When the QUEEN asks, you answer!!! Thank you very much for the idea and I hope you enjoy, @bluerose777! 💖💖
NSFW (more fluff coming soon, btw), kink!Shane, some mess, lots of nose blowing aka the author's poorly disguised absolutely undisguised fetish
Part 1
——
Two days after Ilya first started coming down with his cold, Shane woke to a slight pain in one ear, a dryness in his throat that wouldn’t abate even with a few coughs to clear it, and, of course, a feeling of stuffy fullness in his nose. He knew that him catching Ilya’s cold had been inevitable - the two had thoroughly taken advantage of Ilya’s sneeziness over the last few days, after all - but he’d still held out some hope that maybe he would get through the week unscathed. No such luck.
And while yes, they still had plenty of time together before the start of training camp…
“—tchiew! hdt’shiew!”
…quite a bit of that time was going to be spent…
“—hit’chyew! ahh’SHiew!”
…sick and sneezy.
(Although there were certainly worse ways to spend one’s time.)
“Bud’ zdorov, bud’ zdorov, bud’ zdorov, bud’ zdorov,” Ilya repeated dutifully, rubbing up and down Shane’s back with a guilty look in his eyes.
Shane wiped at his eyes with a tissue and coughed itchily. “You don’t have to say that every time I sneeze.”
Ilya frowned. “Yes, I do. It’s my fault that you sneeze.” He pulled the blankets up a little higher on Shane’s lap.
Shane snuffled and reached for another tissue. “It’s not your fault, Ilya. Besides, it’s just a little cold.” He turned to the side and blew gently, then, when the pressure in his head refused to subside, blew a little harder. The effort made something in his chest twinge and he started to cough again, which made Ilya even more frowny.
“This cold does not seem so little,” he said before turning away with a few rumbly coughs of his own.
Speak for yourself, Shane wanted to say. This cold had been a doozy for Ilya since day one, leaving him sneezing in breathless bursts several times an hour. At this point, Shane wasn’t too far behind him, and there was an empty tissue box on his side of the bed to prove it. Now there was a new record for the NHL - Most Combined Sneezes by Hart Trophy-Winning Secret Centerman Boyfriends. The stats nerds would have a field day with that one. The thought made Shane snort, then duck back into his tissue as his nose started to burn with irritation.
“hish’shiew! ahh’IShhhew!”
“Bud’ zdorov, bud’ zdorov,” Ilya, who had a supportive arm wrapped tightly around Shane, said with a defeated sigh.
Shane blinked away his tears - god, colds made him so impossibly fucking drippy - and touched Ilya’s shoulder. “Ilya. I’m okay. Stop feeling guilty.”
Ilya took a tissue and dabbed all around Shane’s leaking face. “I feel bad that you feel bad,” he said plainly, and Shane felt his heart skip a beat.
He leaned in and kissed Ilya then - one good thing about sharing a cold was that they no longer had to worry about contagion…not that they’d ever been able to fully keep their hands off each other when one of them was sick. “It’s okay. I guess we get to just relax a little longer.” At this point, even though Shane’s routine had been knocked entirely off-kilter, he was simply too exhausted to let himself be burdened by anxieties about missing his morning run or not eating salmon-comma-brown rice for lunch. Now he just got to be extra snuggly with Ilya, and on a chilly September day when he didn’t feel well, that was all he wanted.
Ilya pressed the back of his hand to Shane’s forehead and cheeks to check for fever. “Hm, you are capable of relaxing? What has happened to my Shane?”
Shane laughed and swatted Ilya’s hand away. “Fuck you.”
——
As with many facets of their personalities, Shane and Ilya handled having a cold very differently.
Shane tried to keep tidy, making sure to have a trash can near his bed to deposit his used tissues into. Ilya, meanwhile, would use a tissue and drop it carelessly next to him on the blankets, surrounding himself with a little flurry of damp crumpled snowballs until Shane scolded him to throw those away, you gross monster. So Ilya would try to make free throws into the trash and, more times than not, miss. The flurry would then stay on the ground until one of them, usually Shane, had the energy to pick them up while out of bed.
