♡♡♡

she/her, 25,sneeze kink ♡ ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peebies/works ♡ 18+ content on my blog minors do not follow or interact

[sneezybts]

i just sneezed in front of my friend / roommate for the first time and she blessed me and then said "wow ive never heard you sneeze like that" and i said you've never heard me sneeze i think! And she said wow that was a crazy sneeze that surprised me i didn't expect that

I thought my sneezes were normal 😭 maybe theyre not 😭

[rozsnz]

fresh meat 🍖

shane accidentally becomes a sneeze camboy for snzfet ilya

6.0k includes snzfet ilya, allergies & colds, light nsfw

note: this is extremely self indulgent & i will be back to posting realistic hollanov scenarios, just had to get this out of my head .. + the website is completely made up (unfortunately)

It all started as a joke.

It was the summer of 2010, and Shane Hollander was frustrated. He wanted to earn some money his own way, a way that his parents wouldn't criticise. A way that wasn't someone else's idea.

Naturally, this train of thought led him down an interesting Google search rabbit hole on his laptop. It started off with simple searches, "how to earn money online", "easy ways to earn more money".

What Shane forgot to consider was the sex sites.

With his growing career, he could never risk that thought. Could he? No. No way. The curiosity certainly didn't surrender as he scrolled through a master list of all the different sites. Who knew there was more than just PornHub? Not Shane Hollander, that's for sure.

Shane had heard some of his teammates converse about the taboo topic, but never indulged. Shane had never been into that sort of stuff, especially not now. Not when he had recently started to have amazing sex with his rival. It simply wasn't necessary for his needs, they were already getting met.

His eyes lazily danced across the names, making sure he had a VPN activated. There was something for everyone. Gay sites, straight sites, certain ethnicities, body types, a lot of diversity.

Shane felt his brow furrow as he caught a stray site, unable to understand what it meant from just its URL. It had the domain name under "SickBoys4U.com", which caught Shane's attention.

What the hell was this one? Shane clicked on it, his wary eyes sat protected behind his glasses. The screen lit up with a forum page, a menu greeting him.

Welcome to SickBoys4U!

A community run by like-minded individuals who are sick in the head & sick in the bed. Window shop, or join in the fun! Everything is possible.

Sign Up | Log In

Browse

Search

About

Shane still didn't quite understand. This must be a niche little community he stumbled upon. His cursor clicked the "About" section.

He ended up learning a lot more than he bargained for. A sneezing fetish was a thing? Hundreds of people had already signed up?

From what Shane had read, the men who upload videos onto this site earn up to $3,500 per video with an average of 125 live views. What the fuck?

That wasn't nearly enough as his MLH contract, but his curiosity continued to bloom. An extra bit of cash couldn't hurt.

Shane let out a long sigh as he watched his hand move up to click "Sign Up," typing in a fake email and a strong password. He had to make sure this couldn't be traced back to him by any means.

Once he was past the first stage, he made his username "birdboy7", which he thought of on a whim. He liked birds, and it was 1:07 in the morning, okay? He couldn't think right now.

—

Shane awoke with a big stretch, remembering last night's activities. The site seemed like a fever dream.

Shane had to open up his laptop again to make sure it wasn't, his screen lighting up with his registered account. Oh, great.

Shane shook his head, tossing away his laptop. It's not like he'd ever attempt to go live or anything..

—

Montreal had a home game the next day, the website now on the back of Shane's mind as he prepared himself for the home game.

They were playing against Minnesota, which shouldn't be that hard. Shane was in a good headspace today, and they hadn't played against Minnesota before but Shane had watched multiple YouTube videos of their techniques.

The moment his puck was stolen from him in the first face-off of the game, everything swiftly escalated. The men of the Minnesota team (of whom Shane had no clue their names) were much older and bigger than Shane. Bigger than they looked on his television screen.

The enemy team just kept scoring and winning face-offs, leaving Shane feeling humiliated. This was his home game, his rink, his team.

Shane couldn't look his teammates in the eye after everyone stepped into the showers to attempt to wash the loss off their skin. It ended up being 2-5 Minnesota. Coach was pissed.

"We'll get them next time, buddy. Don't even worry," Hayden attempted to make the situation better but Shane couldn't mask a response, slowly taking off his kit. He didn't feel like putting on a false bravado tonight, he was disappointed in his fucking performance.

And just by Shane's luck, Ilya wasn't anywhere near Montreal. Their schedules didn't line up for a while, which meant no sex for him. No Ilya for a while.

Well.. it wasn't as if they were boyfriends. Or anything. Shane had just gotten used to having Ilya.

Shane practically collapsed into his bed when he got home that night, allowing his mental rules to be forgotten as he marred the clean sheets with his outside clothes. He was mentally drained after today.

He could feel himself crashing.

Shane sat himself up and dressed himself into his pyjamas, something that wouldn't dirty the bed even further. Once his clothes were dumped in the washing machine, Shane sank into bed with his laptop.

His last used tab greeted him.

He took a breath, mindlessly rubbing circles on his touchpad. A part of him always craved a sense of validation after a big loss. Some praise. He had always been that way, and never knew why.

"Fuck it," Shane sighed, blinking harshly as he sat up with his laptop, positioning the device at the foot of his bed. From his little snoop yesterday, some of the guys wore masks to protect their identities.

Shane didn't have a mask like the ones those guys used. What could he use? Shane swiftly racked his brain and grabbed a scarf from his wardrobe, tying the light material to hide his lips and jaw. He popped on some sunglasses for safe measure, adjusting the angle so his hair couldn't be seen.

Fuck, he looked so stupid. Would people even join? Probably not.

Shane sighed, clicking the 'LIVE' button before he could back out. He had to categorise his stream, which made him feel like a piece of meat. He ended up with "Athletic", "Noob", and "English".

He left the television on in the background, some old Raiders game playing to cover the silence. It took 5 minutes for 6 people to join.

Shane awkwardly adjusted himself on his bed, conscious about the way he was being perceived. Watched.

"Uh.. hello everyone. Fuck, um. I'll be taking suggestions with every donation," Shane mumbled, repeating what he had heard some of the guys on pre-recorded videos say. He already felt like some cam whore. No, no. This was different, right? He didn't have a sneeze kink, they did. This was purely just for money and entertainment.

Goosebumps_: Nice nose

Shane's eyes skimmed the first message through his sunglasses, the weight in his chest starting to slowly lift. "Thank.. you?"

Goosebumps_ Donated $15: Sneeze

Whoa, people were actually donating. That was Shane's breakfast for tomorrow already covered.

"Uh.. thank you. For the donation, um. I don't exactly know if I can sneeze on command," Shane admitted, feeling like a total idiot. This was a sneeze site, he wouldn't get paid for just sitting there.

flagstaff: Ur new to this site? Do you even know what this site is?

Shane fumbled his words, the heavy feeling starting to return. Fuck, this was a mistake. "Yeah— I do know. I'm not stupid, alright?"

Goosebumps_ Donated $5: Don't scare him off, his nose is hot! Get some tissue, roll the corner and stick it up your nose.

Shane squinted at the donation, adjusting his sunglasses. "Oookay.. thank you for the $5," Shane flushed, feeling utterly pathetic for actually listening to this stranger's instructions.

Shane reached over to his bedside table, where he kept a spare tissue box, and plucked a few out.

His hands were a little shaky as he held the tissue up to the camera, pinching the corner of the tissue and twisting. "Like this?"

Goosebumps_: Yeah

flagstaff: finally

Shane made one little spiked off corner, mentally preparing to make a fool out of himself. He was bored, he needed validation. Attention from people who didn't know him, and would never know him.

Shane lifted the pointed tip of the tissue to the rim of his right nostril, his arm jolting back down from the weird sensation. "Whoa, sorry."

Shane tried again, tilting his chin a little and awkwardly prodding the tissue point past his nose rim. The tickle was almost immediate, his nose was not used to such violation. "Nn'gshxxt! Holy shit—" Shane naturally stifled hands free, lips parting under his scarf. He did not expect that to work.

Donations came flooding in, more people joining the live as some attendees shared across the platform, boosting his profile.

Goosebumps_ Donated $30!

Frodo3333 Donated $55!

flagstaff Donated $25!

"Thank you guys.. sndff. Wow. Okay," Shane watched the chat and the donation notifications, slightly amazed at how this turned people on. His face wasn't even visible, just his nose.

Frodo3333: such a good snz!!!!! try not to stifle next time : )

Shane rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand, mentally noting to shower as soon as this was over. "I'm sorry, what is stifling?"

flagstaff: it's when u don't fully let out the sneeze

Shane nodded, feeling an obligation to please these strangers. "Okay.. one more and I'll have to go. Thank you for the— uh, donations so far."

Goosebumps_: Aww ok. Please stream more?

Shane nodded, bringing the pointed tip back up to his nose. He decided to try his left nostril this time, body quivering at the weird sensation. "Fuck— In'gshh! Ah, excuse me," Shane sniffled, wiping his abused nose. "Did I do it right?"

The chat flooded with more praise and multiple donations, 37 people now on his stream.

Frodo3333 Donated $40: very nice

flagstaff Donated $50: yep! you're now a part of the club

Shane felt his stomach get warm at all of the praise, his shoulders relaxing from their constant state of tightness. "The club?"

coladog Donated $500: Very pretty

"What the fuck? Thank you," Shane gasped at seeing how much someone had donated, not expecting anything like that. This was going to become addictive. Was his sneeze worth $500?

"Thank- thank you all. I gotta go now, but. There will be other streams," Shane babbled, neck hot from sweat. When had he begun to break a sweat?

Shane ended the live and tossed off his stupid scarf and sunglasses, eyeing the analytic page that popped up. He made $1800 on his first stream. He felt.. proud.

All of that money just from sneezing. For total strangers.

—

Ilya was a new man on the ice the next day. Boston was currently beating New York with such ease that you could see their coach beaming from across the rink.

After drinking up the roars of the crowd, Ilya headed back to the locker room to rid himself of his sweaty kit.

Marleau immediately burst through the doors after Ilya, "Fucking hell, Rozy! That was insane! What's gotten into you?"

Ilya grinned subtly, he'd never allow a full grin to take over. "Your mother got into me, that's what."

"You can have her every night if you play like that, fuck," Marleau snarked back, patting Ilya on the back a little too harshly. They won by 6-2, which was extremely good. Especially when going against the fossil of pure muscle mass that was Scott Hunter.

Ilya's good mood could come down to only one thing.

He spent the night before browsing on his fetish site, something that he only did when he was bored to tears. His usuals weren't live when Ilya had initially logged on, which made him frustrated.

He had followed a lot of people, but kept 3 bookmarked. It was just a coincidence that they all had short black hair and freckles.

He spent a long time scrolling before he found something. Or— someone.

He stumbled upon a streamer who— yes he had most of his face covered, but had an extremely attractive nose that was littered with specks of freckles. It reminded him a lot of Shane's. Ilya loved to fuck Shane at a certain angle so he could see the perfect slope of his nose scrunch with every thrust, the rims flaring as he got closer to release.

Then, he heard the stranger's voice. Ilya couldn't recall a time before when he had gotten hard so fast. This stranger reminded him so much of Shane. The awkwardness, the Canadian accent.. he was perfect.

Yes, Ilya did feel guilty afterwards. Shane wasn't his boyfriend, so it wasn't cheating. But it felt wrong. It also felt too good to forget about.

Ilya watched as the stranger stripped himself of his own kink virginity and made himself sneeze for his audience, a hand desperately stroking himself through the stream. Ilya found himself imagining that this was Shane. Ilya had never heard Shane sneeze, so he couldn't compare this stranger's sneeze to Shane's.

He reminded Ilya so much of Shane, though. The voice was practically identical. The freckles. The mannerisms.

Ilya bookmarked the username, following the profile. Bird boy.

—

It was the night before playing against Boston, and Shane needed a way to release all of his pent-up energy. Ilya was on a plane en route to Montreal, so he couldn't exactly summon Ilya to his room for the night.

Shane found himself reaching for his laptop, scrolling through the website that he had become familiar with. He had reached 384 followers since his last stream with over 20 message requests. Well, shit.

After scrolling past prior lives from some of the guys on the site, Shane came to a conclusion. Most of the play on this site came down to roleplaying.

There were prompt categories for colds, allergies, forced, and other. Shane clicked on allergies.

Shane's eyes skimmed the page and clicked back to the home page, scrubbing at his eyes. He was really going to do this.

Shane got up and dug out an old cologne that had disagreed with his nose a couple of years ago, also grabbing some scented tissue that seemed to be a new irritant for him. His mom had sent over 5 boxes with his last cold, and they had made him extremely hitchy.

Shane plopped back down on his bed, resting the allergens next to him at a safe distance. He tied on his mouth scarf, putting on the sunglasses. He couldn't even look at himself on the little screen.

Shane labelled the stream "Allergies", then clicked "LIVE".

A couple of minutes went by, Shane pulling at the strings of his hoodie as he let people join. He saw some familiar chat names, and some new ones.

"Hello.." Shane mumbled, 17 people now in his live.

Goosebumps_: He returns! We didn't scare you off?

"Didn't scare me off," Shane confirmed with a little head shake, looking at the things that he's laid out on his bed. "Alright. I have here a cologne that.. I'm allergic to," Shane's voice slightly quietened at the 'allergic', as if it was a bad word.

"For every $50, I'll give it a spray. I also have scented tissues that get me kinda, uh. Sneezing, so. $45 for inducing with those," He laid out his prices, feeling slightly corrupt. He had researched all of the terminology on a separate fetish forum. Though, did he really believe his sneezes were worth that much? Shit.

As soon as he was about to lower the prices, some donations came in.

Frodo3333 Donated $50: what scent is it? : )

Shane smiled a little, even though it wasn't visible underneath his scarf. "Oh, uh— thank you for the $50. I think it has Saffron under tones? It's a Oud Intense, by Gucci," Shane held the cologne up to his laptop, spinning the bottle so his audience could see.

flagstaff: gucci? u have expensive taste

Shane's heart sank as he read the chat message, immediately overthinking. Was he making it obvious that he made a lot of money? That he was an MLH hockey player? What if —

coladog Donated $50: Two sprays now

"Shit, okay.. I mean— can you swear on here? Will they ban me?" Shane babbled, his nerves showing as he felt the weight of the cologne in his hand. He hadn't used it in years after the allergic reaction, but he kept it. It was Gucci, he didn't want to throw it away.

Shane spritzed the cologne twice in the air in front of him, fanning his hand around. His head did a weird little shiver as he felt the burn in his nose, the Saffron already getting to him. He didn’t expect anything to happen with his scarf on. "Whoa.."

Frodo3333: no stifles

Shane couldn't read the chat, unable to take a full breath before his throat was tingling. "Ht'kshht— Hnn'gtt! Nn'gshh! In'gsh! Ip'tschhx! Oh my ghhhod— Haa'ekkSHHHT!"

Shane's shoulders convulsed with each sneeze, his head slowly bowing down. A smidgen of a damp spot bled through his facial scarf, hands left shaky. "Fuck— excuse me. That was a lot.." Shane mumbled, voice hoarse. He didn't think he was that allergic, Jesus.

Donations flooded in, the audience absolutely loving the pathetic display.

CarrotFrog Donated $120!

flagstaff Donated $70!

Frodo3333 Donated $100!

coladog Donated $350!

Shane blinked away multiple allergic tears, fighting the urge to rip off his snotty scarf. "Thank you—! Hhh! Oh my ghh— huH-T'SHHT! Mmmph.. ouch. Bless me."

Shane prodded at his nose through his scarf, head pounding. He probably looked a mess.

rattrap76: Bless you x7

Shane sniffled with a little irritated cough, fixing his slumped posture. "7? Whoa. Sndff.. thank you, guys. I think I'll uh, head off for tonight," Shane mumbled, blinking harshly.

Frodo3333: what about the scented tissues? $45?

"Oh, god," Shane mumbled, rubbing his arms. "I think I'd genuinely.. explode. I'm sorry."

coladog Donated $200: let him rest

Shane swallowed uncomfortably, leaning closer to see the chat. "Oh— thank you. I'll have to test them another time, sndff. I appreciate the support," Shane waved a tired hand at the screen, ending the livestream.

His analytic page popped up, and he made a total of $2800. Shane scoffed, tugging off his scarf and sunglasses. He tossed the snot-ridden piece of material into his washing basket.

Shane took some ibuprofen before bed, deciding to have an early night. He left some windows open to clear the air, his humidifier was also running. He needed to beat Boston tomorrow.

—

Shane couldn't help but stare at Ilya when the two played against each other on Montreal land the next day.

Ilya had a fire inside of him, but it had grown. The flames were now transcending through to his playing. The same fire that ignited their sex and bled out onto the rink.

