Blown Away (Secret Santa for Mr Black Cherry Berry Tea) (FINISHED)

[gryffin]

@Mr. Black Cherry Berry Tea, this is your Secret Santa. I hope you like it, because you’re awesome. I hope one day I’ll be able to write big sneezes the way you do. Or any sneezes. Or anything for that matter.

Disclaimer: Yes, I know that actors and directors and the like aren’t supposed to talk backstage during a show, but they need to or I haven’t got a story. So let’s imagine our unnamed university has a very fancy theatre where noise doesn’t carry from backstage into the main hall, ok? Or they’re such good actors that they can convey meaning with barely an expenditure of sound. Or telepathy. Whatever.

Anyway, here’s Part the First. Yes, it's a bit slow, but I swear there is sneezing near the end! Part the Second (which - spoiler alert - will be quicker and sneezier) will be finished in a couple of days and will be posted pronto. 

- - - - -

“Hi Greg.”

“Hi Betty. Why are you holding a bucket full of water in f—”

Splash.

The life of the thespian can have some odd moments. Sometimes, for instance, your director appears in front you mid-show with a large bucket full of water, says hello with her trademark deadpan face, and despite being several inches shorter than you, proceeds to pour the entire content of said bucket right over your head. This doesn’t happen frequently, I should add. But when it happens, at least if you’ve been doing theatre for as long as Greg had, you take it like a gentleman.

“Thanks Betty.”

“You’re welcome. And don’t look at me like that. You’ve just jumped into the well to save the old geezer, right?”

According to the script, yes, he had. So a bucketful of water – not even very cold water – meant getting away lightly. And the director’s always right anyway.

“And when half of the audience swoons before your wet shirt, think of me.”

How right Betty always is, Greg mused silently amid the hushed giggles of the rest of the cast. Rishi was particularly giggly, as always, which at that particular moment didn’t help.

“You shut up and go do your f—ing monologue”, Betty growled with the politest of smiles as Phoebe, ever the practical spirit, manhandled him towards the stage.

“By Demeter, people… pffff… by Asclepius, by all the gods!”, came the echo of his voice a few seconds later. “I’ve never seen a man almost drown at a better time than this old chap just did!” Thankfully cracking up was quite in character.

Within a minute or two they’d be marching back in – Greg, coyly blushing Keira, and Rob with the white-dyed hair and pencilled wrinkles – for the end of Act 4. Greg tried to ignore the first shiver that brushed his skin. It would be – what, a quarter of an hour before the end of the act? – perhaps a manageable time to be soaked to the bone without major consequences. Perhaps. Assuming that Betty would allow him to wipe himself dry before his bit in Act 5. The thought sent another shiver down his spine. Gosh, it was going to be a very long end of play.

*

“Are you quite sure the bucket thing was a good idea?” whispered Phoebe once they were gone. As a good friend and the group’s leading comédienne, she could take a little more liberty with her than Greg could.

“We’re on a budget, we can’t afford a lake.”

“Mm. It might have been wise to try it out at a rehearsal first.”

“Nah. Surprise and all that. And yes it is a good idea. I swear just now I could hear about forty women and half as many men holding their breath in rapture the moment he appeared.” (She omitted the laughter and loud cheers.) “Which is, incidentally, why I only did that to him and not to Rob, bless him. So, no, je ne regrette rien.”

A second’s awkward pause followed. “You’ve never heard him sneeze, Betty, have you?”

No, she hadn’t. Throughout a term’s worth of rehearsals for The Misanthrope – Menander’s, not Molière’s; we have standards here for goodness’ sake – Greg had taken very good care never to have his highly susceptible nose titillated by anything untoward. Well, hardly ever. At the dress rehearsal just the previous day the cheap dye on Rob’s hair had come very close to setting off a veritable nuclear explosion, but he managed to keep his respiratory system under control until the proceedings were over. What happened later, off Betty’s radar but very much on Phoebe’s, will be kept for another occasion; suffice it to say that had Betty been present, and had she known what effect prolonged exposure to water could have on Greg’s peculiar immune system, she might have thought better of the whole bucket business. But too late now.

“And what’s the big deal if he sneezes? Comedy character gets wet, sneezes, the audience go ‘aww’, clichéd but acceptable. No?”

Oh no. No, no, no. But, as I said, too late to worry about it now. Hoping for the best, Phoebe scuttled off to fix something or other on Andy’s outfit before he made his entrance. Bemused but undeterred, Betty went back to watching intently from the wings.

*

Tall, blond, statue-like Greg had spent most of his undergraduate degree, and likewise most of the master’s he was now reading for, doing three things: acting, acting, and acting. He had a talent, an ease for it which made the pairing of him and the theatre just a thing of nature, like the moon revolving the earth. His supervisor occasionally felt obliged to take issue with the evident inbalance between time spent on his books and time spent treading the boards; but Greg had the fortune of studying English, and Dr Fitzpatrick had the double misfortune of specialising in drama and being a kind man; so complaints were limited to the perfunctory and unobtrusive. As our focus on him may suggest, Greg was also swooningly handsome.

