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highly infectious behavior (6.9k, h/eated r/ivalry)

I wrote this with my (proverbial) dick in my hand, and it’s my first time writing snz porn so that has me feeling pretty vulnerable. I’ve always appreciated those of you who post explicit content, but I’m appreciating from a different lens this time! this is scary! or maybe I’m just a chronic overthinker. but this is a kink space and we all (most of us?) jork it to a sneeze, so I gotta get my head out of my ass. anyway, I also experimented with tone!! not sure if it’ll make a big difference in the reader experience, but I’m interested to hear what you think! once again, sorry for always rambling before I get to the horn. I’ll stop here :) post-TLG pwp (except there’s a lotta love in the details?) in which shane and ilya both have colds. they’re married, they just won a game, and they want to get off. or; ilya has no qualms about sneezing during sex and is generally a menace. shane needs to be eased into it but is very down bad for his menace husband. the results are really, really filthy. VERY NSFW!!! 18+ as always, but even adults should be warned about the depravity that follows.

The Centaurs won.

It had been a grueling few days, back-to-back games with the the winter holidays coming closer in view. They still had a few weeks of games packed tight before Christmas, but tonight was the start of a rare two days off for recovery.

And it was much needed. A cold was spreading through the team, and if their wins the past two nights were considered, most of the league were likely plagued with something similar—if not worse, given some of the awful plays they’d been witnessing the past two weeks.

Shane’s drive home from the arena had been easy and quiet, with his husband leaned back in the passenger seat and only occasionally making comments on how they could spend the next couple days. (‘Snnfffsnf! We can get—snnf!—Christmas tree tomorrow. Take Anya with us. And look online for—snnff-ggh’mm—new orm… Orma… Eh, decorations.’) To Shane, it sounded more like there would be a lot of lounging in order, and a lot of sniffling. (‘Ornaments. Snnngff! And we’ll see.’)

Anya had been with Shane’s parents since yesterday afternoon, dropped off before they headed to the arena, what with both Shane and Ilya being under the weather and having back-to-back games. It had been the most logical choice when neither of them were at their best and were going to have two late nights in a row.

Ilya had been less than pleased but agreed under the reality that Anya would happier not being alone so much—and having a staycation with her grandparents (Shane’s mom had feelings about that, and she most certainly had voiced them).

Normally Shane loved coming home to Anya, loved watching how Ilya would crouch in greeting and kiss words of endearment into her fur like he hadn’t seen her in days, like it wasn’t ritual to spend his pre-game nap with her in bed. But tonight Shane was glad to share a quiet homecoming with him. He enjoyed the way they were transforming right over the threshold of their front door, going from tired but fulfilled teammates to a pair of husbands with colds who had no obligations beyond dragging each other to the couch between kisses.

They were both sniffly and exhausted in that weathering-a-cold way, but the high from winning back-to-back games was taking its time to fizzle out. There was still enough of a buzz left in both of them, and there was no good reason to withhold their bodies from each other when they were already sharing the same cold.

Ilya kissed him gently at first, awkwardly and between steps, little pecks with parted lips that were more for the sake of keeping contact as they ambled further into their home. Shane reacted with short hums of appreciation and roaming hands, because Ilya’s lips felt far too good against his face to possibly interrupt but he desperately needed to place himself somewhere in the scope of exercising his need for Ilya in return. He wanted to have his cake, eat his cake, and fuck it too.

Being on the receiving end of Ilya’s mouth, when it was at its most tender and occasionally its most filthy, filled him with so much warmth he didn’t know what to do with it all. It bled into him until it spilled over, because Ilya was nothing if not a giving lover, and Shane needed a place to store the excess of it (re: right back into Ilya’s waiting palms, and he knew they would be handing it back and forth, back and forth all night).

Shane knew, and weakened over the idea, that no one else would ever have the privilege of experiencing just how selfless Ilya’s mouth could be. They got vicious digs, while Shane got—

They collapsed on the couch together, Ilya lounging in a half-lying sprawl in the corner of the sectional while Shane hovered in a straddle, and Ilya dove forward to mouth at his neck. Shane saw sun-kissed curls as he let his eyes fall shut, and he swore it could have been the light of god flashing over him because surely this had to be heaven.

“—ISHH’ewh!”

That had come out of nowhere, courtesy of said curls tickling over his already irritated nose, and there was nowhere to turn when he hadn’t even known it was coming in the first place.

So, yeah, Shane had sneezed on top of his husband’s head.

And yeah, that put a fucking wrench in the mood.

And—of course Ilya was still kissing his neck like nothing had happened.

“Ilya, wait—“

“Mmh?”