Shane couldn't help but feel.. suspicious. The pair hadn't had sex in a while with their messy schedules, Ilya's never matching up with Shane's. Had Ilya found someone new?

On top of that, Ilya couldn't even seem to look at Shane during their face-off. Shane was left with an uncomfortable feeling in his chest the whole game, which ultimately affected his performance. Boston won 4-2, Ilya scoring a hat trick.

Shane didn't stick around for the disappointed looks of the crowd, instead heading swiftly into the locker rooms to get out of his kit. His skin was itching with discomfort.

After his shower, Shane went straight home. He didn't want to face anything right now. Not after losing a home game. Not after coming to the conclusion that Ilya had grown bored with him and found another.

—

Shane got home and flopped down on his bed. His bones felt like a badly oiled machine, his brain full of fog. Fuck Rozanov.

Speak of the devil, Shane's phone chimed inside his hoodie pocket. Shane let out a weak groan as he moved on his back, reaching out for his phone.

18:27 Boston Lily

Room 1116

I want my prize

All Shane could muster was a scoff, his thumb worrying against his phone case. Fuck this guy.

18:28 Montreal Jane

Not tonight, I'm tired.

Shane tossed his phone aside, tugging off his belt. He needed some sleep.

18:29 Boston Lily

Jane 😔

Shane didn't look at the new notification, his head sinking into his pillow. He didn't even have the energy to make his before-bed smoothie, which wasn't like him at all.

—

Shane didn't have time to assess how he was the next morning, because for the first time in his MLH hockey career, he was late. He was late for the Metro's routine of meeting up before a flight— which was installed by Shane in the first place.

"No no no no," Shane pleaded with no one in particular, throwing on whatever clothes he could find all while packing his overnight bag at the same time.

If you know Shane, you know that he lives by routine. His whole mindset gets completely thrown off if something goes wrong, or a change in plan happens. This wasn't good. It wasn't Shane.

Shane immediately called Hayden as soon as he was in his car. His hands were shaking and his throat felt— extremely sore. When had that started?

"Dude, where are you?" Hayden didn't start with greetings, having spent his whole morning fretting over Shane.

"I'm sorry! I'm coming. Fuck. Are you guys still at the coffee shop? Shit," Shane drove, his phone on the dashboard.

"We're at the airport, man. You sound like shit," Hayden sighed, glancing around the parking lot as if Shane would magically appear.

"I'll be there soon! 10 minutes!" Shane's voice croaked, ending the call. He teetered with the law as he drove swiftly, legs bouncing on his acceleration pad.

After parking his car neatly, Shane rushed into the airport lobby. His teammates were all present, along with a very angry-looking coach.

"Flight is in 1 hour. You got lucky," Coach sneered, although not as angry as Shane thought he'd be. Hayden lifted up the backpack that he had used to save Shane a seat, beckoning him over.

"Sorry.. coach. Won't happen again," Shane mumbled, stepping over to Hayden. Everything was going wrong, but he couldn't freak out. Not here, not now.

"Shane, you're sick," Hayden stated, not a question. Hayden came to that conclusion before he even heard Shane's voice over the phone.

Shane shook his head, going through his bag to see if he had packed everything after how rushed he was. "I'm fine to play."

Hayden sighed, knowing from past attempts that arguing with Shane was completely useless.

—

Shane managed to score three seats to himself, leaving him with a nice bit of arm space. He sat by the window as usual, and Hayden sat across from him at the other window.

Their team medic thankfully gave him some liquid medicine for his cold, along with a fresh bottle of Gatorade. He'd kill for a ginger ale right about now.

Most of his teammates were napping, some chatting quietly about their upcoming league schedule.

"Ip'tschh! Agh.." Shane groaned, the sneeze making his ears pop, his headache pulsing. He clutched his ears, closing his eyes.

Shane couldn't concentrate if he tried. The air pressure against his ears was too painful for any helpful thoughts to occur.

Now that he was basically by himself, he could assess his situation. His nose was blocked, more than this morning. His throat felt tight. His ears had a constant low hum of pain. He was definitely sick.

Shane sighed, pulling up the hood of his hoodie to his lips so he could sleep. He felt like he was the puppeteer of someone else's body.

—

Shane was now horizontal in the bed of his hotel room, attempting to speed up his recovery before the game. He had a room to himself that was originally supposed to be shared with Hayden, but the league didn't want to risk potential contagion so they bought Hayden another room.

Shane hadn't even unpacked his bag, an unspoken ritual that happened the second he stepped foot into a hotel room.

With the way his cold was progressing, he probably wouldn't be deemed fit to play. He knew that, and it definitely upset him.

They lost to Boston days ago, and now it will probably happen again.

His phone dinged with a notification in the quiet room which made Shane's whole body flinch in bed. Shane propped himself up on an elbow, reaching for the device on his nightstand.

13:17 Boston Lily

Meet before the game?

Shane audibly mewled, rubbing his temples. Ilya.

13:19 Montreal Jane

I can't, I'm not well.

Good news for you, I won't be on the ice.

Shane squinted at Ilya's typing bubble, sniffling thickly. He felt like the slime that Ruby and Jade showed him was now in his brain, exiting through his nose. It was disgusting.

13:20 Boston Lily

You are sick? Are you in Boston now?

13:21 Montreal Jane

Yes & yes.

Shane stretched out his achy bones, mentally working out how he was going to manage this. Would he spend the afternoon in bed? Should he sit on the bench the whole game, or show his face? Should he stream? Fuck, the money he could make.

13:22 Boston Lily

Room number?

13:22 Montreal Jane

No. Sorry.

Shane put down his phone, cuddling back up into the white hotel sheets. His knees were too achy to please Ilya right now.

It was hours later when Shane's body naturally jolted from sleep, his brain not used to sleeping in the daytime.

Shane groaned softly, picking up his phone. He had a lot of messages.

13:55 Boston Lily

Let me see you

14:32 Hayden P

Are you up for the game? Coach is asking. No worries if not, just let one of us know.

15:47 Hayden P

Shane?

15:58 3+ Messages from: Mom ❤️

"Oh my god," Shane sat up, bones feeling stiff and heavy. It was currently 17:34 on his phone, 2 and a half hours until they were scheduled to play Boston.

Shane forced his thumbs to move over his keyboard, sending Coach a message.

17:37 Shane

I think I have a fever, which goes against the playing regulations. I'll be okay for tomorrow's game. Sorry about this.

Shane put his phone down, gut stirring uncomfortably. He hated missing games, it just felt wrong. He didn't want to let his team down, unable to support his weight. He hated it.

—

Shane woke up feeling floaty, forgetting that he was in a hotel room. He wasn't at home with his duvet that had the best texture. He wasn't at home with his bedside honeysuckle candle. He was alone in a hotel room somewhere in Boston. In Rozanov territory.

Shane rested on his side, reaching for his phone. He forgot to read his mom's texts from earlier, but she would understand. Before he could even think about clicking on his mother's chat, he saw new messages from Ilya.

Shane, of course, clicked on that chat instead.

20:32 Boston Lily

Congratulations on win, room number?

Shane scoffed, lip curling up. This man doesn't give up.

20:54 Montreal Jane

We won?

1124.

I'm not great company right now.

—

Ilya snuck into the hotel that the Metro's always stayed in when they came to Boston, making his way to the elevators. He clicked on the button for the eleventh floor, cap low over his face.

As the elevator finally arrived on his desired floor, Ilya stepped out with precision. His head was set on his concern for Shane, not sex. His worry overran any thoughts about his fetish.

Ilya made it to door 24, which made him scoff to himself. Of course the Metro's put Shane in room 24.

Ilya hoped that they put Hayden in 35, so he would be on the floor above. Ilya hoped they left Hayden behind at a gas station stop.

Ilya's knuckles rapped against the white-painted door, feeling the weight of the grocery bag in his other hand. Yes, he brought Shane things okay? That was normal. Human nature.

Shane inched open the door, and Ilya was unable to see him with how dark the boys' room was with the curtains drawn. "Who's there?" Came a familiar voice, thick with congestion.

"It's me. Who else would it be?" Ilya scoffed lightly, trying to see Shane as he opened the door more.

"Hello, me.." Shane mumbled. "I thought I told you not to come," Shane waddled away from the door, making a beeline back to his bed.

Ilya stepped inside, closing the door after him. He had to squint, eyes adjusting to the dark. "You think you are Batman? Can't see shit."

Shane sniffled, flopping back in bed. "Light hurts my eyes. Too bright."

Ilya's heart subtly clenched, making out Shane's face in the dimness. "How are you feeling?"

Shane grimaced, rubbing his arms. He almost forgot about the way Ilya had been acting with how sweet the Russian was speaking to him. "Bored. Tired, I don't know. What's up with you lately?"

It was out there now.

Ilya's expression didn't change as he put the bag in his hand aside on a little table, sliding off his jacket. "What's up with me? What do you mean by that.."

Shane's hands moved to try explain himself, unable to form perfect thoughts with his pounding headache. "You were weird when we played. You could even — look at me. Sndff. Did I do something wrong?"

Ilya's head subconsciously shook before he could mentally break down what Shane had just said, stomach flipping. "What? No. You haven't done anything wrong," Ilya's brow furrowed, jaw clenching to ground himself.

Shane's face ever so slightly crumpled as he looked away, grabbing for the hotel quilt for comfort. He was just so confused, and he didn't feel well.

"Let's get your music on, okay? I know that makes you feel better," Ilya mumbled, reaching for Shane's computer that was resting on an unpacked bag of his. Wow, Shane hadn't even unpacked. Ilya knew this was serious.

"No," Shane went to reach out to stop Ilya, stifling multiple coughs into a closed fist.

Ilya eyed Shane with uncertainty. Why had Shane been even more panicked when he had reached for Shane's computer?

"Let them out. You're okay," Ilya said, unsure if he spoke in English or Russian as he went to stroke a hand through Shane's hair.

They weren't usually this domestic, but there was no room for that thought right now.

Shane wheezed slightly, rubbing his eyes. His chest was soon falling out of rhythm as his breath hitched desperately. "Ht'ksjhht! Hnn'gtt! Ouch.. excuse me," Shane clutched some tissue from his travel pack, cleaning up the mess on his top lip.

Ilya stared. Those sneezes sounded.. familiar. Ilya went to grab the grocery bag to snoop out the ginger ale he had brought Shane, and that's when his eyes caught something.

A pair of sunglasses on Shane's bedside, with a navy knit scarf.

"What the fuck," Ilya mumbled, hands halting their movement. There was no way — no fucking way. This must be a weird coincidence, right?

It must be a weird coincidence that Shane had the same scarf and sunglasses as the boy on the site that had been making Ilya sick with guilt from how much he liked watching his lives. Sick with guilt that he was somehow cheating on Shane, who wasn't even his boyfriend.

"What?" Shane sniffled, already half asleep.

Ilya sighed out of frustration, bringing the ginger ale back with him. "Drink up, don't sleep yet."

"You look like you saw a ghost.." Shane mumbled, eyes squinting to see better. He hadn't worn his contacts for almost a whole day. Shane sipped from the can with Ilya's help.

"This is going to sound crazy if I am wrong. So crazy. So so crazy," Ilya rambled, putting the ginger ale aside once Shane looked satisfied.

Shane sniffled, head cocking slightly. "What will? Huh?"

Ilya crouched at Shane's bedside, hands a prayer against his own lips as he caught his bearings. "Bird.. boy. Is that familiar?"

Shane's demeanour shrank, brow furrowed. Things seemed to take an unexpected turn as feverish Shane didn't understand the situation. He thought Ilya was cornering him.

Shane almost immediately began to shake, resting himself up on an elbow. "Why — what? What is this?"

Ilya frowned, a hand coming to Shane's leg through the quilt. "No, no. It's okay. Fuck, Hollander. You are Bird Boy?"

"How do you know about that?" Shane pleaded, lower lip wobbling uncontrollably. "Please don't tell anyone —! My career.. fuck. Please. I can't—"

"Shane," Ilya spoke, as if he was commanding the Canadian. "Breathe. Why would I tell anyone? I found it by myself."

Shane panted, the fluid in his lungs crackling against every exhale. "You — you.. this isn't funny.."

"Nobody is laughing," Ilya attempted to calm Shane, keeping his hands close just in case Shane wanted to reach out for them. "Do you understand? I use that site. I'm just a viewer."

Shane sniffled, rubbing his eyes. "Okay.. sndff. Fuck. You've seen my stuff?"

Ilya nodded, forcing away any thoughts of Shane's past lives. How much they turned Ilya on.

"I've been feeling so bad this whole time. He looked so much like you, it felt wrong," Ilya said, rubbing his temples.

Shane was starting to understand. Slowly, but surely.

"I didn't know you had a thing for.. sneezing. You should have told me," Shane mumbled, voice stuffy as he eyed Ilya through fatigue.

"Mmh. I didn't know you had one, either," Ilya smoothed out Shane's eyebrows as if he were some doll, feeling for a fever underneath the pads of his thumbs.

"I don't," Shane's tone sounded genuinely confused, the one that always came when Ilya would make a stupid joke.

Ilya smirked a little, brow furrowed. "What are you doing on that site then?"

"It's just some extra cash," Shane shrugged, his sniffle gurgling in his sinuses. "I stumbled upon it."

Ilya pursed his lips, tucking Shane's quilt in. "You are a millionaire at 21. What do you need an extra, what — $2000 for?" Ilya mumbled, tone thick with arrogance as a small smile painted his lips.

Shane shrugged again, blinking over at Ilya. "S' fun.. shut up. I don't know why I do it. It got addictive?"

"Mm. Can't you explain your hardness in your last live?" Ilya's hand rubbed at Shane's waist through the sheets, thumb working at Shane's hip bone.

Shane shook his head, scoffing weakly. The humiliation burned so well. "Fuck off. I'm sick, you can't bully me. Sndff."

Ilya hummed, observing Shane's features. "You just love showing off. Getting a bunch of strangers riled up without showing anything dirty. You love it, don't you?"

Shane cringed, cheeks heating up. His lower abdomen was growing warmer with each word that left the Russians' lips. "No.."

"No?" Ilya parroted with a pout, cocking his head. "So, you like making a mess out of yourself instead? You like disrespecting your nose for money? Disrespecting yourself for money? That's kind of sadistic, Hollander."

Shane subconsciously mirrored the pout, hips bucking into nothing. "You're sadistic, not me."

Ilya shook his head, feeding Shane the ginger ale once more. "Bird Boy loves to please Cola Dog. Is that it? You could feel my eyes watching?"

"You're Cola Dog?" Shane couldn't help but whine his words, lapping at his lower lip. The user coladog was his highest paying viewer, the most returning one too. Now everything made sense.

[percyphonea]

📯🦵: Especially because S/hane is polite and Canadian lol or or or!!! Hear me out they are on a family vacation and I/lyas allergies are insane and Yuna and David keeps blessing him and S/hane is fidgeting so hard he has to excuse himself and I/lya eventually follows him to the bathroom 😏

Ohh anon your brain is so amazing! I think it’s such a good idea, I can literally see it, maybe even Y/una and D/avid are confused because S/hane is usually so polite and nice to people, and it’s I/lya who has sneezed about 20 times in 5 minutes and S/hane hadn’t blessed him ONCE!

But S/hane is also literally red in the face and blushing and trying to act very casual as I/lya stifles another double into his shoulder

[snzivore]

Okay this wouldn't leave me alone. May I present, fresh off the keyboard, 0% proofread, my first fic in a decade (1/probably 2):

The four of them are having breakfast at a cafe on Yuna's list to try, just a few blocks from their hotel. Ilya angles himself away from Yuna and David again, aiming over his right shoulder. "hh'NNtsch! ngxt!" A quivery inhale, then his customary third. "ahh?-kNGTch'huhh!" 

By Shane's count, that makes seven since they were seated three minutes ago.  Ilya had been fine the first couple days they'd been here, but something must have bloomed, or maybe the direction of the wind had changed, because the sneezing started yesterday afternoon and hasn't stopped since.

"Bless you!" Yuna says, David a half second behind. 

"Spasibo," Ilya murmurs, then sniffles wetly and roughly scrubs at his nose with a loose fist. Shane, sitting shoulder to shoulder with his boyfriend, is close enough to hear the resulting squelches and clicks. His open hand on Ilya's thigh clenches into a fist and his face feels hot. His mom is giving him a Look, clearly expecting Shane to chime in, but he can't. He can barely bless Ilya when it's just the two of them. In public? In front of his parents? Jesus Christ.

"Honey, are you sure you're all right?" Yuna asks, expression concerned. 

"Is just allergies," Ilya says dismissively, "I will be fine. Shane takes good care of me." He starts to flash Shane a slightly wicked smile, but in what feels like slow motion to Shane, Ilya's gaze turns hazy, his lips part, and he pitches forward towards Shane.

