In congratulations to myself for actually putting my ocs out there, I decided I needed to start keeping track of my tags and such.
I’ll be adding as I post new things about more characters, but I don’t feel like I need to spam yall with all 34 right off the bat. That’s a lot.
Fics will be linked as well when I figure out how tf to do that and when I actually post them. The list of (most of) my fools is under the cut, and a pic of (most of) the team is my banner image!!
Alright guys, this one is fun. Read under the cut for the chronicles of my husband having his first ever sinus infection, and (apparently) his first experience with sinus congestion at all.
First off, this man has “monster adenoids” and will be getting surgery within the next couple years to fix his face. He can only kinda breathe through his nose, and trying to blow his nose is usually useless.
Second core detail, he rarely gets sick. One of those obnoxiously healthy people whose immune system is basically steel. So he has no idea what to do when he’s sick. Can barely explain symptoms to me because he’s never needed the words because he’s never felt them.
Cue this sinus infection. No cold first that led into it, probably just allergies and then bam. So it’s day 2, and we’re lying in bed so gravity is working against him. He’s like “I’m so congested but my nose isn’t stuffed, it’s like my face?” My response is the obvious “yeah that’s where your sinuses are.”
This goes into him trying to figure it out, because apparently he’s never felt this feeling before. He pulls up a diagram of sinuses and he’s looking at it, turns to me and says “I can’t tell where the nose connects to the throat.” Because he’s looking for a small tube on the diagram, but it’s just a huge open space. And I, confused by his confusion, go “it’s…the whole thing? This whole highlighted area…your entire face, basically.”
Man is flabbergasted. “That’s what’s in my face?? What even are sinuses?”
I’m losing it. “It’s just empty space. Caverns with folds that cycle air.”
He points at the nasopharynx (that spot above the back of your throat that you can’t itch no matter how hard you try) and he goes “that. I can feel congestion there.”
I’m still confused because I’m an anatomy nerd and him not knowing this is so funny to me. “Yeah, that’s pretty normal. It’s draining.”
This leads to him watching videos on relieving sinus pressure (essentially porn for me) and going “what the fuck…” every few seconds.
And because he can’t productively blow his nose, it has been a very long week of thick ass sniffling. And useless nose blowing. And “rub my face please”. And me being on my period and just combusting in the corner.
NSFW, MESS, Semi-public - Padgett and Eliseo leave a dinner party due to distraction.
—-
“Huhkshtt!” Padgett ducked his head into his napkin, ears red, as he sneezed again. His black hair was as messy as usual and he hadn’t gotten it cut since the summer. His bangs were falling into his face. One of the women sitting to his left blessed him, scooting her chair away a little bit.
Eliseo watched from across the round table, trying to keep a straight face. Or at least trying to keep his expression wry instead of interested as Padgett sneezed again and tried to mumble an apology. He was sick again. Eliseo wished with all his heart that his- lover, he supposed, wasn’t quite as vulnerable to illness as he was. Especially tonight, when Padgett was only here as Eliseo’s plus one. No talking him out of it, though.
Eliseo wished he had been able to talk him out of it because listening to Padgett sniffle and blow his nose now was straining the capacity of his silk trousers.
(inspired by this post, I've had the basic premise for this written for like a week. it was supposed to be quick and dirty...so it is! it's shorter than feels usual by now. ref for Lilli, still have none for Charlotte, who often enjoys teasing the girls in this way. enjoyyy!)
"Wh-what-?" Lilli recoiled from the feather, scrunching her lips upward and knuckling her nose with a thick red glove. Charlotte reached forward and pulled her hand back, eliciting a confused, teary-eyed look from Lilli.
"What are you-?"
"Shh. I am concentrating." That was a silly question anyway, and Lillia realized it only now. The princess was trying to make her sneeze. This she understood.
She didn't understand why.
After all the time spent fitting her in this gown--she'd evidently told the nice young lady in charge of dressing the adventurers to make it as hard for Lilli to move around in it as possible; at the very least, based on the thickness of her petticoat, that was how it seemed to Lilli--after all the time spent doing up her hair, and applying various powders to her face which she was told to avoid touching, Charlie had produced a long, white feather.
Lillia assumed she was being asked to partake again in some formal official event or what have you, in which she'd essentially be presented like some prized possession of the royal family. She'd be asked to demonstrate some great feat of strength (something easy enough even in this dress, though she'd be a little sweaty for the rest of the event), then she'd have to sit and make polite conversation with nobles or whoever until it concluded.
Truth be told, she was dreading it, so anything else seemed preferable.
Yes, Lillia was expecting to take part in an event.
The princess certainly had one planned.
But that was exactly what Lilli was confused about.
"Hh-hgH-!...H-highness, my...my gown...!"
Her feather danced teasing little circles in both of her nostrils, twirling puffs of a certain white powder, which even Lilli, for all her strength, couldn't resist. Her eyes shut tightly, more of a wince than anything, the tickle intense and overpowering.
"I know! Your gown is soooo beautiful, isn't it?"
The princess used her other hand to grope her knight's breast, the feather continually stabbing at the edge of Lilli's nostrils, never quite enough to truly make her sneeze. Just enough to itch like mad.
She sniffled, hard, her mouth falling open as more powder made its way deeper into her sinuses.
"W-wai-wait-I-!" She tries to slacken her scrunching cheeks, to open her shut, wet eyes, and, without actually touching her nose, she tried to alleviate the tickle, pushing Charlie's hand to the side and wiggling it back and forth as best she can.
The feather reappeared in seconds.
"Hands to your sides, please. It's unladylike to fuss like that." The word unladylike struck Lillia like lightning, turning the twisting mess of feelings in her chest from anxiety over both the event and the gown being ruined to disappointing the princess.
"And it's impolite to hold in a sneeze like that, dear...and especially impolite to hold in multiple sneezes, the way you're doing."
Lilli's mouth shuts, a short whine filling the space between them.
"Here." The feather slides the rest of the distance up with little effort, and its effect is immediate; pink lips become white teeth and a red tongue, sharpened fangs especially prominent from the angle Charlie has below her.
A gloved finger enters her mouth briefly, brushing over top of each point.
"Let me help."
Up to the stalk in, the princess gives her feather a good, quick twist, releasing a cloud of the irritating powder onto every open surface in Lilli's nose. Each particle prickled like a tiny flame, lining every nerve in her nose with a burning feeling no matter where she turned.
Her hands balled into thick fists, then loosened, then tightened again, held stiff at her sides, her mouth alternately gaping open and crashing together as she attempts to grit her teeth and bear the excruciating tickle that made her nose run.
"I'm g-hihH-gonna-! I'm gonna s-sneeze, and, and-!" Her voice rose in pitch to desperate highs as the need to sneeze overwhelmed all thought in her head with one goal, much as she fought.
"Yes. You are going to sneeze. Good job!" The princess hadn't stopped smiling, not that Lilli could see that. Her breath hitched with increasing urgency, but Charlie finally decided this was taking too long.
"Your poor little nose just can't handle my delicate little feather. It tickles horribly, doesn't it?" Lilli breathlessly nods.
"I thought so. You're so itchy, huh?" Her hand presses in along her chin, then her cheek, then her forehead, her brow...over, along to her lips again. Everywhere but her nose.
"Hgngh-! P-please!"
She smirked.
"Go on, then."
And slid the feather all the way up her other nostril.
"W-wai-hGHhH-?!"
She doesn't have a handkerchief, or, or, a napkin, or--
"There you go, love. That's a good look for you." She'll ruin-her, her dress, her makeup, her-
"AhH-! HHaAhgh-! hHhieehHHH-!" A final twitch. And...
"hEEHhp-PTTCCCHhuuuu! Eh-hEH-TSCHHHUuu-! EhGktSCCHHEew! heHh-hEHH-!" Despite her objections, her gloved arms remain locked at her sides as she sneezed and sneezed and sneezed for her, spewing out the feather, progressively more powder, spray, and, as the fit gathered steam, a not insignificant amount of mess.
"Wowww, you really needed that, huh? Gods, bless you." The princess certainly didn't seem to mind it, but Lilli's cheeks were bright red.
Finally, finally, the fit subsided, and Lilli went from gasps and big throaty sneezes to sniffles and the occasional whispered "-tchhuu!" Not that it mattered. She didn't need to open her eyes to know it was a disaster.
"M-muh...my makeup...! My..."
"Oh, come now. You look beautiful. Charlie cupped her chin, feeling warmth spread through her fingers, smile only growing as she took note of her runny nose dripping onto her upper lip.
