harsh. 

“Ndo…” he admits, running a hand through his hair and clearing his throat again as it protests against its use, “so… we’re neighbors.” Admittedly, smalltalk isn’t one of Jayce’s strongsuits, not with strangers anyways (especially strangers who he happens to be attracted to). But Viktor seems to find Jayce’s awkward blunders amusing, huffing out a little breath and agreeing, “yes. We are.” 

“Righdt. I mean, you already knew that.. Because of the teas and–,” Jayce internally groans, thinking ‘why am I still talking’ as he tries his best to string together enough words to form a coherent sentence. Between his fever, his anxiety over the elevator’s malfunction, and his infatuation with Viktor, he can’t quite compose himself. His voice trails off, letting his sentence hang in the air unfinished. 

His nose gives a sudden, traitorous twitch and he presses the back of his wrist beneath his nostrils, sniffling thickly in an attempt to stop the mounting itch. Instead, it worsens, buzzing up through his sinuses and causing his nostrils to flare against his sleeve. His brows furrows, his eyes starting to shut as his breath catches in his chest, “hh-”

He barely manages to stutter out, “S’cuse mbe,” before sucking in a desperate breath, “hhHHHh–” and pivoting into his elbow, “hhHG’GDSXCHhew’hgh!”

The sneeze tears out of him, wrenching and wet, his shoulders jerking forwards with the force of the expulsion. He snuffles wetly in the aftermath of the sneeze, turning away from Viktor again as he fumbles to pull another tissue from his pocket with his free hand. His pocket resists him, the crinkled plastic of the tissue pack catching on the fabric, so by the time he manages to get a tissue free, he can already feel a damp splotch forming on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. 

Blushing crimson, Jayce removes his nose from his elbow, quick to fold the tissue over his nose in an attempt to clean himself up. To make things worse, his nose doesn’t seem to be done yet. 

A slow, unmistakable tickle crawls up through the bride of his nose, and he draws a breath through his mouth as his eyes flutter half-shut again. 

“hhHHhh… huhh-HHh’…”

He pauses, waiting. His nostrils flare. His lips part. The tickle worsens into a full blown burning, testing his already worn patience. 

“hhihh… huhh’HHhh—”

Within seconds, he goes from wishing he wouldn’t sneeze to wishing he could just let it out. Embarrassment eats at his chest as he feels Viktor shift next to him, reminding him of his close proximity. 

Jayce attempts to rub his nose through the tissue, pinching it shut with a squelch before moving his fingers up and down. It only results in another desperate series of hitches. 

“huh-hHhhuhh…! H-hhhHHh-huhhh… hhHHH–” and then nothing. “Oh c’mbon,” he breathes hoarsely, his voice barely audible. He doesn’t even care that he’s humiliatingly desperate to sneeze right now, he just wants to get it over with. His chest swells with another inhale, “HHHhhuhhhh–!”

By this point, his eyes are watering, his mouth hanging agape, and his brows pinched tight in pure, itchy suffering. The tissue sits uselessly between his fingers, fluttering as each hitching breath catches its surface. 

After what feels like ages, Jayce sucks in a shaky breath, “hhHHHihHh-” before he finally snaps forwards, “hh’HGZZSCHhtCHhuh!” and a second follows right on its heels, “hhRRZZSCHhh-uh!”

He stays there, bent at the waist and keeping the soaked tissue pressed to his nose as he sniffles experimentally, letting out a breath of relief as the itch dies down. 

“Gezundheit,” Viktor murmurs breathlessly from beside Jayce, watching as Jayce holds the mess of a tissue to the base of his nose. 

“Thangks,” Jayce rasps in response, doing his best to wipe his nose and snuffle back the moisture threatening to drip from the appendage, “Sorry… thad was preddy gross.”

He cringes at just how congested his voice is. He desperately needs to blow his nose, but he only has two tissues left and there’s no way in hell he’s using them now. They’ve barely been stuck in the elevator for five minutes, and it doesn’t seem like it’ll start moving again any time soon. The tissue he’s currently holding has lost all structural integrity, and he resigns himself to shoving it into his pocket along with the other. 

“It’s fine,” Viktor dismisses simply, “you’re sick.”

That felt like the understatement of the year. Jayce had tested for the flu and strep just to be safe, and both tests had come up negative, but he feels like he’s been hit by a truck. Whatever cold he’s managed to catch is doing a number on him. 

“Yeah, budt thad was excebtionally–,” his breath stutters out of nowhere, catching him by surprise and barely giving him enough time to half-cover with a hand before, “Hh’DTSSZCHhgh’uhh!” 