"hhdjsschmpf!" It's not so much stifled as much as muffled into Shane's shoulder, which tells Shane that this sneeze was stronger than Ilya had expected.  "ehh'TSCHHxtt!" A pause, a few hitching breaths. Shane's quads start quivering without his permission. "hhh? hhah!  aHHh-! ...nngt'kTSCH-kNTschh-zZCHhhiew! " The force of them resonates through Shane's body and he can feel the effort Ilya's putting in to partially suppress them. 

Ilya presses his face into Shane's trap, mouth moving in what Shane guesses is an unvoiced "fuck me," before he straightens with a few damp sniffs. Shane clenches and unclenches his toes inside his sneakers. 

"God bless you!" Yuna says, stressing the 'bless,' and overlapping with David's plain but no less heartfelt, "Bless you." Shane, meanwhile, digs a couple tissues from his pockets and puts them into Ilya's hand (because if he knows his boyfriend -- and he does -- Ilya doesn't have any). At least he can do that without spontaneously combusting, as long as he stares at the table the whole time.  

The sound of Ilya softly blowing his nose tips Shane's restless energy over the edge and he stands without thinking.

"Uh, excuse me," he blurts, face probably on fire, and makes for the bathroom.

[snzivore]

Part 2/2! 1.3k, explicit sex. Thanks to @snifflybabe and @diamond-pixie-dust for the assists!

------

Yuna and David watch Shane until he’s out of sight, then turn towards each other and exchange looks before saying anything to Ilya.

“Ilya, honey,” Yuna begins delicately, leaning in and resting her elbows on the table, hands clasped. “Is Shane alright?”

“He high-tailed it out of here,” David adds, brow furrowed.

Ilya clears his throat before answering. “kgm– yes, I think is just too much at once. I will, ah–hhahh!" His go-to filler catches in his sinuses, turning into a hitching breath that he’s able to quell with a sharp, harsh sniff. "I will go check on him."

Shane braces his hands on the counter, letting his head hang. His breathing sounds extra loud in the cool quiet. “Get it together, dude,” he mutters to himself. 

He hears the door opening behind him. He doesn’t need to see to know that it’s Ilya. Ilya locks the door and comes to stand near Shane. He doesn't say anything, just looks at Shane with soft understanding. 

“Shane, kotik, everything is fine. They don’t suspect anything, just wondering if you feel well.” Ilya pauses. His eyelids flutter and his brows furrow. “hhhNXGTshuh! nnkxtch! hh’ahh? ahh’nKTzisch’ue!’...snnff.” Ilya sniffles a few more times and uses the base of his thumb to rub at his nose, flicking the tip up. “–ugh, sorry. Bad timing.”

“It’s okay,” Shane says. “I’m sorry for freaking out, I just–”

Ilya gently, familiarly, cups Shane’s jaw, lifting it so they’re looking at each other. He leans in enough to ghost a soft kiss over Shane’s lips, an unspoken ‘it’s fine.’

“And, fuck, I feel bad that I’m… you know,” Shane prevaricates. Ilya sniffles thickly and raises an expectant eyebrow. Of course he’s going to make Shane say it. The desire to crawl out of his skin intensifies. “That I’m… so fucking turned on when you’re clearly suffering.”

“This,” Ilya flicks his wrist to indicate his face, “is annoying, yes, but is far away from the worst.” He leans in close, gently cupping Shane’s jaw with his hand, directing Shane to look at him. “Solnyshko, I like when you get off to me like this. I would be allergic anyway, so.” He shrugs, easy. “Is bonus.”

“I know,” Shane mutters, because he does, but he hates how often he needs reassuring about this.

“I am sorry, though,” Ilya continues. “About this happening with Yuna and David. I would not, if I could.”

“I know,” Shane repeats helplessly, shifting his weight. 

"It might help to release some... snfff, tension, yes?" Ilya says. His right hand rises to his face, the pad of his thumb worrying the flushed edges of his nose against the knuckle of his index finger. Shane can see a faint sheen of moisture on Ilya's skin as he lets his hand float down to rest on Shane's hip. 

Shane swallows involuntarily. "Yeah," he reluctantly concedes, rolling his head on his neck, and huffs a sigh, "I guess."

Ilya's tender smile shifts into a slight smirk as he crowds Shane against the wall. He feels for his boyfriend, yes, but the thrill of semi-public sex is never going to not get him going.    

Ilya thumbs open the button of Shane’s shorts, then slowly pulls the zipper down, letting the tip of his thumb ghost down the ridge of Shane’s already hard cock as he does. His gaze lingers on the growing wet spot on Shane’s favorite black boxer briefs and Shane squirms under the attention. Ilya smiles, a little predatory, and tugs the waistband down just far enough to get Shane out. He pauses then, lips parting, and Shane can see from the sudden haziness in his gaze and irritated flare of his reddened nostrils that Ilya’s going to sneeze. Shane’s own lips part and his breath quickens in anticipation.

So he’s not surprised when Ilya does exactly that, a soft yet forceful double, then a stronger, itchier and wetter single. “hh-atchshew!-ahTSCHhhh’ew! …huhh-? uhhh’JYISSHHHiew!!” But Shane is surprised that Ilya raises a hand to sneeze into, since he doesn’t need to cover (and usually doesn’t) when it’s just the two of them. A moan punches out of Shane’s throat and his eyes roll back a little when that hand encircles his dick and starts stroking. The spray isn’t enough lubricant to completely erase the friction between them, but the sparks of pleasure-pain light him up.

“Since I already had to sneeze,” Ilya practically purrs into Shane’s ear, then sucks the lobe into his mouth and bites down. Shane’s head thunks back against the wall. “And I–snf–think I will need to sneeze again soon...” The thought makes Shane shiver and his hips buck up into Ilya.

Ilya’s voice is a low, congested rasp as he instructs, “Do not come yet.” And, because he is a considerate boyfriend (or horrible menace), he slows the rhythm of his hand up and down on Shane’s dick. Shane groans, biting his lip and looking at Ilya through his lashes. His hands fist themselves in Ilya’s shirt, clenching tight.

“Ilya, please–’m so close,” Shane pleads, slurring slightly. Ilya touches his nose to the corner of Shane’s jaw and drags it tantalizingly slowly down Shane’s neck, leaving a slick trail as he goes. Shane whines softly. It’s embarrassingly high-pitched.

“Mm, I do not think it will be long, moy lyubimyy,” he reassures Shane, his face scrunching up around his reddened, damp nose. He jams it against Shane’s collarbone, rubbing harshly. “snnff, so iihhh’tchy,” Ilya complains into the top of Shane’s tits, his free hand sneaking up under Shane’s shirt to knead at them.

“I…,” Ilya starts, then interrupts himself with a hitching breath, his chest pressing into Shane’s, “hh-HHHhhh!” and manages to tuck his face into the crook of Shane’s neck just before the sneezes start. “hh’ahISSHHHHuhh! uhhITSCHschew!...guh.” Ilya lets out a congested little sigh, waiting for the inevitable next sneeze. “hh’ITSCHOOO! ihh’djshhoooh! ahh, huh-ahhh? ahhASHhooo! tisch-isch-iiEYISHHHew! hhh’ATSCHHshiew!” Shane feels the force of each sneeze reverberate through him, followed a split-second later by the hot wetness against his skin. A breathless “ohmygod” spills from his lips, his fingers scrabbling at Ilya’s shirt because he’s so so fucking close, he wants to be good, but Ilya’s not done yet. “-ohh, tra’ahhh’khni menyaAASCHHHiew! hihh-ihh? ihhZZITSSCHHHhhh!! ah! …hah! hah–USSCHHOOOooo!” Shane flexes his calves, clenches his toes, presses them as hard as he can against the ground to try and not come.

“God bless you,” Shane sighs, too far gone to be embarrassed now.

“Thank you,” Ilya replies softly, looking chagrined, like he didn’t mean to take it that far. He sinks to his knees, taking the head of Shane’s cock into his mouth. “Come now,” he instructs, words garbled but recognizable. Shane, perforce, does. Ilya swallows, as usual, but he’s too congested; a dribble of Shane's come spills from the corner of his mouth. 

Shane swipes his thumb over Ilya’s chin, cleaning Ilya up, and sticks his thumb into his mouth. He also produces a few more tissues from his pocket, handing them over to Ilya. Ilya takes them with a grateful smile and swipes them over his glistening philtrum before starting to blow his nose. Shane’s dick gives a half-hearted throb in response, which he’s both pleased and frustrated by. While Ilya tends to his nose, Shane gets himself squared away.

“Ready to go back?” Ilya asks, voice sounding thick. 

Shane rests his head against Ilya’s shoulder and Ilya hugs him tightly. “Yeah, I guess.” 

-----

They slide back into the booth, faces neutral. “Small panic attack,” Ilya informs Yuna and David, rubbing a hand over Shane’s back. “All good now.”

It’s only a few minutes after that when Ilya puts his knife and fork down, raising cupped hands to his face. “ngt’CHshh! khh’TSCHhuh!” He tilts his head back a few degrees, waiting for the third sneeze. “...ehh’TISCHhmmmff!” 

“Oh, bless you, honey!” Yuna says with feeling. 

Shane doesn’t say anything, but he passes Ilya a tissue and tucks an errant curl behind the shell of his boyfriend’s ear.

[rozsnz]

so easy 🐾

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.

[sneezybts]

cw intentional contagion, contagion, snz, mess, snot

been thinking about contagion scenario where where someone (A) is visiting their friend/lover/situationship (B) for the week.

A is perfectly fine upon arriving, but on the second morning, they wake up with a scratchy throat and itchy nose. Their stomach drops thinking about how yesterday they were sharing drinks, whispering in each other's ears, smoking the same joint, sleeping in bed together... And kissing, if they do that with each other.

So A does what they think is best - tries to hide it, resolving to do so until B gets it. Then, B wont be mad at them for passing them this little (or so they think) cold! B will think they gave it to A, so A wont feel so embarrassed about coming to stay and giving them a cold as thanks.

But as the day goes on, it becomes harder and harder to ignore and hide. They go to a museum, and A is trying so hard not to sniffle or cough. They stifle their sneezes as best they can, but the tickle just wont go away, and they can tell that B is getting suspicious from the side glances they keep throwing A.

As the two round a corner to the next exhibit, they pass someone with strong perfume, which makes A's already sensitive nose buzz even worse with the need to sneeze.

Luckily, they're right by a bathroom, and A can't even mumble anything out as they quickly cover their mouth and nose and rush to the bathroom, sneezing loudly and forcefully before the door can even shut. Mess is oozing out of their nose as they finally let it out after holding back for so long. Their hands are absolutely soaked with snot, and their face is burning with frustration as they clean up with the thin toilet paper.

They forego washing their hands, even if they feel bad about it, because they really need B to catch this and admit to it first. So A leaves the bathroom, cleaned up and tickle properly under control.

"Sorry, someone had strong perfume. Triggered allergies for a segond, but I'm fide." Their voice is slightly congested, but B seems to buy the lie, reaching out to hold A's hand and squeeze. It makes A blush, knowing that their hand is contaminated, but they squeeze back anyway.

Of course, when A offers B a piece of gum, they watch as B unwraps it and pops it into their mouth with that same hand A was just holding.

When they go to dinner, that's when it becomes almost impossible to ignore the horrible, persistent buzzing in their nose. A keeps having to press their tongue to the roof of their mouth, squeezing their eyes shut, sniffling hard, rubbing at their nose... much more of a mess than they would ever admit.

B takes notice. "Are you ok? Your nose seems... irritated...?" They tilt their head and narrow their eyes.

"I think it's just allergies," A mumbles, shrugging. "I felt perfectly fine yesterday, maybe it's something in the air here..."

Does B buy it, or are they just being polite and accepting the blatant lie for A's comfort? Maybe they know how embarrassed A gets when sick, or maybe A really does have a lot of allergies, so it's believable.

Either way, later when they get back to B's place, they share ice cream with the same spoon, cuddled up on the couch, way too close. Or maybe not close enough.

A shows their symptoms a bit more freely now that B knows they have the sniffles, blowing their nose right next to B without bothering to get up and wash their hands, sneezing heavily into their hands, ignoring the strings of mess left behind, just reaching for the videogame controller right after.

B's whole apartment is thoroughly infected now, has to be.

A gets tired early, shocker, and B suggests they head to bed, they have a big day tomorrow after all, meeting up with other friends. A gets ready slowly, the cold dragging them down.

"Damn, those allergies really took a lot out of you, huh?" B whispers to A as they slide into bed next to them, startling A who had already begun to doze off.

"Mm.. mhm," A just mumbles, their nose already dripping off the side of their face, running worse than it had all day. The tickle triggers a soft cough, which only makes the buzzing in their nose even worse and more urgent. Without any tissues around, nor really any more resolve or energy, they sneeze openly, towards B's face, so close to their own. Fuck.

"Oh, fugk," A curses, mess running down their face and connected not only to the bed, but also B's lips, which are parted in surprise. "I'b s-ah- so sorr-" and another one slips out, unable to control it anymore, exploding out of them as they try to sit up, but it does no good, the snot is already spraying B in the face again, and again as A continues with the fit, the tickle so strong they can barely open their eyes as their breath hitches again with a final, messy, snotty sneeze right at B for the last time. B blinks at A, shocked, letting out a soft sound of surprise, almost a scoff.

"Well... at least it's just s allergies, right?"

A's face burns as they look at B wiping the snot from their mouth and face, rubbing it onto the sheets. "Just cover with the blanket, I'll wash it in the morning," B instructs, reaching out to use the corner of the blanket to wipe A's face, too.

A is in total shock, sniffling and nodding, not able to really say anything else. B can't possibly still think this is allergies, right? There's no way.

"Hey, don't look so scandalized, allergies never hurt anyone," B reaches out to poke A's nose, which only makes their breath hitch more, and they pitch forward with another heavy sneeze into the blankets this time, but just as messy and thick. "Unless those aren't allergies? They kinda sound... well, they sound awful. If I wake up like that tomorrow we'll know, right?"

[snottysnz]

s/hane purposely chose to wear the cologne he knows i/lya is allergic to and felt awfully smug about it as he walked up to i/lya' front door. he didn't even get a chance to knock before he was pulled inside and immediately up against the door. he was greeted with i/lya's tongue in his mouth. "missed you so much" i/lya mumbled into the kiss. it'd only been a week since they last seen each other but it always felt like eternity. s/hane thought he'd spice things up a little, keep it fresh, hence his choice of cologne. "well hello to you too" s/hane chuckled and kissed i/lya back deeply. i/lya kissed him for a bit longer before moving his lips to that sweet spot on s/hane's neck and sucking it, hard. in doing so, his nose caught whiff of the scent radiating off of s/hane. i/lya sniffed, and immediately he knew. "you didn't" i/lya growled, pressing himself between s/hane's legs and grabbing the freckled boy's face with one hand. "you k-know that cologne makes me s-sneeze." the russian was already starting to feel the tickle brewing in his nose, causing it to wriggle and scrunch. s/hane couldn't help but smirk. he knew exactly what he was doing. "but you look so pretty when you're all red and drippy and sneezy." s/hane moaned softly as he felt i/lya press a knee into his crotch, the bulge in his boxers growing harder by the second. "you're ss-s-s-sucHIITTCHIYHCHOO! HHIICHSCHEW! HYYIIHYCHEW! sdggnfff such a brat" i/lya sneezed wetly into s/hane's shoulder, followed by a liquid sniffle right next to s/hane's ear. s/hane felt his knees go weak and his cock twitched against i/lya's knee. god, this was a great idea. he loved seeing i/lya like this. so powerless against his sneezes. "see, you can't even finish your sentences without sneezing, so helpless" s/hane teased breathlessly. i/lya flashed him a look, and s/hane knew that look. he was about to get absolutely destroyed, in the best way. i/lya grabbed a fistful of s/hane's t-shirt and practically dragged him across the room before throwing him down on the bed. "i'mb gonna make you pay for t-t-h-HYSHIICHIEW! I'IYCHTHEW! ssnrkrkk! this." i/lya said between sneezes, whilst he torn off s/hane's clothes in a frenzy. "all fours. snrrkk! now." he spat, taking a minute to scrub at his nose. his nostrils were pink and glistening, a bead of snot teetering on the edge of both. s/hane obeyed and got on his hands and knees, ready to take everything that was coming to him.

[rozsnz]

one thing after another 🏠

i/lya dealing with allergies on top of a cold at shane’s parents

3.3k includes sick & allergic ilya, caretaking hollanders, mess, pathetic ilya and humiliation ,, thank u lizard anon for requesting, i wrote this while witnessing q/uinn h/ughes gain his deserved gold medal

September 2017, Montreal

The morning started off extremely normall. Well— as far as Shane could tell.

