28 / bisexual / she/her Ask box is always open, I take writing and rp requests. I don't write smut....
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âŒïžKind of gross, so you have been warned. CW: mess.âŒïž
Obsessed lately with the idea of someone using another persons clothes as a tissue.
I bring this up because I've had this idea of Shane who's sick, a bit of a mess, and has run out of tissues, so he's a bit desperate.
Breath fluttering because he's been fighting the urge to sneeze for the past few minutes, knowing it's going to be messy; he's losing fast, though. He's frantically pawing around for something, anything to sneeze into, snagging a t-shirt off his floor, bringing it up just in time for him to sneeze into it.
Shane snuffles thickly in the aftermath, cringing at the noise it makes, maybe reflexively blowing his nose into the fabric. Then he realizes something.
This isn't his t-shirt.
Of course it isn't he should of realized the second he plucked it off the floor, since all his shirts are neatly tucked away in the laundry basket.
Which means it can only be Ilya's, and Shane's face just flushes bright red, a little mortified for a moment, but then again...it's not like Ilya's actually here.
He can wash it still, and it's not like Ilya has to know Shane sneezed on his shirt. So Shane just uses that as justification to continue using it, because he's too tired to get up to find more tissues.
When Hollanov is both down with the same cold and they run out of tissues Ilya cheekily suggests that instead of tissues they use each other.
Shane insists that itâs gross and unsanitary but Ilya can tell by the look in Shaneâs eye that heâs not as entirely opposed to this suggestion as heâs acting. đ
âŒïžKind of gross, so you have been warned. CW: mess.âŒïž
Obsessed lately with the idea of someone using another persons clothes as a tissue.
I bring this up because I've had this idea of Shane who's sick, a bit of a mess, and has run out of tissues, so he's a bit desperate.
Breath fluttering because he's been fighting the urge to sneeze for the past few minutes, knowing it's going to be messy; he's losing fast, though. He's frantically pawing around for something, anything to sneeze into, snagging a t-shirt off his floor, bringing it up just in time for him to sneeze into it.
Shane snuffles thickly in the aftermath, cringing at the noise it makes, maybe reflexively blowing his nose into the fabric. Then he realizes something.
This isn't his t-shirt.
Of course it isn't he should of realized the second he plucked it off the floor, since all his shirts are neatly tucked away in the laundry basket.
Which means it can only be Ilya's, and Shane's face just flushes bright red, a little mortified for a moment, but then again...it's not like Ilya's actually here.
He can wash it still, and it's not like Ilya has to know Shane sneezed on his shirt. So Shane just uses that as justification to continue using it, because he's too tired to get up to find more tissues.
ok, sooo I have been writing this one on and off since like february, as my lil self-indulgent background piece, and I thought it should finally see the light of day. it's very overtly snzkink s/hane, especially the second part, so if that's not your vibe, I would maybe skip these (lol skip). I wanted to play with the whole text based relationship thing, and I originally wrote out a lot more of i/lya's update texts but then cut them bc it was kinda tedious to read, by which I mean I actually fell asleep proofreading it. anywayyy, here's part one.
I hope you enjoy! âĄ
fandom: h/eated r/ivalry
word count: 5.1k
cw: sneezing, snz kink, general illness, mentions of contagion
Shane ran his thumb back and forth across the bottom of his phone, staring at Ilya's contact, debating calling. He had only a few minutes before he'd need to head into the arena for the game and he would really like his anxiety level by then to be about half of what it was now.
When they'd spoken last night, Ilya had mentioned having a pretty bad headache, half his face scrunched up against the dim light of the lamp he seemed to have turned on only to talk to Shane, two fingers rubbing incessantly at his temples. He'd been sniffly too, although he was almost always at least a little sniffly, and it hadn't taken either of them very long to connect the dots to a flu that was making the rounds in their conference, principally because of the fact that a good quarter of the Centaurs were currently out with it.
So the fact that Shane couldn't get him to reply to a text currently was more than a little worrying. The last three texts he'd sent- âIlya. Ilyaa. ILYA.â- had been more than 30 minutes ago, and the blond hadn't so much as read them.
Shane glanced over his shoulder into the back of the car, checking he had everything he'd need this evening. Nope, clearly he didn't because there wasn't a gorgeous blond Russian man curled up asleep there. Not that heâd feel particularly good about leaving his probably sick boyfriend in the fucking car while he amused himself on the ice for a few hours. Which is what this game would be, amus-
The phone buzzing in his hand came as such a shock that he almost dropped it, head whipping back to the device to read the notification.
LILY: whatttttt
LILY: I am alive
He sighed in relief, double checking the time before typing out a quick response.
YOU: Ok good. Stay that way. I love you. Keep me updated on how youâre doing, please.
And then with a click, the phone was off, and he was hopping out of the car to grab his bags, the pre-game adrenaline already starting to flood into his system. Kit? Check. Boyfriend? Alive. Win? Incoming.
âŠ
He didnât get a chance to check his phone again until after warm-ups, having been the mostly unwilling mediator in a stupidly heated debate about if it would be better to be reincarnated as a hockey puck or a stick. These guys seriously had too many concussions under their belts.
Despite the extended departure from his phone, it hadnât been that long, and Shane was borderline alarmed to find he had more text messages than his lock screen would provide a specific number for, having resorted to a simple â10+â.
He unlocked the device, scrolling through to see a plethora of short messages from Ilya.
LILY: i love you toooo
LILY: update- doing ok
LILY: update- still doing ok
LILY: update- drinking water
LILY: update-lost fucking tv remotw
LILY: update- found
And so on. For over 30 messages. Some of them Shane couldnât decipher however, either due to misspellings or Romanized versions of Russian words that he couldnât quite translate. One however, appeared many times over.
LILY: update- chikh
LILY: update- stolko chikhhhh
Shane frowned.
YOU: Iâm glad youâre okay. What is âchikhâ?
Ilya read the text immediately.
LILY: timing is crazy. you are psychic?
LILY: is like spxhhi
What the fuck did that mean?
âHollander! Heâs making the stupid tape point again, you gotta come tell him heâs wrong!â Fuck.
With an anxious glance back to the still bouncing âtypingâ bubbles, Shane tossed his phone back into his stall and returned to his captain duties.
âŠ
He hadnât had a spare second to consider what the last messages had meant in the whole of the first period, their opponents coming out strong and not letting up the entire time. A stupid fight had left them shorthanded, and Shane was so focused on not letting the disadvantage tip the score, that heâd forgotten all about his boyfriendâs âconditionâ until he was lining up for a face off, flying high off the relief of a goal.
His stick clicked against the ice, and he kept his eyes down, uninterested in meeting the opposing centerâs fiery hot gaze. Before the puck could drop, he heard Hayden, off to his left, say, âThe fuck are you doing, dude?â, and then a sound that snapped his attention across to the wing.
