women sneezing. that's it, that's the blog.

If Agatha were to make a list of things that she hated, she was pretty sure that the existence of summer as a concept would easily make the top ten. She had never really been a fan of excessive heat, humidity in general, or being outside around other people and pretending to have a good time when she was dealing with said heat and/or humidity, so most of the season was a wash from that alone.

Oh, and sunburns; she also hated sunburns, so really it was just easier to say that she hated summer altogether. Maybe not quite as much as, say, her mother, or meditation, or the moms at library storytime that kept trying to talk to her about their shampoo pyramid schemes, but it was definitely pretty high on the list. And frankly between the weather, the pollen count, and the amount of money it cost to keep their house at a reasonable temperature, it felt like summer hated her right back. The irony of her ending up married to Rio of all people was not lost on her.

Rio loved nothing more than getting up early on a sunny summer weekend and tending to the garden, woodworking in the garage, or even just laying out in the sun ‘to photosynthesize,’ she said, because some people didn’t have to worry about little things like sunburns, and even had the audacity to pass that gene on to their kid, and Agatha wasn’t bitter about it at all thanks for asking.

All things considered, though, this particular summer wasn’t too bad so far. The weather was seasonably temperate, Rio’s garden was in full bloom, and on one particular Saturday at the beginning of July, Agatha woke to find that Rio and Nicky had gathered an impressive blackberry harvest from the bushes near the woods behind the yard just in time for her to come down to breakfast.

It was a warm, sunny day—the first nice Saturday they’d had in several weeks, really—and after breakfast, Rio and Nicky spent most of the morning out in the yard with Rio tending to the garden and Nicky ‘helping’ by carrying fresh soil and discarded weeds around in his favorite dump truck.

It was right around lunch time when Agatha got a text from Wanda of all people saying that she was taking her boys to some science program at the library and did Nicky want to go? Nicky did very much want to go, and after a whirlwind lunch, a series of texts, and a brief interlude where Agatha had two hyperactive eight-year-olds and one very excited five-year-old running laps around the front lawn, the house fell quiet, and an afternoon alone with her wife stretched invitingly out before her.

“Ok, Wanda’s dropping him back off at five. We’ve got the whole rest of the day to ourselves,” Agatha announced. She tossed her phone onto the bed before flopping down next to it and grinning up at Rio who paused mid-way through digging around in the closet to drink Agatha in with hungry brown eyes. “Feel like having a little fun?”

“Actually, I was kind of thinking…oh, there it is!” Rio emerged from the closet triumphantly with the spoils of her hunt: a black bikini top and a pair of Hawaiian print swim trunks. “I want to check the pool chemicals again. The rain the last few days knocked it all out of wack and I promised Nicky it’d be ready for him when he got home. And I was thinking maybe I’d lay out for a little while.” She slipped out of her t-shirt and stepped closer to the bed, dragging one hand lightly up Agatha’s calf as she reached behind her back to unclasp her bra with the other. “You could come join me if you wanted to.”

“Seriously? Babe, it’s a million degrees out there and you’ve been so busy all morning.” Agatha batted her eyelashes and jutted out her lower lip ever so slightly for good measure. This was the first calm day they’d had to just themselves in far too long, and she was not above pouting just enough to get her way. Not that it ended up doing her any good.

“It’s ninety-three degrees actually, and the humidity is sitting at a balmy seventy-four percent,” Rio said as she slipped her bra fully off, giving Agatha a lovely view of her tits before they disappeared behind the cups of her black bikini top. “And as of this morning the water felt perfect.”

“Are you going to lay out in the pool?”

“Yeah, I was going to pull out one of the floats or something,” Rio said.

“Are you, uh…” Agatha swallowed at the feeling of heat sparking low in her belly. “Are you going to take anything?”

Rio didn’t have very many allergies. Freshly-cut grass could get her going—Agatha joked that she had such a green thumb her body couldn’t bear the process of mowing—and certain overly-chemical scents in things like candles or cleaning products could bother her, but nothing did her in quite like chlorinated pool water. A low dose of antihistamine was enough to nip her symptoms in the bud entirely—lucky her—and it was usually Rio’s go-to when she wanted to spend any real length of time in the pool.

Usually.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Rio said with a shrug. Her tone was light and deliberately nonchalant, but there was a knowing gleam in her eyes as she shimmied out of her jeans and into the shorts. She raised an eyebrow at Agatha. “Like I said: you could join me.”

Agatha bit the inside of her lip to keep her expression straight.

“Pass,” she said flatly. “I’ll stick to the AC, thanks.”

Rio chuckled and crossed the room so that she was standing next to the bed and Agatha flopped onto her back to be able to look up at her properly. Rio leaned fully over her, one arm pressing into the mattress right next to Agatha so that she could lean down dangerously close, close enough that Agatha could smell the sunscreen-and-soil scent that lingered on her skin in the summertime. She swallowed as she met Rio’s earthy-brown eyes; this was decidedly not helping the whole turned-on situation.

“If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Before Agatha could react, Rio pressed a kiss to her forehead, flashed her a bright smile, and sauntered out of the room.

Ok, so that was how it was going to be.

Agatha waited until she heard the back door close to get up. Forget Rio. Agatha was more than capable of occupying herself, and it would be well worth it when she fucked an apology out of Rio later tonight.

Her resolve lasted a whole entire fifteen minutes.

She was in the kitchen loading the dishwasher when she happened to glance out the window that overlooked the backyard. She had a perfect vantage point of the pool from here, and she could see Rio standing on the deck, skimming the water with her back to the house, completely unaware of Agatha’s eyes on her.

Agatha was already watching the way the muscles in her back moved as she worked, but when she suddenly froze, Agatha felt her breath catch in her throat. A long second seemed to drag by and Agatha could almost see the flicker of Rio’s lashes, the scrunch of her nose, her lips parting as she inhaled shakily. It lasted long enough that Agatha almost though maybe she’d lost it, but then her shoulders shook, her head snapped forward and she sneezed uncovered towards the water. And maybe it was just Agatha’s imagination supplying the sound she knew so well, but she almost swore she could hear it.

Rio tossed her head back and started to wipe her nose on the inside of her arm, but she paused again to sneeze into her elbow, and Agatha dropped the mug she was rinsing to brace her arms on the counter as her legs went weak.

Rio didn’t typically get much warning before sneezing. While Agatha could sometimes spend upwards of a minute in limbo, just hitching and waiting for the sneeze to work its way out, Rio could go from zero to a bona fide fit in the blink of an eye. Sometimes if she was sick she might get a tickly breath or two in advance, but even that was typically just enough time to get a tissue or a hand up to cover her face, if she even had enough presence of mind too.

Something about chlorine in particular, though, threw that right out the window. Just a couple of minutes around the open pool made her nose itch like nothing else, and frequently left her red-nosed and needy, and typically incredibly turned on. Her own sneezes tended to turn her on anyway, but something about the breathless anticipation made it even more intense.

Rio sneezed again, and this time Agatha was sure she could hear just the faintest sound of it through the window. Her hips seemed to roll forward of their own accord to seek some kind of stability or support or—oh fuck. The handle of the lower cabinet was just high enough to brush teasingly close to the apex of her thighs, and Agatha hissed as she realized just how turned on she was right now.

