Work Text
THE PLAN
“Are you sure?” Atticus asked in surprise to his quick agreement.
“Yeah! I think it sounds fun! I’ve never done anything like that before,” Otto said casually sipping his coffee in response to his partner’s agog expression. “It’s kinda like acting, right? I dabbled in high school and college. But, like, with a very arousing component. And we’ll be in a bookstore which is, honestly, very sexy.”
Atticus was silent for a bit, face turning incredulous.
“I...can’t tell if you’re serious or not,” they said narrowing their eyes behind their dark-rimmed glasses.
Otto gave a chuckle, “I am! It’s kind of exciting. Hiccups are innocuous. No one is going to know anything is going on. It’s sort of like we’ll be carrying on this secret sexy improv and no one is going to suspect a thing. And we have to keep our arousal undercover, right? So, it becomes this menagerie of subterfuge. One, we’re pretending we don’t know each other and two, we’re concealing our arousal from everyone there. I mean, that’s kind of hot. And there’ll be books. I am a big fan of books. I stan books.” He paused. “Did I use that right?”
“I’m...honestly not sure. But probably not,” Atty said. They found themselves getting pretty giddy at his excitement.
“I mean, obviously I can’t control when I get them. But…when I do…I say let’s go for it!” Otto said.
“Okay. Let’s discuss boundaries then…” Atticus said, having had been thinking about this for quite some time before shyly bringing the idea up.
The couple discussed a safe word that would indicate that they were uncomfortable in a bad way or that their arousal was at a point they felt they needed to leave the public area for fear of indecency.
This was not a bar they were talking about and, while children were pretty easy to avoid at the bookstore, they planned to enact Atticus’ fantasy in, there was no need to test the limits of their bodies at hiding obvious signs of arousal, Otto specifically.
Atticus discussed what they’d like to see and wanted to make sure Otto didn’t feel pressured in doing anything he was uncomfortable with. Otto having hiccups in public, they learned, was something he’d expressed discomfort about.
Otto reassured his spouse that because of the setting he was more than happy to interact with others knowing that Atticus was getting some satisfaction from it. It was more of an annoyance than a discomfort, he’d explained. But he was excited to be watched by his partner. And he couldn’t pinpoint why.
After this intense conversation (that honestly got them both a little flustered) they went on with their normal lives until two weeks later when at around noon Otto appeared from his corner workshop in front of Atticus while they were doing some research on a novel they’d been working on for the past month.
Atticus looked up at the tall man immediately noticing a quick spasm in his midsection.
“Do you mk!-wanna g-go to the bookstore? Hup!” he asked, eyes wild and grinning widely.
THE ACTION
The bookstore was pretty abandoned chronically. It was a sign of the times, the writer thought sadly as they wandered the aisles. Then again, it was also in the middle of the week. There were no events on the calendar, no readings or new book releases. Summer had ended so no kids were roaming the small square of toys and books in the back of the store. It wasn’t quite fall, though, so no one was in the market for early Christmas gifts.
They were thankful for the quiet as they slowly made their way through the rows of poetry books. They weren’t even that interested in looking at specific collection. They were just biding their time, really. They were following a muffled, irregularly paced sound. It was like someone gulping sharply. Sometimes it was rhythmic but sometimes the sharp gulps game one after the other. A grunt or a sigh would follow those instances.
As they turned the corner, they spied the source of the sounds and lingered to watch.
The man was tall. They could tell his height because there was an employee that had come beside him to shelve a cart of books, and he was a good head taller than her even though his posture made him seem more diminutive.
He had his back to them at the next aisle over and so they tried to be inconspicuous when they picked up a book of poems to thumb through, glancing over every once and a while at the way those gulping noises the man was trying so hard to suppress tensed his neck. He wasn’t wearing a particularly tight button up shirt, but they would still tell from the light cotton fabric’s movement that the sides of his body expanded at each spasm.
“Sir, I’m so sorry. I need to shelf this right in front of you,” the employee said softly.
“Oh! Hmp! Sure. Sorry a-hmk!-about that! Mk!” he said, flustered from his reverie as he’d been intensely reading the inside flap of the book he’d pulled from the shelf.