Shane had woken up first, as always, and had already taken a morning jog. He had wiped the countertops and eaten his planned breakfast, which was oatmeal, blueberries, and half a banana. Safe. He didn't want to risk getting car sick. He even made a smoothie for Ilya.

The weather was gorgeous today. The sun painted the atmosphere a comfortable orange, and its beams made everything look beautiful. It was the cherry on top of Shane's good mood.

Shane didn't need to stress this morning— he dealt with any potential curveballs yesterday evening. He had packed him and Ilya a bag full of things they might need for the road which, yes it was only a two-hour drive but you could never be too sure.

The bag's contents included sunglasses, suncream, phone chargers, headphones, a travel-size umbrella, and some anti-nausea pills in case someone got car sick— alright. Maybe he did overpack.

Shane was all dressed and ready by the time Ilya had woken up. Shane was catching up on last night's Minnesota game (which Hayden swore he should watch because someone tried to copy Shane's signature move) when he heard the footsteps.

Ilya just flopped down onto the couch next to Shane, burying his head into Shane's chest. Ilya wasn't even dressed, still in the same Boston hoodie he fell asleep in.

"Well, good morning to you too," Shane chuckled, voice soft as he rubbed Ilya's back. It was rare for Ilya to be so clingy first thing in the morning. "We have an hour before we need to head out, alright?"

Ilya only nodded, moving his head to see what Shane was watching on the television.

"Boring teams," Ilya mumbled, voice sounding a little stuffy and deeper. "Boston better."

"They're alright. I hear Montreal is the best," Shane smirked at his own quip, brushing a hand through Ilya's hair. Ilya wasn't warm so it didn't spark immediate concern in Shane.

Ilya seemed to melt into Shane a little. He didn't feel awful so far but his throat definitely hurt. His joints felt stiff and achy. Nothing that Shane would notice tho, which was good. If Shane somehow knew Ilya was coming down with something, he'd call the evening off and make them stay home.

"Alright," Shane patted Ilya's back. "Get dressed, okay? Then have your breakfast. Gotta let it sit for at least 30 minutes before we leave."

"You have weird rules..." Ilya gave Shane's chest one last nuzzle, pulling himself up off the couch and into Shane's room to change.

Ilya was always obliged to Shane. He had basically adapted himself to fit into Shane's rules and routines without any problems.

Ilya shuffled through the backpack he brought full of clothes and got out a nice button-up with pants and his black shoes. It wasn't like they were going to a fancy restaurant or something.

Once Ilya had successfully dressed and fixed his hair, he brushed his teeth and got himself into the kitchen to drink the smoothie that Shane had made him. His body felt increasingly weaker as the morning went on, but his brain could be playing tricks on him.

He was probably just tired, or stressed. This was going to be his second time at Shane's parents and he didn't want to mess it up.

Ilya finished his smoothie, setting it in the sink after giving it a rinse and heading back to the couch. Shane was still sat eyeing the television as the game continued, a hockey book also occupying his hands. God, what a nerd.

Ilya shuffled to the couch, moving Shane's book away so he could take its place into Shane's arms.

"You're awfully clingy this morning, huh?" Shane put his bookmark into his book, both hands now on Ilya. Ilya just hummed a little, no smart comeback which was the first sign that something was wrong.

"You feelin' okay?" Shane frowned, cranking his neck down to get a good look at Ilya. Ilya looked okay on the outside, his skin held color so far.

Ilya cleared his throat, eyes flicking to the television. "Am okay. Just.. tired. Couldn't sleep," He mumbled, which was half true.

"Will you be okay to come to my parents'? I can text them if— "

"I will be okay. Don't text them, okay? Don't think about it too hard," Ilya fiddled with the buttons on Shane's shirt, buttoning and unbuttoning them.

"Well.. okay. Early night for you tonight," Shane held Ilya, eyes back on the television. Shane's brain was either full of hockey or full of Ilya, and right now he had both.

They stayed holed up for a little while, eventually having to leave if they wanted to be on time— which wasn't up for discussion. Shane would probably have 100 panic attacks if they were late.

Ilya got into the passenger seat as Shane loaded up the backseat with the bag he had packed and water bottles, sitting himself in the driver's seat. Two hours on the road wouldn't be so bad, right?

Ilya managed to sleep for most of it, feeling exhausted the moment he was in the warm car. Shane was a smooth driver so he couldn't help but fall asleep.

"—lya? Ilya. Baby, we're here. Wake up," Shane patted Ilya's shoulder, rubbing at the Russian's arm. Ilya woke with a little jolt, looking out the windows to see where they were.

Once the bleariness passed, Ilya mentally noted two very important things.

He definitely had a cold, and it had definitely started to settle into his body throughout the time he had taken his nap.

Ilya stretched out a little, getting out of Shane's jeep with shaky legs. He would be fine, he just had to get through this dinner. And then another two-hour car journey. Oh, fuck.

Ilya coughed a little, opening the passenger door to get their backpack. Shane liked to strap his backpack in, and he couldn't do that if it was in the trunk.

Shane waited at the front door of his parents' for Ilya to catch up, hand hovering over the wooden door.

David was the one who answered, a neutral expression on his face. "Boys, come on in. Yuna is in the kitchen finishing off her potatoes."

Ilya's stomach curled a little at the mention of potatoes, the idea of eating such a greasy thing with a cold did not sound appealing. He followed Shane into the house like a lost puppy, putting their backpack by the coatrack.

Shane padded off into the kitchen, naturally checking in on his mother. Ilya took his time to look at the framed photos of Shane on the mantelpiece in the living area, his nose feeling increasingly more irritated.

Ilya felt himself wobbling where he stood, his head feeling fuzzy. Ilya hadn't had a cold in so long, his body wasn't used to illness.

David seemed to notice, putting down the television remote on the table. "Everything okay there?"

Ilya's head whipped to David, his hands subtly holding onto the wall to help steady himself, "Da. Yes. Cute pictures," He nodded towards the pictures of baby Shane.

"You look a little unsteady is all," David added, his eyes looking concerned. They hadn't even sat for dinner and Ilya was already ruining the evening. He couldn't let this happen.

Ilya shook his head a little, hands coming off the wall. "I'm okay. Sorry," Ilya eyed the carpet, mentally noting not to touch anything.

"That's alright, son. Hope you're hungry," David said as he stepped out of the living room, leaving Ilya standing there. Son.

Ilya shifted on his feet, eventually following David into the kitchen once he mentally recovered from whatever the hell just happened. The atmosphere of the kitchen was very stuffy, steam filling the air.

Ilya helped David set the table, his nose becoming extremely runny with how steamy the room was. He had to step away to get some paper towels because there was so much running down his lip. He turned his back on everyone, cleaning himself up.

"Ilya, would you like some potatoes with your tourtière?" Yuna had called, plating everyone's food as Shane did the gravy.

"No, thank you," He had replied, disposing of the paper towel and washing his hands.

Everything was soon plated and set, with Ilya sitting next to Shane, both opposite Shane's parents.

Ilya picked at his food, trying to eat with no appetite. He tried to submerge himself in the conversation flowing around him, but English sounded so stupid right now. His ears had begun to ache, which wasn't good. At all.

"Ilya, Mom asked you a question," Shane whispered sharply, nudging him under the table with his leg.

"Huh? Oh. Uhm... I'm not sure I heard. Sorry," Ilya mumbled, feeling extremely sheepish as he eyed his food instead of Shane's mother. This was going awfully.

Yuna cocked her head, taking in Ilya's body language. "Shane, you didn't tell me he was feeling poorly?" Mothers know best after all.

Shane immediately eyed Ilya, recognising how uncomfortable Ilya looked. "He was a bit tired this morning.."

"It's just tiny cold. Nothing, really," Ilya admitted, which was extremely unlike him. Ilya could practically feel Shane's concerned gaze.

"Oh, that's awful. There's certainly something going around Montreal right now," Yuna had spoken, her tone turning soft as she frowned at Ilya.

Ilya continued picking at his food, his throat aching around every swallow.

"Some of Shane's teammates were out with it last week, weren't they?" David had looked at Yuna and Shane, eating his food.

Yuna nodded, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. "Yes! I don't think they were too sick though. They were deemed okay to play."

Shane nodded in agreement, a hand under the table to rub at Ilya's thigh. "They're fine now."

Ilya coughed a little, causing his nose to tickle. He swiftly ducked his head into his elbow, "h’nktch! hH'NNTXX! h’gxtch-uh!" Ilya shook with each stifle, each one extremely harsh on his throat.

Shane was quick to rub Ilya's back through his mini fit, "Oh, bless you. Bless you," Shane mumbled quietly, Yuna standing to fetch Ilya some tissue.

"Ah, sorry. Thank you," Ilya mumbled, face heating up from humiliation as he had no other option but to duck his head and blow his nose right there with the tissues from Yuna. He was so stuffy.

"No apologies, okay?" Yuna had reassured, rubbing Ilya's other shoulder as she sat back down.

"Do you wanna head home?" Shane had asked Ilya, checking Ilya's forehead for warmth.

"Nyet, Shane. Your mother made dessert," Ilya mumbled, not wanting to miss out.

Yuna and David couldn't help but chuckle, looking at Ilya with an unrecognisable expression of joint fondness.

"How about this. We can get you situated on the couch to have your dessert, hm? You're shivering," Yuna had nodded, leaving no room for arguing.

Shane helped Ilya up, walking him to the couch in the living room. Ilya felt weak. The evening wasn't supposed to go like this, causing a scene. This was all wrong. He was going against Shane's mentally planned-out routine.

Ilya flopped down onto the couch, watching Shane walk away with Yuna to get some supplies to help Ilya.

Ilya internally groaned, wiping his nose with the tissues provided by Yuna.

Shane and his mother soon returned with dessert, a blanket and some medicine for Ilya, Yuna draping the blanket over Ilya's shoulders.

"Will you both be okay to drive home later?" Yuna had questioned, a hand on Ilya's shoulder as Shane helped Ilya to take the medicine. "We'll be okay. Ilya will probably just nap as he did on the way here, so."

Ilya nodded a little, not really listening to what was being said. He couldn't accept it but it felt really good to have a parental figure so worried about him. His father had lacked empathy.

Ilya took a little spoonful of the ice cream after he swallowed his medicine, and Shane put some hockey on the television. Yuna stepped back into the kitchen to eat with David, catching Shane's look of "privacy please!"

"You should go finish your food.. s' going to get cold..." Ilya had mumbled to Shane, appreciating the feeling of the ice cream on his sore throat.

"I'll bring my plate in here," Shane hopped away to retrieve his food.

Ilya pawed at his nose, putting his ice cream on the coffee table to pull the blanket up higher. For some reason, his nose started buzzing. Even more than before.

The buzzing was a constant hum at the back of his nose whenever he had a cold, but now it was travelling to the front, making his nose extremely runny.

He could smell the blanket through his wall of congestion. It smelled very feminine, as if Yuna had got it from her bed for him. It was nice and thick, but probably the irritant.

But Ilya was cold, he didn't push it away. Ilya hadn't had an allergic flare-up in years so it was merely a second thought.

By the time Shane returned with his plate, Ilya's breath couldn't stop hitching. His eyes were starting to water as it all became too much too fast. The scent of the blanket was so intense, plus the tickle of his cold didn't let up. He quickly ducked his nose into the blanket. "Mp'ktch! hHIIh-nNGKTSH—!! Hhhih—! Hh'tsShiEw! hh'DJSSCHhh..."

Ilya was left panting, the last sneeze sending an embarrassing amount of snot into the blanket. The blanket that wasn't his.

His nose was still buzzing irritably, eyes now streaming with allergic tears. His throat ached horribly to top it all off.

"Fuck, Ilya!" Shane rushed, putting his food aside as he kneeled in front of his boyfriend on the couch. Ilya couldn't take the blanket away from his nose, he was absolutely mortified at the mess he knew was there.

"What's going on?" Came Yuna's concerned voice, rushing into the living room. Ilya squeezed his eyes shut because god— this couldn't be happening. Not here.

Ilya shook his head, face ducked down in humiliation. "I'bm sorry.. I— hhh.. I'bm sorry..."

"Oh, sweetheart..." Yuna said, kneeling by Shane to take a look at Ilya as David had stepped into the living room to see what on earth was going on.

Ilya couldn't help but sob dryly, completely humiliated and feeling so sick and allergic. His breath was still hitching through his tears.

"Mom, he's allergic. I can't tell what's irritating him, though!" Shane had snapped to his mom— not with malicious intent but more like anxious snapping.

"Goodness, alright. Could it be the blanket?" Yuna worked with Shane, assessing the scene. Ilya still had his head ducked, shoulders shaking with a mix of hitching breaths and congested coughs.

Ilya made a sound of distress as someone tried to take the blanket away from his face. He didn't want anyone to see his mess. Especially the people he loved.

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay. Mom's gonna wash this, okay?" Shane had reassured Ilya, rubbing his boyfriend's neck to try get him to uncurl from himself.

Ilya shuddered, letting the blanket go. He was quickly set off again, ducking into cupped hands with— "HH'zZSCHHh! hAH'PtsHHh'uuh!! ih! ihh-! iH!! hih'IDGTCHH'uhh—!!"

"Bless you, bless you! Dad, pass me those tissues!" Shane had ordered, rubbing a hand up and down Ilya's back as Yuna took the blanket away and put it in the washing machine.

David passed Shane a box of tissues from the table, stepping out as he sensed the pair needed some privacy.

Ilya was left shaky and still hitching as he lowered his hands, the mess connecting from his hands to his nose.

"Oh fuck, baby. Fuck. Are you alright?" Shane's voice was a little shaky, cleaning up Ilya's mess from his hands with a tissue. Shane didn't seem disgusted, he just wanted Ilya to be okay.

"I'bm sorry..." Ilya mumbled, repeating himself with a hoarse voice, blinking up at Shane through tears. Shane shook his head, helping Ilya and wiping his nose carefully for him, not to set him off again. "Baby, no it's all okay. You must feel so shitty," Shane sighed, getting more tissue.

"Blow for me, alright? I got you," Shane said quietly, holding a bundle of tissue to Ilya's nose. Ilya was beyond humiliated at this point, taking a weak breath to blow out the gunk from his nose with Shane's help.

"There you go.. uh huh," Shane gave Ilya's nose one last wipe, setting the tissue aside to throw in the trash.

Ilya sniffled miserably, eyes puffy and nose raw. "I.. want to go hombe."

Shane nodded. "I second that. Alright. I'm gonna go talk to mom, okay? Then we can head out."

Ilya just nodded, or at least he thought he did. Shane was gone for approximately 5 minutes before he came back with Yuna.

"I'm sorry you're so sick, sweetheart. And the allergies— awful. I'm definitely throwing that perfume out."

Ilya smiled a little, feeling his chest get warm. Yuna had been so kind, he didn't feel like a burden here at all.

"Up you get, I've got you," Shane helped Ilya stand so he wouldn't wobble, holding his waist as they shuffled to the door. David carried their stuff to their car after them, Yuna boxing some cake for the pair to take home.

"Get well soon, Ilya. We love you!" Yuna had hollered softly, holding David's shoulder as they both waved.

Shane started up his jeep after successfully buckling Ilya into his passenger seat, giving a wave to Shane's parents as he pulled out of the driveway.

"Ohmbygod," Ilya sighed, cradling a box of tissues in his arms. He was reduced to soupy sniffles.

"Don't beat yourself up over it, alright? My parents love you. Nothing will change that," Shane rubbed Ilya's thigh with his free hand, taking them en route to Shane's Montreal home.

Ilya shook his head, sinking into the passenger seat. "The blanket looked like something out of.. ghostbusters. When they shot the green thing!" Ilya whined tiredly, still humiliated.

Shane snickered a little, finding it a little funny. "It happens! Me n' my dad get like that in the summer, she's used to it," Shane added, trying to comfort his sick boy, "It's in the wash now though, so. The evidence is gone."

Ilya sniffled, eyes falling shut against his will. By the time they had gotten home, it was pretty dark outside. Shane had helped Ilya inside and into their bedroom for a shower.

Shane had helped Ilya undress, taking off the Russian's shirt to expose multiple pink hives starting to form on his back and about his pecs. "Poor baby..." Shane mumbled, rubbing a hand alongside the hives. He'd never seen Ilya this vulnerable.

"Ooh, gross. Yuck. I shower now," Ilya leaned against Shane, making no attempt to continue taking off his clothes.

Shane got himself undressed after helping Ilya, deciding to shower with Ilya. He didn't trust Ilya not to slip and fall given the state he was in.

Shane helped Ilya into the shower, grabbing a washcloth to scrub at Ilya's back but being cautious not to irritate the hives.

