Hii! I absolutely love your work!! I wrote a little story about Ilya and the Centaurs’ WAGs because I really love them! I hope you like it!!
The WAGs adopt Ilya Rozanov
It was still early in the evening so Shane was watching tv when he heard the door click open. A soft smile formed around his lips as he realized that Ilya was finally home. Immediately Shane heard loud, booming sneezes fill the house.
‘Huhh’DTSCHehh!’, ‘uhh’HHDEZZSCH’hoo!!’
By the time Ilya came into the living room, he was still sneezing his head off. Stumbling blindly over to the couch, he pressed one elbow against his face in the knowledge that Shane didn’t like him spreading germs. The man in question flinched involuntarily everytime his boyfriend scream-sneezed, but still held his hands out to catch Ilya.
The Russian let himself fall on the couch, into Shane’s arms before sneezing one final time and then going completely limp.
‘hihh'DZZTSHheww’
‘Bless you, baby’, Shane fished a pack of tissues out of his pocket and handed the blond man one. Ilya blew his nose tiredly and then went on to cuddle with his boyfriend. Shane rubbed his back soothingly as Ilya let out a few ticklish, little coughs.
Ilya often had these seemingly never ending sneezing fits in front of him. Mostly as soon as he got home from a day of being exposed to the hardships of Canadian spring. Ilya didn’t always sneeze in these draining fits like the ones he had right after practice, but Shane just assumed it meant that Ilya’s allergies were really bad in those moments.
——
Shane enjoyed his first barbecue with the Centaurs much more than he could’ve imagined. It was the end of the summer and the beginning of a new season with Shane as a new player of their team. Cassie and Bood had outdone themselves with all kinds of dishes and even made a different salad for Shane specifically.
Shane was startled out of his contentment when Luca Haas sneezed really loudly, alerting everyone in the garden. The rookie blushed and tried to disappear into the shadows before his teammates burst out laughing.
Shane, who was close to him, shook his head comfortingly and laughed, saying:
‘Don’t worry about it. I mean, have you ever seen Ilya sneeze?’
At that Luca narrowed his eyes while thinking deeply but then tilted his head sideways.
‘Uhm actually no, now that you mention it’
LaPointe lowered the piece of potato he was about to eat and frowned slightly.
‘It’s not possible that Cap has never sneezed, right?’
Bood shrugged, flipping some sausages on tbe barbecue.
‘I thought maybe Russians just didn’t do that’
Wyatt nodded in agreement, stretching his legs on the soft grass while leaning against his wife’s shoulder.
‘I would have remembered if it was that loud’
Dykstra turned towards Shane raising an eyebrow.
‘Are you sure about it?’
Shane was absolutely baffled. Almost everyday Ilya had these huge sneezing fits, loud and unstoppable. There was no way he had never once sneezed during practice?
‘Ilya has really bad hayfever. He’s the sneeziest person I know’
Shane shook his head at the incredulous looks on The Centaurs’ faces. He was almost starting to doubt himself.
But then Cassie Boodram placed another bowl of salad on the plastic table and coolly turned towards her husband.
‘I think Shane knows his own husband the best. Hayfever really sucks, I hope you take good care of your captain’
Bood put his gloved hands up defensively:
‘We can’t take care of him if we don’t know anything is wrong!’
‘And here I was thinking that he finally started to open up to us’, Wyatt pouted sadly.
Caitlin Dykstra rolled her eyes.
‘That’s so typical, guys really don’t pay any attention. I’ve literally heard Rozanov sneeze multiple times before’
Evan Dykstra’s mouth fell open and Bood raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
‘And I can confirm that it is indeed very loud’, Lisa Hayes added smugly and Wyatt pointed a betrayed finger at her.
‘You too?!’
Luca shook his head curiously.
‘When?’
Instead of Lisa, Cassie answered:
‘Well, there was that time we all went to the petting zoo last spring…’
——
Cassie Bood
In the beginning of March, the Centaurs and Harris organized a team building activity and they all went to a petting zoo in Ottawa. After practice they would take the kids and let them roam free between all the animals.
Although it quickly became clear that the adults might have even more fun than their children.
Cassie loved watching all the tough hockey boys absolutely lose their minds when they were allowed to feed the newborn lambs.
She wasn’t ashamed to admit that she took almost as much pictures of her son Milo sitting on a beautiful black pony, as she took of Rozanov and Barrett cuddling baby bunnies.
As the day went on though, she noticed Ilya becoming more and more quiet. She caught him more than once turning away from the group or staying a bit behind to quietly hide what she assumed were little sneezing fits into his shirt. Afterwards he would look around frantically if anyone else noticed and then continue on as if nothing happened.
When Zane took their son into the chicken coop, Cassie subtly pulled on the captain’s sleeve.
‘We’re gonna check if there’s a place to drink something around here’, she called out but the group didn’t react, too excited to see the next animals. Cassie shrugged and dragged Rozanov away from the barn and over the gravel path.
Ilya followed Cassie quietly as they walked next to each other in the direction of the little bar she had already noticed earlier.
‘What’s bothering you?’, Cassie dared to ask the stoic captain as gently as she could, but Rozanov was already busy. She saw more than heard him flinch into his elbow, strangled sounds filling her ears. They were different than the nearly silent ones he’d continuously let out earlier. She could tell these were more desperate and therefore less controlled.
‘H’DGxtt, Ngt’dtsh!, HHgxt’ugh’,
‘nGT’shh’, hehhD’xgt!-ng’
‘You can just sneeze here you know, it’s only us and some fields’, Cassie tried to encourage the stubborn hockey player.
Ilya opened his teary eyes a bit as if he wanted to check the area for himself. In the end he just gave an exhausted cough and let his body do its job to sneeze fully. The relieved sound echoed across the fields and Cassie worriedly counted about fifteen of them before Rozanov seemed even remotely finished.
“HEHH’dTSSChoo, ‘Ihh’ZZEHSCHHiew’
When Ilya straightened back up, he wiped tears from his eyes and blinked against the low, setting sun.
‘Allergies have been bad today. I am really sorry’, he snuffled congested and Cassie wished she hadn’t left the stroller that contained a pack of tissues with Zane.
She wondered faintly if Rozanov had waited all day, looking to hide somewhere and sneeze his head off. Even though he was still fighting them now when they were alone.
Cassie frowned. Zane had told her the new captain had been reserved when they first started playing together. It hadn’t taken long for him though to find a way into everyone’s heart. Cassie thought naturally that it must’ve been the other way around as well. But maybe they needed to step up their game.
There was a moment of silence between them until a horse in the distance, offended by the loud noise, neighed back at the hockey player. Cassie burst out laughing at the same time that Ilya flipped the poor animal off, his cheeks turning embarrassingly red.
‘I’m allergic to horses too’, Ilya muttered grumpily and Cassie stopped laughing instantly to sheepishly rub some stray pony hairs off of her shirt.
‘Let’s find that café so you can wash your hands and face’, she stated seriously. Ilya just nodded, still blushing fiercely.
‘I think I deserve some vodka maybe’
‘Water will do’, Cassie shook her head amused, linking her arm through Rozanov’s in quiet comfort. She was a mother after all, germs didn’t scare her.
——
Lisa Hayes
When Wyatt told Lisa that their captain had fallen ill, she had ordered him to go check on the man. Lisa had gotten to know Rozanov a bit better over the many months that he played for Ottawa now. She knew that the man was not so secretly a sweetheart but that he was also extremely stubborn.
Wyatt had gone the first time but apparently the captain had been asleep and hesitant to wake him up, Wyatt had just returned home. The next visit was for Lisa.
She rang the doorbell, holding on to a thermos with homemade soup. When the door buzzed, she pushed it open and went inside.
Lisa found the man under a blanket on the couch, watching television. He looked up through heavily lidded eyes but straightened when he saw her. Lisa informed him about the soup and made her way to the kitchen to warm the food up for him before he could protest. Once she’d done that, she put the bowel on the table next to the couch.
Lisa noticed some bottles of pills that the team doctor had prescribed him and a white package that she immediately recognized.
‘Did you take this?’, she pointed to the flu test, knowing that Rozanov very likely hadn’t. None of the things on the table seemed even touched.
As predicted, the man shook his head and mumbled something under his breath. Lisa settled herself next to him on the couch to which the blond’s eyes widened and he tried to move away from her.
‘What did you say?’, she prompted, ignoring Rozanov’s attempts at escaping.
‘I can’t- Is difficult in English’, Ilya muttered annoyed but Lisa understood what he meant. The instructions weren’t very difficult but when you’re sick, even reading in another language can be too much of a task. She could tell that the Russian was embarrassed about it, but honestly she didn’t mind.
‘I’ll do it for you. Just 30 seconds, 15 seconds for each side, and we’re done’, she proposed. Ilya considered it for a while but gave his permission eventually with a tight nod.
Lisa pulled out the swab and carefully inserted it deep into his right nostril. Rozanov tried to pull back with a startled groan but Lisa was a trained doctor so she kept his head in place with one hand.
‘Breath through it. Out through your mouth when I go in’, she instructed and when Ilya did, he calmed down a bit. She rotated the stick around in his nose, counting to fifteen out loud.
Lisa made it to ten before she became alert to the way her patients nose twitched and his eyes fluttered to stay open.
‘Are you going to sneeze?’, she asked sympathetically, wondering whether she could push through for the last five seconds.
Ilya muttered a short “no” and then focused on breathing through his mouth again. Only a bit later his eyes fully closed, head tilted back and the tip of his tongue peeked through his parted lips. His nostrils flared wide to give her better access.
It was only a matter of seconds so Lisa pulled the swab out and Rozanov lunged forward into his shoulder immediately, sneezing silently about a hundred times. Lisa breathed surprised and gave him some tissues that she found on the table.