He stepped aside and the onlooker shifted so that they were less obvious. From his profile they could see more movement from the sounds his body made. He put his hand on his chest as if to try to contain the movements, but to no avail except to emphasize them as his head snapped back in another cluster of diaphragmic activity. “You okay?” the employee said. She’d caught on to the sounds and movements but hadn’t realized what they were, yet.
“Hm?” he said, gulping down a couple more spasms.
The employee was looking directly at him now and the onlooker could see her eyes alight in recognition.
“Oh hiccups,” she said casually, as if the word didn’t cause an immediate intense emotional reaction. Perhaps when normal people said it, it didn’t, thought the onlooker.
The man chuckled, squelching another hiccup in the sound.
“Yeah I’ve hmp!-been trying to k-keep them quiet huck! Geeze, excuse m-hmk!-me,” he said, putting a fist over his mouth.
The sudden loudness of the hiccup made the onlooker jump a little but, in the employee, it only caused a soft smile. The writer felt a sudden rush of jealousy for the bookshop worker before scoffing and shaking their head.
“If it helps,” the employee said, “there’s probably not that many people here that you’d annoy. It’s pretty slow today. But if you need some water the cafe is open.”
His hand was back to his chest as she spoke. His other arm wrapped against his waist holding the book he was reading in the tips of his fingers. As he continued to hiccup the book bounced in his hand with the jostling of his stomach against his arm. When the onlooker saw what book he had chosen they rolled their eyes. Of course it was that book of poems. Pandering to the audience, but they’d let it pass for now.
“Oh man hup’k!-thanks. I himpk!-uh might take you hmk!-up on that!” he said, body jolting with another hiccup. His face strained to keep some of those hiccups in. It was driving his onlooker insane.
There was a plush chair beside the cafe area. At first, they thought the tall man and his messy curls and trimmed beard was going to walk into the cafe itself to retrieve the suggested water. Instead, he settled into the plush chair with the book he’d selected to browse. The chair was dark blue and faced in a way that it was possible to sit at a table at the edge of the cafe area and watch without being too obvious. The writer took their chance.
They ordered something warm and caffeinated, though they hardly needed the energy, and sat themselves where they thought they might not be seen or noticed right away as the man settled into the chair. His long-limbed body was fully visible as the chair had low arms and straight short back. The man’s torso, clad in that loose cotton shirt on this hot day, was more than accessible to sight as the onlooker sipped casually on the warm beverage and brought their phone out to feign interest in it as their eyes glanced to watch.
He really was trying to keep his hiccups quiet, if he were honest. There weren’t many patrons, but there were a few. He didn’t want to disrupt the silent energy that permeated the store, soft jazz music feeding through the sound system. The more he kept them in, though, the more he felt his body react. And, for the sake of comfort, he had to let some of them out a little.
“Hmk!hmk!hmk!mk!hup’k!” he felt thrum through his system and jerking his body around in a long cluster that signaled this case of hiccups’ determination to be heard. He puffed out air from his mouth, putting a hand over his diaphragm momentarily, before immediately jerking back in another less forceful hiccup.
He flipped a page of the book of poems casually, familiar with the works enough to know what he was looking for. It was one of his favorite authors, after all.
Normally a case this bad would cause him to cut his visit to a store short, but the draw to stay was too strong. He felt a ball of excitement in his chest that probably led to the hiccups being more forceful than they probably would’ve usually been if this were an actual casual outing and not what it was. Still, he was determined to stay in character even as he sensed a gaze on him that he normally wouldn’t have even noticed had it genuinely been a stranger.
“Huck!-mm. Hlmk!-mm. HUP’K! Jeez! Hmpk!” The last hiccup came sharply through his nose and hit the back of his throat like a slap. He felt his neck tense and his shoulder hit deeper into the chair. He went back to covering his mouth with his fist, as if that would help soften the sound like the mute for a trumpet.
The onlooker watched the scene with excitement. They watched as he tried to keep focus on the pages, but his eyes blinked with each hiccup. His head jolted every time it came to rest at reading. The fluster that developed when his hiccups couldn’t be contained caused them to squirm in their seat.
