just some guy

for my shameful posts || snz fet blog || main: blakehttp

[feverfcking]

hey, i'm blake! welcome to my blog!

🍊 he/him trans pansexual guy

🍊 23, but people of any age are welcome!

🍊 minors and ageless blogs will be blocked immediately!

🍊 please do not reblog any material to vanilla blogs

🍊 i do mostly wavs, but also occasional fics and art

🍊 feel free to send asks or dms, lets play! if you dm me my responses may not be consistent, i’ve got a heaping ton of social anxiety but i’m soldiering on anyway 🫡

click on the read more to see my wavs, fics, and boundaries below!

✅: snz/illness/fever/contagion/mess/noseblowing

⚠️: productive coughing

❌: nose-fucking/emeto/unconsetual contagion

🍊 WAVS

reading and sneezing

i'm gonna/i'm sorry/watch out

inducing with no breaks

announcing (or trying to)

increasingly messy stifles

cold inducing

POV: not allergic to your perfume

impromptu inducing

apologetic stifling turns desperate

desperate wet stifling

unedited inducing

intense sneezing

sneezing until i come

holdbacks

harsh sneezes

🍊 WRITING

make it better (h/ollanov)

the horrifying ordeal of being known (h/ollanov)

🍊 ART

s/hane h/ollander

i/lya r/ozanov

since you made it this far, here are pictures of my cat!

[feverfcking]

Visit Original Link

Visit Original Link

Well I officially made a wav too long for tumblr to deal with. so here it is cut in half!

anyway, enjoy! I've gotten a lot of requests for buildups so here is my best! I used a lot of chinkni towards the end and i was genuinely incapable of thought or speech or basically anything other than sneezing and trying to actually breathe a little

[feverfcking]

The Horrifying Ordeal of Being Known (2/3)

H/eated Rivalry, S/hane (Cold), 6.3k, NSFW

Read pt. 1 here!

Well here it is! Sorry for the wait, but I really enjoyed working on this and I have zero control over a wordcap apparently lol. CW for contagion, mess, graphic NSFW scenes, and some minor dacrophilia if you squint. Enjoy!

With Shane drowsing on his chest, it was remarkably easy for Ilya to fall into sleep as well. He had been up since five to get packed into the team bus, drive to the airport, and catch a flight home. Admittedly, he was a little exhausted. Ilya had planned on arriving to the cottage, getting in a quick fuck, and promptly taking a nap in Shane’s bed or Shane’s couch or honestly wherever Shane was. It wasn’t often that his boyfriend joined him in napping, but Ilya had a way of getting Shane to play with his hair as he drifted under. And that was nearly as good as sex itself. 

Ilya drifted in and out of sleep for maybe an hour and a half, listening to the sounds of people on television bickering over off-white paint. Shane was snoring softly against Ilya’s chest, the sound making his heart squeeze - this was the first time he had heard his boyfriend make such a sound. Firsts were always something he treasured. Shane was soft and relaxed against him, features slack, occasionally snuffling and sighing and burrowing closer. 

They hadn’t really been sick in front of one another before. Hundreds of miles were somehow always between them whenever one of them was down and out. Ilya was pleasantly surprised that Shane was rather sweet and needy when he wasn’t feeling good. 

Shane’s brow furrowed, restless as he coughed softly in his sleep. Ilya rubbed his back with the flat of his palm until he stilled and quieted, soothed back into rest. He felt a bubble of fondness swell in his chest so large it was near to bursting inside of him. The feeling coaxed Ilya into waking fully, tuning back into the weight of Shane on top of him, the gentle sound of the outside wind against the windows, and the afternoon light turning the room golden around them. He continued to stroke Shane’s back slowly, pressing a quick, gentle kiss to his head. 

Although he couldn’t say he enjoyed the extents of Shane’s anxiety, his boyfriend was so endearing in how much he cared about everything. Shane had come a long way from when Ilya had first met him in terms of confidence and excessive worrying, but obviously it still could get to him. The crease in his brow and shining brown eyes when he looked at Ilya earlier, the way he nervously bit his lip, eyes searching for permission to just fucking relax already. As if Ilya would be upset that Shane was getting sick - all Ilya really cared about was being there and, well, he had achieved that.  

Ilya honestly had honestly been insistent about kissing him so Shane wouldn’t spend the rest of the next few days freaking out about contamination. The worst had already been done. Additionally, there were worse things in the world than getting sick. And Ilya really wasn’t kidding about the sexy nurse thing either - that would definitely make him feel better no matter what kind of state he was in. 

It was about twenty minutes before Shane stirred. His gentle, congested snoring was cut off by a deep inhale, a sigh, a gentle reverberation in his throat as he began to wake. His face scrunched up adorably as he registered wakefulness, freckles bunching together as he wrinkled his nose. Shane groaned softly as he blinked to awareness, brows pulled together as he registered the miseries of being awake with a cold. 

Shane lifted his head, eyes widening a little as he saw the the way the light had changed in the room. 

“…Fuck. How long did I sleep?” he rasped, voice beginning to turn gravelly and sore. 

“Almost two hours?” Ilya said, glancing at his watch. “I thought maybe you had died.” 

Shane groaned again and ran a hand over his face, thumb putting pressure on his temple like he had a headache.

“God, I’m sorry, I didn’t think I’d be out so long. You must be bored,” he lamented, sighing and pushing his cheek into Ilya’s chest. He sniffled and rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand. 

Ilya smiled and hugged him tight. 

“Is okay. I was tired after the flight, I took a nap with you.”

Shane sighed and deflated. “Okay. Good.” He sniffled and turned away to cough into the crook of his arm, far away from Ilya. As if that would make a difference at this point. 

Shane looked a little miserable already, brow pinched, mouth in a tiny little frown, nose pink and sniffly. Ilya thought he kind of looked like a pitiful kitten, brown eyes big and watery, hair a mess, pout on his lips. And, like a pitiful kitten, he clung to Ilya like he might not make it otherwise. It always amazed Ilya that all six feet and 180 some-odd pounds of his boyfriend was able to look so small and kissable. 

So, of course, Ilya leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Shane sighed with content and wriggled closer.

“You’re very adorable,” Ilya murmured, so very fond. 

“Mmph. I don’t feel adorable,” Shane mumbled, following it up with a soupy sniffle as if to prove his point. His face was scrunched up in some mixture of disagreement and discomfort, eyes barely open. 

“No, is adorable. You are like a baby animal, so cuddly and sleepy and sweet.” Shane groaned and rolled over to hide his face in the back of the couch, but Ilya could see from his ears that he was blushing. Ilya laughed and continued, “Now is my little kotonok hungry now? I am starving.” 

Shane rolled back over to face him, sighing. “Not really, but I probably need to eat.” 

He slowly peeled himself off of Ilya and sat up on the couch, reaching for the box of tissues on the coffee table. He took one and sheepishly turned away, blowing his nose as quietly as possible. It wasn’t as effective as it should have been, leaving him still sniffly and pink-cheeked, desperately avoiding eye contact. 

Ilya patted him on the thigh and got up to look in the fridge, giving Shane a moment to clean himself up in private. It was endearing to Ilya how Shane still managed to get embarrassed at such mundane things. Ilya understood to a degree, as anyone would after growing up with his father, but he did not feel ashamed about most bodily functions around Shane. 

Still, it was cute. 

It was very quickly apparent there wasn’t much to work with in the fridge in terms of sick people food. It was stocked full of vegetables and healthy lean protein and even more vegetables on top of that. 

Ilya groaned and dug through to the back of the fridge, calling over his shoulder to Shane. “You eat like insane person. The insides of this fridge are a disgrace to all kitchens.” 

He turned at the sound of footsteps to see Shane trailing in sleepily, affronted frown on his face. 

“Shut up. I eat healthy. It’s better than the shit you eat,” Shane grumbled, coming to stand beside his boyfriend to peer into the fridge. 

“I am ordering more groceries, there is no food for sick people in here. I know it is not diet-approved but I will make you some borsht later, yes?“ Ilya said, rummaging around and pulling a few things out of the fridge. 

Ilya expected Shane to deny, to interrogate him about the ingredients, to ask for changes here and there to cut back on carbs or fat or whatever. But he just nodded, sniffling, keeping his eyes away from Ilya’s. He still looked sheepish, embarrassed about something. Being sick, maybe. Ilya kissed the side of his head and shooed him over to a stool.

“Sit, I will make us sandwiches. I will make yours with gluten-free bread and everything. Does that sound good? Okay for your throat?” 

Shane settled onto the stool, leaning onto the counter, nodding in agreement. “Sounds great, thank you.” 

They talked idly while Ilya put everything together, sliding a cold can of ginger ale for Shane to drink while he waited. Ilya plated everything, cut the sandwiches into neat triangles, and hopped into the seat next to his boyfriend with a can of coke. They ate, talked, laughed. Ilya told him about his trip, stupid shit his teammates said, chirps towards players from his last game. Shane let Ilya talk as he ate slowly, stopping now and then to cough softly or pull a tissue from his pocket and dab at his pink nose. 

Once they had finished eating, Ilya took their plates to the sink and began washing them. He looked up at the quiet sound of Shane’s breath catching. Ilya watched as his nose twitched, eyes blinking several times in rapid succession. Memorizing every micro-expression. Noticing how similar they were to the ones he made during sex. The way his eyebrows pulled together, floating up and up and up, lips beginning to part. Shane’s chest shuddered with a few near-silent hitches before his expression scrunched up. He turned to the side, ducking away from Ilya and into his elbow. 

“Hih… hehH-hTDSH! Hih-iITChiew! ETshoo!”

Shane pulled away from his elbow slowly, immediately bringing up the tissue from his pocket to pinch and swipe at the moisture left behind. His cheeks were pink, and he was definitely still avoiding eye contact. 

“Bud'te zdorovy. Did that feel good?” Ilya teased, finishing with the plates and drying his hands on a nearby towel. Shane’s blush deepened as he brought his eyes up to Ilya’s to glare. 

Ilya could see the panicked arousal behind it.

“Is it possible for you to not be an asshole right now?” Shane scowled and busied himself with shoving the tissue back into his hoodie pocket. Ilya did feel a little bad for teasing - Shane’s voice was going rough and he was getting more sniffly by the minute. But also he was blushing, so maybe Ilya didn’t feel too bad. 

“I thought you were very fond of assholes the last time I had you bent over and-" Ilya was cut off as Shane groaned loudly into his hands, ears red. 

He was so much more reactive than usual, so much more affected. Maybe because he was trying not to share his germs, Ilya thought, trying to make it seem like he didn’t want. Usually by now Shane be all over him. But either way Ilya was going to make sure his boyfriend was well taken care of, in more ways than one. 

Ilya just chuckled and made his way to the bedroom, tugging Shane along with him. 

“Come, it’s time for more medicine, yes? I will stop teasing you.” 

“I don’t believe you,” Shane grumbled, which was a fair point, but he followed anyway. 

Ilya stepped into the en-suite, pulling open the medicine cabinet. Shane followed in after, sniffling and clearing his throat as he leaned against the counter. He still seemed shy, sheepish. 

“What have you taken?” Ilya asked, opening the bathroom cabinet to rummage through the medicine shelf. Thankfully, this was Shane’s cottage, so he was stocked up with absolutely fucking everything. Ilya’s place wouldn’t have had nearly as fruitful findings. 

“Just some Advil earlier.”

Ilya pulled out a thermometer, capsules of DayQuil, name brand decongests, and a large bottle of ibuprofen. He then ducked down to rummage under the sink for a new box of tissues. He rose and dumped his findings on the bathroom counter. 

“It is your nose that is giving you the most trouble, yes?” Ilya asked, choosing to talk about Shane’s nose just because he could, because it was the easiest tease in the world, because it always got Shane so worked up so fast. His cute shy boyfriend with his cute horny sneezes. 

The current circumstances were technically uncharted territory as this is his first time experiencing Shane with a cold, so Ilya continuously kept an eye on his body language. And by his findings it looked like Shane was battling to keep his restraint intact. Ilya watched hungrily as the question registered, then promptly choked him until he could gather back his bearings. Shane blinked twice, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and brought a hand up to tug at his earlobe nervously. His face was still pink, eyes absolutely anywhere but on Ilya. 

“Um— uh, yeah,”Shane choked out after a brief moment of obvious internal struggle.

Ilya frowned at him, feigning ignorance. 

“You look flushed, lubimyy, do you have a fever?” 

“I don’t think so,” he replied. Ilya stepped closer into his boyfriend’s space, cupping Shane’s cheek with one hand and lighting up with desire as he watched the blush there darken. 

“It is okay if you are feeling bad. I want to take care of you,” Ilya said, aiming for earnest and caring and much less horny than he actually felt. He wanted to get to the root of whatever was working Shane up so much, wring it out with his bare hands until the answer was at his feet. 

“I’m. Uh, I’m okay,” Shane said, still struggling to maintain eye contact. He sniffled again, sound wet and thick, and it made him wince. Shane dabbed at his rapidly-reddening nose with the tissue from his pocket, too embarrassed to blow. 

“Let’s check just in case.”Ilya drops the hand from Shane’s face to pop the plastic cap off of the thermometer, shaking it. “You know how to do this part - open.” 

Shane did as he was told, letting Ilya slip the thermometer under his tongue before the words really registered. Ilya saw the moment they did as Shane froze, eyes finally snapping up to meet Ilya’s. His eyes were the perfect deep brown they always were, gaze that familiar curious mix of anger and embarrassment and lust. 

Ilya patted his cheek. 

“Good boy. You always look pretty with something in your mouth,” Ilya purred. Even under the circumstances it was true. Shane looked unbearably lovely even in the midst of a cold - cheeks gently flushed, nose red and twitchy, freckles prominent. His brown eyes were ever so slightly glassy, much like they were when he was sex drunk and sated. 

Ilya saw the moment Shane was about to open his mouth and yell at him a little, so he put a finger to the underside of Shane’s chin, firmly holding his jaw shut with the pad of his finger. Shane could have easily fought it, but his lips stayed sealed, bowing to the faintest pressure. 

“Ah-ah. No talking. We need your temperature.” Ilya continued to look him directly in the eye, still holding his chin so Shane couldn’t tilt his head away. Shane’s face was flushed with embarrassment, but his eyes betrayed him. His pupils were blown wide, a longing look of lust seeping through the seams of his expression. 

They both knew he didn’t have a fever but they played along anyway just for the sake of the game. Ilya was aware Shane knew he was just playing this shit up, but Shane let him anyways. He was malleable and perfect like he always was when Ilya laid it on this heavy. 

Then suddenly, Shane’s eyes fluttered shut. Ilya thought that maybe he was lost in the pleasure of the moment, about to finally give in and reach out and take, but then his breath hitched. 

Oh, Ilya thought. 

Ilya caught Shane’s arm as he brought it up to rub at his nose, lowering it back down to his side. No touching unless I say so, it said. Shane’s eyes snapped open, still squinty and itchy, giving Ilya a questioning glare. The thermometer still poked out from between his pouting lips. 

“Don’t sneeze. We will have to start all over. You can hold it back for me, lubimyy.”

The command landed as they always did. Shane shuddered, eyes squeezing shut again as his brows knitted in concentration, all confusion and frustration replaced by focus. He kept his mouth firmly shut, breathing slowly through his nose only to be interrupted by a hitch in his breath. He scrunched and wiggled his nose, chest rising and falling with each scissoring breath. Shane clenched his jaw, blinking furiously as irritated tears gathered at his lash line. 

There was a second that Ilya thought Shane might loose it, teetering on the very edge of a sneeze - his chest swelled high and stayed there, eyebrows pinched upwards, head tilted back and giving Ilya a perfect view of damp, flaring nostrils.  

But, after a few wavering moments, the urge passed. Shane blinked his eyes open slowly to meet Ilya’s, glassy and teary, still with the thermometer under his tongue. He shifted his weight, bulge now obvious in those grey sweatpants that always drove Ilya fucking insane. Ilya held Shane pinned with his gaze for a couple of long seconds before he leaned forward to whisper directly into Shane’s ear. 

“Good.” 

Shane let out the quietest shaky breath through his nose, eyes rolling up and slipping shut like one word alone was too arousing to handle. Ilya ran a feather-light touch over Shane’s clothed dick just to watch him shiver. 

The thermometer, finally finished with its reading, beeped and flashed numbers on the small digital screen. Ilya stepped back and plucked it from Shane’s lips, not missing as Shane chased his touch with his hips, making a soft noise of protest. 

“Ugh, fuck you,” Shane grumbled, sniffling and rubbing at his nose with the tissue from his pocket. Ilya was unsure which part of the last two minutes he was being cursed at for specifically. 

To Ilya’s surprise, Shane did actually have a low-grade fever: 99.8. He flipped the instrument around to show his boyfriend the reading. 

“You’re warm. Will be a fever later, maybe. We will keep an eye on it,” Ilya purred, setting the thermometer aside and cupping a hand to Shane’s cheek to feel the warmth there. 

Shane was about to respond when his breath caught on a huge inhale, sudden and aggressive. He barely had time to bring up his elbow before he was sneezing harshly. 

“Hah-hiITCHiew! HiINGTShu-hDTCH-ADTChoo! Hih-INGTSHIEW!” 

Shane stayed tucked into his elbow, panting and blinking away the moisture in his eyes. Ilya was a little bit shocked - he had never in his life heard Shane sneeze like that. It was fittish like how it was when he was aroused, but also heavy, harsh, and visibly uncontrollable. Shane’s head had jerked forward with each one, pulled down again and again with the force of the fit. He had to cough several times after like the congestion had shifted wrong and choked him. 

Ilya quickly pulled a handful of tissues out of the new box and pressed them into Shane’s free hand. He quickly brought them up to his nose, still hiding in the crook of his arm. 

“‘Scuse mbe, sorry. Thangk you.” Shane’s voice came out clogged and hoarse and once again, embarrassed. He avoided Ilya’s eyes as he cleaned up and tossed the evidence into the bathroom trash. He started to cough again and ducked back into the crook of his elbow. As if that would save Ilya from the germs he had already kissed right from Shane’s mouth.  

The giveaway that Shane was still enjoying it all was the straining fabric of his sweatpants. Ilya was a little surprised at that - if anyone was a big enough horndog to want to fuck while unwell it was himself. But Shane still looked painfully riled up. Even despite the mess and the sore throat and the headache and the sneezing. If Ilya could have taken a guess before, he would’ve thought Shane would be uptight, overstimulated, and cranky when he was sick. But so far he’s turned out to be needy and panting and pliant, and Ilya is absolutely not complaining. 

Shane was so turned on, and Ilya wanted to get him so desperate that Shane finally broke and went for it, took it with his own two hands for his own pleasure, his own want. 

“Oh, lubimyy, you really don’t feel good do you? Bud'te zdorovy, I have never heard you sneeze like that before. My poor malysh. Someone needs to take care of you, yes?” Ilya brought his hands from Shane’s shoulders, sliding down to his hands, passing over the backs of them to rest on his hips where he rubbed slow, slow circles with his thumbs, arching ever closer to where Shane clearly wanted touch the most. 

Shane’s breath caught as he shuddered. He didn’t speak, currently too overwhelmed for words. 

Ilya wanted him to say it anyway. 

“Yes? Is what you want?” 

Shane nodded, eyes hazy. 

“Tell me,” Ilya purred, thumbs still rubbing circles in the divots of his boyfriend’s hips. 

“I wandt you to take care of mbe,” Shane said, voice hoarse and wavering, increasingly clogged with congestion. Ilya felt through the stretch of fabric under his fingers as Shane’s dick twitched. 

It was then Ilya began to figure out where this heady, needy arousal of Shane’s was coming from. 

“Yes? Because you’re feeling bad? Tell me why.” 

Shane noded again, eager, waiting for Ilya to touch him, to kiss him, to do something. 

“I… I wandt you to mbake mbe feel better. Mbake mbe forget. Take care of mbe. Please,” Shane said, voice wavering and nearing a whine. He was panting now, staring blatantly at Ilya’s mouth. His face was beautifully flushed, eyes wanting and glassy, expression so painfully longing that Ilya wished he could take a picture of this moment to have it forever. To sear into his memory. 

