Hey guys. I had too many fics on my master list I couldn't add any more links, so what I've done is created a master list for each fandom I write for and have linked those master lists below, which I will be updating regularly as I post for them.
I write for: Star Wars (Anakin and maybe Obi-Wan and Padmé), Ryan Gosling characters (any 20+y/o), Bob Dylan, The Umbrella Academy (mainly Klaus, some Diego, some collabs with Luther), Bridgerton (mostly Anthony), and a few random Lucifer, Lip Gallagher, and Steddie (Stranger Things) fics.
Right now I'm pretty much only writing for Star Wars, but if any prompts are super great for any of these other fandoms (and I'd consider writing for The Bear if I rewatched it), go ahead and submit and I'll take a look.
forum coming through as much as it possibly could rn except the vide is deleted <\3 the two audio clips of him saying he’s under the weather and then just MENTIONING having ever had a cold😭😭😭 hot
so many new videos coming out of one of my favorite actors right now filming and someone said he looks like he has to sneeze and i’m sorry i know there has to be a video of him sneezing and i need it literally so badly
went to a movie w friends the other day including a guy i have a crush on. after the movie he put his elbow up and i could tell he was gonna sneeze, and he did! i’ve seen him sneeze before and it was a double and he had seemed to wait for the second so my guess was he has doubles often and then this time he sneezed a total of 3x with like two seconds between each. hot hot hot
When will we have an update on bitter sweet, bitter cold? no rush ofc, just wondering
i’m gonna be so for real i am not sure if i’ll ever get around to it😭i wrote a tiny bit but then i started school again and my life got kind of crazy and then i moved on to a diff fandom. maybe someday
much like clicker training, snzfet shane accidentally trains ilya that sneezing = rewards
6.3k includes intentional contagion, allergies, light nsfw
Ilya found out in the February of 2018.
Well— he didn't necessarily find out anything himself. Ilya thought he knew Shane better than himself, but Shane had managed to keep one thing locked away. It eventually had to come out.
Shane had been mentally preparing himself all morning to tell Ilya about his kink. He couldn't hold it back anymore, not when it wouldn't go away. Shane tried to will away the thoughts and fantasies but they wouldn't budge, even after a whole decade.
He really tried, though.
He started with a harsher workout than usual, really putting his all into the equipment, so he wouldn't have any second thoughts. He needed to feel the buzz from all of the movement that helped still his brain.
After that, he had some light oats with some small cut-up bits of a banana. Nice, simple and healthy. Less stress.
He even deep-cleaned his house, hoovering the carpets and scrubbing his bathroom clean. The chemicals sure helped dull that mess in his head.
Shane was stiffly lounging on his couch when he heard the familiar beeps of his front keypad being unlocked, Ilya stepping into his threshold.
Shane jumped to his feet, feeling more nervous than he had in months. Ilya never made him nervous anymore, because they were each other's to finally enjoy.
"You wanted to talk?" Ilya began, padding into Shane's home after taking off his shoes by the door. They hadn't seen each other in a month, but Ilya was in town for hockey.
Shane nodded, not knowing what to do with his hands. "Yeah— I did. Sit, please."
Ilya raised his brows, flopping down on Shane's couch. "This sounds extremely serious. Who died?"
"Nobody died," Shane took a breath, pacing for a second before sitting down with Ilya. Fuck, could he lose Ilya over this kink? Maybe this was a bad idea.
Ilya could sense Shane's internal spiral, placing a cautionary hand on his boyfriend's shoulder. "Hey. It's okay, don't think. Let's talk."
Shane nodded swiftly, rubbing his eyes. He could barely even look at Ilya.
Shane cleared his throat, the couch feeling suddenly too uncomfortable even though Shane carefully picked out each piece of his furniture to his liking.
"I have.. a thing," He started, squinting as he rubbed his temples.
"A dildo? Yes, you've already told me this before," Ilya scoffed softly.
"Don't be an asshole right now, please. Don't laugh. I seriously don't know what the fuck I'd do if you were to laugh in my face right now, fuck— "
Ilya frowned, Shane was so nervous. "I was joking, Hollander. I'm sorry. I won't laugh, yes? Nobody is laughing."
Shane nodded at the reassurance, trying to think of how to say what he needed to say. Trying to think of how much he should say. Would Ilya even understand?
"There's something I haven't told you about myself. A kink," Shane used his hands to help him speak, looking at the coffee table in front of him.
Ilya blinked, fiddling with his golden crucifix. "Okay.."