“Hup’k!…hup’k!...hulp!-mm! Mmk!...mk!...mmmk! Oh, man. Mk!” Despite the internal fight the man worked hard to focus on the book. He let out a sudden laugh when he found the specific poem he was looking for and, “HUCK’M!”
The sharp hiccup cut through most of the store. The few patrons that were dutifully ignoring the stranger’s hiccup fit looked casually toward the sound. There was a small giggle from another aisle. He slapped his hand over his mouth in mortification. He looked around sheepishly, apologetically, and caught the face of a patron near him at the cafe.
They were short, curly hair flopped over their forehead accentuated by an undercut. Their hair was dark brown and highlighted in stripes of silver-grey and they wore dark framed glasses. They looked at him like deer caught in the headlights. The book on the table in front of them, which was being ignored for the phone, was a title he was more than familiar with.
“I’m s-so sorry,” he apologized to them. His head tucked with another hiccup, silent.
“No-no. It’s okay,” the onlooker said, flustered that they were noticed. “Um, sounds like you’ve got them pretty bad…”
The man looked a little tired as he nodded.
“Yeah. I d-don’t get them hup!-too often bu-hmk!-but when I do-uck!-uh, they’re pretty st-uck!-stubborn. Hmp! Even if I c-can get rid of them hmpk!-they-hmk!-they-hmk!-ke-mk!-keep com-coming mk!-back. Scuse me!” he said, putting his fist over his mouth again and rode out a few more of the cluster of hiccups before patting his chest.
“Sounds frustrating,” they said. Did that sound casual? They hoped so. They pressed their legs together and took a measured breath. If the man noticed he didn’t mention it.
“It’s m-more that hup!-I don’t want to b-up!-bother anyone. I act-actually don’t mind hmp!-mind them. Ugh, but m-maybe I sh-hup!-should get that wa-uck!-water. Do you c-care if I s-hip!-sit with you? That’s kind of my f-hump!-favorite book,” he said sheepishly. He indicated to the tome that was Moby Dick sat next to them on the table.
They were almost too distracted by how his head got thrown back each time he hiccuped to answer at first. But they blinked with he indicated the book.
“Actually...this book was here when I sat down…” they said. It wasn’t a lie, actually. The coincidence was so stunning it almost convinced them that there might actually be a god.
His face fell. “Oh...hu-up!” He snapped his mouth shut.
“But...I wouldn’t mind the company,” they amended quickly.
“Even with th-the hiccups? Huck’m!” he said and patted his chest again.
“I dunno. I think they’re kind of cute,” they replied, understating the hell out of the assessment.
He chuckled, “I’ll-huck!-I’ll be right back mk!”
They watched him go up to the café bar, book of poems still in hand. It wasn’t hard to overhear the conversation.
“Hey c-can I hmp!-get a cup of hmp!-cup of water? And mk!mk!mk!-excuse me. Can I p-pay for this here? HUP! Ugh. Sorry. Can’t s-seem to hmpk!-to shake these today. Hilp!” he said.
“No problem, man. I can get that book for you, too,” the young man said with a look of bemusement. “I get crazy hiccups, too. And if I get them once, I know I’m gonna get them at least 3 more times that day. Nothing works. Everyone tries to offer cures and I’m like...I just gotta let them do their thing, y’know?”
“That’s pre-herp!-pretty much how mk!-how mine are. Hup’k! Thanks,” he said taking the iced water and running his card to pay for the book.
“Good luck,” the barista said and then added softly, “I’m pretty sure that...person you talked to has had an eye on you since coming in, btw. Just a head’s up. If you’re interested.”
“I’ll k-hmpk!-keep that in mind hup!…” the taller man said with a smirk.
“I people watch when it’s slow,” the younger man explained. “There’s an old guy who I think is pocketing our novelty erasers from the impulse racks. I think he has, like, 20 of them in his pockets.”
“Like a b-himp!-barista C-Columbo. Mk!mk!” he replied, face straining a little as his head jerked back.
“...who?” the barista replied after a beat.
“Never huck!huck!-uh. Nevermind,” he said, rubbing his chest with the palm of his hand as the deepness of those hiccups.