No less handsome, however, was Rishi, whom nature had blessed with wide hazelnut eyes, a dazzling smile, the most adorable thatch of jet black hair, and a genial sense of humour that could keep him afloat no matter the circumstances, on and off the stage. No wonder Andy was confused. Not that he’d quite realised that he was yet; but he was. It was his first production – he’d started university only the previous term – and he was more than a little star-struck to find himself side by side with one of the university’s most talented student actors, and with two of the handsomest. But star-struckness wasn’t all that there was to it. There was… something that almost unknowingly drew him to them. To Greg.

Rishi, for his part, seemed to take Andy under his wing somewhat – which also Andy didn’t object to at all for some reason. Did Rishi maybe see something of himself in the younger man? Just a couple of years earlier he’d been equally confused, and his own début on the university stage had coincided with a massive crush on – well, Greg, who else. He was long past that, but a sympathy of sorts lingered, which the comely, starry-eyed fresher swifly reawakened. Yes, it had to be because of that sympathy that he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off him.

*

End of act, exeunt omnes, clap clap clap. Rishi and Andy were going straight back in for their little spiel in Act 5, but Greg had a minute or two’s respite and dashed towards his dressing room. Thank goodness he always kept a towel in his bag, and thank goodness the production was in modern costume. It is acceptable for someone who’s just jumped in and then out of a well to dry himself up a little, isn’t it? He rubbed vigorously his face and head as he marched back towards the stage; no point even trying that on his thoroughly soaked shirt. He undid one more button; might as well make the best of it. The shivers were back with a vengeance, but the bright, warm stage lights would take care of those for another while. His nasal cavities too could be doing much worse; there was definitely the beginning of a tickle there, but maybe he’d manage to keep it in check until the end of the play… maybe. He had to resist the urge to sniffle lest his over-sensitive sinuses got too excited. He bit his tongue, swung the towel across his shoulder, and stepped back onto the stage with Colinfirthly panache. “I was just coming out and heard every word you said…”

*

“Is Greg all right?” whispered Keira inquisitively.

“Looks like it – at the moment,” Phoebe answered, peering in from the wing.

“What is this Greg business?” Betty interrupted impatiently. “Is he going to melt like the Wicked Witch of the West, or what?”

“Well, his nose… disagrees with being wet.” Phoebe nodded vigorously in assent. “And you don’t want him to start sneezing during the play.” “Yep. You really don’t.”

“Whoa. I’m actually starting to be curious.”

“Pray you stay that way until we’re all safely out of here.”

“Do you remember that time at the Arcadia cast party, Phoebe? When his punt capsized and he fell in?”

“That’s quite unforgettable, Keira,” Rob interposed from behind her back. “My eardrums are still recovering. Still, one might say a wet-shirted Greg is worth the momentary hearing loss,” he added with a knowing wink.

“Oh, enough of that, Rob. It’s ancient history and you know it.”

“Not that we object to more wet-shirted Greg, mind me”, Phoebe leant in. “If we’re all alive by the end of this you’ll have earned our eternal gratitude, Betty.”

“I’m starting to think you’re all crazy,” she replied.

“Hm! You’re slower than I thought.”

*

“Oh, nonsense. Come on. They’re family now; you should get used to it!”

With a beaming smile and a hand on Greg’s shoulder, Rishi walked him out up centre, with an encouraging applause at their backs. Their parts were over, thank God, though the play still had a good twenty minutes of slapstick to go. Rob, Sam, and Kostas’ job now to keep the audience entertained.

“How are you managing?”, Rishi whispered as soon as they were out of sight. 

“I need to sneeze so bad, you have no idea…”

“Actually I do, mate. I’ve seen you in action enough times—“

“Will you stop chattering?” Betty hissed. “Greg – how are you managing?”

“Er…”

“I’ve been hearing wonders about your sneezes. Just make sure nobody gets hurt, ok? When I said ‘blow them away’ I didn’t mean it literally.”

“Ok boss, I’ll try my best.”

“Do or do not. There is no try.” Greg could not help smirking at this unlikely, pouting, winking blonde Yoda. “And – I’m sorry, Greg.”

He does look good with his hair all ruffled up like that, Andy sighed to himself as he watched on. (Honest, it was the hair not the shirt.) His heart skipped a beat when Greg smoothly peeled the shirt off his chiselled chest and started drying himself up.

“Whoa, Greg, warn us next time!”

“Rish, you say that every single time I take my shirt off in your presence.”

“Well, it’s a good line. And you never do it anyway.”

“I’ve more pressing problems right now. And so have you guys if I do.”

