#m/acdennis | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

denspollen · 4 months

Text

some very sick and sneezy d/ennis r/eynolds under the cut ft. very caring m/ac :] 3.4k words, cw for non-graphic mess towards the end

for @snzfanatic !! my first fic on here pls be nice loll

It starts on Tuesday evening, when Dennis arrives back at his and Mac’s apartment after a quick detour to Dee’s place — he’d been stupid enough last week to lend her their copy of Temple of Doom, having forgotten about the whole ordeal until they’d settled on it for their movie night. Naturally, Dennis had done the noble thing and gone out to pick it up, sans Mac, on account of the weather outside being “too goddamn awful” to warrant him tagging along.

Speaking of…

“Jesus Christ, dude,” Mac says incredulously as Dennis hangs up his coat, the violent shudder that runs down his spine not going unnoticed. He’s dripping rainwater all over the floor, once-perfect curls now matted against his forehead. “What the fuck happened to you?”

“C-car broke down,” he mutters irritably, swiping a slender finger discreetly underneath his nose. “H-had to… t-to walk back half the way.”

Mac scoffs. “And you didn’t think to call me? You— you took so long; I was worried!”

“Well,” Dennis starts, sniffling softly against a curled finger. “I’m f-fine, aren’t I?”

Mac, ever overbearing, furrows his brow, unconvinced. “Are you?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, man,” he sighs, shifting over on the couch to make room for Dennis, who sits down promptly, setting the DVD down on the coffee table and shivering a little too violently for Mac to pretend nothing’s amiss. “You must be freezing. And you’re all…” He gestures vaguely to his nose. “…drippy, here.”

Dennis’s cheeks flush the same shade of pink as the rims of his nostrils, one hand jerking upward to wipe abashedly at his face. “It’s rainwater.”

Mac sighs. If he knows Dennis — and he does, better than anyone else (except maybe Dee, the bitch) — there’s no way he’s going to admit to his “perfect” immune system having been compromised in even the slightest possible way.

“Whatever, man,” he mutters, slowly rising to insert the disc into the DVD player. “Just don’t get all pissy with me when—”

“hk’SHHhuh!”

There it is.

Mac cringes at the thick sniffle that follows. “Bless you.”

“Mm… thank— thahh… h-huh’TSCHhh!” Dennis groans weakly, hands steepled over his nose, eyes tearing slightly.

“Bless you. Don’t use your hands, man, that’s disgusting.” Mac ignores the downright murderous glare Dennis gives him in response as he reclaims his seat on the couch, unable to help the way he reaches over to give his shoulder a little squeeze. “You alright? Need a tissue?”

“No,” Dennis murmurs stuffily in response, rubbing at his clearly irritated nose with the heel of his palm. “No to— to needing a tissue, not… ‘m fine, man. Just put the goddamn movie on.”

“At least go change into something warmer,” Mac suggests, borderline exasperated. “You’re soaked. There’s no way that’s comfortable.”

Dennis sniffles; wipes his nose on his sleeve — a very un-Dennis-like move, and something that’s immediately telling of the cold he’s no doubt coming down with. “Fine.”

He stands shakily, nose twitching and lashes fluttering in a vain attempt to hold back another sneeze as he stalks past Mac and over to his bedroom. His breath hitches once, twice, before inevitably—

“eh’SCHhhh!… guh… hh’ehh… hh’ESCHhuh!”

The sneezes are harsh and leave him doubled over, face buried into the elbow of one arm while the other reaches out, clutching the doorframe to steady himself. They leave his nose dripping, irritated tears trickling freely down his cheeks. He whimpers softly, a shiver coursing through his body just as Mac sets a hand on his back.

“Jesus, Den,” he sighs, his thumb rubbing little circles against Dennis’s shoulder blade. “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay to watch the movie tonight? You’re clearly not feeling—”

“I’m fine,” he interrupts curtly, words muffled by the sleeve clamped over his nose and mouth. “Just got… got ahh… huh’RSHHhue!… ugh. Just got a tickle.”