Despite his best efforts, some of the spray makes it past his broad hand, glinting in the luminescent light before falling lamely onto his lap. He snorts back as much mess as he can, certain that Viktor is getting a full on view of the most humiliating moment he’d experienced in years. His palm glistens with moisture, uncomfortably wet and probably less sanitary than the floor of a New York subway. 

Jayce groans softly under his breath, his chest twisting in embarrassment as he weighs the pros and cons of using his second-to-last tissue. He lowers his dripping hand, fishing in his pocket for another tissue as he admits defeat. He’s absolutely fucked. 

After taking a minute to clean himself up, Jayce resigns himself to apologize again, sounding a bit like a broken record at this point – sneeze, apology, sneeze, apology, and so on. 

“I’mb so sorry,” he mutters, his voice even thicker with congestion now, “Thadt was… I swear, I’mb usually a lod less digdusting thand this…” He doesn’t dare look up to gauge Viktor’s reaction, instead dabbing his nose with the sodden excuse of a tissue held in his hand. 

“I’m sure you are,” Viktor replies, almost sounding amused by Jayce’s predicament. Jayce can’t even begin to fathom why Viktor isn’t entirely disgusted by him, especially when they’re trapped in such a small, confined space. 

Viktor breaks the silence with a blunt, but not unkind suggestion, “You should blow your nose.”

Usually, if anyone had suggested that to him, Jayce might feel like a child, but something about Viktor makes him appreciate the comment slightly. It’s obviously not coming from a place of judgement, but rather much needed advice (Jayce doesn’t even notice that his nose has begun to run over his upper lip again, but Viktor has a clear view of it). 

The sick man gives a pitiful laugh, which turns into a short bout of coughing, before admitting, “I only have two tissues lefd… and I clearly need themb. I don’d wanna -sNNFf- use themb yet in case we’re stugk here for hours.” 

“That is… an optimistic estimate, is it not?” Viktor replies simply, casting a doubtful glance at Jayce, knowing the tissues won’t last another five minutes. Again, he’s not rude, but upfront. He doesn’t seem to have any interest in dancing around the subject of Jayce’s illness. 

Jayce tries to come up with a response as his ears burn bright pink again, but he’s interrupted as Viktor shifts, reaching into his coat pocket. There’s a quiet ruffling of fabric before Viktor wordlessly extends his hand, holding a neatly folded dark-gray handkerchief. Its edges are soft with wear, but it appears to be well maintained. 

Jayce blinks, “Waidt… seriously?” He’s always surprised when people extend small kindnesses to him, despite Caitlyn reassuring him that he’s just as deserving of them as anyone else. 

“Well,” Viktor finally meets his eyes, “You seem to need it more than I do.”

When Jayce hesitates to accept the fabric, Viktor adds, “I wash it frequently. It’s clean.”  It’s a simple gesture, small and likely insignificant, but it unspools something knotted in Jayce’s chest. 

He grins, enough as to wear Viktor can see his tooth-gap and dimples, and says, “thangk you, really. I owe you one.”

Viktor shrugs, politely averting his gaze as Jayce wipes his nose with the cloth, “technically, I owed you for the tea. We’re even.” 

Jayce settles for nodding in response, unfolding the handkerchief and wiping at the moisture clinging to his septum again. No matter how much he tends to the appendage, it seems intent on running. Thankfully, the fabric of the handkerchief is soft, but it still does little to soothe his raw, irritated nose. 

Jayce glances down at the cloth in his hands, folding it carefully along the seams out of habit. He usually carries a handkerchief, especially when he’s sick, but he’d managed to soil all of his in the past two days since catching this cold. It’s not like he’s been in any condition to do laundry, so he’s been surviving off of whatever half-empty tissue packs he could find around his place. 

Jayce’s breath suddenly catches mid-thought, his chest swelling with a loud hitch, “hhHh’h–” and he tents the handkerchief over his nose just before he shudders forwards with a poorly muffled, “hhH’HMPDTSCSHHuhh!”

He doesn’t have time to mutter another apology; the elevator lurches, stuttering down a few inches before there’s a mechanical whirring. The two men stay perfectly still, Jayce’s hands still holding the handkerchief over his nose. The whirring continues, but the elevator doesn’t move, for better or for worse. Jayce wipes his nose against the dark-gray hankie and snuffles once the coast seems clear. 

“If we’re going to die in an elevator, you might as well blow your nose first,” Viktor suggests again.

Jayce can’t decide whether to laugh or panic at Viktor’s comment, so he just settles for swallowing his pride and blowing his nose. It sounds pathetically clogged, but it allows some of the congestion in his sinuses to shift, giving him a moment of relief. 

A very, very short lived moment of relief. 

His nose twitches, the sensitive appendage downright revolting at the congestion having moved, and Jayce barely has time to cup the handkerchief over his nose again before his breath catches, “hhHh!”