“Hurricane’s brewing?”

Greg nodded as he buried his face in the towel, rubbing harshly at his increasingly irritated nose.

Every single time… he takes his shirt off… in his presence. Beautiful Greg’s words kept echoing in Andy’s mind. Was that jealousy by any chance? No, it can’t be… surely? Sharp-eyed Rishi could not help smiling at Andy’s obvious predicament. Oh these freshers, so many things to learn…

*

It had always been that way with Greg, heaven knows why. Some of his high school classmates still remember the first time they got invited to a pool party all together for someone or other’s birthday. They were well acquainted with his nasal exuberance – it was quite impossible to miss, and not infrequently triggered despite his best efforts – but the explosive reaction between Greg and dihydrogen oxide was quite the novelty. And if even sixteen-year-old Greg could easily blow a person right across a large garden with a well-directed sneeze, just imagine what he was capable of after six more years of growth, gym, and theatrical practice.

“You’re very tall and fit, you should take up rowing,” someone had suggested when he started university. An involuntary laughter and a long explanation were the inevitable reply. But he was quite used to it by then; even where his reputation hadn’t preceded him (and mostly it had), he would be quite frank with people as to his sternutatory prowess; better warned than mourned, or something like that. And the unwarned, too, would learn by experience soon enough.

But this – this was the moment he had dreaded since first setting foot on a stage so many years earlier. Being locked in a battle with the most powerful force in his body. All eyes on him. Inches away from ruining an entire production.

*

So there was Greg, sitting on a disused amplifier, elbows on his knees, eyes shut, hands alternatingly shielding, pinching, pressing, wiping, and rubbing his poor nose, which was becoming runnier and ticklier by the minute. As the consummate actor that he was, he had achieved near-perfect control over every fibre of his body, but his beleaguered sinuses were screaming for relief and he was minutes, maybe seconds away from letting go. He had to hold back. At least until the end of the play. He had to.

* 

“Getting any better?” Rishi asked tentatively. Greg shook his head.

“SOD OFF ALREADY!” came Rob’s exasperated yell, barely muffled by the distance. “Simikhe, you old hag – may the gods blast you, every last one of ’em!”

“We’re halfay through the last scene. Less than two minutes to go. You’re almost there, mate.” Keira nodded at Rishi’s words. Greg shook his head again. Not enough time.

“Right. The hurricane’s closing in upon us; we need a state of emergency and an evacuation plan. We can’t evacuate the audience just now, and we can’t run away ourselves, much though we might wish to. If…”

“Oh for God’s sake, Rish,” Phoebe interrupted sharply. “It’s not like your sneezes are for shrinking violets either, are they?”

“Correct. But it’s not hayfever season yet. Your argument’s invalid.”

The discussion was cut short by a loud, desperate intake of breath from Greg. And another. And another. “Hhh… hhHHHhh… HHHH…” There was no stopping now, no delaying. Only controlling the explosion as much as possible. And considering how long he’d been holding back, it promised to be an almightly explosion. He stood up and looked about helplessly, his breath hitching and hitching, a hand lingering pitifully before his nose, his narrowing eyes begging for help.

“That way. Emergency exit. Can be opened without setting off the fire alarm.” Phoebe clicked into I’m-in-charge mode. “Don’t just go out; you’ll be needed for the curtain call, alive if possible. Rish – you stay here and relay what’s happening on stage. Keira – go warn Betty. Someone – go with Greg,” she fired off with ruthless efficiency.

“I can do that”, Andy found himself coming forward.

“Splendid. Stay out of the line of fire and bring him back in one piece. Everyone else, run for your lives. See you at the curtain call. Bye!” – and she disappeared towards the other end of the backstage, with the rest of the cast close on her heels.

“Er… bye?”

“Go”, Rishi mouthed silently, nodding towards the exit. Andy obediently escorted Greg in that direction, one hand on his broad, muscular, quivering shoulder.

Half a minute to go, maybe less. The bearing walls were respectably old and sturdy; the fabric of the building should hold. There shouldn’t be anyone in that dead-end back alley at half past nine in the evening; the shops were all closed already; nobody was going to get hurt. Nobody except Andy, that is; but he seemed quite content with that. Rishi sighed to himself. The boy was going to get hurt in more ways than one.

*

Greg fell on the escape door with all his weight and it gave way with an offended squeak. The dim light of the alley stumbled into view. Andy’s hand felt like glowing embers on Greg’s back as the evening air engulfed his body. His bare chest was heaving and heaving under the yellow lamplight as he struggled with all his might to delay the explosion one second at a time. It was a long balancing act on the edge of a precipice. And the edge of the precipice gave way under the gentle, cool caress of the February air.

“Heh… heh… heh! HEH! H-HHHHEH! HHHHHHHHHHHHH…”

Greg was clasping Andy’s arm so tightly it was almost painful. “Nearly there, Greg, keep going…” he murmured soothingly as Greg’s tall, muscled torso arched back like the arm of a catapult.