Mac clicks his tongue, arms folded. “Clearly. Bless you.”

Dennis glares at him through watery eyes, sniffling sharply as he steps into his bedroom. “Look, I’m gonna get changed, and I’ll be fine. Don’t bother me in there.”

Mac nods; turns away as Dennis closes the door behind him. Pretends he doesn’t hear the next sneeze just barely muffled behind the wall between them. He knows how this game goes — Dennis is obviously sick, he pretends he’s not, but really he’s only pretending to himself, because anyone with a brain could work it out. He doesn’t even try to conceal it; doesn’t try to stifle the sneezes and coughs that catch him off guard. He just repeats to himself, like a daily prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in, that he’s fine, that there’s no need for Mac to worry, that he’s not sick, and even if he was, he’s a grown man and he can take care of himself.

Either way, Mac’s not going to let Dennis’s inexorable stubbornness prevent him from at least trying to look after him, denial be damned. As he waits for him to return, he sets up a couple blankets on the couch; rummages around for a tissue box to set out on the coffee table beside the bowl of popcorn he’d prepared earlier. It’s not much, sure, but he knows anything bigger is only going to piss Dennis off. He just has to take it one step at a time, until he finally cracks.

Evidently, though, it’s not going to take very long.

Dennis ambles back into the living room, clad in an old college sweatshirt and pyjama pants, and it’s clear as day to Mac that he’s not doing good. He’s shivering, even under the newfound warmth, and the amount of times he’s wiped his nose has now resulted in the skin around it to appear noticeably red and irritated. He coughs weakly into his shoulder, just barely bothering to cover properly, and Mac knows it’s only a matter of time until he admits to feeling shitty.

Now, though? He just… waits.

“Comfy?” Mac asks as Dennis makes his way over to the couch.

He hums distantly, running a hand through his roughly-dried hair, and Mac can only interpret the sound as a murmur of assent. His brow furrows as his gaze lands on the pile of blankets atop the couch cushions.

“Wh… what’s all this?”

Mac shrugs. “Thought you might be cold.”

“Mm.” He sniffles, tugging one around his shoulders as he settles down beside his roommate. “Just a little bit.”

His nose twitches, eyes remaining open just long enough before they flutter shut completely to see the tissue that Mac offers in preparation, and he cups it over his nose as his breath hitches thrice in quick, desperate succession.

“hh-hehh… huh-! ihh’TSCHHhh!… mm…”

Mac winces at the sheer exhaustion audible in Dennis’s voice, even more so as he discards the tissue to his side in favour of muffling a series of chesty coughs into the crook of his elbow. Fuck, he sounds awful, and there’s no way he’ll be able to keep up the act much longer (not that it had ever been the slightest bit convincing in the first place).

“God bless,” he offers dutifully, rubbing Dennis’s back as he blows his nose quietly. “You sure you wanna watch this movie, man? You’re obviously feeling miserable. Why don’t you just get an early night?”

“But it’s Tuesday. Tuesday night’s movie night, right?” Dennis’s brow furrows as he tentatively lowers the tissue from his face, revealing just how red-raw his nose has become, standing out almost comically against his otherwise pale skin.

Mac frowns, inexplicably reaching up to stroke the wispy curls along the nape of his neck. The way Dennis’s eyes flutter shut; how he doesn’t pull away — the fact he’s allowing himself to be touched so affectionately is immediately telling of just how bad he feels.

“Hey, no… it’s alright. We can just watch it tomorrow.”

“No, no, I… ‘m fine, man, I promise.” His protests are growing weaker and weaker by the second, each one further marred by the thick congestion building in his sinuses, consonants slowly becoming duller and more rounded out.

“You’re sure?”

Dennis nods, movements heavy with sleep. “I’m sure.”

