Unspoken (M) (1/probably 2?)

[groundcontrol]

I strapped in and wrote something that has been bumbling in my head for a little while. It’s with OC’s (*gasp* I know) that I’ve written some private, non-fetish stuff for. I’ll give you a little background on them in the next paragraph, but if you don’t care and just want the snz, chug right on past it for some caretaking of the kinda mutual sort.

I don’t know how to introduce a character so... We are set in 1750s London. We have Jonathan Lindsay, a nobleman who is a member of Parliament (yay nepotism and the House of Lords for hereditary peerages) and who is gay. He enters into a marriage with Sarah Lindsay, an asexual woman of a wealthy merchant background. They get married because they honestly care for each other as friends and know what each other does and doesn’t want in a relationship, and they are expected to be married anyway. The Richard you see mentioned here is an on-and-off sexual partner Jonathan has secretly outside of marriage. Of course, it being 1750s Britain, this whole arrangement is also secret, with disastrous consequences should it come to light... dun dun DUNNN. 

Anyway, yeah, that’s kinda elaborate for a snz fic, right? But they exist in the vanilla, so-called “normal” story realm as well, so that’s my excuse. Also guess what media inspired them. And yeah, I just want some ace and non-conventional relationship period representation. There will be at least as second part to this, with decidedly more sneezing, maybe more? 

TW: discussion and description of menstrual pain

The ravenous hunger Sarah had felt the night before had been, as usual, her warning of what was to come the next day. So when she woke the next day to find her course had come and with it the usual agony, she resigned herself to the day abed her body dictated she take once a month, wavering in a haze of pain. Perhaps Jonathan had bid her farewell before he had left that morning, perhaps she had still been asleep, but Sarah did not remember and did not care for the effort of trying. She tried, as she always did, to grasp at blissful unconsciousness between bouts of pain and treatment, for the majority of the day. 

“The servants say you never made it out of bed this morning.”

The words caused Sarah to stir from her half-sleep, exhausted and heavy from pain. Jonathan was home; had she already passed the day away? Blinking heavily, she waited until her husband had come around to the side of the bed which she faced before replying.

“Alas, that is true,” she said, curling upon herself more tightly, hands gripping her abdomen. “I couldn’t imagine moving.”

Jonathan clucked his tongue. “That bad, hmm? What have you done for it?” He picked up the cup on the nightstand and inspected it, switching the contents round a few times. “Tea, I see, but half finished and cold.”

Sarah groaned softly, more at the thought of moving to sit up and take more tea than anything else. “Makes me feel ill.”

“Perhaps some more of that salve you liked last month?” At this, Jonathan’s brow furrowed and he cast a look at the bedroom door. “Though I wonder if I shouldn’t send for the doctor…”

“Jonathan, no,” Sarah said forcefully, enough to make her stomach roil again, “he knows no more than we do.” She took a deep breath as she let the sharp pain settle to its usual, nagging ache. “But I’ll have the salve. Send for Sally so she can apply it.”

“If you’d prefer,” Jonathan said, but he was already reaching for the porcelain jar on the bedside table, “but I’m more than happy to do it myself.”

“Nonsense, you’re due to be meeting Richard tonight, aren’t you?” With a bit of effort, Sarah managed to crane her head enough to get a glimpse of the pendulum clock that loomed like a statue in the corner. It was past six in the evening, and she furrowed her brow. “Come to think of it, shouldn’t you be with him now?”

Jonathan shook his head. “I’ve cancelled.”

Sarah felt her blood run cold at the words. “Why? Did something happen?”

“No, nothing of the sort,” Jonathan said quickly, anticipating her distress. He hesitated a moment before adding, “I’m just not feeling altogether well, either.”

His words assuaged her fear at his being found out, but in Fear’s place, Concern for his well-being blossomed in her heart. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve got a terribly sore throat. Could be from all the arguing but I’m feeling a bit achy as well, so…” He trailed off, but there was no need for him to voice the inevitable conclusion. She noticed now that his wig and coat were off; he had come home with no intention of going back out again.