*

The audience held their breath as a gloating Sam stepped smoothly across the fourth wall with a broad, theatrical gesture. The closing words. “And you, rejoice with us! Our struggle’s at an end…” The cast backstage, from Betty down, were holding their breath too, though for a different reason. Rishi was standing on tenterhooks in sight of Andy and the emergency exit, his ears straining to hear every syllable of the speech over his own pounding heart-beat, ready to signal the end of the play – if Greg resisted that long.

“…stay with us and be kindly forever!” Sam declaimed, and bowed. The audience erupted into cheers and applause. The cast backstage dared not bad an eyelid. Rishi caught his breath just enough to wave energetically towards the escape door.

*

“You made it, Greg, it’s over, the show’s over!” Andy whispered into his ear, dizzy with excitement and relief. “Let it rip.”

And boy he did. His body held the accumulated energy of a forty-minute fight against the sneeze of doom, and released it instantly in one titanic blast as he snapped double at the waist. “HHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAASSSSSSCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOO!!!”

The magnitude of the detonation sent shockwaves through the edifice. The audience back inside doubled their applause and cheers, encouraged by what they took for a general roar of enthusiastic approval. “Are the students now applauding with their feet as well their hands?”, Professor Ombrell archly asked her neighbour. “Golly, yes, they must be, the floor’s shaking! What a brilliant idea! Bravo Rooooob!”, Professor Postle howled back, and started stamping his feet like an overexcited two-year-old.

Andy had gone deaf for a second and quite lost his bearings. It was very windy all of a sudden. A car’s alarm was moaning lonely in the distance. “I swear it was an earthquake”, a girl’s tipsy voice insisted pleadingly somewhere off right. He opened his eyes and found himself hanging on to Greg as though for dear life. They were both still standing, if somewhat unsteadily. “Whoo, that was a big one… bless you a megaton!” he proffered as he straightened himself up, looking Greg in the eye. Those beautiful, mountain-green eyes. But why were they closing again, they were so beautiful and green and so so close, why, no, no, don’t – oh.

Greg’s aggrieved nose couldn’t possibly be pacified with a single sneeze. That was why. And Andy was standing right in the firing line. Congrats Andy, shame they’ve abolished the Darwin Awards. Greg’s lips curled back to uncover his small, perfect teeth as his flaring nostrils guzzled the crisp evening air. “HHHHHH… HHHHHHHHHH…” Andy already imagined himself blasted right off, pulverised but for an inglorious Andy-shaped depression in the brick wall opposite. But within a second he felt yanked forcefully forward and thrust into – Greg’s arms, which were holding him tight, one strong hand steadying the back of his head, one side of his face pressed against Greg’s gleaming chest muscle, mere centimetres away from his heartbeat.

With Andy secured in that safest of havens, Greg’s upper body could fly forward unhindered with a thunderous triple. “HHURRRRRESSSCHHHHHHHHHHHHH!! HAH-AESSSSCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHOO!! HEH-HEH… one mohhhh… HHHHHHASSSSCHHHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOO!!!” The alley echoed again and again, then all Andy could hear was Greg’s quivery panting and the slowing ta-tum, ta-tum, ta-tum of his heart.

*

“I’m still alive,” said Keira.

“So am I, I think,” said Phoebe.

“The building hasn’t collapsed,” said Betty.

“Not yet,” said Keira.

“Ok. Curtain call’s like now, so someone go see if it’s safe to bring The Tornado back in.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Phoebe saluted and pottered off hurriedly.

*

“Are you done?” Andy ventured.

“Yeah… for now,” Greg answered, adorably congested.

“Then bless you times three. And… thank you. For, well, shielding me from certain death just now.” The manner of the shielding was irrelevant. Totally.

“Thank you, rather. My trusted Virgil in the darkness.” Why was his one-sided smile so achingly attractive? Why? “And… sorry I guess?”

The sight of Greg, so handsome, so close, still gloriously shirtless, was almost painful. He wrested himself out of his Greg-induced stupor. “We need to find you something dry to put on, or you’ll catch your death in the cold. And ours too,” he added with a smirk.

“Bravo, bravo, Signor Metcalfe,” Rishi’s voice came ringing from the dark end of the corridor. “Now get your asses back in, please. The audience are applauding to high heaven but it won’t last forever, and if Betty chooses to explode, your sneezes will be soap bubbles popping in comparison.” Most kind, as ever. The three hurried back towards the backstage, where they were greeted by a round of heart-felt applause.

“Cast party sounds so 2015. We’ll make ours the survivors’ party,” Rob grinned to loud approval.

“Yes, yes, now keep the rest for after this bloody curtain call or we’ll bow to an empty theatre, thankyouverymuch.”

