i would like to request seasonal allergies Sh/and Holla/nder please !!
Only if you want . He'd be so flustered and try to hide it from Il/ya and his teammates
Hope ur doing well !!
Im doing much better with these asks in my inbox!!! Thank you for the request, your wish is granted.
Featuring- allergic!S/hane and a not-so-clueless I/lya
If anyone were to ask, Ilya is the one between them that has worse allergies. Normally, anyone on the Centaurs (or even within a ten mile radius of him on a spring morning) would agree. No one believes Ilya when he tries to defend himself, they’ve all been around him, they’ve all been witnesses in his nose’s attempt at escaping his face. Everyone rolls their eyes when Ilya insists it’s only because he’s louder that they think he’s worse. What Shane will never admit is that Ilya’s technically right. Until today, when Troy stumbles onto the ice half an hour late to practice, fresh out of a Dior Sauvage ad filming. Everyone wolf whistles and jeers as he hops over the barrier and almost eats shit trying to skate into position.
“Looking good, Barrett. I am sorry hockey disturbed beauty sleep.” Ilya, ever the instigator, is the loudest voice in the crowd despite being entirely across the rink skating bags with the rookies.
“That’s the number three pretty face in hockey, you might wanna ask for some tips, five.” That gets an even louder roar of approval from the team as Ilya playfully launches himself after Boodram. It is funny, almost every bout of teasing amongst the Centaurs is funny. It’s so unlike the atmosphere Shane remembers with the Metros that his chest fucking aches.
Unfortunately, Shane is too wrapped up in fondly surveying his team that he doesn’t see Ilya barrelling towards him. Much like a puppy who doesn’t know his own size, his husband has this (frankly adorable) habit of not remembering he’s built solidly of muscle. In his chase of Boodram, he makes a tight loop around where Shane and Luca are loitering at center ice and spots a much more enticing target. With a dopey grin and enough gusto that anyone could practically see his tail wagging, Ilya hip checks Shane right into Troy.
On any other day, this would be fine. On any other day, Shane would swing around Troy and give chase. On any other day, Troy Barrett would not be dripping with Dior Sauvage cologne. It was probably a nice scent, something sharp and fancy, very Troy. Whatever it might’ve been, Shane only recognized it as unbearably fucking strong. He tried to push himself back with a frenzied shake of his head, as if that alone would nullify the sudden buzzing in his sinuses. Both of his arms brace against Troy’s chest as the lineman holds his elbow in what is supposed to be a steadying gesture. Except, right now it felt more like he’s caging Shane’s nose against a bundle of horrifically expensive flowers.
“Hih’IYISCHhuh!” The first bursts from him before he can get his hands up to cover or try to suppress it into something that doesn't echo around the arena. Troy is startled enough to pull his hand away, Shane is eternally grateful as he doubles over again. “ISCH’iuh!” There’s just enough of a breath between what is surely going to be an embarrassingly steady fit, for Shane to shake his gloves off and pinch his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Hh’NGX’tiew! KDT’iew!”
A couple of the guys toss blessings over their shoulders, more of an after thought to the shenanigans still holding their attention. The rookies took chase after Ilya and Boodram to ‘avenge Shane’s honor’ or something, and that’s evidently more entertaining than Shane himself having an allergy attack. Despite the lack of anyone’s attention, the quivering of his sinuses doesn’t let up, intent on being acknowledged fully. “GNXT’iew! NXK’tchiew!” For some unfortunate reason, Troy is the only one who actually seems to notice Shane’s dilemma. That would usually be fine since Troy is usually one of the few people Shane can tolerate when he’s overwhelmed. Other than the fact that the universe apparently hates him today because the winger decides to go against his usual ‘leave it be’ tactics and starts fucking talking.
“Jesus, man-” “T-Troy-hh’EXK’schew! TXG’tiew!” “Sorry, didn’t have time to shower after-” “It’s f-hih-fine. N-huh-not you’re- NGXD’tiew! EDG’tiew!” “Yeah, it fucking reeks.” Interrupting Troy’s attempted apologies definitely isn’t helping assure him that ‘yeah, man, it’s whatever’. Except the idiot keeps trying to glide slightly closer to pat Shane’s shoulder, which is really going to fuck that up. It’s like an awkward dance, Shane shakily pushing backwards with both hands now covering his face as he convulses into himself.
“Give the guy some breathing room, damn.” Thank fucking God for Wyatt Hayes. The goalie floats over and puts a giant hand on Troy's shoulder, holding him in place so Shane can escape a few paces back.
“You trying to kill our center, Barrett?” Chouinard barks out a laugh from the other side of the ring, too caught up in effortlessly holding both Holmberg and Young back from Bood to actually care. Which, good for fucking him, because Shane is all too aware of the situation on this side of the ice right now.
“Fuck, how much of that shit did they use? You smell fucking sterile.” Dykstra coughs through his teasing as he skates over. Their teasing is mostly background noise as Shane doubles over again, and again, and again, and again.
Whatever new cologne this is fucking burns. Somebody’s stupid rich uncle is probably having a field day ‘dissecting the notes’ or whatever that means. God, Ilya’s going to be sleeping on the fucking couch and the entire team is skating bags. That is, as soon as he’s lucid and stable enough to actually reprimand anyone.
“Hollander?” Right, the only voice that sounds slightly concerned is the idiot that got him into this mess.
Glaring at Ilya as he passes Dykstra, Hayes, and Barrett is a much more difficult task to accomplish between stifles than it usually is. Too busy ducking back into his hands, Shane feels rather than sees his husband as a steadying hand lands on his shoulder. Took him fucking long enough, fuck, he’s sneezing so much he’s starting to get light headed. He sniffles sharply and turns so his shoulder is touching Ilya’s chest and he can use him as a human shield.
“I’ve got you, get it out. No one’s looking, just one big sneeze and it’s over.” Ilya’s assurances are whispered gently into his husband’s hair as he manages to drag them back to the player bench.
“Hih-hh’IYISCHeuh! Fuck, that’s better.” Shane sniffles a few times to be sure, his nose definitely still tingles but in a farther off way than it did seconds ago.
“You’re worse than Cap, Holly!” Rude, he glares at Dykstra in obvious resentment and straightens out of his husband's grasp. Objectively speaking, he is decidedly not worse than Ilya in the ‘pissed off nose’ department, thank you very much. It’s just that on the off chance something does bother him, he goes all in.
“Troy! Go shower!” Weibe claps Ilya’s shoulder in passing as he strides onto the ice to wrangle his team into doing something actually productive. Everyone groans as they skate back into positions, sans Troy who quickly hops the boards opposite Shane and Ilya and vanishes.
No one even mentions it when Shane sits heavily on the bench and takes the water bottle proffered by his husband. He sprays some directly on his face, attempting to wash the last of the lingering itch away, before offering it back. There’s an engraved expectation for Ilya to do the same, that if anything bothered Shane, it would obviously bother him as well. Except, Shane only watches Ilya take a swig of water and place the bottle back on the wall.
“I’m surprised that stuff didn’t bother you at all,” Shane admits with a tilt of his head.
“No, was not like flowers, so…” Despite his assurance, Ilya scrunches his nose with a faint sniff; though the reaction seems to be more from the mere mention of anything floral than Barrett’s actual cologne. “But I think we will maybe not do ads with Sauvage now. Is a shame, those ads are usually very sexy.”
“Ilya,” Shane chuckles, pushing lightly at his husband’s hip and earning a displeased huff.
“Is true! They are very European, your mom would like them for my branding.” She probably would, now that Shane really thinks about it.