Ok, this was not fucking fair.

Agatha was not going to spend her afternoon rutting against her kitchen counter like a bitch in heat. If she had to suffer like this, she was going to make damn sure Rio did too. Make sure she saw just what she was missing out on.

It took Agatha a couple of minutes to find and change into her least practical bathing suit: a forest green string bikini that covered just enough to avoid being indecent, but still left enough of her bush out to drive Rio wild.

Once dressed, Agatha grabbed a beach towel covered in giant monstera leaves, the book she was ostensibly reading, and her sunglasses and stomped outside, letting the sliding glass door close harshly behind her to announce her arrival. Rio, who had settled onto a pineapple-shaped vinyl float in the middle of the pool, looked up at her and grinned.

“Hey, babe. Change your mind?”

It was subtle, but Agatha could already hear a twinge of congestion at the edges of her voice that made Agatha’s free hand slip as she fumbled with the latch of the gate in front of the stairs that led up to the deck.

“You wish,” Agatha snapped. “It’s too quiet in there. Maybe I wanted a little background noise. Is that a crime, officer?”

Rio couldn’t hide the amused quirk of her lips, but it only lasted for a moment before her expression changed, her eyes went unfocused, and she sneezed in the vague direction of her elbow.

“hH-HA’ATCHhoo!”

Agatha briefly debated turning right back around and retreating inside, but Rio’s teasing little smirk as she recovered from the sneeze was enough to steel her resolve.

She stomped up the stairs to the deck, threw herself down in the empty lounge chair with a hmph, and opened her book. It was a noir murder mystery that Sharon from next door had recommended, dropping her voice low as she mentioned that it was ‘very diverse for being set in the 50s’. Agatha had laughed, but when Sharon had asked Rio to cat-sit for her for the week so she could visit her grandkids or whatever, Agatha had tagged along just to steal the book from her. She’d steered clear of the cat entirely, but fuck that thing could shed. This stupid book had better be worth it. Her verdict so far: could use more dykes, but after flipping to the end to find out who the killer was, she’d decided to finish it.

Eventually. She’d finish it eventually.

Right now it was functioning better as a prop so that she could pretend she wasn’t listening to Rio’s stuffy breathing and congested little sighs as she floated aimlessly around on her stupid pineapple. Every few breaths she’d sneak a not-so-subtle glance over at Agatha, but Agatha wasn’t going to give in that easily.

Really if she thought about it, all of this was entirely Rio’s fault in the first place.

It had been Rio who had been forced to broach the subject of her kink years ago after Agatha had noticed her being a little too cagey around her when her allergies were acting up. When Agatha had taken it as a tacit rejection—justifiably, she might add!—Rio had been quick to reassure her that it was actually the exact opposite. And yeah, Agatha had been pretty damn reassured after that.

So much so that she shyly asked Rio to return the favor, which Rio had been incredibly eager to do given that her own sneezing was enough to turn her on too, and Agatha found herself enjoying it more than she’d ever expected. Like, a lot more.

Enough so that she was willing to follow Rio out to the pool just to watch her sneeze while they were both getting helplessly riled up and they both fucking knew it. Now it was just a matter of what was going to break the tension first.

After a particularly vocal round of hitching, stuttering breaths that ultimately fizzled out into nothing, Agatha set her open book on her bare stomach and lowered her sunglasses to glare in the direction of the pool where Rio was still floating lazily, one arm over her eyes in a half-hearted attempt to block the sun and the other skimming the water next to her. She looked so peaceful even as she sucked in another high-pitched breath. It lingered in her lungs for a moment, but then she slowly let it out with a shivery exhale that was enough to bring goosebumps to Agatha’s arms.

She debated chiming in with some snide comment for Rio to just get it over with already, but she resisted. Knowing Rio, it would only make her draw it out longer, and Agatha wasn’t sure she could deal with that right now.

Finally, though, after a long, teasing build-up that had Agatha’s free hand white-knuckling the arm of her chair, Rio sneezed.

“Hh-HAH’ETSHhoo!”

Agatha felt a rush of heat through her body that she hoped she could still blame on the sun.

“H’ASHhiu!”

She lifted her book again and kept it high enough to hide the flush that must be visible on her face by now, and she crossed her legs to try to relieve some of the pressure.

“hHA-AESHhsoo!”

It wasn’t working, but Agatha was not going to give Rio the satisfaction of knowing that. Not yet at least. Agatha chanced a look over the top of her sunglasses just in time to see Rio gearing up for yet another sneeze. She was still lying lazily on her back, this time with one hand hovering decoratively over her face, and the other on her bare abs, rising and falling with the motion of every shaky breath.

Agatha’s mouth suddenly felt very dry. This was a mistake. She’d been so preoccupied by getting Rio back that she hadn’t even thought about the fact that she might pass out from self-inflicted horniness. Was it too late to go back inside?

Before she had a chance to even make up her mind, Rio inhaled sharply and her body seemed to jerk in on itself as she let out a stumbling little fit.

“huh-ATCHH’oo!ASCHhue—hH’AESH’Hhoo!”

“Do you mind?” Agatha called. Her voice came out shakier than she intended, and she cleared her throat before trying again. “Some of us are trying to read over here.”

Rio didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, Agatha almost thought she was ignoring her, which—she narrowed her eyes—rude. She sat up and was about to tell her so, but stopped dead when the first thing she saw was Rio clamping a hand over her nose and mouth to squash a sneeze into an impressively-quiet stifle considering the force behind it. Force that still had to go somewhere.

Agatha watched with rapt attention as the pool float visibly dipped with the violent shake of Rio’s body, sending out a ring of defined ripples that had the water lapping against the sides of the pool in a way that Agatha could practically feel as she pressed her thighs a little closer together.

A second jarring stifle was followed by a third and a fourth so close they were practically tripping over each other, which gave the water enough momentum to splash lightly over the edge of the deck. Agatha clenched her jaw. She’d known exactly what she was getting herself into when she walked out here, but that didn’t mean she had to be happy that Rio was being coy about it.

After a long moment in which Rio seemed to be unsure whether or not she was going to sneeze again right away, her breath evened out and she dropped her hand and propped herself up on her elbow to look over at Agatha. She sniffled hard—god, she was so audibly congested already—and shot Agatha a knowing grin.

“How was that? Better?”

“I mean, don’t hurt yourself. But yes, that’s much better.”

Rio looked like she was going to say something else, but then her expression shifted, went slack, and her breath began to hitch. Agatha bit the inside of her cheek to try to keep a straight face. Rio’s hand hovered in front of her face for a long, torturous moment, until finally Rio gave a shaky little exhale and sniffled again.

“Sorry, false alarm,” Rio said.

“Don’t be sorry,” Agatha replied breezily. “I’m only out here to read. The fewer distractions the better.”

“Whatever you say, babe.”

Agatha didn’t rise to the bait. She ignored Rio’s smug chuckle as she lifted her book again like there was a snowball’s chance in hell she’d be able to focus on it now. Rio was still watching her closely, and Agatha bit back the urge to stick her tongue out at her as she pushed her sunglasses back up her nose so it at least looked like she was going back to reading.