Lilli cuts short a whimper, unable to bear the thought of ruining the princess's fine...
She opened her eyes to find a full length mirror showing her in all her ruin, leading her to turn shamefully and shut her eyes again.
"Lillia. Dear heart." She pulled her around again, fixing her head in place once more.
"Open your eyes. You look beautiful like this."
She does so, ignoring the urge to shudder and disappear into her hands. Her stomach twists, and she threatens to cry in earnest seeing great grey and black streaks running down her cheeks. Never mind the fair amount of fluid staining the front of her...
"Your outfit has only been improved."
She turns, as though startled, and her eyebrows twitch in confusion.
"I prefer you like this. Helplessly, desperately sneezy is a good look on you." As if to punctuate, the redhead's face suddenly scrunched into another tiny sneeze.
"Wh...? Th-the ball, or...!"
"What ball?" Event, something. Surely she hadn't put her in this dress, all this work, just to...?
"We have nowhere to be, darling. So you just focus on pleasing me. Okay?"
You’re so cruel for telling us you have a sneezy cold and then leaving us to our imagination (jk I hope you feel better soon!)
I hope these are what you had imagined? I can't go on being cruel any longer 😂
I just don't know which ones to post but this is short enough to be allowed here. I'll post ridiculous big cold fits when I figure out how to very soon.
I do feel mostly better now thank you. Fever, raw throat and flu have cleared and it just lingers in my nose but my sneezes are a touch calmer now and probably less contagion in their mist.
It was touch and go for a while but i was a brave soldier buried under a mound of tissues and permanently building up for a few days 🤧🤒
I had to induce yesterday to be able to breathe and damn, it didn’t take much. Even after I stopped I was still sneezing a few times to get rid of the itch.
I didn’t expect these to sound so femme since it was so harsh, but even the raspy voice can’t stop it. I also edited out a couple nose blows because they were unattractive (even to me) so it might be choppy at some points.
We’re dissecting the fetish today because my husband (who is no stranger to fetish space) has some very good points to get me thinking about this. Under the cut just cuz it’s long
(I’m gonna use the words fetish and kink interchangeably, I know they’re technically different but it’s both for me)
The snz kink community is a bit of an outlier even in terms of kink spaces. Most fetishes are like “yeah we’re into X, so what?” Or proud of it in some way, raising awareness even. We are so secretive it’s actually funny. And it comes down to the sense of embarrassment we all feel at being turned on by something so mundane.
But where I think it comes from, at least for me, is the non consent aspect. Bear with me.
I saw a Tik/Tok about tattoo artists and kink space, like people who are into the pain or whatever it is getting a tattoo and being weird and creepy to their artist about it. And the Tik/Tok was an artist talking about how they don’t consent to you putting your kink on them like that, which I 100% agree with.
So when someone sneezes, anywhere, and I get turned on, my brain goes “oh I’m a terrible person for including this random stranger in my kink how dare i”. Because no one asked to make me horny, they just sneezed.
So even at home when my husband sneezes, I play it cool (much to his annoyance lol) because idk if he wants to fuck or if he just had to sneeze.
I’ve turned my husband into an absolute snzfucking monster.
You ever have your partner initiate the messy sick sex even though it’s your kink? Literally every time cuz I’m too much of a shy bitch to ask for such things. He just does it.
And not like “oh I wanna indulge you”, but full on “I want to lick your fucking nose” and holy shit. I’ve now experienced having sex with another snzfucker and I can say, yall weren’t overhyping.
I haven’t had a real head cold in a long time (at least a year I think) but ugh it’s sexy and humiliating all at once.
I hate blowing my nose in public but I am now left with no other choice. And I’m actually sneezing, like a lot, in triples. Which is also not something I ever want to do in public.
But once I’m not in public, I’m gonna milk this for all it’s worth because it’ll probably be at least another year before I catch something like this instead of the usual chest cold.
Would you guys believe me if I told you this was supposed to be a 500 word drabble? Hahahahah who the hell do I think I am??
This is a Matt & Mark fic, told in Matt's POV, which I don't think I've ever written in before. In it, Mark is sick and tries to hide it from Matt, which works exactly as well as you'd think it would. Guys, I have been writing this one alllll week which is so unlike me, and I think working on it over an extended period paid off because I honestly like it quite a bit. Matt's head was SO fun to get into, and Mark is SO fun to write miserable because he's awful at being miserable. It's a bit of a behemoth and there's no snz until over 2k words in (apologies), but I really think it's one of my better fics. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it, please let me know your thoughts :) :)
CW: Male snz, male illness, coughing, fever, dizziness, illness denial, chance of contagion. Sappiness. Whump. Angst. The usual. Unedited for the most part because I need to get it out and have no more time this week to look at it lol. 6.5k words under the cut.
Nowhere to Hide
Bzz, bzz.
On a Monday in May, five months after making their relationship official, Mark texted Matt to cancel their date that night. From the second he glanced at the text, Matt knew something was up.
10:21AM
Mark
hey babe, can we reschedule tonight? forgot I promised ben that I would help him with promo materials for the gig they have next week :/ I know its last minute, im sorry!!
Matt furrowed his eyebrows at his phone, the inside of his cheek held between his top and bottom teeth in concentration. Huh.
10:22AM
Matt
ofc we can reschedule :) but im also happy to help with promo stuff!! I took that graphic design class in highschool, remember? and I mean ive been hoping to meet ben, since hes like. your only friend lmao
Mark didn’t respond; generally, he was the type to answer immediately, the bubbles on the bottom of their chat popping up almost the second that Matt’s message was sent. Today, though, the message didn’t even get read for almost five minutes. Again, Matt’s face pinched with worry. His boyfriend was absolutely not the type to cancel a date and then abandon his phone – quite the opposite, honestly. If anything, Matt figured Mark would have responded quicker than he usually did, falling over himself with unnecessary apologies and berating himself for forgetting something like this. After seven minutes went by, Matt unlocked his phone again and stared at their chat. Mark had read his message.
Patience was not one of the virtues Matt possessed. When the bubbles didn’t pop up a minute after Mark read his text, Matt pressed the video button to FaceTime his boyfriend.
Within three seconds, the call was rejected. Matt gave his phone a look of disbelief – no shot Mark rejected his call. No way. He pressed the video button again.
Brrm, brrm. Boop. Rejected.
What the fuck.
10:37AM
Matt
???
10:37AM
Matt
did I say something wrong? why are you ignoring my calls?
The texts were read immediately. This time, Mark started typing.
10:38AM
Mark
no!! im sorry, im just out right now, im driving. lets have you meet ben another day, if thats ok baby? I just know he wants to lock in on the promo stuff and I don’t want him like ignoring you or smthn and then you both hate each other
Matt read the text over twice. Was Mark high or something?
10:38AM
Matt
ur driving? since when do you have a car?
The text stream went silent again. Beneath the pajama shirt he was wearing – Mark’s old shirt, a Duluth tee that was near threadbare and smelled like his shampoo – Matt started to sweat. What was really going on here? Mark never canceled anything with Matt, not even if he was busy. They’d run errands together, been to Restaurant Supply in the middle of a date for Elijah and Greyson. Hell, Mark hadn’t even canceled a date post an all-nighter helping Elijah do inventory after a crazy service. Now he couldn’t do a date because he was going to be helping Ben? He was driving in Manhattan? Or… was he not in the city, did Ben live in the burbs? Matt couldn’t remember any details Mark had given him about his high school buddy, the only guy Mark ever hung out with outside the other restaurant employees. Had they had some sort of… fling in high school?
Was… was Mark cheating on him?
The thought sent a pang through his chest that felt like he’d been pierced by an arrow. A lump formed in the back of his throat, and immediately tears welled in his eyes. He was moments away from calling again, when a new text from Mark popped up in their chat.
10:41AM
Mark
sorry, I meant im on the train. little out of it today lol, I guess anothee reason to reschedule?
And now he was sending texts with typos. Mark, Matt’s Type-A boyfriend (was there something beyond Type A? Type Pre-A? Type A-Plus?) was hastily sending misspelled texts and mistakenly saying he was driving when he wasn’t. Something here didn’t add up. Sighing heavily through his nose, Matt typed out a message back.
10:42AM
Matt
are you ok?
Sure, they’d only been together officially for three months, but Matt and Mark had known one another for years. Matt figured they’d been close for long enough that he could cut through the bullshit. And this? This situation was fucking bullshit.
