lurker sideblog

In theory, S/antos should have begun to recognize the pattern in her immune response that as soon as the adrenaline of fast paced shifts, skipped meals, and little sleep finally wore off during a few days of real rest, her body had the tendency to fail her.

Really, she thought as she laid in her bed the morning of her second day off in a row, she should have seen this coming. The cold going around the ER had forced many of her coworkers on the day shift to slow their rapid fire pace of work that they were normally so comfortable existing in. It was only a matter of time before she was also taken down by this cold from hell.

Unfortunately, she had convinced herself that she might have escaped it as she left her last shift with her four days off as a beacon glowing ahead of her. The fact that she was wrong only made her grumpier. Her throat started with a telling roughness the previous morning, and by the evening of her first day of rest, she was a sniffling, sneezing mess.

Now, she groaned as she rolled over and checked the time.

6:14am. Perfect.

She sniffled and adjusted her pillow behind her to sit up slightly, hoping to find a way to be able to breathe more easily out of her nose. Her head felt like a cinder block and she coughed lightly at the tickle buzzing deep in her sinuses.

She wondered absently if Huckleberry had come home from his farm widow’s house last night. She hadn’t heard him come in, but he could be very quiet when he wanted to be. She smirked lightly at a memory of her stumbling, bleary eyed, into their shared kitchen for a glass of water in the middle of the night and turning the light on only to find him sitting in the dark, eating crackers straight out of the box, scaring the shit out of her. He apologized like hell and she didn’t let him live it down for weeks.

An odd sense of melancholy settled in her chest as she listened to the quiet of the house around her. He probably spent the night with Amy again. Santos hadn’t seen him since he left the shift they worked together the last day before she was taken out by this cold.

“-hhiih -hiHH’ngxt-chiew…uhgh,” she stifled a sneeze that left her head pounding. She sniffled as the tickled reared again, unrelieved by her restrained release. “-hihh…-hIH -itscHIW- haaTCSIIEW -hiiihCHIEW! *snrfff*.” She groaned again and closed her eyes. Maybe she could sleep a bit more. Despite her fit of sneezes, she still felt a tickle lingering under her congestion. She grabbed a tissue off of her nightstand and blew to try and relieve it.

Closing her eyes once more, she wrapped her duvet closer around herself as a chill swept down her body. She wished she had grabbed some cold meds from the break room in the ER. She didn’t think there were any around…maybe in the back of the kitchen cabinet if she could just find the energy to get herself up to look.

If Huckleberry caught this he’d probably die. She thought to herself. But a part of her hoped he did catch it, and maybe he would come home from Amy’s to get some sleep in his own bed.

“Oh jeez, you don’t look so good…” he would probably say when he saw her. “Did you get that cold too??”

“Damn Dr. Whitaker how did you deduce that one??” She would snap back and roll her eyes.

And then they would probably sit together on the couch watching trash reality tv together, order soup and make fun of the dumb contestants and their silly little scripted problems all afternoon.

“haTSHEW! itchIEW! -hihhH -hiH” she waited for the last sneeze to come with her head tipped back, mouth open and pink nostrils flaring slightly. She took a shaky inhale and hitched and hitched, “hiiHhh…hihHH…HITCHIEW!” Finally.

Maybe she should text Huckleberry and check to see if he did catch this too. But no…she would let him be. If he did catch it Amy would probably love to coo over him for a few days.

And I’ll just stay here, sick as a dog, by myself. She thought bitterly. She was used to it. Despite the last few months of unlikely friendship with Whitaker, she was used to relying on herself. But she couldn’t help but feel a sense of longing to have his annoying ass around when she felt so terrible, even just to go get her some cold meds from the drugstore.

Another shiver wracked her. She definitely had a fever.

Despite herself, she let out a little whimper as she sniffled and another tickle wound its way through her nose. “hATChiew! -hiiHH-chIEW! -hiHH! itcHU!” she sighed and snuggled deeper into the bed.

Slowly, sleep blissfully started to take her.

