Ok but what about the handsome, kind (or handsome, nasty?) regency gent who spends his summers at the manor house of a rich aunt or great aunt in the middle of meadows and pastures and lush gardens and he has massive hayfever...
...and he is both mortally embarrassed and turned on by it. And turned in by the embarrassment and embarrassed of how turned on he is.
Starting every morning with a ludicrous sneezing fit, sneezing as he gets up, just sits on the bed and sneezes and blows his nose for a good while, conscious of the fact that he's being heard through the door by anyone who happens to pass by and so embarrassed by the thought. Another guest knocking the door and asking if he's alright, he blushes up to his ears. "Don't mind!" he pipes with a stuffy voice, and sneezes. "Thank you!"
And he's embarrassed by the fact that the servants have obviously been told to keep his nighstand stacked with neat piles of handkerchiefs because he has a streaming hayfever. His hayfever is accounted in how the household is run. Embarrassed, and shamefully turned on.
Perhaps he's adamant about dressing himself because he can't just sneeze all over a manservant first thing in the morning. Or perhaps he just holds a handkerchief to his nose through the whole process, switching hands when needed.
And then there's the breakfast to get through, all the comments, the inquiries about his health, the gentle frowns from the women and jokes from the men, friendly or crass. The smartass cousin who will bless him as she's leaving: "Bless you times thirty-eight" because she counts to vex him. What she doesn't know is that she's also getting him painfully hard.
The well meaning chaps trying to arrange him a meeting with a lady in the garden. Just generally being constantly perceived and commented, though sometimes it's even worse when he's alone, fully gives in to sneezing and blowing his nose, then remembers how easy it is to hear him through the door.
