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hurt-care · 5 years

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Could you pretty pretty please do wolfstar w sneezekink!Sirius- they’ve been together for awhile but Remus doesn’t know about it yet, and something sets him off on an epic allergy attack and Sirius is losing his mind

Oh man, anon. I hope you’re prepared cause I went for it. I apologize in advance for this filth lol. 18+, if that wasn’t blatantly obvious....

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The Order meeting, as usual, was late to start. Hestia Jones' cottage was abuzz with several small groups chattering and sharing the latest intel and catching up after long stretches apart on missions. Sirius, sitting in the corner with James, Lily, and Peter, was looking around distractedly for a familiar face.

“Where's he coming from?” James asked knowingly. “He's not the late type.”

“I don't know,” Sirius growled, scratching at the stubble on his face. “He said he had some business up north and he'd be back by the meeting. He wasn't home by the time I had to leave to get here.”

“He'll be here soon, I'm sure,” Lily said confidently. “Remus would send word if he wasn't going to make it. Besides, isn't the moon tomorrow night? He'll want to be home.”

Almost on cue the front door creaked open and Remus stepped inside.

“Alright, folks,” a voice shouted and the chatter quieted. “Let's get this started.”

Gideon Prewett was standing on a chair, speaking to the assembled crowd. Sirius didn't have time to pull Remus aside as the group all rushed to find seats around the large dining room table. Remus sat down diagonally across the table from Sirius and they met eyes. Remus smiled a small, tired smile and mouthed “hi”. Sirius felt his body flush with heat and he grinned back.

The meeting began but Sirius could not pay attention. Instead, he was watching Remus who was rubbing unconciously at his left eye, turning it pink and bloodshot.

“Stop rubbing” he wanted to say. “You're making it worse.”

Remus looked exhausted and wan from whatever mission that Dumbledore had set him out on. And this close to the moon, he was usually already feeling ill.

There was a soft sniffle from Remus' direction and Sirius caught him wriggling his nose with the back of his wrist. A warm tingling rose up Sirius neck as he thought about taking the man in his arms and holding him close, soothing away all his ills.

And then, it happened. Remus was fumbling in his coat pocket for a familiar blue plaid handkerchief and he raised it to his nose, covering his face.

Ngh-TSCH!

He stifled a sneeze into it and then snapped forward twice more.

Tsh-GXHT! Ghx-TGH!

Sirius' skin burned red-hot and he squirmed in his seat. There had always been something about this gorgeous loss of control that excited him. There was no explanation for how aroused a simple sneeze could make him, especially when it came from Remus. The last time that Remus had been sick, Sirius had spent at least four sessions in their flat's small shower with a silencing charm and his own hand, touching away the intense desire that coursed through him at the very sight of Remus' chapped nose.

Nghh-GHXT!

Sirius squeezed his thighs together, breathing shallowly.

“Bless you!” Lily whispered sweetly from her spot two seats down from Remus. Remus nodded in thanks and pinched the handkerchief aggressively around his nose, wriggling it. Sirius felt his own hips pulse involuntarily. He was going to have to excuse himself if this kept up.

He turned away, wrenching his gaze from Remus and trying to focus on the latest report given by Diggle. A small, congested snort nearly made him turn back but he kept his focus.

The meeting was, thankfully, rather short. Sirius glanced down at his lap, giving himself silent instruction to behave. The last thing he needed was a boner in the middle of an Order meeting. James, for one, would neverlet him live it down.

Still, he thought as Remus headed his way, it might be impossible. The taller man drew nearer and Sirius could tell how red and swollen his eyes were.

“Hey,” he said softly. “What's wrong?”

Remus tucked himself into Sirius' embrace and sighed with a slightly-wheezy exhale.

“I'm allergic to something,” he said hoarsely. “I haven't quite figured out what but it's been setting me off all day.”

Sirius bit his lip and took a deep breath.

“We should get you home then,” he said. Home so they could be alone and so that Sirius could deal with what was again becoming intense need.

Remus sniffled against Sirius shoulder and nodded.

“I guess so,” he agreed, leaning back and rubbing his eyes with a grunt of frustration.

“Don't do that,” Sirius admonished, taking Remus' hand and guiding it up to his lips to kiss it. “You'll make it worse.”

