GraySkies

The second Hollander thrusts open the grating metal of the door, Ilya rushes up the stairs. He's shoving him back as they race up the stairwell in tandem.

Fuck. He’s missed him so much. He never misses any hookup like this. That’s a very big problem for another day. Because tonight he’s going to fuck Hollander. He’s always so eager for him. Ilya would never say he was the best at sex, if that can be quantified. He’s not the most experienced. Still, somehow, Hollander has made his way to the top of Ilya’s chart of conquests. 

His favourite, unquestionably.

He lets Hollander lead them into his place, fighting off a lingering shiver as he finally gets warm. 

“Fuck, Rozanov,” Hollander has him pressed against the door immediately, hands searching. He can feel his breath over cheek and his calloused fingertips searching under his sweatshirt.

“You took so long to get me,” Ilya complains, not reciprocating quite yet. He swipes his nose on his hoodie sleeve, pressing it there another second and rubbing to get the itch out. It’s running almost as bad as it was on the ice earlier, cold air always turns his congestion to a faucet. 

“Sorry. I was taking a shower...” Hollander trails off in lieu of further explanation. The shame in his voice paired with his hungry eyes means that Hollander has fully-prepped. He’s worked himself clean and open because he knew Ilya was coming. 

Ilya leers at him, wolfish, mouth inches from Hollander. His perfect fucking lips and straight nose and constellation of freckles fill up his vision and he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

“You are always so excited for my cock,” he praises, compliment punctuated with a soupy sniffle. 

Hollander’s sweet eyes glisten with want and he chases after Ilya’s mouth. 

Too bad that Ilya has a moral compass, so he has to stop him. 

“Ah–” Ilya shakes his head and holds his fingertips over Hollander’s mouth before he can reach his lips. “I am sick.”

This breaks every rule in Hollander’s book, surely. Hooking up with a sick person. Ilya has still come over, but he’s waiting to be pushed off and glared at. Maybe he will offer Ilya tea before he kicks him out. Polite Canadian Shane Hollander. He probably schedules his illnesses for the off-season. He definitely doesn’t invite them in from secret hook-ups.

Instead, Hollander surprises him. He frowns and doesn’t push him away. His eyes flick over Ilya’s face. He’s surely staring at the pinkened tip of his nose, the way it scrunches as Ilya has to sniffle again. Playing over their game in his mind, dissecting every time Ilya wiped his nose while on the bench. 

“Do you have a fever?” 

“Nyet.” Ilya confirms this with a shake of his head. “Is just in my nose. Headcold, they say,” he accentuates this for Hollander with a liquid sniffle and pouts at him. 

“Worse now, maybe, because you made me stand outside so long. Waiting for you.” 

Hollander gives him a long, nervous look. The racing thoughts are so visible on his face. Ilya thinks he might be able to reach out and read his mind if he only presses his fingers to his temples. 

He tests this with a double-tap of his fingers to the side of Shane’s brow.. 

“Do not worry, Hollander. My dick still works perfectly.”

He watches for another moment as his expression changes from apprehensive to decidedly needy and smirks. Ah. Maybe it did work.

And Hollander is throwing himself against him so hard their teeth clack together. 

__

Ilya is thrusting hard into Hollander, one hand bracing over his back and the other on the swell of his ass he fucks him into the mattress. 

“Fuck,” he pants, mind swimming in pleasure. Not only English, but all language leaves him when they’re like this. Hollander is so perfect. He thinks he could fuck only him for the rest of his life. He’s so eager for it, so responsive under him. He groans again as he drags his cock back and then forces back in. 

Hollander makes a pretty sound, so he tries to go for the same angle. 

“Fuuck. Snff. Hollander.” 

His nose is running. He knows. It’s running down over his cupid's bow and into his panting mouth. One brave drip comes off his chin and mixes with the sweat at the dimples of Hollander’s back. He sniffles fruitlessly in between gasps. Hollander feels so good. Perfect. Ilya’s felt his cock work inside countless holes, but Hollander’s always makes him need it more. He has never finished fucking him and not wanted to do it again. 

He’s getting into the rhythm. Sniffle, gasp, babble out something coherent. He wishes he could kiss him.

Hollander’s affirmative moans of pleasure are driving him further into a heady pleasure when a sneeze overtakes him. 

"Hheh-- a'dczh'UUoo!"

He ducks his head as it mists over Hollander’s back, not wanting to stop if he doesn’t have to. 

He sniffles, launched into another three more sneezes. They spill out of him, each competing to be first. He ends on a truly pathetic gasp for breath and a dz'iew of a final sneeze.

Well. He sucks back his mucus. There are more important things to focus on.

“You’re gross,” Hollander mutters below him. 

Ilya halts their movement and pulls his hand from its place at Shane’s hip so he can pinch and rub at his septum. It feels fucking euphoric and he allows an indulgent sniffle as he rubs the whole of his palm up at his nose. 

“Oh, I am gross? Shane Hollander likes to lick my cum from his own fingers, but I am not allowed to sneeze?” 

That said – he grabs a hand wildly over for the first article of clothing he can find and presses it to his face, releasing two – oh, no, three. Three more sneezes.

Wait. 

His abdomen tenses with a fourth sneeze into the fabric. This broken nose is never satisfied. He groans to himself as he pinches his septum against the fabric.