Ilya, still holding him by the hips, leaned in and kissed Shane with an open mouth. Shane sighed into it, eyes fluttering shut as he tilted his head for best access to Ilya’s lips. Their noses brushed, and Ilya was surprised to find he didn’t mind the transfer of moisture that occurred as a result. Not when Shane was gasping into his mouth, unable to breathe through his nose but still desperate to kiss. It was like Shane was starving for it, for the feeling of Ilya’s tongue in his mouth, oxygen deprivation be damned. He was puffing breath into Ilya’s mouth, panting, yet still ravenous with his intensity.

When Ilya broke away to give him a fucking chance to breathe, Shane chased him with his mouth, making a low displeased noise in his throat. His eyes were dark and hungry, covered by a glassy, watery sheen. 

“Fugck, Ilya, cobe on,” Shane whined, still short of breath, almost more worked up and desperate than Ilya had ever seen him. He sniffled thickly and ran a hand under his now-red nose, too distracted to care about how gross he usually found it and that tissues were literally within his reach. On top of all of that, he had a slight wobble to him like he was dizzy. 

“You can’t breathe, milyy, you need to blow your nose,” Ilya replied, hands roaming up and down his boyfriend’s ribs. 

Shane visibly reddened all the way down to his neck. If Ilya looked, it would probably be deliciously spread over his chest. In Ilya’s peripheral vision, he saw Shane’s dick twitch again. Proof that he was on the right track whether Shane would verbally tell him that or not. 

Still making eye contact, Ilya reached over and drew a few tissues from the box. Shane reached for them but Ilya pulled back, making a tutting sound 

“I am taking care of you, remember? This is for me to do.” 

Shane visibly struggled for a second, embarrassment beginning to creep back in, but it was stopped by a furrow in his brow and a twitch of his nose. He hitched, expression tortured and itchy, gearing up for however many sneezes his body decided was enough to express his arousal. He loved Shane’s little fits. They were like music to his ears, visual and auditory proof that Ilya was turning him on just right. 

“Hah- Ilyaahh, I-,” 

Ilya reached out and cupped the tissues around his nose. Shane’s hands flew up to meet them, clamping Ilya’s hand firmly in place. 

“HiISHIEW! HihH-hDTCH-ahISHIEW-ITCHoo! HahH-ADTCHOO!”

Shane sneezed harshly, over and over again, breath warm and damp against Ilya’s palm. The tissues flooded with warmth as the expulsions forced the congestion to shift and loosen and expel itself. He finished the fit with a noise between a groan and a whine, equal parts relief, mortification, and arousal. 

“Bud'te zdorovy,” Ilya purred, pinching the mess away from Shane’s nose with one hand while the other plucked a few more tissues from the box. Shane’s hands slowly withdrew from his face as he let Ilya do the work, face beautifully flushed. Ilya was quick to tent the fresh tissues against Shane’s nose, holding them tightly in place. “Now blow.” 

Shane for a second looked like he would protest, but something in Ilya’s expression stilled it. Instead he took a trembling inhale and blew, a couple hours worth of congestion flooding outward into the folds of the soft paper, warm against the pads of Ilya’s fingers. While Ilya clearly understood this was foreplay (Was it weird? Yes. Did he really give a shit? No.), it also felt sweetly intimate and trusting. Like a skittish kitten eating out of your hand. Or something. Maybe Shane just always reminded him of a kitten. 

Ilya had him blow one more time before cleaning him up, murmuring sweet praise into his ear while he did so. Shane looked so fucking blissed out it was insane and Ilya wanted to swallow him whole. 

Thankfully, it did seem like he could breathe a little better after blowing, which made Ilya feel better about accidentally suffocating his boyfriend during a makeout. Ilya nuzzled into Shane’s collarbone, gently teething on the skin there. Shane shivered and swayed, fingers tightening on Ilya’s shoulders as he moved in for another kiss.  

“You should be lying down,” Ilya breathed into his mouth, kissing him and walking Shane out of the bathroom and towards the bed, pulling their shirts off as they went. Shane fell back on the bed once the back of his knees hit the edge of it, propped up on his elbows and looking up at Ilya through his lashes with dark, glassy eyes. He was breathing hard, chest heaving, and nose beautifully red. 

Ilya went for the drawstring of his boyfriend’s sweats with fast, nimble fingers, tugging them down and off in a single practiced motion. Shane shivered as Ilya ran his fingers up his thighs and to the seam of his boxers, throwing his head back and exposing his neck. 

“You have been so reactive to me. So tense, so nervous. But I can see that you like it. I told you, I can always tell when you want,” Ilya said lowly, leaning down to mouth at the skin of Shane’s inner thigh. Shane trembled, sighing, twisting the bedsheets with tight fists at his sides. “You just want someone to take care of you, yes? Fuck the cold out of you?” 

The man beneath him groaned at that, dick twitching in his boxers. And the next moment Shane was sneezing again, gasping once and twisting to the side.

“Hih…hihH-INGTSHiew, ihHITCHuu, hah-ADTCHiew! Ngh, fugck, sngff, Ilya blease-”

Ilya watched, mouth watering as his boyfriend’s abs contracted and released over and over. With the next breath he was begging, panting, sniffling thickly, pulling Ilya closer by hooking his heels around Ilya’s ass and tugging. 

Ilya chuckled and kissed a line up Shane’s throat. 

“Oh, I know that sound. So eager even when you don’t feel good.” Ilya pulled back to look Shane in the eye for a second, savoring the tension and want in his boyfriend’s gaze. His nose was running already, eyes dark, embarrassed flush blooming down his neck at the intense attention. He sniffled thickly then turned to cough into his wrist. Ilya ran his hands over Shane’s ribs. “My poor Shanya, you are so sick.” 

Shane made a keening noise in his throat, reaching up and pulling Ilya down for the neck to mash their mouths together.

Soon enough Ilya had Shane on his back in the middle of the bed, the both of them naked, kissing a line down Shane’s body until he reached his groin, dick straining and untouched. Like the rest of him, it was flushed red. Precome gleamed at the tip. Ilya licked a slow, sensual stripe up his cock before swallowing it to the base in one smooth slide. 

Shane moaned loudly and tried not to writhe, both hands balled into fists in Ilya’s hair. His voice was fully hoarse now, but that didn’t seem to be interfering with his need to be vocal. Ilya took the opportunity and reached up to put his fingers in Shane’s mouth. Shane groaned and sucked on the digits dutifully, coating them with saliva. Ilya focused back on the cock in his mouth, bobbing his head and laving his tongue along the underside of it, pausing to suck at the tip with each slide. He was startled out of his rhythm when Shane caught him by he wrist and tore Ilya’s fingers from his mouth, grip tight and desperate. But then he was gasping, twisting to the side and - 

“Fu-uhhck, Ilya, I- INGtshiew, hDTCH-ahINGTSH-idtSHIEW, ahITSHIEW! Hih-hiISHIEWW!”

Shane’s dick thrusted into Ilya’s mouth with each sneeze, fingers tightening on Ilya’s wrist in time with the expulsions. Ilya stilled and relaxed his throat, feeling as the sneezes forced Shane to fuck forward into his throat again and again. Shane had never let Ilya do this before, too afraid of being rough and choking him. He had this irrational fear he’d make Ilya throw up... as if Shane could be rough enough cause anything other than a ghost of a gag. Ilya groaned at the sensation, eyes rolling back into his skull. Fuck this was hot. He couldn’t believe a cold is what got Shane to finally fuck his face. 

He didn’t give Shane a chance to think about it too hard though, quickly taking his slicked fingers to work his boyfriend open at the conclusion of the fit. Shane was clearly in no mood to wait - as soon as Ilya’s fingers were inside him he was groaning and squirming and pulling at Ilya’s hair, murmuring fever-drunk pleas all the while. 

Ilya was never one to say no to him. 

Ilya pulled Shane closer by the thighs, reaching up and making sure his beautiful head was propped up by a pillow so he at least had a chance at breathing properly. He smoothed a hand down Shane’s chest and stomach, admiring. Shane looked so wrecked already and he had only had a few fingers in his ass. He appeared as though he had already gone a couple rounds, face red, hair a mess, body slick with sweat. Shane’s nose was glistening and he couldn’t go a handful of seconds without sniffing. Ilya put a few tissues to his nose for him to blow, then kissed his forehead. 

Ilya slicked himself up with lube and pushed in slowly, giving time for Shane to adjust. He felt warmer than usual, hot muscle tight around Ilya’s cock. It felt so unbelievably good that he had to stop and breathe for a second one he was fully seated. He was glad he did because seconds later Shane was succumbing to another fit of sneezes, squeezing him tight over and over. 

“Hah! Hah- haAETCHiew, ITCHiew-hDTCH-ahISHIEW-ITCHoo! Hih-ITSH-ISH-ADTCHIew!” 

Shane usually had a fit right when Ilya bottomed out, but just how good and warm and tight his boyfriend’s ass was nearly made him forget. The spray fell cool on his overheated, sweat-slick skin. 

Once he was able to access coherent thought again, Ilya said, “Bud'te zdorovy. So sneezy. Does your nose really like this?”

“Shitd,” Shane whispered, dropping his head back and clenching down on Ilya’s dick as he began to thrust. “Yes.”

Ilya pulled Shane’s legs up over his shoulders for a deeper angle, to which his boyfriend cried out. Ilya kept his pace steady and thorough, hands roaming and groping every bit of flesh they could find - his boyfriend’s stomach, his pecs, his thighs, his ass. Shane shivered underneath his touch, overwhelmed tears gathering in his eyes and rolling in fat drops down his cheeks. Every time Shane had to stop to cough or sniffle it seemed to push himself ever closer to the edge. He was moaning and slurring words in that beautiful congested voice of his. 

Ilya was getting close. The feverish heat of him combined with just the sight of his lover was ruining him forever. Shane was a fucking mess - sweaty and fever flushed, lips dry and mess gleaming on his top lip as he’d stopped caring about appearances some time ago. His eyes were hazy, far-off and glassy, with tears leaking steadily over his cheekbones. 

But Shane had to come first. This wasn’t about him. 

Ilya kept his pace steady, bringing one hand down to wrap around Shane’s dick. Shane’s legs clenched around him. He groaned as Ilya thumbed at the precome-wet slit at the apex of each stroke. Shane was fuck-drunk and lost in it, brow pinched with pleasure, mouth open as he continued to lose his voice around the moaning and incoherent babbling for mbore, yes, blease, Ilya, righdt there.

Shane gasped, breath hitching and catching around his desperate panting, and Ilya knew he was close. 

“Come for me, Shanya. I will take care of you, come for me, good boy, yes, fuck-“

Shane climaxed with a cry, squeezing Ilya tight with his cry. The come on his stomach was immediately joined by the spray of his desperate, aroused fit of sneezes. 

“Ahhng, fuckfuck fuuhHITSHiew, hiISHIEW, iINGTSHoo, ADTCHOO-ETSHIEW-ITCHOO!” 

Ilya wanted to keep going, wanted to fuck Shane through it, but Jesus fucking Christ the way Shane looked and sounded and clenched down on his cock with each sneeze was too much. 

Quickly, he pulled out so Shane didn’t have to clean out, and was coming hard over Shane’s stomach with three quick stokes of his hand. Shane gasped, threw his head back, and snapped forward with another predictable fit. Ilya shuddered with pleasure as his dick was drenched in it. 

“HihH-idSHiew! hiISHIEW! HihH-hDTCH-ahISHIEW-ITCHoo! HahH-ADTCHOO!”

Shane’s face was a mess. His nose was an irritated red, wetness spilling over his cupid’s bow and down his chin. But in the post-coital bliss he didn’t seem to care yet. He was boneless and panting, staring at the come on his stomach and chest with drowsy, leftover arousal. It was unbearably sexy when Ilya made Shane a mess, when he fucked him so good that he didn’t care about the sweat or the come or the spray. That he alone was able to have this, to see this, to make this happen. That he was able to get Shane so fucked out that he didn’t care if he sneezed all over himself or all over Ilya. He cherished the fact that he was the only one who knew how much Shane Hollander liked to be covered in come and sweat, disheveled and messy. 

“Fuck,” Ilya breathed. It felt extremely well-spoken all things considered. 

“Yeah,” Shane agreed, just as out of breath. “Fuck.”

Ilya sat back on his heels on the bed and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. “So,” he started. “You will catch a cold again soon, right?” 

Shane burst into surprised, hoarse laughter and Ilya thought it was maybe the sweetest sound he had heard all day. 

…

After Ilya had cleaned Shane up with a warm cloth and fed him a handful of various medicines from the discarded pile in the bathroom, he pulled Shane on top of him for a cuddle before he began to insist on a shower. Shane sounded a lot less congested after the sex and multiple rounds of blowing his nose. Ilya filed this away for later when he eventually caught this - oh Shane, a blowjob would make my nose feel better, don’t you think? But for the moment he was just content to hold his boyfriend and run a hand through his damp hair. His skin seemed to be more sensitive than usual so Ilya kept the pressure firm until Shane stopped squirming at every touch. He still had a bit of a cough and his voice was definitely going out, but Shane didn’t seem to be too bothered by it. 

“So,” Ilya said, “Will we talk about this now or later?” 

Shane groaned and turned red, burying his face between Ilya’s pecs. 

“Never,” he groaned. 

Ilya chuckled. 

“Later, then. I have never seen you so worked up, lyubov.” 

“This is so embarrassing,” Shane replied, still hiding his face.

Ilya rolled them over so they were both lying on their sides, nose to nose. Ilya kissed the freckles on his face, then his eyelids, then his nose until Shane was relaxed and giggling. 

“Never. You are the hottest man alive and it isn’t fair you kept this kind of sex from me.” 

Shane laughed. “It’s not like I meant to. This is like, our first time really together when I…” He gestured vaguely - he couldn’t get himself to finish the sentence. 

“Have a cold? You are very sweet and needy when you’re sick, it’s very nice. I thought you would be a big asshole.”

“Hey!” Shane punched his arm. “I’m never an asshole. You’re the asshole.” 

“Shane Hollander, that is a lie. You and me are the same amount of asshole,” Ilya said, grabbing Shane and rolling on top of him, trying to tickle his sides. 

Shane groaned and tried to push him off. “Ew, Ilya, you’re so sweaty. We need to shower.” “You did not care about this five minutes ago.” 

“Well five minutes ago you had my dick in your hand. Things have changed.” 

Ilya waggled his eyebrows, smirk pulling at his lips. “That can be arranged.”

[rozsnz]

ottawa blues 🏕️

this is why city boys can't go camping !!!

10.3k includes sick ilya, concerned centaurs & caretaker shane

August 7th, 2025

Friday morning

Ilya was currently standing at the entrance of the Hollander-Rozanov household, attempting to delay the inevitable. He was excited for the hike, he really was. He didn't prepare for how hard it would be to say goodbye to his Shane for three days. He also didn't prepare for Shane to buy him a 3-pack of cargo shorts for the hike. He looked like someone's father at Disney.

"Alright, you got everything?" Shane asked, adjusting the straps on Ilya's backpack as if he were Ilya's mother.

Ilya nodded. "Got everything."

Shane continued to pretend to fix Ilya's shirt, also delaying the inevitable. They hadn't slept without each other for a while now. "Okay. You'll be fine. Remember what I said? Keep your eyes —"

"— on the ground, I know. I won't fall, Shane," Ilya grinned, leaning to plant a kiss on Shane's cheek. "Fuck, I'll miss you. Shane. Oh my god. Maybe I should stay."

Shane let a laugh slip, his cheeks warming. "Nooo, I've already made a ton of plans for my me time.."

Ilya feigned a look of sadness, his hand going to his heart. "Oh, wow. Okey. Okey. You have fun with your other men."

Shane snickered, rolling his eyes. "You're the one leaving me for other men, don't get this twisted."

Ilya pursued his lips, pulling at Shane's earlobes gently. "Ehh, no. You're the one who insisted I join them."

Shane smiled, sniffling a little. "It'll be fun! Okay, go on. I'm sure Troy will be here any minute, right?"

Ilya stood still and whined, squishing Shane's bicep. "What if your cold comes back? Who will look after you? Not Anya.. I should stay."

Shane let out an amused breath through his nose. "I'm all better now. I promise. You've been looking after me all week, you need a break."

"Okey," Ilya mumbled, wetting his lips. "Fine, fine. I go. Don't miss me too much, yes?"

Ilya jumped at a car honking outside, indicating that Troy was here to pick him up. Ilya frowned, holding the straps of his backpack as a little attempt to ground himself.

"I'll see you on Sunday, okay?"

Ilya nodded, giving Shane a soft kiss to his awaiting lips. "Okey.. bye. I love you. I'll miss you."

Shane smiled, his eyes creasing as he did. "I love you. Go have fun."

Ilya gave Shane one more kiss before turning and walking down the little pathway to their house. Lo and behold, Troy was waiting at the foot of their driveway in his black Camaro V8.

Troy rolled down his window as he saw Ilya approaching, leaning on his steering wheel to give Ilya a wave. Ilya stepped up to the passenger side, plopping himself down on the expensive leather seat.

"That backpack looks way too small to be carrying a tent and sleeping bag," Troy greeted with a little smile, grabbing Ilya's bag for him and tossing it on his back seat.

"Shane got vacuum sealer for Christmas last year," Ilya said, pulling his seat a little forward. Whoever sat there last must have had enormous legs. "From his mother."

"Of course he did." Troy started up his engine, skipping his usual acceleration roar. He didn't want to frighten Anya inside.

"Whoooo," Ilya howled out a breath as the car sped down their foresty driveway. "Fucking beast. Would look better in orange, though."

Troy grimaced as he drove, eyeing the little GPS he had up on his phone that was fixed onto the windshield. "Said no one ever."

"Said by me, just now." Ilya smiled at Troy, glancing back out the window. "We are picking up others or what? You are taxi driver now?"

Troy's expression remained blank as he took a moment to eye Ilya. "You haven't read the group chat, have you?"

Ilya blew out a breath. "Yes, I looked. We climb multiple mountains and camp."

Troy grinned a little, approaching the first signs of humanity as multiple buildings passed instead of trees. "Well, yeah. The guys are all going to meet us there. Which you would have known if you had read our texts."

"Mm," Ilya raised his brows with an unenthusiastic nod. "Had a busy week, leave me alone."

Troy breathed out a laugh, checking the GPS route. Bood had booked them in for a three-day hike-camp at Jacques Cartier National Park. Ilya had never been, nor had Troy. Bood insisted that they all go together for some 'team bonding time.'

Ilya felt his lips curl as Troy turned up the music that he didn't even notice was playing. His head had been bopping along to it subconsciously. Ilya eyed Troy's phone, reading its title. Doschitai by Locked Club.

"We are going to club or what?" Ilya said, making his head move more dramatically. "Better than Wyatt's music, maybe."

Troy scrunched up his face, coming to a stoplight. "Just wanted to up the vibes! Assumed you wouldn't be too excited to go hiking, city boy."

"Whaaaat?" Ilya gawked at Troy, shaking his head. "Am no city boy! Hiking is shallow water for me."

Troy let out a laugh as he drove, keeping his eyes on the road. "Alright man. I'll believe it when I see it."

—

After 30 more minutes of driving and techno music, Ilya and Troy finally made it to the site.

"Arrêt!" Ilya called, pointing to the red sign right by the entrance. "Alright! Yeah! That's what I'm talking about."

"That means stop, idiot, not 'alright'," Troy snickered, feeling equally as excited as they finally pulled into the parking lot. Troy spotted the guys before Ilya did thanks to their tanks of cars. Bood, Dykstra, Wyatt and Luca were all standing by two massive Jeeps, helping each other unload the trunks. Luca rode with Wyatt, and Bood drove Dykstra.

Troy pulled up opposite them into a free parking spot, smiling as he saw the group's faces light up as they caught sight of him and Ilya. Ilya was out of the car as soon as Troy parked, giving the guys some aggressive back pats.

"Are you ready to get your asses eaten by nature, gentlemen?" Ilya grinned, scruffing at Luca's hair. Troy got out of his car, giving handshakes after Ilya was done messing everyone up.