Turning away from the reminder of his mortality, he took the newly bought book of poems and his water to the fascinating human he’d just met who’d apparently been following him throughout the store.
The writer watched the man return from their side. Most of the conversation they’d heard. The cultural reference missed was particularly amusing. But there was a section that was whispered that was driving them mad for having missed.
“You sh-hmp!-sure y-hmk!-you’re okay with me mk!-interrupting your hip!-your solace with m-huck’m!-my noisy diaphragm?” he asked. He noticed a couple of other people in the café area now and felt a little heat on his neck as he saw them turn his way when he hiccuped. Most seemed unconcerned, but the attention was a little uncomfortable.
“Yes,” they said with a laugh and grin pushing up their mustache.
The fine wrinkles around their eyes crinkled behind the lenses of their glasses. There was a youth even with the markers of age in the brightness of their brown irises. The squinting of their eyelids from the rise of their cheeks held a soft femininity even while their facial hair, stubble, and timbre of their voice expressed masculinity. There was an attractiveness in this person that the man couldn’t quite quantify but found utterly alluring.
“I think,” they continued, “we can let your diaphragm express its opinions if it needs.”
“It,” he paused as a silent hiccup rocked his body, “has a lot of opinions” another hard silent hiccup interrupted and his hand soothed his chest lower down toward the point of impact at his diaphragm, “trust me,” he finally finished.
The writer squirmed.
“I can tell!” they said, taking another sip of warm beverage.
“I’m Lou,” the man said, “by the hmp!-by the way.”
“Ryder,” they said. “What do you do, Lou?”
They winced at the unintentional rhyming scheme but could tell it amused Lou as he dipped his head with a grin.
In the U.S. people were often introduced by their occupation. Ryder had heard that other countries found this odd. Welcome to capitalism?
“I f-hmpk!-fix clocks. You? Humpk!-uh,” he said, swallowing after the airiness of that hiccup and softly releasing the air it trapped from his throat in a small belch that set off another cluster that he sat through as Ryder replied. He tried very desperately to ignore the way they kept shifting in their chair. The café chairs weren’t exactly comfortable, anyway. That could certainly be a reason for their squirming.
“I-um-I write. I’m an author,” Ryder replied, not at all flustered at all.
“You wr-hnk!-write and you haven’t re-read Moby Dick?!” Lou replied, incredulous.
“I swear, I didn’t even know it was on the table until you mentioned it!” they exclaimed.
“You didn’t notice hmp!-an over si-himp!-six hund—hundred-page book next hup’k!-next to you?” he asked.
“I was distracted,” Ryder said with a shrug.
Lou closed the distance between them for a second, leaning over the table.
“So I-ump!-I hear,” he whispered.
And for a second Lou let his persona slip as his eyes playfully indicated the barista. And as recognition of what he meant dawned on Ryder, they let their persona slip, too, and their eyes widened comically. That twenty-something had been watching their clumsy efforts at stalking the man in front of them. They covered their eyes with their hand.
“Okay!” Lou said, suddenly back in the character of someone who had just met this intriguing person at a bookstore. “I hmp!-am going to re-read you the hmk!-first paragraph o—of this classic.”
Ryder watched his long fingers flip through the title page, chapter pages, to the first paragraph as his head snapped back with hiccups, excitement perhaps making them more enthusiastic.
“I’ve just met this strange man and he’s going to read to me? I feel like we’re skipping a couple of steps. I don’t know if I should move this fast...isn’t reading to someone, like, one of the later bases?” Ryder teased, happy to have gotten some sort of witticism in with how flustered they felt.
“This hmk!-isn’t anything m-hup!-more than two-mk!-two people sharing a t-HIMP!-table and a g-good book,” Lou insisted. He countered them with a mischievous look from under his prominent brow. “You r—ready to be hup!-wowed by hmngk!-uh one of the gr-hlp!-greatest first p-paragraphs to a novel to hmp!hmp!-ever hmp!-ever be written?”