He gasps, fighting off dizzying congestion. His head is so stuffy he almost feels bad, if he’s passing this to Hollander. But he said yes. And Ilya was able to play with this cold, so it should be nothing to the unstoppable force of Shane Hollander. 

He blows his nose into the cloth and tosses it aside with cough to clear his throat, then presses his hands back into place. 

“Bless you,” Hollander mumbles.

Ilya grips for the side of Hollander’s chin, squeezes it once. He still really wants to kiss him. 

“Shut up.”

__ 

He’s noticeably more hoarse than when he arrived as he wipes Hollander down with a damp washcloth and murmurs praises. He’d been honest with him earlier – it’s really just a cold, barely an issue beyond a nuisance. 

Still, he feels thoroughly wrung out as he flops back on the bed beside Hollander. Into sheets that he knows smell like him. Any other time, where his nose was working, he’d press his face into the pillowcase and drink him in. Hollander smells so good after sex. Sweaty. Musky. The distinct scent of man that Ilya wants to lap up. He wants to press his flat tongue over his armpits and the fold of his groin and the small expanse of skin where his pecs jut out over his chest. 

Instead, he itches his wrist under his nose and presses up as he sniffles a few times. This cold has left him with much more of a drippy nose than he would like to admit. 

“D’you need to go?” Hollander murmurs as he actively winds himself more around Ilya. 

He should go. “Yes,” he laments, praying that the want doesn’t show in his voice. 

“Goodnight, Hollander.” He detangles himself, stands up and collects his clothes.

As he’s slipping in his hoodie, Hollander sits up in bed, risen from the newly-fucked dead, and shoves a packet of tissues at him. 

“For your cold,” Hollander says in one big breath. His hair is plastered to his forehead. His eyes are sincere.

Ilya laughs and waves him goodnight. He clutches his hand around the plastic of the tissues as he shoves it further into his pocket. He has a feeling he will carry it with him.

__

Shane heads to the team doctor. He does not want to, but he has to. He can count on less than one hand the amount of times he’s gotten sick during a season.

“Uh,” he sniffles and resents as the sound drags in his sinuses, “I have a cold? I think? Or, uh, rhinovirus?” His heart pounds his chest with a steady thrum of betrayal. You caught a cold from Ilya Rozanov of the Boston Bears. 

Rozanov. 

It makes him miss him, which is all kinds of weird and fucked up as he blows his nose and thinks Ilya did this when I saw him last.

The doctor is perfectly reasonable. Checks his temperature, listens to his chest. Confirms he’s good to go. Advises fluids, a decongestant before bed, doesn’t mince words and tells him he’s got a runny nose that’s only going to get worse on the ice and should have towels on hand.

It’s all the more embarrassing when Shane has to come back into the locker room. He’s been cleared for the game, but he’s late in.

“You good?” Hayden asks, thumping him on the back as they change into gear. 

“Yeah,” Shane says, and has to sniffle or it will dribble onto his upper lip. 

“Glad to hear it, man.” 

“I’m good, yeah.”

“You sneezed so much earlier, man,” Hayden shakes his head, sifting through his bag. “Thought you were down for the count. Like, fuck. Flu or something.” 

“All good,” Shane assures him. 

He’s blushing everywhere. He doesn’t sneeze a lot. Like, ever. If he does, he knows the right way to press his knuckle to his nose or his tongue in his mouth and make it quiet. But Ilya never sneezes that way. And this is the cold he got from Ilya. It feels like he’s still around, even when he’s hundreds of miles away. 

Impulsively, he shoots out a text. 

Jane: I got your cold, asshole. 

Immediately, a reply.

Lily: Sorry (((

Lily: but i did enjoy that asshole ))

Jane: fuck off

Lily: feel better Jane <3 

During the game, his phone gets more texts, buzzing as it’s tucked into his bag. 

Lily: maybe i did do biological warfare

Lily: you cannot stop sneezing. Funny they must have cleared you just for you to spend every pause like little scrunched up kitten 

Lily: i almost feel bad. 

Lily: but no. you wanted me to fuck you so bad you have to be sick now. 

Another day at the station 21, Nigel slinked down the steps with sleep still in his eyes and brown hair tousled in every direction. His head felt heavy, and his whole body ached, but he was more willing to say it was just ‘training soreness’ even if his nose felt completely blocked. Making it to the steps, he’s immediately greeted by his fellow firemen, who are also sleepy but still a little more awake as they brew their coffee, chew on meat sticks, and play on their phones or watch the news.

“Ey look a live kid,” one of them said. Immediately, Nigel's half-lidded eyes opened, and he did his best to look more alert as he muttered a soft “yes sir?”

“See, we didn’t brutalize you too bad this week, told ya we wouldn’t kill ya” Said one as he took a swig of his coffee. Another- Abel- came up behind Nigel and wrapped his bicep around his upper body to trap him and mess up his hair.

“Maybe we ain’t going hard enough, West, he can take some more, I’m sure.” Nigel flinched and grimaced but didn’t fight Abel off much and just dragged himself over to the ‘kids table’ in the back corner of the kitchen when he was let go. He plopped down and put his head in his arms, shuddering hard when the cold wood of the table touched his cheek. With his head down, he felt the congestion move, which caused an awful prickling sensation in his sinuses. He snorted thickly and scrunched up his nose, which temporarily ridded it.