“Msorryboss, sure.”

 

Edited March 25, 2018 by gryffin
Yet another typo

[Mr. Black Cherry Berry Tea]

Oh wow. wow. That was... phenomenal. That was really really really really... really wonderful. Thank you SO much. This is SO GOOD! 

ALSO OMG I LOVE THIS PLOT. I love the theater setting, I love the clueless/bossy director, I LOVE how all of them talk about his sneezes, I love Greg and I would like one of my own please. All of it is brilliant, seriously. And I mean the chest clutching triple that was... yeah. That was awesome. really awesome. 

Okay. I have gushed a lot. This is so so so so good though, seriously. THANK YOU!!

 

EDIT: ALSO LOL @ Menander's Misanthrope and not Moliere's. Although I do happen like like Moliere's Misanthrope but you know I'm a sucker for the hits, lol.

Edited January 3, 2017 by Mr. Black Cherry Berry Tea
theater references?

[gryffin]

Ok @Mr. Black Cherry Berry Tea, Part the Second was a liiiiittle late, as you might have realised. But it is indeed shorter and sneezier, as promised. The good news is, there will also be a Part the Third, which will also be on the shorter and sneezier side and won't take another seven months to write. Anyway, here's Part the Second.

- - - - -

They started filing in slowly, one by one, to increasing cheers and applause. Pestering all one’s friends and tutors to come to the show always has its advantages.

Rishi caught Greg’s eye moments before his turn. “Don’t you play games with him.”

“What – you fancy him?”

“He’s a good guy. So don’t play games with him.”

“Oh come on. Don’t tell me he didn’t like it.”

“Of course he did. So don’t. play. games. with him.”

“Don’t worry,” Greg sighed before marching in.

*

The cast was awash with hearty applause, lined up and smiling and bowing politely. Betty stood centre stage, smiling and bowing and applauding for two, diminutive but beaming, like a blond cherry atop a stately cake. And then there he was, punctual as death: the theatre manager, Mr Goldsmiths, a thick, round man with thick, round glasses and a Wormtail-like demeanour, clambered onto the stage bearing the largest and gaudiest bunch of flowers the assembled company had ever cast their eyes upon. With an unctuous smile and what may have been a wink he handed it to Betty, “The best, the very best director our theatre has ever had the privilege of seeing”. Betty gave him her best attempt at an overjoyed smile, cradling that floral absurdity in her arms for a few moments like a distant relation’s ugly, outsized baby before discreetly thrusting it at the nearest person on the other side of her. Unfortunately that meant Rishi.

His eyes flashed with alarm as his upper body was buried in an extravagant pile of pollen-laden vegetation. It wasn’t only the largest and gaudiest bunch of flowers he’d ever seen, but the smelliest too. He barely had time to feel a tickle waft into his sinuses when – “HITTCHEW!” His head bobbed forward as he sneezed right into the bouquet. (Not that he had an alternative.) He could hear half the theatre go ‘aww’ amid the renewed applause and the giggles of his fellow cast members. He rolled his eyes and smiled back; it took way more than a sneeze to embarass him, and unlike Greg, it wasn’t the first time his nose had decided to act on its own initiative in the middle of a play. The opening salve had been suitably restrained, and if the curtain went down quickly enough, the audience would be spared the rest of what promised to be a proper if unseasonable hayfever attack.

*

“HAAASSHU! HURRESHOOO! AESSSCHH! Hah… HAH… EH—” The last sneeze fizzled out on the brink of release, as Rishi’s allergic sternutations were all too fond of doing. The flowers had been taken care of as soon as they’d left the stage – by whom or where, Rishi couldn’t tell, his attention being focused on the pollen-triggered uprising in his nose – but their effect was very much still with him. “Oh, come on, sneeze… HEH…”

“That’s called ‘karma’ in Hindi, isn’t it?” Phoebe asked grinningly.

“S-sanskrit… HEH… RRASSSCHOW! There we are. HEYISSSHOO! EHHSHU! Hah… AAAATTCHOOO!” Rishi ignored the barb in the question as he belted out sneeze after roaring sneeze. The allergic tickle was up there with Marmite and Nigel Farage at the top of his list of Evils that Should Be Stamped Out of the World, so he felt a strange satisfaction in banishing it out of his nasal realm with a sequence of well-adjusted blasts. (Not that feeling otherwise would have made any difference.) Truth be told, it often took a while, especially when the springly air was steeped in pollen and every sneeze brought in as many allergy-inducing particles as it blasted out; but in this case he wasn’t far from having the better of the evil tickle. “WRAAAASSSHA! Huh… hheh… H-HAH— Oh for f-HEH-HA-ATTCHIHHOOO!!” 

“Ok, now I sit down and I don’t touch anything until the end of the run. How about that?” Betty asked with resigned puzzlement. “Since apparently every time I touch something someone threatens to sneeze the building into tiny tiny pieces.”