“Enlighten me,” Ryder said, covering their mouth as he watched his neck suck in deeply with each of those hiccups. “If you can make it through…”
“Oh I w-will,” Lou assured his new companion stubbornly. He cleared his throat, hiccuping silently to the irritation, and began:
“Call hmp!-Call me Ishmael.Hmkngk!Some year-hup’k-Some years ago—hmk!hmk!never-hmk!-never mind how long pr-precisely—havi-huck!-having little or no mo-up!-money in my purse, hmpk!-and nothing particular to-hmk!-to interest me on shore, I—I thought I would sail about a little and-hulk!-see the watery part of the world,” Lou started and paused as he waited through a cluster of silent hiccups, little snorts rhythmically sucking into his nose.
Ryder watched Lou’s neck during his reading, close enough to his eyes to not draw attention. They knew the movements hiccups made, and Lou’s were impressive. Instead of just the middle of where his clavicle met dipping in, the entire bottom part of his neck seemed to concave with each hiccup. They didn’t know if it was because he was suppressing them so much, if they were considerably deep hiccups, or if this was just the way his body reacted. Well...part of them knew that answer, but they were ignoring if to be in the moment as if this was an entirely new relationship and experience.
“Excuse me,” Lou said, interrupting the reading when his hiccups sped. He took a long breath and dove back in, ignoring the hiccups that interrupted that breath. He may have bitten off more than he could chew trying to make it through this paragraph, but with stubbornness he plowed on.
“It is-hup!-it is a way I h—have of drIVing off the sp-hup!-spleen and regu-regulating the circulation,” he continued. He sped up some words so that he could get more than a few words in before hiccuping. “Whenever I-ulp!-I find myself growing gri—im about the mouth;hmk!hmk!-whenever it is a damp,mpk!-drizzly November in my soul;hup’k!-whenever I find myself in-huck!-involuntarily pausing before coffin ware-hulp-warehouses, and bringing up the-hmp!hmp!-uh rear of every funeral I meet;mmk!-and-hmp!-and especially whenever my hypos get su—such an up—per hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle toHUP’K-ugh-prevent me from del-del-iberately steppi-hmp!-stepping into-into the street, a-hmk!-and meth-HIMP!-methodicALly knocking people's hats off-humpk!hmp!--then, I account it high t-time to get to s-mk!-sea as soOOn as I can.” Lou paused and shook his head.
“I d-don’t think I can hmk!-continue this,” he said, remorsefully. “I’m bu-hoop!-uh, butchering th-hip-these words.” His whole body jumped at a couple of silent hiccups that smacked him right in the diaphragm and he winced a little.
He’d had the hiccups for a good 15 minutes at this point and they’d only been getting stronger and deeper. While they weren’t painful, they were becoming way more intrusive and obvious to a slowly growing number of people both in the bookstore and café area.
When he looked to his new companion they had a dazed expression, head resting on their hand. They blinked at his comment though.
“Um, yeah. You know. But I was enraptured by the performance. So those words must...be some words to keep my attention, right?” The writer caught the neck of their shirt and fanned it a little. “Those things seem pretty uncomfortable. Maybe try that water? Some deep breaths? You must be sore they, um, look kind of violent.”
“Good id-HUP!” he said, not even bothering to complete the word.
“Th-these must be an-nk!-annoying. S-hmp!-sorry about that,” he continued. He brought the iced water to his lips and took a good gulp. He knew water never cured them, but he was also hoping to relieve his throat of the tightness that often accompanied his hiccup fits.
“No, not annoying,” Ryder assured. “More for you, I’m sure.”
They watched his stubbly throat as he drank a couple of gulps of the ice water. It contracted with hiccups even while he was drinking. He must be used to it because it didn’t seem to slow him down. After he’d gotten half the glass down, he set it aside and covered his mouth with a couple of crooked fingers, silent hiccups jostling his form rapidly. He looked a little befuddled for a moment as they kept wracking his body quickly.
“Ugh th-that w-was hup!-hup!-was co-cold! Hmp!-hmp!-hmp! I think that-hup!-ma-hup!-made-hup!-the-hmp!-them worse. I do-don’t hmp!hmp!-us-hup!-usually hup!-drink m-my hup!-water that-hup!-c-hmp!-cold! Humph!-hmph!-hmkph!-hmp!-hmp!...mk!-mk!”