During breakfast, he managed to grab a small bite to eat and downed a bit of coffee. Another person walked into the kitchen. He had black hair that peaked out of his beanie that donned the station’s logo, a short beard and stache, a station company quarter zip, blue tactical pants, a blue backpack, and black duty boots.

“Morning ya’ll” He greeted. The firemen waved at him as they shoveled food into their mouths as if they’d been starving all day and night.

“Ey its the passenger princess!” West pointed at an empty seat, and the man sat down. Morgan Freight, one of their paramedics. Nigel didn’t work with Morgan much directly unless it was dragging victims over to him; he had run 2 calls with him on the ambulance, but not much since. Morgan usually had another older fire medic on board. However, when Nigel started to doze off, Morgan knocked on the table gently to wake him up and told him.

“Ey you’re on the medic with me, when I’m done, we gotta check the back, alright.” Nigel absent-mindedly nodded and laid his head back down “Oh shit, Morgan’s got the probie today?” West snickered, Abel laughed. “Damn, dude’s gonna make the kid soft.” “Meh means when he’s not busy, he’s gonna be training with us, two words, ladder mase.” Nigel bit back a groan.

Nigel didn’t get to rest his head much, as soon as the guys could, they put him on dishwashing duty, which wasn’t anything new. The steam from the hot sink water was sure loosening up the wall of congestion, which meant a lot of sniffling and rubbing his nose into his sweatshirt.

Finally, Morgan called him over.

“Truck check”

Nigel stuffed a few napkins into his pockets after using one to hastily wipe at his nose before heading down the hall to the garage bay. In the bay, he’s greeted by the chilly fall turning winter air and bright sun through the open garage. Morgan opened the doors and handed Nigel a sheet of paper.

“Check everything off that’s stocked. If you find something we’re low on or don’t have, go and get it from the stashroom and sign it out. Do you know how to do that?” His voice was still a bit gravely from sleep. Nigel nodded and took the paper as he climbed in.

“Yes, sir,” Morgan nods approvingly and sits on the center seat to set down his book bag and empty it out. “Good, I like my rig set up a certain way, bags, iv set up stuff, and anything that’ll prick ya should be on the side you’re on. When you’re done checking that, check our oxygen tanks, will ya?”

Once again, Nigel nodded as he opened the little cabinets and boxes and used the pen attached to the clipboard and paper to record everything. They were silent for a little while; the sounds of wet sniffles, coughs, feet shuffling around, and cabinets opening and closing filled it. The up and down motion was making that congestion shift around more than Nigel’s body liked. That prickle turned into a tickle he tried to rub away, but of course, it had to ruin the number one probie rule. Not a sound besides ‘yes, sir’ unless it’ll kill someone.’

He tried to quiet it as much as he possibly could, hurriedly dropping a saline bag onto the work bench to grab at his nose by the second sneeze as the first escaped him. “HhNGgsshhuhw HhNGgsshhuhw! Huhhh HHhNGgknnk!” The ambulance rocked a little from the motion, but Nigel prayed silently that Morgan wouldn’t comment as he fished out a napkin from his pocket.

“Bless you, you alright?” It took a second for Nigel to get his words out but he managed “Ye-yes sir, sorry.” Morgan just chuckled and shook his head. “No worries, ain’t nothing to be sorry for.”

They finished their check, cleaned the inside, and Nigel ran to grab his book bag and plopped it inside the front cab. Right as Morgan and him started to walk away, the tone went off. The speaker's lights flashed a single red bar, and a robotic voice bellowed.

“Ambulance 21 respond. Ill person; trouble breathing.” Morgan took out his phone and checked their app for more information, huffing as he headed towards the driver’s seat. “Welp, let's do it!” He called out. Nigel jumped into the passenger seat, and they drove off with lights and sirens blaring down the road.

It was barely 8 am, and they were on their way. Nigel got out his phone to see what the app said. ‘Adult patient with flu symptoms, chief complaint of trouble breathing and fever.” Well this would be his first.

“You ever ran a med call after your schooling?” Morgan asked “Twice but its been’d abit” Nigel admitted sheepishly, snuffling and rubbing his nose onto his wrist.

“Well, lucky you, this’ll be your call, it's a BLS, so unless shit hits the fan, they’re all yours.” Morgan grinned as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and weaved through traffic. Nigel shrank a little in his seat and started going over the notes he had. Morgan seemed to sense the nervousness.

“Ey, i’ll step in first okay. You remember your XABCs? And assessment?” It took a second for it to process but Nigel nodded.

“Yes, sir, primary, history, and second.” “Good, good, if they’re altered, what's the first thing you wanna check after XABC?” “Blood sugar?” Nigel guessed, and Morgan grinned as he leaned up in his seat to look over the dashboard.

“Yeah, you’ll be fine, you got this. Also, you ain’t gotta call me ‘sir’ like that, I ain’t that strict or that old.” Nigel nodded and sighed hard, his shoulders lowered a bit.

When they arrived at the home, the men hopped out of the truck. Nigel shoved his notebook in his pockets and shivered hard. The cold air stung his throat and nose and reminded him of yesterday’s training. Hose work, and let's just say it got wet, by that I mean the guys decided Nigel needed to ‘cool off’. Now he was sniffling, sneezy, and sore, and all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed.