“hhhHHR’DZSSHh’CHhgh!!”

The sneeze bursts out with a damp, desperate force, caught into the folds of the hankie, which is quickly becoming wet from overuse. Jayce draws another uneven, desperate breath, another sneeze already building, “hhHHhh’ihhh… hh’DZGXTshhhuhh!! Huh’GXSSHHhhuhf!!”

The second part of the double takes him completely by surprise, leaving him breathless. A quiet groan slips out before he can stop himself, and despite his breath hitching again, he mutters, “Hh’uhh… fuhhck– I’mb–I’mb s–hhhhhuhhh… sorhhh.”

His voice trails off, his eyes fully closed as his breath hitches in uneven, pitiful gasps, “hehh–hhHHHHuhhh… hhh-” his head tilts back, his adams apple bobbing with each desperate breath, “hh’DdZZSSCHHguhh!!” 

Jayce can’t remember the last time he’s sneezed like that, and it takes him a second to catch his breath. He winces as he swallows, his throat aching as a result of the fit. Despite the handkerchief having caught all of the mess, Jayce is still beyond mortified. If he had thought he had no chance with Viktor before, he sure as hell doesn’t now. 

He sits there, stewing in his embarrassment as he blows his nose as quietly as possible. Once he’s cleaned himself up, Viktor offers a “bless you. Again.”

“Sorry… againd,” Jayce replies, trying to offer Viktor an awkward grin, but it ends up as more of a grimace, “I shouldn’d habve lefd mby apardmend today, bud -snNFf- I had to tagke an exam and… and you don’d ndeed to know this… Sorry.”

Viktor shrugs, once again playing with the loose string on his sleeve as he dismisses the apology, “You said that already. Several times.” 

Jayce feels a bit of the anxiety sitting in his chest dissipate, and he nods a little. He’s generally talkative, and he tends to ramble when he’s anxious, but it doesn’t seem like Viktor minds all that much. 

He rubs the nape of his neck, noting the way his skin seems to radiate feverish heat, trying to change the subject away from his incessant apologies, “So.. you jusd moved in a few weegks ago?”

Viktor nods, shifting his position once again, wincing ever so slightly with the movement, “Yes. Almost a month ago now. This complex is much closer to my university’s campus than my previous one,” he explains conversationally. If it was anyone else, he’d probably ignore any attempt at smalltalk, but Jayce is… an exception to that. 

“Universidy?” Jayce asks, perking up a little, “Where do you go?”

“Piltover Technological Institute,” Viktor answers, glancing at Jayce and noting his smile. How someone so sick still manages to smile like that is beyond him, “I take it you’re familiar with it?”

“Yeah!” Jayce’s voice catches in his throat, a bit too enthusiastic and forcing him to cough into his elbow. After taking a second to catch his breath, he continues, “I’mb a junior there. I’mb sdudying engineering with a fogcus on Aerospace engineehhring … hhh- and thhihhermo–” he blinks rapidly, his nostrils flaring outwards as his breath starts to catch, “thermodynamihhHihcs–” he barely manages to stutter through the word before, ““hHH-hHRRRSZZCHhuew!”

Luckily, he covers the sneeze with the handkerchief, catching the splurge of mess and muffling the sound as best he can, “Ugh, sor–”

“Don’t apologize,” Viktor interrupts him, waving his hand dismissively and leaning back against the elevator wall again, “it’s rather redundant at this point.”

Jayce swallows, nodding and trying to ignore the growing fondness in his chest. Viktor doesn’t seem disgusted by him, or irritated with his ramblings and blunders – maybe his chance at becoming closer with his neighbor isn’t completely blown. 

“Right. So uhmb, whadt are you studying?” He asks, trying to keep the conversation going, if anything just so he can hear Viktor’s voice. He wants to ask where the other man is from, he assumes somewhere in Russia, but there’s an aspect of Vitkor’s accent that he can’t quite place. 

“Chemical engineering and biotechnology, though I prefer the ladder. It has more opportunity for innovation,” even from the simple response, Jayce can tell that Viktor’s passionate about the subject. He has subtle, but noticeable mannerisms that give his interest away – a slight upturn of his eyebrows, a glimpse of smile lines along his cheeks, a little shift in his posture, as if he’s drawn in by the topic. 

“So you’re – sNDDFf’gh – inderesded in STEM?” Jayce’s question is dulled by congestion, but sounds excited nonetheless, “we habve thad in common.”

He’s forced to press the handkerchief against his septum again, wiping away a bit of moisture that was threatening to drip over his upper lip. He tries to find a relatively dry section of the cloth to clean himself up, though most of it is already sodden. 