"Hey!" Dykstra shot back. "Says the guy who's wearing a pair of tourist shorts," he said, motioning to Ilya's cargo shorts.

Ilya's cheeks warmed as everyone but Luca began to cackle playfully at him. They were comfortable, okay? Shane had chosen the best for him. The material was nice and breathable, not too heavy and also waterproof. "Alright, okey. Laugh it up. I get it."

Bood patted Dykstra's back. "You got him with that one, man. Fuck."

"If I searched up 'hiker' on Getty Images, you would come up," Hayes added, making Dykstra start to cackle again.

"Oh my god, okey!" Ilya called, looking down at his outfit. Fine, maybe he did look a little bit too textbook. "What does it fucking matter?"

"Alright, leave him be," Bood grinned, patting Ilya's shoulder. "You look fine. We're practically decked out in the same shit, they're just acting like assholes because they're excited to hike."

"Aye, come help me!" Troy called to Ilya, popping open the trunk to get out their belongings for the hike.

"Yes, save me from the bullies. My hero." Ilya stepped over to Troy and his Camaro. Troy handed Ilya his backpack, waiting for Ilya to put it on before handing him another random bag. Ilya held the bag with one arm as he helped Troy get on his own backpack, making sure they were both secure.

Ilya stayed back with Luca as the four Canadians went to go talk to the information booth. Ilya tuned out the multiple conversations in French going on around him as he pointed out some beautiful mountains in the distance to Luca. This really was a beautiful sight. Bood always knew the best places.

"Okay," Bood's gravely voice rang out, slightly startling Ilya from his mountain viewing. "We're all set to go. You guys ready?"

"We're good," Luca said, walking to follow the four men. Ilya fell into step with them, looking at the map in Dykstra's hands.

"If you need a piss or whatever, I suggest you go now," Bood spoke to the group, pointing to the toilet stalls that were inside a weird little trailer.

"No, I'm good. I shit in Troy's car on the way," Ilya mumbled, keeping his expression serious to sell his joke.

Troy grimaced, shoving weakly at Ilya's shoulder. "You dirty dog. Shut the fuck up."

The group chuckled along as they continued walking, assuming nobody needed to go pee since nobody spoke up. Next to the trailer were two wooden statues. A mama moose and her baby in front.

"Ooh, we need a picture!" Bood spoke up, yet again. "This would look perfect for the gram. Group pic?"

The guys agreed, so naturally, Ilya did too.

Bood stepped off the pavement, holding up his iPhone. "Alright, everyone gather up. Make sure we can see the moose. Nice big smiles."

Ilya and Troy crouched in the centre; in front of the moose. Ilya's left arm went around Dykstra's shoulder, Troy's right arm on Haas. Dykstra grabbed Wyatt, all smiling for the photo. As soon as Ilya saw Bood take as many as he was satisfied with, he stepped up to him.

"Okey, I take your picture now. You go on the end. Harris edits them together, yes?" Ilya said, eyeing Troy for confirmation if his boyfriend would be able to do that. Troy nodded, making a thumbs-up on Luca's shoulder.

"That's a great idea! Thank you, man," Bood beamed, handing Ilya his phone. Bood crouched by Luca, slinging an arm over his shoulder.

"Yes, I have those sometimes," Ilya mumbled, holding up the phone to the group to take a picture. "Smile. Say 'we love Ilya!'"

There was a 5-second silence before everyone fell into a soft wave of laughter. Ilya took that opportunity to take the picture, smiling along with the group. Great. He got the perfect picture. "Beautiful. Our wives will cream their panties when they see."

A family of four walked past as Ilya said that. The mother covered her daughter's ears with a glare directed at Ilya, meanwhile, the father was grinning with a baby in his arms.

Troy snickered, coming to stand on the pavement to stretch out his legs from the crouched position, as did the rest of the guys. "Perv."

Bood took his phone back, swiping through the pictures with a smile. Hayes came over to pat Ilya's back. "A pity Shane couldn't make it. Heard he loves a hike."

Ilya nodded, pursing his lips with a little shrug. God, he was adopting all of Shane's mannerisms day by day. Maybe he will be fluent in loon by the time he's 40. "I know. He is so busy. Also recovering from cold, so. Thought it would be better for him to be home."

Bood nodded in agreement. "Maybe next time, yeah? This won't be our last group hike."

"Да, maybe," Ilya smiled at the thought of hiking with Shane. He'd probably get irked at the thought of sleeping in a crinkled-up sleeping bag. His brow would gain a wrinkle by day 2. Poor Shane.

"Okay, Ándale, ándale! ¡Arriba, arriba!" Wyatt clapped his hands, way too enthusiastically for 11 am. "Are we going straight to the campsite?"

Bood shook his head at Wyatt's words. "No, man. I was thinking we could get a feel for the area first, and then leave our stuff at the campsite. Nothing will get stolen, it's private property. We're paying customers."

Everyone mumbled their own agreements, following Bood as he went in the direction of the trail. Bood led them up the road that Troy and Ilya had entered, pointing at a sign to the right. "Chemin de la Vallée. Down here, okay? There's a cool river."

"Ooh, okay," Wyatt said, looking down the path as they turned the corner. The trees were enchanting at this time of the year. Each tree was a different shade of green, not one the same. It looked like something out of a painting. Ilya needed to go outside more. He was way too awestruck by some trees.

"No dogs," Ilya pointed to the little sign at the corner of the 'Le Belleau' sign that had a picture of a dog with a red cross on it. "Booooriiiiing. What did dogs ever do here to be banned?"

"They shit everywhere!" Dykstra said, nose scrunching. "I mean, fine, whatever, they're animals. Some people don't pick up after their dogs, though."

Luca hummed in agreement. Ilya frowned. "That's why poo bags exist. People are lazy. Canadians."

"Watch your mouth, boy," Troy mumbled in an exaggerated Canadian accent. "4 against 2."

"Heyyy, leave Haasy out of this," Ilya grinned, putting an arm around Luca. "You Canadians are mean. Is okey Luca, they won't hurt us."

Troy and Wyatt snickered, Bood was too busy looking at his map. Dykstra grinned at Ilya's words. Luca chuckled a little, looking down at his shoes as they walked.

"River upcoming," Bood announced, leading the group off the path and down the little hill past a little random shack.

The group followed Bood, padding along after him. Ilya scoffed as he eyed his surroundings. There was a sad little playground, two slides with some monkey bars. "Haasy, is perfect for you!"

Luca shook his head as he followed Dykstra to the lake. "Hilarious. I'm not a kid!"

"He's a little baby," Ilya said to Troy, walking to the playground. Wyatt ran past him and Troy, leaping on the monkey bars.

"Oh my god," Troy mumbled. "He's gonna fall and eat shit, watch."

"Behave!" Bood yelled to the three men, standing as he waited for them to join the rest of them to see the river.

Troy, Ilya and Wyatt snickered to themselves, padding away from the playground to join the group. The river was quite shallow, Ilya could see the floor of it from where he stood. Dykstra took off his shoes and socks, getting into the water. "Ooh, it's nice and cold. Come on, guys."

Bood was next to get in. Then Wyatt, Troy, and Ilya. The rocks felt a little slimy under Ilya's feet. Shane would have writhed at the sensation.

"Haasy? You scared?" Ilya chirped, keeping his tone lighthearted as he eyed Luca who was still on land, standing by everyone's shoes.

"Won't the fish bite?" he mumbled, eyeing the water.

Bood shook his head, walking over to where Ilya and Luca were talking. "C'mon, bud. All the fish are upstream."

Luca toed off his shoes at that, stepping into the shallow water. Ilya held out his arm, helping Luca adjust to the unexpected slipperiness. "No piranhas, yes? Breathe, kid."

Luca let out an amused breath through his nose, managing to walk more without Ilya's arm. "I gathered that, thank you, Ilya."

Ilya grinned, stepping over to the rest of the guys. He got out his phone to snap some photos to show Shane when he got home. The reflection of the trees in the water was absolutely entrancing. It danced with every movement from the ripples made by the men.

Ilya shook his head, pointing to everyone's rolled-up pants. "See? You all make fun of me. My cargo shorts will always win."

Dykstra snorted, cleaning his hands in the water. "You'll take that back when we're walking through the nettles later on. When the mosquitoes eat your calves."

Ilya furrowed his brow, swishing his feet around in the cold stream, opening his toes. "No, don't manifest that for me. No."

Troy splashed Dykstra a little. "There are no mosquitoes in Canada."

"Yes there are!" he shot back, eyeing the other guys for some backup.

"Alright, no one gives a fuck if there are or aren't," Bood spoke. "Campsite time? Less weight to carry."

There were multiple sounds of agreement. It wasn't fun carrying around your sleeping bag and tent, plus all the other little things that came with the tents.

—

Bood got them into the Le Grand-Duc campsite. The name sounded fancier than the actual plot of land. The site came with two toilet cubicles, a place to chop wood, and a river. And a warning sign of nearby bears.

Ilya set up his tent in under 30 minutes, walking around to help the others after he was finished. For some reason, Dykstra's tent needed the help of 4 grown men. The nails were refusing to stab into the soil. Bood had to be the one to jump on all of them for them to go in as the others held it up.

Ilya sat on the wooden benches as everyone's tents stood. He fished out the bottle of vodka he had secretly stuffed into his backpack without Shane's permission, popping open the cap with practised precision.

"You alcoholic," Troy chirped, coming to sit opposite Ilya. Bood was talking with Troy, and Dykstra was wandering the site with Wyatt.

Ilya grinned, pouring a little into Troy's flask without needing to be asked. "Cheers to dying on a random mountain."

"We're not dying." Troy clinked his flask to Ilya's bottle, taking a swig. Ilya took his swig, scrunching his face up at the swallow. Geez, that burned. That never normally burns. He's been drinking this stuff since he was practically a baby.

Troy gawked as if he just witnessed the Second Coming of Christ. "Did you just wince? Well well well.."

Ilya scrunched up his nose, trying to rid the burn. "Shut your face. Is strong vodka, don't act surprised."

"I have never seen you wince after drinking anything.. ever! Crazy. I didn't even wince."

Ilya made a little chatter hand motion, rolling his eyes. "Yup, I got it the first time. I winced, whatever. Big deal."

Troy smiled, shaking his head as he fished his phone out from his backpack. Nobody had service, so all they could do was take pictures. Ilya had luckily downloaded some mobile apps that required no internet.

He wasn't really interested in his phone right now though. His throat still felt tender from that one swig of vodka. Hm. He was getting old.

"Dang, it's already 4 pm," Troy mumbled, showing Ilya his home screen as if Ilya would doubt him.

Ilya raised his brows, rubbing his chin. "The day has gone by so fast. Well, not over yet."

"Y'all tired already?" Dykstra joined them on the bench, sitting next to Troy.

Troy shook his head, fixing his hair. "Nope. Are we going to see a trail today, or..?"

"Yeah. Bood's just waiting for everyone to be ready," Evan said, nodding over to Bood who was sitting in his tent with Luca and Wyatt.

"We better join them, then," Ilya stood, shaking off the wood chips from his cargo shorts.

—

Day one was the Les Loups Trail. Bood and Dykstra led the way, holding down the branches in the way for the team to get through. Luca loved pointing out each squirrel that trod through the path, snapping a picture of each one.

Ilya was giggling every single time Troy's foot slipped off a rock, which earned him a little swat on the arm each time. Wyatt was looking at the route on Pokémon Go, having to stop every 5 minutes to aggressively rub at his screen. Everyone minded their own business.

The top was beautiful. They got a group photo, managing to get everyone in one shot with the help of Bood's long arm. They all looked happy.

Ilya took some photos for Shane, capturing the water below, the trees, and the mountains in the distance. Fuck, he really needed some water. Ilya took off his backpack, getting out his water bottle. The water was a little lukewarm, but that was fine. It did nothing to quench the odd pain coming from his throat. His glands felt sore, almost.

Well, that wasn't ideal. Why was his throat closing up? He hadn't had a hay fever flare-up since he was 22.

Ilya continued without complaining. The group took the 4-hour retreat back to the campsite, occasionally laughing as someone tripped. Everyone's social batteries had definitely deflated throughout the afternoon. Bood murmured small encouragement every couple of minutes and that was it.

The sky was dark blue by the time they made it back to the campsite. Ilya's top lip had also gathered a hefty amount of moisture. His nose would not stop running.

Bood snapped a few pictures of everyone in their tents for Instagram, ignoring some tired groans of protest. Ilya had made himself into a human burrito with his sleeping bag by the time Bood came around to him. He jumped at the flash, closing his eyes at the intrusion.

"Whoops, sorry, Roz!" Bood laughed, putting his hands up in surrender. "Have a good sleep, alright bud?"

Ilya held back from producing a tired curse, instead, offering the same energy. "Is okay. You too."

Bood zipped up Ilya's tent. Ilya listened to the gravel crunching underneath the other man's sneakers as he padded away to his own tent no more than 10 feet away.

Lying on his side was making his runny nose worse. Lying on his back was making it all go back into his throat. Fuck.

Ilya sat up, freeing himself from his comfort burrito with a frown. He grabbed his backpack, rummaging through it for something, anything, to help stop his mucus from escaping. Thank god he still had some napkins in the side pocket from McDonald's.

He scrunched them in his fist, gently shoving the concoction into his right nostril. Now he could sleep peacefully.

—

Saturday morning

Ilya managed to get 4 hours of sleep. He kept alternating between staring at the blur of a far light through the material of his tent, listening to the crickets, reaching out to his left for Shane's vacant body, swiping at his nose, and falling asleep for an hour in between those things.

As morning came, he definitely knew his hay fever wasn't back for vengeance. His head felt packed with marshmallows. His body felt like one big bruise. His lymph nodes felt fatter than a happy dog. What the fuck had he managed to catch? He was fine this time yesterday.

If he thought logically, this could definitely be Shane's cold. Shane had forbidden him from kissing for the first two days, but the pair could never stay away. But.. Shane hadn't been this sick. Or had he? No. Shane would have been complaining if he felt as bad as Ilya currently felt, right?

Ilya stifled a groan, sitting himself up. The tissue that had helped stop the dam was now soaked all the way through with snot and on the floor of his tent. Fucking disgusting.

Ilya got himself into a clean pair of cargo shorts, shrugging on a hoodie he had packed just in case. Oh, sunglasses. Those might make him look less like a corpse. Thank god there were no mirrors around.

Ilya stumbled out of his tent, padding over to the wooden benches where Bood was enthusiastically pointing at the map under his fingers to a sleepy-looking Luca. Everyone else must be asleep.

"Mornin' cap!" Bood smiled at Ilya, sipping from a silver flask. Ilya offered his hand up, sitting himself at the bench. He leaned his head in his hand, eyeing the map.

"Okay! So!" Bood slapped the map, making Ilya visibly jump in his seat. "We're checking out the Le Scotora loop from RI route today. Moderate. 5 hours up and 5 hours down. Sound good?"

Ilya blinked, taking a full minute before he realised that the question was directed towards him. "Mmmyeah."

Bood gave him a funny look, eyeing Luca. "And you? Good route?"

Luca nodded, pawing at his eyes. "Yeah, no. Sorry. Tired. It's so early."

Bood chuckled at the pair. "It's only 8, c'mon. I can't believe the other guys are still sleeping. Yesterday's trail must have worn you all out."

Ilya hummed in agreement, grimacing at how it felt in his throat. "Maybe we do shorter trail t'day."

"Hmm," Bood looked down at his map, trailing his finger along his different highlighted routes. "Shit, how about the Les Érables trail? Sautauriski Bridge? That's only 4 hours up. 4 down."

Ilya gave a little nod, having no idea what that route was. All he knew was that he was really fucking tired.

Ilya padded back to his tent once Bood was making coffee. His eyelids felt like they weighed one million pounds. He got back into his burrito, only to rest his eyes. Yeah. Just for a minute.

Two hours passed before Ilya was awoken. Troy had unzipped his tent, gently tapping at his shoulder. "— oz? Roz? Ilya? We're going to check the trail out soon. You okay?"

Ilya's hand came up to cover his eyes from the light. He had two options. Option one = surrender. Tell Troy how bad he felt, and stay back and rest some more. Option two = endure. Don't disappoint Bood. Don't disappoint Shane. Option two definitely felt more palatable.

Ilya sat himself up, shrugging out of his sleeping bag burrito with a soft grimace. His head was aching with each pump of blood through his body. "M'comin'."

—

Ilya managed to hobble along with the group for the whole 4 hours up to the viewpoint, muffling stifles into his wrist. The bridge was admittedly gorgeous. They got a group photo, thanks to a random hiker who offered to take one for them. Ilya tried his best smile, closing his eyes behind his sunglasses. He would kill a man to be in bed beside his Shane right now.

And that man just might be Wyatt.

"Alright, truth or dare!" Wyatt hollered, scuffling his way back down the trail. The path bled into a slight scramble at times. Ilya did not like that.

"Truth," Troy spoke first, padding behind Dykstra as he eyed where his feet were landing.

"Alright, what's your favourite type of cheese?"

Ilya tuned out the stupid discussion around him, focusing on keeping his snot in his nose. He was so blocked up, he could barely get a good breath in. He was going back to his mouth breathing Russian baby roots.

"Ilya, truth or dare?" Troy called, one foot up on a rock as he re-tied his shoelaces.

Ilya huffed a little breath, rubbing at his chest. His lungs felt packed with jelly beans. "Uhh, truth."

Troy kept going with the group, taking a moment to think about his question. "What has been the happiest day of your life?"

Everyone's eyes were on him at the same time as he hobbled behind everyone, sunglasses over his eyes. Well, that was an easy question. "Weddi'g day."

The group cooed which made his cheeks warm up a little. "That's great, Ilya," Dykstra added.

Ilya grumbled with a little smile, sniffling a little bit. Hiding his symptoms was starting to get impossible. Why was he even trying to hide —

"Now you ask!" Luca spoke to Ilya, washing off a little bit of dirt from his shoe in a small stream.

Ilya hummed a little, thinking about what words wouldn't make him sound congested. Whose name was easier to say?

"Luca."

Luca beamed a little, looking down at his now clean shoe. "Truth."

Ilya scratched at his curls, needing to keep up his personality. "Do you still have tha'dt poster of m'be?" ..so much for not sounding congested.

Luca grimaced as he hid his face in his hands. The group laughed to themselves. "Ooooooh!" Wyatt toyed with Luca's hair, scruffing at it.

"No! That was years ago," Luca whined, glaring lightheartedly at Ilya. A smile on his lips made his false anger hard to believe.

Ilya just smiled, having no more energy to make fun of him. Nobody seemed to pick up on his congestion. He naturally had a more nasally tone at times, anyway. That's what happens when you're not careful with your nose when getting thrown into the boards.

—

They made it back to their campsite at 7 pm. Ilya and Luca were the sleepiest out of the bunch. Bood, Troy, Dykstra and Wyatt were currently building themselves a little fireplace to sit by. They weren't ready to go to sleep quite yet.

"C'mon, boys, join us! Don't be boring!" Wyatt called out, to which Ilya assumed was directed at Luca and himself inside their own tents. Fuck, he really didn't feel like socialising. He also knew that they wouldn't leave this alone if he were to not join them.

Ilya pulled on the red Hawaiian shirt that he had packed, along with some grey Adidas sweats. He was definitely a fashion guy. Top-notch outfits for every occasion.

Ilya pulled himself out of his tent, eyeing the group. Luca was also now sitting at the fireplace.

Troy beamed at Ilya as soon as he was close. There was a bottle of vodka being shoved into his hands. Ilya perched next to Troy and Boodram, taking a swig of the bottle. His now. His germs.

Fuck. Fuck, that burned. Oh, even his nose felt that.

"Hh'd! HH'Dds!" Ilya stifled down to his lap with great effort, shoving his left fist into his nose. "hH'Dj! Sshw! Is'hw!"

The conversations around him came to a stop, now met with concerned eyes reflected by the fire. "Bless you, cap," Bood reached over to pat Ilya's back.

Ilya breathed through parted lips. "Th'nks."

"You all good?" Troy nudged him, leaning his head down a little to see Ilya from where he was ducked over. Ilya nodded, spluttering a phlegmy cough into his elbow.