He pressed his lips to Remus' knuckes.

“Say your goodbyes and I'll apparate us out of here.”

Remus nodded and went to find the others while Sirius lingered near the door, idly feining interest in the scene through the front window.

“Okay,” said Remus voice from over his shoulder after a few moments.

Sirius turned and saw Remus looking up at him with pink, swollen eyes and a small drop of moisture pooling under his right nostril. Sirius swallowed hard and reached out to wrap an arm around his boyfriend.

“C'mon,” he said. “I want you all to myself.”

Remus snorted a laugh and pressed his wrist against his nose.

“Sure,” he rasped. “I'm devestatingly handsome right now.”

“You have no idea,” Sirius said, looking down at his feet to hide his blush.

They stepped outside into the spring air and crossed to the apparation point.

“Should I side-along you?” Sirius asked as Remus wiped his nose with his handkerchief (that looked remarkably damp, Sirius noted with a funny pang in his gut at the sight).

“Might be a good idea. I'm never sure when the sneezing might start back up,” Remus said.

Sirius tried not to react to the statement but he felt a throb that told him that if they didn't get home soon, something was going to become pretty awkward about the situation.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and put his arm around Moony's shoulders, concentrating on the image of their little flat. With a twist, they disappeared and landed in the alley beside their building.

Hurrrh-TSGHH!

Remus bent forward with a throat-scraping sneeze, stumbling into a rubbish bin.

“Moony,” Sirius moaned, unable to keep the desire out of his voice. He took the allergic man into his arms and kissed him deeply.

“Pads,” Remus murmured against Sirius' lips. “I have to---tehhh--”

He broke the kiss, head burying itself against Sirius' shoulder..

Nghh-TGHT!

Sirius felt his knees almost give way.

“Inside,” he said, turning Remus and guiding him around to the front door.

They tumbled into the flat, kicking off shoes and tugging up shirts and almost falling over each other on the way to their bedroom.

“Christ, Pads,” Remus laughed, falling back onto the bed as Sirius pushed him down and climbed on top of him. “I was away for less than a week.”

Sirius leaned in to kiss him.

“I don't care.”

“Sirius...” Remus moaned in warning, pushing the man away. “Hold on. I need...”

He rolled to the side, hands pinching his reddened nose.

Ngh-XHTT!

He stifled with great restraint, almost inaudibly.

Eh-XHTT! Ng'GHXT!

Sirius tugged at the buckle of his pants, unable to take the pressure anymore.

“Merlin, Moony...” he panted, watching the man convulse rhymthmically with the fit. He tugged down his pants and took himself in his hand with a groan.

Remus blinked at him through allergic tears and slowly rose to meet him. They knelt, face-to-face, on the bed.

“What's with you?” Remus asked tenderly, reaching out and pushing Sirius' hand aside, taking him in a familar grip. Sirius' hips strained forward and he whined with desire.

Remus slid his hand deftly and he tucked his head forward, running kisses along Sirius' neck. His damp nose trailed along the stubbled skin as he went. He sniffled and sniffled as he went, soon unable to keep up with the drip of his nose.

“I need a handkerchief,” he said softly. “Can you wait a second?”

Sirius didn't need to be asked twice. He turned his hand over and one appeared with an impressive display of wandless and wordless magic.

“Let me,” he said, carefully folding the soft cloth over Remus' nose. Remus blushed scarlet.

“I...” he stammered, hand slowing on Sirius' cock.

“Blow,” Sirius instructed and Remus obeyed, dampening the handkerchief. As Sirius held his nose gently, Remus felt his own breath rush in and he sneezed into the cloth, unable to contain himself.

Ehh-TSCGHHHT!

Sirius moaned and pressed urgenty into Remus' hand.

Remus tugged his nose away from Sirius' grip and looked at him intently.

“This is driving you wild,” he croaked with a note of humour in his hoarse voice.

“I know,” Sirius moaned. “I'm sorry. I don't know why.”

Remus grinned and pressed his nose with his wrist, sniffling.

“I'm so itchy,” he said huskily, stroking his hand down Sirius' length. Sirius shuddered with pleasure and looked at him with an expression that was both embarrased and aroused.

“Can...can I help?” he stammered.

“Please.”