**** She woke again later with a pounding head.

9:47am. Although she was still wrapped in her blankets and hoodie, her teeth chattered and rounds of shivers felt like they were running through her bones. Okay, really time to go find some meds now. Pulling a soft throw blanket from the end of her bed and wrapping it around her shoulders, she dragged herself into a seated position.

Her nose twitched in protest and she breathed a shaky inhale “hiiHdshIEW! -schIEW! hih…hitchIEw..uhhh.”

Santos sniffled and got to her feet, wobbling slightly on her way out of her room and through the small apartment to the kitchen.

Dialed in on the cabinet she suspected had some cold meds lurking in the back, and wanting to get herself back to bed as quickly as possible, she jumped when she heard a voice from behind her.

”Uhh hey, you good?” She whirled around, and regretted it instantly as a wave of dizziness clouded the corners of her vision and she wobbled slightly.

Whitaker jumped forward and gently steadied her by her arms. “Woahhh there. I see…not so good” he took in her appearance in with a grim look and a wince. “Bad cold eh?”

“N’do gendius, I’mb feeling fandtastic” she replied, but her rasp and heavy congestion took away some of the bite of her words. She coughed lightly into her fist, sniffled, and moved away from her roommate to go back to searching for meds.

“Looking for these?” Huckleberry asked and she looked back to see him holding a new pack of cold and flu meds out to her.

She nodded and took them from him, actually looking at his face and noticing slightly more darkness bagging under his usually tired eyes, and a redness to the edges of his nose.

“Ahh so Am’by didn’dt wan’dt you sticking around to spread the plague?” She asked him as wryly as her current state could allow.

“Ah no, I just thought I’d get out of their hair in case I passed it along…I don’t think it’s hit me as hard as you though” he sniffed lightly and looked at her with an edge of concern around his eyes. “Have you taken your temperature?”

Santos rolled her eyes again and cringed as she swallowed down a dose of cold medicine. Was she really missing him earlier? Of course he would come home and immediately start mother-henning her.

“Im’b a Doctor, Huckleberry, I don’dt need you t-hiihh-“ she was cut off as her nostrils flared. “hiihH- hiT’ngxt! Ngtxh! hitNGXT-CHIEW!” The sneezes sounded painful and she and Huckleberry both winced.

“Hey…okay, why don’t you go sit on the couch and I’ll order some soup for us?” Whitaker took out his phone and gazed over at her expectantly.

Santos grumbled but didn’t argue as she made her way over to the couch and curled up with her blanket.

“Chicken noodle or hot and sour?” Huckleberry called from the kitchen.

Santos felt a smile tug on her lips and though she still felt like crap, her heart felt a little lighter.

He had woken up late after turning in early, exhaustion seemingly triggered by the rain that had been pelting the atelier for a few days now, making his head throb. Upon waking up that morning, he realized it was only actually accentuating an existing pain, starting under his eyes and working its way into his temples. He had scrambled up to find the girls already awake, and came up with some flimsy excuse that none of them bought. It's his own fault for having such smart apprentices, but he would appreciate it if they gave him some slack. 

As is his usual luck, it's one of the few days Olruggio is awake before noon. While Qifrey struggles not to slump against the wall of their kitchen as his apprentices eat their breakfast in the other room, easily entertained by their own ideas, thank goodness, because Qifrey’s throat feels thick and the vibration of his own voice echoes through his head in sharp pains, Olruggio staggers downstairs and into the room, likely in search of coffee. His hair is mussed, and he's still blinking away sleep, but when his eyes lock with Qifrey’s they hesitate for a moment too long. 

Qifrey tries to smile, but it makes Olruggio’s brows furrow, so he just turns away to gently wipe his nose against his wrist. He’s been caught like always. It’d be easier to hold up the facade if Olruggio didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, because he just feels guilty lying to him. He sighs with defeat when Olruggio leans against the counter and levels him with a stern look. 

“You look awful.” Olruggio says, voice still rough. Qifrey sniffles again, nose irritated by the steam wafting off the bowls of oatmeal in front of him, feeling all too much like he's advertising his symptoms. “I’m quite alright.” He says, and his voice is just as congested as he feared it would be. How embarrassing he is. “Just a cold.” 