She waited a beat to let Rio get comfortable again before chancing a glance upwards, eyes still hidden behind dark lenses so even if Rio was still watching her, she’d have some plausible deniability. Thank fuck for bifocal sunglasses.

Rio settled back on her stupid pineapple looking far too pleased with herself. Agatha just clenched her jaw, squeezed her thighs together, and tried not to think about how soaked her bottoms were without even setting foot in the water.

A few blessedly sneeze-free minutes passed by, and Agatha almost felt like she could relax again. She settled back in her chair and focused on her book and even managed to read a couple of sentences before Rio gasped on an inhale and squashed a sudden sneeze into a swallowed, choked off little sound that made Agatha bite her lip as she fought the urge to look up. It wasn’t until a second sneeze nearly breached containment that she looked up to see Rio sitting up with a hand cupping her nose looking nervous.

“Something wrong?” Agatha called.

“Ndo, I juh-just ndeed t-to hHESHH’hu! Fuck, I ndeed…”

Rio trailed off as her breath snagged again, but Agatha got the message loud and clear.

She dog-eared the page in her book and took her sweet time getting up from her chair. Rio eyed her warily and sniffled hard against her palm. Agatha grabbed her towel off the back of her chair and sat down at the edge of the deck, letting her legs dangle in the cool water up to her knees. She crooked a finger in Rio’s direction and patted the space next to her.

“Come here, baby,” she cooed. “Let me help.”

Rio didn’t need to be told twice. She rolled off her float and swam over to Agatha with one hand still pinched securely around her nose. When she surfaced, Agatha offered the corner of the towel and held it steady as Rio blew nose on a fluffy monstera leaf. She let out a sigh that was damn near pornographic, and Agatha shifted, but didn’t pull her hand away.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“Gimme a s-seh-second,” Rio said. “I’mb­ hh...I ndeed t-to...heh-HH’EASCHhoo!”

The force of the sneeze had Rio pressing harder against Agatha’s hand and Agatha jumped. Rio raised her right hand to steady Agatha’s wrist as she muffled another wet sneeze into the towel. Her left gripped Agatha’s calf below the surface and squeezed before sliding upwards to rest squarely on her thigh. The final sneeze had her nails digging into Agatha’s flesh and Agatha couldn’t help the moan that slipped out of her, but she recovered from it quickly.

“Good job, baby” Agatha purred, running her free hand through Rio’s hair as Rio finished blowing her nose. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

In lieu of a verbal answer, Rio simply squeezed Agatha’s thigh again. She let her hand slip a little higher, lingering for a moment so close to where Agatha wanted her before raking her nails back down again.

Goosebumps erupted on Agatha’s bare legs and her own breath snagged on the inhale as her hips jerked forward of their own accord. Rio grinned up at her, and Agatha knew instantly that she’d shown her hand, but she’d be damned if she was folding without a fight.

Rio walked her fingers slowly back up Agatha’s leg, and this time she stopped to probe gently at Agatha’s molten center through the thin strip of fabric covering it. Agatha hissed at the feeling, but it morphed into a choked-off gasp when Rio slipped a finger around the gusset of her bottoms and swiped at the wetness gathering there. Agatha whimpered and hips bucked forward again, but Rio just withdrew and sucked the finger in question into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it in a way that made Agatha feel like she might explode on the spot.

“Fuck, Rio.”

Rio tutted disapprovingly

“Where are your mbanners?” Rio quirked a brow as she settled in the space between Agatha’s legs and leaned her arms on Agatha’s thighs. “Last I heard you’re s-supposed to say ‘please’ whhh-when you want something.”

Every hitch and stutter of her breath sent a fresh pulse of need straight to Agatha’s core, and it only got worse when Rio grabbed her by the hips and pulled her closer to the edge of the deck so that she could squish her nose against the inside of Agatha’s thigh to force the tickle back. Agatha shivered and pressed her hands flat on the deck behind her to keep herself vaguely upright.

“And you’re not supposed to play with your food,” she snapped. She’d meant for it to sound threatening, but it came out breathy, bordering on whiny, and Agatha knew from the gleam in Rio’s eyes that she’d lost any semblance of the upper hand she’d pretended to have.

Rio mouthed teasingly at the strip of cloth covering Agatha’s center and grinned at the gasp it pulled out of her.

“You like that?” Rio asked.

“Yes,” Agatha breathed. “More.”

“More what?”

Rio raised an eyebrow and looked up at Agatha, clearly waiting for an answer, but all Agatha could focus on was the way her nose was twitching, the way she sniffed and tried to flex her upper lip to stave off the inevitable. She kept her eyes on Agatha even as a hazy look settled over her eyes and her lips parted, until she couldn’t hold back any longer.

She pressed her face into Agatha’s lower belly. Her irritated nose was so warm and her shaky breath even more so against Agatha’s bare skin. Agatha squirmed as her cunt flooded with arousal, but Rio kept a firm grip on her hips, holding her in place even as Rio shuddered and muffled an itchy-sounding heH’EYTSSHhiu! against Agatha’s skin.

Agatha cried out before she could stop herself and quickly slapped a hand over her mouth to try to stifle the noises that so desperately wanted to spill out.

Rio shushed her and nipped playfully at the waistband of her bottoms. “Cállate, mi amor,” she purred. “I’ve barely touched you and you already want the whole ndeighborhood to hear?”

“Rio, I swear to god,” Agatha growled through gritted teeth.

“Oh, she’s got words ndow.” Rio sniffled and grinned wickedly up at her as she dragged her hands a little lower down Agatha’s sides to flick playfully at the ties on her hips. “Use them. Ask me ndicely.”

Agatha pressed her lips into a firm line even as she felt the last of her resolve crumbling. Rio’s hands moved even lower, grabbing at her thighs, letting her fingernails dig in just so as she nipped at Agatha’s inner thigh so, so close to where Agatha was dripping for her. Agatha threw her head back and her hips jerked forward as she finally gasped out a strangled, “Fuck, Rio, please! Please, please, please, I need you right fucking now!”

“Oh, my love, that was all you ndeeded to say.”

Rio made short work of dragging Agatha’s bottoms down her legs, and she lifted her hand to cast them aside, but Agatha caught her wrist and glared at her.

“I am not getting my hair wet. You throw ‘em, you’re diving for ‘em.”

“Yes, sir,” Rio said. Agatha rolled her eyes as Rio lifted the bottoms in a mock salute before flinging them onto the deck for safekeeping and getting back to business.

She licked a long, flat line up the length of Agatha’s center and swirled her tongue around Agatha’s clit for good measure before blowing gently on it. The shock of cool air on her overheated core made Agatha bite her lip hard to keep from yelping out loud. Fuck, this really wasn’t going to take any time at all.

Just as that thought crossed Agatha’s mind, Rio paused, drew back, and Agatha was about to be angry until she looked down to find Rio frozen, on the verge of a sneeze with her mouth half-open, her eyes half-closed, and her poor, irritated nostrils trembling. It was a look Agatha so rarely got to see on her, and she wanted to savor every second of it.