‘GnxTsh!’, ‘huhh’gktsh’,
‘ihh-DT’shff!’, ‘hhihNgktt’
‘Bless you!’, she smiled kindly when he was done, but Ilya had his head turned away, his gaze focused on his lap.
‘I couldn’t stop it’, he observed sadly.
‘I know, that’s okay. It’s a normal reaction’, Lisa tried encourage him but Rozanov continued to look oddly put out, like it was the worst thing in the world to have happened. She tried her best to comfort him then.
‘How many times have you broken your nose?’
The man made an uncertain noise and Lisa nodded.
‘I thought so. That combined with being sick makes you more sensitive. That’s very normal, honey. I’m gonna have to do other nostril now’
Ilya nodded apprehensively and closed his eyes. This time they made it smoothly to fifteen but before Lisa took the swab out, she urged gently: ‘Don’t hold them in, doctor’s orders’
Ilya nodded barely before he sneezed loudly but politely into his elbow and then repeated the process two times.
‘HD’uhhT’SCHEWW!’, HehD'ESHHuhh’
‘HIHH’DTZZSHiew!’
‘I’m so sorry. I don’t want you to catch this’, the sick man apologized and Lisa handed him his bowl of soup.
‘I won’t’, she assured him.
‘Wyatt can come around tomorrow, to see how you’re doing?’
Ilya waved his hand somewhere in the air and began sipping from the now not so hot soup.
‘Not like this’
Lisa finished putting the swab away neatly for the team doctor to find. She would ask Wyatt for the results tomorrow.
‘He won’t mind’
‘I mind’, Rozanov croaked out around thick coughs and Lisa hummed concerned. She was definitely sending her husband to check in on Rozanov. Whether the stubborn man wanted or not.
——
Caitlin Dykstra
Caitlin was hosting a party in the winter for New Year. The new year had already begun but this was the only day that most people could make it. Everyone was outside having fun with the Sparkler Fireworks Evan bought when Caitlin went back inside to prepare the dessert.
As she was busy cutting the cake she had baked that morning, she heard some shuffling above her. Caitlin frowned. Wasn’t everyone outside? She went upstairs to investigate and found the upstairs bathroom closed.
Caitlin didn’t mind, she told her guests that they could use the bathroom if the toilet downstairs was occupied. Only, right now it wasn’t. Caitlin knocked softly and waited, but when no one opened the door, she let herself in.
‘Hey’, she said sheepishly to the man inside and Ilya Rozanov startled, looking up at her from where he was sitting on the closed toilet in the dark.
‘I’m sorry, I was ju-huhh just-‘, he started to explain but then his breath hitched, causing Caitlin to panic. Fearing that the man might be crying or worse, choking or something, she turned on the light.
The sudden brightness immediately tipped Ilya over the edge as he started sneezing quietly, ducking into his fist over and over again. After a while they were getting stronger and Caitlin was getting more worried.
‘Ihh’Gxt’, ‘Ng’tzd!’,
‘ngKTshh’, ‘UhhDT’nxt!’
Caitlin rushed to the sink and held a washcloth under the water. She pushed it into Rozanov’s hands and told him to hold it against his face. The cold shock stopped the sneezes for a while and Caitlin blinked nervously at the man in front of her.
‘Are you alright?’
Ilya nodded embarrassed, his breath still suttering every few seconds but he managed to hold the sneezes at bay.
‘I’m alle-hehh allergic to cats’, he admitted quietly. And Caitlin realized suddenly that of course now had to be the exact moment that they were babysitting Evan’s sister’s pet.
‘Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Normally we don’t have pets but Lexi is with us for a few weeks’
Ilya’s shook his head dismissively and started saying: ‘I couldn’t-‘
But Caitlin interrupted him before he could lunge into another suppressed sneezing fit that clearly didn’t help any bit:
‘I’m gonna serve the cake to all the guests outside and then I’ll come back. Hang on’
Caitlin hurried downstairs and took the tray with cake. With the excuse of preserving the heat inside, she closed the door loud enough. Outside she waited a little until she indeed heard the faint echo of what had to be impressively loud sneezes. Caitlin smiled to herself. She had no idea what the captain was self-conscious about but she hoped he’d gotten some relief when she got back.
After everyone was served, Caitlin turned to Evan: ‘Do we still have those antihistamines you normally take in summer?’
Evan nodded.
‘Yeah they’re in the bottom drawer in the bathroom. Are you having an allergic reaction?’
Caitlin had already turned her back to her husband again and called over her shoulder.
‘No, one of the girls asked for it’
Then she went back inside and hurried to the bathroom to find Ilya scrubbing at his nose but he had immediately stopped sneezing upon hearing her return. Caitlin rummaged worriedly through the drawer and found the medication she was looking for.
‘I only have the liquid kind, is that alright?’
Ilya nodded shyly and sat perfectly still, apart from a few sniffles, until she handed him the right dose.
‘You know Evan has hayfever in summer. He understands what a pain allergies can be’, she tried to cheer the miserable looking captain up.
It didn’t seem to work though as Rozanov simply said: ‘It’s nobody’s issue but mine. I’d like to keep it that way. It will never affect my playing, dont worry’
Cassie grimaced but quietly put the medication back again.
‘Of course not, honey. Just don’t forget that we’re all here for you. Let me see your face?
I think you should shower first. Then you are ready to go downstairs again’
Ilya nodded and hopped off the toilet. He waited until Caitlin showed him where the towels were before closing the door with an awkward little wave. Caitlin made eyecontact with Lexi on her way down the stairs and gave her a stern pet on the head, telling her to leave the poor man alone.
———
The more Shane listened to the women, the more outraged he became. He didn’t even know that Ilya was capable of holding his violent sneezes in, let alone that he was stupid enough to actually do it. Often, apparently.
‘So what, Ilya only sneezes that much with me because he spends whole day holding them back?! The first thing I’m doing on the team is training that habit out of him‘
Wyatt nodded earnestly.
‘We’re up for the task! Roz is our family, he deserves to be comfortable when he’s with us. And Luca needs good examples in his life growing up’
Luca threw his hands up exasperated.
‘I am grown up?!’
OH MY GOD ANON thank you so much for this fic it was absolutely wonderful and i LOVED reading it. have to share with everyone actually
When someone has a really bad cold or hayfever, and even when they're not sneezing, they look like they're about to. Eyebrows constantly pulling together, eyes narrowed with that vacant look coming and going, pink nostrils flaring/quivering, lips parted, upper lip slightly pulled up, showing a glimpse of teeth... they just look so, so sneezy, even as they go about their day.
And no wonder they look sneezy, their nose and sinuses are prickling and tickling nonstop... sometimes they tip over that tickly threshold and they sneeze. And they sneeze and sneeze. But every time they manage to stop sneezing, they still need to.
i made chili con carne for dinner tonight and the spice hit the back of my throat and made me start coughing and then the coughing triggered me to sneeze 5 times very rapidly. i have tears streaming down my face and sniffling as i write this 🤧
The idea of someone sneezing in their sleep is so cute to me. Or waking up with a sneeze. Like your nose tickled so bad you had to sneeze before you're even awake? Adorable.
In a Crowded Room (There's Only You) - H/R Fic, Il/ya allergies
She did it! She wrote a proper H/R snzfic one-shot with a plot and everything! Cause I've only been thinking/dreaming/scheming things with these two in my brain for 5 months like the rest of you.
Inspired by a post I saw on here about sneezing in a crowded club/bar. There are some Long Game minor spoilers in here and some characters introduced in other books (Ryan, Fabian) but if you haven't been introduced to them, it should still make sense! Enjoy :)
And this, like my blog, is 18+.
----
It's not that Sh/ane hates clubs, per se. It's just that he'd rather enjoy music or be forced to dance in a settling that wasn't quite so...close? Strobe-lit? Hot in the way a place gets when there's too many bodies too crammed in together?
He cranes his neck to see Il/ya making his way through the crowd towards their spot at the back near the soundboard where the crush of bodies isn't as overwhelming. The success of Fabian's latest album is exciting but it means the venues where he plays have gotten bigger along with the amount of people at his shows.
They always end up near the back of Fabian's shows because of Ryan. He's so tall, it's the only place where he doesn't block anyone's view. And frankly, Shane is okay with it because it also allows a certain amount of anonymity. Every since he and Ilya were outed and became teammates for the Centaurs, his public profile has risen to a level higher than ever before. Now, it's not only hockey fans that recognize the pair, but anyone who watches the news. The media can't get enough of the fact that two professional athletes play on the same team (literally and metaphorically).
As if on cue, Shane sees Ilya stop and exchange a few brief words with a guy in the crowd, leaning in to pose for a selfie. The man, a lithe redhead, roars with laughter at something Ilya has said, and Shane feels a little tinge of jealously flare in his stomach. It’s not that he would ever suspect Ilya of cheating; they're still as obsessed with each other as ever. And it's easy to see why Ilya is drawing attention from the crowd. He's wearing a tight mesh black top that clings to every inch of his chest in a way that had Shane suggesting they skip the concert altogether when they'd started to get ready earlier that evening.
“Hi,” Ilya says in Shane's ear, finally reaching their spot. He presses a cold glass into Shane's hand as he tucks himself behind his back. “Sorry – too many people.”
Shane sips at the cold beer, trying to ignore the sweat pooling along his spine in the closeness of the room. Ilya's hips are tucked against his and Shane can feel the muscle of Ilya's chest against his shoulder blades. He leans back a little against his husband and Ilya tucks his head over Shane's shoulder.
“I'm glad we came,” Ilya says over the opening act's final notes. “I'm excited to hear his new stuff.”