10:43AM
Mark
im ok baby, sorry for canceling and being confusing. everything is fine, pls don’t worry :) ill see you at work tommoro ok?
At this second typo, Matt closed their chat and stood from his bed. He pulled on the closest pair of jeans he could find, keeping the sleep shirt on and donning a hoodie over top it. He needed some air.
***
“Wow, one day off in the last ten days and you’re calling me. I’m honored, really. I didn’t realize you loved work this much. Care to come in tonight?”
Matt, twenty blocks from his house at a patio table at his favorite coffee shop, rolled his eyes so hard he was sure Greyson could hear it through the phone. “Fuck off, Chef,” he said, sipping his latte. On the other end, Greyson laughed.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” his boss asked, the bustle of the kitchen preparing for service a constant hum behind him. Matt sighed through his nose, tracing the outline of his coffee cup with a finger.
“I think Mark might be cheating on me,” he said, his voice low. Before he could even really register what he’d said, Greyson guffawed.
“Mark? Are we talking about the same Mark who can’t keep his hands off of you for three seconds to get through a service? The one who leaves those gay-ass little poems in your apron every day? That Mark?”
“I don’t think you can say ‘gay-ass’ like that, Chef. I think people frown on that now.”
“Why? I’m a gay-ass. You’re a gay-ass. Mark’s a gay-ass. The poems are gay-ass.” Greyson said, the sound of a Kitchenaid being thunked on the prep table obnoxiously loud behind him. “It’s a descriptor at that point. Not a slur.”
Matt couldn’t help but snort out a laugh. “You’re certainly an ass,” he said, prompting another laugh from his boss.
“Whatever,” Greyson said, turning on the noisy Kitchenaid and yelling into the phone. “All I’m saying is I would sooner bet on the moon being made of fucking brie before I’d bet on Mark cheating on you. What the fuck even happened?”
Leaning back in the patio chair, Matt squeezed his temples between a thumb and forefinger. “He’s being fucking bizarre, that’s all. He canceled our date for tonight, said he’s doing some random thing with his friend, and when I asked if I could just join him he started acting weird. He’s ignoring my calls, avoiding me. Texting fucking typos, if you can believe that. It’s just all…” Matt blew air out from between his closed lips, a soft pbbtt sound escaping them. “It’s just… weird. I dunno.”
For a moment, the other end of the line was silent, save for Greyson steadily chopping and Elijah coming up to ask who’s on the phone?
“Tell Elijah I said hi,” Matt said.
“Matt says hi.”
Why the fuck is Matt calling you?
“He thinks Mark is cheating on him.”
In the background, Elijah snorted out a laugh. Put him on speaker. Then, more clearly, “Matt, Mark is not cheating on you.”
“Greyson, can you not keep anything to yourself?” Matt asked, frustrated. “Seriously.”
“Sorry,” Greyson laughed. “I figured Elijah didn’t count as telling someone.” A thunk in the background, then an ow! as Elijah smacked Greyson. Matt groaned. Again, he relayed the story while Elijah listened on.
“Hmm,” Elijah hummed, thinking. “Have you gone to his house?”
Matt rolled his eyes. What a boomer, he thought, though he kept it to himself. “No, he said he isn’t home,” he said. “He was on the train or in a car or in some guy’s bed.”
Elijah huffed out another laugh. “Yeah, so you said. But I mean… Mark isn’t known for being a great liar. And while you’re right, this all sounds like a lie, I agree with Greyson. Mark would rather eat glass than cheat on, like, a spelling test. I think he’d pass away before he’d cheat on you. So I mean… maybe just like… go there? See if he’s there? Because I’d assume he’s just, like, having a freak out over something. Panicking over whether you really like him or whatever, you know how he is. I doubt he’s even left the apartment today.”
While Matt hated to admit it, that did sound like something Mark would do. He let a beat go by before he answered the two older men waiting on the other end. “Alright,” he said, standing. “Okay, yeah, maybe you’re right. I’ll… I’ll head over there.”
Greyson made a noise of approval. “Good man,” he said, his voice becoming clearer as he took Matt off of speakerphone. “And hey, he lives so close to the restaurant, if he doesn’t answer you could always pop in and run middle for me!”
At this, Matt snorted. “Yeah, Chef, sure. Thanks, asshole.”
“Welcome!” Greyson sang. “Good luck. Tell Mark we said ‘mwah, mwah.”
Matt rolled his eyes, hung up the phone. He pulled up his his uber app and typed Mark’s address in. It’ll be fine, he thought to himself, everything will be fine.
***
This is a mistake.
As Matt’s uber pulled up to Mark’s apartment building, he felt his insides twist like they were being coiled into a balloon animal. He nodded to the driver and stepped out of the car, his heart thumping wildly, and stood silently at the front door, trying to work up the nerve to push the call button for Mark’s apartment. Why had he done this? Why did he listen to his old-ass bosses?
“Just go to his house,” Matt mumbled mockingly under his breath. “The hell is wrong with me.”
Instead of pressing the call button, Matt took a picture of the call box outside of Mark’s apartment and sent it in their text stream. Surprise? He typed out under the picture, and sent that as well. In his chest, his heart hammered ever harder.
Unlike this morning, the three dots popped up in their chat immediately after Matt’s picture went through.
Mark
12:32PM
?
Mark
12:32PM
are you at my apartment?
“Fuuckk,” Matt muttered, pulling a hand down his face. Of course Mark would be pissed; who just showed up at someone else’s house, unbidden? This wasn’t the fucking eighties. Leaning on the wall of the apartment building, Matt attempted to fix what he’d done.
Matt
12:33PM
uhhh, maybe? lol.
Matt
12:33PM
you seemed a little weird this morning over text...i just wanted to make sure ur ok
Matt
12:34PM
sorry, I know that’s kinda weird. but could I come up? just to say hi?
He waited. The bubbles took a moment to pop up after he sent his last text, but – finally – pop up they did. It took a few tries, but eventually Matt heard the bzzz of the front door unlocking. On his phone, Mark replied.
Mark
12:36PM
ok. juust don’t judge the mess. hjaha
Matt clicked his phone off, the lump of worry resurfacing as he clocked more typos from his boyfriend. Maybe Mark was drunk? Elijah may have clocked it; some sort of mental health crisis day might have been underway. Maybe it’s good I came, he thought, climbing the stairs two at a time to the fifth floor. Maybe this is what he needs.
When he got to Mark’s front door, though, he hesitated. It was still weird, right? That he’d come? And when Mark asked why he’d really shown up here unannounced, what would he say? I’m a jealous little baby who wanted to make sure you weren’t fucking around on me? That didn’t sound great, honestly.
But also… he was worried. This was part of it, right? Part of loving someone. Part of being serious – you checked on each other. You reached out to each other. Matt pulled in a deep breath through his nose; he was here. Mark knew he was here. No choice but to follow through now. He knocked on the door.
It took a moment, but eventually the door clicked open to a Mark unlike Matt had ever seen him before. He was so shocked by his boyfriend’s appearance, Matt couldn’t help but mutter an “Oh,” as they made eye contact.
“C’mbon in,” Mark muttered, clearly embarrassed. “Sorry againd.”
Matt stepped inside and took in both his boyfriend and the surrounding apartment. Mark’s impossibly tall frame was stooped, his hair unwashed and greasy in his face. Around them, the apartment was certainly a mess; takeout containers and gatorade bottles littered the kitchen, the blinds were half-drawn, and on the couch there were a mess of blankets that Mark had clearly just emerged from.
Matt had never seen Mark like this; was this a mental health crisis? He took in his boyfriend’s face, the two of them not moving from the entry of the apartment. His bright blue eyes were watery, like he’d been crying, and he was deathly pale; shit. What am I supposed to do?
“Are… are you okay, baby?” Matt finally asked, a question that felt ridiculous given the state of his boyfriend. Mark attempted a smile, before his face faded into a look that Matt didn’t recognize. Oh, fuck, is he about to cry? Fix it, dumb ass, fix it!
“I’m sorry,” Matt said, “I mean, it’s fine if you’re not okay, I was just -”
“HUHTZCHH-uhh! NnGTZCH-ue!”
Mark wrenched into a crumpled tissue Matt hadn’t realized he was holding, the sneezes tearing out of him painfully. He stayed there for a moment, turned away from his boyfriend, as a flurry of congested coughs escaped him. When Mark righted himself, his cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, the tissue hidden in a fist. Ohhh.