Shane sneezed neatly into his elbow or a tissue. Ilya did his best to cover…which, for him, usually meant aiming loosely at his shoulder or into his hands. With the way he had barely bothered to cover when he’d first caught this cold, despite his initial attempt to hide his symptoms from Shane, it was no wonder that Shane had caught it too. (Would contagion normally disgust him? Yes. But because it was Ilya who had gotten him sick…well. There was something dizzyingly intimate about sharing a cold with the love of his life. But it might have been a different story if it wasn’t the off-season.) Sometimes Ilya would be overtaken by a bout of sneezes so fierce that he forgot to cover altogether, leading to another mini-lecture from Shane about his gross-monsterness. But Shane did take the opportunity when it happened to watch Ilya’s pre- and post- sneeze faces in glorious detail.
Shane blew his nose as unobtrusively as possible, just enough to rid himself of the fullness in his sinuses. Ilya blew like a fucking foghorn at all times, stuffed up as he was. Had Shane not been absurdly attracted to Ilya’s honking blows, it would have driven him absolutely insane. It did still scare him half to death when he tried to drift off to sleep and an unaware Ilya blew like the Titanic setting sail next to him.
Shane was still a little self-conscious and shy about having this bad of a cold, blushing whenever he had a particularly strong (for him) fit that Ilya would coo over him for. Ilya, meanwhile, didn’t give a fuck that he was a congested mess, allowing himself to sneeze and blow as loudly as he needed to relieve himself of a tickle. Speaking of which…
“AESCHhhhh! hy’AAASHHhhhuh! AESCHHhhooo!”
“Bless you,” Shane croaked as he recovered from another bout of his own little “tish’hew! ishhuhh! hish’shue! ahh’shhiew!” sneezes.
Despite his lethargy, Shane couldn’t help the jolt of excitement that went through him whenever Ilya sneezed. His sneezes were just so…loud. Powerful. Uncontrollable. Deep and vocal and rough and masculine. They never failed to make Shane’s toes curl, whether the two of them were on the ice or in the bedroom. Seeing his big broad boyfriend at the mercy of an itch…nostrils flaring and breath gasping and brows knitting and eyes closing…body frozen in place as he became consumed by the all-encompassing need to let out at least three huge sneezes in a row, every single time…fuck. Shane swallowed. If he didn’t feel like his body was stuck in mud, Shane would have pounced on Ilya twenty-five sneezes ago.
While he never wanted Ilya to feel unwell, he just couldn’t help but drool over the man when he was sick and sneezy like this.
And Ilya knew this full well. Case in point, he was winking at Shane right fucking now as he rubbed at his nose with a tissue in a way that could only be described as sensually. He was moving it in slow, methodical motions as he stared directly into Shane’s eyes, even fluttering it a little to expose his red nose like a performer with a feather boa before a striptease.
Oh god. Shane wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to survive their colds before he was incinerated by horniness.
——
A day later, the pair were both still sick and sneezing their heads off. Shane was frankly impressed with how Ilya’s other cold symptoms had seemingly disappeared into the ether, leaving only his nose to give him trouble.
Shane had woken that morning to the sound of Ilya sneezing loudly and harshly in the shower, the sound of the water and the closed bathroom door both doing a terrible job of hiding the volume and ferocity of the outbursts. Shane was too sleepy to do anything but smile and rub at himself a little, not entirely sure if he was awake or in the middle of a very pleasant dream. When Ilya came back to bed, looking pale and sleepy himself, Shane clung to him and yawned against his chest. “Good morning, obez'yánka,” Ilya said with a sniffle, covering them both with the blankets they’d taken from the couch for extra warmth.
Shane woke later in the day to find himself alone. Not feeling any more refreshed than before his nap, he got out of bed and went downstairs to get more water to take with his cold meds. He couldn’t believe how wiped out he was, and how chilled and shivery he felt. He found one of Ilya’s old Raiders sweatshirts in the hall closet and wore it into the kitchen, instantly feeling warmer, his fingertips peeking out from under the longer sleeves.
Ilya was chopping something on the counter next to the stove, where a huge pot was bubbling. Shane peeked around his large body to see what he was making, and saw onions, carrots, celery, broth, pre-shredded chicken. All of the ingredients Shane had bought to make Ilya soup before he’d caught the same cold and become too tired to cook.
Ilya made a huge snorting sound and scrubbed mercilessly at his face. “Are you okay?” Shane said, concerned at the wetness he saw glimmering all over Ilya’s sleeve.
Ilya whirled around, and his eyes and nose were streaming. “Gospodi,” he said, the Russian word deeper in his congested voice. “You are so quiet, lyubimyy.”