Shane glanced at Ilya to attempt to get a read on the Russian's expression, quickly looking away after succeeding. Ilya looked relaxed, not judgmental or humorous.
"It's.. basically— I enjoy.. sneezes?" Shane mumbled, his face heating up against his will as he side-eyed Ilya.
It was silent for a minute too long before Ilya spoke. "Sneezes? Like achoo achoo? Those?"
"Yes," Shane gritted weakly, rubbing the cluster of muscles in his forearm. "It's a kink— I've looked it up. There's a whole forum of people online. I've known for a long time, actually."
Ilya nodded, rubbing at his chin. "This is it?"
"What do you mean 'this is it'? You don't care?" Shane's voice wobbled a little, now looking at Ilya. "You're not disgusted?"
Ilya shook his head, looking genuinely confused. "Why would I be disgusted? At least you're not into.. shit, or something. Is fine, Shane." Ilya blinked, rubbing the chain of his crucifix. "This is nothing compared to what I hear the guys in locker room say."
Shane raised his brows, disbelief painting his features. "You're just— okay. It's seriously okay with you?"
Ilya nodded, shrugging. "Tell me more, though. What gets you going about it?"
Shane couldn't help but flush, scrubbing at his eyes. He'd never had the opportunity to verbalise his kink to anyone. He hadn't been able to connect with the people in the forum out of shame.
"I don't think I could put it into words, but. I like.. I don't know. Colds. Allergies. How it all seems like such a dirty thing, yet everyone sneezes. Sickness isn't erotic. My brain just decided to enjoy them."
Ilya grinned a little, rubbing his crucifix on his lower lip. "Who knew Shane Hollander could be such a little freak?"
"Oh, fuck you. You're the freak," Shane mumbled, crawling over to Ilya.
"I wouldn't mind if you got off to my sneezes, or, whatever. What do you fantasise about?" Ilya mumbled into Shane's neck, holding him on his lap.
The conversation continued into late night— which mostly just consisted of Shane loosening up and telling Ilya some of his fantasies. Ilya seemed okay with it all. Maybe he was more okay with it than Shane ever thought he'd be.
* * *
Ilya's first allergic reaction since finding out about Shane’s kink unfortunately had to happen without Shane.
His nose had been buzzing ever since he stepped foot into the Raiders locker room to play a home game. They were scheduled to play against Ottawa today, which was easy work.
Ilya pawed at his nose as he got his uniform out of his duffel bag, sniffling and grunting as he went.
Someone's cologne was not being so friendly to his nose this evening, but that obviously wasn't going to stop Ilya Rozanov from playing. Especially as team captain.
Once Ilya's uniform was on correctly, he sat on the bench and eyed the rest of the guys as they took their time getting on their own uniforms. Ilya couldn't help but continue to prod and rub at his nose, sniffling as he chewed on his mouth guard.
His original dull tickle swiftly moved into the tip of Ilya's nose, triggering some itchy sneezes. "Hah'tsHH!! Hahh...haaH'TSHH!! Hah'ktSHH! Snndf."
He directed them down to the floor in between his legs. He wasn't sick, so there was no point in covering. Nobody even blessed him anymore, Ilya had been known for his pre-game sneezes.
He found himself immediately thinking of the private conversation between himself and Shane. Shane's kink.
Ilya's cheeks grew unnecessarily hot as he imagined Shane's face if he were to witness Ilya's little fit just then. His dick felt suddenly all too restrained in his compression shorts.
Fuck, he was getting hard. Did his own sneezing just turn him on? No, no. God, he had gotten soft. The thought of turning Shane on turned him on beyond belief, and if sneezing was the thing to do it? So be it.
Pleasing him pleases me, is what Ilya told himself.
He alternated between pushing down on his bulge subtly and wiping at his nose. Now wasn't the time for these thoughts, they had a game to win.
Ilya's hockey headspace clicked as soon as his skates hit the ice, winning the faceoff against a who-knows-who Ottawa rookie and scoring two pucks in the first two periods.
Needless to say, he was doing amazing. He took some opportunities to swipe at his itchy— now runny nose whenever he passed the puck to a teammate.
* * *
Shane was currently in a hotel room in New York, accompanied by Hayden. Well— not currently. Hayden was out somewhere doing god knows what before they had mandatory practice later at 7 pm before tomorrow's big game.
So, this gave Shane some time for himself. He decided to hop on some random sports channel to catch a hockey game and little did he know, Boston was currently playing against Ottawa.