Gently taking the handkerchief, Sirius twisted a corner and carefully inserted it into Remus' rebelling nose, twirling it and poking at the swollen membranes. Remus gasped, face contorting as the urgent tickling built. He stroked with greater speed, as much as he was able to with the intense distraction of his nose.

“Sirius...” he moaned, breath catching wildly. He took a shuddering inhalation and snapped forward, misting Sirius' bare chest.

Ehh-tsGHXHHT! Nhh-GTHSHTTT! Hehh-SCHOOOO!

Sirius trembled as waves of pleasure rushed through him and he came hard, grunting and shaking and going limp. Remus slumped against him, sniffling madly. He found the cloth in the tangle of sheets and blew his nose with a sigh of relief.

“Merlin, Pads, I think I have to find out what I'm allergic to if this is going to be the reaction it elicits,” he croaked good-naturedly.

Sirius pressed a sleepy kiss to Remus' cheek.

“Don't tease me. I'll plant whatever it is all over the back garden.”

“I guess this is as good a time as ever to tell you that I'm also quite allergic to hemlock pollen. I learned that in potions once.”

Sirius bit his lip, looking at the red-faced, sniffling man in his arms and feeling a rush of affection.

“Add it to the shopping list.”

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ecotone99 · 4 years

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[RO] [NSFW] Pray for Two

I was upset over a girl this Christmas and sought to drain some bitter emotion in a manner that didn't involve excessive drinking and masturbation. I appreciate comments, tips, and reviews

Pray for Two

It’s custom that on Christmas, before my parents and I sit around our ornamented table to eat, we attend mass at the local Roman Catholic Parish. We spent the daybreak in a shouting match about my refusal to emerge from my *dziura and leave with them to church.

Polish word for “hole”. The narrator's father uses it to describe his son's room.

By the time I finished masturbating, it was twelve; afternoon mass had just commenced. I contemplated blowing it off completely, but figured it was the least I could do for my father as he never ceases to remind me that nothing would bring him more joy than my company at Sunday night mass.

I dressed in a plaid red flannel, light gray slacks, a light gray peacoat, and a pair of brown suede dress shoes. If I wasn’t so pressed on time, I’d have swapped the flannel for something more elegant, for with the addition of my beard, I looked like a lumberjack in the early stages of converting to a gentleman. However, once I shaded my eyes with a pair of dark amber Wayfarers and gazed at my reflection in a tinted car window, I felt like a thin white Rick Ross (the rapper). And so I started toward the end of my block taking long lofty steps. At the end, down by where the community piled their garbage twice a week, a small pup was dragging his nose on the ground. The pup was preceded by a small, fair-skinned girl with dainty features. Two flat antlers protruded from her cherry-red hair. The dog whipped her around and I observed a small red sphere extending from her nose. As I approached, I recognized her to be the young Jewess who moved into my neighborhood about four years ago. Upon her arrival, she was only fifteen, and although her blossoming beauty radiated to a dangerous degree, I always managed to keep myself in check while in her presence. We hit it off pretty fast—she was quick-witted and bookish. It was easy with her, you’d introduce a topic, a recent event for example, even just a headline that you read, and she already had a thought-out opinion of the matter. And even if you played devil’s advocate, as I often did, she’d cement through with bold conviction. Back then, I rejected her chutzpah. At the time, the only thing I was confident about was being unsure of everything. That was until she convinced me that confidence, even in the face of uncertainty, is the only way forward. Once I was convinced, I became both jealous of and feverishly attracted to her.

She turned eighteen at the start of one summer and literally parted her legs before me the minute the clock struck eleven forty-three pm, the time recorded on her birth certificate. We had gone out for dinner at The Olive Garden that evening—our parents knew that she and I would talk for long stretches of time outside and didn’t think much of it. My parents liked her; they remarked that she was always cordial whenever running into her outside in the neighborhood. My mother would blush whenever she came up during dinner-table conversation, “I heard the neighbor girl got accepted into Princeton,” she said one evening. “Yeah, she did. . . but I think she’s choosing The Rhode Island School of Design,” I replied. My father looked up after forking up some pickled cabbage, “Perhaps she’ll convince you to go back to school,” he snickered under his breath with grim sarcasm. At the time I was in the midst of a brief hiatus, taking a year or so to master the art of Chinese food delivery.