Lou sat like that for a moment as his body bounced with every sound sucked in through his nose and caught by his throat which jolted his head and fluttered his eyes as he seemed to be waiting for them to slow down a little. When he looked up into Ryder’s eyes, he was disarmed by the pure arousal mirrored back.
The jig was up…
“Let d-hmp!-Le-humph!-dow-hmp!” Lou tried to say. Shit! He couldn’t even get out the damn safe word as he felt blood rushing to the area he certainly didn’t want to be in public for the result of.
“Let down key,” Ryder supplied, breathlessly. “Yeah, me too.”
They took a deep breath to shake off the persona and it was Atticus who spoke next, quickly and desperately.
“Here, you take the keys and I’ll meet you at the car,” they said, thrusting the key chain in his hand. “I’m gonna buy this book.”
Lou, now Otto, eyed them with confusion.
“I-hmp!-have l-hmph!-like five-hmp!-copies-hmp!-of-humph!-of that-hmp!-at home!” he said with difficulty, standing carefully and relieved that nothing was visible yet along his waistline. He still casually held the book of poems that held Atticus’ name as the author on the cover in front of him just in case as he took the keys reluctantly.
“This one is special,” Atty stressed. “I’m actually going to read this one…”
Otto let out a HU-UP!-as he held his mouth open in amusement. He didn’t even care that everyone paid attention around them. He just shook his head and turned around for the car.
After the next customer cleared away the barista smiled in recognition to the person that had been sitting with the taller man. He’d lost the ability to hear their conversation with the afternoon rush, (aside from the poor man’s ever worsening attack of hiccups) so he leaned against the bar when Atticus arrived.
“Hey, so, how’d everything go between you and the hiccuping guy? You all were over there for a while,” he said, as he rung up the novel with some effort in lugging it into one of the plastic bags he had under the register.
Atticus looked down, face burning. Then they swung their head up and forced some fake bravado.
“I think I might have a chance,” Atticus said, paying for the copy of Moby Dick.
“Well, hey, if I can find someone who can stand my hiccup attacks like you did his...I think I might find a perfect match,” he said, wryly. There might’ve been some jealousy tinged in the statement as well.
“You’d be surprised what people find bearable with the person is right,” Atticus said, cryptically.
“Well, good luck, friend. Wish you all the best,” the barista said.
“Yeah, you too,” they replied.
Their nethers were still vibrating a little as they walked to Otto’s car that he’d pulled up to the curb. Fortunately, the conversation with the barista had taken away the unbearable pressure at least.
“Well, howdy, stranger,” Atticus said with a grin, slipping into the passenger seat.
Otto was still hiccuping rapidly in the driver’s seat. He’d unbuttoned his shirt so that his a-line shirt was visible, fabric tight against the middle of his stomach as it pooched out with every hiccup at varying degrees of force.
He smiled in their direction as he turned the key in the ignition. The hmph’s and hmp’s were still so fast that speaking, while not impossible, was more effort that he thought it worth for a response.
“You want me to drive?” Atticus asked, watching his body rock with every spasm.
He shook his head.
“No-hmp!-no I’m-mk-good. I know hmp!-how m-much you hmpk!-like to hip!hip!-to-hmp!-watch m-me from hmp!-from the s-side. I’ll be hip!-be less distr-hmp!hmp!-act-ip-ed!” he said with difficulty and a little frustrated huff and started driving to the main street, taking some deep breaths in an attempt to slow the hiccups a little.
He was getting very aroused, and he could tell Atticus was, too. Fortunately, home wasn’t too far off. Though he had doubts of ever being able to enter that bookstore again.
“Wow. Um. You don’t have to suppress those as much now. I know that’s gotta feel uncomfortable,” Atticus said. Watching how deeply Otto’s body was reacting to each hiccup was both extremely hot and also a little concerning.
Otto realized that keeping the hiccups in had become instinctual and so at Atty’s cue he took as much of a breath out as he could and set his mouth open a little to let the hiccups be freer and relax his muscles from how much they were constricted in trapping the spasm’s noises from escaped.