He put on his glasses, clicking on the livestream. He'd seen Ilya play one hundred thousand times before, but it never got old to analyse the Russian's elegance on the ice. Or his brutality.
The livestream greeted Shane with some commentators.
"—The Eastern Conference with 21 games to play, will continue their attempt to climb it when they face the slumping Toronto Maple Leafs at Prudential Center. Don't miss that."
"Rozanov is looking pretty good on the ice tonight. Those gloves keep coming up to tend to his nose, though. He needs to focus on the puck, not that nose."
The other commentator spoke up. "Cut the guy some slack, he's already scored two for Boston."
Shane squinted at the screen, looking for the familiar 81 to see what the commentators were talking about. Ilya did seem to be touching his nose whenever he wasn't in the thick of it. Huh.
As Shane witnessed a live Boston win, he sent Ilya a text.
Montreal Jane :
16:57 Is your nose broken or something? Congrats on beating my hometown, I guess.
Shane put his phone to the side, not expecting a text back for a while. Ilya would surely be off celebrating a hometown win.
His phone dinged several minutes later.
Boston Lily :
17:09 Not broken, allergic. 😇
Shane stared at the text. The emoji. Then the text again.
He didn't even know how to respond, especially with last week's conversation. He ended up leaving the text read, getting up to change into gym clothes for practice later. Anything to keep his mind occupied.
His phone dinged again after Shane had finished changing into his gym clothes. Shane cautiously eyed the notification. Boston Lily.
Shane sighed dramatically, picking up his phone to look at whatever Ilya had sent him.
Boston Lily :
17:16 (1 Attachment)
This is me because you left me on read.
The photo that Ilya attached showed the Russian taking a mirror selfie in the locker room of the TD Garden arena.
Ilya was jersey-less, wearing his hockey pants with a pout on his lips looking into his own eyes. What really stood out to Shane was Ilya's pink, irritated-looking nose with some tissue tucked in the fingers that held his phone. The Russian had sent that with intent. On purpose. Fully knowing and aware.
Shane silently cursed, zooming in on the photo. He could feel his abdomen tighten just from looking at the picture. His pecs were turning pink. His nose— fuck.
Montreal Jane :
17:20 Were you expecting a compliment?
Shane snickered at his own text, his thumb pressing send as he rested back in bed. Catching a glimpse of Ilya's allergy-ridden nose without the blockage of a helmet should not be turning him on this much.
Boston Lily :
17:20 You looked at my picture for 4 minutes, so yes. 🙄
"Oh, this asshole.." Shane mumbled to himself in the quiet of his New York hotel room as he eyed the text, holding his phone in one hand. Out of spite, he wouldn't send a compliment over text.
Shane ended up coming from just looking at the picture, along with his hand and his wonderful imagination. Totally out of spite for Ilya. Totally. Absolutely not from his nose.
And if Ilya was getting himself off to the thought of Shane coming to his picture? Shane would never find out.
* * *
The next time it happened, Ilya was unfortunately not with Shane for the second time.
He was currently sat in front of an audience of about 150 people for a press conference, cameras and lights blocking his view of the faces in the crowd.
He was sitting with three other guys on his team that he wasn't close with, but could definitely praise them. They were better sportsmen than Hayden Pike, that is.
Ilya watched as three makeup artists scuttled around, patiently waiting for his turn. He didn't even know why he got chosen for these things anymore, he couldn't perform a detailed response the way his English teammates could. It made him feel less than.
Ilya had been quite sniffly all morning, but that wasn't weird for him. Sometimes he had days where his nose wouldn't leave him alone, he was used to the familiar feeling.
One of the makeup artists eventually made her way to Ilya, not giving him any warnings as she dabbed a brush along his cheekbones.
He blinked, trying not to make a snarky comment on it. Sit still and don't talk where the instructions the boys were given, and he would listen. Ilya hated upsetting the higher ranks. Especially his coach.
The makeup lady tapped some powder onto his forehead and chin, moving to dust the brush along his nose. Unfortunately, she caught him on a very sensitive day.
He moved his head down, cupping a hand over the lower half of his face, "Ht'ks— Hnn'gtt! Nn'gshh! In'gsh!" He sniffled desperately, ears turning red as he heard his own sneezes loudly mirrored back to him by the amplifiers around the room. He had forgotten he had a mic strapped to his chest. He managed to stifle against his hand, fortunately.
"That's enough, Rozanov. Maria? Thank you," Coach LeClair quipped, sending away the makeup artist as he glared at Ilya. As if he could help a natural human reaction, Jesus Christ.
