I yearn for straight up hollanov sneeze smut
As do I, friend. As do I. ;) (also this is the BEST and MOST RELATABLE ask ever, put it on a tshirt!!!)
Long story short I’ve been struggling with this part for TWO MONTHS and I am grateful for @lilies-and-hyacinths’s perfect post for helping me come up with an idea for a (similar-yet-different) ending. Super NSFW <3333
Warming Up (Part 2/2) (H/eated R/ivalry, Shane)
Day three of this cold was absolutely killing Shane.
The fever that had kept him sweating and shivering throughout the night had broken, thankfully; he was glad that it no longer felt like his bedsheets were trying to rub his skin off. But he’d woken the next day with a voice so garbled by congestion from his stuffy nose that Ilya had wordlessly handed him the tissue box after he’d said “Good bordidg.”
His morning nose blows were nothing more than pitiful little squeaks that had Ilya cooing at him and calling him mysh. “Mice can bite too, y’kdow,” Shane grumbled. “Not this little mouse of mine,” Ilya replied with a few kisses to his cheek. “Try mbe,” Shane threatened, rubbing a finger under his nose against a growing itch. He had to pull away with three breathy, dazing “issh’Heww!” sneezes; Ilya took pity on him and didn’t push his teasing, pulling him close to his chest as Shane blew his nose productively.
Hours later, the two of them were on the couch in the living room. Shane had far given up the pretense that he was feeling okay, and had spent the entire day slumped against Ilya’s side, tissues pressed to his leaky eyes and nose. His coughs and sneezes were harsh and had Ilya brushing his disheveled hair out of his eyes. Not such a little mouse now, Shane thought as he buried his face in his handful of tissues while building up for more wrenching sneezes.
“ahh’DSZChiew! ASHHh’yew! huhh, uhh-! hy’ischhhoo! -IShhh’hhuhh! hhy’ISZCHhhuh!…ugh…this fucking cold…”
“Bud’ zdorov.” Ilya rubbed his thumb against Shane’s thigh as Shane blew more loudly than usual, desperate to force out his congestion. Ilya had been scrolling through Instagram, showing Shane pictures of their teammates’ continued celebrations. Baker had proposed to his girlfriend. Jimenez was in Maui. Luca Haas was back in Zurich with his family, grinning like a madman in one picture, his pale face flushed red with drunkenness. Good for him, the kid needed to let loose a little. (Shane ignored the irony of that statement.)
“More medicine for you soon. In…” Ilya checked his phone. “…twenty-five minutes.” He put an arm around Shane, squeezed, then kissed the top of his head. “And I will heat some soup if you are hungry, it will warm up your chest and help that terrible cough.” He frowned and placed a warm hand against Shane’s sternum.
Shane swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat. God, he couldn’t quite believe Ilya sometimes. He could be the ultimate pain in the ass - stubborn, impulsive, likely to grab Shane’s controller when he was beating him in FIFA and make him chase him around the house for it - but when it came to Shane’s well-being, Ilya was a better caretaker than Shane could have ever imagined. He kept track of when Shane needed to take cold medicine, blessed him sweetly after every sneezing fit, gave him foot and back rubs to help him relax, and kept him fed and hydrated. Sometimes, Shane reminisced about the times when he’d thought he could never have something like this. He wanted to give his younger self a hug sometimes. The kid had been so wound up tight. (Shane ignored the irony of that statement.)
Ilya placed a hand at the nape of Shane’s neck and rubbed gently. “What do you think we should do for our days with the Cup?”
Shane paused as he reached for another tissue. He’d been thinking about that a lot. “We’ll have to take it to Game Changers at least once,” he said after blowing his nose again. “And then, maybe—”
“I was thinking I could fuck you while it watches,” Ilya interrupted.
Shane’s breath caught, and he coughed and sputtered as Ilya placed a hand on his back. He had to scramble for another tissue to wipe at his nose for about the eighty-first time that day before he cried out, “The Stanley Cup?!”
Ilya shrugged. “This is so blasphemous to you? Is just a shiny piece of metal.”
“It’s made of a silver and nickel alloy,” Shane corrected, then: “there is no way in hell we are fucking in front of the Stanley Cup, Ilya.”
“B-because it’s the Stanley Cup!”
“And you are Shane, and I am Ilya. Besides…” Ilya got very close to Shane’s ear and whispered, “I think you would like to.”
“I…wouldn’t,” Shane said, crossing his arms. His cheeks were growing very warm.
“No?” Ilya trailed his fingertip against the shell of the ear he’d just whispered into. “You do not want to be filled up by your husband with the greatest trophy in all of sports in the room?”
“Ilya,” Shane said weakly.
“The trophy we earned together? Hm, we could get the Conn Smythe in there too…that one, you earned all by yourself,” he purred. “All your greatest achievements in one room. Your trophies, and your trophy husband.”
Shane found himself getting very, very hard.
Ilya’s eyes flicked downward, because he was so goddamn psychically in tune with Shane’s dick. “Oh…you do want this,” he said, not sounding surprised at all. “You want this very much.” He traced the lightest touch down Shane’s tummy and brushed his fingers just against his crotch, and Shane whined. He barely even noticed that his nose was leaking. But Ilya did, and his blue eyes flashed with concern.
“Oh, your nose,” he murmured. He grabbed for a tissue and delicately dabbed beneath Shane’s nostrils. Shane froze in place, mesmerized by Ilya’s low voice and the care in his touch.