“Right,” he confirmed, before, “hup!...hu-up...hup!hup!hu-uck!...herk!-hip!-hip!-hiup!-HOCK!hu-UCK!” he sighed out a groan and continued. “hu-uck!hu-uck!hulp!...hock!-humph!-unk!”
Even though it didn’t sound like it, letting his diaphragm relax into the spasms instead of holding it in felt much better. It certainly eased the pain that had just started in the middle of his chest.
He kept hiccuping at speed, Atticus noticed, their breath quickening at the exhibition. Ottos neck tightened and jerked in another hiccup as he moved his head to take the final turn onto their street throwing his head back before he readjusted.
Atticus could tell how much focus he was putting in driving and completely ignoring his partner’s reaction. That was good because if he had seen how absolutely turned on Atticus was and how hard it was not to rub themselves then he would’ve definitely wrecked.
Death by arousal. Not a terrible way to go, though…
THE NSFW ACTION
When the car parked there was an unsaid agreement that they both get into the house as quickly as possible. Otto’s erection was finally starting to become more obvious and the last thing he wanted was a neighbor to see.
Also, quickly and in unison, they both bee-lined to the bedroom. Atticus fished for lube and condoms as Otto undressed and flopped himself on the bed, desperation in his face as he kicked his pants off to the obvious excitement that couldn’t be hidden anymore.
“Oh gawd, they’re still so fast,” Atticus whined. “Are you okay?”
They always checked with Otto. They never wanted their desire to overpower his well-being.
Without his shirt on and from above, Atticus could witness the power and quickness of his hiccups. They watched the indent of his ribs expanding to his diaphragm’s spasms over and over and over again.
“Huck!-huck!-h’muck!-uck!-ulp!...mk!-hu-uck-huuck!-‘UCK!...h’mick!-hnk!-nk!-nk!hic!hnk!...nnk!-ilp!-huckah!-hngk!...”
It was hypnotic. Their breath hitched as their member, engorged in arousal, buzzed causing their inner-most muscles to undulate desperately.
Otto nodded to Atticus’ question. His hiccups were fast, but they let up at intervals allowing him to get a gasp of breath in before speeding up again. They came in waves, like Otto watched Atticus’ arousal do as they rubbed against his thigh, mouth open and eyes fixated on him. He throbbed, his hiccups seeming more of a background sensation to his arousal.
Wordlessly his hand asked to be let into their pants, lube covering his fingers.
“Shit, yes!” Atticus exclaimed as they let his fingers touch them.
For a moment nothing mattered except the sensations on each other’s bodies. Them both pleasuring each other lead to a moment of convulsion, a shivering and gasp of breath, a screaming groan and a lower more guttural groan harmonizing, followed by a panting collapse of smaller person on top of larger.
As they came back into their body, limbs heavy and tingling slightly, Atticus turned on Otto’s chest to look up at him only to find his eyes already on them. His lips were red and smiling faintly.
Atticus’ glasses were askew on their face. There were smudges all across the lenses. They’d take them off except then they wouldn’t be able to see Otto at all. They smiled up at him as Otto adjusted their glasses tenderly.
They felt his fingers slide from between their legs and they shivered again, curling into him. Their head dipped on his chest as he hiccuped. He still had them.
Otto clumsily wiped the lube from his fingers on the boxers he never fully removed but lowered for quick access. He rested that hand on his chest as he surrounded Atticus’ shoulders with his other arm, the hand he’d adjusted their glasses with. He felt another hiccup convulse in his chest. The sound he made was hoarse. His hiccups had weakened after their orgasms. He could tell they were trailing off. He took a deep refreshing breath before the next “hurk!”.
THE AFTERGLOW
“They’re stubborn,” Atticus muttered into Otto’s chest. They felt a jostle as he huffed out a laugh.
“Yeah,” he said tiredly, “but they’re merk!-uh trailing off, I think.”
“Do you want me to rub your stomach?” Atticus asked.
“Mmmhm,” Otto said, nodding with a smile and soft eyes.