Ilya kept going, and Shane had half a mind let him because his skin was being tugged into Ilya’s hot mouth as he sucked right on his pulse point, just the way he liked. He groaned and was rewarded with a generous swipe of Ilya’s tongue, which was a very convincing argument against—well, there wasn’t any argument at all, but his nose twitched and reminded him of why he asked Ilya to wait in the first place.

He sniffed sharply, nose wrinkling, and weakly pushed at Ilya’s shoulder. “Maybe—ahh!—maybe we’re too sick for this.”

That got Ilya’s attention.

Too much of it, maybe. Ilya straightened, lifting his head and inching back to sit taller with Shane still straddling his lap. His lips were already tinted red, swollen in that just-been-kissed way Shane could die staring at just to prove the point that he could stare at them forever.

“You feel bad, malysh?”

Ilya took his hand off of its place at Shane’s hip and touched the back of his wrist to Shane’s forehead, then his cheek. It was a choice so deliberate and thoughtful that it made his stomach flip, which was truthfully a little perplexing. Apparently he needed to add his husband’s capacity for concern and care to his ever growing list of ways Ilya could get him off.

It was also thoroughly frustrating, because he could feel himself getting harder with each passing second.

“No, we just... This is kinda gross, Ilya,” he mumbled but didn’t feel all that sure, and that uncertainty proved real as it carried over into his voice. He could hear it, the way it sounded like he believed what he was saying but only halfway meant it. The way his words formed in his mouth one way and shaped into something else entirely once they were out of him.

Ilya rolled his eyes, head falling back in exasperation. “Right. Because nothing we do is gross, ever.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

Ilya cupped his hand over Shane’s crotch. It wasn’t exactly a squeeze, but it was enough to make Shane loosen his breath and tilt his hips. “Right now I know your dick is hard enough to rip through your pants.”

But then Ilya was pulling his hand back, and Shane let his own hand ghost over the same space, pressing oh-so-slightly because he was suddenly very aware of the lack—and, in part, because he had to physically hold himself back from letting his hips follow Ilya’s hand like a dog to its fucking master.

Ilya looked down at this, eyes all fire and gratification, like the look he got during a face-off he was confident in winning. Sometimes Shane missed seeing that look on the ice, head-on with Ilya playing dirty and trying to piss him off. And he wasn’t sure how much he liked seeing it in bed these days (which was a lot, actually, but he was a sore loser and he usually lost to this).

“No, never mind. I think you don’t need this as much as me.”

“That’s—“

“No, no. I need to fuck you so bad I will let you sneeze everywhere.” Ilya motioned in a wide swoop down his body, then sagged in a resigned, overly dramatized way like it was somehow possible to collapse when he was already pressed into the couch. “But you will let big scary germs win.”

Shane’s jaw clenched. His temple pulsed. Ilya was playing an angle Shane could see from a mile away, and it was working. “Alright! Alright.” He still wasn’t keen on the idea of sneezing all over the place, and on his husband, but his cock was really starting to ache. He gave it a squeeze because, fuck, he couldn’t help it. “Fine, you win. You win.”

Ilya lolled his head to the side, feigning hopelessness. He wistfully voiced, “Ooh, but I will also sneeze on you probably. You won’t like that.”

Shane gritted his teeth. “Can’t you just, like, try not to?”

“It will happen, Shane.” Now Ilya was all serious business, pitching his voice higher and letting his body follow. He traced his fingers over Shane’s arm. “By accident, of course. But I cannot control a sneeze.”

Shane considered this. It was true, and it was silly that it needed to be said. The whole conversation was silly, in fact, but Shane had a feeling Ilya wouldn’t back down. Shane wouldn’t have, anyway. Probably. It was hard to understand how the scales tipped when his weeping dick was on the line.

Maybe Ilya, and his tendency to give Shane everything he wanted, was the only way Shane could ever stand to lose. In a way, it made Shane feel like a winner by association—and because he always got an orgasm out of it.

“…can sneeze… me…”

“What? Sorry, can’t hear so well.” Ilya smiled subtly, a smug and self-satisfied sort of kink to his lips that made Shane want to kiss it right off of him. Ilya motioned at his ear in a lazy wave. “Very stuffed up because I have a cold.”

“You can sneeze on me! God, you can fucking sneeze wherever the fuck you want.”

If he had known that was all it would take, Shane would have said it ages ago. (Minutes, actually, but what were numbers on the timeline of desire? He’d never been very good at math.) Sure, maybe he had been the one to stop their doings in the first place, but he had been wrong for it. He could admit that now, with Ilya’s mouth crashing into his.