This felt like a humiliation ritual. It felt like he had just burst all of the blood vessels in his face with the effort it took to stifle a sneeze with a stuffy nose. That couldn't be too good for him. Shane would have probably yelled at him for stifling.

Shane. He really missed Shane.

"I go slee'b," Ilya murmured to Troy, standing without another word nor glance back as he booked it for his tent. His eyes were heavy, but not for sleep.

Ilya zipped himself up in his tent, tugging off his stupid floral shirt. He would be safe in his sleeping bag. He wouldn't cry in his sleeping bag.

He got himself zipped up in his sleeping bag, scooting over to the corner of his tent. No tears.

He tuned out the murmuring from the group, clamping his eyes shut. Maybe if he ignored his symptoms, they would go away.

Not even 10 minutes later, he was fumbling for the zipper on his sleeping bag. He needed his hands, like, right now. "HhH! hH'Ds HH'DShw! HHIH'dsw! D'shw! D'sHGjw! kK-KKHH'M! Mmh.."

The murmurs went silent. Someone was at his tent. A tall, wide shadow. Fuck, was that a bear? He was going to get mauled. He was going to die. He'd never see Shane again. Shane would be all alone.

"Hel'b!" Ilya tried to call, but his voice was already shot. He couldn't alert the guys. He was going to die from some stupid fat fucking bear. Oh my god.

The bear entered the tent, leaning over Ilya. Ilya attempted to kick, but it was more of a wiggle. He was trapped in his sleeping bag with snotty hands, for God's sake. What a perfect situation for a bear to eat him.

"L'v m'be alo'de!" Ilya sobbed, flailing around in his sleeping bag. Suddenly, the bear multiplied into three bears. A fourth joined.

A flashlight shone into the tent, directed at the bear's face. Whoa, the bear looked a lot like Bood. And there was a Troy bear. Also a Wyatt one. And a Dykstra bear.

"Buddy, it's okay! It's me! It's us!" Bood spoke, a hand covering his mouth. They all looked fucking petrified. Had they seen the bear too?

"Мне страшно!" Ilya spluttered, his face wet with tears. What were they doing? They needed to run from the bear that was in Ilya's tent. "Be'r.." Ilya tried to warn, his head glancing around for the beast and its friends.

"No, no bear, Ilya. Fuck, boys. Get me some water, and wet a rag. Try get some fucking signal, go down to the information box!" Bood barked out orders left and right, making Ilya's head dizzy. Ilya went to get up to obey Bood and get a rag, but he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

Ilya closed his eyes with furrowed brows. He was so confused. What just happened? Why wasn't Shane here? Why was nobody running from the bear? They were all fucking idiots.

Bood sat with Ilya, a hand going from his forehead to his cheeks. "Fuck, bud. You're really warm. I wish you had told me you were this unwell."

Ilya blinked at Bood, rubbing at his eyes. Everything had happened too swiftly. He didn't feel like talking, his throat felt coated in slime.

Footsteps began to approach once more, rushing on the gravel. A cold towel was placed on the back of his neck. Whoa. That felt amazing. He leaned into the touch, allowing his head to loll back.

A cup was placed to his lips, and a hand was lifting the back of his head back up. Ilya allowed himself to indulge, drinking from the hand of whoever was offering the water.

"Z!" Wyatt came running back, his feet pounding on the ground making Ilya's head throb with every beat. "The park rangers advised us to drive him to Urgent Care. Said it'll be faster than getting an ambulance all the way out here."

Bood gave a singular nod, rubbing at his neck. "Fuck, okay. Alright. Troy can take him. We'll follow their car. Dykstra with me, you with Luca. Got it?"

Wyatt nodded, scrambling to help pack up everyone's tents.

—

Ilya dissociated for the whole car ride over to the hospital. He was laid horizontally on the back seat of Troy's car as he drove. Bood had somehow managed to buckle Ilya in even like this. He didn't remember any of it. Some random jacket had been put on him at some point, saving him from having his chest out.

Ilya babbled to himself, unable to open his eyes. "If I d'e.. DO'DN'T le'd Sha'de ge'd d'ew husba'd.. Tr'yyy.. pl'eas.."

As Troy pulled up to a hospital that Ilya didn't recognise, two other cars pulled up next to them. The back doors were yet again being opened and Bood was there again. How had Bood teleported here with them? Wow. That man could do anything.

Bood and Wyatt helped Ilya out of the car, his arms over their shoulders. Troy, Dykstra and Luca were ordered to stay put. Bood didn't want to crowd the hospital with too many celebrities dressed in dirty hiking gear.

As soon as they stepped foot into the lobby, Ilya was being whisked away by a little nurse. Fancy. In Boston, it would have taken a lot longer.

Bood stayed with Ilya while Wyatt stayed back in the waiting area. It felt like Ilya was now also teleporting with the number of location changes.

The nurse was holding a little clipboard, a pair of glasses perched on her nose under her eyes. Ilya was laid out on the examination bed, with Bood sitting in the little chair in the corner.

"What seems to be the problem today?" She started, assessing Ilya's body with her eyes for any immediate injuries.

Bood cleared his throat. "He's got a fever, and he's disoriented. The symptoms came on really fast."

The nurse nodded, scribbling on her paper. "Has he taken any medication?"

Bood shook his head. "No. Nobody brought any medicine. He.. hasn't taken any drugs. If that's what you're asking."

The nurse didn't respond as she continued to jot down something on her paper. She then moved to a drawer, pulling out a stethoscope and a forehead thermometer.

She checked Ilya's lungs, her expression staying still. "He's congested. How long has he been feeling unwell?"

Bood blinked, eyeing Ilya. "Bud?"

Ilya grumbled, closing his eyes underneath the harsh light. "Y'strd'y."

The nurse pursed her lips, scribbling on her paper. After taking his temperature and checking the thermometer, she spoke. "It seems that Mr Rozanov previously had Influenza, which then progressed into Viral Pneumonia. I'm going to prescribe him some acetaminophen for his fever, and oseltamivir." the nurse spoke, eyeing Bood. "Make sure he gets plenty of fluids and rest."

Bood nodded, wide-eyed as he took in all of the information at once. "Shit, okay. I meant.. wow. Sorry. Thank you."

The nurse nodded, stepping out of the room to get Ilya's medicine. Bood blew out a breath, rubbing his face. "Viral Pneumonia. Buddy, oh my god. You must feel like hell."

Ilya sniffled, stretching out a little. "Wh're Sh'de?"

Bood frowned. "Kid, I can hardly understand you. Save your voice, okay? The nurse will be back soon, then we can get you home."

Ilya coughed into his elbow, his lungs producing a pathetic rattle. The nurse came back into the room, passing a little pharmacy bag to Bood. "Bring him back if he doesn't feel better in 3-4 days."

Bood nodded, standing from his little chair. He grabbed the bag with an uneasy smile. "Yes, ma'am. C'mon, cap."

Ilya grimaced, forcing himself to get off the examination bed. He held onto Bood's arm, attempting to will away the humiliation.

Bood yet again manhandled Ilya into the backseats of Troy's car so he was horizontal and buckled in. Every moment was a blur. Ilya was blinking and being teleported to a different location every 10 minutes. This was so weird. He'd have to remember to tell Shane about his newfound powers.

—

Zane B. 👨‍🍳

17:32 Hi Shane. I don't want to overwhelm you with multiple notifications — so I'll make this one message. There's no need to panic, but we've had to cut the trip short. Ilya got really sick really fast; seemingly out of nowhere so we were advised to take him to the hospital by the park rangers. He's now on his way home to you with Troy. I've sent Troy off with a list of everything that the nurse informed me about his condition. I hope he gets better soon. ❤️😔

Shane was on his feet as soon as he got the notification, pacing the living room as he read the rest of the message from his notification. Ilya was sick? Ilya had to go to the hospital?

Shane's hand was in his hair before he could spiral, scrunching at the roots to self-regulate. Okay. Ilya is on his way home, everything is fine. Why wasn't he contacted the second that Ilya felt ill? Fuck.

Shane's teeth ground together subconsciously, a nervous childhood habit that he grew out of. Shane padded to their bathroom, collecting all of their sick supplies. Bood was pretty vague in his message, and Shane didn't even know what Ilya had. Did Ilya catch Shane's cold? Did Ilya get bitten by a snake? Did he eat a poisonous berry? Did he fall off a cliff?

Shane plucked out all of their cold medicines, grabbed the thermometer, Vicks VapoRub, nasal spray, and some cold packs. And a bucket.. just in case. Shane set up everything in their room, placing the bucket on the floor of Ilya's side of the bed. Shane fluffed up Ilya's pillow, plugging in the humidifier so it was on Ilya's nightstand and not his. He didn't need it anymore, he was better now. Okay, perfect. So what if his hands were shaking the whole time?

Shane grabbed Ilya's towel, setting it by their bathtub with a set of clean clothes. Ilya loved a bath when he felt gross. Shane's ears perked up at the sound of a low groan from a vehicle outside. It took everything in him not to bolt down the stairs. Breaking his ankle right now would not be ideal.

Shane got himself down the stairs in one piece, grabbing a random cardigan as he went. He stepped out onto the porch, wrapping the cardigan around himself as he watched the car approach. He really was his mother's son.

Shane padded to the car as he saw Troy getting out of the driver's seat. Where the fuck was Ilya? Shane couldn't see him sitting in the car.

Just as Shane was about to ask a thousand questions, Troy opened up the passenger door on the left side. "C'mon, cap. You're home."

Shane went to Troy's side, peering into the car. Ilya was still horizontal, all buckled up in the seatbelts.

"Oh my god," Shane breathed, helping Troy get Ilya out of the car. Once Ilya was upright, Shane held his waist. He was burning through the jacket on his shoulders. "Troy, what the fuck happened? I — he's.."

"I know," Troy said, helping Shane help Ilya up the steps and into their house. "Viral Pneumonia. I've got a little note for you about it. Sorry, Bood barely told me shit, man."

Shane nodded, getting Ilya onto their couch. His eyes were barely open as he flopped back into a horizontal position, curling up.

"Oh, baby," Shane sighed, not giving a fuck about being sappy in front of Troy. Shane crouched down by Ilya's side, pressing his hand to Ilya's forehead.

Troy left the note on the coffee table, along with the pharmacy bag. "His backpack and tent are in Wyatt's car. I'll bring them over for you whenever, alright? Shoot me a message."

Shane nodded, trying his best not to be rude to Troy. He was just trying to help. "Okay. Yeah — thank you. Thank you for bringing him home."

Troy nodded. "Of course. Okay, I'm off. Text me."

"Yeah," Shane called back, not really listening. How could he focus on anything but Ilya? His poor boyfriend who looked like shit on their couch. Who was fine not even 3 days ago.

"Baby, oh my god. Don't sleep yet, I need — to get medicine into you. Or something. Fuck," Shane breathed, grabbing the note on their coffee table. Ilya was barely awake.

The Ottawa Hospital | L'Hôpital d'Ottawa

* Flu > Viral Pneumonia

* Patient is a smoker

* High temperature 39.8°C (103.6°F)

* Cough, lungs (mucus)

* Wheeze

* Disoriented

* Acetaminophen & oseltamivir

* Do not smoke

* Get vaccinated

Shane felt his lower lip wobble as he read the note. Ilya was basically passed out on the couch and for once in his life, he didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to make Ilya better. He couldn't fix the situation. He couldn't fix Ilya.

Shane grabbed his phone off the coffee table, pressing on his mom's contact without a second thought. Even though it was approaching 6 pm (Yuna Hollander's 'Bath & Self Care Time'), she answered after two rings. "Hi, Shane. Are you okay? How's your cold?"

Shane's throat felt tight at her natural maternal tone, forcing an unpleasant sob out of his throat. He didn't plan on sobbing into the microphone, but here he was.

The line was silent for a split second. "Shane? Breathe, baby," Yuna ordered softly, followed by some whispering, probably to his dad. She was probably freaking out now, too. Fuck. He shouldn't have called. His anxiety is contagious.

Shane forced some air into his lungs, stopping his pacing to crouch back down to Ilya and check his forehead again with his free hand. "Mom?" Shane croaked.

"I'm right here," she spoke into the phone. "What's happened, Shane? Take your time, baby.."

Shane swiped at his tears, looking back at the note on the coffee table. "Ilya's, like, — really sick. It's all my fault. He was — on the trip I told you about, and — and," Shane took a minute, tugging at the skin of his throat to try to get some air. "I don't know. I don't know what to do, mom."

"Okay. Okay, baby. Do you want me and your father?" She asked, her voice tender and earnest.

Shane swallowed the lump in his throat down, closing his eyes. "Fuck. I don't know. He has pneumonia, Mom. That's bad for — for older people."

There was a slight sound of ruffling on Mom's end. "Shane, we're not that old, baby. We're vaccinated. I'm sure you could use our help. Is that okay?"

Shane grimaced, balling his free hand into a weak fist to hit at his knee. Stupid stupid Shane. "I don't know!" he spat. "Fuck. Wait. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell, I just — he's really not well. Okay. Please come over, Mom."

"Okay," Yuna breathed, the ruffling on her end continuing. "Dad is getting the car ready, okay? We'll be by your side before you know it."

Shane let out a sob, feeling grateful for his parents. How lucky was he to have all of the help that he could need right at his fingertips. "Okay. Thank you."

—

Mom had helped Shane make a schedule for Ilya's medicine while Dad had gotten some water and liquid flu medicine into Ilya and got the bath running. It felt like Shane could finally breathe with their presence.

"He hates pills," Shane mumbled, still crouched at Ilya's side. "I don't know if he'll take them. He might not."

Mom nodded, sat on an armchair. "Push comes to shove, we hide them in some peanut butter."

Shane grimaced. "Mom, he's not a dog."

Mom smiled. "Honey, I know that. I'm just suggesting things, okay? We can try different techniques. See what works."

Shane took a moment to breathe, rubbing at Ilya's pronounced brow. "He needs a bath. He's all dirty. He doesn't like being dirty."

Mom hummed, glancing over to Dad. "I can make you lunch while you do that, okay?"

Shane pursed his lips, pressing a gentle thumb to the jugular vein in Ilya's neck. "I'm fine. I've had all of my meal preps scheduled for today."

Mom sighed a little. "Well, alright. I think your father is hungry. Would it be okay for us to use the stove?"

Shane made a face, eyeing Mom. "..of course. You don't need to ask — ever. What's ours is yours."

Mom smiled, getting up from her armchair and disappearing into the kitchen with Dad.

Shane rubbed Ilya's shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. "Ilya? Baby?"

lya stirred slightly, furrowing his brow as his nose twitched. He was like a little bunny.

Shane's heart warmed at the thought. "Bath time. Can you sit up for me?"

Ilya squinted, his eyes vacant and tired. "S' eeeehhgghkkhmmm.."

Shane worried at his lower lip, unable to understand Ilya. "You'll feel better.. with the steam. I'll wash you."

Ilya grumbled a little, lifting his head weakly. Shane helped him sit up, holding his shoulder until he was successfully in an upright position. Ilya's curls were flat to his head on one side, and crazy on the other.

"Bunny.." Shane mumbled, just for them to hear.

Ilya's eyes opened a little more with interest, eyeing Shane as if he were something precious. Ilya produced a gnarly sniffle, his mucus having to adjust to the new position.

Shane grabbed the tissue box that was placed on the coffee table by his Mom, ripping a few out and swiping the bundle to Ilya's nostrils. Ilya just let it happen, squishing his eyes closed at the weird sensation. Shane's bunny.

"Bath, then bed. Sleep. That sounds good, huh?" Shane mumbled, getting to his feet with a little groan. His knees were stiff from how long he had been crouched. Shane sighed as Ilya stared at the floor.

Shane reached down, getting one arm under Ilya's legs and one arm on his back. "Arm around my neck, please."

Ilya absentmindedly complied, his hand latching onto Shane's shoulder. Well, here goes nothing.

Shane stood to his full height, lifting Ilya as if he were a barbell. Whoa. Okay. He was carrying Ilya. His spine didn't immediately snap in half.

Shane murmured soft nothings into Ilya's temple, carrying up the stairs with carefulness. His baby.

Shane helped Ilya sit onto the closed lid of the toilet seat, unzipping the jacket from Ilya. Shane couldn't recognise the jacket. Maybe it was Troy's?

"Okay, c'mere," Shane lifted the underneath of Ilya's pits, shuffling down Ilya's sweats and boxers so he could get into the bath. Ilya leaned into Shane's neck, taking a crackly little inhale.

Shane frowned, getting Ilya into the warm bubbly water. Damn, he had gotten stronger. "Is that warm enough?"

Ilya hummed, melting into the porcelain as he closed his eyes. Shane crouched by the bath, ignoring his achy knees and reached for Ilya's hand. "Sweet boy."

Ilya smiled at that, his now open eyes assessing Shane's face. "Mmh."

Shane smiled, grabbing a scrubber brush. "I missed you. I'm sorry you had a bad trip."

Ilya frowned, picking at a hangnail on Shane's thumb. "W's g'd 't fi'rs."

Shane couldn't stop the coo that left his lips. Ilya couldn't even talk. Ilya loved to talk. Shane loved to listen. "Save your voice, it's okay."

Ilya hummed, spluttering a little. The splutter turned into a lung-rattling cough, Ilya covering it with two hands, then switching to his elbow. He sounded absolutely awful.

"Fuck, okay," Shane got to his knees, not knowing what to do with his hands. "Get it all out. Atta boy. Mom said you have to cough to get better, baby."

Ilya continued to cough, his body shaking in the water with each one. All Shane could do was watch. God, he felt fucking useless.

A nervous whine erupted from Ilya as he jolted upright off the porcelain, curling into himself. He looked like he needed to throw up.

Shane moved swiftly, cupping his hands under Ilya's mouth. "Get it out, it's okay. It's alright."

Another little whine left Ilya before he spluttered again, being forced to cough up a little bit of phlegm from his lungs into Shane's hands. Shane didn't even flinch as he dunked the mess into the sink, washing his hands and coming right back to Ilya's side.

There was a grimace on Ilya's face. He could even look at Shane anymore.

"Ilya.." Shane mumbled. "It's okay. You're sick. I want to look after you, okay? I don't care if you — you spit on me. Or cough in my face. I'm here for you."

Ilya eyed Shane with a shy little smile. "Eghhhh.."

Shane chuckled at the little noise, grabbing the scrubber brush again to wash off the dirt on Ilya's skin. "It isn't gross. Not to me."

Ilya went still for a minute. Shane stopped his scrubbing, preparing to catch more phlegm. Ilya's lungs began to swell with crackly inhales. "hH'SHw! Hh'sHIU!"

"Bless you, bless you!" Shane rubbed circles into Ilya's back with a little frown. The flu paired with pneumonia. Fuck. "No stifling, okay? I know you didn't just then, but. For future reference. Gotta get everything out of your lungs."

Ilya nodded, closing his eyes again. The pinkness of his husband's nose now matched his chest. Shane could admit that he did look a little cute. He was so sleepy.

"No sniffling, also," Shane added, moving to grab some shampoo. "Mom did some research for me. You've gotta cough that phlegm out, and blow the snot out."

Ilya hummed. Shane knew he wasn't listening, but Shane also knew that Ilya liked to hear him talk when he was tired. Shane also needed to verbally remind himself.

—

Once Ilya was all clean and in his new clothes, Shane helped him sit on the closed toilet lid again. Shane crouched down so he could look up at Ilya, holding his hands. "Okay. Give me one squeeze for bed, and two for the couch."

It took Ilya a minute, but he eventually squeezed both of Shane's hands once. Shane nodded, agreeing with the choice. "You're sleepy, huh? Okay. We can go to sleep," Shane mumbled, hooking an arm underneath Ilya's legs yet again.

Shane hoisted Ilya up, taking him to their bedroom for the first time in days. Thank God that Shane had gotten the bedroom ready.

Shane tucked Ilya under the covers, making sure he was comfortable and safe. Okay. Great. Ilya was okay.

Oh, his parents. Right. Shane had almost forgotten about them. Whoops!

Shane decided to send his mom a text instead of going downstairs. He didn't want to leave Ilya's side even for a minute, just in case.