âhEhâŠKkf- hUhTNGKk! hhUhâŠhHTNGXhoo!â
It seemed that the illness that had the Centaurs flat on their backs was also running rife through the Raiders. So it would have gotten Ilya even if he hadnât move- Oh, fuck, Ilya! He was watching, probably, although how much of the actual game he was taking in with the distraction of his symptoms was anyoneâs guess. And the symptoms themselves, echoing through his empty house, no one to acknowledge them, acknowledge him⊠it was a tragic mental image. Or at least that was what he was forcing himself to think. Because heâd give anything to be a fly on the wall in that house right about-
Head still tilted to the left, eyes distant, stick hovering nowhere particularly useful, Shane, unsurprisingly lost the face-off. Fucking-
He turned fast, sharp, anger and embarrassment creating a flush high on his cheeks, ready to give chase. Thankfully, the defense had closed ranks behind him, and, with their right winger still flagging, Boston had lost possession.
After thirty seconds of what was essentially just keep-away, and Shane glaring hard at the puck, and the players around him, and trying to stay focused, he was heading back to the bench, turning to Hayden as they sat down, seeing the frown on the wingerâs face.
âSorry.â He muttered.
âHuh?â Pike looked like heâd been pulled from deep thought, âFor what?â
âI fucked up the puck drop.â He confessed, shocked that the alternate captain hadnât already picked him up on it.
Hayden reached for the nearest bottle, skying the liquid into his mouth as he stared absently at the jumbotron, swallowing before responding, âItâs no big deal, we canât win âem all, right?â
ââŠright.â He doubted that heâd take the same attitude to the game itself, so he needed to get it together. They all did. For the love of fuck, Coach had better yell some sense into them at intermission, or theyâd be losing to a team of invalids who would probably pass along this flu for their trouble.
âŠ
Trudging into the locker room at what barely remained a 1-1 draw, Shane felt his heart rate pick up, knowing heâd get to answer those questions that had been building up in his mind ever since heâd lost half his focus to his boyfriend just over halfway through the period. Nowhere near the ice and still stealing his attention. Remind him not to tell Ilya that when he saw him.
âHe literally sneezed like, right in my face, I mean, can you believe that?â Hayden was still complaining as they made it to their stalls.
âYeah- or, no, thatâs wild.â The captain was more focused on retrieving his phone and checking for updates, stripping off the unnecessary layers one handed as he unlocked it.
âI think that counts as biological warfare, for real. I hate that dude. I think Iâm starting to get the way you feel about Rozanov.â
âWhat?â He looked up, having been just about to click on the aforementioned playerâs contact when his name was voiced.
Pike looked slightly taken aback by the speed with which heâd met his eyes. Well, he wasnât exactly known for his love of eye contact at the best of times. He actually couldnât remember the last time heâd looked into Haydenâs. âIâm just saying, who does that? Like yeah, he looked really pathetic about it afterwards, but like, cover your face, man. I almost feel sorry for him, but instead itâs just like pureâŠhatred.â
âYeah.â You keep telling yourself that, buddy.
As Hayden considered his âhateâ for the opposing winger more quietly, Shane finally opened the message thread, and started back up where heâd left off.
LILY: I type wrong
LILY: still chikh
LILY: can not see
LILY: *apchhi
LILY: apchhi! apchhi! you know?
LILY: you know bc I do all fucking summer
Shaneâs eyes went wide.
âYou okay, man?â Hayden nudged him, lightly, but Shane almost dropped his phone all the same.
âYeah, I- sorry, I have to take a call.â He headed out into the hallway, eyes skimming back over the messages. No way Ilya wasâŠlive texting him his fucking sneezes?
âŠ
It had taken him a good minute to get his breathing under control enough to hit call on the contact and even as it rang, he found himself leaning back against the wall of the corridor to try and stop his head from spinning.
âHello?â Ilyaâs voice was destroyed, so muffled and broken that it sounded like the phone line was bad. Which it wasnât because he could hear the TV playing commercials in perfect clarity in the background.
âHi. I uh, just finished the first period.â He knows that, dumbass, heâs watching the game.
âI know.â
âSome of the stuff you were saying, I couldnât understand it, so I just wanted to call and check youâre okay.â
âI am good. What couldnât you understand?â He broke off to cough throatily away from the receiver.
âThe um-â It was slightly easier, saying it in a different language, if he was saying what he thought he was saying, that was. â-the âchickâ thing?â
âOh, chikh. I explain already, Shane, is like- wait. I will do for you.â
He would fucking WHAT?
There was a snorting sound on the other end of the line, and then some kind of soft tapping noise. Shane waited silently, breath baited.
âhH-here I go-hKk! Kkh! hHKSH! KKh! hKSHuH! hrRSH! HRSHH! hhAHSHhOo!â
âBless you.â He whispered, pressing his back against the wall in the corridor as though he could disappear into it, stomach flipping so intensely he worried it would get caught in his ribs somehow. Why did the idea of Ilya doingâŠthat⊠on purpose make him feel like he was about to pass out?
âThank you. How you not understand, though? I spell it out and everything.â
âYou said âapchiâ. Thatâs not a sneeze.â He hissed. If he framed it like an argument, he could ignore the words coming out of his mouth, right?
âWhat is it in English then?â Ilya sounded less than bothered, vaguely interested but also like his real focus was elsewhere.
Shane clenched his jaw, heartbeat thudding in his ears at the thought of having to verbalise the stupid sound, âItâs like⊠itâs like âachooâ.â He wished for the ground to open up and swallow him.
âWhat? Who the fuck says âa-chooâ? Thatâs stupid.â
âYou literally did five seconds ago.â
âNo, I didnât.â He paused, evidently playing back the sounds heâd just made, in his head before conceding. âIs because I spend so long listening to idiot Americans and Canadians doing this, now I sound like idiot too.â
âFuck off.â Shane pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to get his thoughts and his heartbeat and his dick under control. The idea of the sound of a sneeze being contagious⊠he could only hope Ilya hadnât caught that strangled sounding thing that heâd just heard from their winger. âI have to go now.â
âOkay, I keep you updated.â There was a clear smile in his tone, and it did nothing to help the snowballing panic that was overwhelming the Canadian. Ilya was taking over his fucking brain, and he needed that to play. Not everyone did, clearly, but for him hockey was a mind game, which kind of necessitated showing up with your mind there in your skull and not over a hundred kilometres away with its metaphorical dick out, laser focused on your secret, sickly, so so sexy, boyfriend.
Heâd walked about five steps down the corridor when his ringtone rang out again.
LILY: update- finish tissue box
Oh, god, this was actually going to be the death of him.
âŠ
During one of the previous flu outbreaks in the league, the Metros had started a policy where theyâd take all the players temperatures before they hit the ice; warmup, first period, second, third, like clockwork, and Shane was exceedingly glad that they werenât doing that now- not that theyâd ever actually scratched anyone based on the results- because he was full of a fire that was part anger part lust, and that had beads of sweat rolling down his face before he even had his gear all the way back on.