"How're you feelin' baby?" Shane asked, washing Ilya slowly, cautiously. Like he was a china doll.

"Sick," He admitted, turning to hold onto Shane. "I'm sorry for embarrassing you today."

Shane immediately shook his head, "No, you could never embarrass me over something like that. We were all just concerned for you."

Ilya hummed, letting Shane massage shampoo into his scalp. "Okay..."

"Good.." Shane rinsed Ilya's hair under the spray of the shower, holding him close. Ilya weakly hitched, aiming a sneeze into his hand. "ntSCHhuh-!"

"Bless you," Shane rubbed at Ilya's waist, giving kisses to his cheeks.

"Mm.. you are too good for me. Maybe you're the gross one for being so.. okay with me."

Shane grinned wolfishly, scrubbing the washcloth over Ilya's chest. "Alright, sniffles. Whatever you say."

[snottysnz]

"sdggf! guh... snrrkk! sddff! sdggnfff!" was all i/lya could hear next to him while was scrolling on his phone, winding down before bed. s/hane had woken up that morning with what, at the time, seemed like a little cold, but as the day progressed, his symptoms worsened, especially the congestion. the poor thing sounded miserably stuffed up. i/lya put down his phone and rolled over towards his boyfriend, pressing a few soft kisses to the back of his shoulder. "you are so stuffy, krasivyy. sounds uncomfortable." i/lya said in a soft voice. s/hane let out a frustrated sigh and rolled over to face i/lya. his freckled cheeks were paler than usual, the only real colour in his face was the redness starting to appear around his nostrils. i/lya could see that his dark doe eyes were glossy. "do you want to take hot shower? steam might help your nose?" i/lya suggested, booping s/hane's nose softly, making it scrunch up in response. s/hane shook his head "too tired for a shower" the freckled boy whined, "if my sneezes would stop getting stuck maybe i'd get some relief" s/hane huffed. i/lya tried his best not to chuckle, he hated seeing his love so uncomfortable but, god, he was so adorable. just then, an idea popped into i/lya's head. he reached across s/hane, fetching the tissue box from his nightstand and placed it next to him. he plucked one from the box, and started making it into a point. s/hane looked at him, with a slightly confused look on his face, his eyebrows furrowed. "w-what are you doing?" he asked as he scrubbed at his reddening nose. "you ask too many questions" i/lya said, straddling s/hane and gently inserting the tissue into s/hane's left nostril, and began to twist. "i-i-i/lya.. w-w-what the-" s/hane stuttered between hitches, "fuck t-that tickles" his nose wriggled and twisted with irritation as i/lya pressed the tissue deeper into his nostril. "means is working" i/lya whispered, and continued prodding his boyfriend's nose. s/hane could feel the tickle building, fast, and he knew that soon he would sneeze and it was going to be messy. "i-i/lya.. sddggfff.. i'mb g-g-gonna... s-s-sdeeze.. h-heh... g-gonna b-be messy" s/hane said breathlessly, he could hardly get his words out, the tickle was becoming unbearable. "is ok, moya lyubov, just let them out" i/lya reassured him with a forehead kiss. he dared to push the tissue just a bit further into s/hane's now streaming nostril, and just as he did so, he knew he hit the spot. "f-f-fuck g-g-onna s-s-s-snEEESHOOO! AAAGTSCHHUH! H'USSHHIEW! HH'ITSSHH'IH!" the sneezes exploded from s/hane's nose, spraying directly into i/lya's bare chest. "bud'te zdorovy" i/lya blessed him, "that's it. let them out. doing so good for me." he praised, then twisted another corner of the tissue and inserted it into s/hane's other nostril. "g-god it's s-s-so ti-tickly" s/hane fought for words against the tickle, his nose actively running. he looked up at i/lya, his blue eyes concentrating hard on s/hane's nose. it was adorable how determined he was to make him sneeze. s/hane's thoughts were quickly interrupted by another flurry of sneezes, "HH'ITSSHH'IH! HUH'ITSSHH'UE! eH-hEh-HEP'STCHIEW! H'HPTSSCHEW!" once again spraying all over i/lya's chest. i/lya grabbed a fresh tissue from the box and held it to s/hane's streaming nose. "blow for me, baby" he said softly. s/hane gave a loud gurgly blow, immediately filling up the tissue. i/lya grumbled up the tissue, dubbed gently around s/hane's nose to clean up any further mess, then pressed a kiss to his lips. "feel better? less stuffy?" he mumbled into the kiss. s/hane nodded. he did feel less stuffy, even if he knew it wouldn't be for long, it felt nice to be able to breathe through his nose again for a bit. i/lya smiled and slipped his tongue into s/hane's mouth. "you're gonna get sick" s/hane said, trying to pull away but i/lya only pulled him closer. "don't care. is worth it. always worth it, for you." i/lya kissed him harder, deeper. s/hane couldn't help but blush. he would never get tired of this. of i/lya. being his. finally. at last.

[blesser-in-disguise]

Peace and Disharmony Pt 3.

the final part of my little foray into torturing these two cuties! this one is a bit more indulgent and overtly kinky so if that's not for you maybe don't read the very end? part two is here and part one is here.

I hope you enjoy! ♡

fandom: h/eated r/ivalry

word count: 6.8k

cw: sneezing, general illness, contagion, snz kink, sexual overtones

Kip sat quietly, with his hands wrapped around the warm container of soup that Scott had handed him. The older man was busy in the kitchen getting them both spoons to eat it with, and filling a couple of glasses with water.

He returned, the clink of glasses being set down on the bare surface of the table provoking a fleeting wince from Kip, both for the sake of his head and the wood.

“Sorry.” Apparently Scott had been looking at him.

“’S fine.” Who was he to be picky about where his wonderful, loving boyfriend set down the water he’d brought over for Kip’s sake, despite the fact that his dragging footsteps betrayed the underlying desire to flop down on the couch and not get up for several days. ‘It’s fine’ was the least he could say about that.

“Do you want-” cutlery shifted in Scott's hands as he organised the implements, “- a metal spoon or one of the wooden smoothie bowl ones? I thought it might…matter?”

It was a choice that Kip hadn't considered until now, but he was realising that it really did matter, and he'd hate to put a metal spoon into his mouth right now just the same way he'd hate to put a machete into it. “Wood. Please.”

“Sure.” Scott placed it on top of the tupperware that Kip was still holding with both hands. “It's just there. Um, more meds? Or I could grab a cold washcloth?”

“Yes. Both. Please.” God he was so thoughtful that it made Kip feel like an idiot, his own brain too full of cotton wool to begin to think about what he needed right now, let alone what Scott himself might need.

“You got it.” He put down his own choice of spoon on top of the other soup container, returned the others to the kitchen, and headed through to the bathroom, Kip quietly placing his food down in his lap and trying to open it without looking as he listened to the cabinets opening and closing and the tap running.

He'd made little progress on the lid by the time Scott returned, muted rattling of the pill bottles in the pocket of his hoodie announcing his presence. Kip was malleable, moving easily with Scott's guidance to tip his head forward so the washcloth could settle on the back of his neck, perfectly cold, if slightly too wet. There he went being picky again.

“Thanks.”

“Sure. Here, can I try?” Kip relinquished the container of food, listening as the lid popped off easily in Scott's visually guided hands, and accepting it back. “Eat a bit and then we'll do painkillers.”

“Mhm.” Kip was surprised to find himself hungry, the steam from the soup caressing his face, carding through his hair lovingly. Fuck, Elena knew the best food places.

He dipped the spoon clumsily into the warm liquid, Scott already several passionate mouthfuls in, from the sound of things. Warm broth spilled over his tongue, Kip delighted to discover he'd managed to ensnare a piece of chicken and some carrot with his blind first scoop.

It was good, as Elena had promised, rich and deep and savoury. The chicken was tender, and the carrot sweet, and, as Kip discovered with his second foray into the unknown, the noodles tasted freshly made, like they were specifically prepared from scratch for his bowl of soup. It was heaven, it was ambrosia, it was…actually kind of spicy?

As the prickling aftertaste, a hint of fresh chilli, spread across his palette, Kip’s heart rate picked up slightly. A delicious addition, the perfect element to cut through the almost overwhelming umami of the rest of the dish, and, most importantly, it wasn't bothering his brain.

The spice sparked a gentle tingling feeling in his face that distracted from the pain, and wasn't unpleasant by any means. For him, at least. It seemed Scott was also discovering the hidden substrate to the soup, if the sound of the hasty abandonment of his tupperware and spoon on the coffee table was anything to go by.

Kip heard the cardboard top of one of the tissue boxes rip, and the swoosh of several tissues being removed at once, before-

“hEHSHHuh! hhEHDSHh! God, sorry.”

“Bless.”

“Thank you.” He sniffled thickly. “I think I might go and eat, um, somewhere else.”

“Why?” Kip frowned.

“I'm kind of loud and gross right now. So…”

“I don't mind.” I’m probably the person on the planet who minds the least. At least normally.

Scott laughed. “This isn't one of those ‘little white lie’ situations, Kip. It's fine. I'm… a lot for you right now, so I'm going to eat in another room, where you don't have to worry about me sneezing in your soup.” Kip suppressed a shiver at the mental image. “I'll come back when I'm done.”

“Love you.” The younger man said pitifully.

“I love you too.” Scott fumbled a pill bottle out of his pocket and pressed it into Kip’s free hand. “You can take two more of those if you want. The water is-” He pulled Kip’s hand with him to brush against the glass on the edge of the coffee table, “right there.”

“Thanks.”

Scott kissed the back of his hand before returning it to Kip and starting to gather his things. “If you need anything-” He clearly reconsidered saying ‘shout’, “- uh, knock the glass onto the floor.”

Kip raised his eyebrows at that extremely poor idea, but Scott didn't amend the suggestion, walking carefully away towards the bedroom so as not to spill his soup or his water. Okay, it looked like he was eating alone then. Or didn’t look. Sounded.

He was glad to not have to focus on anything apart from lifting the spoon to his mouth, swallowing the food, and letting the feeling of being healed by what might be the most satisfying meal he'd ever eaten, wash over him. With his eyes shut, Kip had no concept of time passing, how much soup was left in the- frankly enormous- container or what Scott was up to.

The last one was the only he begrudged, missing the presence of the older man by his side even if he'd sounded a little like he was trying to drown himself in the soup rather than eat it. As if sensing his desire to check in, Scott sent him a muffled proof of life-

“HRSHHoo!” Bless him. Poor guy.

Alongside a sip of broth, and a resounding noseblow from several rooms away, Kip mentally reprimanded himself for the phrase that he'd automatically thought of- ‘dinner and a show’. Not only because this was lunch and he was functionally blind, but also for… moral reasons. Said morals were once again tested as-

“EHSHhoo!” God bless.

The look Elena had given Kip when Scott had sneezed earlier was a valuable motivation to get his shit together and stop getting off on his boyfriend's malaise. She was a great confidante, but she stood for none of his nonsense, and had been encouraging him to confess his kink to Scott since they'd gotten serious.

Kip had thought that was an awful idea, as if one more oddity or departure from whatever Scott's idea of the perfect boyfriend was, would be grounds for a breakup, and a press conference where the captain announced that he'd made a grave mistake by getting into a relationship with some kind of sexual deviant. And that would be the end of gay representation in hockey. And also his career. And probably Scott’s career. And-

“HDSHh! hEHDSHhoo! … hyEHSHHoO!” Bless, bless, and bless, it seemed the chilli was wrecking havoc on his poor sweet sensitive nose. Which definitely wasn’t information he was filing away for later.

The idea of being completely open with the man he'd fallen in love with… it was tempting. Scott liked confessions, from extensively specifying his desires for their relationship to immediately apologising for forgetting to snag an extra cookie for him from a ‘once in a lifetime’ batch one of the wags had sent to practice. Those puppy dog eyes had more than convinced him that getting smothered with apology kisses was better than any cookie, though.

So, maybe he'd like a return confession from Kip. Maybe that's what this relationship was supposed to be. Trust and love and no secrets. Even if Scott thought it was weird, what was the worst he was going to do? Never sneeze in front of him again? That wouldn't be a massive departure from their relationship so far. He might break up with him, yes, but realistically, was he going to tell other people? No.

A quiet groan from the doorway snapped Kip from his internal debate, realising that the remainder of the soup, however much that was, was cooling in the container in his hands. Scott sighed in the wake of the vocalisation, Kip recognising the sound as him stretching out his upper back.

“That really hit the spot.” Understatement of the year. “Are you done?” Scott asked, his voice sounding a lot less congested now.

“Yeah. It was really good.” Kip surprised himself with his vocality, the thoughts travelling from his brain to his mouth in the automatic way he was used to.

“I can put the rest in the fridge, if you want?” The older man gently took the Tupperware from him.

“That sounds great. How are you feeling?” The words he'd been aching to ask for so long, he only wished he could couple them with staring meaningfully into his eyes to show he cared more than just as a passing check-in.

“Not too bad, took some more meds.” Scott's voice faded as he headed through to the kitchen. “Spice really, uh, cleared me out.”

Kip waited for him to return before responding. “So I heard.”

The taller man laughed awkwardly as he returned to stand over him. “Sorry about that.”

“Don't be.” Kip pulled his legs up slowly so he was stretched out on the couch, feeling it dip as Scott sat down by his hip.

He cupped the younger man's chin, softly stroking his cheek with his thumb. Even with his eyes shut, Kip could feel the warmth of his adoring gaze. He was almost asleep, lulled by the good food and the rhythmic ministrations, when Scott spoke again.

“Do you want to try some of that migraine stuff Elena brought?”

…

The scent of the ambiguously named ‘Relief Balm’ was eye wateringly strong. In fact Scott was both intrigued that he could smell it so clearly, and surprised that Kip, who should be able to smell it with perfect clarity, was totally dry-eyed. He cleared his throat, as though that would somehow free him from the mesh of menthol-based vapour he was mired in. It did not. At least Kip looked like he was enjoying it.

Fingers covered with the hazardous substance, and hands occupied keeping those fingers massaging away at the younger man’s temples, he could only tilt his head back and sniffle to try and keep himself presentable.

This, of course, quickly had the opposite effect. “hh-I’m g-huHh-nna-” He had to give Kip some kind of warning, right? There was a rule about not waking a sleepwalker and abruptly pulling someone with a migraine from a meditative trance felt like a similar situation.

The word itself felt too much, like if he formed his lips into the ‘s’ sound shape, that would be recognition enough of the impending reflex to act as permission, so Scott skipped the struggle and turned away to bury his face in his bicep, keeping his hands as far away from his nose as possible.

“hEHSHh! hhMPHHhuh! TSHhh! hhEHSHhoo!” He moved his face around, trying to find the best way to contain the sneezes.

“Bless you.” Scott looked back to see Kip studying him with interest through half lidded eyes. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed looking into those eyes until then, but the totally-not-butterflies in his stomach awoke to make him aware.

“Thanks.”

Kip’s eyes drifted shut again, and the taller man took that as a sign to start the massage again. After all, he hadn’t gotten all this shit off of his fingers and into Kip's brain- was it supposed to be going into his brain?- yet.

It took a grand total of 45 seconds before Scott was pulling away again, into his elbow this time, having less warning.

“G-uHh-nnaaH AHSHhoo! hEHTSHhuh! hEIHSHh-TSHh!”

“Bless you. Again. Is the balm messing with your nose?”

“No. It’s fine. I’m fine.” C’mon Kip. Stop worrying about me and just let yourself be taken care of. A few sneezes are nothing compared to the pain of a migraine, even if it seems to be easing a bit. Let me help you.

“Scott. We can take it off.”

“No, no. It’s helping right? So let m- oh fu-uhh- hTSHh! hEHTSHh! hyEHTSHhoo!”

Scott sniffled desperately against the back of his forearm, turning as far from Kip as he could, only to spin back sharply as the younger man gasped.

His hands flew out as if to catch him- dumbass, he's lying down- but Kip's own hands were flying up too, to catch-

“hihtCHhiew! Excuse me.” Oh. Cute.

“Gesundheit.”

“Thank you. Sorry I uh don't know why-” Kip's expression flickered, as though he was about to do it again, and Scott immediately turned to retrieve the tissue box. They weren’t much use to him right now with his contaminated fingers, but- oh fuck, should he be touching the box with this stuff all over his hands?

“Thanks.” Kip took a tissue and pinched his nose through it.

“Are you okay?” Did I get you sick already?

“Yeah, I-”

“tTDSHh! HTSHhuh! hhRSHH! hhEh… hEHTSHhoo! Ugh.” He had done his best not to interrupt but his nose was only getting more frustrated with him by the second.

“Bless you.”