That was until she heard the sound of a lawn mower firing up across the street. Agatha had not factored being a sneezy mess herself into this equation, and the cut-grass-smell and the pollen that came with it would only make Rio even worse, which could be fun, but it was decidedly not the plan for today. They were officially on a time crunch, and Agatha was not going to get cut off before she got what she wanted.

“Is it stuck?” Agatha asked.

Rio hesitated, but finally gave a shuddering nod. Agatha stretched out a hand to cup Rio’s cheek, and Rio leaned into it, clearly desperate for relief. Rio was always so cute when she got like this, all whiny and desperate. She was so unused to the feeling of a stuck sneeze—to a lingering need to sneeze in general, really—that it didn’t take much for her to melt into Agatha’s hands.

Though she would have loved to draw it out further, Agatha made short work of coaxing out the stuck sneeze. She ran her thumb gently along the edge of Rio’s nose, letting her nail catch lightly on the very edge of her nostrils. Rio’s breath stuttered and she inhaled shakily as her head tilted back, away from Agatha’s hand. She stayed frozen like that for a long moment before—

“hih-hESHH’hoo! AETSHhu-hHESSHhiu! HH-hHE’YESSHhoo!

“Fucking hell, bless you!”

“Ugh, thagks.” Rio sniffled, wiped her nose on her palm and dipped it into water to rinse away the clear mess before turning her attention properly back to Agatha. “Ndow where were we?”

Agatha didn’t even have time to reorient herself before Rio was on her like Agatha’s cunt was the first meal she’d had in weeks. Her hips bucked of their own accord, but Rio’s hands were on her thighs, keeping them pinned to the deck as she licked and sucked and swirled her tongue between Agatha’s folds.

Agatha bit her lip hard to keep from crying out. She tangled one hand in Rio’s hair to hold her in place while the other was solely occupied with keeping her vaguely upright. She was close, holy shit, she was so fucking close. Every nerve in her body was alight with electric pleasure, and when Rio’s nose finally hit squarely against her clit, Agatha switched to biting her own arm to muffle her cry as she fell back against the deck and came undone.

Rio worked her through it, replacing her tongue with her fingers, and her nose with her thumb so that she could stifle a pair of sneezes against the inside of Agatha’s thigh. That drew a series of aftershocks out of her that left Agatha boneless, breathless, and twitching in the afterglow.

It was another sneeze from Rio that brought her back to her own body, and she propped herself up on her elbows to grin lazily down at Rio.

“Ok,” she said breathlessly. “You can stop sneezing now, I already came.”

“Very fuddy,” Rio replied. She sniffled and raised an eyebrow suggestively. “Besides, who says I’mb done yet?”

“Hmm. I guess is is only fair that I return the favor.”

Before Rio could say anything, Agatha sat up, pushed off of the deck and slipped all the way into the water with a hiss as her body adjusted to the temperature. It was a welcome feeling on her sex-flushed skin, and it only took a moment for her to recover before she swam forward and pinned Rio up against the pool wall, boxing her in with an arm on either side of her so she could lean in and kiss her hard.

Rio pulled away for an instant to sniffle and swipe the back of her hand under her nose, and Agatha took the opportunity to slip her hand down Rio’s swim trunks where she was—holy shit, she was wet! Agatha pressed two fingers against her entrance, swirling around her lips, fluttering up to her clit, and then sliding back down again, coaxing whine after sigh after congested little hum out of Rio with a wolfish grin.

“Don’t tease,” Rio warned, bucking her hips into Agatha’s hand, desperate and aching for more. “Please, Aggie, I huh...I n-ndeed…”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Agatha tutted. She stilled her fingers completely and let the heel of her hand hover teasingly over Rio’s clit. “Sneeze first, then you get to finish.”

“That’s ndot f-fair, I hh...I-I hih…” Rio trailed off as the urge to sneeze sank its claws into her. Her head tipped back as she inhaled breath after shivery breath, and Agatha found her own mouth opening, mirroring Rio’s as she waited for the inevitable.

“Good,” she crooned, drawing out the word as Rio’s nose twitched and she let out a breathy little whine. “Almost there, my love.”

Finally, Rio’s expression fell, her breath stuttered, she pulled in one final shaky inhale, and she fell forward to press her face into the space between Agatha’s neck and shoulder. Agatha could feel every breath, every twitch of Rio’s nose as she muffled one, two, three sneezes against Agatha’s skin. Agatha almost thought she might come again just from that, but she was a woman of her word. As soon as Rio’s breath seemed to even out, Agatha plunged two fingers back inside as her palm pressed hard against Rio’s clit.

Rio bit down on Agatha’s shoulder to keep from crying out, but Agatha had other ideas. She lifted her shoulder to nudge Rio’s head back up and kissed her hard to swallow the sounds she drew out of her. She shifted her body just enough so that her free hand could sneak upwards to palm Rio’s breasts and tease at her hardened nipples through her top. She could tell Rio was close, and while she would have loved to draw this out forever, she decided to be merciful this time.

She slipped a third finger in, giving Rio just enough time to adjust to the stretch before curling them up to hit her most sensitive spot at the same time that she ground her palm against Rio’s clit. Rio gasped, and for a split second she seemed frozen in place, but then her eyes rolled back and her whole body shook against Agatha as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her.

When she could take no more, she let her head loll back against the rim of the pool and tapped Agatha’s wrist. Agatha took the hint and withdrew, relishing the little shiver of an aftershock that it drew from Rio. Rio sighed contentedly, but it quickly morphed into a vocal little pant. She was still only just coming around, and she only had the energy to throw her arm loosely over her mouth before she bent forward with a loud hEH’TSCHhoo! that made the water in front of her ripple out.

“Bless you, baby.” Agatha swam a little closer and brushed a wet lock of hair behind Rio’s ear. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’mb mbaybe ready to stop doi’g that ndow,” Rio mumbled, scrubbing at her nose with the heel of her hand. All that managed to do was coax another itchy sneeze out of her and Agatha chuckled. Even Rio had her limits.

“C’mon.” Agatha laughed as she grabbed Rio’s limp arm and started tugging her towards the ladder before we’re both…” she trailed off as the wind blew across the surface of the pool, carrying with it the first whiff of freshly-mown grass from across the street. Before she could stop herself, Agatha’s breath caught in her throat and she instinctively pinched her nose to choke a pair of sneezes into little more than a choked-off shudder.

“What’s wrong?” Rio asked. “Are you okay?” Her concern snapped her out of her post-orgasm haze, and she squeezed Agatha’s upper arm gently.

“Oh my god, I’m fine. It’s just the grass,” Agatha said. “Can’t you—” Rio sniffled, and Agatha rolled her eyes. “Right, you probably can’t huh...can’t smell anything right now. H-Herb’s cutting his grass, so we sh-should...hH’TCH! ‘HHTtchue! We should get inside before this gets any more dramatic.”

Rio didn’t need to be told twice. She followed Agatha to the ladder and climbed out of the pool after her. Agatha wrapped her towel around her waist, collected her discarded bottoms, her sunglasses, the book that she’d finish eventually, and hurried back towards the house before the fuzzy feeling in her nose could get any worse. Rio was right behind her, and the moment they were both safely inside with the door shut tight, Rio pushed Agatha up against the door and kissed her hard and hungrily, hands roaming up and down Agatha’s sides in a way that damn near made her melt all over again.