I once asked her how her parents felt about me as a serious prospect, and she replied, “Have you ever baked a dreidel?” I said nothing in response, understanding the message, but she proceeded to pinch my cheek saying, “Aw, fuck ‘em, you’re my favorite little gentile.” With me at six-two and her at five-four, I towered over her.

At The Olive Garden the night of her eighteen birthday, she took a breadstick and began to wiggle it horizontally as if trying to perform the rubber pencil illusion. She then turned her head and pressed the tip of the breadstick against her rouge lips. She kissed it lightly and turned to me, smiling coyly. Then, without waiting for my initial reaction, she shoved the stick into her mouth and ferociously chomped down on it before chucking it back into the basket while crumbs were still raining down onto the table. Afterward, she fell into a wild hysteria, laughing like a hyena, gripping her stomach with one hand and pointing at my frozen wide-eyed gaze with the other.

That night, I paid seventy dollars in exchange for three unbothered hours with her in a bedroom at a Days Inn down the street from the restaurant. She was ravenous from the get-go, and we nearly skinned each-other when removing clothes, but once bare, I slowed the tempo—her growing more feverish with every graze. It was tight when I inserted. I manipulated my stroking sequence taking feedback from her every micro expression. We commenced the Bang-Mitzvah with missionary and for at least five minutes she vocalized nothing but high-pitched mouse-like squeaks. Then she looked into my eyes, wrapped her hands around my neck, brought me down to a hair's width away from her face and said, “I’m glad it’s you. . . .”

As I approached her this Christmas morning, she smiled, the sun glinting off her face as if it were the surface of a lake.

“Hey, how you been? How’s school?” I said while bending down to pay my respects to her furry little brown blotched shih tzu.

“Oh, it’s fun. . . have my own space now. . . the freedom,” she replied, sneaking a wink in at that last part. This caught me off guard. Ever since I took her innocence, we hadn’t really been corresponding much. She left for school that summer, and Rhode Island was a ways away from Staten Island. And a week after that fateful night, I was let off from my food delivery position. The owner informed me that the restaurant's old driver was moving back into the area and that she had promised him a position if ever was the case. But after about a week, a ‘Driver Wanted’ sign hung in the window, and I began to doubt her story. I think she actually caught on to me. At the end of every shift, I was supposed to report my tip earnings and fork over a percentage . . . I always skimmed some off the top though, reporting less than I actually received. She must’ve been aware of realistic averages from past, honest drivers. After that bombshell, my funds quickly exasperated and as at least one of our parents was always home, I simply couldn’t afford to have sex with her.

“Must be nice,” I replied, petting the gleeful pup. “I found decent work, but I don’t want to pay rent and share a kitchen with some rando.”

“What’s the job?” she asked while I rose from the ground, “And I get you.”

“I’m a. . . like a teachers assistant. . . I work at a school.”

“Aw, I’m so happy for you.”

I didn’t reply to that. Her pitiful tone indicated that she knew, or at least assumed, that I was going through a rough patch. Instead, I switched the topic.

“So. . . what’s up with the Rudolph theme? And that’s a wig right?”

“Ah, yes. . . . See, I’m a rebel Jew—you should come in and see my house, I’ve dressed this collapsible Christmas tree that I keep tucked away in the attic, and ABC Family’s ‘25 Days of Christmas’ is blaring in the living room.”

“Your parents are cool with it?”

“Oh, hell to the naw—but every Christmas my dad spends all day at his office and my mom’s in the city consulting with a doctor.”

I put on a thoughtful expression and became quiet.

“Yup, this is just the way I am,” she continued, “but come over! Let me show you all the cute little ornaments I put up for the day.”

“I’m actually running late for mass,” I replied.

“Well, if you’re already going to be late, it doesn’t matter how late.”

“Bulletproof logic. . . . I guess I can step inside for a second. I’m interested in seeing how rogue you’ve actually gone.”

After the dog hosed down the fire hydrant, I followed her inside. All the while I thought of our first and only fuck, and how, if I had the money and she wasn’t in Rhode Island, I’d get my own place just be alone and comfortable with her.