“Bless you,” Matt said, carefully. Swallowing hard enough for his adam’s apple to bob up and down his throat, Mark nodded. “You’re sick,” Matt mused, not moving from his spot. Mark coughed out a laugh.
“What gave it away?” he managed, swaying lightly on his feet. Feeling bold, Matt took three steps across the entryway and slid an arm around his boyfriend’s waist. Their height difference was always comical – Greyson loved to make fun of them for it – but today, it felt almost dangerous. Mark was really swaying, clearly unable to stand for much longer, and Matt wasn’t sure if he’d be able to catch his boyfriend if he came toppling down. He held tight.
“Can we sit?” Matt asked, sagging under Mark’s weight. Mark nodded slowly, groggily.
“Yeah,” he said, untangling himself from Matt’s grip. “Sorry, yeah, let’s sit.”
Carefully, Matt guided Mark back to his blanket nest and sat him down as gently as possible, flopping down next to him in the process. “You mbay wahh – hh… ngh. Wandt to sit a little further awahhh – hhETSZCH-ue! Snf. ’Scuse mbe,” Mark grabbed a tissue from the box that was set on the coffee table in front of them, turned away to quietly blow his nose.
“Bless you,” Matt said again, ignoring his boyfriend’s warning. “Baby, why didn’t you just tell me you were sick?”
Mark attempted a smile, wiping the tissue beneath his nose gently. “Didn’t, uh… didn’t want to worry you,” he managed, clearing his throat. Matt scoffed.
“Babe, I hate to break it to you, but you sending cryptic-ass texts with typos galore was far more worrying than knowing that you’re sick,” he said, pushing Mark’s sweaty hair off of his face. Christ, he was burning up.
Beneath Matt’s hand, Mark visibly relaxed. “Feels good,” he muttered, eyes closed. Matt moved his hand down his boyfriend’s face, cupping his hot, dry cheek. They really needed to get that fever down.
“Have you taken anything?” Matt asked, voice low. Mark shrugged.
“Didn’t have andything,” he said, sniffling. “Onesec – hhhITSZCH-uhh! HIIITCH-uee!” Again, Mark collapsed into the near-ruined tissue, pained coughs on the tail of even more painful-sounding sneezes. Matt winced at the pinched, crunching sound.
“You sound fucking awful, babe,” he said, rubbing Mark’s back in slow circles. “We really need to get you something for that fever. How did you get so fuckin’ sick, like, overnight? You seemed fine at work yesterday.”
If it was even possible, Mark’s fever-reddened face deepened in color. “Umb,” he said, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, “I, uh… I’mb pretty good at, like. Hiding it?” He pushed his palms into his sweatpants, avoiding Matt’s gaze. “I’ve felt off for, umb. I dunno. A couple days?”
Matt blanched at this admission. “A couple days? Baby, seriously, why would you hide that from me? Or Elijah or Chef? I mean, if Elijah knew you were sick I’m sure he would’ve sent you home. Did you feel this shitty yesterday?”
“Ndo. I felt okay, today is the worst so faahhh… snrf. So far – hh-! HhNTSZCHH-uhh!” This time, Mark didn’t have the wherewithal to fold into the tissue, opting instead to sneeze into his own lap and wipe his hands over the spray left there. Against his better judgment, Matt pulled a handful of tissues out of the box; a few to hand to Mark to clean himself up, and a few for Matt to wipe off his boyfriend’s pants. Mark flinched at the touch.
“Don’t,” he said, gently pushing Matt’s hands away. “You’ll get sigck.”
“Baby, I don’t care if I get sick, I think that’s what you’re not understanding. I would rather get sick a thousand times over than know you’re alone in your apartment with no medicine, sick as a dog. I’d rather get sick as fuck than know you’ve hidden feeling shitty from me for days on end. That hurts, Mark. I don’t give a fuck about getting sick, Greyson infects the rest of us like once a month, minimum.” He held his boyfriend’s face between his palms then, the heat radiating into his hands. “I really just want to be there for you. Okay?”
Mark opened his mouth to answer, but his face dissolved into a now-familiar one before he could. Before Matt could remove his hands from the other man’s face, Mark crushed his nose into his own shoulder, attempting to stifle. “Hhh-TXCH! NGTSH-uhh! HRXTSH-ue!” Another gurgling, helpless sniffle. Another grating, congested cough. Matt sighed; this conversation was going to have to wait until Mark was medicated, that much was obvious.
“Bless you, babe,” Matt said, handing the box of tissues on the coffee table to his boyfriend. “Okay, enough of this conversation. I need to go to the pharmacy and pick you up some shit. You’re fuckin’ dying.”
This snapped Mark out of his stupor; his head shot up, bloodshot eyes locking desperately with Matt’s. “Ndo, ndo babe you don’t ndeed to get mbe anything. I’mb fine, really, please don’t -”
“Mark,” Matt interrupted, a gentle hand placed on his boyfriend’s bouncing knee. “Honey. I say this with love: chill out. I’m not being put out by you or whatever. I want to get you medicine. Alright? Where’s the closest pharmacy to here?”
Defeated, Mark shrugged. Helpful, Matt thought, pulling out his phone and -
“Fuck, you live close to, like, nothing,” he muttered, scrolling through the results google pulled up. “Why is it all fancy-people areas have nothing helpful around? There’s not even, like a grocery store within a ten-block radius.”
“Butlers?” Mark offered, prompting a snort from Matt.
“How could I forget about butlers?” he asked, clicking through the apps on his phone. “Okay, either I can order a doordash that’ll be here in… fuck, two hours? This area, I swear to god… okay, not that. I can walk to this Duane Reed, and be back in like… an hour and a half?” He glanced up at Mark, whose white face and wet eyes betrayed exactly how he felt about Matt leaving for an hour and a half. Pivot, Matt thought to himself.
“Or…” Suddenly, an idea popped into Matt’s head. He sat up straighter, smiling at Mark when it did; perfect.
“Or,” he said, “I can just run next door to Elliot’s and raid the cabinet Elijah keeps there.”
At this, Mark paled even further. “Ndo,” he said, adamant. “Babe, Elijah is goigg to be so annoyed if you show up there to steal mbedicine for mbe. I’mb okay, I promise, I’ve mbade it this long without anything, just… just stay with mbe.” He held tight to Matt’s hand.
In his chest, Matt’s heart ached like a vice was gripped around it. He pressed his lips together, folding his other hand over the one Mark had taken. “Honey,” he said, carefully, “I want to stay with you—I will stay with you – but we have to get your fever down. We have to get your cough under control. And Elijah won’t give a fuck, he buys all that shit for this exact situation. It’s literally either this, or urgent care.” He shrugged in a way that he hoped conveyed this is the best idea I can come up with, please just go with it. Mark sighed, defeated.
“Okay,” he said, voice small. “But I - I really don’t wandt to be alonde. I’mb sorry for trying to keep you away.” He looked up, feverish tears threatening to fall. “But please don’t leave mbe alonde.”
Matt pushed a hand through his hair, the lump in the back of his throat reappearing. “It’s a short walk,” he said, finally. “Just… let’s get you bundled up. If you can walk, you can come with me.”
***
Any hope Matt had that they could make this a quick, quiet trip was dashed the moment they stepped in the back kitchen doors.
“Hh-!” Mark’s breath hitched audibly, his glazed-over eyes fluttering closed as he tucked into his elbow away from Matt. “Hhh-ITSZCCH-ue! Huh -! HHITSZCHH-uhh! ITSZCHH-uee!” The sneezes ripped out of him, loud enough to make Matt flinch in sympathy. Around the corner and across the kitchen, Elijah’s voice rang out at Mark attempted to recompose himself.
“Jesus fucking christ… who’s back there?”
Mark’s face colored, embarrassment further flushing his pink cheeks. “We should just go,” he whispered to Matt, voice thready and congested. Matt shook his head; they’d made it here, somehow, despite the fact that Mark was swaying on his feet and couldn’t get a word in edgewise without sneezing or coughing so hard he nearly fell over. They’d walked the two blocks over here – a five-minute stroll that had drawn itself out into a forty-five-minute diatribe – and they’d made it in the doors. Matt wasn’t leaving until Mark was medicated, whether everyone here liked it or not.
“No,” Matt said, guiding Mark slowly through the kitchen. “We made it here, we’re getting you medicine. Plus, you need to sit down. You look like you’re about to pass out.”
Unable to argue with that point, Mark just huffed out a sigh that immediately turned into a coughing fit. The spasms wracked his body, tore him in half and into his elbow right in the middle of the kitchen, unwilling to let up until he was nearly gagging with the effort. Slowly, carefully, Matt rubbed small circles into the small of his boyfriend’s back while Elijah and Greyson popped their heads out of the office in concern.