He grabbed the stretcher, loaded their gear on it, and towed it to the front door. Morgan got the door open quickly, and they walked in to see the Patient on the floor, sitting on the steps. A young woman in her fluffy bathrobe, hair in a messy bun. She was hunched over, shivering, her face flushed, her hands clutching the bathrobe. Morgan introduced them to the woman.

“Ello ma’am, I’m Morgan, this is Nigel, a medic and EMT with the fire department. What seems to be the problem?” Nigel gave a shy wave from behind as Morgan crouched down to the woman.

She weakly tells them she’s had the flu for a few days, her fever hasn’t broken and her chest feels tight. Morgan nodded understandingly as he fished a set of gloves from his pockets and pulled them on. Nigel dug some out from his bag and put them on his.

“Mind if we set you up with some oxygen?” Morgan asks. She nods. He steps back, pats Nigel on the shoulder, and whispers. “I grab the stuff you talk with her,” Nigel agreed, crouching toward her. However, just as he did, the congestion shifted, and he stifled, barely in time. But that also made him tumble onto his ass and hit his head against the wall. He winced at the sharp pain ringing through his head.

“You good?” Morgan asked. Nigel scrambled to his feet with a nod as he rubbed the back of his head with a few sniffles.

“Yeah, yeah, mb’good.” He turned his attention back to the patient. It didn’t take a doctor to know she wasn’t doing so hot. After getting some history, hooking her up to the monitor, and taking her temperature, they got her on the cot, and away they went. Nigel’s heart did sink to his ass a little bit when he saw ‘103’ on the thermometer screen.

Nigel drove this time, since the poor women needed an IV and that wasn’t something he was allowed to give, along with some other things. Being in the driver’s seat always made him nervous; everything always felt wrong, and he was still learning how to drive it. And today was not the day for a driving lesson. He could feel his nose trying to run down to his upper lip, the sirens drowned out his sniffling. All the sniffling was dragging the snot inside against the sensitive insides of his nose, though, and it was causing small tickles he knew would not be a fun clean up if one managed to grow bigger than that. It also made him want to rub his nose off his face.

When they arrived at the hospital in the ambulance entrance, he hopped out to help bring their patient inside. The hospital wasn’t much warmer than the weather outside, well, at least it wasn’t raining today. A small collection of nurses came out from their station as Morgan called out.

“Got a 27-year-old woman, with the flu, difficulty breathing, chest tightness, temperature of 103 both on scene, and en route, I gave IV saline and tried passive cool down, temp’s not budging, and she’s getting altered. Sats got a little better with oxygen, but it's still not great!” Nigel barely registered anything after that; it was a blur of people coming in and out, commands and equipment being shuffled around. The next thing he knew he was out in the hall with Morgan.

“Alright, let's go, gotta decom the back,” Morgan said with a head tilt towards the automatic doors as he pulled the stretcher from behind. Nigel nodded, finally zoning back in.

In the back, they got to disinfect their gear. The faint chemical scent of the wipes seemed to be the one thing Nigel’s nose needed to send it over the edge. He tried to lean away from any of the cabinets as his breath hitched; there was no need to whack his head on anything else. His free hand fiddled around to grab any napkins he stashed away earlier; he just barely pulled a shaky napkin-clad hand to his face in time.

“HeEH! HhPNkksshhhh! Hehhh! Heh! Heieeeh! HhPNkksshhhh! HhPNkksshhhh! hH’atzzZSChhihhww!” Each sneeze rocked the ambulance and bent the poor guy forward even as he tried to hold onto something. He grimaced when he noticed how soaked his hand felt; those napkins barely protected his hands from the spray, let alone the strands of snot that dripped down.

“Bless you! You alright over there?” Morgan asked with surprise, Nigel blushed hard and nodded while he tried to clean himself up. Only to wince at how rough those napkins felt against his nose. When he tried to speak, his sore throat interrupted his chances with a round of scratchy coughs.

“I’mb fide i’mb fide sdrrff sdrck ugh kofff koff koff! Ow!” When he finally regained some composure, he heard the sounds of cabinets opening and closing then a soft ‘thunk’. When he finally gets his eyes open, there’s a small box of tissues.

“Here, sure sounds like you’ll need’em, ain’t much but we can stop by the store and get some more.” Morgan offered. Nigel turned almost bright red, and hesitation filled him while he tried to get himself to apologize and insist it was nothing. Morgan wasn’t having it, though. He patted Nigel softly on the shoulder and rubbed his thumb against his collarbone in a comforting way as he assured him.

“Ey its fine, plenty of us get sick. We take care of so many of the sick civies who act like covering their mouth is an option that it's no surprise. Trust me, been sick plenty, no shame in it.” Finally, Nigel took the offer and snatched up a few tissues to clean up the remaining mess left behind and blow his nose. God, those tissues were shitty at containing it all. He tossed them into the trash and took a steady breath and sighed.

“Better?” Morgan asked, Nigel nodded.

When they hopped back into the cab of the ambulance, Morgan took the driver’s seat again and drove out of the lot.

“How long have you been sick?” He asked, Nigel shrugged, and muttered.

“Felt a lil bad last night.” Morgan raised a brow and asked what all that all meant and what he had been doing yesterday. Nigel thought about it.