It was not uncommon for her husband to come home from a full day at Parliament with his voice half-gone from all the shouting, but Sarah could not deny that there was a rougher edge to it today. “Now that you mention it, your voice does sound a bit hoarse.”

“It was worse earlier,” Jonathan admitted, and her heart sank. “Mary brought me some tea with lemon when I arrived home, before I came up to see you.”

“If you’re not feeling well, you don’t have to do this,” Sarah said, even after Jonathan had already uncapped the jar, coated his fingers in the slick rose-scented balm, and began to rub tight circles in the small of Sarah’s back. “You need your rest as much as I do.”

“I don’t mind. After all, you liked the ‘surprising’ strength I put into my massages.”

Sarah smiled at the teasing note in her husband’s voice. “It is surprising.” A tall, gangly man such as he who was hopeless at every sport from riding to fencing somehow managed an even firmer touch than the scullery maid who spent day in and day out doing naught but working with her hands. 

“I can do other things besides give speeches.”

“Like?” Sarah prodded him, this teasing her favorite part of their friendship.

“Rub salve.”

At this, Sarah couldn’t help but giggle like a little girl. She was perhaps a bit giddy from the pain she had endured all day, but the presence of Jonathan and his working of the salve was enough to take off the sharpest edge. Little by little, she felt herself relaxing more fully into the massage. 

“Have you forgotten that I am also the long lost protégé of Michelangelo?” Jonathan said with a little sniffle. “You have seen that–” He paused, both in speech and in his ministrations, his breath hitching. “Th–ah–at hehhh’KSCHEW! Ihhh’SHEEWW!” He sniffled again and again in the aftermath.

“Oh,” Sarah said softly, pity sinking in her stomach. She could tell without even looking at her husband that he was in dire need of a handkerchief. She pointed in the direction of where hers was kept. “There is a handkerchief on the table.”

“Thank you.” Jonathan retrieved it and stood by the door, out of Sarah’s sight, to make use of it. He muffled the sound well, but even so Sarah could tell how congested he was becoming. Once finished, he sat back down beside her on the bed to resume. “I had forgotten how potent that salve is.”

“Maybe,” Sarah hummed, “but you would have sneezed anyway, sooner or later. You’re getting ill.”

“Probably.”

“Definitely. Even your sneezes sounded ill.”

Jonathan chuckled slightly. “And how would you know? You have never seen me ill before.”

Sarah intended to rise to his ribbing with a quip of her own, but before she could, a cramp shot like lightning through her and she hunched even further inward with a cry of pain. It was moments like these that made her wish she accepted physician’s orders of laudanum, but having seen the other end of addiction, she knew even this pain was preferable. 

Immediately Jonathan’s hand was on her shoulder, his voice a hair’s breadth from frantic. “Shh, Sarah, should I send for anything else?”

“No,” she breathed out between waves of pain. “A cramp. Just keep rubbing.”

Jonathan resumed his ministrations, applying the salve even more copiously than before. Gradually, time and the massage made the intensity of the pain back down, and so Sarah could become conscious of more than just her own misery. Jonathan was silent as he worked but for the increasing frequency of his sniffles, brought on no doubt by the combination of his blossoming cold and the scent of the balm, which even made Sarah’s healthy nose sting a bit. 

The sniffles crescendoed into sneezes, strong and desperate. “Hhh’RSCHH’uhh! Heh’KSSCHH’uhh! Sarah heard him make use of the handkerchief again, but clearing his nose set off another sneeze, smothered into the cloth. “Hhhh’KMPFF!” He gave a hoarse cough in the aftermath, before clearing his throat and continuing his massage. “Sorry.”

“Jonathan, really.” Despite her pain, Sarah twisted so she could get a glimpse of her husband. His nose was pink and slightly wet. He sniffled again and she nudged him with her foot. “I can get Sally to do this.”

He shook his head. “I’m fine. Besides, this is what a loving husband does for his wife, is it not?”