He considered the feeling while benched between shifts, the furnace-like heat in his chest, making every breath feel hot enough to start melting the ice- he was almost sure he could feel his mouthguard turning soft and pliable between his teeth- and then that tightening feeling slightly higher up than the fire, like a rope being pulled taught, like at the slightest slash of a blade, it would snap. And he wasnât sure what snapping would involve, but it would almost definitely end with him in the penalty box or back in the dressing room, regretting the entire night.
On autopilot, he stood as the receding line approached the bench, vaulting the boards and hunting down the puck, focused, ruthless, ready. He took possession, finding Pike and passing to free himself of the three Raiders whoâd immediately descended upon him the second his skates hit the ice- clearly their intermission speech had involved the instruction âstay on Hollanderâ- trying to find space to receive it back.
Before he could make the pass, Hayden disappeared into a sea of white and gold as the puck got trapped against the boards. Shane joined the mass of players, trying to get eyes on the puck, and his winger, whom he couldnât actually see among the taller Raider players.
Normally heâd leave this stupidity to happen on the other side of the ice, while he found a nice open area, ready to receive or intercept depending on who came out in possession, but right now he could not be left alone with his thoughts for the amount of time that that might take. So here he was.
His thoughts, as he realised belatedly, one weak swipe in the puckâs direction in, did not wait politely outside of the huddle, they clung to him with sharp, spiteful grips, and at the slightest invitation, would most certainly be taking back over his mind. He was surrounded by Raiders, and, right as the group shifted, and his balance was thrown, pressing him against the player to his left, said player sniffled pretty urgently and muttered a curse word in what definitely sounded like Russian. And even though he knew it wasnât Ilya, and he could have turned to stare into the idiotâs face to confirm that, had he so wished, he froze, a shiver running down his spine, mouth going dry and gaze going distant as his mind ran away with him for a moment- Ilya draped over his back like a blanket, sniffling in his ear while he made lunch for the two of them, Ilya trying to speak through his typical early morning fit and cursing his nose out as it interrupted him, Ilya pressed against him in a hotel elevator, heat radiating off of him as he breathed noisily through his mouth, accent tinting each exhale-
The puck was freed. The puck had been freed somewhere close to four full seconds ago, and here Shane still was, staring at his own reflection in the glass, seeing someone entirely different. Once again cursing his own imagination, and his lack of concept of time passing, he spun, barely a millisecond behind the player ahead of him, but several crucial seconds behind the one in possession, opting to sprint rather than bother to push off and try to pick up speed, making it out to center ice just in time to see the flash of a stick and the crack of impact and then be promptly deafened by the goal horn. Fucking great work.
Shane never noticed it before, but the sound effect that played in the Metroâs arena when the opposing team scored had this âdingâ to it that kind of sounded like a phone notification. Like his phone notification. And as he was skating back to the bench, face blank, head down, all he was thinking about was his phone lighting up over and over in his bag in the locker room with notifications of every single development in his boyfriendâs illness. Every cough, every noseblow, every sneeze. He felt like he was visibly flinching every time the sound repeated, because it was definitely making his heart skip a beat each time. How quickly was it possible to become conditioned by a noise? He was pretty sure he had either just broken a record or at the very least tied that dog with the fucking bell. At least the dog actually got its food, while he was just imagining the reward- there was definitely something seriously wrong with getting gratification from your boyfriendâs flu symptoms right?
âHey, gameâs not over yet.â JJ clapped him on the back as he passed by.
In lieu of responding âget your fucking hands off me, Iâm too fucking riled up to deal with this shitâ. Shane nodded silently, following him through the door and slumping down on the bench, pretending not to notice how that impact felt as it jarred through him.
The jumbotron, which heâd glanced up at as a distraction, kindly displayed a shot of the opposing bench, players grinning and banging their sticks against the boards, and on the edge of frame, a player with his head down, apparently emptying his sinuses into a towel, glancing up, massaging his nose, and flushing when he saw himself on the screen.
Shane swallowed dryly, gratefully accepting the water bottle as it came his way and taking several gulps as though it would cleanse him of the endless temptation towards distraction that this game had apparently decided to present.
âŠ
Period two had stayed 2-1, both teams starting to flag slightly, the Raiders, it seemed, out of pure exhaustion, and the Metros falling apart as their first line went to pieces for no apparent reason. Shane had made his way back to the locker room with his head down, not even attempting to offer the rest of the team any words of encouragement, because deep down, he knew he was the problem. Or, one of them at least. Pike was inexplicably all over the place, too, missing passes, and almost falling face first over the boards as he hopped over for one shift, not to mention the attempt to pull Drapeau that had seen the goaltender head halfway to the bench and then immediately have to sprint- or as close as he could get to it- back to the crease to field away a shot.
Shane, against his better instincts, dropped down into his stall and unlocked his phone. Maybe if he could just check what Ilya had said, he wouldnât spend the entire time thinking about it, right? Heâd know for sure, and then he could stop imagining things.
The latest two (or really three) messages, though, stopped him in his tracks.
LILY: Voice message. 00:41
LILY: did not mean send that đ«”
LILY: *đ
What the fuck could be in this voice note? Oh, this was a hundred times worse than just not knowing what the texts said. He wasnât about to pull out his headphones and listen to what very well might be actual fucking audio porn in the middle of the damn locker room. But there was⊠another optionâŠ
Unconsciously gritting his teeth as though the button had a fifty-fifty chance of exploding the entire planet, Shane clicked âview transcriptionâ.
0:05 stop
0:08 [Music]
0:13 harsh
0:14 [Music]
0:15 fight it
0:16 his shoe
0:22 oh wait
0:24 Shane
0:25 I do not mean to do this
0:27 what the fuck is
0:32 okay I donât know what it is doing
0:34 how do I delete
0:36 ha I send you this as update
0:39 so you know what I am doing
0:41 okay love you miss you bye
An accidental voice note, then, so it wouldnât necessarily be tooâŠsalacious. But his eyes were drawn to the notation at 16 seconds, reading it over and over in his mind, considering how it soundedâŠ
âHollz.â The voice in his ear was unexpectedly quiet, and he looked up into Haydenâs wide, focused eyes. âIs everything alright?â
âUh-â Shane struggled to adjust to the conversation, feeling like the untoward thoughts in his brain were visible in his eyes, audible at the close distance, obvious to anyone who even glanced his way. But no one knew. No one knew what this was. What he was. â-yeah.â
âYou sure, bud? You look pretty stricken there, and you have every time youâve touched your phone tonight. Is someone in your family sick or something?â
What a fucking question Hayâ. Yeah, he considered Ilya a part of his family now, even if it wasnât something that he could really declare to anyone beyond the man himself, and his own parents, and yes he was sick, but⊠âItâs kinda complicated.â
âOkay, well you know, if thereâs anything you need, or you wanna talk about itâŠâ
âThanks.â He was standing before heâd even really processed the desire to leave. âIâll be back.â
Hayden nodded, with this disquieting look of âunderstandingâ on his face. Shane grabbed his headphones from his bag and walked quickly towards the door. Heâd made it a single step into the corridor when he heard JJâs voice from behind him,
âWhere the fuck is the capitaine running off to again? We are falling apart here, people!â
And Pikeâs response, âShut the fuck up Boiziau.â
âŠ
Shane was fumbling the earbuds into his ears before heâd even shut the door of the bathroom stall, fingers hovering over the play button the moment heâd realised he was alone, breath coming in embarrassingly urgent little puffs as the various combatant feelings within him swelled to a crescendo, heart thumping so loudly in his ears he wasnât sure heâd be able to hear whatever this turned out to be.