Mom ❤️

21:03 Ilya is clean & ready to sleep. Feel free to take the guest room. Goodnight! :) Thank you for coming.

Okay, good enough. Shane put his phone to the side, crawling into bed next to Ilya after taking off his clothes and folding them with precision.

Ilya sniffled, reaching for Shane.

"No, no.." Shane cooed, combing back Ilya's hair between his fingers. "No sniffling, remember? Tissues — " Shane reached over to Ilya's bedside, grabbing the box " — are right here."

Ilya frowned, plucking three out. He gave his nose a weak blow, setting the tissue on his bedside as he kept the box between them.

Suddenly, Ilya's chest was swelling and deflating rapidly. Ilya was so sleepy that his arms couldn't get the memo. Shane watched as his husband drenched the tissue box and their fitted sheet. "hH'JSshiu! hHa'TSHu!"

"Bless you so much!" Shane said, chest aching for his husband. Shane didn't have it in him to care about how Ilya didn't cover. "Are you okay?"

Ilya gave a little nod, his nose now dripping down his lips.

Shane plucked some of the tissues out, swiping them against Ilya's nose as he did earlier. "Ooh, there you go. All better."

Ilya grimaced, moving the tissues aside to nuzzle into Shane's chest. Shane held him, digging his fingers into his warm scalp. "Shh. 'M here."

Ilya's yawns bled into wheezy breaths, indicating his asleep state. Shane, on the other hand, could not sleep. Ilya was on his chest, but he couldn't allow himself to sleep. What if Ilya needed him? What if there was a change to Ilya's breathing pattern?

Yeah, no. He had to stay up. Shane reached his arm out for his phone, tapping in the passcode. He should probably message Troy. And Bood.

Mom ❤️

21:08 Goodnight both ❤️ I love you.

Shane smiled at the message. He swiped out of iMessages, clicking on Instagram. He needed a distraction.

Oh. Harris sure did work fast.

@OttawaCentaurs

[ 3 images ]

Moments before disaster.. 🏕️🗻🤒 #getwellsoonroz #maybenextyear

Shane's eyes found the caption before the pictures. There were 3 images attached to the post that correlated to the caption.

The first image was.. weirdly cute. How 6 grown men could be described as 'cute' was beyond comprehension. But they were. Especially his Ilya.

[ 📷 1st attached image : (From Left to Right) Bood, Luca, Troy, Ilya, Dykstra and Wyatt were all crouched down in-front of a 2D statue of a moose with its baby. They all smiled at the camera, caps and sunglasses on at the ready. Ilya made a peace sign behind Troy's head to make it look like he had bunny ears. ]

Shane had to cover his laugh with his hand at how cute Ilya looked. He was all ready for his hike in his brand new cargo shorts, his fat backpack on his shoulders. Very bittersweet.

Shane swiped left on the next one after taking a screenshot.

[ 📷 2nd attached image : The group was posed on a bridge that Shane couldn't recognise. The view behind them was beautiful. The sun was setting, leaving red and orange hues on the treetops that hugged the surrounding mountains. Everyone was smiling, with fewer teeth smiles than in the last image. They looked happy but tired. Ilya wore sunglasses, his nose a little pink. ]

Shane sucked on his teeth, using two fingers to zoom in on Ilya. Nobody else could tell, but Shane definitely could. Ilya must have been feeling sick right there. Poor baby. Screenshot.

Shane cast a glance down at his sleeping husband, looking back up at his phone. Shane swiped to the last picture, unable to hold in his coo this time.

[ 📷 3rd attached image : Ilya was in his sleeping bag, his hands looking as if they attempted to cover his face mid-image. Ilya was engulfed by his sleeping bag, only his face and hands visible. His brows were furrowed and eyes closed, the moisture on his upper lip caught by the camera's flash. ]

Shane frowned, rubbing his thumb over the picture. Ilya looked like a distraught caterpillar. Screenshot.

"You're okay now," Shane mumbled, making sure to keep quiet so as not to wake Ilya. Shane rubbed at the small of Ilya's neck, kissing his hair.

Shane could feel himself dozing off. To prevent this, he clicked on one of the mobile apps that Ilya had downloaded on his phone without his knowledge. Fruit Ninja. Nice..

Slashing the fruit was quite therapeutic. Shane swiped his finger across his screen, fighting for his life to stay awake. His finger swiped on a bomb, which made him flinch. Why would they put bombs in a fruit game? Not fun.

Shane felt Ilya stirring on his chest, halting his hand on his phone. Don't wake up. Don't wake up. He needs the sleep.

"Y' pl'ai wi'ou' m'be.." Ilya whined, grabbing for Shane's phone. Shane let out a little startled laugh, not expecting that reaction. It was charming how Ilya still managed to be himself even with a nasty virus.

"Baby, you're supposed to be sleeping," Shane hushed, watching as Ilya made shitty attempts at slicing the fruit.

Ilya frowned, swiping out of the game. Shane kept watching as Ilya clicked on his own contact, sending himself a message.

'hi ilya i Lov yo usooo muc h. from shane ❤️,..❤️💙🐰.'

Shane snickered, scrunching at Ilya's curls. "Are you me, baby? Are you Shane?"

Ilya hummed, turning off Shane's phone to cuddle back into his chest with a little nod. "Mmmhm."

Shane cooed lightly, scratching Ilya's scalp. Shane put on his best reporter voice, "How does it feel to be the best hockey player, Mr Hollander?"

Ilya grunted, pressing his nose into Shane's chest. "A'bazi'gghhh.."

Shane gave Ilya's hair more kisses, feeling the heat at the back of his neck. "Amazing? Wow. You have such a way with words."

Ilya whined, pinching at Shane's waist. Shane squeaked a little, pushing at Ilya's hands. Ilya pushed himself away from Shane's chest, curling into his pillow with some sudden barking coughs.

Shane sat himself up quickly, patting Ilya's back. "You're okay.. you're good, baby. I'm here."

Ilya continued to cough away from Shane, the whole bed shaking with each cough. Shane swore when he heard Ilya begin to gag through his fit, pushing himself off their bed and onto his knees by Ilya's bedside. Shane grabbed the bucket he placed on the floor by Ilya's side, holding it under Ilya's chin where he could see it in the moonlight. "Cough it up, baby. Get that gunk out."

Ilya coughed and gagged into the bucket, spitting up multiple mouthfuls of mucus. Shane rubbed circles into Ilya's back, giving it pats now and then. "Fuck, you're okay. Good boy."

Ilya's coughs turned into little sobs as he weakly gripped onto the bucket over Shane's hands, his whole body quivering. To say Shane was terrified was an understatement.

There was a soft knock at their bedroom door.

"Yeah?" Shane called, staying by his husband's side. Mom poked her head in, holding her phone that had the flashlight option on.

"Everything okay in here?" she asked, stepping closer. She had a mug in the other hand, placing it on Ilya's bedside. "Warm honey tea."

Shane nodded, taking his time to look at Ilya now that there was a source of good light. "Thank you, mom. He's okay. Coughing it all up."

"Okay," Mom mumbled, shuffling her feet to release some nervous energy. "You're doing great, Shane. He'll be okay."

Ilya made a little sound at that, spitting into the bucket. Shane nodded, looking at Mom. "Thank you. Get some rest, okay? We're okay in here."

Mom nodded without another word, stepping out of the room. Shane continued rubbing Ilya's back in the quiet darkness, staying on the floor holding the bucket. "You're okay."

Ilya took a shaky inhale, ducking into the bucket. "aT'tshiu!"

Shane jumped, his hand leaving the bucket to fish around blindly for Ilya's bedside tissues. "Bless you, baby."

Ilya made a little grunting sound, lying back down on the bed. Shane swiped Ilya's nose with a little bit of tissue, taking the bucket into the bathroom to clean out. Once all was good, Shane retreated to their room with the clean bucket.

"Mom made you tea, Ilya," Shane mumbled, coming back to Ilya's bedside on his knees. "Can you be so good and drink it for me? It has honey. You love honey."

Ilya moved himself up on his elbows, closing his eyes. "Sh'de.."

"I know. I know you're so sleepy," Shane mumbled, holding the cup to Ilya's lips. "Big sip."

Ilya drank with Shane's help, sighing happily at the taste of the tea.

"Great job," Shane smiled into the darkness, placing the cup back down. It's okay if Ilya couldn't finish it.

Shane padded around their bed, getting into his side of the bed. Ilya gravitated towards him like a little magnet, gripping onto Shane's waist.

"G'night, baby. Feel better tomorrow." Shane felt Ilya's face, finding his temple to place a kiss on.

"Gh'digh'd."

[rozsnz]

sundreesoro 🌙

ilya 'tissue' rozanov

2.8k includes .. a lot of sneezing ;; light nsfw

Winter, 2018

Ilya was currently half asleep in bed with a sick Shane tucked into his side. Their relationship was so advanced, yet Ilya couldn't bear to tell Shane about a certain fetish of his. Even now, when the scenario was starting him in the face. Fuck, he was such a pussy. Papa was right.

Shane coughed at his side, reaching out for his phone that was on his bedside. Ilya allowed him the privacy, keeping his eyes on the ceiling as he heard the pads of Shane's thumbs beat against his phone screen.

"Sndff! Sveta's coming. That okay?"

Ilya raised his brows, looking down at the man tucked into his side. "Oh? She texted you?"

Shane nodded, producing another soft sniffle as his eyes stayed on his phone. "Mm. She doesn't want to be alone, she's also sick."

Ilya's heart sped up in his chest as he took a breath. Shane and Svetlana. At the same time. "Ah, okey. I'll take care of you both."

Shane hummed happily, sending a reply back to Svetlana and discarding his phone back on his bedside table. Shane tucked his face back into Ilya's armpit without another word.

Ilya gave Shane's hair a kiss, taking a whiff of the man's shampoo. "She is sleeping over tonight?"

"Think so," Shane stretched a little, drooping a leg over Ilya. "The guest bedroom is all ready, so."

Shane's phone dinged again, which made him peel away from Ilya for a second time to answer the message. Shane sat up from bed, rubbing at his eyes as he sniffled. He sounded so congested.

"Where you going?" Ilya mumbled, giving Shane's back a rub where he could manage to reach.

"I'm going to let her in," Shane responded, getting up from bed in just his boxers with another little stretch before padding out of their room. Ilya wanted to follow, but he was pretty sleepy. 5 more minutes of being horizontal should be enough time to be able to work again.

Shane soon returned with Svetlana, opening their bedroom door for her. Svetlana was wearing a baggy black Adidas sweatshirt with a pair of blue shorts. She looked beautiful, but obviously under the weather. Ilya never saw Svetlana in such clothing whenever she was healthy.

"Привет!" Sveta greeted Ilya, her voice quite stuffy as she waved at Ilya from across the room.

"Sveta," Ilya smiled, sitting up against his and Shane's headboard. Shane padded in behind Svetlana, crawling back into bed in his prior position against Ilya. "You aren't well?"

Svetlana shook her head, leaving her purse on the door handle and walking over to the bed. Ilya raised a brow.

Sveta eyed Shane with a little smile. "May I join? Please?"

"Course," Shane sniffled, rubbing his nose against Ilya's clothed pec. "Bed's nice 'n warm."

Svetlana got into bed on Ilya's right side, mirroring Shane as she curled up to Ilya. Ilya frowned at the warmth surrounding him. "Wait, you both have fevers? I have to get medicine."

"No!" Shane mumbled, grabbing onto Ilya's arm. "Just — stay. We just got comfortable, Ilya."

"Hm," Ilya held Shane and Sveta, lapping his lips. "Fine. Later, then. Before we sleep."

Shane mumbled something under his breath, his body starting to stiffen up. "Hh! Hh'rRSHu!" Shane brought up his fist, pressing it into his nose as he shook with a startling sneeze.

"Bless you!" Sveta was the first to say, sitting up so she could see Shane over Ilya's pecs.

"God bless," Ilya mumbled, using all of his mental strength not to pop a boner. Not even Sveta knew about his fetish. He hoped that not telling anyone would make it disappear. Instead, it only seemed to grow over the years.

"Hh'RSHHOO!" Shane barked out another one, yet again smushing his fist against his nose. Shane couldn't stifle to save his fucking life.

"God damn!" Sveta's voice pitched. "He sneezes so loud, Ilyush! I expected little kitten sneezes."

Ilya breathed out a small scoff, running a thumb over Shane's furrowed brows. "Oh, I know so. Surprised me too."

Shane weakly shoved at Ilya, sitting himself up in bed. "Fuck, can you pass me that box?" Shane pointed to the box of tissues, the ones closest to Svetlana.

Sveta nodded, passing Shane the box without hesitation.

Shane took the box with a little 'thanks', plucking out a couple to swipe at his nose with. Don't get hard. Just don't.

"Eeshiu! He'ieeishu!" Sveta suddenly curled into Ilya's side, spraying her hand as she shook with each sneeze.

"Oh, bless you," Shane frowned, offering the box back over to Sveta.

Don't get hard! Don't. Stop. Think of anything else.

Sveta sniffled miserably, reaching over and taking the box from Shane with a shy smile. "Thank you."

Shane nodded, staying seated on his heel as he reached out for Ilya's hand.

"You aren't going to bless me, Ilyusha?" Svetlana mumbled, voice tainted by the tissues currently bundled to her nose. Fuck.

"Bless.. you. Будьте здоровы," Ilya mumbled, forcing his voice to sound more confident than he felt.

Sveta cocked her head with a sarcastic beaming smile, sniffling up her excess mess as she placed her tissue off to the side. Svetlana placed the box on Ilya's chest for easy access between her and Shane.

Shane coughed into his elbow, turning away from the two. Sveta moved to sit up, patting at Shane's back over Ilya. "Hey, it's okay."

Shane soon calmed, nodding in appreciation. Ilya just stared at the two, his lungs itching for an anxious cigarette.

Sveta groaned a little, prodding at her nose. "All I've been doing today is sneezing! So annoying. Can't sleep."

Shane frowned, his empathetic heart not being able to hear her words. "That sucks. Have you tried.. a neti pot or something? I don't know."

Sveta raised a brow. "A what? Pot? No, I don't smoke that anymore."

Shane smiled a little. "No — nevermind. Sndff. Have you taken some medicine?"

Svetlana nodded, continuing to prod at her nose with the back of her wrist. "Nothing works. American colds are crazy."

Shane hummed in agreement, his expression turning a little hazy. Ilya's brain felt dizzy with the sight. This was like a porno.

Shane ducked down, sneezing into his lap. "Hh'rRShuu! H'eRRsHH! Fuck, excuse me. Those ones got away from me."

Sveta giggled a little, eyeing Ilya. "He's so cute."

Ilya adjusted the quilt over his crotch subtly, nodding his head against the headboard. "Mm. Bless you, Shane."

Shane's brow furrowed, eyeing Ilya as he shifted on their bed. "You've been calling me sweet names all day, now it's Shane?"

Ilya spluttered, his eyes flickering between Shane and Sveta. "I — that is your name. You are my baby, you know this."

Shane scoffed, plucking out some tissues from the box on Ilya's chest so he could wipe his nose. "You're being weird."

Ilya frowned, scratching at the stubble on his chin. "I'm being weird? No. I am fine. You're weird."

Shane sent a look of disbelief over to Sveta, to which she mirrored. "Be nice to your boy, Ilyusha."

Ilya swallowed, feeling his skin start to prickle with an unfamiliar sense of shame. They were ganging up on him! "I didn't even — "

"He didn't even bless you a minute ago, right? You had to ask," Shane interrupted, subconsciously leaning over to Sveta as he spoke to her.

She nodded in disappointment, raising her brows. "Yes. I don't know what's up with him today.."

Shane hummed in agreement, reaching over to pluck out another tissue. His hand came out empty. "Ugh, shit. We're out."

Ilya worried at his lower lip, looking into the box at his chest. It sure was empty.

Sveta whined a little, pulling her sleeves over her knuckles. "But I really need one."

Shane raised his brows at Ilya, as if he was expecting something. "Give her your shirt, Ilya. Don't be rude."

Ilya obeyed, tugging his shirt over his head before anyone else could speak. He felt out of his body with the situation at hand.

Sveta took the grey shirt from Ilya's hands, immediately moving it to her nose. "Eeishhyu! EEISHIU! Shhu!" Sveta used the shirt, wiping herself off with it once she felt she was done.

Ilya squeezed his thighs together underneath the sheets, taking measured breaths. This was not fucking happening right now.

Before Ilya had time to calm himself down, Shane was also frantically grasping for the shirt in Svetlana's hands. She handed it over, keeping a hand on Shane's knee for support. Shane buckled into the shirt, barely cupping it over his face in time. "hHR'sHOugh! Fuck—! HRrshuoo! hHSHhue! SHHue! Sndff!"

Ilya's lips parted at the sight, an unmistakable bulge forming in the sheet that covered his crotch. Oh my fucking god. Oh my god.

"Bless you!" Sveta sniffled, squeezing Shane's thigh with a soft pout on her lips.

Shane snuffled into the shirt, blowing his nose weakly. He nodded, mopping up his nose. "Mm, thank you. You too."

Ilya whined a little, clamping a hand over his own lips as his voice box threatened another one. Both Shane and Sveta's heads whipped to him.

Shane grinned. "Oh, fuck. Are you getting off to this? Seriously?"

Ilya bit at his hand, shaking his head. Please no.

Shane eyed Sveta with his lips parted into a smile, keeping the shirt in his hands. Svetlana scoffed, looking down at Ilya. "What the fuck, Ilyusha? He's so hard, look!"

Shane looked down to the space of which Svetlana pointed at, eyeing the obvious bulge.

Shane's wrist came up to his mouth to hide a smile, his eyes now on Ilya. "Oh, wow. He is."

Ilya moved to close his legs but Shane was faster, grabbing both of his thighs and pulling them back apart. "Ah, ah! We've seen it now. Don't hide."

Ilya grumbled out of pure humiliation, rubbing at his forehead. Had he broke a sweat?

Sveta giggled to herself, her expression soon beginning to crumble as her chest swelled. Ilya clamped his eyes shut, feeling his ears get uncomfortably warm under both of their gazes.

"Ee'eishhiu!"

Ilya's heart skipped a beat. Instead of reaching for the shirt, Sveta must have forgotten about it. He felt specks of spray hit his stomach.

Ilya's eyes snapped open, his stomach swirling with arousal. "Eeishu! Eeyyishu!" Sveta continued, leaning over to wet Ilya's stomach as her lips parted over and over. What the fuck? No, what the fuck? Was he concussed?

Shane rubbed at Sveta's arm. "Bless you, bless you. It's okay, he likes that. Fucking clearly."

Ilya frowned, glaring at Shane as his cheeks matched the same shade as Shane and Sveta's noses.

Svetlana sighed as she was done with her fit, using Ilya's shirt to dab at her nose with. "Mmh, too right. He is weird like that."

"I don't like it!" Ilya mumbled, his voice gruff as he kept his brow furrowed. His balls were definitely blue by now.

Shane gasped in mock offence, triggering his own nose as he froze up again. Shane's head lulled back slightly, his hand coming up to his mouth. Sveta pulled Shane's hand back, not allowing the action.

"IIIRSHho'ou!" Shane ducked with his sneeze, spraying the other side of Ilya's tummy as he fell forward with the force of his sneeze. "HRR'shiiu! SHHuoo! HIH'RRSHoough!"

Ilya heard himself unwillingly moan, his hips rutting up into nothing like some rabid old mutt. He could feel the weight of both of their spray mixing on his tummy and it was driving him fucking insane. This must be a hoax or something. Shane got into his YouTube search history, right?

Shane panted with the aftermath of his fit, glancing over at Sveta. Svetlana was eyeing Ilya with a look of amusement, sitting back on her heels. "Bless you!"

Shane sniffled, pawing at his nose to quench the itch. "Ah — thank you. Ilya? No blessings for us?"

Ilya tried to get his voice to work, but it wouldn't. His throat felt tight, his skin on fire as he just slumped there.

"Ohhh! I forgot," Shane mumbled, patting Sveta's thigh. "Tissues can't talk."

Ilya whined. He audibly whined through closed lips as his eyes fell cloudy. "Sh'ne.."