"Sorry.." Ilya caught his bearings, sniffling profusely as he wiped his hand on his dress pants under the table. He blinked over at the cameras, seeing that the livestream for the MLH had not yet started.
Ilya felt disappointed. He wanted Shane to see that fit, live on television. Ilya knew Shane was bundled up somewhere waiting for the stream to commence, as always.
He furrowed his brow at his own train of thought. What?
And then, naturally, he couldn't help but imagine the look on Shane's face if he witnessed that fit.
Fuck. He was getting hard again.
Ilya squeezed his legs together under the privacy of the table and its covering, trying his very best not to think about Shane right now.
If Ilya was going to pop a boner after every sneeze, this would be a problem. He never would have thought sneezing could do this to him. Had Shane's kink rubbed off on him? Surely not.
* * *
The third time was finally something.
Ilya had invited Shane over to his Boston house, since their schedules finally seemed to line up.
Ilya was up on his feet as he heard the expected knock, opening the door for Shane. Shane's eyes lit up every time he entered Ilya's home, as if he was seeing it for the first time over and over again.
"We have not seen each other in forever. Or called," Ilya tried not to whine but his speech still came off as needy as he walked Shane to the couch, taking Shane's jacket from his hands to hang it up.
"It's only been about two weeks. You went six months without contacting me once," Shane mumbled with a little smile, sitting himself down on the familiar couch.
"No, you lie," Ilya mumbled, coming to join Shane on his couch. Ilya felt slightly— nervous? A total foreign feeling for the normally confident Russian.
"I'm.. sorry if I scared you away. With photograph," Ilya eyed Shane, fixing his crucifix on his neck even though it didn't need fixing.
Shane's face remained blasé as he shook his head, lapping at his lips. "What? No. No, why would that scare me away?" Shane asked, genuinely dumbfounded.
Ilya blinked, eyes assessing Shane's body language. "Well, I don't know. You didn't text me after my press conference."
"I've just been busy," Shane explained, fixing the neckline of his shirt. "I actually thoroughly enjoyed your photo."
"Ah, you are perverted. I like it," Ilya snickered, rubbing his face with relief. So he hadn't read the situation wrong? Great.
"Can't say I expected photographic evidence, though," Shane smiled, moving to straddle Ilya as if it was natural.
Ilya shrugged, eyeing Shane's neck pulse. "I just want to get this right. Your kink."
Shane exhaled softly, holding onto Ilya. "That's more than enough. You're doing way more than most people would."
Ilya just smiled, pulling Shane closer to hide the fact that he was close to tearing up. Shane was so appreciative over the bare minimum, it was insane.
Ilya took a deep breath through his nose as he fit into Shane's neck crook like a missing puzzle piece, holding the Canadian by his waist through his hoodie. "You smell nice. New cologne?"
Shane nodded against Ilya, thumbs rubbing small circles into Ilya's shoulders. "I picked it up at an airport somewhere last week."
"Mmm," Ilya pressed kisses to Shane's neck, feeling saliva slide down Shane's throat as he swallowed against Ilya's lips. "Vanilla is good. Not many men choose this scent."
Shane chuckled lightly, kissing into Ilya's curls. "Don't go calling me a girl now."
"My wife," Ilya mumbled into Shane's neck, his lower abdomen beginning to warm up in a way that felt comfortable. The sensation was soon mentally disregarded as an odd tickle flared in the back of Ilya's nose. "Pretty.. hih.."
Ilya pressed his nose into Shane's neck as a poor attempt at quelling the tickle, only to make it unnecessarily worse. The sudden pressure to the front of his nose was like a trigger. "Ht'kshht!" Ilya's head jolted forward into Shane's neck crook, which only triggered more. "Hnn'gtt! Nn'gsh— Huh-tschh! Ah.."
Shane couldn't help the way his hips involuntarily bucked down against Ilya, both of their bodies rocking with each one of Ilya's sneezes.
"Are you okay? Bless you.." Shane mumbled, voice shaking as he pulled away to look at Ilya. Shane could feel the spray— the wetness on his neck. Shane also knew that Ilya could feel his dick gluttonously filling with aroused blood as their crotches sat together, confined by layers of clothing.
"Sndff.. I'm okay. Strong cologne," Ilya mumbled, a sly smirk easing its way onto the Russian's lips. "Vanilla makes me quite tickly," Ilya said, vaguely gesturing to his nose and neck.