Shane apologized for it the way he knew how. With his mouth, trailing rushed and frantic kisses across a strong jaw, the soft underside of it where he could practically taste his pulse, the nape where he could best smell the perfect mix of Ilya and shower room soap—

“H-hheEH-“

Shane started to pull back. Ilya’s hold on the back of his head tightened, fingers tugging his hair so taut it was practically a dare to keep fucking around and find out that his hair wasn’t actually as married to his scalp as he thought. Ilya was simultaneously pulling his hair and pushing him so hard against his collar that the tip of his nose flattened wide against his skin.

“-h’ISSHHT!”

Ilya laughed heartily as Shane broke away to roughly rub two fingers under his nose, partly out of shock and partly because it was still tickling.

“Fu-uuh!-huh’ISSHooh! Fuck you! What was that for?!” He ground the heel of his palm against the underside of his nose, which he knew was arguably gross, but it was itching so badly. It was next level torture, almost on par with the way his dick was twitching in his pants. “Kind of—huh’ISSHuhh! sdnnff! Kind of seems like you want me to sneeze on you, pervert.”

Ilya looked reasonably amused by that. “Mmh, no. But I don’t mind, and I want you.” His voice dipped low, gravely from his cold. “And I want you to kiss my neck some more.”

(Shane was dismayed to realize he had another item to add to the list of things that turned him on, and it was his husband’s voice when he had a cold. At some point, maybe he’d have to resign from jotting any of it down and just put Ilya, Ilya, Ilya instead. It would sum up the list quite nicely.)

Ilya grabbed his bicep with strong fingers. It was like Ilya could ball up all his need in his hand and make Shane feel it through his grip alone, so Shane let himself be pulled forward in a trance fueled by Ilya and his cold-ridden voice, and his insatiable hunger, and so what if they sneezed on each other when he was pretty sure that later he was going to come so hard the proof of it would end up on both their faces.

And between all this lust, they were still fully clothed. It was ridiculous, and he would have to fix that later. Soon probably, but he was already back at Ilya’s neck.

It was hard to tell whether the dip of Ilya’s neck was wet from the way he’d been mouthing at it moments ago, or because he had sneezed on it. Probably both, which was what he would think if he had the wherewithal to form even half a thought.

“HhH-HAAHDt-dzZSHOO!” Ilya sneezed, and now Shane understood why it had been so easy for Ilya to keep kissing through it. “Yhh’HIDSCHHT! Ghh-hehh-heED’ZSCHUuh!”

“B-Bleshh’oo,” he managed absently around his wandering tongue, still trying to find a point of entrance, trying to find a place where he could bury his whole mouth right into Ilya’s throat and feel the vibration of those sneezes directly from his vocal cords with the whole of his tongue.

Ilya chuckled, if a little breathy, and Shane started seeing stars. Whether it was laughing, or sneezing, or talking—he just needed Ilya to keep on so he could taste his way around the shape of Ilya’s voice. “So polite, solnyshko.” Fuck. “Always—snnghff!—so polite.”

Shane adjusted his hips, angling so he could rut his groin right up against Ilya’s stomach and, in turn, feel his balls drag over Ilya’s thick, hard length. It was an odd contortion, one where his spine was curving every which way, but Ilya felt so good. He wanted to thank whoever had the idea of making athletic joggers so thin, maybe mail a note or write an email because he was just that grateful—and very certain that whoever designed these things also had beautiful husband whose dick they needed to feel the details of even through clothed foreplay. Functional fashion, or something, and his praise for it.

“Fuck, oh fuuuck. Ilya.” Just as he felt he was about to come in his fucking performance pants (yeah, already, but only because Ilya was tugging his hair again and making awfully crazed noises), Ilya placed his hands against his chest and made him come up for fresh air.

“Stop, stop.”

“Noooh-hah’IXSCHewhh! No, I can’t—“ Shane led with his lips, eyes hooded and caught in building up to another sneeze, and not having the capacity to care, as he dove back in. This was a primal kind of revolt in the face of denial, stripping him of sense and manners and the ability to cover his fucking mouth, apparently. “Hhuh! ‘ISSHHhueh! Please—“

“I was wrong, I think.” Ilya’s hands were firm on his chest, effectively stopping him from doing anything other than sneezing on Ilya’s outstretched arms. Ilya said, breathless, “You need this more than me, maybe.”

“Fuck off, I don’t need anything.” But his voice came out thin, so obviously a lie it made his face flush hot because who was he to deny he needed anything when he had chased after his husband sneeze-forward.

“You need to take off your clothes before you come in them.” Ilya tried to sound smug, and it almost landed, but he also had that low rasp that meant he was on the brink of losing his fucking mind, too. “You do want me to fuck you tonight, yes?” It was a surrender, maybe an admission that Ilya was coming completely undone, or at least that was how Shane wanted to take it.

“Yes, yes, please yes.”