“...Mark?” Elijah asked, standing from his desk chair and walking towards the younger two managers. “Good lord, what are you guys doing here?”
Finally, when Mark was able to get a hold of his lungs, Matt helped him stand to his full height and answered the question for the both of them. “Um… well, Mark isn’t cheating on me,” he said, an attempt to make light at the situation that immediately backfired when Mark’s head turned on a swivel to give him boyfriend an incredulous look.
“You… you thought I was cheatigg ond you?” he asked, voice breaking mid-sentence.
Oops, Matt thought, cringing. “I… no, baby, I was just worried because you wouldn’t call me back, I didn’t actually think you were cheating, I-”
“I would ndever cheat on you, Mbatt,” Mark interrupted, tears welling in his eyes. “Ndever. I… I cand’t believe you would thingk -”
“- I didn’t think it, baby, I was just worried, I-”
“Okay,” Elijah cut in, placing a hand on each of the boy’s shoulders. “Maybe we save this conversation for later, hmm?” He looked at Matt, then Mark, then back to Matt. “Let’s stick with the original question: what are you fucking doing here? Mark looks like he’s about to keel the fuck over, and neither of you even work today. I know we’ve instilled some bad habits in you both,” at this, he looked to Greyson, still seated in the office, who held up both of his hands in feigned innocence.
“Why am I catching strays?! I’m not even a part of this conversation!”
“Because you Pavlov’s Dogged our management team into thinking that they have to come to work when they’re sick, whether they’re on the schedule or not, apparently,” Elijah answered, turning back towards the younger men. “Anyway,” he said, “don’t you think you should be… home?”
Matt sighed, Mark still leaning heavily into him. “We were at Mark’s place, but he doesn’t have any medicine,” Matt explained. “And this stupid rich people area isn’t exactly rich in pharmacies, so we figured we’d come and use the in-home pharmacy.”
Elijah raised an eyebrow, confused.
“The office,” Matt explained, gesturing that way. “We figured it’d be easier to come here and steal some Nyquil than try and make it across town to buy some.”
“Ahh,” Elijah said. “Got it. And… you couldn’t come by yourself?” He gave Mark a once-over, taking in the chills wracking his body, his pallor and red, running nose. Mark looked down, while Matt lowered his voice to explain.
“Um… he didn’t want to stay home alone,” he muttered. “It wasn’t a long walk.”
Finally, Elijah seemed to understand. “Oh,” he said, face softening. “I see.” He turned to Mark then, grabbing him gently by the shoulder and leading him towards the office. “Let’s see if we can’t get you doped up.”
While Elijah sat Mark in his office chair and began perusing the medicine drawer, Greyson exited the office and approached his sous.
“So I was right,” Greyson bragged, slapping Matt on the back. “Per the usual.”
Matt rolled his eyes. “You knew he was sick? Since when?”
“Not about that,” Greyson said, cringing as they watched Mark dip into the elbow of his sweatshirt to sneeze again. “You’re going to be down so bad in a couple days, fuck. Take some Zicam or something, I’m not letting you stay home this weekend.”
“I’ll be fine,” Matt deadpanned. “What do you mean you were right?”
Greyson shrugged. “That he isn’t cheating on you. I mean seriously, Matt, did you really think Mark of all people would cheat? The man worships the ground you walk on.”
The lump that had made its home in Matt’s throat all day dissolved into tears that filled his eyes; he worships the ground you walk on. It wasn’t an understatement, not really, and Matt knew it. From the moment they began seeing each other, Matt began receiving flowers almost weekly, had been taken on near-constant dates, and was always getting little messages from his boyfriend about how beautiful he was, how lucky Mark was to have him. There was almost nothing Matt could do wrong in Mark’s eyes, it seemed – Matt was a chef, quick to anger and frustration, and Mark never took the bait to fight, always stayed cool and collected. He never made Matt feel like he was lesser than, the way Matt had always felt from the time he was a kid, never flaunted the money his family clearly had, never made Matt feel weird about the fact that he barely spoke about his fucked-up upbringing. Mark was good. Mark was everything Matt knew he didn’t really deserve, but got to have anyway. He swiped under his eyes quickly, hoping Greyson wouldn’t notice them fall.
“Yeah,” Matt said, voice thick. “Hey… do we still have that beef stock from the wedding over the weekend?”
Greyson knit his eyebrows, glancing over at his sous. “Yeah, it’s in the freezer. Why?”
“Would you mind if I took some with me when we go?”
Before he could answer, Mark pulled both their attention back to the office. “HNTSZZCHH-uhh! Fuck, ’scuse mbe, sorry,” he muttered, pulling a few tissues off of the box on the GM’s desk.
“Bless,” Elijah said, placing the Nyquil in front of his floor manager. “Don’t take that til you get home. Greyson, can you go into dry storage and get the Lysol spray?”
“Let me amend,” Greyson said to Matt, “we’re all going to be down so bad in a couple days.” He sighed, pulling a hand down his face. “Yes, dear, I’ll go get it,” Greyson called to Elijah. Before heading to the back, he turned to face Matt. “You can have the stock,” he said. “Go. Take care of your guy.”
Matt nodded. Take care of your guy. He would certainly try.
***
“Okay,” Matt said as they walked in the front door, “go lie down.”
For the first time all day, Mark laughed in earnest. “What amb I, a dog?” he asked, the laugh quickly turning to an angry cough. In lieu of trusting his boyfriend to follow any instructions in this state, Matt guided him to the couch and gently lowered him down.
“Not a dog,” he said, pulling a blanket up over Mark’s middle and turning the TV on to the Great British Baking Show. “Just bad at being sick. Obviously. This or What Not to Wear?”
“This is good,” Mark said, eyelids already drooping. “Sit with mbe?” he asked, voice giving out on the last word. Matt bit his cheek at the raw sound of his boyfriend’s voice, then leaned down and kissed his warm – not hot, thank god the ibuprofen was starting to kick in – forehead.
“Soon,” he said, holding up the Trader Joe’s bag filled with supplies from the restaurant. “Just give me a bit to put this all away. Close your eyes, love.”
Mark nodded, nearly asleep before the words even came out of Matt’s mouth. “Love you,” he muttered, swiping mindlessly under his nose. Matt’s heart ached.
“Love you,” he said back, though Mark had already begun to snore.
In the kitchen, Matt quickly and quietly got to work. The bag from work he’d filled with medicine, and more tissues, and, at Greyson’s insistence, Lysol wipes, but he’d also filled it with everything he’d need to make beef stew; carrots, potatoes, celery, even some filet scrap that he was fairly sure Greyson wouldn’t notice was missing. Working his ass off in a kitchen had to come with some perks, he reasoned with himself.
Last out of the bag was the beef stock he’d made for a demi they’d included on the filet set that the wedding over the weekend had included. Matt had spent hours babying the stock, feeding it beef bones and veal bones and fortifying it with some older stock they’d been trying to use up. What had been borne of his babying was a rich, deep broth that frankly he could’ve just gone at with a spoon and a piece of bread. The demi it made was unreal.
Now, standing in Mark’s tiny kitchen, Matt got to work. With an expert hand, one who spent thousands of hours doing it at this point, he peeled potatoes, chopping them into equal-sized chunks, then moved on to thinly slicing the celery and carrots, mincing the garlic. He carefully picked and chopped thyme, his hands moving quickly and with practiced ease. When he was younger – younger even than Greyson knew, about fifteen – Matt had begun washing dishes, doing prep at a diner; grating potatoes for hashbrowns and par-cooking bacon and chopping so many onions that the skin under his eyes was constantly red and raw from weeping. It was a hard work, but it was everything to him. It kept his mind busy, gave him a reason to step away selling pretty good weed and horrible coke. Cooking wasn’t what he wanted to do when he grew up, but in all honesty the idea that he would even grow up past his teen years had been a long shot to Matt. Cooking gave him a lifeline, it changed all that. It gave him a future to consider.
And when he was nineteen – again, younger than Greyson, who thought Matt was into his mid-twenties when he brought him on, realized – and he saw that a new restaurant, a buzzy, hip restaurant that just screamed James Bear Award Winner, Michelin-bait, as it were, had opened up clear on the opposite side of town from where he worked and lived in a studio with three friends, he knew he had to work there. He got the job on the spot; the first time he knew he was worth something. Cooking hadn’t been his dream, but in a lot of ways – ways different than he even knew at the time, he thought, looking over to his snoring boyfriend – it had been his destiny. And who was Matt to argue with destiny?