“Sorry. Why are you crying?” Shane took the cuff of his own sweatshirt sleeve and ran it across Ilya’s cheeks and under his nose, not caring that it would feel damp afterward. As he came closer, however, he could smell the answer to his question. The onions were so pungent that it made him pull away with a little cough. “Jesus, those are strong.”
Ilya nodded, then rested his cheek against Shane’s palm and closed his eyes. He looked about ready to drop just standing there. “I could go without, but…it makes difference, I think.”
“Ilya, you’re so tired. Go back to sleep, don’t worry about cooking.”
“Need to make my boyfriend soup,” Ilya said softly, turning away to grab the knife and resume chopping the onions. “So he can feel better. Since I got him sick.”
“Ilya…” Shane’s eyes and throat were starting to feel very hot and tight, and he went to give him a big kiss when Ilya suddenly gave a great heaving gasp and stepped away from the food.
“hyihh…! hgy’ihh…! haaAAASHHHhh! gy’AAASHHhhoo! HAAAhhhooo!” His upper body spasmed in the direction of his shoulder in huge jerks, curls bouncing wildly as the punishing sneezes kept coming. “AAASHHhhhooo! GY’ISHHHhtt! GY’IHHSHHHhhhoo!”
“Oh my god, Ilya, put the knife down,” Shane said, ignoring how shrill his voice sounded.
Ilya dropped the knife and it clattered against the cutting board as he curled even further into himself. “AESZCHHHhuh! GY’IZSCCHH’hhhuh! HAADT’SZChhhuhh!”
“Bless you, oh my god.” Shane put one hand between Ilya’s shoulder blades and used the other to turn off the stove before guiding the both of them to the couch. He made Ilya, who was panting and snorting and snuffling and coughing, sit down while he hunted for a box of tissues. “Here,” he said when he found one, and the blow Ilya gave into a huge stack was so long and loud that the rest of Shane’s sentence about ordering in was completely drowned out. Oh, the poor thing, he was so miserable…and Shane was on fucking fire.
Ilya rubbed and rubbed and rubbed his nose against his palm. “Agh, zudyashchiy,” he grumbled. Itchy. (Shane may have secretly googled the translations of Russian words related to colds and sneezing and allergies to keep in his brain. For science.) He looked over at Shane, and whatever expression he saw on his boyfriend’s face made him grin like the Cheshire Cat.
“Shaneeee,” he whined, moving closer until they were nose-to-nose. “Why is this cold making me so snuhh-huhh-heezy…” And oh god, just hearing Ilya say that word while his tongue tripped over hitchy breaths was nearly enough to make Shane, already fully hard from watching Ilya’s fit, cum in his damn pajama pants. The next thing he knew he was straddling Ilya’s lap, and Ilya had his hands full from cupping and kneading at his ass. Ilya’s face was awestruck, his pupils huge against the blue of his irises.
“Tell me,” Shane said huskily, grinding his crotch over Ilya’s and making them both groan. “Tell me how it feels. Your…nose.” He hesitated over the word, but there was no judgment in Ilya’s eyes. Only love, and lust.
Ilya sniffled wetly, scrunching his red crooked nose right in Shane’s face. “So itchy…”
“Tell me in Russian. Please,” Shane damn near begged.
Ilya put his lips up to Shane’s ear, sniffled again, the sound stronger and wetter, and sighed, “Zudyashchiy, malysh.”
“Oh, fuck…” Shane gasped desperately. He made quick work of pulling down both of their sweatpants - of course Ilya’s were tight and grey, and of course his beautiful hard dick had already been showing through them - and taking them both in hand. He was consumed by thoughts of the last few days, of sharing colds and kisses and laying in bed together all day, all sniffly and sneezy at the same exact time…of Ilya’s adorable attempts at caretaking despite his cold-ridden nose having other ideas…it was so overwhelming, and so fucking good.
“Sh-Shane…” Shane looked up from where his head had been pressed downward against Ilya’s chest as he jerked them both off, and saw that Ilya’s nose was running past his Cupid’s bow. He wasn’t normally one for mess, but when it came to Ilya Rozanov…
…nothing was off the table.
“I deed, uh.” In the middle of his panting and stuffy voice and dripping nose, Ilya was turning bright red. Shane, feeling the warm sunshiney sensation of release already creeping up on him, moaned and grabbed a few tissues from the box next to them. He held them to Ilya’s nose, and the sound of his enormous honking blows made Shane’s orgasm hit him like a bolt of lightning.