There was a slight, sardonic edge to his words that set off a queer, heavy feeling in Sarah’s chest. She flipped back on her side, away from him, and said coldly, “If keeping up appearances is what you’re worried about–”

“It’s not,” Jonathan said quickly, before amending himself even quicker. “I mean, I do worry but…” He sighed, the sound long and deep and weary. “I apologize, Sarah. I don’t know what I’m saying.” He cleared his throat. “I’m not feeling well.”

“I know,” Sarah said softly, feeling her anger ebb away as quickly as it had come. She reached her hand blindly back toward Jonathan, who found it and grasped her fingers. “Which is why you don’t have to do this.”

“I know I don’t,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “But I will. I care for you, Sarah.”

“I know that,” Sarah said, feeling emotion clog her throat at the deep, sincere way he had said those words. “I care for you too.” She dropped his hand and he returned to rubbing her back. “Which is why I wish you’d rest.”

“I will. This is infinitely more restful than what I originally planned to be doing tonight.”

Sarah blushed and pressed her face against the pillow. “Suppose you have a point,” she muttered, and besides, she was grateful for the attention while she herself was feeling so awful. She just hoped her husband would feel better soon as well, for she knew how much he loved the time he spent with Richard, and to cancel it he must be feeling quite unwell.

“You can keep talking,” Sarah said after a little while. “It’s a helpful distraction.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Sarah smiled as Jonathan launched into some inane tale about a prank he and his schoolmates at Eton had played on a lecturer. She was only half listening, but even so found herself less focused on her pain. This was what she loved about her husband. He could fill an afternoon speaking of nothing but the boots he wore and somehow make it interesting, and while he would always allow for and engage with any comments Sarah might interject, he was also completely content to carry the entire conversation on his own. It was, truly, a gift at times like these. 

Sarah lost track of how long they remained like this, Jonathan chattering away as he continued to rub her back, but she was brought back to the present when his voice cracked and he began to cough. “Apologies,” he choked out between coughs. His voice was a strained whisper. “If you want me to continue, I will have to send for some more tea to keep me going.”

“That’s alright,” Sarah said. “You’ve already done enough, and I’m feeling a bit better now. Truly.” She shifted slightly in bed, feeling only a firm ache where there had been courses of lightning before. “Though I think you should send for that tea anyhow.”

He did, and he sent for his valet to dress him down for bed as well, saying that an early night would be the best course of action for the both of them. Sarah was more than inclined to agree, feeling her eyelids droop now as the worst of the pain seemed over, leaving bone-deep exhaustion in its wake. Jonathan finished his tea and joined her in bed.

“Will you hold me?” 

His arms encircling her was her answer. He did not kiss her nor press himself against her, and Sarah felt a rush of being loved swirl in her chest. Jonathan Lindsay was dear to her, dearer than was anyone not her own flesh and blood, and she could not imagine for a moment anyone else to whom she would rather be married–nay, anyone else to whom she could stand to be married. My husband, she thought, and though the words always felt strange in her mind or in her mouth, she did not mind that she did not love him as a wife should love a husband, or that he did not love her the way a husband should love a wife. Because she loved him in her way and he loved her in his, and she would not wish to be anywhere else in the world at this moment.

She was almost asleep when she felt his hands pull sharply away. “Ihh’TSCH!” Jonathan sniffled a bit and muttered, “Damn salve.”

Too tired to do anything more, Sarah quirked her lips in a half smile at the foolish man who lay beside her, before slipping off to sleep at last.

 

 

[starpollen]

This is very cute 🥰 

[Dusty15]

So sweet! I love this concept and the idea behind these characters. Would love to see more of them and perhaps meet Richard

[EveP]

I agree with Starpollen and Dusty15, cute, sweet and an interesting concept. 🥰

[Kolen]

17 hours ago, EveP said:

I agree with Starpollen and Dusty15, cute, sweet and an interesting concept. 🥰

Seconded

[groundcontrol]

Thank you all. Part 2 is here! There will be at least one more part after this.