The next hour drags on without the commentary they’d usually have on a night like this. Mac keeps his opinions on Harrison Ford’s physique to himself, only really opening his mouth to bless Dennis for every sneeze, which have been growing not only in frequency, but in intensity, too, along the course of the film, crumpled tissues having piled up around him.

They’re about halfway through when Mac glances over to check on him, as he’s been doing every so often, his efforts lessening in subtlety each time upon realisation that Dennis is really too out of it to notice. Now, though, he’s gone completely — lips parted slightly so he can breathe through his stuffy nose, trembling a little with each quiet snore that passes. Mac chuckles fondly. No doubt he’s exhausted.

“Den?” he whispers, the backs of his fingers brushing over his cheek. “Dennis. Hey.”

He stirs, mumbling incoherently to himself before his eyes open slowly, a sliver of blue peeking out from beneath heavy lids. His bleary gaze meets Mac’s, nostrils flaring in that telltale way as he tugs the blanket tighter around himself in a fruitless attempt to mitigate the chill slithering through his bones.

“Hey,” he murmurs drowsily, sniffling in an effort to quell the tickle. “Did I… h-how long was I… h-huh’KSHhh!… out for?”

Mac whispers a soft blessing, offering him a clean tissue. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s just go to bed, alright? We can watch this when you’re feeling better.”

Dennis groans, so weak it’s damn near pitiful. “I’m fine, I told you…”

“Come on, Den. We both know that’s not true.”

He shudders, eyes slipping shut as he wipes gingerly underneath his nose. “Just… tired.”

Mac shrugs. “Alright, then you should still go to bed. C’mon, seriously, let’s go. Don’t make me carry you, dude.”

This earns a groan from Dennis, who shifts uncomfortably on the couch as Mac extends his hand toward him. He can’t quite contain the triumphant smirk that tugs at the corner of his lips as Dennis obliges, taking his hand albeit reluctantly and with all the grace of a newborn kitten as he drags himself up off the sofa.

“Not sick,” Dennis murmurs, snuffling wetly against his sweater paws as Mac helps him into bed, gentle and tender as ever. “I don’t… don’t get sick.”

“I know,” Mac mutters, clicking his tongue affectionately as he drapes a throw blanket over his shivering form. “You’ll be fine tomorrow, I’m sure. Now get some sleep.”

“Mhm… whatever, asshole.”

Mac wakes at 4AM to a sound that confirms what he was already well aware of — Dennis is utterly, undeniably, miserably unwell. He can hear him coughing from across the apartment, each one rattling in his chest. With a soft groan, he drags himself out of bed, filling up a glass of water and grabbing a pack of Advil and the half-empty tissue box on the coffee table on his way.

He knocks gently on Dennis’s door, knowing that even while with a nasty cold, he’d still kick his ass for coming in unannounced.

“Den? You okay, bud?”

There’s only another fit of coughing in response, followed by a hitching breath that he desperately tries to talk his way through.

“I… h-heh… I’m f-fihh… h-hehh’TSCHhhue! ihh’ESCHhhh!”

Mac winces. “I’ll take that as a no. I’m comin’ in, alright?”

The door creaks open, and upon entrance Mac is greeted with the sight of Dennis curled in on himself, face buried into his sleeves, quivering under layers of blankets. Definitely sick. He’s shaking, breathing heavily — Mac doesn’t hold a single doubt that his chest must be killing him.

“Oh, Den,” he cooes, perching on the edge of the bed and reaching over to card his fingers through his curls. “What’s wrong?”

Stupid question, his inner monologue tells him the second the question leaves his lips, though knowing Dennis, any number of things could be causing this distress — he might not be willing to admit his illness yet, but maybe he’s had a bad dream or something, or—

Dennis coughs again, whimpering in pain as fresh tears spring to his eyes from the sheer force of it. Nope, definitely the illness.

“Think… think I m-might be coming down with something,” he croaks, words so pathetically weak it’d make Mac laugh if he didn’t look so goddamn terrible.