"Tissues can't talk," Shane repeated, now looking at Ilya. "Well, good ones at least. Only the bad ones talk. We don't use those ones."

Ilya felt close to sobbing. He was good. He was so good.

Sveta sniffled, the familiar sounds of hitching hitting his ears once more. God, not again. He was going to explode out of his dick and potentially die.

Sveta tilted her head forward as she stayed where she was, her hand blindly reaching for Shane's as she curled up with a sneeze accidentally aimed at Shane's lap. "Eeh! Eeishuu! EeiShOou! Oh, fuck! Sorry, Shane! Did I get you?"

Shane held her hand, fixing Svetlana's hair that had fallen out of place. "That's okay. Bless you.. oh, you look so ill," he mumbled, swiping his thumb against Sveta's cheek to catch her now running mascara.

"Stop!" Ilya managed to whine out, his dick pulsing beneath the sheets. "I can't! I will come! I can't, I can't.. oh my god..!"

Shane pursed his lips at the outburst, eyeing the man who was begging so prettily.

"Nobody said you couldn't touch yourself, baby," Shane reassured, his voice ever so soothing.

Ilya bucked up again, his hands unable to move. Wait, why couldn't he move? If he didn't touch his dick in the next minute, they'd have to drive him to the emergency room. "F'ck! Can't.. baby, help. Pl'se.. help me..!"

Shane snickered softly, blinking down at Ilya as he held Svetlana's hand. "Wake up."

Ilya awoke with a desperate gasp, his lungs filling with air as he jolted up from bed. What the f —

"Baby?" Shane mumbled from his side, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He was blinking up at Ilya was a concerned expression that made Ilya stop for a second.

Ilya panted, attempting to catch his breath. Shane too sat up, hand on Ilya's chest. "Ilya? Breathe. You're freaking me out.."

Ilya forced himself to breathe like a normal human being, his hand coming up over Shane's on his chest. "Oh my god, oh my god. О, нет."

"What happened?" Shane rubbed at Ilya's chest, the other hand on Ilya's back. "Oh, Ilya. Nightmare?"

Ilya frantically shook his head, opening and closing his mouth. "Fuck. Opposite."

"Opposite?" Shane parroted in a soft mumble. Shane scrunched up his brows in confusion, eyes drifting down. Oh. He was quite literally about to explode in the waking world, too.

"Right.. opposite," Shane let out a breathy laugh as he calmed at the sight. "Want to share with the class what you, uh.. dreamt about?"

Ilya groaned, subtly rubbing up into the quilt. "I am pervert. I need to wash brain. Need to see priest, Shane. Was crazy. Fucking insane. Ебать."

Shane couldn't wipe the smile off his face if he tried as he continued to hold Ilya. "C'mon, I won't judge. Talk to me."

Ilya let a whine slip as he shook his head, covering his face with his hands. "You.. and.. Svetlana."

"Oh?" Shane mumbled, placing a kiss to Ilya's shoulder. "Greedy."

Ilya laughed a little, leaning into Shane. "Fuck. I can't ever look at you two the same now. Fuck. Ugh."

"What happened?" Shane tried again, holding Ilya's wrists in attempt to see his boyfriend's face again. Ilya just sighed, curling into Shane.

"You both.. used me. That's all I'm saying."

Shane whistled lowly, nipping at Ilya's naked shoulder. "Whoa, okay. We used you? What, at the same time?"

Ilya nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. "I know, okey? Am man whore. Am greedy."

Shane hummed, placing his thumb over a mole on Ilya's wrist. "I didn't know you were into that kinda stuff."

Ilya just kept shaking his head, flopping back down into his prior position on their bed. "You both used me as a tissue, okay? There. I said it. Fuck."

Shane stared, raising a brow. "Wait, we wiped our asses on you? What — Ilya — "

"No!" Ilya spat out, almost choking on a laugh. "No no no — no, Shane. The achoo kind. I was used that way. You know?"

Shane wiped at his mouth with his wrist. "We.. sneezed on you?"

"Yes," Ilya hissed, curling up so his back was facing Shane.

Shane cooed a little, coming to spoon Ilya. "That isn't a big deal. Did it turn you on?"

"Obviously!" Ilya whined, turning around so that he was facing Shane on his side. "I am.. freak. You were both sick, and took advantage of me. I liked it."

Shane hummed, turning so Ilya could spoon him instead. "I'm just glad we didn't shit on you. That would have been — "

"Okey," Ilya mumbled, cutting Shane off before he could say any more. Ilya pressed into Shane, accidentally bucking his hips into the slot of Shane's clothed ass.

Shane breathed out, amused to see how worked up Ilya was. "Do tell me more, though. I'm curious."

Ilya sighed, resting a thigh over Shane's hips. "You.. I don't know. You guys laughed at me."

Shane hummed, pressing back into Ilya's bulge. "Poor baby."

[percyphonea]

How many times do you sneeze a year?

fandom: H/eated R/ivarly wc: 1.8k disclaimer: Inspired by a video I saw on YouTube. There are no snz spellings in this, but it's full of sneeze talk. It's also mostly a transcript style. If any of the numbers sound unrealistic... Well, we can't all have a sneeze kink which helps us to know how many times do we sneeze a year.

I eventually plan to make a second part, maybe of just of the comments under the video BUT if you guys are up to it, you can also comment under this like you would comment if it was a video; I think that would be a really funny game.

Honestly, H/arris thought making this video was stupid enough, but people on  YouTube seemed to love it when another team made something similar. So, overall, H/arris was pretty happy with how he edited the short. It was fine, really; it just… seemed weird. He wasn’t really sure if the question was interesting enough, and honestly, it wasn’t a question he ever thought of asking someone.

But also, the video already had a bunch of views, likes, and comments, so maybe it wasn’t a total disaster after all.

Harris sighed and then clicked play. Maybe if he watches it enough times, he will understand what the apparel is. Or not - but he liked to understand what viewers wanted because it made it easier to work on videos for the team’s social media. It’s not like he contributed to the rapidly growing follower base to his editing skills. He suspected it had more to do with both Ilya and Shane being on the team now.

The video started playing. Harris recorded this one like a month ago, but for some reason, it took way too long to edit. He remembered, clear as day, when they filmed it; it was during winter, and it was so cold outside that Harris was freezing even with his warmest clothes.

video transcript of ‘Cens vs sneezing’

<The camera is pointing at the bench from the back. It’s clear that there are a lot of people on the ice still, but a bunch of rookies are sitting next to each other, looking at the older players running drills on the ice. The camera gets closer and closer, and then suddenly it’s a side view at the end of the bench. The rookies look up; Nils Holmberg, Julian LaPointe, Alex Young, and Luca Haas are sitting like little kids. They are all wearing hockey gear and looking expectantly at the camera. It’s clearly visible that Luca is kicking his legs like a little kid.>

[LaPointe]: What is your question today, Harris?

[Harris, off-camera]: How many times do you sneeze a year?

<It doesn’t sound like a hard question, but the rookies all pause, and they look like they are deeply thinking. Young even starts to count something using his fingers.>

[LaPointe]: I don’t know, like 50?

[Holmberg]: You only sneeze 50 times a year?

[LaPointe]: I mean, yeah? Is that too much? Wait… how many days are in a year?

[Young]: Like 365?

<LaPointe looks like he is thinking very deeply; meanwhile, all of the other rookies look at him, amusement in their eyes.>

[LaPointe]: Okay, I mean, I guess my answer is around 300? I don’t know; I never counted, but I don’t sneeze every day, probably, but it’s not like I never sneeze, so…

[Holmberg]: Yeah, that sounds accurate. I will say 365. Like a sneeze every day, you know? Like, sometimes it’s zero, but sometimes it’s two, so?

<Luca Haas is still silent; he looks like he is deeply in his head, thinking about something. His blond hair is completely in his eyes, and he is squinting a little. He scratches his nose while he is thinking. Next to him, Young looks uncertain.>

[Young]: Mine’s like 700? I mean, I mostly sneeze two times in a row, so…

[Haas]: I mean… I honestly never thought about counting my sneezes, but it has to be triple digits. I feel like I sneeze every day and I always sneeze three times, so three times 365 is like… 1100?

<Haas looks uncertain, saying the number, and he’s clearly blushing. Next to his face, there is an edited photo of a calculator with the number 1095, and a classic, celebrating GIF.>

CUT

<The scene switches from the bench to outside the locker room. There is loud music and yelling coming from behind the closed doors, and it just gets louder when the door opens and then quickly shuts. The cameraman walks back a few steps as he realizes there are more people coming out of the locker room. Boyle, Dillon, and Chouinard stop and look at the camera, clearly expecting a question. All three of them look a little sweaty, bundled up in warm clothes.>

[Harris, off-camera]: How many times do you sneeze a year?

[Boyle]: Like, all year?

[Harris, off-camera]: Yeah, approximately.

[Dillon]: Is this like a trend?

[Harris, off-camera]: Yeah. The Admirals had a similar video.

[Chouinard]: It has to be around 200? Like, not one every day, but that’s like a pretty normal number.

[Dillon]: Yeah, I think mine is a little more, so I’m gonna say 250?

[Boyle]: Why are we acting like it’s a competition? Roz will win anyway.

[Chouinard]: I don’t know; it’s fun. What’s your number, Boyle?

[Boyle]: I don’t know. At least 200. Okay, you know what, I’m gonna say 250. I don’t sneeze that much.

CUT

<Some time clearly passed, maybe it’s even a day later because Boyle can be seen in the background, walking away. He’s clearly wearing different clothes from before. The locker room’s door opens, and Boodram walks out, laughing with Dysktra about something.>

[Dysktra]: Okay, Harris, I am ready for today’s question.

[Boodram]: It better be interesting.

[Harris, off-camera]: How many times do you sneeze a year?

<Pause. They clearly don’t expect this question, but it takes a little time, and Boodram is already laughing. He seemingly likes the question, or it just made him think of something funny.>

[Boodram]: Honestly, this feels like a targeted question. I don’t know, man? Like, once a day? Maybe a little less.

[Dysktra]: I don’t think you sneeze once a day. I think you are like… the least sneezy person I know.

[Boodram]: Hmm… maybe, yeah. You’re right, it’s definitely less. Fine, let’s go with 210.

[Dysktra]: That’s weirdly specific.

[Boodram]: I just gave a random number, smart***. Just say something.

[Dysktra]: Fine, if yours is 210, then mine is gonna be 283.

[Boodram]: And you say mine is specific…

CUT

<The video cuts back to the bench, except now it’s the cameraman sitting there, recording the ice. Troy Barrett skates over, and he looks all smiley and happy; there’s a faint blush on his cheeks.>

[Barrett]: Hey, b..

[Harris, off-camera]: I’m recording. I have an important question for today’s video.

<It’s clear on Troy’s face that he knows all about Harris’ important questions, and he definitely doesn’t think they are that important or exciting. He rolls his eyes and then rests his elbow on the barrier.

[Barrett]: Shoot.

[Harris, off-camera]: How many times do you sneeze a year?

[Barrett]: <laughing> Oh, yes, that definitely sounds like a really important question.

[Harris, off-camera]: What is your answer?

[Barrett]: I don’t know. What is my answer?

[Harris, off-camera]: I mean, I am asking you, so…

[Barrett]: Fine. Like, twice every day? What is that, like 700?

[Harris, off-camera]: <snorts> C’mon! You totally sneeze more than twice a day! Haasy said 1100, and you do sneeze more than him!

[Barrett]: I thought you were asking me?

[Harris, off-camera]: Yeah, but if you’re not gonna tell the truth, what can I do?

[Barrett]: Fine, okay. 1300. Happy.

[Harris, off-camera]: Happy.

CUT

<It’s clearly the end of practice. People are walking down the corridor, happily chatting with each other. Most of them look at Harris, expecting him to ask a question. Harris just shakes his head off-camera; he’s still missing three people from the next video.>

<Speaking of missing people. Wyatt Hayes gets stopped right in front of Harris. He looks really unhappy; his blond, curly hair is completely flat, and he looks really pale and tired. His nose is red, and he is clearly sniffling.>

[Harris, off-camera]: Ah, I was looking for you!

[Hayes]: <sniffs> Shoot. But hurry up, I need to get a tissue.

[Harris, off-camera]: How many times do you sneeze a year?

[Hayes]: This feels targeted.

[Harris, off-camera]: I asked everyone except you, Shane, and Ilya.

[Hayes]: Like, how many times do I sneeze in general, or right now?

[Harris, off-camera]: Yeah, like generally, per year.

[Hayes]: <his breath hitches, and he turns away from the camera, to direct a strong triple into his elbow. He stays like that for a few seconds, hitches again, and sneezes another two times.>

[Harris, off-camera]: Bless you! So, your final answer is?

[Hayes]: Thanks, sorry about that. Great, now people will think I did that on purpose. < He points at the camera, very seriously> I swear, I didn’t do that on purpose! I’m just sick! But yeah, I don’t know. I sneeze… like a lot? I think I’m a pretty sneezy guy, and I have allergies. Plus, every time I get a stupid cold it’s all in my nose, so… What was the most said?

[Harris, off-camera]: Troy said 1300, but I feel like you sneeze more like Troy. I mean… You sneeze a bunch in a row, so…

[Hayes]: Yeah, I do… Hmm, okay. You know what, I’m gonna say 2000. That sounds unrealistic, but it’s not, so.

CUT

<Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov step out of the locker room. They are holding hands and seemingly in deep conversation. They both stop once they notice Harris standing there with the camera. Ilya immediately smiles.>

[Rozanov]: Harris! Did you bring Chiron with you?

[Harris, off-camera]: No, not this time, sorry. I’m actually making a video, and you two are the only ones missing, so I wanna record that if that’s okay with you.

[Hollander]: Yeah, sure. What’s the question?

[Harris, off-camera]: How many times do you sneeze a year?

[Rozanov]: This is targeted!

[Hollander]: <blushing> Ilya…

[Harris, off-camera]: Roz, I asked everyone. You guys are the last ones.

[Rozanov]: I never sneeze. Russians do not sneeze. Shane, tell them.

[Hollander]: <still blushing> I mean, you do sneeze a lot.

[Rozanov]: Is lie.

[Hollander]: Ilya, oh my god, shut up and answer the question.

[Rozanov]: No, you answer it first.

[Hollander]: Oh my god, Ilya! Okay, fine. Like, probably around 1500? Maybe? I don’t sneeze that much when I’m healthy, but I have seasonal allergies, and I get pretty congested when I am sick. so. Yeah.

[Rozanov]: Fine. Yes. Mine is around that too.

[Hollander]: Ilya, you know that’s not true! If mine is 1500 yours is at least… I don't know! 4000! 5000! C’mon.

[Rozanov]: I don’t sneeze that much.

[Harris, off-camera]: You literally sneeze like… ten times in a row, Roz.

[Hollander]: At least.

[Rozanov]: I do not!

<Cut. First, there’s a clip from an older interview. It’s from when Ilya was still with Boston. To no one’s surprise, he is sneezing into closed fists, painfully stifling every little burst of sneeze.>

<After this, the video cuts back to Ilya and Shane, still bickering. An “one eternity later” meme fills the screen. When it disappears, Shane and Ilya are still on camera. Shane looks smug, while Ilya is clearly unhappy.>

[Rozanov]: Fine. My husband says I sneeze 5000 times a year, which is absolutely ridiculous, but I wanna **** *** tonight, so I gotta say what he says.

<Harris laughing can be heard in the background. Shane looks completely red, he is blushing hard, while he looks at Ilya, scandalized. The video starts to darken, and then it completely blacks out.>

[silentsneezes]

Captaincy

NSFW this is a honeymoon rhinitis fic, so it mostly centers around sexual pleasure. sh/ane receives a blow job ~ if that's not something you enjoy reading, this might not be the fic for you! 1.3k words!

thank you @stifledfreek for beta reading!! grammar has never been my friend, and your advice made the fic read much smoother :3 (also thank you to others who offered to read, i really appreciate it!)

Being Captain, in any capacity, carries a weight that no one truly understands until they experience it firsthand. Leading a team to victory or consoling them during a loss falls to one person—one singular stronghold who faces expectations that can, at times, feel impossible. For the Metros, Shane is that stronghold. 

Since his rookie years, he was understood to have the highest hockey IQ of any players, old or new. His talent was unquestionable, as was his work ethic, so he rose in rank until he led the team he had once admired from afar. He did everything right, to the point of obsession. He was in charge on the ice, in brand deals and interviews, in planning sessions and practices that ran overtime because he needed to iron out a few tricks until his team played flawlessly. 

He was, and is, a perfect captain. He knows how to be in charge, how to assert himself on the ice in ways he couldn’t imagine doing otherwise. He is not, however, in charge in the bedroom. Ilya makes sure Shane knows that, tonight especially. 

The Metros had beat the Raiders 3:2 that afternoon; Shane perfectly executed a goal in the last few minutes of the game, raising the crowd into a cacophony of elated cheers. When he shook Ilya’s hand afterwards, the Russian whispered, “1023,” and with that, Shane’s captaincy was relinquished. 

Now, in the privacy of the hotel, Shane listens to Ilya’s body without question; each push of his fingers or flick of his tongue is followed by sighs of pleasure, sounds of affirmation that Shane barely recognizes as his own. They’re low, drawn out, and intermixed with whispered, nonsensical praise. Sometimes it’s Ilya’s name, purred so sweet it makes him shiver. Other times, French and English pour from Shane’s mouth in a cascade of nothings, “oui, just like that, mon amour, please.” It isn’t a conscious decision, isn't performative like others Ilya had slept with. It’s pure, unadulterated desire. 

It’s addicting to see Shane slip into such a pleasurable state that his mind shuts off, his tongue speaking in a manner that he would otherwise be embarrassed by. When Ilya takes Shane apart, as he does tonight, all of Shane melts into something sweet, obedient—into loveliness. 

The most consistent marker of his pleasure begins with moans splintering into quick, sharp breaths. Shane’s chest expands with soft hitches, as if he’s winding up in anticipation for release. He’s then interrupted with staccato breaths, mouth falling agape and disrupting the kisses he presses to Ilya’s skin mindlessly. 

In the beginning, Shane would turn away from Ilya and shield himself from view to the best of his ability—whether he cupped a hand over his face or pulled away entirely was determined by how quickly the fits came on. Sometimes, he would take his nose between thumb and forefinger and pinch until the sneezes were squashed into submission, unnecessarily quiet. 

Ilya would bless him. In Russian first, and then English. Typically, a few niceties followed (“thank you, sorry, excuse me”) before Shane would let Ilya kiss him again. When Shane was especially embarrassed, Ilya would coax Shane’s hands away from his face and kiss both palms despite their dampness. Later, when the two of them would lay undone beside one another, Ilya might tease him (“So, you let me swallow your spit and your cum, but I cannot kiss you after sneezing? Is too much?”) and Shane would blush, call Ilya an idiot, and kiss him again. 

If they were rushed for time, Ilya worked efficiently, using Shane’s fits at a cue for which position he liked best that night. The fits became useful to him—they were praise of his skill, and they spurred him on, assuring him that Shane was close to release. 

Tonight, however, Ilya takes his time. He lets Shane devolve into sweet whispered nothings, kissing up and down his thighs before taking him in his mouth. Slowly, he undoes Shane’s carefully crafted captaincy. He allows Shane to tug at his hair and buck his hips upwards, rewarding his eagerness with the timely flick of his tongue. 

When Shane’s moans first catch—splintering into a trembling breath that falls short of a full hitch—Ilya hums his praise, and the sensation sends a shiver down Shane’s spine. His breath stacks atop itself again, building into a quiet crescendo, “hh—hih—,” and succumbing to nothing more than a breathy moan. 

Tease, Ilya thinks; if his mouth wasn’t preoccupied, he would have called Shane a tease himself. Those carefully restrained breaths are enough to make Ilya work more quickly. After years of experience, Ilya knows exactly how to make Shane come, be it with his hands, mouth, or cock. 

It takes less than a minute for Shane’s breath to stutter again, this time more urgently than the first. The hand he had tangled in Ilya’s hair is suddenly raised to his face, just barely managing to cover the first of many soft sneezes: “idt’sSch!” It hisses out between his teeth, damp but light. Unlike his typical routine, he suffers through no anticipation for the second sneeze. 