Ilya grabbed the hem of his sweatshirt and let his fingers slide past to reach the shirt under it, too. It was a practiced motion, one they’d had down pat by the time they were early twenty-somethings and in need of finding the fastest way to get their clothes off when trying to fit hookups into their threadbare pockets of time. This, a decade later, felt just as urgent as that.

Shane was bare from the waist up in record time, and Ilya took a moment to be greedy. Shane was impatiently pulling on Ilya’s Adidas long sleeve (‘You know you don’t have to be a stereotype, right? You can wear Reebok, too.’ ‘Shane, I told you a thousand times, I am Russian so I must wear Adidas. Is my duty.’) and Ilya was interfering with sloppy kisses to Shane’s chest.

“Ilya,” Shane complained on a tight breath. Ilya stopped momentarily, and Shane was about to celebrate the victory by ripping Ilya’s shirt off when—

“HaaHHD’DJSHuuh! Hh’DZSCHuuwh!”

Right onto Shane’s bare chest, but instead of wasting time by allowing Ilya to gather his bearings, he capitalized on the little cognitive hiccup and yanked Ilya’s shirt over his head. Lust could make a person overlook a lot of things, including having his husband’s sneezes spattered over his chest.

And now they were equally bare chested. Shane wasn’t winning, but they at least had equal footing. Then Ilya coughed a laugh and knuckled at his nose and said, “You—snnfsnnfff!—want me so bad,” and it didn’t feel very equal anymore.

Well, at least he got to stare at his shirtless husband now. And he also knew how he might be able to tip the scale in his favor this time.

He lifted himself from the couch and took a couple heel-to-toe steps back as he slid his hands past his pants. He pushed them down and grabbed himself through his boxer briefs, all while he kicked his pants to the side in what he hoped would be a shocking enough diversion of routine to make Ilya sweat.

Ilya watched with heavy eyes. His hands were bracing the cushion under him.

Shane slipped his fingers under the waistband of his briefs, adjusting his erection so the head of his cock slipped out and hit the open air. He felt a little silly, putting on a show he needed to sniffle his way through, but at least Ilya was sniffling too—with his mouth hung wide open. Shane let his head fall back with a slow groan, ghosting his fingertips over his still covered shaft.

—and that was when Ilya scrambled off the couch to get to him.

Ilya had his hands on Shane’s waist in an instant, grip nearly crushing as he toed Shane backwards in slow, pointed steps. Their stomachs were touching, Shane’s cock trapped between them and Ilya coercing them into moving like they were a single entity.

Ilya was close, the sliver of space between their lips so small there was hardly enough room for their stuffy breaths. The side of Ilya’s nose was pressed against Shane’s, and he felt like he might sneeze again, but he forgot why that ever mattered.

Ilya advanced still, until Shane’s back pressed against the frigid floor-to-ceiling window facing their backyard. He made a sound, a soft mmhf at the sudden thunk, and he knew there was nowhere left for Ilya to push. He chanced a glance, just a flick of his eyes up to meet Ilya’s, and felt appeased when Ilya stole his mouth in a kiss.

His lips were so plush and warm and gentle, Shane had the urge to barrel forward with his teeth. Love could be funny like that, sometimes making violence feel like the answer to tenderness. Or maybe it was just that tenderness whetted an appetite, and Shane was only human. All animal, respectively.

“Hheh’ISHHuh! Sor-sooorrh-ihh’HISHHeuh!” He barely had the sense to pull out of the kiss before he sneezed, but instinct luckily took over. Sneezing into Ilya’s mouth would have been a step too far for him, even this far gone. Instead he directed them over Ilya’s shoulder at the last second, shivering as he was pulled from the daze of a well earned kiss. The window was freezing against his back, what with snow sticking to the ground outside, and it was doing something strange to his nose to have the weather creeping into his skin. “Heh! H’IISHHehw-heh’ISHH’NG’uhh!”

“Ooh, sorry, malysh. Is too cold, yes?” Ilya took a quick step back and brought Shane with him, keeping them belly to belly, as if they might not survive the winter otherwise. He rubbed warm hands down Shane’s goosefleshed back, pulling a few pleased shivers out of Shane, and pressed a couple steady kisses to the corner of his mouth. “We should go to the bedroom. Will be much warmer.”

“Yeah, good idea.” Shane couldn’t stop sniffling, and really, neither could Ilya. “Need some tissues, anyway.”

He considered picking up his clothes left in front of the couch, but his nose really was running. The spilling over his philtrum kind, which he hated, and his cock was still hard and mocking him, twitching and pulling the waistband of his briefs with it—which he hated, too.

Which is why he didn’t say anything when Ilya dropped trou right there, bare naked with Shane still pressed up against him in front of the window, and carefully toe-step-toe-stepped them off. He let Ilya drag him along, clothes forgotten on the floor because they’d still be there later for Shane to bitch about. He could set himself and all his particularities aside to make room for Ilya and his messes, and the way he was wet-nose-kissing his neck again.