“Yeah, no shit,” he chuckles, hand drifting over to feel his forehead, moving down to his cheek; his neck. “You got a fever, man.”

A thick sniffle, then a barely-audible groan of discomfort. “I’m… s-so stuffed up.”

“I know, buddy.” Mac frowns sympathetically, rubbing his shoulder with a tenderness that could soften even the roughest of edges. “Here, take this.” He pops two Advil out from the packaging, pressing them carefully into Dennis’s palm along with the glass of water. Dennis nods gratefully, eyes watery, and swallows the pills with a tentative sip. The cold water feels heavenly against his raw throat.

Mac smiles. “Good. Alright, um… shit, what helps a stuffy nose? Vicks, right? That’s— that’s good. You know if we have any?”

Dennis nods, movements slow and languid. “Yeah… in that drawer there. Second one down.” He gestures vaguely to his bedside table with a hand that quickly becomes preoccupied with jumping up to rub harshly at his itchy nose. It’s clearly not enough, though, because the tickle still prevails, quiet moans interlaced between hitching breaths as he fumbles for a tissue.

“Mm… h-ihh… hih’TSCHhhue! hk’GSHHhh!… ugh… heh-hh’EISHHhiew!” The sneezes sound just as exhausted as the rest of him, though they’re harsh enough to leave him breathless for a moment. Mac opens his mouth to bless him, when Dennis holds up a quivering finger to signify that he’s not quite done yet. “huhh’RSHHhhu! ihh’KSCHHhuh!… oh, f-fuck…”

The tissue in his hands is fairly saturated, and he eyes it with disdain as he lets it drop to his side. Mac’s expression is one half of sympathy, half of amazement. “Jesus Christ, dude. Bless you.”

Dennis sniffles, collapsing against the pillow. The fit clearly knocked the wind right out of him, and Mac can’t say he doesn’t feel awful for the guy. He looks miserable.

Mac sighs, shifting over on the bed so that their thighs brush against one another. On any other day, Dennis would pull away; shoot him a disheartening glare, but right now, he’s way too out of it to give a shit. The contact’s a little soothing, even. Though he’d never admit it out loud.

“Here,” Mac murmurs, holding out the tub of Vicks. “You want me to do it?”

“Mhm… please.”

“Alright. Just, uh, take your shirt off, and…” He trails off, rolling his eyes when he looks up to see Dennis’s resulting skeptical expression. “Not like that, man. I gotta put it on your chest. Might be good to get that fever down, too.”

After some gentle persuading, Dennis eventually obliges, lifting his sweatshirt over his head albeit reluctantly and with a shudder that seems to wrack his entire body. “Mm… ‘s cold.”

“I know, Den, I’m sorry.” Mac gives his shoulder a little squeeze before twisting the cap off the tub, scooping a generous amount of the balm onto his middle and index finger. “C’mere. Just want you to feel better, alright?”

Dennis nods, allowing Mac to massage his fevered skin, his touch like magic as his fingers drag across his collarbone. He lets out a delicate whine of pleasure as he feels the congestion start to loosen up, his sniffles becoming wetter every time.

“God, that… that smells s-so strong,” he breathes, words hoarse and just above a whisper. “It’s… o-ohh, God… ehh… hk’SCHHhiew!”

He sneezes openly down toward his knees, giving Mac just enough time to move his hand away to avoid the fallout. It’s… well, the menthol’s clearly doing its job, given just how productive that last sneeze was. Dennis groans, already-flushed cheeks growing an even deeper shade of crimson.

Mac chuckles softly. “Might wanna keep some tissues handy.” He sets the box down in Dennis’s lap, plucking one out and holding it up to his nose. “Blow.”

Dennis rolls his eyes, taking the tissue from him between his index and thumb. “Don’t need to baby me.” He blows his nose anyways, messily, too focused on getting all the gunk out of his nose to care about upholding his usual composition.

“Better?”

He nods, if only slightly. “Little bit.”