In his defense, he does feel guilty. It’s just not exactly the dominant emotion at present.

Scully has said very little since they left Upper Marlboro, where they had spent the better part of the morning tromping through three acres of an overgrown field on the basis of a lead that had ultimately fizzled out into nothing. 

Far too focused on the details of what had seemed, at first, to be a promising case, Mulder hadn’t considered that the setting itself might become a problem until after Scully went quiet beside him, and then, a few minutes later, was no longer beside him at all, but several paces behind, moving more slowly through the tall grass. 

At first he’d mistaken her silence for annoyance, which was a reasonable enough assumption – and probably not entirely inaccurate, judging by the way she’d rolled her eyes when he’d casually mentioned the possibility of crop circles – but some time later he turned in time to catch her stifling a rapid string of sneezes against the back of her wrist, emerging from the fit with a pink nose, watery eyes, and a faint, irritated frown as she pushed forward through the gently swaying grass as the breeze lifted a fine yellow haze into the air between them.

Pollen. Of course. 

For the first little while, it had been subtle enough he could almost pretend not to notice the way Scully kept rubbing and wrinkling her nose, the way she was blinking more than usual, the damp sniffles punctuating what few words she did say, the irritated little cough here and there. 

After six sneezes in a row – each of which sounded increasingly difficult for her to contain, and each of which sent a pulsating thrill straight to somewhere deeply inconvenient – Mulder had glanced behind him again, to where Scully had come to an abrupt stop. 

“Jeez,” he’d blurted out, checking his watch so his eyes had something to do besides zero in on her flushed cheeks and watery eyes, the irritated scrunch of her nose. “Bless you.” 

God, how he wanted to— 

“Damn,” Scully muttered, patting around in her pockets and frowning as she sniffled frantically, one hand hovering in front of her face. “Oh, damn.”

“You all right?” he had asked, watching as she rubbed her nose in a series of frustrated little circles before retrieving a tissue from her pocket.

“Fine,” she said curtly, turning away to blow her nose. “Sorry. Allergies.”

As if he didn’t know.

“Can't you take something?”

“I could,” Scully had answered sourly, “if I had brought something to take.”

Around the time it became clear there was no case for them to chase, Scully’s control was beginning to slip, the sneezes coming in fits and false starts, tucked between apologies that were soon replaced with frustrated little huffs as her tissue supply slowly dwindled, and her patience with him was fully depleted. 

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she had scowled, somewhere between the fourth and fifth times he’d asked if she was okay. “I’m itchy, not inept.”

By the time they got back to their car and were well on their way back to D.C., Mulder wasn’t sure which one of them was suffering more.

+ + +

Both times Mulder had suggested they stop along the way and find a drugstore, Scully had insisted they didn’t have time for any detours, and that it was far more important that make it back to D.C. in time for their meeting with Skinner. “Besides,” she’d said, voice muffled from behind a stack of takeout napkins she’d found in the car’s center console, “it’ll pass.”

Now, with the air conditioning on high and her face turned pointedly towards the passenger-side window, it has decidedly not passed. Scully is in the throes of allergic misery, and well past the point of being able to pretend as though she isn’t.

This is bad. This is very bad. 

“You really didn’t bring anything with you?” Mulder asks again, ignoring every single survival instinct he possesses that is currently advising silence.

Scully turns her head just enough to glare at him, her eyes red-rimmed and shining, her nose a furious shade of red, her cheeks blotchy and pink. She looks, he thinks, unreasonably adorable. 

She also looks like she’s going to sneeze again, imminently, and he hates the part of himself that so easily derives its own brand of twisted pleasure from her allergic misery. 

He’s going to hell.

“No, Mulder,” she replies, her voice dangerously calm, “I didn’t. You said ‘an anomaly at a rural property.’ You conveniently left out the whole ‘looking for crop circles’ part of the morning, so no. I certainly didn’t expehhh… exp—ehhh! —expect— to be…w-wandering…around in a …ahhh—!”

Mulder grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white, watching out of the corner of his eye as Scully’s lips part and quiver helplessly, her watery eyes narrowing towards the vague direction of the windshield and the open road beyond. Her arm slowly lifts, hovering just below the level of her chin for a beat before she tips forward yet again, burying her face in the crook of her elbow.

“hih’mptchhh! hh’MPktshhi!”

Mulder, who has turned back to the road for purposes of self-preservation, shifts in his seat and swallows hard. It had been easier when there was still a potential case to distract himself with. It had been easier out in the field when she was still able to stifle them. Now, he’s not sure whether she’s unable to or whether she’s given up trying, but both possibilities are liable to fuck him right up the more he thinks about it.

He has, in recent years, been forced to come to terms with this part of himself, sifting through layers of self-hatred to reason that of all the fetishes and paraphilias he’s analyzed, encountered, and even taught about, his is objectively the least problematic out there.

It isn’t something he’s ever indulged in, and certainly not something he’s ever confessed to in what few relationships had lasted long enough to warrant considering it. It had been easy enough to bury under work. Easier, sometimes, to forget it was there at all. Nothing else mattered, really.

And then along came Scully.

Scully, who quickly became someone who mattered.

Scully, with allergies in every season, who sneezes when she steps into bright sunshine, and can barely so much as look at a picture of a cat without sniffling.

Scully, who has on more than one occasion announced to him in breathless, apologetic warning that she’s going to sneeze – as if that were something she needed to apologize to him for.

Scully, who had reawakened something within him that Mulder was starting to believe had gone dormant.

Scully, who has no earthly idea of the effect she has on him. For a multitude of reasons, he’d like to keep it that way.

He respects her too much to let his private proclivities become one more thing for her to carry the weight of, so he has perfected the art of nonchalance. He blesses her politely. He looks elsewhere if he needs to. He changes the subject when it becomes necessary. He teases her when deflecting with humor is a powerful enough distraction, and keeps silent when it won’t.

“I wasn’t expecting,” Scully tries again, voice muffled against fabric, “to be wandering around in the grass at this particular time of the year, otherwise I would have…I would hahhh-mptSHHiew! ‘mpktSCHHhh!! …hiih’mpSsHhiEW!”

Mulder risks another glance to his right as Scully blinks her eyes open and emerges from her sleeve with a series of damp sniffles and hazy, distant expression. She keeps her arm in place, lowering it just enough to draw in a soft, fluttering breath, and he catches a glimpse of her glistening lips as they part again. His own breath catches with a surge of chest-tightening arousal, and he quickly turns back to the road. 

“After all these years, I would have thought you’d have learned to expect the unexpected by now,” he jokes, adjusting his now-sweating palms on the wheel. He makes a mental note to find out what brand of allergy pills he’s previously seen her surreptitiously pop out of a blister pack and swallow dry, so that he can start keeping them in his car.

Scully sneezes angrily in reply, swipes irritably at her nose with the last of the napkins, and ignores him for the rest of the drive.

This is, he'll admit, probably for the best.