They didn’t separate until they reached the bed, which Shane tried to point out was where they were actually supposed to touch, but Ilya shushed him and pushed him back onto the mattress with a smile. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Shane’s briefs and pulled them off in a quick, clean swoop—but hey, Shane had at least helped by lifting his hips. It mattered, that they were a team at home too.

“You need tissue, yes?” Ilya had a twisted smile on him, the kind that made Shane’s toes curl in sometimes great and sometimes not so great (terrifying) ways. It was a smile he used for threats; when he threatened to suck Shane dry, when he threatened to break a rival's nose for checking Shane too hard into the boards.

“Uh… Yeah,” Shane said warily. “Please.”

Ilya hovered over Shane, leaning in to press a soft, chaste kiss against his forehead. It was a diversion, a clever one that let Shane’s guard down just enough so Ilya could wipe Shane’s nose with his briefs still clutched in his hand. Shane jerked his head sideways and scrubbed the back of his hand against his nose like that might do anything to take the action back.

“Christ, Ilya! That’s fucking gross.”

“Sorry, you would like it better if it was my dirty underwear, huh? Sexier that way.” Ilya brought Shane’s briefs to his nose, the same ones he’d just used to wipe up Shane, and blew his nose into them like it was some fucked up competition.

“Stop fucking around—“

“Mmh, I think you like it.” Ilya finally dropped the briefs, which Shane made a note to toss in the trash later (or burn, or throw in the trash and burn the whole trash can), and prowled his way on top of Shane until they were chest to chest with Ilya’s nose brushing over freckles. “At least, he does.” Ilya rutted his hips against Shane, sliding their cocks together. “He likes it very much.”

“It’s—ahh—you’re just—mmhh…“

“Just? Just so sexy you want to sniff my underwear like pervert?”

“Fuck off! No way.”

“My underwear holds my dick, your mouth holds my dick, why not have your mouth hold my underwear?” Ilya held Shane’s gaze, and Shane didn’t back down, keeping an irritated glare. “Ahh, you’re no fun. Fine, get your tissue. Blow your nose like a…” Ilya motioned in the air as he pivoted his knee against the mattress to sit beside Shane. “Like a… What is that thing? David says a lot. Model…”

“Model citiz—uh… Maybe don’t bring up my dad when we’re about to have sex.” Shane frowned and craned his body sideways, just enough to finger-grip the corner of the tissue box. He inched it into his hand and pulled the entire thing back with him, yanking out exactly two tissues so he could fold them over and properly blow his nose. “We should keep this in reach… M’going to need more of them.”

“Whatever you want.” Ilya smoothed his palm along Shane’s shoulder, massaging circles into his trap with his thumb. “Now can I fuck you?”

Shane, momentarily, was at a loss because yeah, he still wanted to be fucked, but there was a lull in the energy after all the shivering and the brief-blowing and god—even his dad. But if he looked at the facts, he was still hard and Ilya’s dick looked ready to shoot off.

(Which was hot, sure, but it also pissed him off because why did he go all jelly-boned and blood-down-south when Ilya felt his forehead and sounded sick, while Ilya seemed to get off on testing his limits—except, really, that did something to Shane too, so…)

Ilya smirked. “You look like you want to eat me.”

And damn it, he did.

Because truthfully, Shane liked to make Ilya laugh. Not the kind of laugh when he was two seconds away from a one-two-punch, when his mouth would curl and his laugh sounded more like an angry spit. He liked making Ilya laugh with teeth on display and cheeks flushed with that cherry-tint joy, and so maybe Shane had to be the punchline sometimes, if only because Ilya loved teaching Shane that embarrassment didn’t always have to be kept close. It could happen, and then it could pass, and he would be okay.

There was just no good reason for Shane to feel embarrassed when Ilya loved and loved and loved.

Ilya seemed to understand when Shane suddenly croaked, “I love you.”

They were a mess of limbs in an instant, opening their mouths in a wild, untamable greed. Their recycled breaths, one chest to another—between the two of them, they probably weren’t getting enough oxygen, which Shane would use as the excuse for how he kept kissing the corner of Ilya’s mouth when he barely turned his head to sneeze (hHR’SCHUUuh!).

If only the brain were advanced enough to take orders from someone desperate enough, if only a person could pick and choose when to see everything in slow motion. If Shane had a choice, every breath would be draggingly slow, every touch would be felt with such sharpness he would be able to pinpoint every inch of his skin and the corresponding touch. Instead, he was a mess of gasps and shivers and heat pooling in his belly, and it made it all so hard to keep a single cognitive thought.