“Bah,” Rob interjected, “don’t worry. We survived the real earthquake, we’ve nothing to fear from the aftershocks. Many, loud, but harmless.”

“Thank you for that, Rob,” came Rishi’s response with a thick sniffle. “I think I’m done exploding for now.”

“Did you know? ‘Explode’ etymologically means to hiss a bad actor off the stage.”

“Thanks for that too, Rob. I’ll put it in my next essay.”

“I sense a tinge of sarcasm in your voice. You’re just jealous that you can’t compete with Hurricane Greg. He goes for quality over quantity.”

“Thank you, thank you, much obliged.” There came the man himself, squeezed back in his day clothes: a tight-fitting jumper and a pair of red trousers that brought out every detail of his shapely derrière. Andy bit his lip at missing the last moments of shirtless Greg, if only for another day. How come he allowed Rishi’s predicament to distract him so? “No autographs for now, I need to go sneeze again – ’scuse mehh…” Greg panted as he pushed his way towards the emergency exit.

“Again?” Keira wondered.

“Ok, I’m definitely cutting the bucket thing tomorrow. And I’m off to the safety of my dressing room right now. Bye everyone!”

“Betty, you don’t even have a—” Keira’s words were cut off by the door of her own dressing room slamming shut.

“I guess she has one now,” Phoebe retorted.

“I’ve got a pair of earplugs for the highest bidder. Starting bid 100 pound sterling.”

“Sam—”

“That’s 100. Who offers 110?”

“Sam.”

“What? I’m just demonstrating my entrepreneurial spirit, Phoebe…”

*

Almost automatically, as if moved by a chess player’s inexorable hand, Andy followed Greg at a distance, the other cast members’ chit-chat becoming more and more indistinct as he left them behind. They certainly weren’t going to brave the tornado, so he felt compelled to. It was humanitarian spirit, of course, nothing else. Greg’s movements were less rushed this time; the beautiful traits of his face bore the clear imprint of the oncoming sneeze as the pale lamplight washed over them, but unharried by the long struggle. He accepted the impulse to sneeze, like a lone swimmer coasting with the current. Inconspicuous a few steps behind him, Andy saw his curly head tip back, his broad shoulders tensing up in preparation for the blast.

“HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH… HOOORRASSSSSCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!” Greg’s torso snapped forward like a tall tower laid low by the howling force of the storm. The raucous explosion echoed and echoed across the narrow alley, then an eerie stillness set in, soon rippled by hitches of increasing intensity. Greg was still bent double, his hand clutching the door’s handle for a semblance of stability. His powerful back heaved and heaved, arching back with each successive intake of breath until his quivering frame regained its full height for an instant; then – HHHHHAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! The second sneeze erupted, more forceful than the first, overpowering, definitive. He seemed to lose his balance in the rebound; he stumbled; he steadied himself against the wall. A few tentative sniffles must have reassured him that the fit was truly over. He pawed at his pockets in the vain search for tissues as his other hand rubbed at his reddening nose.

* 

“Bless you,” Andy proffered softly as he held out a tissue. Greg was startled; he thought he was alone with his nasal irritation. He couldn’t help smiling. “Thank you.” He looked away from the younger man’s keen eyes and let out a deep sigh. “I don’t think you should be here. I don’t want you to be hurt.”

“Oh, I’m quite alive. I’ve a tough skin, and as long as my eardrums hold, I should be all right. I’ve been in the firing line before!”

Another sigh. “I didn’t mean—”

Their exchange was interrupted by a click-clack of high-heeled steps down the corridor. Andy looked behind his back to see a tall, red-haired woman emerge from the shadow, smiling, beautiful. Behind her, with eyes full of compassion, was Rishi.

“Here you are, darling. What’s the point of whatsapping ‘Where are you?’ when I can just follow the tornado to find you. How are you feeling? You were brilliant. The whole thing was. Except – who had that daft idea of soaking you like that? No wonder your lovely little nose went berserk. Actually I’m amazed you didn’t bring down the theatre there and then. Are you done now? Yes? And you’ve got all your stuff with you – brilliant. Well then, we’ll see you all tomorrow night. Have a lovely rest of the evening, bye!”

Her silvery voice still rang in Andy’s ears as the couple hurried off. He stood there motionless, his gaze fixed to the spot where Greg’s girlfriend had appeared. 

*

“Did I just hear something break around here?” Rishi said with a weak smile, brushing his fingertips against Andy’s chest. The younger man shut his eyes tight and wrapped himself in his fellow thespian’s comforting arms. He really, really wasn’t crying.

“I know. I’ve been there. I’m sorry it’s happened to you too,” Rishi whispered as soothingly as he could. Andy squeezed him tighter before loosening his grip. “Sorry for being a mess… Let’s rejoin the others, or they’ll think I’ve been blasted away. Also, do you need this tissue?”