“Just felt really tired, throat hurt a little, sdff sdrff but I thought it was just frob training and running calls, ya know. They had bme doing stair climb, forcible entry and hose work…hose work did idvolve gettig power washed though.” Morgan chuckled “Sounds like they had you working hard as hell. How long’s your shift?” “Uh 72hrs, its by last day of bmy shift.” Morgan nodded. “Good, you’re gonna really need the rest. How long ya off?” “48hr” “Ouch, if you’re not better by the start of 2nd day, call off, better to call off as early as ya can, better shot at them being able to bring in a replacement for the day.” Nigel nodded at the advice. “Sounds like a pretty bad cold. You take anything for it?” “Dnot since last dnight, took some Aleve for the soreness.” “You got a temperature?” “…..” Silence. Morgan sighed and shook his head. “You really are new, rookie mistake, not doing a supply run, hell ya could’ve doordashed some DayQuil, man!” Morgan didn’t actually seem angry; there was a slight smile and lightness to his voice as he drummed his thumbs on the wheel at the right light.

“We’re doing a supply run, ain’t having my favorite EMT die on me.” Nigel quickly tried to refuse, dismissing the ‘favorite emt’ comment.

“Dno dno its fide, I cad manage, there’s probably stuff in the bathrooms right?” Morgan laughed loudly this time and started driving again.

“Oh, you really don’t get it, do ya? I know these guys, that cabinet has more cobwebs than toothpaste, let alone an Advil! Sure in the emergency ‘West made dinner’ bag, there’s some Pepto and Advil, but that’s about it. I’ve been needing to stock up on our stuff anyway.”

“There are things to getting through a sick day or week at the station.” Morgan started. Nigel curled up in his seat as a chill ran down his spine.

“ 1: as soon as you start feeling like you got ran over by the ambulance, you DoorDash or go supply shopping, hell send someone out if ya got the rank, and well you don’t. 2: Don’t try a hot shower, you’ll never get the chance. You use a loophole and either heat up a pot on the stove or turn the shower on, but don’t get in it, let it heat fill the bathroom instead. 3:chicken noodle soup. Or ramen as much as you can make and eat, busy call day cup-o-noodles. 4: travel pack of tissues. Pack of tissues in one pocket, the other pocket is your ‘trash pocket’ till you can empty it, and 5: you tell one person, who won't tell the whole damn station. Gossip is more contagious than that cold you’ve got.”

Nigel nodded along as he listened. It was a lot to keep up with, but he’d sure try.

They pulled into a small store and went inside. It wasn’t anything special, just a little store that had the basics. First stop was the cold and flu aisle. Morgan grabbed a couple of boxes of tissues, more than Nigel at first thought was necessary, till morgan explained.

“That cold's gonna go around like wildfire, might as well get as many as I can now so I don’t gotta worry about it later.” Nigel went over and picked up a few travel pack boxes of tissues and dropped them into the cart. Morgan wandered over a few feet away and came back with multiple different pack and bottles of medicine. “Woah thats alot” Nigel commented. Morgan chuckled and set the items into the cart.

“Yeah, well, the guys tend to be lil babies around medicine. West hates liquid medicine so I get the gel pill form, Clayten would rather die than swallow pills, and Castle gets the worst fevers. The rest of them sort themselves out for the most part.” He then grabbed an Advil half and joked.

“This is the only thing getting me through it.”

Eventually, they left that aisle and started to head towards the soup aisle; however, Morgan suddenly stopped and turned the cart towards the main aisle.

“We’re gonna get a call soon, better pay for these now, we can come back for food later.” Nigel looked at him skeptically. Could someone really guess when they were about to get a call? “How do you know that?” He asked as Morgan started to speed walk towards checkout. “It happens every time.” The paramedic answered matter-of-factly.

Right as they started to load the front of the cab, as Morgan predicted, their phones went off. Nigel looked at it, and Morgan cursed. “Shit, trouble breathing, possible unresponsive.” They hopped into their seats, turned on their lights and sirens, and sped out of the parking lot.

From then on, they barely had the time to go back to the station until 6 PM. By then, Nigel was absolutely exhausted and wanted nothing more than to flop into bed. He dragged his feet into the station alongside Morgan, who carried in most of the groceries. They were met by the smell of taco night and the sound of the guys jeering at the TV that played jeopardy.

“We’re back!” Morgan called out. “Ey there you guys are, its been nothing but med calls today” Abel pointed out, Morgan nodded and handed a bag to Nigel and gently told him.

“Take those and go lay down for a bit, I’ll heat up some soup.” Nigel looked in the bag and nodded, but West wasn’t gonna let him get very far without some teasing. A heavy hand ruffled roughly through his sweaty brown hair. “Aw shit, Morgan must’ve worked you hard, you look like shit kid. Didn’t know ol morgan had it in’im” Nigel tried to walk off without a word, but Wes wasn’t done.

“Nuh-uh, rookie, you’re on dish duty, you know that.” Morgan pushed West’s hand off Nigel.

“No, he doesn’t, he’s going to go sit down. It won't kill you to stop dodging your chores yourself, Wes, you’ve ‘made trade’ with almost all of us and haven’t lived up to your end of the deal.” While the two went back and forth, Nigel tried to fight off the buzzing, burning, prickling sensation in his nose from the congestion shifting around when his nose got runny. He was way too tired; he rubbed and pressed lazily at his damp nostrils. When he knew it wouldn’t be any use, he pulled a few tissues from the box in the bag he had managed to open on the way to one of their patients.