It came in blurry snapshots, of hip bones grinding into each other and sniffly kisses left sticky on every possible inch of skin, of being lifted and deposited nearer to the head of the bed, with a pillow so thoughtfully tucked under his sacrum while his legs were forced to bend above him.

Ilya’s mouth was scribing, writing his hunger straight down Shane’s torso with his tongue and marking it further with teeth. Shane took hold of one of his own legs, freeing Ilya’s to roam his chest and grab greedy palmfuls of muscle. Shane’s cock was jumping on his stomach, the head of it staring straight at him from this angle and begging to be touched, but he couldn’t remember how to move his other hand from its clenched grasp in the sheets. It was his only anchor as Ilya moved his mouth down.

“HhDT’ZSCHHT!”

Shane felt it on his balls first, a strange wisp of cool air barely escaping past clenched teeth like Ilya had at least actually tried to stop the sneeze from escaping.

“HuUH’DZSCHuueh! HaAH’DJSHhuuh’zZDJSHOoh!”

Now he felt them on his inner thigh, leaving behind a dampness that cooled in a way he could pretend was made from hungry kisses. It was funny, the way his cock lurched at the thought. Perhaps being sneezed on wasn’t the worst thing. He wasn’t going to add it to the list or anything, but they did have the same cold, and he never cowered in the face of having Ilya’s saliva kissed onto every inch of him, and half his DNA was probably fused with Ilya’s by now if the past thirteen years had anything to show for it—

“Oh, fuck—”

His hips jumped involuntarily, Ilya’s tongue slipping lazy circles around his rim. He felt like a live wire, fraying at the ends and sparking with electricity that just needed somewhere to go. Ilya passed his tongue with variation—in fat strips, wet and smooth; in agonizingly slow, firm pushes; in wet kisses that felt like suction.

Shane settled into it, raising his hips to meet Ilya’s mouth because fuck, Ilya always made him feel like he was allowed to take and take and take.

(His entire history of learning about [good] sex and understanding how it could feel like this, was with the man between his legs. This was the man who first taught him how to take fingers down his throat, how to arch on a face and not worry himself to death over the probability of suffocation by ass.)

“Hh’DSZCHuhh! Hh’ADZSCHUuh! RRH’SCHOoh!”

With the angle, Ilya’s nose bumped right into Shane’s taint, an uneven and regrettably short-lived rhythm with each sneeze. It left Shane crying out in surprise and absolute delirious praise. It was so overwhelming it made him shiver all the way to his fingertips, hardly noticing as he sneezed around wanton moans.

“Mmnh’iSHHeuh—ohmygod-ohgod-ohh’TSHh’h’IH’shhuh!”

(Fuck it, sneezing could go on the list, too.)

Ilya growled, a dangerous sound Shane could always clock as meaning he was about to get his ass split and handed to him. Shane gave a distressed groan when Ilya’s mouth pulled away from him, but it choked in his throat when Ilya grabbed his cock in a loose hold. His thumb rubbed the underside of it gently, and it was too dry but too good to do anything about it other than let him.

“Open.” Ilya’s voice sounded wrecked, a little congested and thoroughly thick with the heaviness arousal brought on. Ilya shoved two fingers into his mouth, and he sucked instinctively. “Mmh, good.”

Ilya pushed his fingers deeper, pressing down on the back of Shane’s tongue and nearly choking him. Shane forced his tongue up, separating Ilya’s fingers wide and swirling his tongue around them. Ilya looked positively ready to reward—or punish—him for it.

“Hh’k!”

Shane tried to pull away, nostrils flaring wide and him struggling to breathe with Ilya finger-fucking his mouth, but Ilya doubled down and curled his fingers on either side of his bite. His thumb pressed firmly under Shane’s chin, and the hand on his cock squeezed. Shane’s eyes rolled back automatically.

“No.” Ilya said it firmly, a command. “Stay.”

“Hhg’SHHngh! HhG’gshhngh!”

It was a power play, probably, because then Ilya’s fingers were out of his mouth and touching his rim, one bravely prodding past the tight ring of muscle. And Shane didn’t have time to be mad when—

“Fuck! Fuck, please—“

Ilya worked his fingers faster than usual, already knuckle deep and spreading him. Ilya’s hand moved from his cock to the back of Shane’s knee, forcing his hips to rock back again. Shane, mouth hanging open, gripped hold of his own cock to hold it still or hold himself back or just to hold for the sake of it because exactly what is he supposed to do when—

“HhaAH-HAH’DSCHHuh!”

Ilya’s fingers crooked when he sneezed, forcing the tips of them so hard against Shane’s prostate he thought he might die. He might die like this, with words stuck in the back of his sore and scratchy throat, with his nose running and and his eyes squeezed tightly shut in silent, excruciating ecstasy.

“You like?”