“Fuck, sorry, give me a minute.” Scott stood, gritting his teeth against the buzzing and itching in his face that he was currently helpless to deal with, jogging through to the bathroom and shoving his hands under the tap.

The moment he felt he’d gotten off enough of the salve off of his hands, he shook them dry and started scrubbing at his face. He knew it wasn’t helpful but it satiated the itch temporarily and that felt so good.

Scott stared at himself in the mirror, the undeniable redness of his nose, the slight puffiness around his eyes, his hair inexplicably all over the place. Fuck, he looked like shit. Maybe it was a good thing that Kip wasn’t doing a whole lot of looking at him right now.

As he watched, his eyebrows twitched, and his nostrils flared, almost before he’d noticed the itch weaselling its way back up his nose. He fumbled for some toilet paper, raising it in front of his face as-

“hihH…hhEH-”

“-tCHhiew!”

Scott’s gaze shot to the door in surprise, the impending sneeze stolen from the tip of his nose by his boyfriend in the other room. Had he ever heard Kip sneeze before? He certainly hadn’t heard him sneeze multiple times like this. Something had to be wrong.

…

Kip sniffled, listening to the silence from the other room, wondering if Scott had heard him. He fiddled with the tissue in his hands, turning the twisted up corner underneath so it wasn’t visible. Sometimes with Scott, he’d found that it was easier to get him to do things by pretending that they were for Kip’s benefit rather than his own. And sometimes that meant pretending to be allergic to the migraine balm so that he’d let him take it off before Scott’s airway closed up. Apparently.

He heard the older man blow his nose, and then the faucet running again, and knew he was about to return. Awkwardly he extracted the twisted up part of the tissue again, inserting it back into his nose, and chasing the tickling sensation in the way he’d done so many times before. But never with someone else so close by. It was sort of nerve wracking.

“hhH…” The bathroom door opened.

“…hhiH…” Footsteps in the hall.

“hiHTCHh!” Kip ducked into the tissue, right as Scott entered the room.

“God bless you.”

“Thanks. Excuse me.” His heart was racing with the thrill of what he’d just done.

“Are you doing alright?” The couch shifted as the older man retook his seat by Kip’s side.

“Just….itchy.” And he kind of still was, he thought, with interest.

“Yeah,” Scott’s voice was kind of distant, as though he was zoned out. “Me too.”

There was a moment of silence where the shorter man hoped beyond hope that he was connecting the dots, albeit pretty slowly, in his mind, and was about to say something.

“Fucking- hH-”

Kip risked opening an eye. Scott was halfway through turning away, arm raising up to his face again. Okay, not thinking then. Maybe he needed a little extra evidence. Kip tilted his head back, repeating the trick he’d used earlier, catching the light of the lamp behind him directly with freshly opened eyes, and staring as the sensation built. It hurt still, his head protesting to the direct application of the most painful thing to it right now, but he could feel that lingering itch from earlier swelling-

“hhEHDSHh!” Thanks Scott, very helpful.

-and cresting, and- “hhihCHHuh!” He followed Scott’s sneeze with one of his own, sniffling innocently in the aftermath as he felt the older man whip around to face him again.

“Wait, fuck. Is this stuff getting to you too?” Finally.

Kip sniffed. “Maybe.”

“Shit, we've gotta get it off, then. Uh, can you stand?”

“Yeah.” The meds and the soup and maybe even the balm had taken effect and he honestly was feeling a lot better. Not one hundred percent, but well enough to altruistically fake an allergic reaction and walk through into the bathroom, apparently.

Scott wrapped his hands around Kip’s wrists, pulling him gently to his feet. “Here we go.”

They walked together to the bathroom, the younger man's arm draped over Scott's shoulders, eyes open now, putting less of his weight on the unnaturally unsteady captain. He was always a little more ungainly off the ice, maybe not in a way that was noticeable to anyone but Kip, but the illness was demolishing what little grace he had left.

Kip watched in the dim light filtering around the bathroom blinds as Scott grabbed a washcloth and started the faucet running warm water into the sink. Silently he moved closer, letting the older man swipe away at his temples, clearing the balm from his skin. He admired the focus in his gaze as he worked, calm and methodical as ever despite the clear signs that he wasn’t feeling his best.

Affection bloomed in the shorter man’s chest as, for the first time in hours, he was able to really see the face of his caretaker. The adorable flush to his nose and cheeks, the ruffled bedhead despite it being mid-afternoon, the old Admirals hoodie that looked like it had seen him through more than a few of these kinds of illnesses, one sleeve up, one down, like he couldn’t figure out if he was hot or cold. Kip smiled, though it still felt awkward and sideways. This was the Scott Hunter he loved.

…

Wordlessly they’d retreated to the bedroom, once Kip’s face and Scott’s hands were clean of the offending salve. The younger man lay down immediately, watching Scott hesitate halfway to the bed. Everything was still while the captain’s breath caught and disenthralled itself indecisively. After several seconds of audible hitching, Scott took a few steps back, steadying himself one handed against the wall, the short jagged breaths apparently making him lightheaded.

Support secured, he raised his elbow to his face, profile perfectly outlined by the light from the doorway, Kip watching blurrily as his brow furrowed and his lips parted for one last hitching breath in.

“hHRRSHHOo! hEHDSHHuh! hehh… hyETDSHhuh!”

“Bless you.” He was almost surprised by the return to the loud forceful cold sneezes after hearing the itchier allergic-sounding ones that the balm had provoked.

“Thanks. Fuck that was… loud.” Ah so it had surprised him too.

The older man disappeared back to the bathroom to blow his nose, before returning to the bed once again, climbing in facing Kip, never breaking eye contact between the doorway and lying down on the mattress.

“You're a trooper.” Scott combed his fingers through Kip’s hair.

“For dealing with the migraine? I hate to break it to you, but that was one of the lighter ones.”

“No-” The older man hesitated a moment, as though processing that, before continuing, “-for dealing with me. I’m already a little abrasive when I’m sick, or so I’m told, but having to listen to me sneezing and sniffling over and over when your head’s about to explode-”

Listening to him describe his illness was getting to feel a little too good, like guilt-inducingly good, and Kip was exhausted, and finally in less pain, and full of delicious soup and love for his boyfriend, so he really couldn’t be blamed for the words he blurted out- “I like it.”

“What? Like it's cute or something? You don't have to lie, Kip, I know I’m a mess.”

Well he’d started now, he might as well go through with it- “No. It's…sexy.”

“…are you kidding?” Kip’s heart jumped into his throat at the reaction, the words more than the tone, but Scott had almost laughed as he’d said it, and that was about as bad of a sign as he could think of. Luckily, the captain wasn’t quite done clarifying yet. “You don't think it's disgusting? Or like ridiculously loud?”

“I think it's hot, Scott.” He tried not to be distracted by the accidental rhyme, but he was giddy enough with adrenaline that if he hadn’t been worried he was seconds away from a panic attack he would have started laughing. “I think sneezing in general is hot, but I think you sneezing is unthinkably, cosmically hot, and I don't really know why, and I know it's really niche, and I’m really weird-”

“It's perfect.”

“What?” Kip stared at him with the most wide-open eyes he’d been able to muster all day. His heartbeat was thumping so loudly in his ears that he almost thought he’d misheard him. Taking in the grin on the older man’s face, their ongoing proximity- he hadn’t recoiled in disgust- the captivated look in his eyes like he was falling in love all over again. For some reason. Why on earth would that confession make Scott fall more in love with him? Was it just because it was a confession? He should really pour his heart out more often then.

“It's perfect. And you’re perfect. I thought my sneeze was like the most off-putting part of me. Or one of them. There are a lot of- never mind. But really, I’ve caught flack, or at least chirps, over this thing before-” He pointed accusatorially at his own nose, “- it's so loud, and I really can't control it, and there's never just one…”

“Stop describing it.” Kip was blushing, gaze averted.

“Oh, is that-? Am I-? Wow, that's all it takes. I am totally going to abuse this power.” Scott grinned, “There are so many possibilities, I could stand out in the rain, I could bring home a stray cat-”

“You’re allergic to cats?” The sentence came out slightly strangled, as though Kip was the one suffering an allergic reaction.

“Yeah, I don’t know if you saw that promotional video we did for the animal shelter? There were cats in that, and they weren’t even that near me but… the outcome was not pretty. I had them delete the behind-the-scenes footage on pain of death, or at least legal action.” So that’s why his search had come up fruitless…

“That is the cutest and hottest thing I have ever heard.”

Scott laughed, and then coughed into his fist. “I wasn’t gonna have people knowing the captain of the Admirals can be taken out by a fluffy little kitten. You know, like- ‘How did you take down Scott Hunter?’ ‘We handed him a baby animal because his nose is the size of the Bank of America tower and he’s allergic to joy’.”

Kip laughed too, leaning in and kissing him. “Is there… anything else?”

“Well, mint, or menthol, as you… saw. But that gets to you too, right?” Oh right, confession time. Again.

“No, actually. I um, pretended it did, so you’d admit it was irritating you and let me wash it off.”

“What? But you were sneezing- is that a dirty word now?” Scott paused his confusion to grin roguishly at the younger man.

“Shut up. No, I did it on purpose. It just happens sometimes when I look at lights.” He could explain the ins and outs of the photic reflex, but it didn’t seem like a great idea to go overboard on the information right away…

“You had a migraine and you looked at a light on purpose?” Scott’s face was the picture of heartache, as if Kip had just told him he’d taken a bullet for him or something. So also probably not a great idea to introduce the tissue method either, which would sound a lot less impressive next to that.

“Yeah, just for a second. And it was to help you, so...”

The older man closed the gap between them, kissing him deeply, and then pulling back with a graver expression. “Don’t ever put yourself in pain for my benefit again.”

“Are you kidding?” Kip met him right back with equally stubborn energy, “I’d do that over and over if I had to. But ideally I wouldn’t have to, because ideally you’d tell me if something was bothering you.”

“Right. We’ve gotta help ourselves as well as helping each other.” Scott sighed.

“Yeah, all this self-sacrificing stuff today got us literally nowhere.” Kip rolled onto his back, and laughed softly.

“Self-sacrifice…” Scott mused, “That’s pretty romantic. We might have to tell this story at the wedding, or my retirement, or on our deathbeds.”

“Absolutely not. I am interested that those are the only three major life events that came to your mind, though.”

Scott shrugged, and Kip, slowly coming down from the adrenaline spike of confessing his deepest secret, shivered. Wordlessly, the older man reached down to the foot of the bed, grabbing the blanket there, and dragging it up over the two of them as he pulled Kip into his chest. After the chaos and excitement of the day so far, it was the perfect safe haven, but then again, Scott kind of always made things feel like that.

…

Clear schedule, lingering migraine symptoms, and slightly disturbed sleep (courtesy of Scott’s congestion) be damned, Kip was up at the regular time the next morning, walking gingerly through into the kitchen and blinking experimental eyes at the light falling through the curtains. Okay, that was significantly better than yesterday.

He set about making some breakfast- because goddamn he was hungry- and some coffee, and sitting down to eat. He could easily make more when Scott joined him.

Kip ate as if in a trance, the events of the day before floating unacknowledged in his periphery, but, as though the universe was forcing him to confront it, once again his voyage for a second cup of coffee was interrupted by a deliciously low voice from behind him.

“Mborni’g.”

“Hi.” He turned, taking a coy sip as he let his gaze wander over the sculpted sickie before him.

Scott padded closer, sniffling, not stopping until he’d pressed the younger man against the counter, their faces inches apart. Kip wondered if it was a bad idea to keep drinking the coffee, because he wasn’t totally sure he was present enough not to choke on it currently. Because there was something else he wanted to be-

“How are you doi’g?” The taller man asked sincerely, taking in every inch of Kip’s face, scouring for signs of discomfort.

“I’m okay. Yeah, the migraine is basically gone, I can still feel it if I turn my head too fast, but uh otherwise…” Kip found his equally earnest gaze drifting from Scott’s eyes down towards his mouth. The cracked, parted lips, and the congested breaths passing between them may not have been very attractive to most people, but Kip found himself subconsciously licking his own in desire.

Scott noticed and laughed. “Sorry, I’mb still tired, I mbust have forgotten your mborning kiss.”

“Don’t keep me waiting any longer, then.” The younger man quipped back, grateful to be able to vocalise his thoughts again.

They closed the gap in sync, Kip having been serious about not wanting to wait any longer, Scott’s hands coming to Kip’s waist as he raised his free one to the taller man’s face, fumbling to put his cup down on the work surface behind him as they made out.

Scott broke away after a few seconds to lean on the counter top and pant in some crackling breaths, grinning at Kip all the while, although the cough that arose after a few expansions of his lungs switched his expression to a frown.

“You okay?”

“I’mb gonna get you sick.” Sorry, that’s the first time that’s crossing your mind? You kissed me like a hundred times yesterday, not to mention constantly coughing and sneezing in my personal space so yeah, obviously. And obviously I don’t care. Was that not obvious?

The younger man couldn’t exactly deny the prediction, so he deflected it, “Why don’t we focus on something more controllable, like how I’m gonna get you better?”

“You have such a talent for positivity.” Scott pulled a glass from the cupboard, filling it with water and gulping it down, a single rivulet running down his neck and over his chest. When he drew close again, Kip found himself surprised that it hadn’t evaporated on impact from the heat coming off him. His fever was back up, for sure, but also he had just gotten up from the bed that they’d ended up piling high with blankets for the night, so it was probably mostly that.

“What do you want to eat?” Kip asked, giving no room for him to avoid breakfast the way he had the day before.

“You.” Scott growled, pressing his face into the shorter man’s neck. For such an imposing man, he had a surprising knack for slipping out of tight situations.

Kip was about to protest, insist that he eat something before they even considered anything more exciting, but the taller man’s body had decided that it needed Kip to get the hell in him or on him or under him just as much as it needed this illness to get the hell out of him. Which it communicated very effectively by-

“hhEHTSHHuh!” Uncoordinated, Scott drew back clumsily, directing the first sneeze down at his chest as he held Kip at arm’s length. Then he managed to stumble a step or two away and raise his hands to cup over his face.

“hRRSHH! hHRRRESHHOo!”

“Bless you. That was…violent.”

“Thanks.” Realisation took a second to dawn on Scott’s face as he straightened up. “Is violent better? I don’t even know what you like yet.”

Kip flushed, staring with newfound interest at the cabinet door beside him. “Whatever feels best for you is better.”

The older man took the opportunity to close the gap between them again. “What feels best for me is knowing that I’m turning you on.”

Scott pressed up against him, crotch to crotch, sniffling slightly as the morning congestion loosened. Kip was speechless, staring upwards as the taller man’s expression flickered into discomfort and then frustration. Wordlessly, and moving only his upper body, he reached out and tore off a piece of paper towel from the roll, looking Kip in the eyes as he straightened up again and emphatically blew his nose. The younger man trying to keep breathing and blinking and upright at the debilitatingly unadulterated intimacy of the act.

While it sounded fairly productive from Kip’s up-close-and-personal vantage point, it also immediately proved to be counterproductive as well. Scott’s face crinkled, and he hastily adjusted his hands and the paper towel, making brief, desperate eye contact with his boyfriend to check he didn’t need to move any further out of the way, to which Kip gave an encouraging, if shaky, smile.

“heHTSHHoo!” He’d had a pretty close look at this process over the past 24 hours, but something about being directly in front of it, getting to see every flutter of his eyelashes, every jolt across his rippling muscles, every single second of the desperate reflexive response to the tickle in his sinuses, was completely arresting.

“Bless you.” His mouth was dry, and the words were barely audible as he voiced them, knowing the older man wasn’t done, but wanting to acknowledge him anyway.

Scott didn’t reply, eyes still squeezed shut, breath hitching, he stumbled slightly with the approach of the second sneeze, hands too occupied to steady himself. Kip braced him at the waist, keeping them pinned together.

“hhEhh… hETDSHHuh!”

“Bless you.” Kip was aware that Scott could most likely feel him pressing increasingly into his leg as the display continued, a fact that was affirmed as Kip realised that he could feel Scott hardening against his lower abdomen.

“Thank you.” The words held a secret, sexual weight now, and they could both feel it, the thoughtless social nicety imbued with a new, personal meaning.

Scott pulled back slightly, and dropped to his knees like he’d been waiting to do it all morning, which, now that Kip thought of it, maybe he had. Standing seemed like a bit of a task for the sick man currently, he’d been stumbling and leaning on things since he’d first entered the kitchen.

He nuzzled the tip of his nose lightly against the bulge in Kip’s boxers, smiling at the overcome expression it provoked on the younger man’s face. But he went no further, waiting, keeping eye contact, sniffling pitifully from his reverent position, Kip grinding against air until he finally gave in and asked for it, “Please.”

