Captain Virtue and the Allergy (m, slight f to come) (2/5)

[Mr. Black Cherry Berry Tea]

Yep, 'cause I need another one. Guess I'm on a writing kick lately, here's hoping it lasts for a bit. This one at least has an outline though so... Anyway here's the deal: super sneezes, got a really cool female character planned and she's too cool not to give a few sneezes to (will probably be normal-sized, more or less), but most of this is about a male superhero with super-sized sneezes. Very very loosely inspired by a chat I was having with a friend from the forum a few days back. Also a heads up, the sneezes in this one are going to get very very big.

---

He’s sparring with Dimitri the first time it happens. Dimitri’s in his golem form, which doesn’t mean that the Cap’s punches can’t hurt him, but they do way less damage. But then, with the Eagle Eye of Justice he spies it: Dimitri’s about to shift, about to become a living flame. But Captain Virtue—friends call him George—knows that during his shift, for a tiny second, Dimitri’s no more than an ordinary human. He bides his time, watching Dimitri—fans call him Element, (though he prefers Earth, Wind, and Fire, it’s never stuck)—and at the perfect moment, right as he shifts, Cap kicks his superspeed into gear, flies off like a rocket, and goes in for a almighty Punch of Righteous Strength… and suddenly finds himself off-guard, spun around, on the ground and surrounded by flames before he knows what’s happened to him. From somewhere amidst the flames, a disembodied voice calls out, “Yield?” Cap surveys his options. He’s could try to fight his way out of the flames, he’s done it before. If he ran fast enough, he could probably kick up a tornado that would disperse the flames. But from this position he’s clearly at a disadvantage, and even if he kept fighting, Element might still win, would probably win. Plus that redirect was damned impressive, and Dimitri deserves a win. Even as the flames begin to close in on him, he calls out: “Yield.”

All at once, the flames disappear, and there’s just Dimitri standing there. “Thought you had me on the old get-him-while-he-shifts trick, eh?” He asks, hand reaching down to grasp the Cap’s. And Cap looks up at Dimitri, he’s beaming, flushed with the excitement of beating the frankly legendary Captain Virtue, one hand akimbo on his hip, the other hand reaching down like Aladdin asking Jasmine would you trust me from that Disney movie…

The Captain’s thoughts are wandering so much that he doesn’t notice the sniff, the catch in his breath. He doesn’t even notice until his eyebrows are raised and pinched together his whole face seeming to draw up in preparation, his nostrils flaring as though they too wanted to rise, his chest drawing in air and drawing up as his back arches, the sting of irritation washing through his whole body, centered on his quivering Roman nose, almost too big for his face, but not quite (almost too big and yet perfectly in proportion was a good description for the Captain’s overall look, as was appropriate for a superhero like himself). In a small part of his mind that’s not consumed with the suddenly dire, suddenly urgent, suddenly all-consuming need to sneeze, he hears his own breath hitching, he hears Dimitri joking with him: “Oh, shit, Cap’s gonna blow, eh? Better get out of the blast zone.” They always kid him like this; after all, everything about the Captain is so tightly under control, so responsible, so level-headed. His shouted-out sneezes, great big unmanageable roars, are usually the only thing about him that’s even a hair out of place

But this one feels… different somehow. As though his chest is swelling out farther than it should be able to go, as though he’s engaged his super strength but has no control over it. There’s a warmth spreading through him that he can’t identify nor localize anywhere on his body, nor determine an exterior source. He feels the inexplicable desire to jump up and run from the room, but the sneeze has so overwhelmed his senses that he’s not sure he could if he tried. Suddenly, at the peak of the ever-growing itch in his nose, matched by the warmth in his body, matched by the intensity of his breath, matched by the feeling of expansion, of tightness, of fullness in his chest… he sneezes: “hh-huh-huh-HUH-HAAAAAAAATCHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

Even the Captain’s sneezes are classic, a perfect Ah-Choo, slightly aspirated at the top and with just a split second’s clench of wetness audible in the sound. But this time the sound tangles and twists in his throat, still a “choo” but with something growling, snarling, guttural beneath it. If his normal sneezes are lion’s roars, they’ve suddenly leveled-up to dragon status. The sound of the sneeze is deafening, even for Cap.