He slammed the bolt across, leaning against the wall and not even bothering to try and calm himself down this time- he had like no time at all before heâd have to be back out there, and he needed every single second of that time for calming himself down AFTER heâd listened to it.
With a final strangled-sounding attempt at a deep breath, his thumb came down on the screen and his ears were filled with static. And then-
âhKk! Kkh! KSH!â Oh this was exactly what heâd hoped and dreaded it would be.
âStop.â Ilya pleaded with, apparently himself, in the recording, to no avail, âhKSH! KSHH! hhih⊠hKSH! hh⊠hhAHSHh! KSH! KXSH! hRSHH! Khvatit. Ple-hihh⊠hhIHSHOo!â
Shane shuddered, the sweat-drenched material of his compression shirt sticking to the tiled wall he was leaning against, almost holding him up. Ilya panted, loud and unrestrained in his ears, catching his breath. The Canadian shut his eyes, imagined the blondâs head pressed against his chest as he recovered, pressed his hand there just to make it feel a tiny bit more real.
âOh, wait.â
He let his hand drop again, pressing his damp palm against the cool tile, trying to regulate his body temperature a little.
âShane?â
The brunet pretended that his heart hadnât just ejected itself from his chest to sit disobediently in his mouth, leaving an aching, unappeasable pit of desire in its place, at the sound of his name. God, he couldnât last another second without him, right now. He couldnât play without him, couldnât live without him, couldnât- apparently he couldnât stand without him either, as his legs crumpled beneath him and he fell to his knees on the floor, eyes opening to stare up into that unyielding gaze, that stony expression that so poorly hid his boyfriendâs adoration for him now that heâd seen it fall so many times, that face, of the man he loved. And he saw only ceiling tiles, harsh lighting, the cold empty walls of the room heâd locked himself in to let down walls of his own. The prison of his own making.
âI do not mean to do this.â Ilya inadvertently apologised for the false hope the audio had given his boyfriend, brow somehow audibly furrowed as his voice got closer to the phone.
âWhat the fuck is-?â He was silent for a moment and then, âOkay, I donât know what it is doing. How do I delete?â
More silence, and then, in stark contrast, giggling. âI send you this as update-â He broke off laughing again, the sound wheezing faintly in his chest as he struggled for breath, â-so you know what I am doing.â His voice was playful, but there was nothing lucid about it.
âOkayyy.â Ilya stretched the word out long, like they were on the phone and he didnât want to be the one to hang up. Shane told himself that the sheen over his eyes was from staring into the ceiling lights, and blinked it away. âLoveyoumissyoubye!â He half-yelled, all as one word, and then there was a slight popping sound and the audio came to an end.
Shane took a shaky breath in, checked how much time he had left, and started to respond.
YOU: Bless you. The voice note was cute, even if it was an accident.
YOU: Do you know if you have a fever?
And then he typed, and promptly deleted, âI want to leave the arena right now and drive straight to Ottawa. I want to fucking hold you, I want to fucking fuck you, I want to devour you.â He swallowed, watching the letters disappear again. No, there was definitely a less aggressive way to say that.
YOU: I love and miss you too.
âŠ
The next hour had passed so quickly, he wasnât sure it had happened at all, a blur of adrenaline and ice and yelling, and drinking unthinkable amounts of electrolytes as though that would help the time pass quicker, and staring at the clock, and scoring- nice- and then back to a blur again.
Shane took his post game interview- shot from the collarbones up essentially- rhythmically clenching his gloved hands into fists and then flexing them all the way out again, out of sight of the camera, while he gave some pointless answers that really could have been supplied by any of the other playersâ kids just as well as they were by the captain.
âWhat the fuck did he ask you?â Pike had called after him as heâd walked in, already half stripped down, sorted his gear from his jersey and his compression clothes at an eyebrow raising speed- or so he gathered from the look on the wingerâs face as he turned- and headed straight for the showers.
âThe usual shit!â Heâd yelled back, clearly not answering the underlying question- âwhy are you so pissed off?â and throwing himself under the nearest free jet of water.
Having deftly dodged all other responsibilities for the night, he was now speedwalking out of the building, and navigating to Ilyaâs contact, heart rate picking up again at the realisation that heâd made it, he was free from the purgatory of a game that he really should have been enjoying, and now he was-
âHâlo?â
âIâm coming to see you.â He delivered the words forcefully, no room for argument.
âBless you.â This response was softer, spoken more closely to the receiver, and his fast pace across the parking lot faltered too, mental resolve weakened by the audio display of weakened physical resolve heâd been presented with.
âThank you.â A thud.
âAre you okay?â
Ilya moaned. âRemote fell. I think I sleep through end of game.â
âDid I wake you?â He was fumbling for his keys, trying to force himself to visualise the inside of his bag pockets rather than the sweet, sleepy expression that was probably gracing his boyfriendâs face right now.
âYeah.â The Russianâs voice broke on the single word, and he broke off coughing, not moving away from the phone, though Shane could hear him shifting his position on the couch.
He finally managed to find his keys and unlocked the car, jogging the final few steps, opening the back passenger side door and shoving his bag in before slamming it shut again and rounding the vehicle towards the driverâs side like he was trying to outrun a hoard of zombies. âIâm sorry, I just wanted to let you know I was on my way.â
ââS good.â The blond was whispering now, whether because his throat hurt, his voice was gone entirely, or he was simply too tired to make any effort to speak louder, Shane couldnât discern. âI look forward to meeting you.â
âWhat?â When he was really out of it, but still coherent enough to retain some English, heâd noticed that his boyfriend seemed to revert to textbook phrasing, sentences heâd probably had drilled in before anything else, and theyâd stuck. That was his theory for the overly formal blessing habit, too. And he wouldnât change that for the world, no matter what it did to him.
âLove you.â Ilya continued, âHave a driving license.â From the tone he could only assume he meant something along the lines of âhave a safe driveâ , but the first collocation that had come to mind for âdrivingâ was âlicenseâ. The man really was full of linguistic phenomena.
âL-â He began to reply, only to be abruptly cut off.