Olruggio huffs, leaning over to gruffly force a hand against Qifrey’s forehead that he's a bit too unsteady to dodge. “Jus’ a cold.” He murmurs. “You’re awfully warm for that.” Qifrey smiles again, suddenly finding his nose itchy. He pushes olruggio’s hand away, not unkindly, and steps back a bit to create space, waving a halfhearted hand in front of his face. “Not at all,” He can’t help the wince that comes across his face, the feeling aggravating both his sinus’ and his headache. “I’m merely warm from bearing near the stove. I’m in a fine state to-” has to pause to press a knuckle against his nose, which ends up having the opposite effect. The itch crescendos, so he has to whip around in an attempt to protect Olruggio from the worst of his symptoms.

“ ‘chT-!" he has to pause for a moment, curled over into his wrist, until his vision returns from static and he can feel anything but the thundering pulsing of his own skull. After a few deep breaths, he manages to straighten up and almost-look Olruggio in the eye. He looks annoyed, but not in the way he does when dealing with frustrating clients or mental blocks. He looks, frustrated, almost, closer to when their girls stubbornly refuse rest, or even Qifrey, sometimes. It's not a look he likes very much when it's placed onto himself. 

“Go to bed.” Never one to mince his words, Olruggio tells him flat out. “You’re going to fall over.” Qifrey was perfectly able to come to that conclusion himself, because there is still grey towards the corners of his vision, and his legs are starting to get suspiciously shaky. It's not something his lovely Olruggio should be seeing, though. Having his own weakness thrown back at him sparks an age-old defensiveness every time, like a cat backed into a corner. He sort of wants to snarl. 

“The girls need a master present.” He grits out instead between clenched teeth. Olurggio sighs, looking worn already, drags a hand down his face. “I’ll watch ‘em. I’m basically their master already.” He makes a shoo-ing motion. “Go off to bed before they start worryin’.” It's a bit lowbrow to bring them into this, but Qifrey can’t argue it, no matter how much his skin is prickling with desire to fight back. He sniffles against the back of his hand again instead of replying, starting to stumble his way upstairs to his chambers. Olruggio’s shoulders are tense as he passes, and his eyes look even more tired than normal, even though he doesn’t have any upcoming deadlines that he’s heard about. Not that he's been a good listener these past few days.

••●━━━ 𖤓 ━━━●••

His room is dark when he wakes up. Intentionally, surely, because he had been too tired to bother closing his own blinds when he collapsed against his bed, had fallen asleep with his head buried into the pillow to try to drown the light out. There’s only one person that would be in here, so he squints against the dark shapes, ignoring the way it makes him ache, and can vaguely make out a dark robe. 

Olruggio must be focused, or else he would’ve noticed. Qifrey takes his time getting up, for no reason relating to the way the world spins and heady pressure shifts in his face, tries to study Olruggio. There's the faint scratching of a quill, and Oruggio's posture seems stiffer than usual, like he's focused. Once Olruggio sniffles a few times, unconsciously, because his nose has started running since he lifted his head up, Olruggio looks up at him.

“Mornin’.” He says, voice soft like he knows. “Want a light on?”  Qifrey feels his face pull into a frown. “Why not just open the blinds? Natural light is always better.” According to Beldaruit, anyway, who liked to preach on the importance of nature at random turns. Olruggio opens his mouth, then shakes his head like he’s thinking better of something. “It’s the middle of the night, Qifrey.” Is all he says, quill taping an anxious rhythm against his paper. 

Qifrey sits up in a frantic motion, almost tipping over in the process. He has to grip the sheets hard and pant for a second, the whole world consisting of spinning shapes and his heartbeat in his skull. He sniffles again, uselessly, and Olruggio shifts around for a moment before handing him a grey handkerchief.