But that’s not all. Something more… something bigger just happened. He can’t quite put his finger on it, can’t really tell what he’s just unleashed until… he opens his eyes in recovery, marking how that sneeze had not only been larger, but had felt better than any previous sneeze he could think of… to see Dimitri, bowled over. “D-Dude,” he croaks out, as he gets back to his feet, “what the hell was that? We said sparring was over, you conceded! No fair saving a last-minute move! What the hell was that, a new sneeze power? No fair! How the hell are you Cap, THE Captain Virtue, and you’re still getting new powers? As if you don’t have enough already…”

The Captain, though, is just shaking his head, looking groggy and bewildered, like he’s not quite sure where he is. He’s unsteady on his feet, panting, looking slightly wild. It’s enough to get Dimitri to pause in his diatribe (a rare feat), squint his eyes, and ask: “Uhhh… Cap? You okay?”

The Captain responds with only a harsh wet sniffle, before he seems to come back to himself. His back straightens, his legs grow sturdy, his eyes return to their permanent slight lawman-of-the-west-in-the-evening-sun squinch. He turns to Dimitri and though he’s all Cap, there’s a slight uncertainty to his voice. “I’m actually not sure what that was, Dimitri. I wasn’t intending to violate the terms of our sparring agreement. It seems that I’ve… ah… perhaps developed a new allergy…”

“You mean you didn’t do that on purpose?” Dimitri asks, looking slightly worried now.

“That’s correct, Dimitri.” The Cap never lies, but right now? He looks like he wants to.

“So, your sneezes have gone from deafening to knocks-you-off-your-feet… overnight? Don’t you think you ought to get that checked out, Cap?”

The Captain seems to mull it over for a second, though in reality his mind just slips back to that feeling the moment before he’d sneezed, to that sensation of being overwhelmed, to that mysterious heat. He feels his nose prickle again, but it dies down as quickly as it arose. “No,” he finally answers, “No, I’ve dealt with issues like this before. It tends to happen as a result in significant gaps of time in between missions. My strength can be somewhat unruly at times, and if not pushed to the limit frequently enough, will find outlet in any number of ways. I’m sure that’s what’s happening here.” And then, something appears on the Captain’s face, something Dimitri was sure he’d never see there, a curve of the lips—not the warm broad grin that somehow showed every one of his teeth while simultaneously making him look like a Kansas farm boy who just won the high school football championship—not George’s usual smile but something else, something cocky, something so out of character that Dimitri nearly marches him down to the sick bay himself. The Captain—George—George smirks and says, “Guess you didn’t push me hard enough, huh, Dima?”

And then all thought of marching George down to sick bay vanishes. All that’s left is the flame that fills Dimitri as he lights up, eyes blazing. “I’m gonna kick. your. ass.” He says, as he transforms into his flame form, and just as George gets into a fighting stance of his own, Dimitri tacks on a mocking, “Captain.”

Edited November 7, 2015 by Mr. Pumpkin Spice Tea

[IcyFlame]

1. Yep, 'cause I need another one. Guess I'm on a writing kick lately, here's hoping it lasts for a bit.

2. The Captain, though, is just shaking his head, looking groggy and bewildered, like hes not quite sure where he is. Hes unsteady on his feet, panting, looking slightly wild. Its enough to get Dimitri to pause in his diatribe (a rare feat), squint his eyes, and ask: Uhhh Cap? You okay?

The Captain responds with only a harsh wet sniffle, before he seems to come back to himself. His back straightens, his legs grow sturdy, his eyes return to their permanent slight lawman-of-the-west-in-the-evening-sun squinch. He turns to Dimitri and though hes all Cap, theres a slight uncertainty to his voice. Im actually not sure what that was, Dimitri. I wasnt intending to violate the terms of our sparring agreement. It seems that Ive ah perhaps developed a new allergy

You mean you didnt do that on purpose? Dimitri asks, looking slightly worried now.

Thats correct, Dimitri. The Cap never lies, but right now? He looks like he wants to.

So, your sneezes have gone from deafening to knocks-you-off-your-feet overnight? Dont you think you ought to get that checked out, Cap?

3. Dimitri nearly marches him down to the sick bay himself.

^OKAY THIS

1. I'm hoping your writing kick continues too.

2. DIMITRI IS CONCERNED 500 POINTS FOR CUTENESS

3. SO CONERN. MANY FEEL. MUCH GREAT.

I'm definitely looking forward to seeing your continuation of this.

[Hovercuke]

I'm loving this beginning, so excited to see what comes next. You having flyingcukes very very hooked!