âhKk! KKh! hKSH! Kkh! hKSHUh! hKSHooh!â Cutee, why was there no ârecordâ button on phone calls for moments like this? He could have gotten weeks of teasing out of this clip, and months of⊠other amusement. âhhiHKSHh! KSHUh! huAHSXHh-ugh.â
âBless you.â He winced slightly at the sound of that last one, âLove you. See you later.â
âLoooove you.â Ilya coughed, what sounded like the start of a whole fit, but put the phone down before he could hear it get to that point.
Ah, yes, also he was very much full of the flu. Linguistic phenomena, adoration for Shane, apparently, and the flu, that was most of what made up Ilya Rozanov right now. And his boyfriend, though it made his gut twist with guilt, couldnât imagine a better combination.
Another thought, since I've got Wyatt on the brain, is that because Lisa's a doctor, I feel like she is very conscientious of her germs and tries very hard not to get her husband sick.
Like going out of her way to sleep in the guest room when she's coming down with something...which is pointless because Wyatt will just come find her anyway so they can cuddle anyway.
Wyatt is so affronted that she would even try, because obviously, how rude of her to not want to share her germs with her loving husband. đ
I feel like Shane has trouble sleeping sometimes because of anxiety, and I this trouble sleeping only gets worst when he knows he's getting sick/already is sick.
Now this has me imagining all the fun little things Ilya and Shane get to learn about each other when they were first start dating.
Things like Shane having trouble sleeping or Ilya snores. Shane being an early riser while Ilya sleeps in. Just things that are maybe a bit annoying at first, but over time become a bit endearing.
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 personâone singular stronghold who faces expectations that can, at times, feel impossible. For the Metros, Shane is that stronghold.Â
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.Â
He was, and is, a perfect captain. He knows how to be in charge, how to assert himself on the ice in ways he couldnât imagine doing otherwise. He is not, however, in charge in the bedroom. Ilya makes sure Shane knows that, tonight especially.Â
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 Ilyaâs hand afterwards, the Russian whispered, â1023,â and with that, Shaneâs captaincy was relinquished.Â
Now, in the privacy of the hotel, Shane listens to Ilyaâs 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. Theyâre low, drawn out, and intermixed with whispered, nonsensical praise. Sometimes itâs Ilyaâs name, purred so sweet it makes him shiver. Other times, French and English pour from Shaneâs mouth in a cascade of nothings, âoui, just like that, mon amour, please.â It isnât a conscious decision, isn't performative like others Ilya had slept with. Itâs pure, unadulterated desire.Â
Itâs 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, obedientâinto loveliness.Â
The most consistent marker of his pleasure begins with moans splintering into quick, sharp breaths. Shaneâs chest expands with soft hitches, as if heâs winding up in anticipation for release. Heâs then interrupted with staccato breaths, mouth falling agape and disrupting the kisses he presses to Ilyaâs skin mindlessly.Â
In the beginning, Shane would turn away from Ilya and shield himself from view to the best of his abilityâwhether 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.Â
Ilya would bless him. In Russian first, and then English. Typically, a few niceties followed (âthank you, sorry, excuse meâ) before Shane would let Ilya kiss him again. When Shane was especially embarrassed, Ilya would coax Shaneâs 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 (âSo, you let me swallow your spit and your cum, but I cannot kiss you after sneezing? Is too much?â) and Shane would blush, call Ilya an idiot, and kiss him again.Â
If they were rushed for time, Ilya worked efficiently, using Shaneâs fits at a cue for which position he liked best that night. The fits became useful to himâthey were praise of his skill, and they spurred him on, assuring him that Shane was close to release.Â
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 Shaneâs 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.Â
When Shaneâs moans first catchâsplintering into a trembling breath that falls short of a full hitchâIlya hums his praise, and the sensation sends a shiver down Shaneâs spine. His breath stacks atop itself again, building into a quiet crescendo, âhhâhihâ,â and succumbing to nothing more than a breathy moan.Â
Tease, Ilya thinks; if his mouth wasnât 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.Â
It takes less than a minute for Shaneâs breath to stutter again, this time more urgently than the first. The hand he had tangled in Ilyaâs hair is suddenly raised to his face, just barely managing to cover the first of many soft sneezes: âidtâsSch!â It hisses out between his teeth, damp but light. Unlike his typical routine, he suffers through no anticipation for the second sneeze.Â
âhhâitsschh!-hsch!-itSChh!â
Shaneâs body shudders with each expulsion, his torso clenching and his legs trembling as Ilya hums his praise once more.Â
Ilyaâs hands work their way up Shaneâs abdomen, squeezing and pinching wherever they please. His right hand settles over Shaneâs pec, and he presses his fingers into the muscle. He works his tongue down Shaneâs shaft once more, pulling back as he does soâa moment later, he lets his head bob down as he takes Shane fully again.Â
âFuck, Ilya,â Shane moans. He places a hand over Ilyaâs, 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.Â
âFuckâŠ. fuckâ Ilya!â 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!Â
Shane finds that the warmth has shifted from his abdomen to his noseâthe 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 heâs 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: âhngâSHxt!ângSChâhssch! hâsSchhâew!âÂ
âBudâte zdorovy.â Ilya rests his chin on Shaneâs thigh, peering up at him, âJust four?âÂ
âShut up.â Shaneâs 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. Â
âAnd the four before.â Ilya hums in observation. âIn fours today.âÂ
Ilyaâs hands once again roam over Shaneâs body. One skirts down his side, collecting dampness from Shaneâs sheen of sweat. It settles just above Shaneâs hip, and Ilya canât help but give his side a squeeze.Â
Shane jerks in reaction, his body sensitive, every sensation heightened in the wake of his pleasure. He doesnât oppose the touch, though. He watches Ilyaâs hand move to his thigh next. Another squeeze, this time followed by a slight tremble from Shane.Â
âMaybe,â Ilya purrs, not taking his eyes off Shane, âI can make it five.âÂ
I feel like Shane has trouble sleeping sometimes because of anxiety, and I this trouble sleeping only gets worst when he knows he's getting sick/already is sick.
I am so excited to be posting this collaboration with the lovely and talented @hollanovsnz! We hope you all enjoy reading this as much as we enjoyed writing it (which was a lot, for the record)!