The gentle touch of fabric against his nose sets him off almost immediately. He barely has time to take in a breath before twitching. “ ‘dszhh-!” The shifting of congestion in his nose makes the itch reignite before he manages to catch his breath. He watches Oruggio's gaze as his breath wavers, on the edge, until he's finally set free. “ ‘dSZh - eH’dTZh!” thick and so unlike his usual sneezes, they hurt his throat. 

“Bless.” Qifrey hums in response. He doesn’t trust his ability to talk. He's sick of this song and dance with Olruggio. Tired of pretending, tired of everything. He's exhausted, aching, and feels trapped in this room. 

“You’ve got a fever.” Oruggio says, startling him out of his fervor. His hands are gripped in the sheets, handkerchief still in hand. He avoids Olruggio’s eyes. “Nothin’ bad, you’re not too warm.” Qifrey sniffles again, pathetically, clears his throat into his shoulder. He’s so foggy-minded. “Okay.” he murmurs. “Thank you, Olruggio.” 

Olruggio doesn’t say anything, for a few minutes. Long enough that Qifrey nearly starts nodding off, lulled to sleep by rhythmic noises of anxiety. His quill never stops its tapping, probably bleeding through the paper and onto his sheets. Neither of them mention it. 

“Can I just take care of you, for once?” Qifrey finally meets his eyes, through his half closed eyes. He looks more ragged than usual, accentuated by the dark shadows of his room. Qifrey wants to ask him when he last got a good night's rest, when his next commissions are due, when the last time he checked up on the girls is. Wants to ask if Richeh ate much dinner, if Tetia is too hyper without enough to do today, if Aggott even looked up from her studies once. He does none of this. 

Instead, he sighs. “Will you take no for an answer?” he tries, to Olruggio's scoff. “Do you ever?” Qifrey can’t help but feel a little guilty at that, sinking back into the bed sheets with flushed cheeks. Olruggio stands, groaning, like he had been sitting there for a while. He shuffles across Qifrey’s room to his desk, full of books and scattered sheets of paper. There’s a bowl on it, and Olruggio takes it before returning to his chair heavily. He reaches out the bowl, full of cool oatmeal, until Qifrey begrudgingly takes it, is slow to release it like he is worried Qifrey will drop it. It lays heavy in his lap. He sets it aside, despite Olruggio's look, and neither of them mention it. 

  Olruggio shuffles around a little more and pulls a few snugstones out of his pocket. He sets them around Qifery’s form in the blanket, and they’re too warm, but he doesn’t have the heart to say anything with Olruggio’s thoughtfulness. He closes his eyes, too tired to keep whatever it is they have going, and lifts a corner of the blanket. “Come in here, then. You look tired.” 

Olruggio gives him a long look, and Qifrey’s worried the fever got to him for a second. But then he stands from his chair, slides into bed without complaint. Their bodies are so close, and wife's aflame. He falls asleep burning. 

••●━━━ 𖤓 ━━━●••

Qifrey feels disoriented when he wakes up. He can’t find anything that could have startled him awake, and he hadn’t had a nightmare. He stares at the dark ceiling for a few moments, trying to get his bearings, until he’s startled by a sudden  “ ‘rSZCHh!”, and the previous hours start to drift back to him. 

“Bless you..” Qifrey murmurs, voice surprisingly present. He must have passed the worst of it, finally. “Are you okay?” 

Olruggio makes a thick, snuffling sound somewhere to his left. The bed is still warm, so he must have just gotten up. “Yeah,” he says, and then it’s quiet for a few moments until the floor creaks with his return. “I didn’t mean to wake ya.” He says, voice more rasped then it usually is when he wakes up, nuzzling back into Qifrey. He falls back asleep quickly, but he tosses and turns uncharacteristically. It eats at Qifrey, keeps him awake. 

It’s likely sometime after sunrise when Olruggio starts to stir again. He never really settled, and at some point Qifrey stopped trying to help him for fear of waking him up, so his limbs are knotted in the quilts. He doesn’t seem to notice, blinking slowly at Qifrey. “Good morning,” he tries, with a smile. Olruggio doesn’t say anything, just buries his head back against Qifrey’s chest and takes a slow, congested breath through his nose. Qifrey’s heart hurts. 