And fuck him, because how was he supposed to answer that with his throat so tight and head so gone. He dragged a breath, wheezing and desperate, willing himself to stop writhing in search of more.

Ilya took his fingers out. “Answer me.”

If he thought he had been close to death before, this was something beyond it. This was incoherence, this was being at the edge of bliss and having it ripped from you and left empty. It was worse than death, a searching amble through purgatory with every other place just out of reach—and sorely missed. It was yearning for anything.

“I like, I like, I fucking like, please just—aahh—“

“Yes? Just?”

“Fuck me, please, fuck me, I-need-you-in-me!”

Ilya had a bottle of lube already in his hand (procured by magic was Shane’s guess, but he’d been flying halfway to another dimension), squirting a generous amount. He felt what he assumed to be the ministrations of Ilya slicking himself up, and then the gentle, delicious push of thick head against his entrance. He went in surprisingly easy, Shane’s body opening up in welcome.

“Hheh! Heh’ISHHeuh!”

Shane sneezed, and Ilya let out a wounded noise.

“FUCK—do that again.”

Shane had sneezed, of all the things he could have done, and Ilya asked him to do it again.

“Wha—Ilya, what, what are you—“ He felt frantic, fingers gripping Ilya’s shoulders so tight he might leave marks. Shane was ready to be filled to the brim and Ilya was tense and still, asking him to sneeze. He hooked his hands behind Ilya’s neck and pulled him down closer, to which Ilya had to brace his elbows against the bed as he hovered, red-faced, right over Shane. “Fuck me, god, just fuck me.”

“You—feel so fucking good. When you sneeze. Is like…” Ilya moved again, a slow pull out and in, and groaned. “Feel fucking tight.”

Shane wasn’t sure he understood, but Ilya was fucking him again, and that was all that mattered. Slowly, enough that he could practically feel the details of Ilya’s cock against the sensitive walls inside him. He rolled his hips, matching Ilya’s pace and letting a stream of nonsensical sounds fall out of him.

“HHURHh’ISSCHUuh!” That landed on Shane’s shoulder, and simultaneously sent Ilya’s hips snapping forward in a much harder, deeper thrust. “HUH’DZSHUh!”

So maybe Shane didn’t understand what Ilya had liked about Shane sneezing while inside him, but Shane certainly could get behind Ilya sneezing again when it made him fuck so hard.

Ilya drew his hips back and thrust his cock back in, intentionally this time. Shane’s lower half felt somehow numb and on fire, his swollen cock trapped between their bellies as Ilya fucked him more and more and harder, with the head of his dick pressing Shane’s prostate as he went in and passing over it in luscious thrusts.

“Oh god,” Shane rasped. He clutched at the back of Ilya’s neck, fingers twisting in sweat damp curls and pulling hard in an effort to gain some semblance of control. He wanted to stop his back from bowing, from angling his hips any further away from the perfect rhythm Ilya was keeping, but the pressure of Ilya’s abs on his cock was near impossible to resist. “Holy shit, I can’t—“ His groans evolved, changing shape as he came further undone, leaving him a mess of husky whimpers and shaking limbs. He turned his head, hiding his cheek against the sheets when he let out a particularly loud whine.

Ilya wouldn’t stand for it. He stole Shane’s mouth in a kiss, bringing him back, and mumbled hysterically into his mouth, “Stay, stay, because your nose—so red, and fuck, so cute—and freckles—make your face look… nngh, like beach… with sunset, and—oh god—need to look—“

Ilya didn’t sound far behind, or maybe Shane had the race backwards entirely. Maybe Ilya was closer, or maybe there wasn’t any finishing line at all. Ilya sounded positively insane, like he could barely form a coherent thought. And Shane only half understood what Ilya meant about his red nose and his freckles and sunsets, but it sounded and felt so good coming from his mouth, muttered into Shane’s. It sounded like Ilya was in a place of worship, like perhaps alters weren’t the only place you should get down on your knees and beg, and that made Shane feel like a god.

“HUDT-DZSCHuuh! RRH’SCHUuh!”

Ilya’s sneezes misted Shane’s cheek and Shane felt fucked to heaven and hell and—god, Mordor, for all he knew. But he did know he was flying from his body, the frantic pull of a universe he’d never been, and he needed Ilya’s mouth to bring him back. He grabbed Ilya’s face, palms on cheeks and fingers gripping his scalp, and kissed him hard. His balls pulled tight and his cock jumped angrily between their stomachs, spilling wet and hot and sticky. He gasped his breaths and groans with his tongue in Ilya’s mouth.

He was still shuddering through his orgasm when a sudden, sharp jolt pricked high in his nose. Sneezing after coming happened sometimes (he’d heard from Hayden, something about seeing an article on it and it being some kind of neural something-or-other.), but it had never happened to him. And not with Ilya still inside of him.