---
Shane woke up early by choice and habit, but after a few days at the cottage with Ilya, he was actually⊠excited, in more ways than one, to wake up early. The first morning, heâd thought maybe it was a one-time thing.Â
Heâd already been half-awake, drowsing, when he heard Ilya draw in a stuttering breath and immediately jolted into full wakefulness. He laid there, pretending to sleep, as Ilya hitched a second and third time. A pause. Then, what Shane hadnât dared to hope for; a sneeze, one that Ilya had clearly been trying to stifle. A second stifled sneeze followed on the heels of the first, then another pause. And then a third sneeze, less successfully stifled and slightly higher pitched than the previous two, followed by a shaky exhale.Â
Shane was so turned on that a murmured, âBless you, baby,â slipped from his lips before he remembered that he was supposed to be asleep.   Â
âProstite,â a sleep-roughened, stuffy-sounding voice said, sending a thrill down Shaneâs spine. âI did not mean to wake you.â Ilya sniffled, twice, and the liquid quality of them gave Shane goosebumps.Â
âNo, youâre fine. I was already awake,â Shane said, his own voice sounding rougher than sleep alone could account for.Â
Ilya leaned over, kissed the top of his head, then got out of bed and headed for the bathroom, rubbing his nose with his wrist as he went. Shane replayed the sight in his mind after Ilya closed the bathroom door and felt himself blush. The three honking blows that were loud enough to be heard through the door only made him blush harder, because fuck him if those werenât the sexiest blows heâd ever heard. Maybe, if the next two weeks went well, one day Ilya wouldnât bother with getting out of bed and would blow his nose right next to Shane. The fantasy came into his mind almost unbidden â Ilya, slightly pink around the nostrils from sneezing, breathing through his mouth because of how stuffy his nose was, raising tissues to that same nose with both hands (because one hand wouldnât be enough to do the job properly), and then blowing until a look of sheer relief crossed his face.
Shane looked down; he was already tenting his boxers and there was a slowly spreading wet spot at the apex. Fuck. There was no way Ilya wouldnât notice that. Maybe if he strategically arranged the sheets⊠His blush spread down to his neck, imagining Ilya chirping at him about how theyâd barely been awake for a few minutes and he was already so wet for Ilya.
He startled, badly, at the click of the bathroom door swinging open and tried to pretend he hadnât as Ilya walked toward him.
âCoffee?â Shane blurted, unable to help himself from looking at Ilyaâs nose before wrenching his gaze to the nearest window and addressing it. âI mean, um, do you want some?â Smooth, Hollander.Â
Ilya sounded amused as he said, âYes. I will need to be caffeinated for later when I take your dick in my mouth.â Still staring at the window, Shane resisted the urge to scrub at his face with both hands by shoving them under his thighs. His success made him realize, to his mortification, that he hadnât actually covered himself with the sheets before Ilya appeared. Cheeks absolutely flaming, he snuck a glance over at Ilya, who was, of course, staring at his crotch. âOr I can do it now. It looks like you need it.âÂ
Shane opened his mouth, then closed it, literally speechless. They were going to be honest with each other for the next two weeks, right? He tried again, managing, âI⊠yeah, fuck, I do.âÂ
***
On the second morning, Shane woke as soon as the light of dawn crept into the bedroom. He had told himself before going to sleep, in an attempt to quash the part of himself that wondered what ifâŠ, that he was lucky to have experienced that morning at all. Still, he hadnât slept particularly well.Â
Ilya, he noted, was still asleep. Shane laid there, hyperaware of Ilyaâs breathing, when a hitch interrupted its deep, even rhythm. His own breath caught as Ilya took in a second and then a third hitching breath. He closed his eyes, listening intently, as Ilya stifled three sleepy sounding sneezes. Shane was about to bless him, without the âbabyâ this time, because that was what normal people did, when Ilya sneezed again, three very awake and itchy sounding half-stifles. Shaneâs blood thrilled, some of it bypassing Go and going straight to his dick.
He swallowed in an attempt to moisten his throat before blessing Ilya, who sniffled and rubbed his nose with his whole palm before thanking Shane in his raspy morning voice, his congestion-blunted consonants extra sensual to Shaneâs ears.
As he had yesterday, Ilya went to the bathroom, sniffling and rubbing his nose the whole way. Shane wondered if Ilya would notice the box of tissues heâd put in the bathroom yesterday, all the while telling himself it was for no particular reason. Would Ilya use them? And if he did, would it sound different than the toilet paper Shane knew heâd used yesterday? Shane listened hard, taut with anticipation for Ilyaâs first blow. When it came, it didnât disappoint. It was equally as loud as yesterday, but more honking in timbre with a slightly muffled tone. Fuck. Arousal built in the pit of his stomach with Ilyaâs second and third blows.
Shane had managed not to get lost in his thoughts, so his lap was covered and he didnât start when the bathroom door opened, revealing a lightly disheveled (and all the more handsome for it) Ilya. But he still couldnât meet Ilyaâs eyes and had to clear his throat before asking if Ilya wanted coffee.Â
***
The events of the third morning made Shane pretty certain that Ilya, his newly minted boyfriend and almost certainly the love of his life, was a morning sneezer. As he lay awake, waiting for Ilyaâs breath to hitch, he wondered if Ilya would sneeze three times, like the first morning? Or maybe six, like yesterday? Or⊠and his cock throbbed just thinking about it â some other multiple of three?Â
Ilyaâs three hitching breaths sounded more like gasps this morning and Shane wondered what that portended. He got his answer when Ilya sneezed not three, not six, but nine times, each triple harder to stifle than the one before. Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Every time he thought his boyfriend (!) couldnât possibly get any sexier, he was proven wrong.
âBless you,â he sighed, then blushed at how fucking breathy he sounded. And then, thinking about how Ilya might rub his nose today, blushed harder.
âThangk you,â Ilya answered, congestion thicker than the morning before, and brought his fist to his nose, rubbing emphatically at it, producing wet clicking sounds punctuated by thick and itchy sounding sniffles. It was a symphony to Shaneâs ears that continued as Ilya made his way to the bathroom but faded out as he closed the door.
Shane fisted his hands in the sheets to keep them at his sides instead of on his dick as Ilya blew his nose one, twice, three times. They had a pronounced honk, which Shane now thought of as characteristic of Ilya blowing his nose, but were also clearly wet and irritated. Shane drew his lower lip between his teeth and exhaled sharply through his nose.
In the quiet after Ilya finished, he released the sheets and artfully draped them over his lap. Then, he timed clearing his throat as softly as he could to be masked by the click of the bathroom door opening as Ilya emerged.Â
âWant coffee?â he asked smoothly. Normal. Crushing it.
***
As soon as Ilya opened his eyes on his first morning at the cottage, he felt the usual itch in his nose overwhelm his senses. He might not have remembered where he was had a warm, shirtless body not been pressed against his. Shit. He did not want to wake Shane with his stupid waking-up sneezes. Not daring to even sniffle, Ilya scrunched his nose, feeling frustrated when the tickle only grew stronger. He turned his head towards his shoulder with an uncontrollable hitching breath, then two more, and stifled three sneezes as quietly as he could. âhHhâŠhuhHâŠhhh-!âŠhgkâxt! âŠnâgxt! âŠhihâNGKshht!â He let out a breath afterwards, ignoring the way stifling made the sinus pressure beneath his eyes worsen. But it was worth it, because even though the third sneeze had nearly gotten away from him, Shane hadnât stirred, slava bogu.