No sooner had the word left his lips than Scott was dragging the boxers down and taking his cock in his mouth. Kip moaned, allowing himself to replay the last few minutes indulgently as the object of his fantasies tried to breathe and suck his dick simultaneously. And he was awful at multitasking.

After a few titillating (or suffocating) seconds, Scott pulled back, breathing heavily. “Do you want… to lie down? Because I kind of want to lie down.” He gave him a persuasive smile.

Kip hesitated, debating repeating his ‘on the counter?’ joke from the day before, and apparently giving Scott enough time to decide for the both of them.

“C’mon.” He took the younger man’s hand, pulling him through into the bedroom again, walking backwards- a dangerous feat with his current level of coordination- so he could keep staring at Kip.

Kip lay down on his back, watching Scott step out of his own boxers, pausing at the end of the bed as his breath caught again.

“hHDSHHh! hhEHTSHhUh! “ The force of the expulsions made every part of him shake alluringly, “Fuck! This cold is all in my fucking nose.”

“Good.” Kip pushed himself up onto his elbows, “Come here.”

Scott wasted no time in crawling on top of him, leaning down to sniffle in his ear as he took Kip’s cock in one hand. “You didn’t say…” He ran his thumb up the shaft and over the head, “-bless you.”

“Bless…you.” The younger man panted, trailing a hand down Scott’s chest, finding it slightly wet, with spray or fever sweat he wasn’t sure.

“Thank you.” Scott kissed his neck and moved down the bed, taking Kip in his mouth again, sniffling desperately as he accommodated the full length of him to keep the loosening congestion from dripping all over them both. Not that Kip would have particularly minded.

The shorter man tangled his hand in Scott's hair, pushing the messy locks back so he could see his face better, watching the rhythmic crinkling of his nose as he sniffed every so often.

One such sniff sent the crinkling expression all the way up to his eyebrows as he panted around Kip's dick, taken off guard by the itch. The younger man waited for him to pull away, loosening his grip on his hair so it wouldn't hurt him. But he didn't.

Scott glanced up to make brief, stubborn eye contact with him, nostrils flaring, and started moving up and down again.

Kip's eyes were glued to his boyfriend as now every sniffle triggered a series of desperate huffed out breaths, until Scott could hold his breath long enough to get under control, sniffle again more violently, or press the younger man's cock to the roof of his mouth to hold back the sneeze.

After a valiant, maybe minute long battle, huffing and hitching desperately, and Kip muttering barely coherent lustful encouragement, Scott finally pulled away, will wavering as the sensation crested, raising a fist to press under his nose, “hHTDSHh! hhAHSHhOo!”

Kip watched him crunch in on himself slightly from the force, moaning at the accidental jolt of Scott’s other hand on his cock. “Bless you.”

When he turned back, the older man looked exhausted for a second, before the animalistic hunger reignited in his expression and he moved up to capture Kip’s lips with his own, holding himself up on one forearm, the other still occupied further south.

Scott managed about a minute in that position too before he collapsed with a huffed out sigh to half lay on Kip’s chest, freeing his other hand up to come down to his own cock, synchronising their pleasure as he pressed impetuous kisses to Kip’s pec.

The raspy congested breathing, interspersed with moans of pleasure and the kisses he was still scattering across the younger man’s chest was the perfect soundtrack to the symphony of straight-up sinful sybaritism that Kip found himself experiencing. Moments from that morning, from the day before flashed through his mind and it took everything in him not to cum from the memories alone.

Then Scott’s breath caught, and he immediately tried to twist away, painfully contorting to get his face over his far shoulder in time. Kip gently pressed a hand to his cheek, guiding Scott's head back to lay on his chest.

Once he was sure he wasn't about to move away again, he reached down to take Scott's dick from him, starting to match the pace that the older man was maintaining for him as they both approached climax, Scott in more ways than one.

The taller man used his free hand to cover the lower half of his face, not that Kip could see much of it anyway, pressing one finger to the underside of his nose while the rest covered his mouth.

“hHMPHoo! hRSHhuh!”

The fatigue of jerking away from Kip each time seemed to take effect quickly, and Scott moved to cup his nose and mouth to Kip’s chest, the explosions ricocheting against his palm and the small area of the younger man’s skin.

“hEHTDSHhuh! hEHTSHh! hhEHTSHHuh!”

Kip’s eyes fluttered shut in pure pleasure, the moans Scott was emitting in between hitches betraying how close he was to finishing too. And his hand moved across Kip’s chest to brace himself against his ribcage on the other side as his head tipped back, and-

“hrRRSHHHoo! hEHSHHOO! hYEHTSCHh-Uhh!”

Scott let the sneezes across his boyfriend’s chest, Kip almost drowning him out by moaning loudly as he came, the sensation of the spray misting his sensitive nipples, and the older man’s hand trembling on his cock with each expulsion taking him to sexual heights he’d only previously imagined.

“B-” Kip paused to pant in a few breaths, “-bless you.”

The taller man tilted his head up to look at him, nose pink and eyes bright. “Thank you. Seems like a bit of an understatement, right?”

Kip laughed, pulling Scott up until he could kiss him on the lips. “Fuck, I love you.”

“I love you too.” Scott grinned as they both lay back again, taking a few minutes to breathe before they had to start cleaning up and getting back to normal morning things like actually eating breakfast, rather than just each other.

Completely blissed out in the aftermath, Kip almost didn’t notice the feeling building until his mouth opened to inhale a wavering breath, leaving him just enough time to raise the back of his hand to his face and turn his head away from Scott.

“hIHTCHhiew!” So, he was getting sick. Another one of Elena’s predictions fulfilled.

“Gesundheit.” When Kip opened his eyes, Scott’s gaze was focused on his slowly relaxing abs. “You know, I think I might be starting to get why you like this…”

[snottysnz]

a messy mouthful ONE SHOT

fandom: h/eated r/ivalry

summary: kink!s/hane gets sneezy head from i/lya

cw: snz, sniffles, mess, nsfw, kink!s/hane, praise, oral

word count: 790

i/lya was on his knees, about to take s/hane in his mouth, when he was caught off guard by a sneeze. a sneeze that came on much too quickly, a sneeze he couldn't cover in time, a sneeze that sprayed all over s/hane's cock. "HH'ITZSHHCHEW!" i/lya saw it twitch in response. "fuck rozy" s/hane moaned, "do it again" he bucked his hips in the direction on i/lya's face. "you like that, don't you, moya lyubov?" i/lya purred, looking up at s/hane, his eyes rolling back in his head. "feels so good. please. please do it again." s/hane begged, and his cock hardened quickly. i/lya loved this side of him. he loved being the only one who saw this side of him. he loved being able to love s/hane exactly the way he wanted and needed to be loved. he loved that they didn't have to hide it from each other anymore.

"well, is your lucky day. i'm very sneezy. think i'm catching cold." i/lya sniffled, followed by a few sloppy kisses to s/hane's inner thigh. it was true; i/lya had woken up that morning knowing instantly that he was coming down with the cold that was making it's away through the team. his nose had been bothering him, more than usual, the last couple days, but this morning, his sinuses were completely blocked and his nose was tickling like mad. "as long as you promise to take care of your poor sick boyfriend after" i/lya teased him, rubbing his dripping nose against the tip of s/hane's throbbing cock. the canadian let out a loud moan, clearly flustered. "fuck i/lya, yes, i promise. please just fucking sneeze on my dick and suck it and then fuck the shit out of me. please. i need it." s/hane rambled on as i/lya's nose began to twitch.

i/lya squeezed both of s/hane's thighs as he felt the tickle getting stronger, his nose running, nostrils flaring. he leaned his head back, hoping s/hane was looking down at him, taking in this view. s/hane was. and he was absolutely loving it. seeing i/lya on his knees in any context got him all worked up, but seeing him like this. a mess. his nose red, running and flaring. about to sneeze. about to sneeze on him. and then he heard it. and felt it. the wet spray hitting his aching cock, and then another, and another, and another. 4. 4 fucking beautiful wet sneezes, all over his cock. then he felt i/lya's warm wet mouth wrap around him, taking him in deep, and fast. i/lya was not one to waste time, especially when he knew how close s/hane was. "fuck i/lya" s/hane put a fist to his mouth, muffling his moans. he had no reason to be quiet, they were completely alone at the cottage. it was still habit after so many years of secrets and having to be quiet, s/hane was still getting used to some aspects of their relationship. "let me hear you scream my name, moya lyubov." i/lya mumbled with s/hane's cock in his mouth, "tell me how good i make you feel" i/lya went back to sucking and s/hane did as he was told. he removed his fist from his mouth and grabbed a fistful of i/lya's perfect golden curls. his other hand gripping the bed sheets so tightly he swears he might tear a hole in them "fuck i/lya. fuck that feels so good. yes i/lya. oh yah. yes. just. like. that. feels so fucking good. always make me feel so fucking good. i/lya. more." s/hane wasn't even sure what he was saying at this point, he was too lost in the heat of the moment. "gonna s-s-s-" i/lya's breath hitched, "s-s-sdeeEEIIHYYSHHICHEW HHIICHHSCHOO HIIH’NKXSHH" i/lya quickly pulled his mouth off s/hane for a spilt second to sneeze wetly on the cock in front of him, before going right back to it. shane was seeing stars. "fuck i/lya i'm cumming" he thrusted up into i/lya's throat and screamed out in pleasure as he came, hard. i/lya sucked hard, and swallowed every last drop of his boyfriend's release. his own cock rock solid now and needing attention. he loved getting s/hane off, it made him so hot seeing him get all worked up, especially over his sneezes. his perfect little freak. i/lya wiped his mouth and nose with the back of his hand and climbed up onto the bed so he was hovering over s/hane, who was glistening with sweat. he looked so beautiful. "you did so good." he kissed s/hane's neck, "i fuck you now?" he rubbed his cock against s/hane's thigh, indicating that he was in need of some release of his own. "how do you want me?" s/hane panted and smirked.

[percyphonea]

📯🦵: Especially because S/hane is polite and Canadian lol or or or!!! Hear me out they are on a family vacation and I/lyas allergies are insane and Yuna and David keeps blessing him and S/hane is fidgeting so hard he has to excuse himself and I/lya eventually follows him to the bathroom 😏

Ohh anon your brain is so amazing! I think it’s such a good idea, I can literally see it, maybe even Y/una and D/avid are confused because S/hane is usually so polite and nice to people, and it’s I/lya who has sneezed about 20 times in 5 minutes and S/hane hadn’t blessed him ONCE!

But S/hane is also literally red in the face and blushing and trying to act very casual as I/lya stifles another double into his shoulder

[snzivore]

Okay this wouldn't leave me alone. May I present, fresh off the keyboard, 0% proofread, my first fic in a decade (1/probably 2):

The four of them are having breakfast at a cafe on Yuna's list to try, just a few blocks from their hotel. Ilya angles himself away from Yuna and David again, aiming over his right shoulder. "hh'NNtsch! ngxt!" A quivery inhale, then his customary third. "ahh?-kNGTch'huhh!" 

By Shane's count, that makes seven since they were seated three minutes ago.  Ilya had been fine the first couple days they'd been here, but something must have bloomed, or maybe the direction of the wind had changed, because the sneezing started yesterday afternoon and hasn't stopped since.

"Bless you!" Yuna says, David a half second behind. 

"Spasibo," Ilya murmurs, then sniffles wetly and roughly scrubs at his nose with a loose fist. Shane, sitting shoulder to shoulder with his boyfriend, is close enough to hear the resulting squelches and clicks. His open hand on Ilya's thigh clenches into a fist and his face feels hot. His mom is giving him a Look, clearly expecting Shane to chime in, but he can't. He can barely bless Ilya when it's just the two of them. In public? In front of his parents? Jesus Christ.

"Honey, are you sure you're all right?" Yuna asks, expression concerned. 

"Is just allergies," Ilya says dismissively, "I will be fine. Shane takes good care of me." He starts to flash Shane a slightly wicked smile, but in what feels like slow motion to Shane, Ilya's gaze turns hazy, his lips part, and he pitches forward towards Shane.

"hhdjsschmpf!" It's not so much stifled as much as muffled into Shane's shoulder, which tells Shane that this sneeze was stronger than Ilya had expected.  "ehh'TSCHHxtt!" A pause, a few hitching breaths. Shane's quads start quivering without his permission. "hhh? hhah!  aHHh-! ...nngt'kTSCH-kNTschh-zZCHhhiew! " The force of them resonates through Shane's body and he can feel the effort Ilya's putting in to partially suppress them. 

Ilya presses his face into Shane's trap, mouth moving in what Shane guesses is an unvoiced "fuck me," before he straightens with a few damp sniffs. Shane clenches and unclenches his toes inside his sneakers. 

"God bless you!" Yuna says, stressing the 'bless,' and overlapping with David's plain but no less heartfelt, "Bless you." Shane, meanwhile, digs a couple tissues from his pockets and puts them into Ilya's hand (because if he knows his boyfriend -- and he does -- Ilya doesn't have any). At least he can do that without spontaneously combusting, as long as he stares at the table the whole time.  

The sound of Ilya softly blowing his nose tips Shane's restless energy over the edge and he stands without thinking.

"Uh, excuse me," he blurts, face probably on fire, and makes for the bathroom.

[feverfcking]

[sickhaze]

“we didn’t even kiss”

but it’s because, on top of the emotional saw trap ilya has strapped himself into and been stewing in over the previous few months since the olympics, he’s also in the process of catching what feels like it’s going to be a horrendous stress/general misery-induced cold that he doesn’t want to send shane home with.

taking shane from behind, the excess swearing, the heavy mouth breathing, how exhausted he was after…

shane doesn’t hear, but the moment the hotel door clicks shut, there’s the throaty, loaded sneeze that, at last, demanded to be endured after so long held at bay.

[sneezybts]

Sorry for the little TLG spoiler but this scene reimagined where i/lya is allergic to the new shampoo...

[hurt-care]

Alright, alright....it's not particularly original or revelatory but it's some more content so I am sharing cause I cannot get enough of the idea of this man sick with a cold.

I present I/lya with a cold, set during his time in Ottawa while S/hane still plays in Montreal. With the headcanon that I/lya doesn't give a fuck about snot/spit/etc lol

--

J: Good luck tonight (4:46)

Shane glances at his phone as he climbs into his Jeep. It's now nearly six and the text is unanswered, and though it isn't unlike Ilya to disappear for long stretches, it irritates Shanes. He's just finished up his own afternoon game in Montreal and there's a long stretch of highway between him and Ilya's condo in Ottawa. 

Hair still damp from the showers, he pulls out of the arena's private parking and heads for the on-ramp of Route 40. He's done this drive so many times now, it's practically muscle memory. With a podcast on and the sun setting as he drives, he goes into auto-pilot, his mind quiet and focused on the familiar stretch of road.

It isn't until he's pulled into Ilya's garage (beside the ridiculous orange Porsche) and he's shouldering his weekend bag that he notices that Ilya has finally replied to his text.

L: Maybe you should stay in Montreal tonight (6:37)

Brow furrowing, he texts back.

J: What? I just got here. I know you're on the ice -- we can talk after. (8:38)

Shane lets himself in to the house and tosses his bag in the bedroom. Ilya's generally pretty neat, but the bed is unmade and there are clothes scattered on the floor and an empty plastic water bottle on the nightstand. In the kitchen, several mugs and dishes are in the sink along with remains of a sandwich half-eaten on the table. Shane turns the TV on to TSN to catch the rest of Ilya's game while he loads the dishes into the dishwasher.

The second quarter has just ended and the commentators are discussing the game. Ottawa is behind 1 to 3. 

“Rosanov's just not looking his best tonight,” one of the commentators remarks. “He's been slow on his skates all evening.”

“And with Ilya Rosanov playing poorly, the rest of the team just can't seem to pick up the slack,” the other broadcaster replies. 

“It's going to be tough for Ottawa to regain control in this third period. Detroit is absolutely dominating the puck and the pace.”

Shane searches the screen for a glimpse of Ilya as the players start entering the ice for the last twenty minutes of the game. The camera pans across to the Centaur's bench as Ilya enters the ice for the face off.

Shane's stomach sinks as he sees exactly why Ilya is playing poorly. He's barely off the bench before the camera catches him pausing and sneezing violently. 

“Oooh,” the commentator groans as Ilya is captured with a thick rope of snot dribbling out of his nose. The Russian turns around and grabs a towel from the bench, wiping his face. He spits impatiently onto the ice and skates to the centre.

“That was gross,” the commentator continues. “Clearly Rosanov isn't feeling well tonight. Let's hope it's not contagious.”

Shane watches anxiously as Ilya struggles through his rotation on the ice and then heads for the bench, clearly exhausted. The camera catches him coughing as several of his teammates inch away along the crowded bench.