Matt turned the stove down, allowing the flavors to meld together, and cleaned up the small area. While the soup simmered and English people talked about soggy bottoms quietly on the TV, Matt checked his phone. One new message.
2:37PM
Chef
lij said to tell mark to stay home tomorrow, if u could let him know plss!! hope hes feeling better soon. don’t get sick, ur still comin in whether u want to or not LMAO. love ya kid. enjoy the filet scrap ;)
The tears he’d been fighting all day finally coursed silently down Matt’s cheeks. Fucking Greyson. If he weren’t such a player, the man would’ve made a great dad.
Matt took a deep breath, clicked off his phone, and turned off the soup. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, composing himself as much as he could before looking for a vessel for their meal. The bowls Mark had were cereal bowls, not soup bowls, but they would do. Matt ladled out the soup and headed to the couch, gently rubbing Mark’s shoulder to wake him.
“Mmm?” Mark startled awake, a hand pressing deep into his eye socket beneath his glasses. “Sorry, did I fall asleep?”
“Yes, but don’t apologize,” Matt said, setting the bowls down on the coffee table. “You’re sick, you’re supposed to be sleeping.”
Mark huffed out a little laugh. “I guess,” he said, sitting up slowly. “Did… you mbake mbe soup?”
Matt blushed. “I mean, I made both of us soup. Because I figured if I just made you soup, you wouldn’t eat it.”
“You kndow mbe well,” Mark managed, taking Matt’s hand. “You didn’t have to do that. I have food here.”
Matt raised an eyebrow, amused. “Protein bars aren’t food,” he laughed.
“Proteind bars aren’t good food,” Mark corrected him. “But they are technically food.”
This time, they both laughed, Mark’s ending once again in a soupy, productive cough that he muffled into his sleeve. “Sorry,” he said again, “gross.” Matt handed him the water bottle on the coffee table, rubbed his back in slow circles.
“Can you please stop apologizing for not feeling well?” he asked, earnest. “Please?”
“Ndo prombiseehh – hh – HRTZCH-ue! Huh -! Hh… hhITSZCCHH-ue!” This time, Mark folded his hands over his nose and mouth, grimacing at what Matt assumed was the mess he left behind. Matt walked over to the kitchen table where he’d left the medicine and supplies, opened a box of tissues. Handed it silently to his boyfriend.
“Sorry,” Mark said once again, after he’d cleaned himself up. “God, I’mb a fuckigg mbess.”
Matt tilted his head in a little half-nod. “Kinda,” he said, prompting another laugh from Mark. “But baby… that’s okay. You’ve seen me a fucking mess. Hell, you’ve taken care of me as a fucking mess like, twice since we’ve started seeing each other. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you sick.”
Mark scoffed. “That’s ndot true. We’ve worked together for years, you’ve definitely seen mbe sigck.”
“I mean, yeah, I’ve like, seen you with a cold at work a couple times. But even then, you like hide from everyone. Half the time no one even knows you’re sick until you’re like forced to call out. I’ve never seen you… I don’t know, ill. Like this.”
Shrugging, Mark began to pick at the blanket over his lap. “I mbean… yeah. That’s kinda by design.”
“But why?”
Mark sighed stuffily. “I just… I don’t kndow, baby. I wasn’t, like, allowed to be sick as a kid. My parents weren’t exactly… the warmbest. It’s just what I’mb used to. Sweat it out, alone. Put on a brave face.”
“Apologize for normal bodily functions.”
A laugh. “Yeah. I guess that, too.”
They sat in silence for a moment after that, letting the words sink in. Finally, Matt said, “I’m sorry for thinking you were cheating on me. I’m not used to having things work out. Or be good. Or whatever.”
Mark looked at his boyfriend. Gave a little smile. “You deserve good things,” he said. The lump reappeared, and Matt looked down while Mark placed a hand over his. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’mb sorry for… hiding. Ndot telling you. I should’ve told you.” He squeezed Matt’s hand then, and Matt squeezed back. “I’mb sorry.”
Matt looked up at his boyfriend – his miserably ill, pale, red-eyed boyfriend. His sweet, tender boy. Never had he ever felt such affection for someone. It was scary, to feel this much, to have something to lose. He knew that Mark felt that, too.
“It’s okay,” Matt said, pulling Mark in for a hug. Against what Matt knew was his boyfriend’s better judgment, he hugged back, held Matt tight until he was once again forced to pull away to -
“HRTSZCHH-uee!” Unable to get to his elbow, Mark sneezed into the space between the two men, their laps misting with spray. “God, you’re gonna get so fuckigg sick,” Mark muttered, swiping under his nose and looking up at Matt with those big, apologetic eyes. “Like so fuckigg disgustingly sick.”
Matt shrugged, leaned in to kiss Mark’s hot, wet lips. “Oh, well,” he said, a hand placed on his boyfriend’s cheek. “At least I’ll have someone to ride it out with.”
Without pulling away, Mark closed his eyes, a smile dancing on the corners of his mouth. “Yeah,” he said. “You will. You always will.”
A few sneezes i recorded for a friend (plz ignore my ratty robe) 😝 i learned that plastic wrap stuff works WAY better for me for inducing without the need for chhinkni so….more soon?
Cw: illness, mentions of contagion, kink!S/hane, NSFW scenes
S/hane wakes up at the cottage with the beginnings of a cold. He’s a little desperate to not let I/lya find out how much he likes it.
OR the most self indulgent thing I’ve ever written. S/hane with a cold, honeymoon rhinitis, and way too affected by it all.
—
S/hane woke slowly, sleep clinging to him like syrup, to the sight of the sun bright outside his window. He had just a half second of calm, enjoying the view, snuggling back into his pillow before he was sitting up in a panic, fumbling for his phone on the nightstand. Fuck, by the sunlight out it must be like 10am already. He’s late, he’s never slept in so much, he’s-
In his bedroom at his cottage. Birds chirp happily outside the window, a chorus to the undercurrent of waves crashing gently onto lakeside shore several yards off. The summer had just begun and S/hane was done for the season, as was I/lya. S/hane put a hand over his racing heart and took a breath. Even during the off season, the latest he usually rose was with the sun. Instinct had nearly scared him out of his skin.
Ilya was flying in in the afternoon and would be joining him that afternoon for two weeks of blessed solitude. Just the two of them and the pleasures of the Canadian wilderness. Getting there a day in advance, Shane even had prepped everything himself. Fridge and pantry stocked, alcohol in the beer cooler, fresh sheets and blankets, lube easily accessible in every room…
Shane sighed and lowered himself back down to the bed, flopping over onto his side, letting his pulse slow back down. He almost never wakes this late - checking his phone confirms it’s nearly 10:30, and he’s got several messages from Ilya waiting for him to read. He felt himself begin to wake properly, senses coming back to him as adrenaline faded and… fuck.
Oh fuck.
He was still tired even after several extra hours of sleep. The back of his throat felt bruised and raw when he swallowed to test it. His skin prickled each time he moved against the sheets even though he had picked these sheets purposefully to avoid that feeling. Behind the bridge of his nose, his sinuses felt prickly and sensitive. He reached up to feel and - fuck, his lymph nodes were sore and swollen.
Shane swore and rolled onto his back. His voice sounded just a touch gravelly, a hair lower than it usually did. He groaned and pushed the heels of his hands into his aching eyes, breathing deeply. This was not part of the plan for their very limited time off. Their once-yearly opportunity to see one another for more than a handful of days at a time was about to go sideways. Knowing Ilya, Shane would have to spend all his time trying to pry his massive Russian boyfriend away to keep from getting kissed square on the mouth and getting Ilya sick, too. Because Shane was absolutely positively getting sick.
Trying to keep distance and being unwell at the same time was its own kind of torture. He didn’t want to waste a second not being able to touch Ilya, to have his mouth on Ilya, to wrap him up in his arms and breathe him in and cling to him like they could become one person if he just got close enough.
And also it was awful for… other reasons.
Shane had this… thing about being under the weather. A thing that absolutely did not make sense for someone as obsessed with control and routine as he was. Illness should be the bane of his existence; not only was it sensory hell, but it made playing good hockey either hard or impossible. There was no quick fix to getting sick, just a frustrating waiting game of will-it-won’t-it.