PSA: google "hair powder cone" to find the picture that inspired this whole bonanza in the first place. You'll know the one when you see it :)) I saw that picture and I was like "we need Cold in the Time of Wig Powder", and then this was born.

 

When Sarah awoke the next morning, the morning sun already shone strong through the lace curtains that covered the great window. She flipped on her back and let out a contented sigh when the movement provoked no pain nor cramp.

“Sarah,” Jonathan said upon seeing her awake, “good morning at last. Are you feeling better?”

She smiled and rubbed her eyes. “Yes, much.”

“Good. Though I wish I could say the same for myself.” He was scarcely able to complete the sentence without coughing, and it was in those coughs Sarah could instantly tell how ill he was. The book he had been reading before she awoke lay on his chest, fluttering up and down with each expulsion.

Sarah sat up against the headboard and frowned. “Oh, Jonathan…”

“I think I will have Parson dress me for winter today because…” He trailed off, expression glazed over, and he shivered before a set of sneezes burst from him. Sarah felt the bed shake. “Hehh’KPSCHOO! Ihh’CHOOO! Snf! Ahh’hhh’KSCHOO!” The sneezes were hopelessly congested, and he moaned softly. “Ugh, snf! I am not well at all.”

“Oh,” she said again, softly and sadly, for it was the only thing she seemed able to articulate. Her heart sank as she remembered the agenda for the day. “And your father is coming today.”

Jonathan nodded as he reached for a handkerchief. “Unfortunately.”

He took one from a small pile that lay beside his pillow, and its existence meant that he had gone sometime in the night to the boudoir to retrieve them. By the looks of it, they had already gone to good use, and Sarah felt a bit guilty that she had slept so well when her husband so clearly hadn’t.

“Hehh’KSCHEW! Hehh’ihhh… He held the handkerchief at his nose, but the second sneeze failed to materialize, even after a few moments of rubbing. He sniffled with a great effort, sounding completely bunged up, and gave a couple wet and sore-sounding coughs. “I doubt he would be keen to excuse me on account of a headcold, even one as awful as this. Not least of all because of his journey.”

Sarah had met his father once, briefly, when they had been married, and this instance coupled with what Jonathan had told her of the man gave her no evidence to the contrary. He terrified her, but it also enraged her as she sat beside her husband, so ill with a terrible cold, that he would have to deal with the Baron on top of everything else.

She shook her head and said resolutely, “It isn’t fair how he treats you.”

Jonathan paused a moment before sighing carefully to avoid coughing. “No, you’re right,” he said hoarsely, “it isn’t. But what am I to do about it?” He wiped his nose with his increasingly sodden handkerchief, looking more and more unwell the redder and more the skin became. “He’s never in a good mood after three hours in a coach, and I doubt by the time he arrives I’ll be in a much better mood myself after the same time spent sneezing.”

“At the very least, rest until he comes.”

“Alas, there’s no more time to–to rest. Ahh’kSSHH!” He pinched his nose between the folds, remaining motionless for a time before lowering the cloth with a heavy sniffle. “We have already stayed far too long in bed. My father will be arriving in less than two hours and I am still undressed.”

He began to cough then, wet and raspy, wincing at the pain in his throat while Sarah winced at the sound.

“Oh, Jonathan, that cough…” She frowned and patted his chest gently. “Stay here in bed for a moment longer while I send for Parson and some tea, alright?”

She left poor Jonathan in bed, coughing and sneezing and sounding all in all like an emblem of ill health and sent for the valet, for tea with as much lemon and honey as the cooks could manage, as well as her own maid Rosie to help her dress for the long day ahead.

***********

It was the powder room that was the nail in the coffin. Sarah was waiting in the corner of the room, having just finished receiving her own powdering regimen, when Jonathan entered, flush-cheeked and handkerchief in hand. He nodded tiredly at Sarah before taking his seat in the powdering chair, or rather, collapsing into it. He sighed and bit his lips to close off the coughs that bubbled up in response as Collins draped a protective sheet over his shoulders.