Inside was an assortment of Christmas things, mostly little knick-knacks sort of strewn about. There was a nativity scene on the sill under the kitchen window and I wondered if the depiction of Jesus’ birth was the same by Jewish doctrine. Ironically, the Christmas tree was topped with a Star of David. I couldn’t discern if this was done out of mockery or a whole-hearted display of cultural amalgamation.

“So. . . what do you think?” she said as I was gazing at the star atop the tree.

“This mesh of cultures is causing my eyes to well up. . . it’s. . .” I drew in air through my nose and skimmed my finger across a lower eyelid, “it’s. . . beautiful.”

“Oh, you’re full of shit. . . but thank you, that’s very kind of you to say.”

Albeit her saying that I was “full of shit,” a soft rouge blossomed in the centers of her pale cheeks; I stepped towards her and softly clasped my hands around them. Her lips parted slightly, revealing the blinding whiteness of her front teeth. Frosty blue rings around her tiny pupils gleamed against the cold, winter sun streaming in through the windows. I inched my head forward as if it were precious cargo being moved by a crane. As our lips met, I dropped to the couch beside the tree. My body buzzed warmly as if I had just taken a swig of old scotch. I kept my eyes closed, straining in an effort to send her telepathic messages. I yearned for pressure, I’d have settled for a slab of stone over me. And then she went, toppling onto me as if caught by a fainting spell.

Much like the first time, we stripped each other frantically, but when going through the motions, I realized she had gained much experience. While on top, she rode me in various styles as if it were second nature. Before, I was the sole director, now it was a mutual effort—push and pull. This left me conflicted; from one side I was a bit saddened at the thought of some gung ho college boy, or plural, taking temporary reign over her body; and from the other—her promiscuousness, dressing up in racy little clothing just to attend some haphazard frat party, being the object of unshakable desire, willing and ready for the taking, made her all the more alluring! It was enough to drive me mad with desire. I was aroused as I had ever been. Her flesh was as pure as it was the summer before she left for school, and now it was supplemented by experience. I was so lost in my burning desire and her plush interior that I couldn’t fathom a reality that was devoid of it. Clinging onto what seemed like fantasy, I asked her:

“Are you on birth control?” My breath was heavy, my thirst for air insatiable.

“Yes. . . kind of,” her voice faltered; her breathing matched mine. “Kind of?”

“Just cum in me!” she howled, gripping the back of my neck, bringing my lips to hers as I came down. No further questions, her resolve was what would finally drive me to orgasm. I have only once ever came inside someone before, and severe paranoia had followed me like a rain cloud for weeks afterwards despite the girl’s assurance that her ex always finished inside without consequence.

My muscles numbed as bliss spread from the tip of my penis through the rest of my body. My back hunched as I slowly pulled out. My thighs gave out and I collapsed on the carpeted floor, sprawling in ecstasy.

I spent a long moment simply lying there, catching my breath and recovering my senses.

“What did you mean by ‘Kind of’?” I asked, now having recovered the rationale one often loses during sex.

“I meant. . . it doesn’t matter if I’m on birth control or not.” “Doesn’t matter?”

“No. . . it doesn’t. . . it doesn’t because I’ve been diagnosed with cancer.”

“What?. . . When?”

She didn’t reply.

I raised myself till my neck was level with the couch. Her head was turned to the side, tilted up at the Star of David.

“Were you aware before the first time I was with you?” I questioned.

Again, no answer.

“Say something!”

“Look,” she said turning her head towards me, her eyelids like buckets of water preparing to overflow, “I did know and—”

“In the event of,” I rudely interrupted, “would you keep it?” “Birth wouldn’t outlast the cancer.”

“So. . . no?”

“I’d prefer to leave this life with a piece of you within me!”

“That’s murder!”

“And abortion is not?”

I fell silent and wished desperately for the ability to rewind the day, deeply regretting not remaining in bed.

“And this fantasy of yours is supposed to justify murder?” I continued after a tense silence.

“Who are you to speak for what goes on in my body? The fate of whoever is developing within me is no ones but my own.”

I fell silent and fell against the carpet. I looked up at the star atop the tree then shifted my gaze to the digital time on the cable box below the TV. Mass would end in ten minutes; if I sprinted, I’d be able to make it in time for a single prayer. . . and I’d pray for two.

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