[Mr. Black Cherry Berry Tea]

THANK YOU!! For continuing this! I know you said you were working on another part, I had no idea it'd be so soon! This is amazing, as always. I loved Rishi's loud fit, and of course Greg's monster, hurricane sneezes, again. And his girlfriend's little chatter about it! All wonderful wonderful wonderful. Thank you for this!

[ALilSneezy]

Wow, I absolutely love this! Please tell me there's more! 

[gryffin]

There will be a little more - soon, I hope - I just need to get my act together and finish writing it...

Thank you for your appreciation!

[gryffin]

Ok, so just a whole year late, here's Part the Third and Last! I hope you enjoy it, @Mr. Black Cherry Berry Tea. As always, comments and corrections are welcome!

- - - - -

Everybody else was so calm and smily and chatty as they folded stage clothes, put props back in places, exchanged pleasantries, bid each other goodbye ‘til tomorrow. Somehow nobody seemed to feel as if a brick wall had just collapsed on top of them. It was a little surreal. Perhaps he shouldn’t make such a big deal of it, Andy sighed to himself as Rishi ushered him into the dressing room they shared. It was too good to be true in the first place. Him and Greg, seriously? And hey: he had still been cradled in his arms, though only for a few seconds and in most extraordinary circumstances. Despite the shock he found it hard to remain consistently sad – especially with the black-haired man’s warm presence at his side.

“I’m all right. Honest!” he protested at Rishi’s inquisitive look. “But thank you for looking out for me.”

“My pleasure”, Rishi smiled back as he unbuttoned his shirt.

Andy’s head had good reason to be spinning ever so slightly. Greg; shirtless Greg; Greg’s painfully green eyes; in Greg’s arms; heartbroken as Greg was whisked away by that formidable, beautiful woman; and now Rishi, caring, so close.

The busy silence was punctuated by Rishi’s increasingly wet sniffles. “Is your offer for a tissue still valid?” he asked, pawing at his nose. “I thought I was done, but – sniff – it’s still bothering meh… EH… HATTTCHUE!” The sneeze snuck on him unexpectedly an instant before Andy thrust the tissue into his hand. He brought it to his face just in time to catch the next few. “ESSSHOOO! ISSCHHU! Heh-HEH-HURRASHOOO! What’s happening to meeeh-EHH-HEAAASHOOO!”

The unexpected fit was increasing in intensity. Andy got another tissue ready. For some reason he couldn’t take his eyes off Rishi’s exquisitely contorted features as he belted out sneeze after sneeze, intake and release, intake and release.

*

Rishi honked loudly into the tissue and kept it pressed to his face, blinking through allergic tears. “Oh”, went Andy, with a sniffle. “Oh?” Rishi echoed, and followed the direction of his gaze. What his eyes landed on was Mr Goldsmith’s floral monstrosity sitting half-hidden in a corner of the room.

“Who the HEEAAAASSSCHHHH! HUH-ASSSCHOOO ASSSCHOOO ASSSCHOOO! HEH-HEH-HEH-HEH-WRAAASSHAAAAOW!” A volley of potent sneezes instantaneously erupted from Rishi’s sinuses, as if the mere sight of that extravagant bouquet could send his nasal apparatus into overdrive. His bare torso flew forward helplessly again and again with the force of the sneezing. “RAAASHEW! HEH-ATTTCHOOO! YAAASHOOOO!!”

It was evidently Andy’s fate to be sneezed into dust one way or another that evening. Rishi couldn’t get a word in edgewise between one blast and the next, but he gestured toward the offending vegetation and looked at Andy pleadingly before turning away with yet another roaring HURRRESHOOOO!! The younger man got the message easily enough. He dived for the flowers and sped off, the incessant sneezing still audible through the closed door behind him.

*

It seemed best to dump his charge directly in the bins in that back alley just outside the emergency door. He knew the way. (Was that a sigh?) Dodging a puzzled look from Sam and a “What—?” from Phoebe he hurried toward his goal, holding the bouquet at arm’s length and breathing through his mouth. For Andy was a meek young man; too meek to make Rishi aware that his nose also didn’t take kindly to pollen.

His mission fulfilled, he made his way back towards the dressing room. He totally didn’t hope to catch Rishi before he put his day clothes back on. He also totally didn’t feel a naughty tickle inch its way up his nostrils. He sniffled once, twice, three times; he gave his nose a discreet rub, then another; to no avail. The urge to sneeze caught up with him a few steps from the dressing room door. His whole upper body straining back, he pressed a trembling finger against the underside of his nose. “Heh… H-HAH-gxt! nggxt!” He groaned as he geared up for the inevitable third: “HUH… nggxt!”