The lighting in the club shifts dramatically as an electronic hum fills the speakers. The crowd chatters with excitement as a technician swaps a few cables onstage and sets out Fabian's violin. There's another flourish of lights, a burst of stage haze, and Fabian emerges to a thunderous cheer from the crowd.
And then the hush. The crowd goes quiet as the first notes fill the air and Shane relaxes a little, trying to get lost in the sound of the strings and Fabian's voice.
There's a slight jostle of people still as the crowd inches forward and latecomers try to get a better view of the stage. Someone hits Shane's elbow and he barely manages to not spill his beer. A group of giggling women pass in front of them, trying to get to the bar but they're blocked by the roped-off soundboard. They pause to survey the scene and Shane nearly chokes when it hits him – the scent of a flowery perfume applied so heavily that he can practically taste it.
From behind him, there's an irritated sniffle from Ilya, inhaled close to Shane's ear.
Instantly, the blood rushes to Shane's cheeks. The sound of Ilya's sniffles is not novel. In fact, come springtime, it's so present that it reaches the point of annoyance. But here, in the closeness of this club and with Ilya pressed against his back, it portends the inevitable – Ilya is going to start sneezing.
And, the thing is, Ilya's sneezing does something to Shane. Something primal and inexplicable and embarrassing and sweet and all together too overwhelming to happen in a crowded club.
“Christ,” Ilya mutters into Shane's ear and his nose presses against Shane's shoulder, giving a sharp rub against the fabric of Shane's t-shirt. “Did she take a bath in that shit?”
Shane can already hear the falter in Ilya's voice and he doesn't need to turn around to know the expression that's forming on his husband's face. He can see it so clearly in his mind: the slight furrow of his brows, the barely parted lips, the fluttering eyelashes.
Ngh-TXGHT!
Ilya jerks into Shane, his head bobbing in and out of Shane's peripheral vision.
The crowd of women have moved on, but the damage is done.
Hehh—eh'TSGHT!
There's a low rumble of Ryan's voice offering a “bless you” and Shane nearly tells him not to bother. There's going to be no end in sight to this.
Shane stares at Fabian, trying desperately to focus on the performance. He takes a deep, steadying breath even as he feels Ilya's own breath rush in and then – Nhhh-TSGHT! Tsh'GGHT!
Ilya's vodka glass is now on a nearby ledge, abandoned in favour of one hand around Shane's waist and the other rubbing at his offended nose. Ilya tucks his head back against Shane's neck and trails the edge of nose briefly along the skin there.
Shane closes his eyes, fighting the building desire. Ilya knows exactly what effect his sneezes have on Shane by this point and he's clearly trying to take advantage of it.
“Not here,” Shane growls softly. “Jesus, Ilya.”
“Can't help it,” Ilya whines into his ear. “So itchy...I....heh...ehh-TSGHT!”
Mercifully, Ilya is stifling the sneezes but Shane feels a small rush of warm air as Ilya sneezes against his t-shirt.
Concussion recognition tools, Shane thinks, trying to bring his focus to the most boring thing he can think of at present. They'd recently reviewed concussion protocols for their Game Changers hockey camps. What are the reasons you should immediately call an ambulance? Neck pain...double vision...loss of consciousness...
TSHH! Hehh'khtshh!—eh’tsghtt!
Ilya's hips are pressing against Shane's ass as he sneezes and Ilya is holding on to Shane...he is fucking doing it on purpose. And it's working. Shane can feel the insistent press against the fly of his jeans. Thank god the club is dark.
“Are you alright?” Ryan asks, staring at Ilya.
There's a thick sniffle next to Shane's ear and then the low rumble of Ilya's voice, now congested-sounding.
“Some had on too much perfume. Sorry – this happens -I just – I –ehh—hehh'TSGHTT!”
Shane has to bite his lip to stop a moan as Ilya bumps against his ass again.
“Maybe we should step outside?” he says through gritted teeth. “Get some air?”
“Yes, good idea,” Ilya agrees.
They make their way across the back of the club – Ilya still occasionally shuddering with suppressed sneezes and Shane trying to subtly hold his hands over his crotch.
Ilya shoulders open an exit door past the bathrooms that leads out to an alley behind the club. It's a warm summer night and insects buzz around a nearby utility light mounted by the door.
“Oh my god,” Shane groans, leaning against the brick wall of the building. “You can't do that in public, Ilya.”
“Do what?” Ilya says innocently, coming towards Shane and reaching down to palm over his jeans. “Make you so hard you nearly cry?”
“I swear, either you stay out here until you stop...until you stop doing you know what...or we might as well just call it a night and go home now,” Shane says, pushing Ilya's hand away even though he wants nothing more than to be touched.
“Or we could -”
“I am not letting you give me a hand job in a back alley downtown, Ilya.”
Shane looks up at his husband for the first time since the perfume assault, and a rush of affection and desire washes over him. Ilya's nose is pink at the edges and his eyes are starting to water.
“Especially not like this,” Shane adds, reaching up to thumb a bit of irritation away from Ilya's eyelashes.
Ilya sniffles and shrugs.
“Fine. Longer we wait, less I sneeze.”
“I know that isn't true,” Shane says with a smirk as he takes out his phone to call their car service. He taps a few buttons on an app and pockets the phone again. “They'll be on the side street in two minutes.”
“Fine,” Ilya concedes. “Only cause they always have tissues in the cars and I need one. But while we wait, I will tell you what I will do to you when we get home.”
Three Times the Centaurs Suffered + One Time Shane Joins Them (1/?)
Alright, I suppose I've procrastinated on this enough. Here's the first part: the Centaurs have made a mistake, and now Ilya's suffering for it.
I hope that you guys enjoy this first part while I figure out how to write the next part in the meantime.
I did not edit this, and I know absolutely nothing about Hockey so feel free to let me know if there are any major errors.
⚠️ Minors Do Not Interact ⚠️
‼️Do Not Repost to a non-kink blog.‼️
"Hhd-hhRRSCHHEUhww!! Huhh!-”
“Damn, Cap, you think you can find somewhere else to practice your impression of the big bad wolf?” Barrett winced as Ilya doubled over with an impressive double.
“HhrrsSCHHHheuhww!… f-huuugck– hHHRRZZSCHHH’HUE!!”
“He’ll huff and puff and blow your house down.” Bood cackled.
Ilya flipped him off, dropping his gloves so that he could scrub his nose. Mashing the flesh with the heel of his palm, the skin flushed pink under the abuse.
“Quit that…”Shane huffed, digging around his duffel, tossing Ilya a pack of tissues.
Ilya caught the pack with a thick snuffle, tearing it open, pulling a few out, and bringing them up to blow his nose noisily, swiping at his nose roughly with the mostly soiled paper.
“Gh…this is unfair slander! I am not the only one who sneezes in this locker room, and yet I am being picked on!” Ilya protested, crossing his arms over his chest with a pout.
Shane rolled his eyes, sitting on the bench, working on getting his gear off.
“No one in this room sneezes nearly as much as you do. I’m surprised you haven’t taken the locker room with those beasts yet.” Hayes jabbed, poking fun at his friend.
“Not true, Shane is sneezy too…”Ilya started, but let his mouth snap shut when Shane shot him a look that said, ‘Do you really want to go there?’
“What Hollzy!? No way!” Hayes chuckled.
“Seriously, Cap? You could’ve at least tried to pick someone more believable.”Dykstra shook his head as they murmured in agreement, before the subject was dropped.
Barrett lingered on the thought, though.
Had any of them ever actually seen Hollander sneeze?
He thought back, racking his brain, but couldn’t come up with anything. That bothered him for some odd reason, as he’s pretty sure he’d seen most of his teammates sneeze at least once.
Heck, even Barrett, who didn’t have a particularly sensitive nose, has sneezed at least once or twice in front of the guys.
Barrett would be inclined to believe that Shane had an even less sensitive nose if he hadn’t caught the pointed look Shane had flashed Ilya earlier.
“Okay, but in all seriousness, has anyone actually seen Hollzy sneeze?” Troy asked, the second Ilya and Shane left the room.
“Does it matter?” Hayes shrugged, and he was probably right.
“I guess not, it’s just…you aren’t curious?” Barrett asked, bending down to unlace his skates.
“I don’t know, I guess it’s a little weird, but maybe Hollzy’s not a sneezy guy.” Hayes shrugged, working on shucking off his own gear.
Troy shrugged, dropping the subject for now.
~
The subject didn’t come up again until a couple of weeks later, when Barrett caught Hayes carrying a bouquet into the locker room.
Which was interesting, since flowers were banned from the locker room, although none of them could remember why at the moment.
“I knew you were curious!” Barrett exclaimed, pointing at Hayes accusingly.
“I never said I wasn’t,” Hayes defended, “and it’s not like I purposely went out of my way to buy them, a fan caught me outside before I walked in.”
Bood walked in, and their gaze shifted to him as he also carried a bouquet.
“Aw, man, here I thought I was being unique.” He scowled as he crossed the room to his stall, setting his own bouquet on the bench, noticing Hayes had his own bouquet, “Ah, she got you too, Hayes.”
“Damn, Barrett, how’d you avoid flower girl?” Hayes asked, noticing that Barrett’s stall was absent of his own bouquet.
“I always come in through the back.” Barrett shrugged, as if speaking of it, the door opened, and in entered Haas. Thankfully, without a third bouquet.
He stared at the bouquet in Hayes' hands, then let his gaze shift to one sitting on the bench by Bood’s stall, before sighing.
“Whatever’s going on, please leave me out of it.” Haas groaned, crossing the room to his own stall, working on putting his gear on.
“Nothing’s going on.” Hayes insisted, setting his own flowers by his stall, getting ready for practice. He didn’t think about it any further until he heard Shane and Ilya walk in together.
It was a bit late for them, considering they were usually the first to practice, but if he had to guess by the tone of Hollander’s voice, Ilya had probably made them run late.