[gryffin]

And Cap looks up at Dimitri, he’s beaming, flushed with the excitement of beating the frankly legendary Captain Virtue, one hand akimbo on his hip, the other hand reaching down like Aladdin asking Jasmine would you trust me from that Disney movie…

And then, something appears on the Captain’s face, something Dimitri was sure he’d never see there, a curve of the lips—not the warm broad grin that somehow showed every one of his teeth while simultaneously making him look like a Kansas farm boy who just won the high school football championship—not George’s usual smile but something else, something cocky, something so out of character that Dimitri nearly marches him down to the sick bay himself.

Mr, I love your metaphors almost as much as your characters' sneezing. The cuteness-with-a-fair-bit-of-hotness-on-the-side factor is shooting through the roof. Would you terribly mind continuing if you ever get the chance?

[Mr. Black Cherry Berry Tea]

Mr, I love your metaphors almost as much as your characters' sneezing. The cuteness-with-a-fair-bit-of-hotness-on-the-side factor is shooting through the roof. Would you terribly mind continuing if you ever get the chance?

:blushsmiley: thanks! Definitely planning to continue and on the soon side. Got a plan for this one!

[Vintagedarling]

The detail that went into describing just how 'under control' the Cap 'was' (past tense) is super adorable!! Along with Dimitri's shock of new powers is hilarious!!! And since i'm cheesy as hell and this IS a super hero story. This is SUPER AWESOME!!!!

[GroundIntoDust]

I love your stories, and I love where this is going!

[Mr. Black Cherry Berry Tea]

Looking back, he’s shocked he didn’t realize it the second time. Almost embarrassed really. Meshelle’s prowling around the house nude… again. Sure, she’s invisible and intangible, but still, he knows she’s not wearing anything, knows that when the cup seems to raise up on its own, tipping back to make water momentarily pool in the air before disappearing—and liquids sometimes do that, remain visible and tangible until they’re absorbed into Meshelle’s body—he knows that Meshelle is walking around naked, again.

The thought doesn’t make the Captain uncomfortable, as he expected it to, as it has for much of the past couple years since they’d all been living together in the Citadel of the Right. The Citadel sat just southeast of the Palace of Justice, where Cap Virtue’s mom and dad ran the nation as President and Chief of Staff. They weren’t gifted with the superpowers Cap had developed shortly after puberty, but if getting shit done in politics was a superpower—and it was—Cap’s parents had powers that outstripped even his own. Less useful when there was a meteor crashing into earth, or a super villain turning citizens into cockroaches out of a crazed messianic vision of how to survive an imaginary nuclear war… but more useful when it was time to pass a decently progressive tax or sensible anti-discrimination laws.

While Meshelle’s nudity really did make Cap uncomfortable in the past, today it makes him feel something else altogether. In fact it makes him… well it makes him feel something he can’t quite put a name on. Positive, certainly. Warm, somehow? Unexpectedly, part of him has a sudden wish to fly around the room, to lift something impossibly heavy—maybe there’s a star out of alignment somewhere nearby. Perhaps Dima still hadn’t worked him hard enough.

No, it’s not until she drops the cloak around her face and shoulders to speak to the Captain that he starts feeling uncomfortable. “Oh Cap!” she says, spinning around when she was, apparently, about to walk out of the room, becoming visible from the crown of her luscious black hair, to the shoulders, nearly to the tops of what Cap knew were medium-sized but wonderfully perky breasts—and since when did Cap even think things like “perky breasts”? Huh.

“I know you hate ‘talking to nothing’ as you put it,” Meshelle says, irritated. “But come on, you can see my face. I just can’t turn the rest of me visible because I’m not wearing anything right now, and we both know that I am way too much woman for that little super-heroic brain of yours to handle.”

Cap opens his mouth to say something, but the response that springs to mind feels foreign on his tongue, though the cocky grin that would have accompanied the “who says?” he’s choking back half-appears on his face. It’s at war with the “Yes, I am giving my attention to you as the leader of this team” Captain face with which he’d normally respond to Meshelle, teasing about her nudity or not, so his face lands at a weird mishmash of expressions that looks mostly constipated. Well. The Captain has looked worse. Usually after eviscerating a giant alien worm but. He’s looked worse.

He realizes that he still hasn’t said anything, and Meshelle is narrowing her eyes like she thinks something’s wrong—but then Dimitri bounds in and pretends to wrap his arms around Meshelle, with an enormous cheeky grin on his face, though they both know he can’t feel anything. “For the millionth time, Dima… invisible and intangible. Everything you want to touch right now is in a personal pocket dimension, to which you are never invited. Try again next time.”

Dina jumps away from Meshelle in a parody of being offended. “Meshelle! Madame Nothing! The Dark Lady herself! How could you! Accusing me of… certainly I would never try to touch you without your expressed permission.”