Despite that, however, there was something about it that gave him butterflies. The raw scratch of his throat, the sensitivity of his skin, the gradual filling of his sinuses, the over-sensitivity of his skin, all of it a constant reminder that he just wasn’t well. A virus taking over his body gradually, forcing him to become soft and small and needy. Pliant, like the sickness fed off the stubbornness in his body. It was a relief to give up routine and responsibility to just let himself be unwell.
And fuck it turned him on.
He couldn’t pinpoint the source of his arousal towards it. He thought maybe it was an association with his honeymoon rhinitis. That had been awkward to explain to Ilya already. But it wasn’t just the sneezing that got him going, it was kind of all of it. In the end he figured it had to do with something related to being vulnerable and having someone take the reins from him.
There was something simply so erotic about trusting someone to look after him, to take care of him, to know what he needed. It felt almost like handing a piece of himself over until he was well enough to have it back. And if Ilya was anything, he was an intuitive lover. He was always very quick to understand Shane. It was something Shane had never experienced before with anyone but his own parents. He knew he was particular and reserved and anxious and couldn’t always communicate what he needed. It took people a while to understand him, or they didn’t understand him at all. But Ilya had always been able to read him, know him, love him in the way he needed to be loved. It wasn’t always perfect, but Ilya was a quick learner about most things and Shane wasn’t an exception to that.
All of which was part of the problem. He didn’t know if he was ready to let Ilya find out about… this. He could hardly deal with the embarrassment of a cold essentially turning him into a bitch in heat when he was by himself, much less in front of his boyfriend. And Ilya would know. Shane knew that no matter how hard he tried to be normal about it, Ilya would smell it on him. He would be especially fucked when he started sneezing, because of course he always did with respiratory illnesses. He’d sneeze then be aroused by it then sneeze some more due to his body’s fucked wiring and it was always an endless cycle. Just thinking about it made his face burn with that weird mixture of embarrassment and need.
Then, there was also the possibility he would become too sick to find it fun anymore. It’s fun for him when it’s mild, when it’s manageable, when it just makes him want to burrow under warm blankets and sleep and jerk off every now and then. But the line between enjoyment and torture was a very fine thing for him.
Shane knew he was kind of a nightmare when he ended up genuinely sick. Particular, emotional, and just kind of pissy in general. Everything had to be right: the clothes, temperature, food, drinks, sound, lights. He wanted to be held until he suddenly couldn’t stand to be touched. Sometimes he ended up just so overstimulated by his own symptoms that not only could he not properly communicate, he didn’t even know what he needed. And the last thing he wanted from their time off was for Ilya to find him pacing in circles, freaking out because his skin was too hot.
Shane let himself wallow in distress for a handful of minutes before he unlocked his phone to read Ilya’s texts.
Ilya: good morning solnyshko ☀️
Ilya: Very excited to see you today. Am boarding plane in one hour
Ilya: I wonder which room I will fuck you in first today?
Shane sighed heavily and tossed his phone on the bed next to him, staring at the screen. Today was going to be such a struggle.
After texting Ilya back and making his usual diet-approved breakfast smoothie, Shane tried to get a workout in like usual. Ilya would be there in about two and a half hours, which hopefully gave him enough time either to get his shit together or give up and let the illness take its course. Shane still hadn’t texted Ilya he was feeling sick yet. The last thing he wanted was for Ilya to drive any faster on the highway than he usually did. No reason to worry him, especially if he went about his day and the symptoms gradually went away.
They did not gradually go away. Shane’s workout went pretty badly. He just didn’t have the energy he usually did and the exertion-induced panting only made his throat hurt and, occasionally, his lungs seize with a cough or two. By the time he quit halfway through, his nose was running, sinuses prickly and irritated. So Shane succumbed to defeat and dragged his ass to the shower to at least not be sweaty when Ilya arrived.
Once he was in the shower he finally felt his body relax, hot water loosening the muscles he always kept too tight. Shane was a little stressed if he was being honest with himself. He wanted Ilya to be here and take care of him, be with him, kiss him, fuck him. But it also made Shane feel dirty too, like he was taking advantage of Ilya’s kindness. Like he was going to be getting off on Ilya’s concern and care because he was a weird perverted freak who liked the physical miseries of having a cold. But oh how he wanted. Despite the shame and embarrassment of it all, he craved Ilya’s attention, wanted Ilya to fuck him soft and sweet, wanted to feel Ilya’s fingers on his forehead where they would check for fever, wanted to see the concerned frown on Ilya’s face when he found out Shane was coming down with something, wanted to come apart underneath Ilya’s hands on his sensitive fever-warm skin, wanted-
Shane, beet red even in the privacy of his own home, put his head in his hands and groaned. He wouldn’t last a minute of Ilya noticing he was a bit unwell without giving himself away. Shane didn’t even want to know how fast he would come if Ilya got his hands on him.
It was always a back and forth between I want this and oh god I might die if I get it.
That being said, he couldn’t keep his hands off of himself in the shower. It would be good anyway to get this out of his system now so he wouldn’t have an immediate physical reaction as soon as he laid eyes on Ilya later.
He let his hands travel slowly down his torso, sniffling from the steam as it loosened the congestion beginning to settle in his sinuses. Every sore swallow was a reminder, a turn-on, something that made him shiver. He let himself fall into it as he wrapped his hand around his rapidly-hardening dick. The warm water slid down his back, down to his thighs and calves, setting his sensitive skin alight. He sniffled again, and it wasn’t soon before he was sneezing in that fittish way that was born half from arousal and half from illness.
He coughed into the back of his wrist as the expulsions scraped his throat, sniffling and moaning while he palmed his nose with one hand and kept stroking with the other. Shane felt all-over tingly, already lost in it. It was easy to sink into the good feelings and sensations when he was like this.
He allowed his thoughts to drift to Ilya and his strong, perfect hands. The curve of his lips as he smiled wolfishly. Imagined Ilya’s lips on his forehead, the purr of mostly inteligible Russian against his ear. Oh, moya lubov, you don’t look good. Ilya guiding him into bed, kissing his dry mouth, sliding down his body and kneading his thighs. Looking up at him right before he takes Shane into his mouth. Looking down at Ilya over his own flushed, fever-warm body. Don’t worry, malýsh, I will make you feel better.
And then Shane was gasping, orgasm spilling over into his hand, against his belly, onto the shower floor.
It took him several minutes to get himself together enough to finish the rest of his shower.
—-
Shane ended up on the couch with some sports commentator on the TV, mostly checking his phone and waiting for Ilya to get home. He was still undecided about how the afternoon would go, or if he should text Ilya saying he was feeling sick. Maybe Ilya would want to stay somewhere else until he got over this so as not to be infected. But Shane was immediately shaking his head at the thought. Ilya would be all over him even if Shane had the plague, which Shane thought was a little insane but accepted it all the same. It was sweet even if it was self-sacrificing.
At some point in his fretting he must have fallen asleep again, because he awoke to the sound of keys jingling in the lock. Shane loved that sound. He had given Ilya a set of keys to both the cottage and his apartment after their first official summer together. The sound of keys in the door would never be something he didn’t savor.
Shane jumped up and made his way to meet Ilya at the door, trying to fix the way his hair was sticking up after his impromptu nap. The door swung open and finally there was his boyfriend, fresh from the airport and near sparkling in the afternoon sun. He was in sleek athletic joggers and a Boston hoodie, but to Shane he could as well have been standing there in a thousand-dollar tux. His beautiful blonde curls were ruffled from the wind outside, misaligned teeth white and perfect and smiling. Shane immediately felt himself relax.
“Missed you.” Shane felt a grin pulling at his face as he stepped forward, taking in the sight. Ilya’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he stepped forward.
“Shane! I missed you more, I think.” Hands gently at Shane’s elbows, Ilya stooped down for a kiss.
Shane dodged the kiss to go in for a hug instead, nuzzling into the crook of Ilya’s neck and breathing him in. He needed a second to be near his boyfriend and not have to explain why they couldn’t kiss for the next several days. Ilya had only just gotten here and it was already killing him.
Ilya just chuckled and held him tight, snaking his arms around Shane’s waist.
“Okay, maybe you did miss me more then,” he said to the shell of Shane’s ear, mirth evident in his voice. “Hello my little koala.”
Ilya punctuated the sentence with a kiss to the side of Shane’s head before pulling back for a kiss on the cheek. But when he stood back enough to get a look at Shane’s face again, his eyes narrowed, frown pulling at his lips. Shane’s heart immediately began to race.