"Right," Shane breathed out, shifting his hips a little. No amount of pretending could hide how much Shane wanted Ilya right now.
Ilya pressed back into Shane's neck crook, holding Shane by his biceps. "We could take advantage of it," The Russian had said quietly.
"Fuck," Shane whispered, hips looking for a hint of friction as they seemed to take a mind of their own at Ilya's words. "You're sure?"
Ilya took a deep inhale of Shane's oesophageal skin, the same skin that got doused with cologne an hour before because Shane hated the idea of smelling bad in the company of Ilya. "So sure, Hollander."
A broken whine from Shane slipped through the cracks as he got to work on unbuttoning his jeans, tugging at the waistband of Ilya's sweatpants.
"It's crazy how worked up you get.." Ilya mumbled, watching with fascination as Shane got his and Ilya's dicks out by himself. Ilya hissed through his teeth with a spike of unexpected pleasure as Shane shuffled forward in Ilya's lap, stroking their dicks together with one hand.
* * *
Shane and Ilya somehow made their way into Ilya's bed throughout their scrambling of hands and kisses, now left catching their breath together with an occasional sniffle from Ilya.
Ilya eyed the ceiling, hand on his chest as he breathed out. "I can't believe you waited this long to tell me."
Shane scoffed to himself, casting his eyes to the Russian. "There have been multiple times that I've tried, but."
"Like when?" Ilya moved to his side so he could see Shane, basking in post orgasm bliss.
Shane shrugged, judgment clouded as he examined Ilya's features. "I remember.. you had a cold back in 2010 or something. I was watching that game and— fuck. I couldn't keep my hands off myself."
Ilya's jaw dropped comically as his eyes lit up. "What?"
"Yeah, it was crazy. I was worried too, obviously. But it was the first time I'd seen you in a state of anything less than perfect health," Shane mumbled, his shyness creeping out.
"You should have called or something! What the fuck," Ilya sighed, fingers scrunching his curls. "We could have had so much fun."
Shane squinted, "As if Ilya back then would have taken it seriously. You were so mean and scary.." Shane trailed off, tone teasing as he took one of Ilya's hands.
Ilya gave Shane's hand a little squeeze, thinking about too much at once.
* * *
As the next week of hockey games commenced, Ilya found that his mind was.. distracted. To put it bluntly.
The thought of Shane unable to stop getting turned on while watching one of Ilya's hockey games on television while he was sick— it was messing with his head.
Why did Ilya find the thought so hot? How many times did Shane cum while Ilya was— fuck. Not here.
Ilya glanced around the locker room in hopes that there was no mind reader among them, his cheeks must be beet red. Whatever.
He got into his uniform as clockwork, tying his laces with precision. That's when he heard—
"SnnNNDDFFFDDXX ugh! This fucking cold, man," Marleau huffed as he trudged into the locker room, getting his uniform out right next to Ilya.
"You are ill?" Ilya mumbled, stomping his skates onto the ground to lock the blade in tighter.
Marleau coughed a little, undressing out of his civilian clothes. "Yeah. Fuckin' shuuuucks."
Ilya hummed, pulling on his gloves. "Don't let it ruin your performance, da? We win tonight."
* * *
Ilya let his eyes wander around the arena after Boston had won. It was a Wednesday night and the crowd was happy with a home win. Many were drinking and celebrating already.
Ilya could see Marleau off to the side drinking from one of the blue Gatorades provided by the league, and a sick idea flooded his head.
Maybe if Ilya managed to catch a cold, Shane would like it again? Ilya could actually experience it with his own eyes instead of hearing about Shane's fantasies.. Ilya wanted to be good for something. He wanted to please Shane. He wanted the attention.
"What the fuck am I doing?" He had mumbled to himself, skating to the side after Marleau went into the locker room with some of their other Boston teammates.
Ilya's eyes found the unattended Gatorade bottle that Marleau had just put down, grimacing slightly before taking a swig from it. And then another swig just to be sure. "Fucking freak. Blyat. New low. Okay," He said to himself, skating offside to undress in the locker room.
What Ilya woke up to on that following Friday morning was absolutely gnarly.
His throat was on fire and there was a little wet spot on his pillow from where his nose had run while he slept.
He subconsciously reached out to the other side of his bed where Shane normally slept while he had the Canadian over, but was met with an empty bed. Ilya heard himself involuntarily whine. Ilya got himself up, throwing on a Boston Raiders sweatshirt from the floor.
His body felt heavy already, the cold had come on hard and fast. His brain wasn't too upset about it, though.