Meshelle has a sour look on her face, corners of her eyes and her lips alike turned down, eyebrows raised. “Right, right. I’m sure you wouldn’t Dima. I have the utmost faith in you,” she says, rolling her eyebrows. “Just be glad my legs are still in the pocket dimension, or I might have to drop kick you across the room. Don’t think I couldn’t do it.”

And of course, she could—Meshelle’s not just some girl who turns invisible. She’s on the squad for a reason: she’s probably the most badass assassin Cap’s ever seen. Sparring with her, it’s like she’s more than just invisible. It’s like she has some sort of super speed. Granted, the fact that Cap can’t track her makes it easier for her to land hits, but still, when her fist materializes out of nothing, well… he is Captain Virtue. He ought to be able to dodge anything, whether or not it just came back from a pocket dimension. Meshelle’s a force of nature, in the training room and the battlefield alike. And beyond that she is, of course, unbelievably beautiful…

Not that that matters, Cap has to remind himself, somewhat severely. Were he speaking, he’d be using the Disapproving Voice of Leadership. And what does attractiveness have to do with strength in the battlefield anyway? Nothing, of course, but that certainly doesn’t mean that it isn’t something quite lovely in its own right…

And somehow the Captain found himself looking at the general direction of Meshelle, where her—naked—body would be, were she tangible. Dima and Meshelle are arguing—what else do they ever do?—and he knows he should calm them down, ask Meshelle what it was she wanted to ask him about… but the Cap finds himself staring into space, except, well, not into space. He finds himself imagining the skin that would glow beneath his gaze (not literally, unless he were using the Gaze of Moral Encouragement, of course). He finds himself smirking slightly, his posture loosening, his mouth opening to say—well he doesn’t know what he’s going to say but it probably won’t be anything that PrezMom and ChiefDad would approve of…

“Uhhhh… George? You, uh, okay?”

The Cap snaps back to attention, only to find himself filled with a strange sensation. He feels too big for his bones in a way he hasn’t since he was a kid. He feels his own energy prickling at his skin, he feels… “hhhhehh… heeehhhh…” he feels like he needs to sneeze. And all at once he’s reminded of the training room, with Dima. He’s reminded of that feeling of power, of power building up, of something filling up his body, something pushing at every pore to escape, something making him expand, almost as though he’s growing taller and broader—as if that were possible—with every breath. And at the same time, that terrifying—or was it thrilling—sensation of losing control, gasp by irritated gasp. The feeling of something growing in his body that is in some way not his own—and yet it is—something that is in some way stronger than him. HE feels a flash of panic, the need to scramble for purchase, to hold onto something, to hold onto himself… but no sooner has he felt it than it dissipates. This need is stronger. It’s overwhelming, it’s too much, it’s too strong, it;s…

“Oh shit, uhhhh Meshelle I think you’re gonna want to go full intangible…” Dima says quickly, his voice distorted in that heavy way it always was mid-transformation. If the cap could open his eyes, he’d see the muscles and skin swelling and hardening as Dima enters golem mode. But Cap can’t see anything, only feel that power swirling, growing, expanding, building towards some unstoppable climax…

“HeeeaAAHHHHHH… eeeeEEEEAAAHHHHHH…”

“Oh shit Cap… please don’t blow away the living—“

“AAARRRRRRRSSCCHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

It’s a sneeze like none the Cap has ever sneezed before, far more potent than the blast he’d unleashed during training with Dima. It’s like… it’s like a hurricane, or worse. It’s nothing like his usual sneeze, a perfectly classic—if high-volume—Ah-Choo. No, this is a snarl, a growl, a roar. The sound is thick with the explosion of spray that bursts from the Cap’s mouth and nose, along with the deafening fury of that gust of wind, that outrushing of power from the Cap’s corded muscles, from his very cells, churning with the massive supply of energy that made the Cap America’s Greatest Superhero. That power was fully on display, ripping up an island that’s rooted to the ground. The massive column of air slams into Golem Dimitri, easily topples the seemingly immovable object with a more-than-unstoppable force. He skids along the floor as the blast continues, tossing around anything and everything in its wake: chairs, tables, food, windows… for an impossible second, Dima’s sure that Cap’s going to blow right through the wall but… the wall holds.

When the blast finally ceases, George feels… well… he doesn’t quite have a word for what he feels. Wrung-out. Empty. And yet, in some odd way, satiated. It had felt so good to blow out all that air, even better than any usual exercise of his powers. Cap found himself smiling even as he was panting, as though he’d just emerged victorious from hours of battle. There was an emptiness in him suddenly, and it was a good emptiness.