“Heh-fuuuuck’ISSHOoh! Hh’iishh’ISSHeuh’ISHhoo!”

He could feel it, coming back to his body now, the way he clenched around Ilya’s length. He felt how Ilya pulsed in response, and then Ilya groaned tight and high and stuttered, slamming into him and stilling.

Ilya collapsed on top of him after, effectively stealing the breath from Shane, both of them sagging with tired hurrumph’s. Their chests heaved together, pressing into each other in a seesaw sort of synchronization, with Shane’s chest up when Ilya’s went down, and vice versa. Their hearts pounded in tandem, trying to burst out of them and lay plainly on the sheets beside them like a reminder that they were still there, the hearts behind it all.

They laughed.

It was light at first, just breathy little chuckles of disbelief, and then it morphed into belly deep laughing, and holding each other through it.

Shane wiped at his eyes, tearing from both his cold and the laughter. “What the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know.” Ilya laughed again, lifting his head and grinning with boyish joy. Shane couldn’t help but kiss him again, a gentle peck. “But I fucking love it.”

“Mmh, yeah. Me too, actually.”

Ilya got up and stumbled into the bathroom. Shane could hear the shower turn on but he stayed on his back, still trembling through glowing aftermath, little vibrations easing through him even when Ilya came back and wiped him off with a warm, damp cloth. It cooled his skin and made him shiver, full bodied this time, and in turn made him sneeze.

“Huh’ISSHeuh! Heh! H’ISSH’uh!”

“Bless you.” Ilya held out his hand. “Get up. Shower is warm now.”

They showered together, lazy touches and lazier kisses as they washed their sweat (and germs) down the drain. They were both shivering as they took turns towel drying each other’s hair, teeth chattering and soft sniffles punctuating the sleepy silence they had settled into.

Once finished, Ilya patted Shane’s ass through the towel looped around his waist. “Wear your Christmas pajamas. The thick ones, or else maybe you get worse.”

“You’re one to talk. Wear yours, too.” They had matching ones, from the Christmas before when Ilya had insisted.

They both wore more clothes to bed that night than usual. Shane could count on two hands the number of times they had gone to bed with both of them covered limb to limb. The chill of early December didn’t usually stop them from needing to be skin to skin, but this shared cold made it trickier.

They settled under the blankets together, with Ilya on his back and Shane curled into his chest. Ilya’s hand crawled under Shane’s fleece shirt until he was up to his elbow in it, hand flat between his shoulder blades. Shane’s hand slid under Ilya’s matching shirt, until his arm was resting over his stomach and his hand was cupping over prominent lats.

Sleepy and sated, Shane didn’t feel the need to pull away when he sneezed a soft, “Heh’isshuuh!” At the same time, Ilya wrenched forward, over Shane’s head with a stronger, “HAh’DZSHOoh!”

“Bless you,” Shane muttered, while Ilya said in perfect synchronization, “Bud’zdorov.”

It set off a war of blessings.

“À tes souhaits.”

“Gesundheit.”

Shane scoffed. “You don’t even speak German.”

Ilya raised a brow. “But I know Gesundheit.”

“Okay, then, salud."

“Uz veselibu.”

“What’s that one?”

“From Latvia.”

Shane balked. “How do you even know that—“

“I am smart, Shane. And Latvia is a neighbor country. To Russia.”

“Yeah, but… Russia’s huge.”

“And Canada is sooo close to Mexico, Mr. Salud?”

“Okay, go to hell.”

“Hah! So you lose.”

“No, that’s my blessing. Go to hell. I’m gonna say that next time you sneeze.”

That made Ilya wheeze a laugh, which then made Shane playfully thwack his palm against his side. They settled again, Ilya still punctuating the calm quiet with sleepy, adoring chuckles, and Shane smiling into his chest.

Unfortunately, between the two of them, Shane was the first to sneeze next. “Hheh! Heh’iSHHeuh!”

“Go to hell, Shane.”

“Oh, fuck you!”

a/n: as you can see, I’m thoroughly confused about how I want to use parentheses and italics :’)

now I understand the power of writing porn. I wanted it to go on forever!!! I couldn’t stop!!! I grappled over just how many ways I could write he snz and moan like a whore and snz again without it becoming more redundant than it already is. I guess everyone deserves to cum in the end amiright

this is so ridiculously horny. if I thought fluff could pull emotions out of me, ho boy! whatever this is, I’m gonna live in it now.

also, what is the least cringey way to write ass eating? I have no idea but I refuse to write ‘fluttering hole’ and I would like some more alternatives to it.

double also, what would you write if they’re wearing boxer briefs? just keep saying boxer briefs? boxers? briefs? undies (lol)? let me know your thoughts

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