Thank the hockey gods that Ilya had no games for the rest of his weekend.
Ilya picked up his phone with squinted eyes, sending Shane a text.
Boston Lily :
9:47 Call? I am lonely 🙁
Nice and simple. Nothing that gave away Shane's special surprise. Ilya put his phone down to give Shane some time to respond as he flopped back down into bed. His body didn't agree to being vertical today.
Ilya jumped as his phone dinged, coughing a little into a fist before reaching out again for his phone.
Montreal Jane :
9:49 Can't, sorry. About to play an early morning game against Ottawa, and then I'm having lunch with my parents after. Dad's birthday.
Ilya sighed out a whine, tossing his phone to the side. Of course Shane was super busy with some random events on the first day of Ilya's cold. The one he had specifically caught for Shane.
"Stupid.. fucking.. Ottawa. Stupid David Hollander. Why is your birthday today? Fuck," Ilya babbled to himself, patting a rhythm on his chest as he stared up at the ceiling. "Stupid,"
Ilya felt himself slipping into a state of unconsciousness from how tired he was, but suddenly jolted awake with an idea. Another sick idea.
Ilya remembered back to when Shane recorded a little video of himself on a run when Ilya wasn't able to answer the phone, just simply talking him through his morning. What if he did something like that for Shane? Shane only did that because Ilya had told him he liked the way Shane pants while running.
Shane did all that for Ilya in mind.
Fuck, he must be feverish. He isn't thinking clearly.
But he didn't particularly care. Nobody was around to tell him no.
Ilya got up, swooping his phone into his hand as he looked around in his attached bathroom for some tissues.
Once he had a box of tissues to clean himself up with, he situated himself back in bed. The curtains were still drawn, but he could see himself fine on the little rectangular screen of his phone.
Ilya sniffled, admiring his muscles for a moment as he flexed before pressing record. Oh my god, what the fuck was he doing?
"Okay.. it is currently— " Ilya leaned over to the side off camera to get a look at his bedside clock. "10:06 in the morning. Jesus," Ilya grimaced at the sound of his own voice. His accent sounded heavier as his vowels sounded congested with sickness. "And I've woken up sick."
"I wanted to record for you.. because.. you won't call me right now," Ilya pulled his blanket aside, looking at himself on the screen. "If this is weird, just click off now. And we can forget about it."
Ilya sniffled, rubbing at his nose. "I feel so crazy for talking to myself, but.. snddff. I don't know. I thought that maybe you would like this.." Ilya mumbled, feeling slightly self-conscious as his English was a little more sloppy with his cold.
"I'm going to put your hockey game on and laugh when you trip," Ilya sent a little smile to the camera, switching on the TV in his room with a remote. He changed to his main hockey channel, finding that the Montreal vs Ottawa game was 6 minutes into the first period.
"Okay, I see you," Ilya sniffled, eyes on the tv as he left his phone recording. Ilya shook his head, trying to keep his focus on the game and the recording at the same time. "Someone just blocked your hit.. too bad. Hhih.."
Ilya's breath hitched before he could bully Shane anymore, hand coming up to cover. "Hih-tschh! Hihh.. hih-tschhhuh— Huh-tshh! Fuck," Ilya swore, hands now covered in spray as his nose ran down his lips. He felt a weird pang of arousal in his abdomen, too strong to ignore.
Ilya hurried to clean the mess off his hands with his tissues, his boner now in plain sight to see through his sports shorts. "Ah, sorry. I look like a pervert now," Ilya mumbled, blowing his nose into the tissue. "I'm just imagining your reaction if you made it this far.."
Ilya blinked, eyeing the television once he could see again. "Ooh shit, I missed a Montreal goal. Fuckfuck- stupid cold. You'll have to tell me about it.. over the phone later," Ilya sniffled, looking at his camera. All for Shane.
"Fuck, I need to jerk off. Okay," Ilya breathed out as he palmed himself through his shorts, coughing into his shoulder.
"Mmh.. snndf. I wish you were here," Ilya said to himself, getting his dick out of the waistband of his shorts as he kneeled on his sheets for the camera.
"I feel like a whore," He mumbled quietly, a hand coming to wrap around his hardening dick as the other fumbled for more tissues. He started to stroke himself as his other hand wiped his nose, abs clenching for the camera.
Ilya groaned softly, spreading his thighs a little more for the camera to see. For Shane to see. "Aah.. snddxff sndff," Ilya sniffled, glancing up at the television.