They were so engrossed in their conversation that neither of them noticed the flowers as they walked to their own stalls, getting ready for practice.
Hayes was putting on his when the first sneeze came, startling him into dropping it.
“Heh’EsSSHH!”
He really should be used to it by now with how sneezy their captain is, yet he still manages to catch them off guard on occasion.
He waited patiently for the other two to come along.
Okay…that was a lot more than Ilya’s normal three-and-done sneezing fits. They also sounded kind of different.
Then all at once, Hayes remembered exactly why flowers were banned from the locker room. “Fuck!” He said, scooping up the bouquet before practically sprinting across the room to grab Boods, before calmly tossing them out the nearest window.
It didn’t matter, though the damage had already been done.
“Eschhhhuhh!…hheh-! HhHEschhhuh! Huhh….sndf-hhHEhschhuhh!! -HehHshhhuh!! …Hehhschhhuh!”
“Why were there flowers in here!?” Shane panicked, watching Hayes chuck both bouquets out the window.
“Some fan caught Bood and me outside before we came in. I didn’t even think about it.” Hayes explained, as he helped Shane shuffle Ilya out of the locker room, as he continued to snap in half with sneeze after sneeze.
Barrett winced watching them, checking pollen off his list since it was obvious Shane wasn’t having any issues.
He just hoped their slip-up didn’t end up with Ilya taking it out on them during practice.
I/lya is definitely the type to try and fail to talk though a sneezing fit (I just love sneeze interrupted talking and literally having little itchy sneezes between words and half words)
B is too preoccupied with a task to bless or really even acknowledge A, who keeps sneezing for whatever reason. Wanting B’s attention without having to ask for it, A makes their sneezes progressively louder and more dramatic until B, who is used to A’s antics, finally concedes with a smile “Okay, okay, you’ve got my attention, now bless you.”
This monster fic bought to you by me, Dr. Frankenstein, stitching multiple posts together: allergic!Ilya hc by @diamond-pixie-dust, cottage allergies by @feverfcking, service top!Ilya by @lavsnz, and sexy tease Ilya by anon and @perseaphoneaa.
Featuring "who, me? I'm not allergic" Ilya and "please don't figure out I have the kink" Shane.
Thanks again to @diamond-pixie-dust for the feedback and encouragement! This fic is loads better (and way hotter) than it would've been without you.
Posting this part (3.9k) first because the second part will be very NSFW ;)
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Ilya slowly rises to consciousness, but he's not sure why he’s awake. The bedroom is just starting to reclaim colors from the night’s darkness, so it’s still early. Shane’s still asleep next to him on the bed. He has some sore spots, which is to be expected; his ribs are still on the mend and yesterday was his first time having sex in months. He’s not any more congested than usual. After breaking his nose as many times as he has, it seems like he always is, a little. So what -- oh. A familiar twinge runs through his sinuses and his chest jumps with an involuntary inhale. He needs to sneeze. He’s able to stifle his usual triple into silence, hands-free, so as not to wake Shane, but he can’t help the brief quake that runs through his body with each sneeze.
He sniffs quietly, rubbing his nose against the wrist that’s opposite Shane. There’s a lingering feathery tickle at the forefront of his nose, like he’s going to maybe sneeze again. He breathes slowly and steadily, hoping to outlast the feeling and go back to sleep. He’s just starting to drift off when the tickle flares suddenly and he finds himself hitching almost before he realizes it, but he’s able to contain the sneeze itself and the second too. But after the third, a soft, stuffy exhale escapes him, “–uhh.”
Shane makes a soft sound and tenses. Ilya freezes, knuckle pressed flush against his septum. After a long second, Shane’s body relaxes, his breathing resuming a sleepy cadence. Ilya relaxes too, using his knuckle to firmly rub his nose, flicking the tip up as he finishes and sniffs again. The tickle from before has faded, but a softer, teasing itch seems to have taken its place, settling farther back in his nose. He scrunches his face around his nose, trying to itch the tickle without moving too much, to no avail. Fuck. This will-or-won’t-he-sneeze feeling is one of his least favorites. His lips part, tongue pressing against the back of his front teeth, as he focuses on the sensation.
Luckily (or unluckily), it resolves after a few more breaths into, of course, a sneeze. As with the previous sneezes, he’s able to completely hold in the first one. On the second, however, he’s able to suppress the release, but the ending sighs out of him. “–shhieww…” They’re getting stronger, more insistent. The third sneeze is entirely voiced. “...tsch’ngkk!” And he’s not done, what? “nnn’gxxtzz! hih’kngzt!” Ilya’s mouth hangs open as he waits for the sixth sneeze… which… doesn’t come. Fuck.
He startles, badly, when he hears a half-yawned, sleepy, “Bless you,” from Shane.
“Thank you,” Ilya replies automatically, voice raspy with congestion. He sniffs it back, swallows, then adds, “Sorry, I did not mean to wake you.”
“S’okay,” Shane mumbles, stretching, and rolls over to face Ilya. Looking adorably sleepy, he snuggles in close, and rests his head on Ilya’s shoulder, then tilts his face up towards Ilya’s. “Good morning.” His voice sounds more alert than he looks.
“Good morning,” Ilya agrees, blinking against the sunbeam cutting over his face. Its brightness seems to re-awaken the tickle, which isn’t surprising, and the congestion has crept back, so he wrinkles his nose and sniffs sharply. Looking at Shane, his entreaty from yesterday, to be honest about how they think and feel, floats through Ilya’s mind. He’d been excited yet nervous to spend more than a few hours at a time with Shane. They’d all but admitted to liking each other in Tampa, but there’s a difference between liking someone and enjoying their company.
He sniffs again, then puts it out there against the background noise of nature: “I like you.”
“I like you too,” Shane concurs, unhesitating. Ilya trails his fingers across Shane’s forehead and back through Shane’s hair as Shane tilts his face back down towards Ilya’s pec, closing his eyes, a content smile on his face. Even though Shane’s awake, he looks so relaxed and happy that Ilya just wants to stare at him forever. Too bad he can’t take a picture, because the tickle hasn’t let up and he’s going to sneeze again. Soon.
Ilya opens his mouth to warn Shane, the thought of untangling from Shane not having crossed his mind, but what comes out instead is a series of hitching breaths. “hhh! hih... ihhh’huh?” After so many years playing MLH hockey, Ilya’s usually not self-conscious about sneezing anymore, but he feels a little embarrassed about sneezing while in such close proximity to Shane. At least the hitches give him enough time to turn away from Shane, towards his opposite shoulder. “hhh-NK’ZXtch’ue! ahh’ntschooo! –kschht’uhh!” He sniffles loosely in the aftermath and roughly swipes at the tears that have gathered in the corners of his eyes.
“Fuck, sorry,” Ilya apologizes damply, sniffling again, “they surprised me.” Shane, stretched out along Ilya’s side, feels tense, where he was boneless before. His eyes dart quickly away from, then back to, Ilya’s.
“You, uh, you don’t need to do… that,” Shane says, gesturing vaguely at Ilya’s face.
“Sneeze, Hollander?” Ilya deadpans, arching his eyebrows at Shane.
“Fuck you,” Shane responds automatically. “I meant,” he pauses, swallowing visibly, “You don’t have to hold them back like that.”
“Ah. I will try to remember,” Ilya says, internally reserving the right to ignore those instructions.
-----
Ilya’s maybe a little more congested and sniffly than usual as they lazily get up and get ready for the day, but since there are no further sneezes he doesn’t think much of it. After breakfast, they settle in for some gaming. Shane’s sitting back into the couch and Ilya’s leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees.
“You can’t pick Montreal!” Shane protests, but he’s smiling.
“Yes I can!” Ilya retorts, throwing a look behind him at Shane before returning his gaze to the screen. Maybe something shifts with the quick movement, because there’s a sudden, fluttering itch in his sinuses. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be a Metro,” he muses, twitching his nose. It doesn’t help. “You know, historically they’re the best team in sport.” The tickle builds as he makes his final selections.
Resignedly, Ilya tucks his face into his elbow. “heht–tissch’uh!” It’s wetter than he expected but there’s no time to sniffle before he’s leaning into the next sneeze. “ehh’heh’kkscht!” He’s not holding them in entirely, but yes, he is trying to contain them somewhat. It’s actually doable without bursting any veins, unlike his monster sneezes during allergy season. “hih’KSShh’ue!” Ilya squints into the middle distance. Is he… going to… fuck, he is– “ahhhISHHew! ihhschh’oo! eih’yishhshiew!” He wasn’t able to suppress the sixth sneeze, but still finds himself gearing up for another. “…hhh? ihhh’ischhh!”
“...fuck,” he pants with feeling, waiting for an eighth. But the need-to-sneeze feeling fades enough that he knows it’s not going to come, even though his sinuses are still tingling. His arm is wet and he grimaces, wiping it onto his shorts while sniffling the loosened congestion back. He should probably blow his nose, but there aren’t any tissues in sight.
Ilya expects Shane to chirp him for hygiene or something, but Shane just huffs an exhale through his nose and rolls the hem of his sweatshirt between his fingers. “Better than the fucking Yankees!” he declares after a beat, reviving their banter with forceful enthusiasm.
Ilya cedes control of the setup menu to Shane. “Oh, I know so,” he agrees, aggressively rubbing at his nose while Shane works his controller.
“Well, I’m gonna be Boston,” Shane sasses, thumbing at his joystick and pressing buttons with unnecessary force.
“Good choice,” Ilya drawls.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” Shane promises.
“I am you,” Ilya points out, his right hand releasing the controller and gesturing for emphasis. It detours to his nose, pinch-rubbing before drifting back to his controller.