+ + +

They make it back to D.C. with minutes to spare, stopping in the basement office only long enough to grab their reports. Scully briefly disappears into the ladies’ room and meets him in the elevator alcove. She appears to have rinsed her face, smoothed her hair, replenished her tissue supply, and rearranged herself into something close to normal — provided no one were to look too closely at her puffy eyes and red nose.

Unfortunately, Mulder is looking a little too closely at the latter. 

Scully seems to sense his gaze, peering up at him with those big, blue, wet eyes of hers, and he quickly looks away. 

“What is it, Mulder?” She brings her hand up to press lightly beneath her nose with an air of self-consciousness. “Do I have…?”

“Nothing,” he lies quickly. “No, you’re fine, I just…” He looks down, peeling up the corner of the file label with his thumbnail, then pushing it back down. “...I really am sorry about this morning, Scully. I wouldn’t have dragged you out there if I’d known your hayfever was—”

“—Hayfever is an erroneous term,” Scully corrects, carefully rubbing the corner of her eye with her knuckle. “I prefer to use accurate terminology.” 

“Which is?” Mulder prompts, playing dumb. It is, at its core, a self-serving question, in hopes that she’ll elaborate – preferably in extended detail – but he also knows that if anything might make her feel even the slightest bit better, giving an impromptu medical lecture ought to do it. 

“Seasonal allergic rhinitis—” Scully replies, pausing to stifle a quiet sneeze against her wrist. “…Sorry. Hay is grass that has been cut and dried, whereas it’s the proteins in grass pollen that contain the actual allergen. And there’s….”  She trails off, scrunching up her face, lashes fluttering with a brief little flicker of irritation, and then after a beat, lets out a sharp, frustrated breath and attempts to continue. “There’s…there’s no…”

The cycle repeats itself twice – the little scrunch, the quick blink, the tiny huff – and Mulder has to consciously try not to grin like a fool. It can be hard to tell sometimes, whether Scully is trying to stave off a sneeze or coax one out, but either way, he always enjoys the brief mystery of it. 

A potent mix of affection and arousal has started to create a warm, hazy feeling that flows pleasantly through his veins, and Mulder feels, all at once, a little woozy with the overwhelm of it all. He’d kiss her right now, if he could. He’d do a lot of things, if he could — several of them not appropriate to be thinking about in the hallways of a federal building. 

Mostly, however, he wants to kiss away the frustrated little crease between her brows. He wants to drive her home, walk her into her apartment, settle her onto her couch, and drape a cool, damp cloth over her eyes. He wants to press his lips against her forehead, tuck her hair behind her ear, and then kiss her again — right on the tip of her nose. 

“…there’s no fever involved,” Scully finishes, her soft, raspy voice interrupting his reverie. “Hence, hayfever is an erroneous term.”

“Well, whatever you want to call it,” Mulder replies, “I don’t ever recall it being this bad before.” I would know, he thinks, but knows better than to say.

“It wasn’t,” Scully says flatly, jabbing the elevator button again with her thumb. “It’s gotten worse over the last few years. She runs her tongue thoughtfully across her lower lip and frowns faintly. “I may need to find a better medication regimen.”

“You’re a woman of science, Scully,” he smiles, holding the elevator door open for her. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

+ + +

Scully frowns at her reflection in the mirrored elevator walls, and smoothes her hair down for the third time.

“You look fine,” he says gently. You look perfect, he thinks.

“Thanks,” she mutters, meeting his gaze in the reflection as he offers her a wry smile. She tucks her hair behind her ear and steps back from the wall to stand beside him with her head down, sniffling quietly. 

She still sounds vaguely miserable, but the worst of it seems to have passed. Her breathing has evened out, the bright allergic flush across her nose and cheeks has faded into a charming rosy blush, and the most recent sneezes that have escaped against the back of her wrist are soft, spaced out, ticklish-sounding little things again.

Mulder is just beginning to think that maybe they can make it through their meeting with their collective dignities more or less intact, when the elevator stops on the second floor and a half dozen or so people get on. The two of them shift toward the back of the car to make room, leaving Scully trapped next to a man whose overpowering cologne immediately seems to occupy more space than he does.

It’s strong enough, unpleasantly so, even to make Mulder’s eyes water — why some men insist on marinating in the damn stuff has always been beyond him — but as he watches her, it slowly dawns on him that this is more than Scully’s poor, oversensitized nose is currently capable of handling.

Sure enough, she steps back once, then again, retreating as far away from the man as the cramped space will allow, and tucks herself directly against Mulder’s side. Her arm grazes against his as she lifts one hand slowly to pinch her nose between her thumb and forefinger, her eyes fluttering shut, brows drawn tight with concentration.  

Seeing how badly she’s trying not to sneeze is hard enough, so to speak, but then Mulder hears the small, damp click catch in the back of her throat, and suddenly Scully is ducking behind his shoulder and stifling a sneeze so tightly that her forehead bumps against him, and Mulder sees actual stars. 

He’s taken actual beatings with less internal fanfare, but he sees actual stars in his field of vision like some starving cartoon fucking wolf that’s just run headfirst into a brick wall in pursuit of its prey. Heart pounding, palms sweating, he grips the folder in his hand and tightens his jaw, bracing himself, because Scully is nothing if not predictable, and she never—

“h’NXkt!”

— sneezes —

“NGXtshiee!”

—just once. 

The third sneeze bursts out as little more than an affronted squeak, but Scully immediately draws in a mortified little gasp and peels herself away from him.

“...M’sorry,” she whispers, barely audible.

Mulder says nothing. He can’t. If he opens his mouth right now, he’ll have no possible excuse or explanation for the type of sound that will come out of it, so he offers the only thing he can safely give both of them – he pretends not to have noticed. He can tell from her small, strangled apology and the particular shade of pink Scully’s ears have turned that she would much prefer for the moment to go unacknowledged. That, at least, is something he can do for her.

Breath already starting to hitch frantically again, Scully turns further away and stifles another sneeze behind the folder now held up like a shield over her flushed face. 

Mulder stares at the numbers above the door and tries to recall whether spontaneous human combustion is covered under his federal employee health benefits. 

+ + +

By the time they step off the elevator, any hope Mulder previously held that Scully’s allergic reaction might have been tapering off has been thoroughly, catastrophically disproven. The cologne is apparently the final straw in Scully’s attempts to regain composure, and she sneezes her way down the hallway toward Skinner’s office in miserable, stifled little fits – one hand pressing a crumpled ball of tissues tightly against her nose, the other clutching her folder to her chest. 

“hh’NGKT! …ihh’GKtsh! NXktsh! …Oh, my God,” she moans. “This is just absurd. Oh, I c-can’t…I can’t…can't—hihh’NGkt-SHhiew! My God, I — ngXTShh!”

“Scully,” Mulder murmurs weakly, “you might want to stop suffocating them like that.”

“I’m trying—” she gasps, “—to get a handle on this. I don’t—I don’t—d’hNGkTsh!–nGXt!–NXttShhHiu!”

“Bless you. I’m just saying, I think it’s been proven time and time again that you explicitly make things worse when you do that.” If history is any indication, Mulder knows the more she tries to hold them in, the worse the fit will get – and the longer it will go on. Not that he’d complain, usually. Quite the contrary. 