“hh’itsschh!-hsch!-itSChh!”

Shane’s body shudders with each expulsion, his torso clenching and his legs trembling as Ilya hums his praise once more. 

Ilya’s hands work their way up Shane’s  abdomen, squeezing and pinching wherever they please. His right hand settles over Shane’s pec, and he presses his fingers into the muscle. He works his tongue down Shane’s shaft once more, pulling back as he does so—a moment later, he lets his head bob down as he takes Shane fully again. 

“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane moans. He places a hand over Ilya’s, grappling for some sort of capital. He can feel heat pulsing through his body, rippling beneath his skin as Ilya works to please him. The thought alone of the Russian working so carefully to unravel him is enough to make his hips buck up once more. Ilya retaliates, squeezing his pec and quickening his pace. 

“Fuck…. fuck— Ilya!” Shane's head falls back, hitting the pillow with a soft thump as he writhes. The pleasure seeps bone deep, easing the tension that has sat heavy in his stomach since the last time he had seen his rival. Warmth replaces the knot of anxieties, spurting out as he whispers delirious praise. Ilya swallows and pulls away with a lewd pop! 

Shane finds that the warmth has shifted from his abdomen to his nose—the pulsing thrum is now a buzz, deep seated and demanding release. His lashes flutter shut, eyes brimming with tears that refuse to fall, instead leaving his eyes glassy. Freckles crowd one another as his nose scrunches, and suddenly he’s curling a fist beneath the appendage. It presses to his septum, stopping a sneeze in its tracks for just a moment, and then a fit spills out in retaliation: “hng’SHxt!—ngSCh—hssch! h’sSchh’ew!” 

“Bud’te zdorovy.” Ilya rests his chin on Shane’s thigh, peering up at him, “Just four?” 

“Shut up.” Shane’s cheeks flush, and he reaches for a tissue from the nearby box; Ilya had made sure there was a box on the nightstand before Shane had come over that evening. He likes to watch when Shane falls into his typical post-sex routine: folding the tissue politely once, twice, and then tenting over his nose and wiping gently.  

“And the four before.” Ilya hums in observation. “In fours today.” 

Ilya’s hands once again roam over Shane’s body. One skirts down his side, collecting dampness from Shane’s sheen of sweat. It settles just above Shane’s hip, and Ilya can’t help but give his side a squeeze. 

Shane jerks in reaction, his body sensitive, every sensation heightened in the wake of his pleasure. He doesn’t oppose the touch, though. He watches Ilya’s hand move to his thigh next. Another squeeze, this time followed by a slight tremble from Shane. 

“Maybe,” Ilya purrs, not taking his eyes off Shane, “I can make it five.” 

[snifflybabe]

i think hollander is sick

i wrote this purely for fun. it's also kind of hot. indirect sequel to hollander and rozanov share a cold. the people of the internet realize shane hollander is sick? voyeurism?

~ i think hollander is sick

[Video footage clearly shot from a phone camera, shakily zooming in on the Metro’s bench. Hollander is talking to his winger, then suddenly, as if struck by lightning, stiffens and turns away. He’s had a towel in his hand, but he brings it up now over his face. His body shakes a few times before he lowers the towel, blinks, and turns back to Pike. Pike puts a hand on his shoulder and jostles him lightly. Says something. Hollander shifts and looks apologetic.] 

~ omg he’s so cute. was he sneezing???? 

[Quote-tweet of the video of Hollander and Pike.]

there’s a rumor holzy has bad allergies, maybe something was bothering him 

yeAH i think he was

no def, i think he’s fighting something rn. im looking and there’s a clip of him at warmups someone took where he sounds kinda congested my poor baby

omg he’s so polite with it im going to die

~ Go Metros!! hollander def sick. still won the game, that’s our fucking boy. 

[screenshot of Hollander talking to press post-game. He’s pressing a knuckle to the side of his nose and his face is scrunched up as he looks at the reporter.] 

i bet he’s pissed. holzy literally never gets sick 

24 fuckin killed it this game

Hollander is a fucking god 

yeah he has a cold or something

~ when the rivalry is too good that u both have to catch colds to even it out. 

[Quote-tweet of Rozanov from last week.] [Rozanov is leaving a restaurant, looking decidedly annoyed as he throws his sleeve over his face and sneezes. He’s clearly intended to keep walking, but he stumbles as he continues to sneeze and stops, bending forward. He eventually retreats from his elbow and growls at the camera, “You don’t even say bless you after filming me?” Rozanov continues towards an orange sportscar, hands in his pockets, muttering in Russian.]

he’s so fucking hot. i’d take care of him. give me a thermometer and a box of tissues (and a very slutty nurse costume) and i’ll take very good care... 

rozanov sneezes a lot i don’t think he was sick here 

 are u new to hockey?  roz sneezes all the time lol. <link> Ilya Rozanov Sneezing Compilation 

thought he would have dad sneezes. but he sounds more like he’s moaning

 oh, to be his puck bunny. 

No one has so far, so i’ll say it. bless you! bless you!! mr. ilya rozanov. Bless you, sir. 

~ my shaneeeee. his nose is so cute 

[Picture of Hollander smiling. It’s wide enough that the bridge of his nose is wrinkled and his freckles are coming together.] [Picture of Hollander itching under his nose, turned away from the camera so it’s a full side-profile.] [Picture of Hollander at the latest game walkout, suited-up, pinching the bridge of his nose and angling into his shoulder.] 

i’m going to put his nose in a museum 

they write books about faces like this 

awww i think he was about to sneeze in the third pic. 

— 

Trending:

Taylor Swift 

#LoveWins 

Hollander trending with sneeze. 

Caitlyn Jenner. 

#WorldCup

__

Jane: we won so shut up 

Lily: but u had to sneeze so much... poor Jane. 

Lily: the cold i give you is trending on twitter, did you know that? 

Jane: i’m fine asshole. you barely even got me sick. 

Lily: u look nice with my cold 

Lily: maybe i’ll give you another one

Lily: u want this cock so much. 

Lily: [image attached] 

Jane: you’re so weird 

Lily: you got hard didn’t you? 

Jane: no 

Lily: you are a bad liar 

[feverfcking]

The Horrifying Ordeal of Being Known (2/3)

H/eated Rivalry, S/hane (Cold), 6.3k, NSFW

Read pt. 1 here!

Well here it is! Sorry for the wait, but I really enjoyed working on this and I have zero control over a wordcap apparently lol. CW for contagion, mess, graphic NSFW scenes, and some minor dacrophilia if you squint. Enjoy!

With Shane drowsing on his chest, it was remarkably easy for Ilya to fall into sleep as well. He had been up since five to get packed into the team bus, drive to the airport, and catch a flight home. Admittedly, he was a little exhausted. Ilya had planned on arriving to the cottage, getting in a quick fuck, and promptly taking a nap in Shane’s bed or Shane’s couch or honestly wherever Shane was. It wasn’t often that his boyfriend joined him in napping, but Ilya had a way of getting Shane to play with his hair as he drifted under. And that was nearly as good as sex itself. 

Ilya drifted in and out of sleep for maybe an hour and a half, listening to the sounds of people on television bickering over off-white paint. Shane was snoring softly against Ilya’s chest, the sound making his heart squeeze - this was the first time he had heard his boyfriend make such a sound. Firsts were always something he treasured. Shane was soft and relaxed against him, features slack, occasionally snuffling and sighing and burrowing closer. 

They hadn’t really been sick in front of one another before. Hundreds of miles were somehow always between them whenever one of them was down and out. Ilya was pleasantly surprised that Shane was rather sweet and needy when he wasn’t feeling good. 

Shane’s brow furrowed, restless as he coughed softly in his sleep. Ilya rubbed his back with the flat of his palm until he stilled and quieted, soothed back into rest. He felt a bubble of fondness swell in his chest so large it was near to bursting inside of him. The feeling coaxed Ilya into waking fully, tuning back into the weight of Shane on top of him, the gentle sound of the outside wind against the windows, and the afternoon light turning the room golden around them. He continued to stroke Shane’s back slowly, pressing a quick, gentle kiss to his head. 

Although he couldn’t say he enjoyed the extents of Shane’s anxiety, his boyfriend was so endearing in how much he cared about everything. Shane had come a long way from when Ilya had first met him in terms of confidence and excessive worrying, but obviously it still could get to him. The crease in his brow and shining brown eyes when he looked at Ilya earlier, the way he nervously bit his lip, eyes searching for permission to just fucking relax already. As if Ilya would be upset that Shane was getting sick - all Ilya really cared about was being there and, well, he had achieved that.  

Ilya honestly had honestly been insistent about kissing him so Shane wouldn’t spend the rest of the next few days freaking out about contamination. The worst had already been done. Additionally, there were worse things in the world than getting sick. And Ilya really wasn’t kidding about the sexy nurse thing either - that would definitely make him feel better no matter what kind of state he was in. 

It was about twenty minutes before Shane stirred. His gentle, congested snoring was cut off by a deep inhale, a sigh, a gentle reverberation in his throat as he began to wake. His face scrunched up adorably as he registered wakefulness, freckles bunching together as he wrinkled his nose. Shane groaned softly as he blinked to awareness, brows pulled together as he registered the miseries of being awake with a cold. 

Shane lifted his head, eyes widening a little as he saw the the way the light had changed in the room. 

“…Fuck. How long did I sleep?” he rasped, voice beginning to turn gravelly and sore. 

“Almost two hours?” Ilya said, glancing at his watch. “I thought maybe you had died.” 

Shane groaned again and ran a hand over his face, thumb putting pressure on his temple like he had a headache.

“God, I’m sorry, I didn’t think I’d be out so long. You must be bored,” he lamented, sighing and pushing his cheek into Ilya’s chest. He sniffled and rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand. 

Ilya smiled and hugged him tight. 

“Is okay. I was tired after the flight, I took a nap with you.”

Shane sighed and deflated. “Okay. Good.” He sniffled and turned away to cough into the crook of his arm, far away from Ilya. As if that would make a difference at this point. 

Shane looked a little miserable already, brow pinched, mouth in a tiny little frown, nose pink and sniffly. Ilya thought he kind of looked like a pitiful kitten, brown eyes big and watery, hair a mess, pout on his lips. And, like a pitiful kitten, he clung to Ilya like he might not make it otherwise. It always amazed Ilya that all six feet and 180 some-odd pounds of his boyfriend was able to look so small and kissable. 

So, of course, Ilya leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Shane sighed with content and wriggled closer.

“You’re very adorable,” Ilya murmured, so very fond. 

“Mmph. I don’t feel adorable,” Shane mumbled, following it up with a soupy sniffle as if to prove his point. His face was scrunched up in some mixture of disagreement and discomfort, eyes barely open. 

“No, is adorable. You are like a baby animal, so cuddly and sleepy and sweet.” Shane groaned and rolled over to hide his face in the back of the couch, but Ilya could see from his ears that he was blushing. Ilya laughed and continued, “Now is my little kotonok hungry now? I am starving.” 

Shane rolled back over to face him, sighing. “Not really, but I probably need to eat.” 

He slowly peeled himself off of Ilya and sat up on the couch, reaching for the box of tissues on the coffee table. He took one and sheepishly turned away, blowing his nose as quietly as possible. It wasn’t as effective as it should have been, leaving him still sniffly and pink-cheeked, desperately avoiding eye contact. 

Ilya patted him on the thigh and got up to look in the fridge, giving Shane a moment to clean himself up in private. It was endearing to Ilya how Shane still managed to get embarrassed at such mundane things. Ilya understood to a degree, as anyone would after growing up with his father, but he did not feel ashamed about most bodily functions around Shane. 

Still, it was cute. 

It was very quickly apparent there wasn’t much to work with in the fridge in terms of sick people food. It was stocked full of vegetables and healthy lean protein and even more vegetables on top of that. 

Ilya groaned and dug through to the back of the fridge, calling over his shoulder to Shane. “You eat like insane person. The insides of this fridge are a disgrace to all kitchens.” 

He turned at the sound of footsteps to see Shane trailing in sleepily, affronted frown on his face. 

“Shut up. I eat healthy. It’s better than the shit you eat,” Shane grumbled, coming to stand beside his boyfriend to peer into the fridge. 

“I am ordering more groceries, there is no food for sick people in here. I know it is not diet-approved but I will make you some borsht later, yes?“ Ilya said, rummaging around and pulling a few things out of the fridge. 

Ilya expected Shane to deny, to interrogate him about the ingredients, to ask for changes here and there to cut back on carbs or fat or whatever. But he just nodded, sniffling, keeping his eyes away from Ilya’s. He still looked sheepish, embarrassed about something. Being sick, maybe. Ilya kissed the side of his head and shooed him over to a stool.

“Sit, I will make us sandwiches. I will make yours with gluten-free bread and everything. Does that sound good? Okay for your throat?” 

Shane settled onto the stool, leaning onto the counter, nodding in agreement. “Sounds great, thank you.” 

They talked idly while Ilya put everything together, sliding a cold can of ginger ale for Shane to drink while he waited. Ilya plated everything, cut the sandwiches into neat triangles, and hopped into the seat next to his boyfriend with a can of coke. They ate, talked, laughed. Ilya told him about his trip, stupid shit his teammates said, chirps towards players from his last game. Shane let Ilya talk as he ate slowly, stopping now and then to cough softly or pull a tissue from his pocket and dab at his pink nose. 

Once they had finished eating, Ilya took their plates to the sink and began washing them. He looked up at the quiet sound of Shane’s breath catching. Ilya watched as his nose twitched, eyes blinking several times in rapid succession. Memorizing every micro-expression. Noticing how similar they were to the ones he made during sex. The way his eyebrows pulled together, floating up and up and up, lips beginning to part. Shane’s chest shuddered with a few near-silent hitches before his expression scrunched up. He turned to the side, ducking away from Ilya and into his elbow. 

“Hih… hehH-hTDSH! Hih-iITChiew! ETshoo!”

Shane pulled away from his elbow slowly, immediately bringing up the tissue from his pocket to pinch and swipe at the moisture left behind. His cheeks were pink, and he was definitely still avoiding eye contact. 

“Bud'te zdorovy. Did that feel good?” Ilya teased, finishing with the plates and drying his hands on a nearby towel. Shane’s blush deepened as he brought his eyes up to Ilya’s to glare. 

Ilya could see the panicked arousal behind it.

“Is it possible for you to not be an asshole right now?” Shane scowled and busied himself with shoving the tissue back into his hoodie pocket. Ilya did feel a little bad for teasing - Shane’s voice was going rough and he was getting more sniffly by the minute. But also he was blushing, so maybe Ilya didn’t feel too bad. 

“I thought you were very fond of assholes the last time I had you bent over and-" Ilya was cut off as Shane groaned loudly into his hands, ears red. 

He was so much more reactive than usual, so much more affected. Maybe because he was trying not to share his germs, Ilya thought, trying to make it seem like he didn’t want. Usually by now Shane be all over him. But either way Ilya was going to make sure his boyfriend was well taken care of, in more ways than one. 

Ilya just chuckled and made his way to the bedroom, tugging Shane along with him. 

“Come, it’s time for more medicine, yes? I will stop teasing you.” 

“I don’t believe you,” Shane grumbled, which was a fair point, but he followed anyway. 

Ilya stepped into the en-suite, pulling open the medicine cabinet. Shane followed in after, sniffling and clearing his throat as he leaned against the counter. He still seemed shy, sheepish. 

“What have you taken?” Ilya asked, opening the bathroom cabinet to rummage through the medicine shelf. Thankfully, this was Shane’s cottage, so he was stocked up with absolutely fucking everything. Ilya’s place wouldn’t have had nearly as fruitful findings. 

“Just some Advil earlier.”

Ilya pulled out a thermometer, capsules of DayQuil, name brand decongests, and a large bottle of ibuprofen. He then ducked down to rummage under the sink for a new box of tissues. He rose and dumped his findings on the bathroom counter. 

“It is your nose that is giving you the most trouble, yes?” Ilya asked, choosing to talk about Shane’s nose just because he could, because it was the easiest tease in the world, because it always got Shane so worked up so fast. His cute shy boyfriend with his cute horny sneezes. 

The current circumstances were technically uncharted territory as this is his first time experiencing Shane with a cold, so Ilya continuously kept an eye on his body language. And by his findings it looked like Shane was battling to keep his restraint intact. Ilya watched hungrily as the question registered, then promptly choked him until he could gather back his bearings. Shane blinked twice, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and brought a hand up to tug at his earlobe nervously. His face was still pink, eyes absolutely anywhere but on Ilya. 

“Um— uh, yeah,”Shane choked out after a brief moment of obvious internal struggle.

Ilya frowned at him, feigning ignorance. 

“You look flushed, lubimyy, do you have a fever?” 

“I don’t think so,” he replied. Ilya stepped closer into his boyfriend’s space, cupping Shane’s cheek with one hand and lighting up with desire as he watched the blush there darken. 

“It is okay if you are feeling bad. I want to take care of you,” Ilya said, aiming for earnest and caring and much less horny than he actually felt. He wanted to get to the root of whatever was working Shane up so much, wring it out with his bare hands until the answer was at his feet. 

“I’m. Uh, I’m okay,” Shane said, still struggling to maintain eye contact. He sniffled again, sound wet and thick, and it made him wince. Shane dabbed at his rapidly-reddening nose with the tissue from his pocket, too embarrassed to blow. 

“Let’s check just in case.”Ilya drops the hand from Shane’s face to pop the plastic cap off of the thermometer, shaking it. “You know how to do this part - open.” 

Shane did as he was told, letting Ilya slip the thermometer under his tongue before the words really registered. Ilya saw the moment they did as Shane froze, eyes finally snapping up to meet Ilya’s. His eyes were the perfect deep brown they always were, gaze that familiar curious mix of anger and embarrassment and lust. 

Ilya patted his cheek. 

“Good boy. You always look pretty with something in your mouth,” Ilya purred. Even under the circumstances it was true. Shane looked unbearably lovely even in the midst of a cold - cheeks gently flushed, nose red and twitchy, freckles prominent. His brown eyes were ever so slightly glassy, much like they were when he was sex drunk and sated. 

Ilya saw the moment Shane was about to open his mouth and yell at him a little, so he put a finger to the underside of Shane’s chin, firmly holding his jaw shut with the pad of his finger. Shane could have easily fought it, but his lips stayed sealed, bowing to the faintest pressure. 

“Ah-ah. No talking. We need your temperature.” Ilya continued to look him directly in the eye, still holding his chin so Shane couldn’t tilt his head away. Shane’s face was flushed with embarrassment, but his eyes betrayed him. His pupils were blown wide, a longing look of lust seeping through the seams of his expression. 

They both knew he didn’t have a fever but they played along anyway just for the sake of the game. Ilya was aware Shane knew he was just playing this shit up, but Shane let him anyways. He was malleable and perfect like he always was when Ilya laid it on this heavy. 

Then suddenly, Shane’s eyes fluttered shut. Ilya thought that maybe he was lost in the pleasure of the moment, about to finally give in and reach out and take, but then his breath hitched. 

Oh, Ilya thought. 

Ilya caught Shane’s arm as he brought it up to rub at his nose, lowering it back down to his side. No touching unless I say so, it said. Shane’s eyes snapped open, still squinty and itchy, giving Ilya a questioning glare. The thermometer still poked out from between his pouting lips. 

“Don’t sneeze. We will have to start all over. You can hold it back for me, lubimyy.”

The command landed as they always did. Shane shuddered, eyes squeezing shut again as his brows knitted in concentration, all confusion and frustration replaced by focus. He kept his mouth firmly shut, breathing slowly through his nose only to be interrupted by a hitch in his breath. He scrunched and wiggled his nose, chest rising and falling with each scissoring breath. Shane clenched his jaw, blinking furiously as irritated tears gathered at his lash line. 

There was a second that Ilya thought Shane might loose it, teetering on the very edge of a sneeze - his chest swelled high and stayed there, eyebrows pinched upwards, head tilted back and giving Ilya a perfect view of damp, flaring nostrils.  