“I am quite under the weather today,” Jonathan croaked, “so you will have to excuse any sudden movements. Heh’TSCHHH’uhhh!” The sneeze was so sudden that he did not manage to extricate a hand and handkerchief from beneath the sheet, instead just doing his best to sneeze away from his servant. “Such as that. Snf! I can’t really help it.”

Collins, ever stoic, merely nodded as he picked up the powdering billows. “Of course, sir.”

Jonathan buried his face in the cone in the hopes of avoiding the worst of the powder as Collins worked, methodically pinning and powdering the wig atop his head. Sarah could hear him snuffling and coughing in there, and the image reminded her of a muzzled horse, which under any other circumstance would have drawn a laugh from her. She filed the memory away in her mind to bring out again and tease her husband with once he was well again. For now, only pity stirred in her.

The series of events which next transpired were quite unfortunate. Sarah heard Jonathan’s sniffles growing more productive, as well as his mumbled “I’m going to sneeze”, but obviously Collins did not, too caught up in his handiwork. As such, Jonathan launched forward and dislodged the cone so he would not sneeze into it, only to receive a fresh spray of powder straight from the billows upon his uncovered face.

“HRSHHHH’uhh!”

“I’m sorry sir!” Collins cried, dropping the billows.

“The powder,” Jonathan gasped, his nose and eyes streaming, but the worst was only beginning. “Oh God, helb mbe!” Foregoing the handkerchief entirely out of the utmost urgency, Jonathan buried his poor nose in the cover sheet and was overcome by a ferocious sneezing fit. “Hih’SHOOO! ISHHH! HRSHHH! Ahh’KSSHH! Ehh’hehhh’HEHIISShhh! Snf, snf! AHHTSSSHH! Heh’TSCHOO! Heh’TSCHOO! Snf! Ohh, oh God, ahh, AHHTSCHOO! ihh’TSCHH’uhh!”

Sarah ran to his side. “Take my handkerchief, Jonathan. That sheet is probably covered with powder.”

Jonathan groped for the proffered handkerchief and, having found it, clamped it immediately to his face to run through even more sneezes, each sounding more painful than the last. After what seemed like hours, the fit finally began to subside, allowing Jonathan to straighten and wipe at his wet, red face. In the cruelest of ironies, his wig had become shifted out of place in the fit.

He coughed, the sound shredding on his abused throat. At last he spoke, though his words were almost unintelligible amidst the wall of congestion and his almost-gone voice. “Bore carefully, snf!, if you please, Collids. Snf!”

Collins, looking suitably chastised by the display, nodded and applied the rest of the powder so carefully and so sparsely, Sarah was not entirely sure the style would hold, particularly owing to the fact that those sneezes would be far from Jonathan’s last that day. She sent for more tea as she listened to her husband’s chesty coughs, wishing she could do more for her friend.

Just as Collins was finally finishing and removing the sheet, Mary entered the powder room with a steaming cup of tea and worry on her face as she passed it to Jonathan.

“Thank you,” Jonathan whispered, coughing behind the hand that was not holding the cup. “If I survive this day…”

Neither Sarah nor Mary chastised him for such a dramatic statement, for it was evident from the bright flush of fever in his cheeks to the congestion laden in his breaths how awful he was feeling. Mary clucked her tongue. “I wish I could send you back to bed, sir. Cough like that is already halfway to your chest.”

He nodded subtly, both agreeing and dismissing her. “As do I, Mary.”

Sarah rested her palm on Jonathan’s shoulder, feeling the heat of his fever beneath her hand. “Save your voice for when the Baron arrives, Jonathan,” she said sympathetically. “I hurt just listening to you.”

[Kolen]

Definitely delicious to devour this evening ~

Thank you, for part two, hopefully, there's a part three!

[EveP]

Oh, poor Jonathan. 🥰

[RavenWatson]

🖤

[Germophobe]

Is Sarah going to get sick too? This is a great story.