Scully gives him a sharp, annoyed look as he holds open the door to the reception area of Skinner’s office for her. She steps around him, somehow managing to hold the glare until it dissolves into the helpless prelude of a sneeze that doubles her over at the waist just as they step inside.

“—hh’EHhttTSCHiiew!” 

Mulder reaches out instinctively to place a steadying hand at her back, and then thinks better of it, pulling his hand away in an awkward fluttering motion. Touching her would probably not be in his best interest right now.

“Bless you!” Kimberly calls cheerfully from behind her desk. 

“Thank you,” Scully replies, straightening quickly. “Excuse me.” She blinks hard, presses one finger beneath her nose, and glances toward the box of tissues on the desk. “Do you mind if I…?”

Kimberly follows her gaze and smiles kindly. “Of course, take whatever you need.”

Scully takes one tissue, hesitates, then takes another, dabbing delicately at her nose with the first and tucking the second into the cuff of her blazer.

“A.D. Skinner will be with you both shortly,” Kimberly informs them. “Feel free to take a seat in the meantime.” 

Mulder manages to nod and smile politely back, though he fears what he offers might resemble something more like a strained grimace as he takes a seat next to Scully on the uncomfortable leather sofa. There’s a part of him he is not particularly proud of that wonders how difficult it would be to find out what the exact brand name of that cologne is.

Beside him, Scully bobs forward soundlessly into the tissue with another trio of sneezes, then releases an exhausted, shaky exhale that sounds precariously close to a whimper. Yet another part of himself he is not, in this particular moment or context, at all proud of, begins to respond accordingly. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is exactly what he’d been trying to avoid. 

Maybe there’s still time to call in a bomb threat and cancel this meeting entirely.

“Agent Scully? Agent Mulder?” Skinner calls, leaning out of his office door and beckoning them in. 

Shit. Maybe not.

+ + +

“Take a seat,” Skinner says, settling into his chair and opening a folder on the desk in front of him. “I received a fax from the Franklin County Police Department yesterday afternoon, and needless to say, I have more questions for the two of you regarding the way this case was wrapped up. I thought we might start with—”

“—mptschiieEW!”

A muffled, high-pitched little sneeze Scully tries – and fails – to stifle against two fingers interrupts his sentence, but Skinner doesn’t appear to be fazed. “...Agent Scully’s report,” he continues, not looking up. “Bless you.”

“Excuse me,” Scully murmurs, giving her nose a brisk rub as she leans forward to hand over her report. Skinner takes it, flipping through pages with the kind of professional focus Mulder fears is increasingly out of the picture for himself. He risks a glance over at Scully, who is clearly trying to hold back another sneeze, and Mulder watches, feeling dazed, as she pulls out all the stops – tensing her shoulders, narrowing her eyes, furrowing her brows, scrunching up her nose – staving it off until she simply can’t anymore.

“Ex-excuse me,” she gasps, turning sharply away and raising one hand, “I-I’m—I’m sorry, I’m g—I’m ghh—! hh’NGkshh! Hih-hh-hihh…!? hh’nNGh-shiew! hihh…!….iihtSCHHhhiew! hihh—!? ‘mMpk’tschiEew!”

“Bless you,” Skinner repeats in a low voice, glancing up at her this time with one eyebrow raised. Scully carefully lowers her hand from where she’s cupped it over her nose and mouth, and exhales slowly and carefully.

“Th-thank you, sir.”

It is, in theory, a perfectly ordinary workplace exchange. A polite acknowledgement, a monosyllabic honorific offered to a superior officer during a supervisory meeting. Mulder has heard her say the word a thousand times before in a thousand different rooms, and really, that should be the end of it.

But Scully’s voice is  thickened by congestion and softened by embarrassment, and the “sir” comes out low and breathless and slightly husky – and Mulder’s mind unhelpfully supplies several contexts in which he would very much like to hear her say that word again. 

He is, apparently, a worse man than he has previously understood himself to be.

Carefully, slowly, and with as much casual coolness as he can possibly muster, Mulder lowers the file onto his lap, positioning it in such a way that it deliberately shields his growing situation.

“I see from your notes that you both met with the initial informant almost immediately upon arrival,” Skinner prompts. “Could you elaborate on the discrepancies you identified in Mr. Parker’s statements and how exactly you came to that conclusion?”

Scully clears her throat and nods, sitting up a little straighter, looking determined to proceed.

"Yes. Shortly after Agent Mulder and myself arrived at Mr. Parker’s residence," Scully continues, "we were able to ascertain that his version of events was inconsistent with those of…of his…his…hihhhh–his–nhhhih…!”

Mulder swallows hard and shifts in his chair, heart pounding with what feels like a lethal surge of anticipatory arousal. It’s strong enough that there's a blinding white shimmer around the edges of his vision he can’t quite blink away, his slacks suddenly uncomfortably, concerningly tight.

By now, he knows the pattern of Scully's breathing as well as his own. He knows her affronted little huffs and frightened gasps; her exhausted sighs and everything between. And this – the particular staccato of desperate, climbing hitches and rapid, urgent little gasps – this he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt. She’s gearing up for a proper fit, and it might very well lead to his undoing.

"Hihh! –ihh–hh'hiihh—!?”

Hers too, from the looks of it.

“ —Ex-tSCHiiewh! …Excuse me,” Scully continues, rapidly blinking back tears of irritation. “It was inconsistent with three of his neighbors’ accounts, all of whom had reported…reported the lights over the treeline at the end of the street closer to nine-fifteen. Naturally, this raised several qu-que-hehh…quest'SChiiew! —h’etshhieu! ‘TSCHiew! – Excuse me…questions about Mr. Parker’s reliability as a witness."

Mulder’s pulse pounds in his throat, and somewhere demandingly lower. How the hell is he supposed to give a damn about Mr. Parker when Scully has just sneezed in the middle of excusing herself for sneezing in the middle of her sentence?

He keeps his expression neutral, acutely aware that the man sitting across from him is not only his direct supervisor, but highly capable of reading him like a goddamned book should he so choose. Mulder curls his fist to rest against his chin, and chews absently at his thumbnail, hoping it reads as casual interest at her version of events – and not like he’s openly, shamelessly gazing.

Fortunately for him, Skinner's attention is focused entirely on Scully. He glances up again, his expression more or less unreadable – quite possibly mild annoyance at the continued interruptions, quite possibly genuine concern – it's hard to tell with him sometimes, Mulder thinks.

"Agent Scully," Skinner says evenly, "do you need to take a moment?"

"No, sir," Scully immediately replies, making a valiant attempt to continue. "I assure you, I'm perfectly f–fi-fi’yihhh–hh–! ihh…! hihh'NGXsh! 'NGkxsh! –iihh'NGtsh! –ngkt-SCHiiew! …'tschiiew! …Hihh–! –iihhp'tSChhiiEW!! …excuse me. I’m p-perfectly fine."

Mulder repositions his folder lower and bites the inside of his cheek until it stings enough to make him wince.

The Flukeman, he thinks desperately, staring down at the report in his lap until the typewritten letters on the cover start to swim. Think of the Flukeman. Scolexes. Slime-covered sewer monsters.