“Oh fuck, Ilya!” He cried out as he shuddered in Ilya’s arms and collapsed against him. Ilya was still stroking himself and panting faster and faster before coming as well, with a shout of Shane’s name. Shane stayed in the crook of Ilya’s neck for a while, sniffly and overheated from all the action, feeling Ilya’s hands caressing his back, not quite believing that this was his life.
Eventually, he peeled himself off of his boyfriend and started to clean them both up with some tissues. As Shane blew his nose afterward, Ilya looked at him with a smug expression and said, “Wow. That did not take you long at all.”
Shane turned brick red. “Fuck you.” He tossed his balled-up tissue at him, which Ilya batted out of midair with a grin.
Ilya lay against the couch cushions, stretching his arms behind his head and crossing one ankle over the other, looking perfectly, infuriatingly relaxed. “I am just too irresistible like this, hm? It makes you always want to jump my bones?”
“More like crush your bones,” Shane muttered with an annoyed huff.
“I am ignoring the mean words coming from your cute face,” Ilya said before he reached over to kiss Shane’s closed lips. He pulled away with a serious expression on his face and gently put his hands on Shane’s biceps. “Shane. I am very happy that I can sneeze for you, milyy. I love to make you feel good. It is what you deserve.”
Shane buried his head in his hands, his cheeks burning. “God, Ilya…What the fuck. How can you go from being an asshole to saying something so romantic in two fucking seconds.”
“I have many talents.” Ilya kissed Shane again, who was much more eager to reciprocate this time, then grabbed his phone. “Now let’s order some soup. It will help your headache and sore throat.”
“How did you—”
“Because I had same thing.”
——
Later, Shane shot up with a gasp in the middle of the night, his heart pounding, his pillow sweat-soaked. He panted heavily with a hand to his chest as the fuzzy remnants of a nightmare (fever??) clung to him. Then the tingling in his nose, which he’d felt even before he drifted off to sleep in Ilya’s arms, spiked and left him gasping for a different reason.
He was faintly aware of Ilya stirring next to him. “Mm…Shane?”
Still dazed and sleepy, Shane raised his hands and stared into the distance, waiting to sneeze. His eyes were filling with tears, and he let out a few audible “hih-ihh-iHh” breaths as Ilya made a soft, sympathetic sound and put a hand to his back. The touch somehow triggered something in Shane’s nose and he fell forward into his cupped hands.
“huhh-ischh! -ish! -iSHh! ihh-shooo! ihSHhoo! -shoo! ISHhuhh! hah…! hadt’schoo!”
“Bless you. Oh, bless you,” Ilya was murmuring as Shane was overtaken with rapid sneezes that scraped at his throat and made tears stream from his eyes.
With a final “ihh-SCHIEW!” Shane lay back, coughing and sniffling and rubbing at his chest and wiping his eyes. “Thagk you,” he rasped when Ilya handed him a wad of tissues, blowing harshly.
Ilya pet Shane’s dark hair. “Bless you, sweetheart. Your cute little nose is so red…this cold really is all in our noses, mm?”
Shane groaned loudly beneath the tissue and looked at Ilya pointedly through his wet eyes. “Fuck, dude, you can’t just…say things like that.”
“Like what? About how sneezy we are? I bet you would like me to start sneezing again, wouldn’t you? I always enjoy a good sneeze, Shane,” Ilya said in his ear, laughing when it made Shane shiver all over. “Stop,” Shane said, voice strained. “You’re taking advantage of a weak sick person.”
“‘Weak’ is never the right word to describe you,” Ilya replied. “‘Sick’? Yes. But ‘weak’? No. You are strongest person I’ve ever met.” He cupped Shane’s cheek as Shane lingered in the sweetness of his words. “How are you feeling, dorogy?” Ilya, for his part, was looking and sounding a bit better, thankfully.
“Awful,” Shane sighed. “Tired. Achy. Nose won’t stop running.”
“Do you want a massage?”
“Maybe later. Jus’ wanna sleep now,” he mumbled as he lay back in Ilya’s welcoming arms. He brushed a kiss against Ilya's hand just as he felt a kiss simultaneously being pressed to his forehead. Ilya was saying something about a thermometer, about checking for fever, but Shane kept a firm grip over him so he couldn’t leave the bed. Whatever Shane had…they could deal with it tomorrow. Right now, Shane thought this was the perfect way to spend his time.