Viktor nods in response to Jayce, “We do,” he agrees as he looks over at the sick man again, “so Aerospace engineering, this is what you want to have an occupation in?” he asks. Jayce grins at the way he phrased the question. His grammar isn’t wrong by any means, but after growing up in Piltover Jayce had become well accustomed to the “speaking-norms” – norms which Viktor seems unaccustomed or uninterested in. 

“Yeah, I thignk so ad leasd. It’s the mosd realistigk field I can go into,” he pauses, swiping his wrist against his septum, “budt we’ll see. I always wandted to be an invendtor.”

Why exactly Jayce is telling Viktor he wanted to be an inventor, he’s not entirely sure, but once it comes out of his mouth, he realizes just how childish it sounds. He opens his mouth to try and say something, anything that makes him sound like a functioning adult when Viktor notes, “me too.” 

“Really?” Jayce’s surprise must be written all over his face because he earns a little laugh from Viktor, making his chest flutter. 

“Yes, really.” Viktor sits up straighter, correctly his posture with a quiet, concealed breath of discomfort before continuing, “Biotech is very interesting, but I would like to have my own lab. Unrestricted research, without the guidelines and paperwork.”

Jayce grins, finding Viktor’s evident dislike of paperwork amusing. 

“I mean it is useless. Why waste time with regulations?” he continues, his accent a bit thicker as he grows more comfortable around Jayce. In an attempt to impress Viktor, Jayce desperately tries to remember a quote he’d read from one of his coursebooks. His fever-addled brain takes a moment to piece it together; he knows it’s from Iven Maren, one of the founders of the Piltover Institute for Radical Inquiry (PIRI). 

Something about disobeying rules… science knows no limits. It's from Maren’s most recently published book; he tries to remember the page he’d read it on, vaguely picturing the image of the founder beside the quote. 

“You kdow, Iven Maren said that “science isn’t meant to be polite, or convenient. It’s meant to – hhhh –” his breath hitches, but he tries to continue, “to ask the hHihh– thhhheh– hh’DZSSCHhhuh!!” He catches the sneeze against his wrist, keeping it held there as he stubbornly keeps talking, “the questhhhions – hhHHh’GGDTSSHhhuehh!!”

The second one is considerably messier, and he keeps his wrist pressed against his septum to contain the mess. The fabric of his sleeve dampens, clinging unpleasantly to his skin as he fumbles to grab the handkerchief off his lap and clean himself up. He gives a wet little groan in the back of his throat, blushing crimson once again. 

“I do not think he said that,” Viktor teases, his tone dry, “bless you,” he adds, his lips curling into a grin. Despite his blushing embarrassment, Jayce laughs, feeling a sense of comfort at Viktor’s teasing, “thangks.” 

After a moment, Viktor’s voice breaks the silence, “it’s meant to ask the questions no one wants answered, especially the ones that threaten the rules.” He finishes Jayce’s quote with ease, grinning at Jayce’s impressed expression. 

“You’ve read Theoredical Pathways ind Modern Engineering?” Jayce asks excitedly, his tooth gap once again making an appearance as he smiles. 

“Who hasn’t?” 

For the next twenty minutes or so, the two of them talk about the various texts they’ve recently read. Jayce does most of the yapping despite the aching in his throat, but he can’t help it. His wallowing misery over being so sick is temporarily put on hold, replaced with an opportunity to talk about his interests. Viktor is equally as engaged in the conversation, noticing when Jayce wears out his voice and taking it as a cue to talk more so the sick man can rest his throat for a moment. 

Jayce listens intently whenever Viktor speaks, making a mental note of every new thing he learns about him: he prefers natural sciences over mechanical engineering, he recently conducted an experiment with the aid of a professor, he’d like to design his own experiment in the future… and there there are things like the fact that his eyes have little golden specks throughout them, making them change color ever so slightly as the lights flicker. Or that his hands absentmindedly play with the bit of threat hanging from his sweater sleeve, twisting it just enough as to where it won’t fall off. 

His internal observations are interrupted as he feels the itch in his nose return, interrupting Viktor with a sudden, “hhhHHuh–”

Viktor pauses, recognizing the sound and knowing exactly what’s about to happen. Despite it being rather obvious, Jayce insists on stuttering out, “shhsorry I’mb gonnahhh… hHHHh snhhehH– sneeze– hhH’RRSZSCHhhuh!! hhhK’TSSCHhh’uhgh!!”

The expulsions come back to back, spraying the already sodden handkerchief and leaving Jayce a little breathless. “Whew,” he exclaims quietly, 

“Bud’te zdorovy,” Viktor murmurs, the Russian blessing slipping out without him fully intending.

i know it ends suddenly, but there will be more!! if anyone has any ideas/requests for the second part feel free to send me a message or DM :) i plan on keeping them trapped in the elevator for quite some time... sorry J/ayce...