They stay like that for a while. Qifrey doesn’t want to move him, but his nose starts to itch at some point, and despite his fight he ends up jostling him with a sharp movement. “h’TShh-! ‘tSZhih!” 

Olly startles up, probably having been half asleep. Qifrey wants to apologize, but his nose isn’t satisfied, so he holds a placating hand and shields his mouth against his other one as he sneezes once again. Finally, he falls back against the pillow, pushing Olruggio back against his chest with a gentle hand. Olruggio doesn’t say anything for a long while, and when he does speak it's rough and painful sounding. 

“I think we’ll both be stuck in here for awhile,” he says, and there’s nothing saying he’s mad at Qifrey for it but he can’t help but feel so guilty, especially when Olruggio’s so busy. “Somebody’s got to tell the girls.” Qifrey hums, allows himself the pleasure of running one brief hand through Olruggio’s messed up hair. 

“I’ll do it.” He says, without making any move to get up. “I think I may be better off than you are, now.” Olruggio huffs at that. He doesn’t want to move, feeling kind of like Olruggio is a cat that won’t come back if he moves even the slightest bit. But he can hear birds, faintly, and the floor above him is starting to creak with life as his girls start to stir. No matter what he wants, he can’t leave them entirely alone. 

So he gets up, and Olruggio watches him leave with droopy eyes, and he smiles at the girls as they trickle in, passing off his own stuffiness as just a bit of allergies. When he serves their bowls, he finds himself suddenly famished, so he ends up scarfing down a bowl in the kitchen while they eat in the other room. Their quiet chatter is so warm, but the light in the kitchen spills out from the windows. His head aches. He has to bid his girls farewell, instructing them to learn on their own for a second day, and return to his room with an orange and paring knife. 

Olruggio makes no move to sit up from where he’s sprawled out in his absence, so he sits himself at the edge of the bed. “Are they doing alright?” He mumbles into the bedsheets. “Of course,” he replies, choosing not to tease him for his worrying this time. “They’re a bit concerned, though.” Olruggio hums. “Too smart for their own good.” 

Qifrey has to stifle his laugh. “I brought you food,” he says, holding up the orange even though Olruggio can’t see it. Fruit doesn’t count as a meal, really, but Olruggio tends to get upset stomachs when he doesn’t feel well, so he’s hoping it's good enough. Olly groans into the mattress, but he eventually shifts around until he’s sort of sitting up. His face looks pinched, and it isn’t long before he’s muffling a heavy sneeze into his elbow. “ h’rRSZhh-iuh!” 

 “Bless you,” Qifrey says, and Olruggio makes a lazy flapping motion with his free hand before gasping again. “ ‘rRSCHhh’iuh!” 

Cum shoots across the floor, followed by a soft moan. “Bless you!” “Thanks. Sorry, I think I must be coming down with something.”

Someone grabs a tissue and blows their cold-filled cock/pussy. It’s bright red from being rubbed with tissues so many times. “Ugh…I’m so congested.”

Two people having a conversation, while one’s dick is twitching and throbbing as they try to hold back. Suddenly, it “sneezes” all over the other one, which stiffens instantly. “Oh god, I think you just gave me your cold…”

Inducing a few orgasms to help with the congestion.

Someone standing at a bus stop on a cold day, soaking wet, shivering through orgasm after orgasm as they nurse their freshly caught cold.

A cock/pussy dripping and sniffling so much that everyone realizes the person is sick no matter how much they may claim to be fine.

At work: “You’ve been coming all day, poor thing. We can all tell you’re sick. Go ahead and take the day off.”

A person with a cold giving a lecture and spraying all over the front row. “Seriously? Cover!” “My apologies.” They stuff a handkerchief between their legs just in time to catch the next orgasm.

A contagious person wearing a “mask” (underpants) as a courtesy. It’s absolutely soaked.

Someone having a fit of ten orgasms in the middle of the grocery store. They glance around them sheepishly. “Sorry. Once I start coming, I just can’t stop.”