It’s not working. Not even close. All he can focus on in his peripheral vision is the hazy expression that has not yet lifted from Scully's face and the series of audibly damp sniffles that suggest she is not, in fact, perfectly fine – nor anywhere near finished.

Mulder’s gaze drifts down and to the side, and he watches as she lowers her hand beneath the level of the desk and wipes it surreptitiously against the hem of her blazer.

Tooms. Bile. Newspaper dripping with fresh, oozing—

“—Huhh’EtSSCHiiuuew!”

Jesus. Christ. He definitely should have called in a bomb threat. 

Abandoning all efforts at subtlety, Mulder finally redirects his gaze to risk another look at Scully.

She looks mortified. The force of this sneeze has folded her forward, leaving her hunched over her lap. Her cheeks are flushed a deep, rosy pink, the same shade as her nose. God, her nose. It’s running now, not a lot, but enough that the steady rhythm of quiet sniffles isn't quite managing to do the trick. Scully sniffles wetly and brings one finger – then two – to curl lightly beneath her nose, assessing the situation. Her eyes widen slightly, then dart, briefly, longingly, toward the box of tissues sitting on the shelf behind Skinner's desk.

Her need for them is evidently not a detail lost on Skinner, who now looks clearly both entirely baffled and considerably alarmed. A few seconds pass before he turns to follow her gaze, retrieving the box and sliding it across the desk without saying a word. Scully takes one, folds it in half, and dabs at her nose, sniffling quietly before continuing.

“The n-neighbor,” she tries again, wriggling her nose, “the neihh—ihh–! Huhhpt’SCHiuuEWh!”

“Agent Scully,” Skinner says carefully, “if you’re feeling unwell—”

Scully straightens instantly, her cheeks flushing deeper as she continues to avoid Skinner's watchful gaze.

"—I’m fine, sir," she cuts in, firmly. "Please excuse me."

Mulder swallows hard. The sneezes are very clearly getting more and more impossible for her to contain. Scully might be the one currently falling apart, but this entire situation is unraveling him completely. The paper he's strategically positioned over his lap is currently the only thing keeping him from complete professional ruin.

The selfish part of him – the half currently throbbing with need – wants nothing more than to stay seated elbow-to-elbow with her and watch the whole fit play out in exquisite, beautiful detail so his eidetic memory can store it to replay later. The other half – the better half, he fears – is flooding with the deep, protective ache of knowing just how much this loss of control, in front of her direct superior no less, is currently costing Scully.

He's seen her stare down monsters and murderers without so much as flinching, but it doesn't take an advanced degree in behavioral psychology to read the quiet mortification on her face as she attempts to gather herself in the face of an unrelenting storm.

Unfortunately for that selfish part, he'll always choose her. Always.

“Sir,” Mulder interjects, somehow managing to keep his voice miraculously steady considering the circumstances, “if Agent Scully wants to step out for some fresh air, I can take it from here. If, uh, if that’s all right with you.”

The solution he proposes is as much for her as it is for him. He's not sure how much longer he can last.

“That’s—” Scully immediately attempts to protest, her words snagging on the damp irritation in the back of her throat. She coughs, hastily covering her mouth with her palm, and for the first time all day Mulder can hear an audible wheeze as she simultaneously tries to catch her breath and continue her objection. “That’s really—that’s really not—”

“—With all due respect,” Skinner cuts in, “I think that would be wise. Agent Mulder can fill you in on any pertinent details later. Better yet, he can fill you in tomorrow. Go home, Agent Scully. Take the rest of the afternoon off.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Scully rasps, firing back, “I’m perfectly capable of con..of of…contihh…”

The determined, stubborn set of her face falters, overtaken by the rising tide of allergic misery – and God, she is fighting the next sneeze with everything she has. It is an extraordinary effort, and one Mulder can’t turn away from. Gnawing on the raw stump of his thumbnail, he flicks his gaze back and forth anxiously between the two of them. Any annoyance on Skinner’s face that may have been previously present has been replaced with stern compassion, and just the barest touch of lingering bewilderment.

“That wasn’t a suggestion, Agent Scully.”

Against all odds, Scully manages to rally. Her expression clears, her shoulders lift in defiance, and she opens her mouth as if to protest, but what comes out instead is a raspy, irritated cough. She clamps a hand over her mouth as she gets to her feet, lowering her hand once she manages to catch her breath again.

“Sir,” she says in a small voice, “if you have any questions about my field report…”

“I know how to reach you,” Skinner finishes for her. “Take it easy, Agent Scully.”

Scully nods and sniffles, avoiding the gaze of both men as she slips out the door. Teeth still pressed against his fingernail, Mulder says nothing, and simply watches her go.

The office is suddenly far too quiet in her immediate absence, and he feels dizzy, all the blood having rushed from his brain straight to his—

“Is she all right?” Skinner asks, nodding his head towards the general direction of the door. “I’ve never seen her like this.”

“Oh, yeah,” Mulder nods, lowering his hand to smooth his tie in what he hopes is a casual gesture. To his own ears, his inflection doesn’t land the way it should, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Allergies.” 

Skinner raises an eyebrow.

“I gathered as much. What on earth has her in such a state?”

Mulder shrugs as innocently as he can manage. He has just enough remaining self-preserving instinct to know that admitting to Skinner that his partner’s current condition is more or less his fault is one matter – but mentioning the crop circle side of things is another.

Instead, he jokingly feigns searching around Skinner’s office. It’s a weak deflection, but it gives him an excuse to shift in his chair and adjust the file folder still lying – strategically and very necessarily – across his lap.

“You’re not, uh, hiding a cat in here or something?”

Skinner doesn’t crack a smile, but his expression softens somewhat. He shakes his head, sighs deeply, then leans forward, gesturing at Mulder’s lap with an expectant look.

Mulder freezes.

“...Sir?” he asks, confused and panicking. He is so, completely fucked.

“Your report, Agent Mulder? May I review it?”

“Uh…no?” 

Skinner’s brows lift in surprise, and Mulder blinks, scrambling. Heat uncharacteristically floods his face as he attempts to pull himself together, leaning forward and handing it over.

"Oh. Right. Yes. Of course."

Skinner frowns.

“Are you all right, Agent Mulder?”

“...Sir?”

“You seem rather distracted.”

Mulder chooses his next words carefully and tries not to choke on them. 

“Sometimes it gets pretty rough for her. Guess I’m just thinking about worst case scenarios.”

It’s a big fat lie. He’s thinking about Scully ducking into the privacy of the nearest washroom, sneezing openly and wholeheartedly – the way he knows she desperately needs to. He’s thinking about Scully blowing her nose, splashing cold water onto her face, and letting out a long, shaky sigh.

It’s a big fat lie, but Skinner seems to buy it.

“Try not to,” Skinner answers easily. “Agent Scully will be fine. She’s tougher than both of us combined. Now, if we could pick up where she left off, with the neighbors’ timeline discrepancies…”

With great effort, Mulder returns his attention to the meeting as Skinner resumes his questions. He nods at all the right places, answers when prompted, and keeps his voice even enough to pass for professional – but it’s not long before his thoughts drift gently and inevitably, back to Scully.

One way or another, they always do.

God help him, he’s already counting down the seconds until he’s alone.