He saw Shane on the livestream, watching as he dodged an Ottawa guy trying to elbow him into the boards. Ilya rested on his ankles as he began to feel lightheaded from being vertical for so long.
"I feel like shit," Ilya groaned to the camera, spurting a little over his stomach. "You better win this game. Will make me— ah! feel better."
Ilya doubled over as he came, painting his stomach as he moaned weakly. His throat was really starting to hurt from how vocal and sneezy he had been.
Ilya sighed, mopping the mess up with a tissue as he looked at the camera. He sniffled obnoxiously, sounding like a complete mess.
"I hope you like.." Ilya breathed out, nose burning as he shuffled up his shorts. "And I hope you have.. nice time. With parents. Hh! Hih-tschh! Oh, fuck."
Ilya coughed, elbow coming up to cover after sneezing down at his lap, his spray glowing with the hint of sun in his room. "Okay.. I end this here. I go to sleep now.. blegh. Hope you like," Ilya waved a hand to the camera, ending the recording.
11 minutes of material for Shane.
Boston Lily
10:23 (1 Video Attachment)
* * *
Shane didn't check his phone after his game, nor at any time throughout lunch with his parents. He liked to be respectful like that, he didn't have time to check his phone between the taxi and keeping his attention on his dad.
Once Shane got home to his Montreal apartment after a long afternoon of conversations and calorific dinner, he had to cool down.
Shane got into comfortable clothes and got himself an ice-cold ginger ale from the fridge. Once he had situated himself on his bed with a good hockey book, he decided to pick up his phone for the first time since before his game.
He was met with his usual notifications, Hayden, Mom, a vitamin supplement reminder and— a video notification from Ilya? Huh.
He ignored his other notifications and clicked on the one that led to his text thread with Ilya. He was met with an 11-minute-long video, which had an option to press play.
Shane furrowed his brow. What was this? He couldn't exactly tell from the blurry little thumbnail.
Shane's thumb pressed on the play button, putting his book aside and sliding his glasses on his nose to help him see the video better.
It looked like a recording with the front camera, Ilya was setting his phone up so he was in view of the whole screen.
Shane turned up his volume, taking in the sight of Ilya. That's when Ilya started to talk. "Okay, it is currently.. 10:06 in the morning, Jesus," Shane sat up a little, holding the phone in both hands. Ilya sounded.. off. "— and I've woken up sick."
Shane could feel his blood run cold. What the fuck was this?
Ilya continued, "I wanted to record for you.. because.. you won't call me right now, If this is weird, just click off now. And we can forget about it."
"Oh my fucking god," Shane said to himself in the quietness of his home, his body starting to get his nervous tremors, pausing the video as he took in the words.
Ilya had recorded a whole ass video. For Shane. Because he knew Shane would like it. Oh my god. Oh fuck.
Shane had to squeeze his legs together as he continued through the video, his head getting dizzy. Ilya looked so sick, but was performing a whole show for the camera. All for Shane? This was unreal.
Shane came three times to the video before he had to tap out, his lower abdomen burning as he was left flushed and panting. All from a fucking video.
Shane took a quick shower, drying himself off so he could text Ilya. Call him— anything.
Montreal Jane :
17:28 Oh my god.
17:29 What the fuck.
17:32 You look so good.
17:33 Are you okay tho? 😅
17:33 Fuck, Ilya. I can't believe you recorded all that for me.
17:47 Please call when you can.
* * *
Ilya woke up with a stuffy nose, glancing up to catch a look at his little clock. 19:02 blinked back to him.
Fuck, he slept for a while. Ilya stretched out his aching limbs like a little house cat, resting himself up on an elbow to check his phone.
Shane had finally seen the video.
Ilya's heart sank ever so slightly as he saw six notifications from Shane. Shane rarely double texts, even now. He either loved it or was spreading it all over Twitter. No, Shane wouldn't do that. Shut up brain.
Ilya swiped his passcode in, clicking on their text thread. He had to squint to see whatever Shane had said, eyes still sore from his long afternoon nap.
Ilya felt his lips curl up with a smile, a genuine one. His plan had been successful. Shane obviously enjoyed the video.
Ilya sat himself up in bed, clicking on the FaceTime option as he flicked on his bedside lamp.
Shane answered on the second ring, his face filling Ilya's screen. Shane immediately scrambled for his glasses, standing up to focus better. "Fuck- hey. How are you feeling?"
"Fine. Sndff," Ilya sniffled, appreciating the view of Shane in his glasses.