*

Unlike quite a few in his family – one day we’ll need to talk about his brother – Andy had always been determinedly discreet about sneezing. Perhaps because he knew how powerful they could be if left unchecked, or simply on account of growing up with that symphony perpetually in the background, he had a long-established policy of stifling without a second thought, especially in public. No wonder Rishi didn’t know about his hayfever; I don’t think any of the cast had ever heard him sneeze, pollen or no. Yet it can be problematic to hold everything in when your body is trying precisely to get everything out. Like all his best allergy attacks, this promised to be a tough one to wear off. “Heh… nggt!-chew. ngtx! Heh-heh-huh-NNGxt!”

*

“HURRASHOOO!” Rishi bent over one last time, containing the blast in the meagre remains of Andy’s tissue. Thankfully he’d left the packet in the dressing room. And thankfully his own seditious nose seemed to be back under control for the time being. He straightened himself up when he heard the door click open.

He was greeted by the sight of Andy succumbing to yet another sneeze. The corners of his beautiful lips turned downward, eyes aswim, head tipped back, his lean chest heaving, a finger still pressed to his nose – “ngggxt! ngxt! Heh… huh-h-heh-nggxt!”

“Bless you?” Rishi proffered perplexedly. As the reader may have guessed, silent sneezing was quite alien to him.

“ngxt! ngxt! Thank… HEH… thank… heNGG-ph!” He blushed as he brushed his blond bangs away from his blinking eyes.

“Everything ok?” (Stupid question.)

“ngxt! nggxt! Yeah… hayfeveehh… HEH-h-nggx!-chew.”

“F–ck, I’m sorry, I didn’t know—”

“It’s all rihhh… nngxt! right… ngxt! I’ll just be sneezing for a while… heh-HEH-NGXT!” he stifled another triple.

“Have a tissue. I think there is one left.”

“Thanks, Rish. So romantic to offer me my own tissueeh…” (Romantic?)

Andy buried an irritated triple into the tissue, and then another. His chest and shoulders shook vigorously with each sneeze, as if an unwitting testament to a trial of strength between the man and the allergy. Andy’s dogged fight against the pollen in his nose was far from over.

*

“I’ll stop sneezing eventually. Honest! Heh-nggt’ch!”

“You’ll need to start sneezing eventually, if you ask me.”

“Beg your pardon? NGGGXT!”

“If you keep on stifling it'll never end”, Rishi patiently explained. 

“I just… don't… it's… ”

Rishi didn't reply. With a wry smile he took Andy’s hand in his and gently shifted it away from his ever reddening nose, locking it behind his supple 

back. The other hand swiftly followed. Andy was too taken aback to say anything. He also didn’t exactly dislike having Rishi just behind him, his strong fingers round his wrists, his steady breath caressing his shoulders. But… the sneeze…

“Heh… HEH… HEH! Oh no… HEH…” His torso arched back towards Rishi’s as his lungs expanded inexorably, mouth forcibly agape, nostrils atwitch. No use fighting back; and no chance of stifling now.

“Let it rip, Andy”, came his companion’s suave voice. So—

“HAAESSHHHH!”

Rishi jumped at the unexpected force of the release. “Oh wow.”

Andy’s half-suppressed laughter turned into yet another sternutatious grimace. “Hih-HEH-HEH-GASSHOOOOO!”

*

“Bless you, mighty sneezer”, purred Rishi. “See? This is what it's supposed to sound like.” Andy looked very cute when he blushed. He let go of his hands, and their eyes crossed as the blond-haired man looked back. It was only for a second, because Rishi’s nose decided it wasn’t done after all.

“Huh… HAH! HAH! ’scuse meehh… RAAATTCHOOO!” He barely had time to turn to one side and sneeze towards the wall.

Andy bit his lip as he felt his friend’s body convulse just inches behind him. He leant back against his chest. “You've always got to have the last word, hm?” he teased him, but—“oh buggehh… IIISCHEWWW!” he snapped forward one last time to Rishi’s hearty laugh.

“Pot and kettle, hm?” Rishi’s hold had turned into a firm, warm embrace. Andy’s smile meant something like: guilty as charged, and I don’t care. My head’s still spinning a bit, but I don’t care. What a night.

Edited December 30, 2017 by gryffin
Tweaks

[Mr. Black Cherry Berry Tea]

Ahhhh! Thank you!! I can't believe you finished it! I looooooove it, thank you so much. Geez, this story is brilliant. THANK YOU AGAIN!

[Usagi]

This was pretty good! You have to love those super-powered sneezes am I right? Glad you finished the whole thing as well when it got on my radar. 

[gryffin]

On 31/12/2017 at 11:36 AM, TsundereKushami said:

This was pretty good! You have to love those super-powered sneezes am I right? Glad you finished the whole thing as well when it got on my radar. 

Thank you 

On 31/12/2017 at 6:17 AM, Mr. Black Cherry Berry Tea said:

I can't believe you finished it!

THANK YOU