Then Ilya heard a soft âbless you, baby,â from beside him, and the sound - and the pet name - made his heart jump. Still in the process of waking up after being yanked out of slumber by his rude, itchy nose, he took Shaneâs rougher-sounding voice for the manâs own sleepiness. But Ilya knew Shane well enough by now to know that his voice when he blessed him sounded very similar to his voice when he was turned on. Hm. Curious.Â
Ilya wanted to laze in bed for as long as he could with this beautiful man, but of course, as was customary after a morning fit, he desperately needed to blow his nose. He felt a little embarrassed about the idea of disturbing the quiet of the room with his foghorn-like blows, so he kissed the top of Shaneâs head and padded over to the bathroom. Along the way, he needed to bring up his wrist to rub at his nose, which was prickling again with irritation. Donât be so fucking impatient, he scolded it. Iâll deal with you in just a second.Â
He closed the door, then unrolled some toilet paper and held it to his nose in both hands. When he was this congested, blowing quietly wouldnât do; he needed to get this itch out of his sinuses as quickly and thoroughly as possible. So, praying that the walls were thick enough, he took in a deep breath and allowed himself three long, loud honking blows to alleviate his congestion. Ilya had gotten less self-conscious about his nose blowing over the years (even though the time heâd heard a Russian teammate on the Raiders call him slon - elephant - still made him flush when he thought about it), but he was a bit nervous that Shane would think it was gross or too noisy. Heâd just gotten to the cottage, and he did not want to kill the mood because his nose sounded like a trumpet every goddamn morning.
After an involuntary sigh of relief, Ilya swiped beneath his nose with the destroyed paper, took a deep breath, and prepared himself for his first morning waking up with Shane Hollander.Â
When he left the bathroom, he saw that Shaneâs face was very red and he wasnât looking Ilya in the eye. Why did he look like heâd been caught doing something naughty? And thenâŠoh. Ilya saw the tent in Shaneâs boxers and - oh god - the precum on them, too. His own dick twitched at how absolutely delicious the other man looked. His heart melted when he realized how embarrassed Shane was when he suggested a pre-coffee blowjob, then sped up when Shane actually agreed to it. Fuck, his ârivalâ was going to be the death of him.
Ilya was thankful that theyâd decided to be honest with each other. AlthoughâŠit seemed like Shane was still hiding something from him.
***
On the second morning, Ilya knew something was up with Shane.Â
Somehow, Ilya woke up mid-hitching breaths, and had half a second to think, Am I awake? before he was turning to the side with three âhhhâkgxtâshhue⊠huhhhâhgnxstâcheww⊠ahhHNXKTâshhewwwâŠâ sneezes that sounded as tired as he felt. He needed to stay frozen in place for another three, much more poorly stifled, sneezes: âhhhâheISHâhhht! hhghâMMPSHhff! hehhehâNNGHTâshiew!â FuckâŠthe air at the cottage was making him extra itchy. Â
Even in his sleepy, sneezy state, Ilya had noticed something unusual. As heâd gasped once, twice, three times as his body prepared to succumb to his daily waking-up sneezes, heâd heard an intake of breath from the man lying beside him. It soundedâŠanticipatory. It soundedâŠexcited. But he hadnât been able to unpack that while his body was so concentrated on relieving itself from this ridiculous tickle, especially during his next triple.Â
When Shane blessed him with the same aroused tone of voice as the day before, Ilya found himself wonderingâŠno, it couldnât be. But the question stayed with him as he thanked Shane in an embarrassingly gravelly voice, left the bed, then blew his nose three times in the en suite with tissues from the box on the counter that hadnât been there yesterday. When he came back out after another quick nose rub, Ilya heard the sound of rustling. A scarlet-faced Shane was sitting up with the blankets covering the lower half of his body, and suddenly, Ilya was fully awake. Was Shane as hard as heâd been yesterday? Ilya actually licked his lips as the other man, eyes averted, asked if he wanted coffee. âFuck the coffee,â Ilya growled, desperate to have Shane moaning under his touch, not even giving him the chance to respond before he pounced.Â
***
On the third day, Ilya was absolutely sure that Shane liked it when he sneezed. The alert little intake of breath as Ilya hitched towards his morning fit (nine - fucking nine - sneezes), the hoarse âbless youâ (with no âbabyâ after the first day, which Ilya really wished would make a comeback), the blushing, the fact that he wouldnât look Ilya in the eye, the full box of tissues that had so thoughtfully appeared in the bathroom for him to blow his nose intoâŠÂ
Ilya wondered if Shane was finally going to be completely honest with him before their two weeks together were over.
***
On the fourth morning, Shane felt that, like Ilya, heâd developed a morning routine. Even though he was already awake, nerves buzzing in anticipation, heâd pretend to be asleep for Ilyaâs three hitching breaths. Then, after however many sneezes Ilyaâs nose required, heâd fake yawn and bless Ilya (just the standard âbless you,â no âbabyâ). He wouldn't jerk himself off frantically while Ilya blew his nose three times in the bathroom. And when Ilya came back into the bedroom, heâd ask if Ilya wanted coffee. All very normal things to do.
Shane had successfully faked sleep during Ilyaâs usual build up, even though they sounded more desperate than the previous mornings. But then Ilya didnât stifle his sneezes and Shaneâs plan was shot to hell.
He wouldâve been lying if he said he hadnât fantasized about Ilyaâs sneezing before, but the real thing was so much better. Masculine and loud, but not so much that they edged into scream territory, and just enough voice to make them unmistakably Ilya.Â
âBless you,â Shane said on autopilot, still dazed.
Ilya sniffled, watching Shane. The brunet looked tenser than usual at this point in the morning, but Ilya knew that was Shaneâs bodyâs reaction to the disruption of routine. Underneath that tension, Shane was clearly, at least to Ilyaâs eye, turned on, more so than the previous days. His blush was out in full force, he was looking anywhere but at Ilya, his lower lip was sucked in between his teeth, and heâd started fidgeting, pointing and flexing his toes under the sheets. He was getting antsy, expecting Ilya to head for the bathroom.
Instead of getting up, Ilya put an arm around his boyfriend and brushed his nose gently against his ear. âShade?â he could hear the stuffiness in his own voice.
âYeah?â Shane answered, voice cracking in the middle of the word.
A grin stretched across Ilyaâs face. God, Shane was adorable. âDo you have something you -snf- would like to share?âÂ
Shaneâs blush deepened and started creeping down his throat, a clear sign that, yes, he did have something to share, but no, he would prefer not to, thank you very much.Â
Ilya paused for a moment, just watching Shane, whose body looked rigid enough to snap in half. Wanting to make sure that Shane was not overwhelmed by his obvious nerves, Ilya kissed his neck, then put his nose back up to the other manâs ear and sniffled. With his arm around him, he could feel the shiver that went down Shaneâs spine. He gently cupped Shaneâs chin and turned his head so they were face-to-face. âShane,â he said softly. âLyubimyy. It is okay. I will not judge you, I promise.â He pressed a kiss to Shaneâs forehead.