"Are we gonna mention how fucking insane that video is? Oh my god," Shane breathed out, pacing his room.
Ilya chuckled stuffily, blinking away sleep. "I'm glad you like.. was nervous. That you wouldn't like."
"Fuck. It was so hot, I can't. While watching my game, too? It's burnt into my memory forever."
Ilya's stomach felt warm, the words sending soft waves of dopamine to his brain. "I caught it just for you."
"What?" Shane's brow furrowed on Ilya's screen, his lips looking pink and puffy from what Ilya could only assume to be from Shane biting them. Shane had a habit of doing that while jerking off.
"Da.. I did. I won't go into details.. I know you said you hate germs," Ilya mumbled, eyes glistening from the light of his little lamp.
Shane rubbed his temples. "I can't pretend like that's not hot. Fuck. You're such an idiot."
Ilya scoffed, a rare teeth smile slipping from his lips. "Worth it.. look at you. You look fucked out. And I sent it hours ago."
Shane swallowed, eyes flickering somewhere off-screen. "Well, yeah. I haven't been able to stop thinking about the video. Fuck you."
Ilya cooed as an act of false sympathy, sniffling. "You think about it.. and then get hard.. and then need relief. And the cycle continues? Poor little Shane. How will you ever get through your game tomorrow?"
Shane groaned softly, sitting down on his bed as he eyed Ilya through the screen. "You're sick. Physically and mentally."
Ilya just shook his head, propping himself up. "You'll step foot on the ice and think about the video. About how sneezy I was watching your game. Da?"
Shane palmed himself as Ilya spoke with his stuffy voice, listening to how thick his Russian sounded. Thinking about how sneezy Ilya was in his recording. "Fuck.. fuck. Stop."
"Stop what?" Ilya asked innocently. "You know I'm right. I bet you're hard again, aren't you? Sndff. You're so easy, it's sad."
Shane audibly groaned, bucking into his own palm as he leaned back in bed, holding his phone with his free hand to see Ilya. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know enough. I see it right now," Ilya purred, wiping his nose on the back of his hand as he could see the familiar expressions of Shane receiving some much-needed pleasure.
"Good luck for tomorrow's game.. sndff hhih.. maybe you'll get another video? Only if you win."
Shane's lips fell parted, eyes closing as he was pathetically close to coming and he hadn't even gotten naked yet. "You promise?"
Ilya nodded, watching Shane. "Mm. Make sure to win. Fuck— I need to.. hih! K'hihtsHH!" Ilya winced at how chesty it felt.
"Bless you.." Shane groaned, swivelling a hand underneath his boxers desperately. Shane gave himself approximately 10 tugs before he was dirtying his clean chest with more come. "Oh god, Ilya. Oh shit.. ah."
"How many times have you come today?" Ilya asked, his own shorts uncomfortably tight as he stayed watching Shane.
Shane shook his head, taking off his glasses with quivering hands. "Seven.. times. I think. Maybe."
Ilya raised his brows, wiping his nose on his hand. "I'm impressed, Hollander."
Shane just sighed, head back on his pillows. "You really caught a cold.. on purpose.. to please me? Seriously though?"
"Yup," Ilya popped the P, sniffling to no avail. "I don't regret it. You look amazing right now. Sndff. You play better when you come, too." Ilya rasped, resting his head down.
"You sound so sick," Shane ignored what Ilya said, a frown now on his bitten lips. "You should sleep, alright? I don't want you hurting yourself."
"Oh, how nice. You'd like it if I got worse, Hollander," Ilya snickered to himself, getting all excited again at the idea.
Shane scoffed weakly. "Fuck off. Get well soon and keep the videos coming."
There was a moment of stillness before they both laughed together, Ilya's ending in a fit of chesty coughing.
was on a five hour bus ride yesterday and the AC was not working.
SO. i’m thinking about someone with a bad bad cold or the flu or something that’s making them miserable—sinuses, sore throat, headache, the works. and they’re already so not looking forward to being on this stupid bus and they feel self conscious about their symptoms and bla bla bla. they start feeling feverish on their way to the bus station but in the past the buses they’ve taken have been freezing—they layered up in preparation.
about ten minutes into the bus ride it’s painfully obvious that the AC isn’t working and the poor thing is sweating bullets. your choice if they’re sat next to someone (i wasn’t, and was able to sprawl out, feeling feverish just from the heat). their last layer is still a turtleneck. they’re wearing thick socks. they’re overheating like nobody’s business. there are no windows on this bus. they are miserable. but they’ve still got four hours to go