Dima and Meshelle were, to say the least, less pleased. In fact pleased wasn’t the word. Worried, maybe. Cautious, certainly. Terrified, almost.

“Uhhh… so lemme guess, Cap—more of that new allergy of yours?”

Dimitri’s voice brings Cap back to himself, and yet… he can’t get all the way there. He’s ever so slightly slouching. His legs still don’t feel strong enough to completely hold the heaviness of him. His squinch is off. To anyone who didn’t know George—not even the Cap, but George—he looked completely strong, completely sturdy, the immovable wall of justice that he’d always been. Dimitri and Meshelle know better.

“Shit, Cap. That really did a number on you, huh. Not to mention the living room…” Meshelle sighs, looking around, “and the kitchen… and, wow, all the windows. You know those are pretty thoroughly reinforced.”

Dimitri’s walking over to Cap, while tables and chairs begin to right themselves, seemingly unaided—Meshelle’s still invisible. Gradually Dimitri’s guiding him into a chair, brow creased. Cap can’t help but chuckle to himself at Dimitri, looking like such a mother hen. Such a role reversal—George is always the one to take care of everybody in the world (literally), it’s odd to see the ordinarily carefree Dimitri taking over the role. Also vaguely heartening to know that Dimitri’s only ever this way for him. His nose twitches.

“Uh, Cap? Got another one brewing? ‘Cause I don’t fancy living through another one of your windstorms unless I’m rocky, you know what I mean?”

Something in Dimitri’s voice, the slight catch of fear—somehow different from worry and yet so similar—makes George pause, come all the way back to himself, back to Captain Virtue. He gives an experimental sniff, but all trace of the tickle has gone. He straightens up imperceptibly. “No, Dimitri. I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, I hope so. The bill on this thing is going to be…” Meshelle mutters.

George feels himself coloring slightly. Something in the pit of his stomach is deeply ashamed of his loss of control. Something else is practically purring with pleasure at the memory. He’s never felt so… unleashed, except in the rare moments of facing enemies strong enough to actually use something of his full power on. That sneeze was different somehow though. Sweeter. Still… he’s made a huge mess. He’ll have to clean it up—can’t just go running to PrezMom and ChiefDad for more money to rebuild the Citadel, not when he’d been the one to cause all the damage. And for a reason he himself could barely understand. “Well, never worry.” the Cap says, standing to his full height. “I’ll be responsible for the cleanup. I’m sorry for my, ah, loss of control there. I, ah… hadn’t expected that.”

But Dimitri’s not a bit less worried—his eyes are practically roving Cap’s body, as though he’s searching for some sort of physical indication of what’s wrong with the team leader. “Uh, yeah, I’m sure you didn’t. Still, Cap, you really gotta get someone to check you out. the Doc’ll be back from Colombia tomorrow, and… you know you’ve got to figure this out. That one was like… ten times worse than the last one. If you don’t get control of this fast…”

“Understood, Dimitri.” the Cap says, almost curt. If he wasn’t ashamed before, he is now. How could he, Captain Virtue, lose control so badly he scared his teammates? That’s not what the Captain stands for at all. But he can’t let his shame derail him. It’s his job to fix this, and then to figure out what’s causing it, and in the meantime, to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Because Dimitri’s right… the latest sneeze had been far more powerful than the previous one. What if the next sneeze is another order of magnitude more powerful…? The Cap doesn’t even want to think about it.

As the Cap thinks, Dimitri searches his eyes for something—and he must find something acceptable in the Cap’s visage, because he relaxes his posture, slides into his usual lazy, pleased smile, exactly dead center between a grin and a smirk. “Alright, Cap, whatever you say. We’re following you, fearless leader!” He says, with a faux-salute. It’s mocking, but affectionately so.

“Alright boys," Meshelle says, face turning visible and tangible again. The Cap can't see her body, one hand on one jutted-out hip, but he can feel it. "Glad Dimitri’s done freaking out and the Cap’s done redecorating the living room—“ she continues, until Dimitri jumps in--

“And the kitchen, and probably most of the eastern hallway…” and makes George turn even more red.

“We have a Citadel to clean up. I assume Captain I-made-a-mess-I’ll-clean-it-up is going to help, yeah?” Meshelle finished.

The Cap smiled, nodded, and gave an honest-to-God full-on Captain Virtue squinch. “Alright team, let’s get cleaning.”

Edited November 7, 2015 by Mr. Pumpkin Spice Tea

[HPG]

Please continue