He brought up a shaky handful of tissues to his face as he hitched and dove into them with an incredibly wet fit.

“ Hehh! Heh! Haah! hH’atzzZSChhihhww! HHUh!! HhEdssSCHHhheeoo! HhEdssSCHHhhemmmph! EHh!EdssSCHHhhuummmph!” Nigel grimaced as he felt the mess soak into his hand, but his poor sinuses finally felt just the hint of relief from getting it out. He didn’t even care anymore; he just grabbed more tissues to mop up what was in his hand and pressed more to his face as he announced. “I’mb goig to by roomb” and trudged out of the kitchen.

In his room, he kicked off his shoes and flopped onto the bed. He didn’t care that he’d be leaving in 2 hours; he just wanted to lie down. His whole body was killing him. His head pounded, his throat was raw, his bones and muscles ached horribly, and the relief of being off his feet was just a small bliss that he decided to accept as the only good thing he had right now. His sinuses throbbed from being so full, the underside of his nose burned from the constant rubbing, it was HELL!

Just the thought of getting up to pack his stuff to leave made him want to be knocked unconscious. Sure, he’d love to be in his own little apartment, in his own bed away from others, but he was worn out! He rolled onto his side and curled up on top of the covers, knowing he’d be cold no matter what, and he’d have to pack them up anyway.

When he rolled over the soft but still audible-for him- squeltch and squish of the congestion shifting and seeping down his sinuses and nose brought that tickle from earlier back, and his body was determined to get this cold out of him. He lazily pulled a few tissues to his twitching, tender red nostrils as he hitched towards sneezes that made a mess overflow the tissues and drip onto the bedding.

“HhEdssSCHHhheeoo!! HhEdssSCHHhhemmmmphh! Heh Hehh Hh! EdssSCHHhhmmph ugh fugkhih! atzzZSChhihhww!”

Nigel didn’t know how long it had really been til there was a knock on his door. He managed a rough, congested. “Cobe id”

Then Morgan’s gentle voice alerted him. “Hey I made some soup, I put it in some tupperware in case you weren’t in the mood to eat yet. You could take it home.” Nigel sat up slowly, his face scrunched at the movement and he sneezed almost immediately into his hands.

“Ugh, sorry, and thagks” He grabbed tissues to clean himself up again, after a harsh nose blow, he took the bowl of soup. Finally, he could get something on his stomach. The warmth of the soup spread throughout his core and ceased his chills as he ate.

“You did good today,” Morgan commented. Nigel looked up for a moment. Morgan laughed a little at the ‘huh’ look on his face.

“You did real well, sure you’re a lil clunky when ya first start with the patient, but you pulled through.” Nigel couldn’t tell if it was the soup or the compliments that made his cheeks feel hot Morgan outstretched his hand and pressed the back of it to Nigel’s forehead and tsk’d “I’ll handle most of the reports for today. You focus on getting some rest, I’ll text you the other ones you can do when you’re up for it.”

Nigel wanted to say he could do more than ‘afew’ but after today, he knew it was better to take the offer for a break.

It had taught him the humbling reality that an adult relationship under a shared roof mostly consisted of planning meals, laundry cycles, and standing in the kitchen discussing whether they were out of olive oil. Marriage also transformed everything that was supposed to be communal into territory ripe for possession eventually—drawers became claimed, blankets accrued ownership, and taking his husband’s favorite seat at the dining table was akin to a criminal offense. Even a banal discussion about landscaping options somehow became a debate over financial priorities, a question of morality, and an exercise in international diplomacy until they both remembered they could compromise. 

It had not, however, taught Ilya that Shane could turn literally any bad experience into a personal failure. Ilya had learned that lesson long before vows and rings and shared home insurance. 

The Centaurs had played Montreal last night. 

The Centaurs had lost. 

Which meant Ilya woke alone. The space beside him had long since cooled, blanket straightened and smoothed. Pale, early morning sunlight stretched around the curtains. It was the sort of morning that invited laziness and going back to bed. 

Ilya remained sprawled beneath the blankets for a moment, staring at the ceiling, his heart heavy with disappointment. Truthfully, he had known better than to expect Shane to waste the morning in bed with him. After particularly ugly games, Shane was a creature possessed. But some indulgent part of Ilya had still imagined another hour or two tangled together under the covers, sunlight crawling slowly across freckles while they kissed each other awake. 

Ilya sighed and dragged himself out of bed. There would be no practice today, no meetings, no obligations other than surviving Shane’s mood.

He could picture it perfectly. Clipped replies, distant eyes, compulsive productivity. Shane would spend the day treating himself like a problem to solve. He would bleed guilt over everything he touched, and he would quietly punish himself through absurd little acts of self-denial—like rejecting sleeping in on a day off.

Today, Ilya decided, he would be patient. Today, Ilya would be understanding. Ilya would be whatever calm, stabilizing force Shane needed while he dissected every mistake he thought he’d made, the majority of which weren’t his fault. And then Ilya would drag him back to bed and kiss him until he forgot about hockey entirely. 

Then a smell hit him. 

Ilya stopped halfway out the bedroom. The odor creeping through their home was bitter and earthy, as though someone had taken the entirety of a forest and boiled it down into concentrate. He followed the smell to the kitchen where Shane stood at the stove, hunched over a steaming pot. 