Shane looks at Ilya. His gaze flickers slightly down, like he’s looking at Ilya’s lips, and lingers there for a second before snapping back up. “Well, you’re not anything,” Shane retorts.
Ilya can’t let that stand. He picks up the case and holds it next to his face, angling himself toward Shane. “I’m on the cover of the fucking game!” he huffs.
They’re about to start playing when Shane’s phone buzzes. Pike. Boring. Ilya falls dramatically back onto the couch cushions, but Shane pays him no mind, focused on the call. He sits up again, intending to pout at Shane, but something delightful catches his eye. Shane’s half-hard. Ilya walks his hand up Shane’s thigh only to get smacked aside. Rude. He keeps trying, leaning into Shane’s space until Shane pauses the call.
“What are you doing?” Shane demands expectantly.
“I think you know,” Ilya murmurs, flicking his gaze back and forth between Shane’s eyes and his crotch.
“Please stop,” Shane requests, tilting his head slightly down toward Ilya’s hand.
Ilya purses his lips, makes a show of looking down, and raises his eyebrows at Shane. “I don’t think is what you want,” he demurs, faux earnest, with a slight shake of his head.
“Later, okay?” Shane says pointedly.
“Okay, I make you a deal,” Ilya proposes magnanimously, “I won’t touch you, but if you get hard–”
“I won’t get hard,” Shane asserts with a shake of his head.
“Okay, so no problem then,” Ilya says smoothly, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
“Ilya…” Shane reprimands.
“Shane…” he counters, irrepressible, raising his eyebrows.
Shane turns away from Ilya, rejoins the call, and hoists himself up to sit on the back of the couch. Not his best tactical move, since that puts his crotch basically on a line with Ilya’s face. He flicks his gaze toward it, then leans forward to rest his chin on Shane’s thigh. As he does, an itch swiftly unfurls in the back of his nose. He was going to plant a kiss above Shane’s knee anyway, so he seizes the opportunity to quickly itch his nose against Shane’s quad. His lips part and nostrils flare instinctively as he looks up at Shane and lightly scratches at Shane’s inner thigh. And then he sees, as he predicted, that Shane’s fully hard.
Ilya ignores the flowering itch, gives Shane a gleeful thumbs up, and sternly commands his nose to not sneeze until he’s done blowing Shane. For once, his nose obeys. Mostly. Almost to the second after Shane comes in his mouth, his nose pointedly reminds him that it’s waited long enough. He takes in a quick breath as he pulls off, then presses his face against Shane’s inner thigh, helpless to do anything but yield. He does, however, ignore Shane’s directive to stop holding the sneezes in because, gospodi, another inch to the left and he’d be sneezing all over Shane’s shorts.
“NGXSHT! heh’JXKTZsch! eh’nnGTSH-uh!” The insistent triple triggers all the congestion that he hasn’t been able to sniff back over the last few minutes to start flooding down. He can’t even try to stem the flow because he’s already breathing in, in, in for the next sneeze. “hih’dJSTchuh! huhhMMPT’shew!” As he hitches his way to the sixth and hopefully last, “hhh, hah’ahh-,” which he’s definitely not letting out, “...ahh? hhh, hh, h’ahh,” he feels Shane’s thigh tremble against his cheek. “ahh-NNGXKT’jshh! -snnrrff!”
Ilya stays in between Shane’s legs, still sniffling every few breaths, uncharacteristically unsure what to do next. He’s a hot mess and he’s definitely gotten some of it on Shane. Fuck, he really needs a tissue… or something. He peeks up at Shane, who’s staring shell-shocked at him, and immediately looks back down, his cheeks starting to heat. Ilya reaches down towards the hem of his tank top, which seems to restart Shane, who hastily leans back, peels out of his Metros sweatshirt, and shoves it at Ilya.
“Here, you can, um, use this,” Shane stammers, blushing and looking everywhere but at Ilya, “while I, I need to,” he brandishes the phone, just in case Ilya’s forgotten.
Ilya, confused, accepts the sweatshirt and swipes it over Shane’s thigh, quick but gentle, cleaning him up. He brings it to his own face, scrubbing roughly at his watery eyes before rising. Keeping the sweatshirt over the lower half of his face, he flops back onto the couch. As he steeples his hands over his nose, setting up to blow, he hears the little ping of Shane unmuting. He might have been able to blow his nose quietly enough to go unheard right after sneezing, but now that he’s back to being congested, he knows blowing his nose will get loud. Instead, Ilya presses his fingers down, massaging his still itchy nose through Shane’s sweatshirt in slow up and down strokes. A wet spot blooms on the fabric, growing with each pass of his fingers.
“Ah, sorry, man,” Shane apologizes, still catching his breath. “I just– I have to run. Someone’s at the door.” Ilya pauses, letting out a breathless chuckle and grinning wide under the sweatshirt.
“Fuck,” Shane pants, shooting a look at Ilya, “No, it’s just… it’s just, just Amazon. But, um, I’ll–I’ll call you next week, and… Yeah, yeah, so… totally. And um… All right, yes, love you man. And, uh, give my best to Jackie and the kids.” Shane hangs up and tosses his phone aside, then looks at Ilya.
As Ilya inhales deeply to blow his nose, he sees Shane’s gaze skitter away from him. Did he misread Shane? Fuck, it’s too late if he did, because now he really needs to blow. So he does, first one side, then the other, each accompanied with a loud honk. He blows twice more, equally as loud, shoulders hunching with effort. He can feel his sinuses vibrating, but risks a fifth blow. Predictably, the vibration escalates.
“EHSCHHH’huh!” He lets himself sneeze freely, pitching forward. “hih’ETSCHOO! hhh… hih’EDJJSSSCHHH’uue!” The first two must have loosened everything up, because the third sneeze sluices out of him, swiftly soaking through the fabric. He shifts to a dry spot and blows, long and gurgling, then blows again and again until he’s squeaking. Ilya rubs around his nose a couple more times, just to make sure he’s presentable, before looking up sheepishly. He’s not sure what to do with the sodden mess he’s made of the sweatshirt. Shane’s not giving Ilya any hints either; he’s hunched forward, tension radiating from the set of his shoulders, and his head is lowered, hiding his expression.
The sound of birds chirping and leaves rustling feels extra loud in the silence between them. Ilya’s about to say something when Shane sits up, inhales his shoulders to his ears, drops them with his exhale, and shakes his head. Ilya can see Shane’s somewhat more relaxed after that, which soothes some of his own tension.
“Fuck you,” Shane huffs, amused and… maybe nervous? He leans forward, plucks the thoroughly used sweatshirt from Ilya’s hands, and lets it drop to the floor. “Fuck you,” he repeats, bracing his right hand on Ilya’s shoulder and swinging his right leg over Ilya’s lap. He touches their foreheads and noses together as he brackets Ilya’s body with his own. Ilya releases the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“Why was that so hot?” Shane asks rhetorically, his gaze darting to the sweatshirt. Maybe Shane likes it when Ilya uses his clothes? Ilya files the thought away for later contemplation even as relief washes over him.
“Because you,” Ilya taps Shane’s pec and lightly pushes Shane away as he sniffles, “like to be bad.”
Shane’s lingering mirth sombers as he looks at Ilya. He puts a hand against Ilya’s jaw, rubs Ilya’s cheek with his thumb. “Hey, that’s–that’s not what this is. You and me. Maybe it was at first, but…” Shane pauses briefly. Ilya sucks his lips in and scrunches his nose up, his tongue sneaking out to rub over his lower lip before releasing his lips. “Not now, and not for a long time,” Shane finishes, earnest and tender.
“Oh, so now you like when it’s messy?” Ilya intones, deflecting Shane’s sincerity.
“All right,” Shane grumbles, but he’s smiling as he rolls off Ilya. Ilya grins, sits up, and plays a few drum beats on Shane’s thigh before they pick up their controllers.
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“I do not understand soccer,” Ilya complains as they head outside. “You kick ball with foot, football!”
“Actually,” Shane says, opening the door and holding it for Ilya, “the term soccer originated in Britain as a shortened version of association football.”
Ilya cuts Shane an incredulous glance before stepping over the threshold. “How do you,” he begins, but cuts himself off with a sudden flurry of sneezes. “hh’ITSCHHoo! ihhh’isssch–itsch–isshoo! hihht’SZSSSHHHiew! –djssch’ue! …heh, ehhh? ehhhGGISSHHhuh!” He waits a second to make sure he’s really done, then straightens up with a muttered, “Pizdets,” in between sniffs.
Shane, notably, says nothing. He just shoves the hand not holding the ball into his pocket and keeps walking. To Ilya’s eye, Shane’s stride looks choppy and tense – yet another Shane-related oddity in a day full of them. He’d mulled it over all through lunch and concluded that Shane’s weirdness lines up with his sneezes, but he can’t figure out why that should be the case. The taut silence stretches between them, punctuated only by Ilya sniffling every few breaths, until after they reach the back lawn and Shane tosses the ball towards Ilya.
“Ilya, are you–do you… have allergies?” Shane asks haltingly, his gaze somewhere over Ilya’s shoulder, like he thinks that might be a stupid question.
“Yes,” Ilya affirms. Is Shane blushing slightly, or is the light playing tricks on him? “But is not the season for them,” he continues, using the heel of his hand to swipe at his nose.
“You can, um, develop allergies whenever,” Shane points out, passing the ball to Ilya. His expression and tone are carefully neutral, but his fingers are worrying at the hem of his shorts.
A frown teases at the corners of Ilya’s mouth as he observes Shane’s unease. “Okay, sure, but it does not feel like them. I can still breathe through my nose,” he pauses to pointedly inhale through his nose, only wincing slightly at the accompanying whistle, then amends, “kind of. Also, the sneezes are smaller.” Shane’s eyebrows lift and his eyes widen for a split second. Ilya flicks his wrist dismissively, changing the topic and passing the ball to Shane. “So I was thinking I’m, ah, I’m free agent next season.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“You wouldn’t re-sign with Boston?”