“Your beautiful nose…” Ilya’s mischevious smile returned. “It is so red too…I wonder if it will feel hot if I kiss it…” He leaned in pressed a long but gentle kiss to a stupefied Shane’s nose. “Mm, yes, very hot. Sore too? From all the tissues?” Shane nodded, eyes wide. “My poor Shanya…” Ilya cupped a hand to Shane’s cheek, kissed between his eyes, then rested his chin atop Shane’s head.
Feeling overheated and overwhelmed by how goddamn sensual Ilya was being, Shane let out a shaky breath into Ilya’s neck to calm himself. Instead, it sent him into a rough coughing fit that had him curling into his shoulder and Ilya rubbing up and down his arm.
“Okay, sweetheart?” Ilya said, and Shane blinked his tears away to find Ilya once again looking very worried at him.
“Okay,” Shane said, and, not wanting Ilya to stop his indulgent teasing, he rubbed at himself a little to reach full hardness again.
Ilya immediately caught on, eyes widening before he resumed speaking in the husky voice that drove Shane absolutely fucking insane with desire. “Tell me the truth, Shane. Do you feel very bad?”
Shane, not sure if he could speak, swallowed and nodded once more.
“Do you need someone to help you feel better?”
Shane nodded a third time, more vigorously, then sniffled and scrunched up his nose. Ilya’s eyes followed the movement of it, and he grinned wickedly. “Moy malen’kiy krolik…”
Shane thought he might melt from the heat that had overtaken him, body and soul. “Ilya,” he said again, voice cracking.
Ilya hooked his thumbs into Shane’s pajama pants. “You are definitely feeling up for this?” he confirmed, looked at Shane with such care that he felt like a fucking treasure.
Shane’s nodded for a fourth time, feeling like one of those bobbleheads given to fans during a game, then sighed deeply as Ilya pulled his pants down. Ilya looked at Shane’s dick and made an impressed-sounding noise that made Shane’s cheeks heat with pleasure. “Eager,” he said. “So wet and so eager for me, Shane…even when you are not feeling at your best…”
Ilya took Shane in hand, and the feeling seemed to ignite something in Shane’s nose. “Ihh-Ilyahh—!” he warned, feeling itchy and horny and sneezy and loved all at once, and Ilya immediately released him as Shane turned to the side.
“hh’KSCHhhihh! eshHhuhhh! ehHishhew! eh…ehh…ehhdzchhiew!”
“God bless you,” Ilya said, grabbing a handful of tissues from the box and holding them to Shane’s flushed face. “Blow.”
Shane obeyed, dizzy from the tender eroticism on display from his husband. He winced at how wet his blows were, and how he needed multiple rounds to clear his nose. Ilya kept swapping out tissues, somehow realizing every time Shane needed more (although - oh god - he could probably feel how soaked through the paper was). He didn’t seem to care at all that he was handling Shane’s snotty tissues. He seemed to be happy to do it, actually, judging by how he encouraged Shane to keep blowing, then kissing his forehead when he was done. And through all of this, Shane’s pants were still down and he was still hard as a rock.
Fuck, who knew that being taken cared of could be so…hot?
“Ilya?” He said in a gravelly, wrecked voice once Ilya had wiped Shane’s nose clean. Ilya raised a brow.
“If I, uh. If I sneeze again…” Shane took a breath in and out through his less-congested nose. “Can you…can you hold me while I…”
“Hold you…? Oh.” Ilya looked down at Shane’s dick and grinned back up at him. “You are filthy, Shane Hollander.” He gripped Shane again and started to pump up and down. “So, so filthy…”
“Ohh…Ilya, please,” he groaned, allowing himself to be as loud as his throat would let him as Ilya jerked him off. “I-I need…”
“I will give,” Ilya promised with a sharklike grin. “And if you sneeze again, I will give more. Won’t be long, I think…” He was watching Shane’s face, and before Shane could ask him what he meant, his breath was hitching against an itch that was tickling the tip of his nose like a feather. Ilya kept his hand around him, not stopping how fast he was going as Shane—
“HIZSCHhhew! a-ahh!” Ilya squeezed him as he sneezed, and for a moment Shane thought he might pass out from the ecstasy of it. “Oh ghh-god! ISHhhhuhh! hy’ISHhhh, hihh-hihh-hISHhhhew!” Ilya squeezed him after every sneeze, praising him with “yes, honey”s and “one more, kotyonok”s as he sneezed helplessly, without the usual foresight to sneeze into his elbow, and so Ilya was almost certainly getting sprayed as Shane rocked forward and back.
“aschhh’ooo! ahh’hhiew! hah, ah—!” One more squeeze, and Shane would—would—! “AHH’CHOO!”
Shane cried out as his orgasm hit him like a puck to the face, and he rode it out until he was completely smushed into Ilya’s shoulder, heaving gasps and coughs and heavy breathing the only sounds in the room. When Shane finally lifted his head, having wiped both his nose and his tears on Ilya’s shirt, his husband immediately began tending to him. Ilya cleaned both his upper and lower body with tissues, then kissed him all over. “Bless you,” he said tenderly, and Shane bit his lip to stop his tears (he’d had enough drippage for one day).
“Thagk you. Thagk you,” he repeated when Ilya took his hands. “I love you so buch.”
“Ya tebya lyublyu bol’she.”
“Ndot possible.” Shane moved to stand up, but stopped dead when he saw the damp spot at the crotch of Ilya’s shorts. “Wait, did you…?”
Ilya blushed. “You are not the only one who is feeling better after that,” he said with a shy smile.