Ilya demanded, “What the fuck is that smell?”

The words escaped him automatically, a reflexive blow. It was like getting hit in the knee during a checkup in exactly the right place, kicking out before your brain could catch up.

So much for being patient. 

“Fuck off,” Shane muttered without turning around. He looked wrong, somehow. Curled inward at the shoulders, tense up through his neck. His hair was a mess, like he’d been dragging his fingers through it for the better part of the early morning. 

Ilya took a breath and rolled his shoulders. “Seriously. What is that?” The smell truly was awful, medicinal in a way that suggested Shane was attempting to make soup using ingredients gathered from the yard. 

“Go away.” 

The words would have had more impact if Shane hadn’t punctuated them with a wet little sniffle. 

Ilya approached slowly, gaze sharpening as he came to stand beside Shane. Shane sniffled again, nose slightly wrinkled, and his eyes held a wet shine. Ilya stepped behind Shane and slid both arms around his waist, pressing an absent kiss beneath his ear.

“Ilya, stop,” Shane groused. “Get off me.”

Instead, Ilya tightened his hold. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked, gentler now. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying.” Shane knuckled irritably at the side of his nose. “It’s just alleehh-! hh’ISHHh’uh!” He jerked his head sharply to the side, burying the sneeze into the crook of his arm. “snnf! Allergies.” 

Ilya closed his eyes briefly, remembering his vow to prioritize Shane and all his idiosyncrasies. Especially after a grueling, embarrassing loss. “Mmh,” he hummed agreeably. “Allergies, of course.”

Shane went still, surely suspicious at how quickly Ilya accepted his excuse. 

Ilya swallowed his amusement and peered over Shane’s shoulder, inspecting the steaming pot. Floating within the dark water were citrus peels, ginger, and what genuinely appeared to be pieces of the shrubs in their yard. “What is this?” he asked. “You make gross soup for allergies?”

Shane made an exhausted noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh. “It’s tea.” His voice cracked faintly on the word, and he cleared his throat afterward. “It’s supposed to help with allergies. I found the recipe online.”

“Online where?” Ilya scoffed. “Medieval doctor blog?” 

“Ugh, shut up.” Shane sniffled again, thicker this time, and pulled a tissue from his pocket to wipe at his nose.

“What if this… tea kills you?”

“Then I won’t have allergies anymore,” he snapped.

Ilya barked out a laugh before he could stop himself. Shane, though huffing, relaxed a little into Ilya’s hold.  

So Shane wasn’t sick. He just had allergies bad enough to wake early on what was supposed to be a slow Sunday and brew forest tea while looking seconds away from a mental breakdown. 

“You sound bad,” Ilya probed gently. 

“It’s allergies,” Shane insisted, clearly aware that he did, indeed, sound bad. 

Ilya smiled against Shane’s shoulder, then kissed it. This was all too familiar, Shane trying to outmaneuver his own body through denial and stubborn insistence. Shane preferred suffering privately whenever possible, which in practice meant acting annoyed at Ilya when he noticed Shane was clearly having a terrible time. 

It was fine, really, because Ilya could wait. There was no need to corner Shane about it now when his nose was pink and his eyes were wet and his voice was nasally. Nature was building Ilya’s case against Shane quite well. 

“Right, right.” Ilya settled his chin on Shane’s shoulder and peered once more into the pot with a brow raised. “Does allergy tea taste better than it smells?”

Shane stared down into the murky brew for a long moment, clearly weighing whether honesty was worth the humiliation. He finally admitted, “…Probably not.”

Ilya bit the inside of his cheek and kept quiet, deciding Shane deserved some reprieve.

Ten minutes later, Shane drank his questionable tea while Ilya busied himself with making breakfast. Ilya had cracked eggs one-handed against the edge of the counter and watched Shane take the first sip from the corner of his eye.

Shane had raised the mug with cautious resolve, taken exactly one swallow, then gone utterly motionless in the way prey did upon realizing danger was near. His expression had tightened, and a tiny, tortured flare of his nostrils followed. 

Shane was stubborn, however, and he continued drinking with small sips. He swallowed with visible effort, and Ilya kindly continued stirring the scrambled eggs on the stove, pretending not to notice. 

Ilya set the bar counter at the kitchen island, complete with eggs and yogurt and fruit cut into neat little pieces because he wanted Shane to actually eat. Shane continued his brave battle against his allergies, taking meager bites of breakfast interspersed with wet sniffles. Ilya noticed every single one and kept his mouth shut. 

“Huh’ISHh’oo! -ISHH’uh!” 

The sneezes burst out suddenly and hard enough to pitch Shane into an awkwardly angled curl away from the counter. He caught them into the crook of his arm just in time. For a moment, Shane remained frozen there. Then came a slow, defeated reach for another tissue (from a box that had somehow ended up on the counter when Ilya hadn’t been looking).

Ilya lifted his coffee to his mouth to hide his smug smile. 

Shane blew his nose gently and looked up just to find Ilya watching. Ilya widened his eyes innocently, while Shane narrowed his, and Ilya took a loud, slurping sip.

After breakfast, they stood at the sink, shoulder to shoulder, while Shane rinsed his mug and Ilya helpfully organized their dirty dishes for maximum soakage. Ilya joked about his excellent dish engineering, and Shane couldn’t help but laugh. A rough cough followed the laugh, and Shane turned it into his shoulder.