Ilya sniffs, briefly knuckles at his nose, then fools around with the ball instead of answering. Shane gets in close, making Ilya work for possession. Ilya’s breathing a little harder than he ought to be and ends up kicking the ball behind himself. It collides with one of the lawn chairs and Ilya laughs, a touch throaty.
Shane goes to retrieve the ball and Ilya, resignedly, cups his hands over his face for a trio of soft but spraying sneezes. “hhh’kisschue! et’KISHhhh! hhahh…hah-tischhhuh!” He grimaces behind his hands, sniffles the leading edge of the mess back, and wipes his hands on his shorts.
“Then where?” Shane probes, positioning the ball for his next kick.
“I don’t know, I was thinking maybe a Canadian team,” Ilya says. Shane looks back to Ilya and passes the ball.
“Not Montreal, ah?” Ilya points at Shane for emphasis.
“No, I mean, I know.”
“But I would, snnff, love to not have Russian passport,” Ilya admits, bouncing the ball before kicking it towards Shane.
Shane barely has the ball for a second before Ilya swoops in, kicks the ball away from Shane, and goes after it. He extends a hand behind him, his palm landing squarely on Shane’s abs. Ilya means for it to be a playful deterrent, but it turns urgent as he snaps forward with an insistent uncovered sneeze. “ISSCCHHHooo!” Of course, it’s never just one. “heh’ISCH-hh’ITSCH-ahh’ITSCHhhue!” A rapid triple is next, the sneezes practically tripping over each other as they spray out of him, followed by a set of surprised coughs. Fuck this shit. Ilya grabs the hem of his tank top, lifts it to his face, and blows his nose, long and loud. Afterward, he wrinkles his nose at the dark patch and strips the tank top off.
“Okay,” Shane declares, overly loud, “I think it’s time to go back inside.” He takes Ilya by the arm, his palm clammy against Ilya’s skin, and steers them into the kitchen. This close to Shane, Ilya can see that his pupils are dilated even though they’ve just come inside and he’s definitely flushed. Ilya knows that look. Knows it so well that he doesn’t even second-guess himself.
“Also, you should at least try taking something…” Shane says, a faint wobble in his voice, but Ilya doesn’t hear any of it. All of today’s off moments are flickering through his mind’s eye, reevaluating them in light of the arousal he just recognized on Shane’s face. Shane’s sudden tension and not meeting Ilya’s gaze this morning as they cuddled. Shane’s blushing and stammering after Ilya’s post-blowjob fit. Shane’s plaintive “Why was that so hot?” accompanied by a glance at his sweatshirt. Shane’s stilted inquiry into Ilya’s allergies while fidgeting and his sweaty palms just now. And, Ilya’s just now realizing, Shane hasn’t blessed him all day. Ilya’s certain he’s come to the right conclusion; after all, he’s good at reading people and he’s spent almost a decade studying Shane, but he wants to hear Shane say it.
“Earth to Ilya?” Shane asks. “Meds?”
Ilya sniffles purposefully, trying to convince the ever present tickle in his nose to grow into a sneeze. The tickle does grow, but it’s not quite there yet. If he just concentrates and breathes… “hhh, hhh…” Ohhh, there it goes. He turns his head away slightly, so he’s not sneezing right at Shane, but so Shane still has a good view. “hHhh, hhh! hhhEISCHooo! ahhSSCHHeww!” During the usual pause before his third sneeze, he makes sure to hitch audibly. “huh-uh… hhhh’TTSCHHhhuhh!”
“Sorry,” Ilya apologizes mischievously, briefly swiping under his nose with the back of his fingers, “I had to sneeze.”
“Meds,” Shane repeats, blinking rapidly.
“Is what you want?” Ilya says innocently.
“Yeah, for sure,” Shane blurts, not meeting Ilya’s eyes. Holy shit, he really is into this.
A wicked smile spreads across Ilya’s face. “Hollander, snnf, you are still a really bad liar,” he purrs, echoing his words from the locker room years ago.
“Wha–what?” Shane stammers, eyes wide, blush out in full force.
“I don’t think you want me to take anything,” Ilya says, slower, as he edges into Shane’s space.
“I… I can’t stop you if you want to feel like shit,” Shane rejoins weakly.
“Oh, this is nothing,” Ilya says, his smile turning predatory. “No migraines, no sinus infection, not so congested I can barely breathe… Only some sneezes and–snff, snnf–sniffles.” As Ilya talks, Shane’s pupils dilate further and his lips part. Ilya pauses for a deliberate second, like he’s actually needing to think about this, and scrunches his nose. “And itchy.” He sniffles again, and rubs his nose slowly back and forth along his index finger. “And runny.” He’s playing it up a little, yes, but it’s not untrue.
“Tell me, Shane,” Ilya leans closer into Shane’s space, tracing the shell of Shane’s ear with the tip of his nose, “what do you want?”
freak4freak is now at least three parts! Here's part 2 (4.1k) and please be aware that it is, as promised, very NSFW. Many thanks to @diamond-pixie-dust, who is an amazing beta, fantastic writer, and generally a lovely person. I appreciate you!
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“I…” Shane hesitates. Ilya waits patiently, knowing that asking for what he wants isn’t Shane’s strong suit. Shane’s tongue darts out, licks his lips, and he tries again. “Uh… I…” Shane says, then, when Ilya sniffles right in Shane’s ear, “fuck, Ilya.” A hint of a whine creeps into his voice.
“You know what I want,” Shane pleads, catching his bottom lip between his teeth.
“Mm, yes, I think so,” Ilya allows, his voice deeper and thicker from the congestion settling into his sinuses, watching Shane’s pupils dilate. “But I want you to say it, malysh.”
Shane trembles all over and bites down on his lip.
“You’re an asshole,” he manages, mustering up a weak glare.
“Yes,” Ilya agrees, pulling back from Shane just enough to be able to look him in the eye. Shane looks down automatically, but Ilya’s hand catches his chin, cradles his jaw, and tilts his head back up. He can feel Shane swallow against his palm. Ilya looks expectantly at Shane, sure in the knowledge that Shane will obey. He imagines what he must look like to Shane. His nose is probably flushed pink from all the sneezing and rubbing and his nostrils are flaring and trembling thanks to the sneeze Shane can’t see building in Ilya’s sinuses. It’s not an uncommon look for him, but it’s usually an unwelcome one. Shane, however, appears to be hypnotized, eyes glazed and gaze fixed on Ilya’s nose. This is going to be fun.
“Iwantyoutosneeze,” Shane confesses, the words colliding into each other as they spill out of him.
Ilya obliges enthusiastically, sneezing uncovered into the space between them. “hahISSSSHHhhiew! aah’ATTZSSCHHHooo! …hhh…hhhITSSHHHhh!” Normally he’d be done, but today it’s been rarer for him to stop at three. Ilya draws in another hitching breath, chest almost touching Shane’s before he exhales with a sigh, sniffs, and thumbs at his nose.
“Jesus Christ, I hate that,” Ilya says wholeheartedly while continuing to manhandle his nose. He lets his hand fall with a final sniffle and winks at Shane. “You like?”
“Yes, I fucking like,” Shane retorts, sounding a little frustrated, but mostly sounding worked up. His hands make a little abortive reach toward Ilya, like he wants to touch but he’s not sure if he should. Instead, he clutches the hem of his shirt, fingertips limned with white from the strength of his grip.
Ilya scrunches his nose and grins with delight. “What else do you want, Shane? Should I talk about how itchy and tickly my nose is? Do you want to cup my sneezes for me?” Shane shifts restlessly as Ilya continues. “Did you like when I sneezed on you earlier?” Shane’s eyes widen, so Ilya presses, “You want to let me do that some more?”
“Yes,” Shane blurts out immediately. His hips jerk forward even as his cheeks flush, clearly embarrassed despite how turned on he is. “The–the other stuff too, but yes, that.”
Ilya leans in, touches his sensitive nose to the hollow of Shane’s throat. “Here?” He drags it around to the crook of Shane’s neck. “Here?” Ilya’s hands cup Shane’s pecs through his shirt, deliberately brushing over Shane’s nipples, eliciting a keen from Shane. “Definitely here,” Ilya murmurs. He drags his nails down Shane’s abs. “Here?” Shane shudders. Ilya casually hooks a thumb into the waist of Shane’s shorts, pulls, and lets the fabric snap back against Shane’s skin. He makes short work of the button and fly, then tugs the shorts down over Shane’s hips, exposing the bulge of Shane’s straining cock and the steadily growing wet spot over it. “Here too, I think.” Shane whimpers. Ilya smiles, pleased. “And…” he circles his hands around Shane’s hips to squeeze Shane’s ass, “Ah, here?”
“Ev… everywhere, please, Ilya, please,” Shane begs. Ilya can tell that Shane’s so close already and Ilya’s barely touched him.
“Can you come from this?” Ilya inquires idly. The sensation of moisture registers at the base of his septum and he sniffles several times in quick succession. Shane can’t tear his eyes away; Ilya can feel the intensity of his stare. “Just from my sneezing?”
“Ngh, Jesus Christ,” Shane moans. His dick twitches in his underwear. Ilya’s money is on yes.
“Because I think I will need to sneeze again soon.” Ilya’s nose wrinkles as he rucks Shane’s shirt up to his armpits, exposing his torso. “My nose is so…” Ilya trails off, gaze losing focus and body tensing. He stays like that for a second before giving his head a quick shake. “Fuck, thought it was coming.” Shane groans, his hips canting toward Ilya. Ilya brings his hand up to his nose, rubbing it against the back of his wrist. “It tihh–tickles so muhhh-huhhch, Shane,” Ilya complains facetiously, looking Shane dead in the eyes with a wicked little smirk. The naked pleading in Shane’s wide eyes and flush down his chest reminds Ilya of how Shane looks after Ilya’s been edging him for hours. And in a way, Ilya supposes, he’s been edging Shane all day.