But, after a few wavering moments, the urge passed. Shane blinked his eyes open slowly to meet Ilya’s, glassy and teary, still with the thermometer under his tongue. He shifted his weight, bulge now obvious in those grey sweatpants that always drove Ilya fucking insane. Ilya held Shane pinned with his gaze for a couple of long seconds before he leaned forward to whisper directly into Shane’s ear. 

“Good.” 

Shane let out the quietest shaky breath through his nose, eyes rolling up and slipping shut like one word alone was too arousing to handle. Ilya ran a feather-light touch over Shane’s clothed dick just to watch him shiver. 

The thermometer, finally finished with its reading, beeped and flashed numbers on the small digital screen. Ilya stepped back and plucked it from Shane’s lips, not missing as Shane chased his touch with his hips, making a soft noise of protest. 

“Ugh, fuck you,” Shane grumbled, sniffling and rubbing at his nose with the tissue from his pocket. Ilya was unsure which part of the last two minutes he was being cursed at for specifically. 

To Ilya’s surprise, Shane did actually have a low-grade fever: 99.8. He flipped the instrument around to show his boyfriend the reading. 

“You’re warm. Will be a fever later, maybe. We will keep an eye on it,” Ilya purred, setting the thermometer aside and cupping a hand to Shane’s cheek to feel the warmth there. 

Shane was about to respond when his breath caught on a huge inhale, sudden and aggressive. He barely had time to bring up his elbow before he was sneezing harshly. 

“Hah-hiITCHiew! HiINGTShu-hDTCH-ADTChoo! Hih-INGTSHIEW!” 

Shane stayed tucked into his elbow, panting and blinking away the moisture in his eyes. Ilya was a little bit shocked - he had never in his life heard Shane sneeze like that. It was fittish like how it was when he was aroused, but also heavy, harsh, and visibly uncontrollable. Shane’s head had jerked forward with each one, pulled down again and again with the force of the fit. He had to cough several times after like the congestion had shifted wrong and choked him. 

Ilya quickly pulled a handful of tissues out of the new box and pressed them into Shane’s free hand. He quickly brought them up to his nose, still hiding in the crook of his arm. 

“‘Scuse mbe, sorry. Thangk you.” Shane’s voice came out clogged and hoarse and once again, embarrassed. He avoided Ilya’s eyes as he cleaned up and tossed the evidence into the bathroom trash. He started to cough again and ducked back into the crook of his elbow. As if that would save Ilya from the germs he had already kissed right from Shane’s mouth.  

The giveaway that Shane was still enjoying it all was the straining fabric of his sweatpants. Ilya was a little surprised at that - if anyone was a big enough horndog to want to fuck while unwell it was himself. But Shane still looked painfully riled up. Even despite the mess and the sore throat and the headache and the sneezing. If Ilya could have taken a guess before, he would’ve thought Shane would be uptight, overstimulated, and cranky when he was sick. But so far he’s turned out to be needy and panting and pliant, and Ilya is absolutely not complaining. 

Shane was so turned on, and Ilya wanted to get him so desperate that Shane finally broke and went for it, took it with his own two hands for his own pleasure, his own want. 

“Oh, lubimyy, you really don’t feel good do you? Bud'te zdorovy, I have never heard you sneeze like that before. My poor malysh. Someone needs to take care of you, yes?” Ilya brought his hands from Shane’s shoulders, sliding down to his hands, passing over the backs of them to rest on his hips where he rubbed slow, slow circles with his thumbs, arching ever closer to where Shane clearly wanted touch the most. 

Shane’s breath caught as he shuddered. He didn’t speak, currently too overwhelmed for words. 

Ilya wanted him to say it anyway. 

“Yes? Is what you want?” 

Shane nodded, eyes hazy. 

“Tell me,” Ilya purred, thumbs still rubbing circles in the divots of his boyfriend’s hips. 

“I wandt you to take care of mbe,” Shane said, voice hoarse and wavering, increasingly clogged with congestion. Ilya felt through the stretch of fabric under his fingers as Shane’s dick twitched. 

It was then Ilya began to figure out where this heady, needy arousal of Shane’s was coming from. 

“Yes? Because you’re feeling bad? Tell me why.” 

Shane noded again, eager, waiting for Ilya to touch him, to kiss him, to do something. 

“I… I wandt you to mbake mbe feel better. Mbake mbe forget. Take care of mbe. Please,” Shane said, voice wavering and nearing a whine. He was panting now, staring blatantly at Ilya’s mouth. His face was beautifully flushed, eyes wanting and glassy, expression so painfully longing that Ilya wished he could take a picture of this moment to have it forever. To sear into his memory. 

Ilya, still holding him by the hips, leaned in and kissed Shane with an open mouth. Shane sighed into it, eyes fluttering shut as he tilted his head for best access to Ilya’s lips. Their noses brushed, and Ilya was surprised to find he didn’t mind the transfer of moisture that occurred as a result. Not when Shane was gasping into his mouth, unable to breathe through his nose but still desperate to kiss. It was like Shane was starving for it, for the feeling of Ilya’s tongue in his mouth, oxygen deprivation be damned. He was puffing breath into Ilya’s mouth, panting, yet still ravenous with his intensity.

When Ilya broke away to give him a fucking chance to breathe, Shane chased him with his mouth, making a low displeased noise in his throat. His eyes were dark and hungry, covered by a glassy, watery sheen. 

“Fugck, Ilya, cobe on,” Shane whined, still short of breath, almost more worked up and desperate than Ilya had ever seen him. He sniffled thickly and ran a hand under his now-red nose, too distracted to care about how gross he usually found it and that tissues were literally within his reach. On top of all of that, he had a slight wobble to him like he was dizzy. 

“You can’t breathe, milyy, you need to blow your nose,” Ilya replied, hands roaming up and down his boyfriend’s ribs. 

Shane visibly reddened all the way down to his neck. If Ilya looked, it would probably be deliciously spread over his chest. In Ilya’s peripheral vision, he saw Shane’s dick twitch again. Proof that he was on the right track whether Shane would verbally tell him that or not. 

Still making eye contact, Ilya reached over and drew a few tissues from the box. Shane reached for them but Ilya pulled back, making a tutting sound 

“I am taking care of you, remember? This is for me to do.” 

Shane visibly struggled for a second, embarrassment beginning to creep back in, but it was stopped by a furrow in his brow and a twitch of his nose. He hitched, expression tortured and itchy, gearing up for however many sneezes his body decided was enough to express his arousal. He loved Shane’s little fits. They were like music to his ears, visual and auditory proof that Ilya was turning him on just right. 

“Hah- Ilyaahh, I-,” 

Ilya reached out and cupped the tissues around his nose. Shane’s hands flew up to meet them, clamping Ilya’s hand firmly in place. 

“HiISHIEW! HihH-hDTCH-ahISHIEW-ITCHoo! HahH-ADTCHOO!”

Shane sneezed harshly, over and over again, breath warm and damp against Ilya’s palm. The tissues flooded with warmth as the expulsions forced the congestion to shift and loosen and expel itself. He finished the fit with a noise between a groan and a whine, equal parts relief, mortification, and arousal. 

“Bud'te zdorovy,” Ilya purred, pinching the mess away from Shane’s nose with one hand while the other plucked a few more tissues from the box. Shane’s hands slowly withdrew from his face as he let Ilya do the work, face beautifully flushed. Ilya was quick to tent the fresh tissues against Shane’s nose, holding them tightly in place. “Now blow.” 

Shane for a second looked like he would protest, but something in Ilya’s expression stilled it. Instead he took a trembling inhale and blew, a couple hours worth of congestion flooding outward into the folds of the soft paper, warm against the pads of Ilya’s fingers. While Ilya clearly understood this was foreplay (Was it weird? Yes. Did he really give a shit? No.), it also felt sweetly intimate and trusting. Like a skittish kitten eating out of your hand. Or something. Maybe Shane just always reminded him of a kitten. 

Ilya had him blow one more time before cleaning him up, murmuring sweet praise into his ear while he did so. Shane looked so fucking blissed out it was insane and Ilya wanted to swallow him whole. 

Thankfully, it did seem like he could breathe a little better after blowing, which made Ilya feel better about accidentally suffocating his boyfriend during a makeout. Ilya nuzzled into Shane’s collarbone, gently teething on the skin there. Shane shivered and swayed, fingers tightening on Ilya’s shoulders as he moved in for another kiss.  

“You should be lying down,” Ilya breathed into his mouth, kissing him and walking Shane out of the bathroom and towards the bed, pulling their shirts off as they went. Shane fell back on the bed once the back of his knees hit the edge of it, propped up on his elbows and looking up at Ilya through his lashes with dark, glassy eyes. He was breathing hard, chest heaving, and nose beautifully red. 

Ilya went for the drawstring of his boyfriend’s sweats with fast, nimble fingers, tugging them down and off in a single practiced motion. Shane shivered as Ilya ran his fingers up his thighs and to the seam of his boxers, throwing his head back and exposing his neck. 

“You have been so reactive to me. So tense, so nervous. But I can see that you like it. I told you, I can always tell when you want,” Ilya said lowly, leaning down to mouth at the skin of Shane’s inner thigh. Shane trembled, sighing, twisting the bedsheets with tight fists at his sides. “You just want someone to take care of you, yes? Fuck the cold out of you?” 

The man beneath him groaned at that, dick twitching in his boxers. And the next moment Shane was sneezing again, gasping once and twisting to the side.

“Hih…hihH-INGTSHiew, ihHITCHuu, hah-ADTCHiew! Ngh, fugck, sngff, Ilya blease-”

Ilya watched, mouth watering as his boyfriend’s abs contracted and released over and over. With the next breath he was begging, panting, sniffling thickly, pulling Ilya closer by hooking his heels around Ilya’s ass and tugging. 

Ilya chuckled and kissed a line up Shane’s throat. 

“Oh, I know that sound. So eager even when you don’t feel good.” Ilya pulled back to look Shane in the eye for a second, savoring the tension and want in his boyfriend’s gaze. His nose was running already, eyes dark, embarrassed flush blooming down his neck at the intense attention. He sniffled thickly then turned to cough into his wrist. Ilya ran his hands over Shane’s ribs. “My poor Shanya, you are so sick.” 

Shane made a keening noise in his throat, reaching up and pulling Ilya down for the neck to mash their mouths together.

Soon enough Ilya had Shane on his back in the middle of the bed, the both of them naked, kissing a line down Shane’s body until he reached his groin, dick straining and untouched. Like the rest of him, it was flushed red. Precome gleamed at the tip. Ilya licked a slow, sensual stripe up his cock before swallowing it to the base in one smooth slide. 

Shane moaned loudly and tried not to writhe, both hands balled into fists in Ilya’s hair. His voice was fully hoarse now, but that didn’t seem to be interfering with his need to be vocal. Ilya took the opportunity and reached up to put his fingers in Shane’s mouth. Shane groaned and sucked on the digits dutifully, coating them with saliva. Ilya focused back on the cock in his mouth, bobbing his head and laving his tongue along the underside of it, pausing to suck at the tip with each slide. He was startled out of his rhythm when Shane caught him by he wrist and tore Ilya’s fingers from his mouth, grip tight and desperate. But then he was gasping, twisting to the side and - 

“Fu-uhhck, Ilya, I- INGtshiew, hDTCH-ahINGTSH-idtSHIEW, ahITSHIEW! Hih-hiISHIEWW!”

Shane’s dick thrusted into Ilya’s mouth with each sneeze, fingers tightening on Ilya’s wrist in time with the expulsions. Ilya stilled and relaxed his throat, feeling as the sneezes forced Shane to fuck forward into his throat again and again. Shane had never let Ilya do this before, too afraid of being rough and choking him. He had this irrational fear he’d make Ilya throw up... as if Shane could be rough enough cause anything other than a ghost of a gag. Ilya groaned at the sensation, eyes rolling back into his skull. Fuck this was hot. He couldn’t believe a cold is what got Shane to finally fuck his face. 

He didn’t give Shane a chance to think about it too hard though, quickly taking his slicked fingers to work his boyfriend open at the conclusion of the fit. Shane was clearly in no mood to wait - as soon as Ilya’s fingers were inside him he was groaning and squirming and pulling at Ilya’s hair, murmuring fever-drunk pleas all the while. 

Ilya was never one to say no to him. 

Ilya pulled Shane closer by the thighs, reaching up and making sure his beautiful head was propped up by a pillow so he at least had a chance at breathing properly. He smoothed a hand down Shane’s chest and stomach, admiring. Shane looked so wrecked already and he had only had a few fingers in his ass. He appeared as though he had already gone a couple rounds, face red, hair a mess, body slick with sweat. Shane’s nose was glistening and he couldn’t go a handful of seconds without sniffing. Ilya put a few tissues to his nose for him to blow, then kissed his forehead. 

Ilya slicked himself up with lube and pushed in slowly, giving time for Shane to adjust. He felt warmer than usual, hot muscle tight around Ilya’s cock. It felt so unbelievably good that he had to stop and breathe for a second one he was fully seated. He was glad he did because seconds later Shane was succumbing to another fit of sneezes, squeezing him tight over and over. 

“Hah! Hah- haAETCHiew, ITCHiew-hDTCH-ahISHIEW-ITCHoo! Hih-ITSH-ISH-ADTCHIew!” 

Shane usually had a fit right when Ilya bottomed out, but just how good and warm and tight his boyfriend’s ass was nearly made him forget. The spray fell cool on his overheated, sweat-slick skin. 

Once he was able to access coherent thought again, Ilya said, “Bud'te zdorovy. So sneezy. Does your nose really like this?”

“Shitd,” Shane whispered, dropping his head back and clenching down on Ilya’s dick as he began to thrust. “Yes.”

Ilya pulled Shane’s legs up over his shoulders for a deeper angle, to which his boyfriend cried out. Ilya kept his pace steady and thorough, hands roaming and groping every bit of flesh they could find - his boyfriend’s stomach, his pecs, his thighs, his ass. Shane shivered underneath his touch, overwhelmed tears gathering in his eyes and rolling in fat drops down his cheeks. Every time Shane had to stop to cough or sniffle it seemed to push himself ever closer to the edge. He was moaning and slurring words in that beautiful congested voice of his. 

Ilya was getting close. The feverish heat of him combined with just the sight of his lover was ruining him forever. Shane was a fucking mess - sweaty and fever flushed, lips dry and mess gleaming on his top lip as he’d stopped caring about appearances some time ago. His eyes were hazy, far-off and glassy, with tears leaking steadily over his cheekbones. 

But Shane had to come first. This wasn’t about him. 

Ilya kept his pace steady, bringing one hand down to wrap around Shane’s dick. Shane’s legs clenched around him. He groaned as Ilya thumbed at the precome-wet slit at the apex of each stroke. Shane was fuck-drunk and lost in it, brow pinched with pleasure, mouth open as he continued to lose his voice around the moaning and incoherent babbling for mbore, yes, blease, Ilya, righdt there.

Shane gasped, breath hitching and catching around his desperate panting, and Ilya knew he was close. 

“Come for me, Shanya. I will take care of you, come for me, good boy, yes, fuck-“

Shane climaxed with a cry, squeezing Ilya tight with his cry. The come on his stomach was immediately joined by the spray of his desperate, aroused fit of sneezes. 

“Ahhng, fuckfuck fuuhHITSHiew, hiISHIEW, iINGTSHoo, ADTCHOO-ETSHIEW-ITCHOO!” 

Ilya wanted to keep going, wanted to fuck Shane through it, but Jesus fucking Christ the way Shane looked and sounded and clenched down on his cock with each sneeze was too much. 

Quickly, he pulled out so Shane didn’t have to clean out, and was coming hard over Shane’s stomach with three quick stokes of his hand. Shane gasped, threw his head back, and snapped forward with another predictable fit. Ilya shuddered with pleasure as his dick was drenched in it. 

“HihH-idSHiew! hiISHIEW! HihH-hDTCH-ahISHIEW-ITCHoo! HahH-ADTCHOO!”

Shane’s face was a mess. His nose was an irritated red, wetness spilling over his cupid’s bow and down his chin. But in the post-coital bliss he didn’t seem to care yet. He was boneless and panting, staring at the come on his stomach and chest with drowsy, leftover arousal. It was unbearably sexy when Ilya made Shane a mess, when he fucked him so good that he didn’t care about the sweat or the come or the spray. That he alone was able to have this, to see this, to make this happen. That he was able to get Shane so fucked out that he didn’t care if he sneezed all over himself or all over Ilya. He cherished the fact that he was the only one who knew how much Shane Hollander liked to be covered in come and sweat, disheveled and messy. 

“Fuck,” Ilya breathed. It felt extremely well-spoken all things considered. 

“Yeah,” Shane agreed, just as out of breath. “Fuck.”

Ilya sat back on his heels on the bed and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. “So,” he started. “You will catch a cold again soon, right?” 

Shane burst into surprised, hoarse laughter and Ilya thought it was maybe the sweetest sound he had heard all day. 

…

After Ilya had cleaned Shane up with a warm cloth and fed him a handful of various medicines from the discarded pile in the bathroom, he pulled Shane on top of him for a cuddle before he began to insist on a shower. Shane sounded a lot less congested after the sex and multiple rounds of blowing his nose. Ilya filed this away for later when he eventually caught this - oh Shane, a blowjob would make my nose feel better, don’t you think? But for the moment he was just content to hold his boyfriend and run a hand through his damp hair. His skin seemed to be more sensitive than usual so Ilya kept the pressure firm until Shane stopped squirming at every touch. He still had a bit of a cough and his voice was definitely going out, but Shane didn’t seem to be too bothered by it. 

“So,” Ilya said, “Will we talk about this now or later?” 

Shane groaned and turned red, burying his face between Ilya’s pecs. 

“Never,” he groaned. 

Ilya chuckled. 

“Later, then. I have never seen you so worked up, lyubov.” 

“This is so embarrassing,” Shane replied, still hiding his face.

Ilya rolled them over so they were both lying on their sides, nose to nose. Ilya kissed the freckles on his face, then his eyelids, then his nose until Shane was relaxed and giggling. 

“Never. You are the hottest man alive and it isn’t fair you kept this kind of sex from me.” 

Shane laughed. “It’s not like I meant to. This is like, our first time really together when I…” He gestured vaguely - he couldn’t get himself to finish the sentence. 

“Have a cold? You are very sweet and needy when you’re sick, it’s very nice. I thought you would be a big asshole.”

“Hey!” Shane punched his arm. “I’m never an asshole. You’re the asshole.” 

“Shane Hollander, that is a lie. You and me are the same amount of asshole,” Ilya said, grabbing Shane and rolling on top of him, trying to tickle his sides. 

Shane groaned and tried to push him off. “Ew, Ilya, you’re so sweaty. We need to shower.” “You did not care about this five minutes ago.” 

“Well five minutes ago you had my dick in your hand. Things have changed.” 

Ilya waggled his eyebrows, smirk pulling at his lips. “That can be arranged.”

[indulgnc]

a scolding tug on your pet’s leash whenever they fail to stifle a sneeze (you told them to be good and stay quiet…)

[feverfcking]

ok so I definitely have some mutuals or followers who have my main blocked (which is fair it’s not a snz blog) BUT if you’re interacting with me and I’m not doing anything back there’s a chance you have my main @blakehttp blocked!

just wanted to say sorry guys that’s me

[feverfcking]

really messed up I haven’t caught a cold this year. is it really so hard to find someone to cough in my mouth

[feverfcking]

wav coming soon + second part to my h/ollanov fic as well so keep ur eyes peeled!!

[sneezegasm]

Consider a dogboy who is a scent tracker. A sniffer dog. And he is given the task of tracking down a person by their perfume, which he is allergic to. So he keeps sneezing while he's tracking the scent, but he knows he's following the right trail when he starts to sneeze more

And then when he finds the missing person he has his nose taken care of for him

[feverfcking]

I was going through some boxes in my room today and everything was covered in dust and cat hair. I’m not allergic to either but so much of it was in the air it made my entire face and nose so so so itchy

[rozsnz]

just thought about shane smoking 🍃 for the first time with ilya & finding out that he's allergic to it

[confessional-secrets]

When someone with a freckled face scrunches up their nose pre-sneeze and the freckles shift with the movement…