âI,â Shane started, then stopped. He swallowed, then made to duck his head. Ilya released his grip and Shane pushed his face into Ilyaâs shoulder. âSorry,â he apologized, sounding embarrassed, âitâs, uh, easier if Iâm not looking at you.â
âHey, is okay,â Ilya reassured, brushing his thumb over Shaneâs arm. âHowever you need, malysh.â He could feel the faint flutter of Shaneâs eyelashes across his skin as Shane closed his eyes.Â
âThanks,â Shane said softly and gathered his courage. âIâve⊠Iâve always had a thing, uh, a kink, I guess, for⊠sneezing. I wasnât planning on ever telling anyone.â He lifted his head a little, enough for Ilya to see that his eyes were bright with unshed tears. âGuess youâre the exception to every rule.â He blinked, causing a tear to slip down his cheek. âSorry, I donât know why Iâm getting so emotional about this.â
âHey, hey, sweetheart, is okay,â Ilya soothed, alarmed at the tears starting to fall from his loveâs big brown eyes. He grabbed for a tissue from his nightstand and blotted at Shaneâs face. Fuck, had he pushed him too far? The last thing he wanted was for him to feel uncomfortable and hide himself away. âThank you for telling me.â
âYouâre welcome,â Shane said automatically, then grimaced. âI donât know why I said that. Itâs like telling the person behind the check-in counter to have a good flight.âÂ
Ilya let out a laugh, feeling a rush of fondness towards his polite Canadian boyfriend. âI understand you, honey,â he said, brushing his thumb over the cheek he had just wiped tears from.Â
Shaneâs lips curled slightly in a relieved smile, which broadened as he melted at the endearment. But then he remembered what theyâd been talking about and tensed up again. Ilya hadnât actually said anything about his confession â what if he thought Shane was disgusting? Or he was weirded out by the idea? Or, or, or⊠Or he could just⊠ask. âSo, uh, what do you. What do you think?â It was a measure of how at ease he felt with Ilya, that he could actually stop himself from spiraling before it got too far.
Ilya put his arm back around Shane and squeezed. âI think is fine,â he said. âIs very sweet, actually. Liking a sneeze? That is innocent.â Shaneâs eyebrows furrowed at that, clearly skeptical. âIs the truth,â Ilya responded.
Shane huffed a soft laugh at that, some of the tension in his body unwinding. âWould you everâ I mean. Would you want toâ fuck.â He groaned, letting his head fall back against Ilyaâs shoulder.Â
âDo you want me to sneeze for you, Shane?â Ilya whispered into Shaneâs ear.
Shaneâs anxiety had quashed his arousal, but Ilyaâs words set him aflame. âFuck, Ilya,â he muttered, pressing an open mouthed kiss to the curve of Ilyaâs deltoid.
âI would do anything for you,â Ilya said, truthfully. âAnd you are in luck, because I sneeze a lot anyway.â He pressed his nose, then a kiss, against the top of Shaneâs head.
âI did notice that over the past few mornings, yes.â Shane paused, thinking, and pointed out, âYou havenât blown your nose yet.â Â
âHmmm. Youâre right.â Ilya sniffled a few times. âI am feeling extra stuffed up now.â He looked at Shane with a mischievous glint in his eye. âWould you like it if I blow my nose right here?â
Well. Yes. Yes, he would. Shane nodded wordlessly, but his eyes were heavy-lidded and his pupils were blown with desire.
âYou know, Shane,â Ilya said as he plucked two tissues out of the box on his nightstand, âSobetibesâ - the congestion was creeping back into his voice - âif I wait too long to blow my dose, I sdeeze some more. Let us see if that happens.â He held the tissues to his nose in both hands, took in a deep breath, and blew. The sound was loud, as always, but Shane was struck by how much louder it felt without a door and wall in the way. He was also surprised at how much more crazy it drove him â being able to see Ilya, his big hands engulfing his face, the tissues just peeking out, his eyes squeezing shut with exertion, and to feel Ilya, his rib cage expanding in preparation, then the muscles in his torso contracting as he blew. Shaneâs thighs pressed against each other reflexively, needing friction. His eyes wanted to flutter closed with desire, but he kept them open and trained on Ilya with no small effort. He wanted to commit everything about this to memory. And if Ilya was going to sneeze again, he wanted to watch.
And right on cueâŠIlya took in another breath, this one a little shaky, and his eyes opened but narrowed immediately after, and his brows knitted upward as he hitched again, then again, his chest expanding more and more with each inhale, andâ
Shane didnât know if heâd ever been this turned on before. He felt almost lightheaded from how fast heâd hardened. Was he going to come just from this? That would be, despite how sweet Ilya was being about all this, kind of embarrassing.Â
Ilya sniffled, cleared his throat, looking a little dazed, then looked over at Shane. His eyes crinkled and his grin grew wolfish. He kept his eyes on Shaneâs as he pulled two more tissues from the box. But before he blew againâŠ
âArenât you going to bless mbe, Holladder?â
Shane shuddered at hearing his last name in Ilyaâs congested voice, involuntarily arching his back and rolling his hips. âBless you, baby,â he sighed out, voice thick with desire.Â
âOh, thank you, lyubov moya,â Ilya said with a wink, and as he blew his nose with one hand, he squeezed Shaneâs crotch with the other.Â
âFuck!â Shaneâs head thunked back against the headboard at the touch. âOh, God, Ilya,â he moaned, âI⊠oh, I think Iâm close.â
âThen letâs get you closer,â Ilya purred, reaching into Shaneâs boxers and circling his thumb around the dripping tip of his dick. Shane cried out as his hips bucked up into the touch.Â
âOh fuck Ilya please, please,â Shane panted. He was far gone enough that the next words came out without any self-consciousness. âDo you needâah! Could you sneeze again?â
âHmm,â Ilya said, smiling, still rubbing at Shaneâs head. âLet us see if I canâŠâÂ
âPlease,â Shane pleaded, getting a little whiny with sheer want, âI really wanna come to you sneezing, you drive me fucking crazyâŠâ
âBossy.â Ilyaâs smile grew wider, and he made Shane gasp when he took two fingers from the hand not touching Shane, pressed them against the bridge of his crooked nose, and tweaked it to the side. His face immediately fell, and he himself gasped with three distinct, itchy-sounding âhHhehhâŠHhehhâŠehEHhhhâ!âs before jackknifing forward, still holding Shane in hand.Â
Shaneâs mouth opened in a silent scream and his hips pressed down hard into the mattress as his orgasm slammed through him, his dick pulsing against Ilyaâs hand and come spurting through Ilyaâs fingers. In a trance, he faintly heard the shfff of Ilya taking tissues from the box, then blowing his nose again, the stuffy honk and sigh of relief after sending another pulse of desire through Shane.  Â
âSo,â Ilya said after a long pause. âYou like?â
Shane, almost back to Earth, looked at Ilya, totally blissed out. âFuck yeah I like,â he said, a dreamy smile spreading across his face.Â
âGood. Then letâs do this again tomorrow morning.â Ilya reached over and took Shaneâs mouth in a lascivious kiss.