“I… hhhh, uhhh,” Ilya hitches dramatically, eyes slipping closed and head tilting back. “–hhuh-uhhh?”
“huh!” Shane’s thighs tense against his, but Ilya barely registers it, teetering on the precipice of release.
“uhh’DDJSSSHHhhuhh! uhhh’IFFSSSSCHHH’shooo! ehh’YISSHHHHhhiew!” They’re forceful and wet, spraying Shane from sternum to bellybutton.
Shane yelps as his orgasm tears through him. Even though Ilya’s still sneezing, he can feel the full-body shudder that racks Shane with each of his sneezes. “ahhhITSCHew! ht’tisshhew! hhh-! heeishhhhue!”
“Khoroshiy mal'chik,” Ilya praises after catching his breath. “Now, keep being good for me and use your manners.” He winks at Shane, who’s still quivering from the aftershocks and clearly has no idea what Ilya’s talking about. In response to Shane’s blank stare, Ilya says, “Come on baby, you have to bless me.”
Shane has to swallow a few times before he grits out, “Bless you,” his face on fire.
“Thank you,” Ilya says, just a bit smug. Whatever he was going to say or do next is abandoned when his face suddenly crumples and he ducks down with a quick, soft double. “hh’ttsch! chsssh’oo!” He’s clearly expecting his usual third, but realizes that it’s not happening, so he straightens up with a frustrated huff. “Bless me,” he comments, showily offhanded, and shoots Shane a look from under his lashes.
Shane twitches and clears his throat. “I should, uh, start getting dinner ready,” he says, trying to pretend that he’s totally unaffected and there isn’t a sticky mess cooling in his underwear.
“Oh, I’m not done with you yet, Shane Hollander,” Ilya hums. He leans in, nips lightly at Shane’s shoulder, then commands, “Bedroom.”
*****
After they enter the main bedroom, Ilya walks over to a window. Despite being sniffly and itchy still, he hasn’t had a truly satisfying sneeze since Shane’s orgasm, only a few stray sneezes here and there. He’s starting to suspect that maybe he is allergic to something out here in the Canadian summer. Even though he’s been sneezing and sniffling all day, it was more intense when they were kicking the football around outside. And if he’s being honest with himself? With his nose, it would be more surprising if he only had one allergy.
“What are you doing?” Shane asks suspiciously, eying Ilya.
“Opening a window,” Ilya says with a shrug and a sniffle, “for, ah, fresh air.” He flashes a charming grin at Shane, who declines to be charmed, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms instead.
“Ilya,” Shane says flatly.
“Shane,” Ilya says brightly.
“You’ve already been, um,” Shane hesitates, blushes, and looks away. His left hand leaves the crook of his elbow, rises to his mouth, and rubs the tense line of his lips. He blinks a few times, gathering himself, before looking back at Ilya.
“Sneezing,” Shane finally says, lips obscured by his hand. His voice cracks in the middle of speaking and his blush deepens. He swallows, continuing, “so much, and your nose…”
“What about my nose?”
“It looks, fuck, it looks so red and–and swollen,” Shane says, shifting his weight and alternating between staring intensely at Ilya’s nose and the floor.
Ilya checks his faint reflection in the window. Red, yes. Swollen? His sinuses definitely feel like it, but he doesn’t think it’s affected the outside of his nose.
“Shane, I will be fine.” Shane’s pursed lips suggest otherwise. “Shane,” Ilya says seriously, switching tactics, “I know what bad allergies feel like, and this is not that. I want to make you feel good.”
“You do, Ilya, you do,” Shane protests, voice taut in the way that Ilya’s learned means Shane is overwhelmed, tears welling in the corner of his eyes. His lips thin in frustration when the tears spill over his waterline, and he raises a hand to dash them off his cheekbones.
Even though he knows that tears come easily to Shane, Ilya’s surprised by their sudden appearance and the intensity in Shane’s voice. He abandons his nonchalant stance against the window and moves to Shane like he’s magnetized, folding Shane into a hug. “I know, Shane,” Ilya soothes, “is just… this is different. I have never seen you like this before. Let me do this for you.” Ilya’s not even the one into sneezing and he’s already half hard.
Shane scrutinizes Ilya for a long moment.
“And, if you want, I will take meds right after. Promise,” Ilya says solemnly.
“Fine,” Shane sighs reluctantly, like he’s doing Ilya a huge favor.
“Okay,” Ilya says, going over to crack the window open a hair before returning to Shane’s side. “I know you like when I sneeze. And when I sneeze on you.” Ilya winks lasciviously at Shane. “Now tell me, Shane, what else do you like? What do you want to try?”
Shane’s cheeks redden. “Can’t we just fuck around and find out?” he tries to deflect. Ilya’s raised eyebrows are his only reply.
Shane worries at the inside of his lower lip with his teeth, his eyes glossy with the return of his earlier tears. “I want to tell you,” he says, sounding frustrated with an undertone of self-condemnation to Ilya’s experienced ear, “but I can’t and I know it’s stupid–”
“Shh, shhh,” Ilya interrupts, rubbing Shane’s back. “You need help getting out of your head, yes?” Shane nods fervently and pushes his forehead into Ilya’s shoulder.
The best way Ilya knows to get Shane out of his head is to take him apart. They’re already hugging, so Ilya starts by flexing his arms to hold Shane tighter. He squishes his nose against Shane’s, then slots their lips together. Ilya sucks Shane’s lower lip into his mouth and releases it bit by bit as he leans back. Much as he enjoys kissing Shane, it’s not going to get him what he’s aiming for. Ilya mouths hotly across Shane’s jaw to his ear, pulling the lobe into his mouth and sucking hard. He releases the lobe with a wet pop, then blows on it. Shane shivers and tilts his head to the side in a wordless request. Ilya complies, leisurely kissing his way down the side of Shane’s neck.
Ilya’s nose is starting to actively tickle instead of just itch, so the cracked window must be helping. In between kisses, he gently saws his nose over the column of muscle in Shane’s neck. Judging by the way his skin slides against Shane’s, he’d bet that his nose is starting to run again.
“Mmm,” Shane hums, his eyes closed, “your nose touching me.” The undercurrent of desire in his voice puts the brakes on Ilya’s self-consciousness. Ilya smiles softly, fond and relieved.
He sniffles reflexively at the feeling of wetness under his septum, then sniffles a second time, intentionally. “Sniffles?” he asks Shane.
“Yeah,” Shane agrees. “And your voice right now, fuck…”
“Ah, you think my voice is sexy like this? Deeper? Raspy and stuffy?” Shane nods shyly. “Would you like me to talk about…” Ilya thinks, reviewing what he knows Shane likes so far, idly kneading the nape of Shane’s neck, “how itchy and sniffly I am? When my nose tickles? How my sneezes feel?”
Shane’s blushing again, the color creeping down his neck. “Yes, please,” he whispers, “all of those.” He pauses then, fingers worrying at the hem of his shirt. “And… could you talk through a build up?”
“A what?” Ilya blinks.
“It’s, um, you know, when you’re getting ready to,” Ilya can see Shane visibly getting his courage together, “sneeze.” It’s endearing, Ilya thinks fondly, how nervous Shane still is about this.
“Oh, I did not know there was a term for that,” Ilya says. “Yes, of course, I will try when I get notice. Sometimes I do not. I think maybe I will this time.” He sniffles damply and scrunches his nose. “My nose–khm–is tickling again, maybe it will become a sneeze? I’ve been, hhh, so itchy all day. It almost feels good to sneeze, to not be itchy for a se-ehhh-cond.” Ilya would normally have let those hitching breaths stay unvoiced, but Shane… well, Ilya can see how much Shane is liking this. So he keeps rambling. “Tickle is… hhh… getting bigger. Hopefully th–huhhh sneeze will come soon. Probably it will, snnrff, be messy. Thigk I ndeed to blow mby nose agaid…” After that sniffle, Ilya can hear the congestion warping his consonants. Shane can too; he moans, fingers clutching at Ilya’s waist.
“ihhh–is differendt from sprindg,” Ilya continues stuffily. “Too condgested to blow, sombetibes. Ndow I’m, snf, leakigg.” Impulsively, he smushes his nose against Shane’s collarbone, then slowly drags it across the bony ridge, leaving a glistening smear behind. Ilya immediately regrets it and expects Shane to pull away, grossed out. But what happens is the opposite: as Ilya sniffles forcefully, trying to suck his mess back in, Shane groans and arches his back, which presses his tits into Ilya. Maybe it’s from his sniffles or maybe it’s from his relief at Shane’s reaction, but something must shift in his sinuses because the tickle abruptly escalates.
“I thhhigk I’mb–hhh! Hh’ih?” Ilya tries to get the next words out before the sneeze comes, “godda sdee–IISHH’uhh! hahAH’SZCHH’uhh! ahTZZSCHHhhhh!” They’re stronger than he was expecting, his head and shoulders bobbing forward with each one. Maybe from all the emphatic hitching? He didn’t have much time to aim, but he thinks he got them in Shane’s general direction. The evidence, a broad swatch of Shane’s shirt speckled with variously sized dark spots, agrees. Ilya cringes internally, a decade’s worth of admonishments over his failure to control his sneezes overwhelming his new knowledge of Shane's predilections.
“God, Ilya,” Shane sighs, his voice husky, “that was so fucking hot.” He leans forward, planting a surprisingly tender kiss on Ilya’s cheek, then leans to the side, snagging a few tissues from the box on the nightstand and offering them to Ilya.