It had become almost ritualistic that after a particularly raucous hiccup fit Atticus would give a little massage to Otto’s overworked belly. The muscles there appreciated the soft circular motions Atticus’ palm and fingers provided and it helped him relax. Atticus enjoyed the feeling of the last spasms of a case of hiccups through Otto’s stomach. It was a win/win. A lot of their relationship ended up in the mutual appreciation of one another’s pleasures. It was very symbiotic in that way.
“So... roleplaying went well…” Atticus mused softly as their hand made its course around the softness of Otto’s belly. He spasmed again and Atty felt the sensation like a small bump against their palm.
“I’d say so,” Otto said, his voice as hoarse as his hiccups. “Still can’t believe you-erk!-you bought that book.”
“You should talk. Buying one of my books of poems? Pretty sure I have a copy of that around here somewhere too, my dear,” they said.
“True…” Otto conceded. “Mem-merk!-uh. Mementos?”
Atticus watched Otto’s neck cave in with the hiccup and sighed happily.
“Yup. $50 memento,” Atty said sheepishly.
“Fifty? You paid fifty do-erk!-dollars for that?!” His eyes widened in their direction and his eyebrows crawled up his defined brow bone in shock.
“You saw it! Hand bound! Illustrated! It was a steal…” Atticus claimed.
“Firstly, not hand bound. Secondly, I have a-urk!-a first trade 1930’s edition that’s illustrated!” Otto argued.
“That you never let me read! Or touch! Or breathe on!”
“It’s...old…” Otto said, weakly.
“You’re old,” Atty parried. “Colombo? Really?”
“He’s a cultural icon…”
“Good lord, dude,” Atticus said, laughing in puffs of hot air on his chest. “I can’t believe that barista saw me watching…”
Otto chuckled, “He’s definitely got a story to tell, now.”
“We can’t go back there, can we?” they asked.
“Yeah, no, already decided that. Probably not in our best interests, no,” he confirmed. He turned his head and gave a little cough, and a silent hiccup caused him to spasm again. He felt Atticus’ hand rub against his stomach again in kind. He sighed, though, as another hiccup didn’t come after. His body was definitely tired from all of that.
“So, iced water, huh?” Atticus asked.
“I know, right? I mean, I’ve had iced water without the hiccups and nothing. Guess it just...was too cold?” he said, confused.
“Temperature changes are one of the causes of hiccups. Makes sense that it might make them worse. Just wouldn’t have thought about it,” they replied.
“Hey, you didn’t stutter when you said hiccups!”
“I’m getting better at it,” Atticus said with a grin.
Otto’s hand crept up to Atticus’ head and started rubbing their scalp. Atticus practically purred, humming as they curled tighter into Otto’s body.
“Thanks for doing this,” Atticus muttered.
“I really liked it,” Otto admitted. “It was fun. Kind of exciting. A little embarrassing, but not bad. Just...knowing you were there and--”
“And you were amazing,” Atticus interrupted. “How you held your body. How you didn’t seem like you were aware of me at all, but you did all those things you know I like. It was...really hot.”
“Yeah, it was!” he agreed.
“You’re the best old guy ever,” Atticus teased, hugging him close.
Otto rolled his eyes and stared at his partner.
“You do know,” he said, “that we’re only 5 years apart?”
“Shhh, you’re ruining the moment,” they cooed.
Otto snorted.
“Fifty dollars…” he whispered.
“Shhhhh…” Atticus said, putting their hand on his face without looking and targeting his mouth to cover.
Otto put one of their fingers in his mouth and nibbled lightly on it.
“Aaaah…” they whined. “Kiss it.”
Otto did, shaking his head.
“It’s wet now…” they grumbled and wiped it on his chest.
“I do have things to do today. And we should get food. And shower...definitely shower,” he said.
Atticus grumbled again, taking their glasses off and snuggling deeper into their husband’s chest in protest.
“Okay,” he whispered. “We’ll rest a little…”
And to be honest, the clock maker needed the rest. Now that he came back to his body, he could feel the slight soreness in his throat and chest, back and neck. All of the clenching he’d done, even in his jaw, to keep his hiccups suppressed had done a number on his body. And, before long, he found himself dozing with his partner.