The relief, however, is short-lived, when his briefly blissfully unblocked nostrils soon succumb to another unbearable tickle, eyes tearing as Mac continues to massage his chest.

“O-oh, fuck, ‘m gonna… guhh… ghh’TXCHhh! hh’DSHHhhue!” Harrowed, he reaches for the discarded sweatshirt beside him, mind set on relief more than logical thinking as he raises it to his face to muffle the sneezes and catch the mess. “M-mac, you… hh’ESCHhhuh!… y-you gotta stop, man, it’s… ihh… hihh’EISHHhh!… m-making me sneeze…”

“Yeah, no, I— I can see that, dude; bless you,” Mac stammers, hurriedly screwing the lid back on the tub and opting to rub Dennis’s back tenderly as his shoulders shake with sneeze after sneeze. “You’re alright, Den, I gotcha… there you go, just get ‘em all out…”

The fit doesn’t seem to show any signs of stopping for another solid minute — messy, desperate sneezes after torturous buildups that tease him endlessly, irritated tears leaving tracks along the curves of his cheeks. Mac can only hope that this shirt wasn’t a particular favourite of his. He slings an arm over Dennis’s shoulders, holding him close until the sneezes finally die down.

“Hey. You okay?” His gaze meets Dennis’s, greenish-brown puppy dog eyes locking with hazy blue. “Those were… big.”

Dennis sniffles, face still buried into the now-soaked sweatshirt. “Y-yeah, no, I’m… hh’ISHHhue!… god, last one… I’m fine.” When he speaks, his words are muffled, but even then Mac can tell that the fit at least assisted in clearing him out a little.

“Good.”

He smiles; strokes Dennis’s hair delicately as he lowers the makeshift handkerchief from his face, revealing the pallor in his skin and a nose so red it’s borderline clownish.

“Aw, buddy,” he murmurs, clicking his tongue with an almost motherly affection. “You really look awful. I-I mean, you— you still look handsome; you always do, you just—”

“Save it,” Dennis interjects, chuckling weakly. “I look like shit, I know.”

The tension in Mac’s shoulders dissolves into gentle laughter just as quickly as it first appeared, and his hand runs up and down the length of Dennis’s trembling arm.

“You should, um… Do you want me to grab you another shirt?”

Dennis looks down at the one crumpled in his hands, brow crinkling in disgust. “Oh, gross. Um, yeah, please.”

Mac nods, pulling his hoodie off over his head. “Here. Got a t-shirt on underneath; I’ll be fine.”

Usually, Dennis would be averse to borrowing Mac’s clothes, but right now he’s too beat to care one bit. He gives a soft murmur of gratitude, tugging it on with the slightest of difficulties. The warmth is soothing, no less the fact he’s got something to wear that’s not entirely drenched for the second time in the last 24 hours.

He yawns, settling against Mac contentedly. “Stay with me?”

Mac nods; pretends the words don’t make his heart flutter and cheeks flush as red as Dennis’s. “Oh— y-yeah, no, totally. Of course.”

“Thanks.” Dennis sniffles, eyes closing as he tugs the blankets up and over his shoulders. “Just… just make sure I don’t, like, choke on my own mucus or anything.”

Mac’s own nose crinkles at that, lips curling up into a grin. “Oh, dude, gross.”

“Mm…’m sick, leave me alone.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” It’s funny, Mac thinks — whenever Dennis is sick like this, he denies, denies, denies like his life depends on it, until he finally admits that his body isn’t as godlike as he likes to think. And when he eventually does, he milks the fact he’s unwell until it’s goddamn bone dry, using it as an excuse for absolutely everything, and it’s fucking infuriating.

And Mac loves that about him.

Dennis’s breathing evens out, worry lines in his brow unfurling at last. Mac smiles; presses a kiss to the top of his head.

“Yeah… get some sleep, Den.”

#my writing #i/asip #d/ennis r/eynolds #m/acdennis #snz #cw mess #snzfic #sickfic #snzblr

56 notes · View notes