Embarrassment somewhat abated, Ilya gives his head a slight shake to dissipate his father’s voice, then grants himself permission to follow his instincts. Instead of taking the tissues from Shane’s hand, he curls his fingers around Shane’s, bringing Shane’s hand and the much-needed tissues to his nose. Nuzzling into the tissues, Ilya blows softly, just a small push of air though his temporarily cleared sinuses. He looks up at Shane through his lashes. Shane’s pupils are blown wide and his lips are parted. Ilya grins behind the cover of their hands, and blows again, stronger, the congestion sluicing out of him. After another sopping blow, Ilya figures the tissues are done for and releases Shane’s hand.
Shane looks transfixed. He closes his mouth, opens it, then closes it again.
“I am guessing you liked that too, yes? Helping me blow my nose?”
Shane nods, lips shaping an unspoken ‘yeah.’
“I will remember that,” Ilya promises. “Anything else you want to try?”
“Um,” Shane says, stalling. Ilya leans closer, runs his fingers through Shane’s hair and sniffles next to his ear.
“It’s… fuck, it’s hot when you stifle,” Shane finally says, “Like this morning, in bed.”
Ilya feels the now constant tickle flare, sharp and insistent, and it makes his nose wrinkle. For once his nose has good timing. “Like no noise? Or like… ngh’kxch! –kdsht! heh... gshxxt’uhh!”
“Those,” Shane exhales. “Um, does it, like, hurt though? Because if it does, you don't have to.”
“It depends,” Ilya says, then sniffles. “Sometimes yes, sometimes no.” He takes Shane’s restless hands in his, and brings them up to his nose, rubbing it against Shane’s knuckles for a long moment. “I am curious, what do you like about them? Besides that they make me sneeze more.” Ilya winks.
Shane trembles and abruptly sits on the bed as though his knees had just given out. “Jesus fucking Christ, Ilya,” he whines, “you can’t just… say things like that.”
“No?” Ilya feigns surprise, shoves at his itching nose with the heel of his hand. “I think you like it.” He prowls forward, insinuating a broad thigh between Shane’s legs. “You’re already so hard for me. Again.” He smirks, gently tapping the new tent in Shane’s already ruined underwear.
“Fuck off,” Shane mutters, leaning back on his elbows. Ilya hitches his knee up onto the edge of the bed and flexes his thigh. Shane’s hips buck upwards at the sudden friction and he starts rocking his hips against Ilya.
Ilya’s thigh suddenly relaxes and Shane, with a front row seat to the desperation stealing over Ilya’s expression, doesn’t need to wonder why.
“ngkt! eh’chdt! cHgk! hh’h’hh’eh-chtNNk!”
Ilya’s thigh jerks forward into Shane with the force of each stifle, Shane’s hips stuttering in turn. Ilya’s nose is starting to run again, and Shane definitely notices. But before either of them can do anything, Ilya’s pitching forward above Shane with another set of sneezes.
“nnGhkgt! tishht! hih-chhxgt! huh’hh’tkxt-kxt!” Ilya sniffles thickly, which does nothing to stem the flow of clear fluid down his Cupid’s bow, and lets out a little congested guh. He lowers himself down far enough to wipe his nose on Shane’s shirt where it stretches over the broad expanse of his pecs. Shane arches up into it with a full-throated moan, wraps his legs around Ilya’s hips for leverage, pulling him even closer, and grinds fervently against Ilya. Ilya bites back a moan of his own, Shane’s neediness going straight to his dick.
“Shirt off,” Ilya murmurs as he straightens, giving Shane enough room to do so. Shane rushes to obey, pulling his shirt up to his shoulders. His abs tense as he lifts himself into a half-crunch and quickly yanks his shirt off the rest of the way, discarding it on the bed next to him. Ilya watches openly, index finger pressed firmly enough against his septum that he can feel cartilage clicking under his finger as he makes small sawing movements back and forth.
“They’re gedding… hhh’… stronger.” Ilya says. Since the congestion is seeping back into his voice, he makes sure to say Shane’s name. “Like mby ndose is–huhhh–upset with mbe. Shade, I’mb–” The tickle flares, filling his nose with an itchy twinge. “eh’kngt-uh! hihnght-choo! hhMMPt’shoo! h’ussshooh!” They’re harder to stifle this round, and he doesn’t quite manage it for the last two. Shane’s hips thrust against him with each sneeze.
“Ilya,” Shane breathes, “I’m, fuck, I’m so close.” Ilya takes Shane in – flushed, chest heaving, hands clenched on the sheets, forearms tense, pupils blown, eyes gleaming – and yeah, he is.
“You're so fucking hot like this,” Ilya tells Shane as he kneels down. “So easy for me, and all from how sneezy I am,” he continues, nosing at Shane's waistband before tugging it down with his teeth and fingers. The brush of Shane's pubic hair against his already irritated nostrils results in a tickly triple directed at the base of Shane's cock. “heeiishhhew! ihhh’ischhtt! hhh, hh…eeyishhhh’ue!” Shane's hips buck up, so it's lucky Ilya's hands are still on them, averting a potential collision. Instead of rubbing his nose against Shane and potentially sneezing again – he doesn’t think Shane wouldn’t object, but he has a goal in mind – Ilya opts for a lengthy sniffle before returning to the task at hand.
Shane's cock springs out eagerly as soon as Ilya’s gotten the waistband down far enough. It’s flushed and messy with a mix of come and precome. Ilya wraps his hand around the shaft, wringing a whimper from Shane, and gives it a couple of experimental strokes. The come from Shane’s first orgasm is growing tacky, causing Ilya’s hand to catch a few times. That won’t do. Ilya glances up at Shane, shoots him a mischievous smile, and licks Shane from root to tip with the flat of his tongue. He uses his nose on the way back down, adding his snot to the mix of fluids.
“Ohmygod,” Shane slurs as Ilya repeats the lick-nose rub combo, the slide smoother each time. Shane’s thighs are trembling and his hips are making jerky little thrusts. “Gonna come,” Shane gasps.
“Mmm, not yet,” Ilya says, grasping the base of Shane’s cock. “Not before I sneeze again for you. ”
Shane flat-out whines.
“My needy little slut,” Ilya says affectionately, “I think you need to be filled, yes?”
Ilya palms himself with his free hand before reaching up to Shane’s mouth, briefly detouring to squeeze Shane’s tit and roll Shane’s nipple between his fingers. He rests two fingers on Shane’s lower lip. Shane obediently sucks them in, cheeks hollowing with the suction.
“Thank you,” Shane mumbles around Ilya’s fingers. Ilya pulls his fingers out an inch, then pushes them back in, fucking Shane’s mouth. His rhythm falters when the tickle flutters high in the back of his sinuses, causing him to hitch helplessly.
“Shane,” Ilya breathes, “my nose is tickling again.” He hitches purposefully this time, trying to coax the tickle into a sneeze, but all he manages to do is spread the buzzy feeling throughout his nose. “heh… ehhh? It tickles… hhh… so fucking much.” He doesn’t have a free hand to itch his nose, so he scrunches and wiggles his face and nose, letting Shane see every desperately itchy expression.
“I, ohhhhhh– I really need to sneeze,” he husks, making eye contact with Shane, flaring his nostrils wide. Shane’s nostrils are flared too, a telling sign that he’s horny as hell and going to come soon. Ilya releases the base of Shane’s cock and starts stroking him, slowly at first but quickly speeding up. Ilya feels a little ridiculous, his mouth just hanging open and eyes mostly closed as he pants and hitches, but Shane is arching sweetly underneath him and a litany of moans is spilling from Shane’s lips. The rising sneeze fractures his concentration until he's stopped moving entirely, just holding Shane in a loose fist.
“hahhh-ahhh… AHHDT’ZSSCHHHooh! hihhYISSCHHhiew! huh-ETSCHHHHoo!!” In the interval between sneezes, Ilya hears the familiar sounds of Shane coming and feels Shane's dick twitching in his hand. “hhghISSSHHHhhoo–hh’h’hhh’eeeISSSCHHHhhh-hih’ISSCHuh! hhh!–hiiIZZZFFSsshhhue!” Normally he’d be stroking Shane through it, sometimes taking him just to the point of overstimulation, but he still needs to sneeze. Whether he’ll actually get to sneeze is proving to be another matter entirely today. “hh’huhh, hh’... hahh? Davai bystree,” he mutters after some fruitless hitches, tipping his head back. Thankfully, that does the trick, and he snaps forward with a loud, throat scraping, “TSSCHISCHHhhhyiew!”
“God bless you,” Shane says. Almost sighs, really, and he barely hesitates over the blessing. There’s the sweetest little blush on his cheeks, making his freckles pop. Ilya wants to bite him.
“Thangk you,” Ilya replies blearily, followed by a reflexive sniffle, thick and damp. Even though he’d just sneezed – which, gospodi, those felt huge, more like his usual allergy sneezes – his sinuses feel full and achy. “Could you, snnrff, pass me some tissues?”
“After that, I think you might need more than tissues,” Shane says dryly, picking up his shirt from the bed beside him, and holding it out to Ilya.
“Mmm,” Ilya allows, brushing Shane’s fingers with his as he takes the offered article of clothing. “I usually do.” He rises from his kneel to sit on the bed thigh-to-thigh with Shane, who’s splayed out over the bed, chest rising and falling with soft pants. Taking a deep breath in preparation, he cups the shirt to his face and blows, pressing against one nostril, then the other, until he runs out of air. Ilya massages his nose up and down through the fabric in an attempt to loosen some congestion, then blows again. His third blow is markedly less productive than the others, so he quits while he’s ahead. Looking up from the shirt, he notices Shane openly watching him, gaze desirous. Next time, he’ll ask Shane to help.
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