“Are you okay, moya lubov? Did you just wake up?” Ilya said, bringing a hand up to trace what were probably sleep lines along Shane’s cheek. He looked away to check the digital watch on his wrist then back up to Shane with questioning in his eyes, clearly concerned that Shane was sleeping at 2:30pm.
“Yeah, I’m okay, I just fell asleep waiting for you,” Shane said, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. Ilya’s brows drew together.
“You do not like to nap,” he replied, clear blue eyes now darting around Shane’s face. Fuck. Sometimes, but only sometimes, it was a detriment that Ilya knew him so well. “The color in your face does not look good. What is wrong, Shane?”
Fuck. Shane had been found out in record time.
“I’m. Uh. I think I might be… coming down with something?” Shane cringed at the hesitance in his voice, as well as the fact that he had to say it at all. Not only did he feel so exposed, but now Ilya was aware of how the next few days were going to go. The plans that were now probably ruined. He felt his body begin to pull into itself. “I’m sorry, I was going to tell you sooner, but I didn’t want you to worry or speed on the way here and… and I know this is going to derail things but-“
“Shane,” Ilya said, halting his boyfriend’s desperate stream of words with a palm to Shane’s solar plexus. To Shane’s great relief, he was now smiling, small and sweet. “Breathe. Is okay. I do not care what we do as long as I am with you.” Ilya’s grin deepened as he leaned forward to kiss Shane’s forehead. He barely managed to suppress a shiver.
“I know but, we can’t kiss until this goes away. I think it’s just a cold but what if it’s not? I mean, I can sleep in the guest room?” Shane couldn’t help the rambling, just needed to get all of his anxieties out in the open and acknowledged so he could start formulating a game plan.
“Who is saying we cannot kiss?” Ilya frowned at him in jest. “And who is saying you will sleep in guest room? I need to have words with them.”
Shane felt his shoulders loosen a fraction. Good. He really, really didn’t want to sleep alone. He tightened up again quickly though as he felt Ilya swoop in again to kiss him. It was just as predicted. Shane leaned back as well as he could in Ilya’s arms, craning his face away.
“Okay, we’ll sleep on the bedroom together but we can’t kiss, Ilya, that will absolutely get you sick.”
Ilya ignored him and pressed closer, kissing his cheek.
“Us Russians do not get boring Canadian colds,” he murmured, going in for another kiss as Shane put a hand up and pushed at Ilya’s chest to hold him back.
“Yes they do! I really don’t think that this is hygienic-“
“Hm, hygienic? It is a good thing I don’t know what that means so I can kiss you.”
“Ilya you absolutely fucking know what that means!” Shane yelped, twisting around the other way in the hopes of just maybe keeping his germs to himself.
“I want to kiss my boyfriend, Shane,” Ilya said against his ear, sounding soft and sweet and relaxed. Shane’s knees went a little weak the always did when Ilya said that word. Boyfriend. Against his will, Shane began to feel his defence begin to crumble. “I have not seen him in two months. I want to kiss him no matter if he is sick or not sick.” Ilya turned Shane’s face towards him until they were nose to nose, breathing each other’s air. “I do not care, Shane. I will be okay.”
Shane sighed and deflated. It was hard to argue a point when he didn’t really want to defend it anyway. He turned his eyes up to Ilya, searching for hesitation and not finding any. Ilya’s expression was open and sweet and longing as it always was when they were alone together.
“You’re sure?” Shane asks, nuzzling into Ilya’s hand. “I don’t want to get you sick,” he murmurs, eyes falling closed. It was funny that he tried to put up a fight in the first place if this was how long he lasted.
“I am sure. Whatever happens I will survive.” Ilya leaned in until his nose was brushing Shane’s ear, breath warm and ticking on Shane’s sensitive skin. “What I will not survive is not having my mouth on you.” Shane shivered.
Ilya leaned in again, and Shane relented. His lips parted easily for Ilya as he felt his body relax, leaning into his boyfriend’s strong form. Despite how crummy he felt, he sighed and kissed back eagerly, earning a chuckle from Ilya that was breathed right into his mouth. God, he had missed this. Two months really was a long time.
After a handful of minutes they parted, Shane now panting and wiping his nose on the back of his wrist. He must have looked as flustered as he felt because Ilya chuckled at him and kissed him one more time for good measure.
“I knew you also wanted to kiss,” Ilya teased, now guiding Shane to the living room with a hand at the small of his back. “I can always tell when you want.”
“Ugh, Ilya, I can’t believe we just did that,” Shane lamented as he was led back to the couch, groaning and putting his head in his hands as he sat down. “I totally just got you sick. I didn’t even last ten minutes.”
“Is because I am irresistible,” Ilya said as he stood in front of Shane, running a hand through his dark hair and scratching at the scalp. Shane, again, relaxed under the touch. He felt like a dog being scratched. “Now, how do you feel? What is hurting you?”
Shane kept his face in his hands to hide the blush he felt rising in his cheeks. His insides felt squirmy, skin prickling. It was insane that he was already having a hard time tamping down on the arousal. He had only been asked two questions for god’s sake.
“Um,” Shane sniffled after a moment, raising his head up. “It’s pretty mild right now. Just my head hurts a little and my throat is kind of sore. And, uh, my lymph nodes. I’m okay.” He didn’t have the guts to get into any other symptoms than those. Shane would probably die on the spot from mortification if he tried to talk about his nose.
Ilya nodded and felt his forehead with the backs of his fingers, nodding when he didn’t feel abnormal heat. Shane’s stomach did a backflip.
“Okay. You have taken medicine, yes?” Shane nodded. “Do you need anything?” Shane shook his head. Ilya plopped himself down at Shane’s side and put an arm around him, pulling him close. “Good. I get to hold you now, you look sleepy. You will tell me if you start feeling bad?” Again, Shane nodded. He was having a hard time formulating words so he just let himself sigh and melt into Ilya’s side instead. Ilya’s hand rubbed up and down Shane’s ribs as Shane nuzzled into him.
“I really missed you,” Shane mumbled, already feeling sated and happy, if not on top of an undercurrent of oh god oh god oh god. “Sorry I’m sick.”
“Don’t be sorry. Is not your fault,” Ilya replied, kissing the top of Shane’s head and sighing. “And don’t worry. If I catch your cold you can be my sexy nurse.” Shane could basically hear him waggling his eyebrows.
Shane sighed loudly, performatively, but before he could respond, an itch bloomed to life in his sinuses. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth and closed his eyes, trying his hardest to let it pass. Despite his efforts, the tingling sensation only grew until he was forced to turn away to sneeze into the crook of his arm, Ilya still holding him.
Shane groaned softly as he lowered himself back to Ilya’s chest. The sneezing had hurt his head and throat… which only served as a reminder that he was sick. A reminder of much he had craved this, and how much he craved more. Thankfully, he was a little too tired to get a boner about it.
“Bud’te zdorovy,” Ilya purred, rubbing Shane’s back as he shuddered with each sneeze. He laughed as Shane tensed a little, ears going pink. Ilya knew about the honeymoon rhinitis, and also knew that Shane had kind of Pavloved himself into getting turned on by his natural sneezes. As such, Ilya never turned down an opportunity to tease him about it. He had purposefully dropped his voice down an octave when he said it, too, that fucker. Shane jabbed him in the side in retaliation.
“Ow!” Ilya yelped, body jolting away from his fingers.
“Quit,” Shane grumbled.
“Oh, but do you want me to?” Again with the nonverbal eyebrow waggle in his voice.
“I shouldn’t even be this close to you right now, asshole.”
“Yes, because my poor Shane is sick and very considerate and sweet. He is lucky he has a boyfriend who does not care and will hold him anyway,” Ilya said casually, petting Shane the whole while. He manoeuvres them to lay down together and grabs the remote, flipping through channels until he finds some reality TV real estate show he knows Shane likes.
“Uh-huh,” Shane breathes, warm and content and beginning to feel sleepy again. He squirms closer and puts his forehead in the crook of Ilya’s neck. It’s faintly surprising to him that he’s tired already after sleeping so much, but he doesn’t fight it. He feels so safe and warm and content now that Ilya is here. “Thank you. Love you,” he slurs.
Ilya’s chuckle rumbles against Shane’s chest as Ilya scratches his back in the way he likes, pressure not too firm or too soft. Again, like he just can’t help it every time, Ilya kisses his head.
“Ya tebya lyublyu. Go back to sleep, lyubimiyy.”
“Okay.” Shane sniffles and smothers the resulting coughs into his sleeve before yawning and settling back down. He’s asleep in minutes.