There's a simultaneous mix of intense sympathy, care, and disgust fighting in Shane's mind. He is just here for a day and then he has to drive back to Montreal for practice and to catch a flight to Tampa for a game series in Florida. Ilya is clearly very sick and Shane definitely does not want to catch whatever he's got. But at the same time, the idea of Ilya sick and alone in an empty house kills Shane to think about.

He grabs his phone and texts Ilya.

J: Oh I see what you meant. I'm at your place anyway. Are you okay??

Ilya is benched for the rest of the game and the period ends with Ottawa losing 1-5. Shane switches off the TV and goes into the bedroom, stripping off the bed sheets and making the bed fresh. He fills up a water bottle and puts it on Ilya's side with a box of tissues.

Ilya's bathroom cupboards are woefully bare when it comes to cold medicine of any kind. Shane considers running out to Shoppers, but if anyone in Ottawa saw him buying cold medicine after that display on TV...would they connect the dots? He considers calling his mom and asking her to drop some off. He's scrolling UberEats for options when he hears Ilya's car pull up.

Ilya slumps in from the garage bundled in sweatpants and a hoodie and looking a mess. His nose is red and shiny underneath and his lips are chapped. He makes an awful snorting sniffling sound at the back of his throat that turns Shane's stomach with both sympathy and disgust.

“Hey,” Shane says softly. 

“Harris has given me the plague,” Ilya scowls. “Don't get close. It's – you don't want this.”

His voice is gravelly and muddled with congestion, making his accent sound thicker than usual.

“I made the bed up,” Shane offers, standing awkwardly by the kitchen island, not used to staying so physically separate from Ilya when they're reunited. “Do you want a shower first or-?”

“Yes I should – I -” Ilya begins but his breath catches sharply and he shakes his head with an irritated expression. “Fuck....”

Hehh-TSGHTT! Ehh-TSGHHT!

Two sneezes tumble out and he doesn't move to cover them or turn away. Shane can see the spray visible in the room and he shudders.

“Bless you?” he offers tentatively.

“Not – not done,” Ilya stammers, reaching for a towel that's hanging on the kitchen stove. 

Ehh-TSGCGXHHT! Eh-GHSXTT!

He sneezes the second two outbursts partially into the towel and sniffles thickly in the aftermath.

“Ugh,” he groans, closing his eyes and rubbing them with his hand. “Please put me in the shower and drown me, Hollander.”

Shane can't help but laugh a little at the dramatics.

“Sounds like you're already halfway to drowning,” he says. “Have you taken anything? Medicine?”

“Team Doctor gave me pills, yes,” Ilya says wearily. “And an IV fluids before the game. Didn't really help. He sent some more medicine. I took one before I left.”

“Is it a cold or the flu?” Shane asks. “Did you have a fever?”

Ilya shakes his head. “No. Bad cold he said. Boring. Stupid. Who can't play with a cold?”

Ilya is leaning against the kitchen counter looking dead on his feet. He sways a little, catching himself with a steadying hand on the fridge.

“Hey,” Shane says, stepping forward, his worry outweighing his fear of catching this. “C'mon.”

He puts a hand on Ilya's shoulder and before he knows it, he's holding the man tightly and Ilya is trying to pull away.

“Stop,” Shane says, pressing a kiss to Ilya's temple. “Let me take care of you.”

“You will get this stupid cold,” Ilya grumbles. 

“Well, I guess you'll have to return this favour later,” Shane replies. “Let's get you showered and in bed.”

Ilya melts against his shoulder, sighing heavily. 

“Ugh,” he mutters into Shane's sweatshirt. “Boring boring boring. You're here and trying to get me in bed and it's not even for good reason.”

Shane chuckles.

“If you're a good patient, maybe you'll get a reward later,” Shane teases, stroking Ilya's back.

Ilya's breath catches in surprise and he coughs raggedly, breath hot against Shane's neck. 

“Eww,” Shane says, leaning away. “Not if you do that.”

“You suck my dick,” Ilya growls. “Now it's gross if I cough?”

“Your dick doesn't spread the flu,” Shane retorts. “C'mon, nasty.”

Ilya follows him begrudgingly and allows himself to be undressed and led into the steamy shower. He's like putty in Shane's hands, melting at his touch, leaning heavily against the cool tiles as the hot water courses down his body. Shane massages shampoo through his curls, guiding Ilya under the spray to rinse out the suds. Then they stand, arms wrapped around each other, Ilya heavy against Shane, sleepy and warm in the water's heat. 

Shane holds tight, letting Ilya relax against him as he runs his fingers along the ridge of Ilya's spine and across his shoulders. Then, without warning, Ilya jerks in Shane's arms and sneezes.

Eh-CGHXTT!

It's a thick, wet sneeze and Shane pulls away to see that Ilya's nose is dripping. The man presses a hand to his nostril and blows, sending a gurgle of snot flowing out and down the drain.

“What the fuck?” Shane asks incredulously. 

“What?” Ilya croaks, sounding miserable. “Is shower. Washes away. Who cares?”

“Kleenex exists for a reason,” Shane says, reaching to turn off the taps. 

“Ah yes, very smart,” Ilya quips, shaking water from his hair. “In the shower. Good idea.”

He reaches for a towel and starts to dry himself off but it's clear he's practically asleep on his feet. Shane wraps a towel around his own hips and reaches to help Ilya.

He towels off Ilya's curls and gets him into the bedroom, sitting him on the edge of the bed while he rummages in Ilya's dresser.

“What do you want to sleep in?” he asks.

“Sweatshirt and those blue sweatpants,” he says.

Shane retrieves the clothes and helps Ilya dress before tugging back the covers. The bedroom isn't unusually cold, but Ilya is clearly seeking warmth. For someone who usually sleeps in boxers, it is a funny sight to Shane to see him so bundled up under the blankets.

“Okay,” Shane says, slipping on a pair of sweatpants and climbing into bed beside Ilya. “C'mere, you.”

He pulls Ilya into his arms, tucking the man against his chest. 

“Shane...” Ilya grumbles. “You shouldn't...”

He doesn't roll away from Shane's embrace but he keeps his head turned, coughing into his pillow.

“I'll sleep in the other room,” Ilya offers between coughs.

“Shut up,” Shane counters, pressing a kiss to Ilya's damp hair. 

“I'm not worth getting sick for,” Ilya continues. “C'mon, Hollander.”

The vibration of Ilya's phone on the nightstand interrupts their arguing and Ilya squints towards the screen.

“Is your mom,” he says.

“She probably watched your game,” Shane says. “D'want me to answer it?”

“No, she likes me more,” Ilya teases, reaching for the phone and swiping to answer it.

“Hello Mrs. Hollander.....yes, Yuna, sorry...yes...I'm fine. A cold only. Yes....ya Shane is here....okay, yes.”

Ilya passes the phone to Shane.

“Hi mom,” Shane says, taking the phone. 

“I wasn't sure if you were in Ottawa tonight,” his mom says. “I was calling to see if he needed anything dropped off.”

“No, I'm here. We're good,” Shane says, reaching out with his free arm to tuck Ilya back against his chest and idly running his fingers through Ilya's hair.

“It's just a cold?” Yuna asks. “He didn't look very well during the game tonight.”

“Just a cold,” Shane confirms. “Team doctor checked him out and everything.”

“Okay,” Yuna replies. “Call me if you need anything. Drink lots of lemon water, Shane. You don't want to be out for the Florida series.”

“Yes, mom,” Shane says.

“Okay, I love you. Give my love to Ilya. I hope he feels better.”

“Okay, love you too. Bye.”

Shane hangs up and sets the phone down on his nightstand.

“She says she loves you and she hopes you feel better,” he murmurs, kissing Ilya's temple. 

“And for you to not get sick,” Ilya says bitterly.

“Just to try not to get sick,” Shane says. “Stop it. I'm fine. You need to sleep.”

Ilya lets out a long sigh, closing his eyes. 

“Cannot breathe through my nose,” he grumbles.

“Well, is that so new?” Shane counters. “Didn't you break it twice? That's why you snore.”

“I do not snore, you liar,” Ilya says, his voice slurring with sleepiness. “My throat is so dry. I keep breathing through my mouth.”

“There's a water bottle on the nightstand,” Shane says. “I filled it up before you got home.”

“Yes, but last night I kept drinking water because my throat would be dry and then I would fall asleep and then wake up cause I needed to piss and repeat again all night. I just want to sleep. 'm so tired.”

“Then stop talking and sleep,” Shane says. “C'mere.”

He urges Ilya to roll over to face him, tucking the man's face against his chest, creating a little pocket of warm air for Ilya to breathe. He runs his hands across Ilya's back, up and down the ridge of his spine through the heavy sweatshirt. It isn't long before he can feel Ilya's breathing even out and his body slacken with sleep.

[percyphonea]

I/lya having the nastiest, messiest sneezing fit in the locker room after his first practice with the Centaurs.

It’s probably the new environment. Cleaning products. Whatever, he doesn’t even care, he just doubles over with a huge double directed into his elbow. Thank God that S/hane is always pestering him to do so, because the double is embarrassingly messy and loud enough that the chatter in the locker room dies.

They bless him, but I/lya just rolls his eyes as he directs another double into his cupped hands this time. Bad idea; he barely has time to wipe them on his pants before another pair of sneezes overtake him and this time he’s directing the triple into the general direction of his shoulder.

He doesn’t really seem to bother to properly cover anymore, he just frantically tries to find something in his bag. He is vaguely aware of his teammates blessing him again, sounding more concerned, but he shakes his head again, and tries to stifle another double with two fingers.

Bad fucking idea, he thinks, because the stifling obviously makes him snap into a double sneeze. Well, six pairs of doubles, but not like he can count because at this point he just squeezes his eyes shut, bringing his jersey over his nose. He makes a mental note that wash it before S/hane can touch it, because he doesn’t want his boyfriend to deal with his snot.

He feels heat creeping up on his cheeks as he sneezes three more times, desperate, harsh, still part of his fucking twelve sneeze fit. He is aware of his teammates blessing him again, definitely concerned.

He sees someone trying to his him a tissue but he just shakes his head again, half turns around and he directs the remaining fit of sneezes (six, to be exact) into a towel he picked up from his bag. The end of the fit is harsh and messy, and he needs to blow his fucking nose anyway, so he doesn’t even lift his hand from the towel, he just blows. And blows.

It takes him about two full minutes to clear his itchy (to be fair, it’s always itchy) nose, and when he looks up again, the whole team is staring at him. He hopes he is not blushing.

“Holy shit” says someone.

“Bless you, jesus” he hears someone else say.

He just rolls his eyes. He just wants to tell them to get used to it, but instead he just sneezes against his shoulder again.

[hollanovsnz]

H/R One-Shot #1

Hi. Gave Sh/ane another cold and made him speak some French (I think his bilingualism is underappreciated!!!) Sorry in advance for my no-doubt poor French, I am soooo rusty. 1.1k words

-----

Lanaudière

The summer after Sh/ane Ho/llander and I/lya Ro/zanov first declared their love for one another, they found themselves back at the cottage. It was I/lya’s favorite place in the world (although, really, any place where he could be with S/hane took that title).

It was a warm day, and while the two hockey players would typically be swimming in the lake or kicking a soccer ball around the gorgeous property right now, S/hane was dealing with a cold that had knocked him the hell out for two days straight. In a bit he was going on a phone interview for a Montreal newspaper, and though I/lya had tried to convince him to reschedule, he’d refused, saying that it would be unprofessional. Polite, stubborn man, I/lya thought.

Ilya lay on their bed and sniffled, thumbing at his nose. His allergies to every fucking plant in Canada hadn’t been bothering him too badly today, thankfully, but he was never fully free of the itch in his nose. Worth it, though, both to be with Shane in his home country…and to get him horny as fuck. 

But anyway. Ilya had the door closed, not wanting to bother Shane as he chatted in the other room. He figured, though, that he should get out some of the restlessness he often felt at this time of day in the home gym instead. But…fuck. He’d left his phone by the couch. He hadn’t been able to work out without music lately, particularly the filthiest EDM he could find, half because he enjoyed it, half because he liked how it annoyed Shane when he blasted it over the speakers (“This is music?” he’d grouse).

Ilya changed into a black tank top and soccer pants and snuck quietly into the living room. Shane was in the kitchen, pacing around the room as he spoke to some boring reporter in French, cell phone to his ear. Ilya grabbed his own phone and paused, watching his boyfriend’s frenetic movements. He did not look well at all. From here Ilya could see how flushed and sweaty he looked, and a nervous energy surrounded him in waves. But his voice was calm. Ilya knew it was sapping Shane’s battery to talk to anyone while he was sick (let alone at all, sometimes), and he felt a flush of pride overtake him. He was so, so good at what he did, and didn’t give himself enough credit for it. (Also, he sounded so fucking sexy speaking French.)

“Puisque le capitaine du Métros,” he was saying, “c’est ma responsabilité à-hhh…” As Ilya watched, unseen, Shane tried to press a button on his phone but missed as his breath hitched wildly and his eyes closed. He ducked into his elbow with a squelched “hngxt! -nghxt! hgk-shiew!” He straightened up, looked back at his phone, must have realized that he’d failed to hit the mute button, and turned crimson, eyes wide with panic. It hurt Ilya to see his boyfriend so flustered, so embarrassed. He turned to leave, not wanting to risk Shane seeing him and becoming even more distressed.  

“A-ah, merci…” Ilya heard Shane give a nervous laugh. “Pardonnez-moi, je suis tellement désolé.” He cleared his throat. “Comme je le disais,…”

Bednyazhka, Ilya thought. Poor thing.

——

After his workout, Ilya showered and hopped back onto the bed, scrolling Twitter for a while. Shortly after, Shane padded into the room, pink-cheeked and red-nosed, eyes downcast. He looked about ready to fall over. Noticing Ilya, he gave a long sigh and plopped down next to him on the bed. “That was fucking awful,” he moaned, burying his head in Ilya’s chest. 

“I’m sorry, lyubimyy,” Ilya said, stroking Shane’s dark hair gently. “At least it’s over.” When Shane lifted his head, Ilya’s heart broke to see the pinch in his eyebrows, the deep flush in his cheeks, and the tears welling in his huge brown eyes. “Hey, sweetheart, is okay…” He thumbed away a tear and stroked Shane’s cheek as the other man sniffled and averted his gaze.

“God. I sounded so sick, and so dumb,” Shane said, swallowing thickly. “She must have thought I was such an idiot loser. I…I’m sorry,” he said, pulling away, but Ilya gently shushed him, cupping his head and pulling him back against his chest. 

“You are no idiot loser. You’re the captain of the fucking Metros, one of the greatest athletes in the world. And you sounded great,” Ilya soothed.

“You heard me?” Shane said, tensing under Ilya’s touch until the Russian started rubbing his back.

“Just a little bit. You were confident, smart. And capable,” he said, holding Shane’s face in his hands so he would look into his eyes, “just like you always are.” He pressed a kiss to Shane’s forehead, then put his palm beneath his fringe, watching his boyfriend’s face visibly relax. “You have a fever, solnyshko,” Ilya murmured. “Time to take more medicine, then go to bed.”

Shane swallowed a cupful of NyQuil, nose wrinkling at the terrible taste, then brushed his teeth and lay on top of Ilya with a little shiver. They lay quietly like that for a while, Ilya brushing a hand over Shane’s shoulder and Shane making pleased noises in response.

“Ilya?” He mumbled.

“Hm?”

“You really think I did a good job?”

“I think you did a great job, milyy.”

Shane rolled off of Ilya and onto his side of the bed. “But…I sneezed,” he said softly. 

“So? I sneeze every day.”

“I know you do,” Shane muttered quietly, blushing with a shy smile when Ilya quirked an eyebrow and grinned at him.

“What I mean is, is no big deal,” Ilya soothed.

“But…but what if she mentions in the article that I’m sick, that I’m an invalid who shouldn’t be Captain—”

“Whoa, whoa. Shane. She would never. Is not true.” 

Shane sighed. “I know. I’m just…being stupid.”

“You are not being stupid. You have a fever is all. You need sleep.”

“At least she was nice.”

“She better have been. You gave her an hour of your time. A whole hour! Do you know how much you and I could be fucking in one hour?”

Shane laughed. “Oh, it’s just all about sex for you, isn't it?”

Ilya put a hand to Shane’s hip, then lowered it to cup his ass. “I think is not just me.”

“Guilty.” Shane gasped then, turning away with a soft little “h’sshiew! -shiew! issh’yew!” into his elbow.

“Bud’ zdorov.” Ilya kissed Shane’s shoulder as he snuffled into his arm. “You’ll feel better tomorrow, I hope. And maybe you can speak some French to me. You sound much less boring in French.”

“Va chier.”

“Ah, love you too.”