Ilya nudged him lightly with an elbow. “Come shower with me.”

Shane looked at him, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. 

Ilya feigned offense, arranging his face into wounded innocence, because he had only partly meant for it to be taken as a proposition for sex. If Shane wanted, maybe. Which he would, probably. 

“For allergies!” he clarified. “Hot water, steam, touching you. All very good for allergies.”

“Touching me,” Shane repeated flatly. “For allergies.”

“Oh, yes.” Ilya turned and leaned back against the counter with his arms crossed, all smiles and warmth. “I can heal you.”

Shane sniffed and averted his gaze. “I already showered.” He turned the faucet off and stepped away from the sink. “Maybe after we work out.”

Ilya stared at him in genuine disbelief, just for a brief moment. He had already suffered six straight days of practices, games, and Shane’s morning yoga routines. Some days had stacked all three. 

“No.” Ilya pushed off of the counter and left the kitchen with complete peace, abandoning Shane to his compulsive exercise regimen while Ilya claimed his rightful place on the couch. “Today is for rest.”

By the time Shane wandered into the living room, Ilya had already spread himself on the couch beneath a blanket with Anya tucked against his legs.

Shane stopped short at the sight. “Seriously?”

“You should try resting. Will fix your allergies problem, maybe.”

Shane looked scandalized. “You always feel better with active recovery.” His voice was slipping into his captain cadence, an old habit Ilya wished Shane would have left back in Montreal (which wasn’t true, but he much preferred when Shane used that voice in the bedroom). “Ilya, it’s basic condition-… ihh-ing… hh’ISHH’uh!“

Ilya smiled, positively coy. “We can actively recover in the shower,” he offered sweetly. “But nooo, you need to do some scary bosu ankle shit.”  

“It’s for stabilization,” Shane gritted through his teeth, rubbing irritably beneath his nose with a tissue procured from his pocket. “You had that high ankle sprain just last season—“

Ilya waved a hand dismissively. ”Aahh, whatever. Healed in a week.”

“It absolutely did not heal in a week.”

“Well I played after a week. Was fine.”

Shane stared at him incredulously, seeming to weigh whether this argument was worth expending energy over. Somewhere beneath the internal battle and oncoming definitely-not-a-cold, affection flickered helplessly through the exasperation on his face. 

Ilya, of course, found this adorable. 

“I love you, and I love your strong ankles,” Ilya conceded. “But I am going to rest and watch Youtube.”

Shane prepared for the home gym alone by filling his water bottle and arming himself with pockets full of tissues. Ilya watched this preparation from beneath his blanket on the couch and released a long-suffering, dramatic sigh.

Shane lifted one hand behind himself in a gesture that made Ilya laugh loudly and long enough to follow Shane all the way down the hallway. 

Ilya remained sprawled over the couch with Anya curled against him in a warm little crescent while a nostalgic Vine compilation played on the television—an old comfort. The video had started as actual entertainment, the strange humor of a bygone but familiar era, and gradually devolved into background noise while his mind wandered elsewhere.

Mostly, it wandered toward Shane. Specifically, he was imagining Shane sneezing through calisthenics and growing increasingly more frustrated. 

He didn’t have to wonder about Shane and his failing workout for long. Footsteps sounded down the hallway far too soon. Ilya glanced at the time on his phone. Shane couldn’t have been gone for even an hour, likely closer to half that.

Usually Shane returned from workouts flushed with heat and self-satisfaction, loosened with the restless static worked out of his system. Exercise settled Shane in a way Ilya envied sometimes. Ilya always emerged from hard training with energy crawling under his skin, but Shane always seemed sated and relieved.

Now, however, Shane just looked pale. 

He would probably still pass a cursory public outing. No stranger on the street would stop to ask after his wellbeing. He didn’t look awfully ill, but Ilya knew Shane’s face too intimately. Shane’s eyes were always easy for Ilya to read, and they were presently glazed with fatigue. The skin beneath them had begun to shadow faintly violet. Even his posture looked wrong, sagging under the weight of feeling unwell. 

“How was your workout?” Ilya asked casually, fixing his attention back on the television. 

“Fine,” Shane insisted, but he ruined the illusion by ducking into the crook of his arm. “Huh’ISHH’ooh!”

Ilya muted the television.

Shane narrowed his eyes as Ilya unfolded himself from the couch. “Don’t start.”

“I say nothing,” Ilya replied with saintly calm. He crossed the room slowly, enjoying the suspicion gathering across Shane’s face. 

Ilya slid both hands over Shane’s hips. Shane looked downright silly, averting his gaze and taking a slow drink from the water bottle still in his hand, trying to appear unaffected. Ilya slipped his fingers beneath the hem of Shane’s shirt, spreading his hands over warm skin and feeling the subtle flex of muscle beneath them. 

“Mmh,” he hummed approvingly. “Thank you, exercise.”

Shane rolled his eyes. Ilya took the water bottle from his hand, pushed the mouthpiece closed against his hip, and tossed it onto the couch. 

Ilya kissed just beneath Shane’s ear and smiled against the skin when Shane exhaled softly. Ilya followed the line of his throat downward with slow kisses, feeling Shane’s pulse thrum hard and quick against his mouth. Bit by bit, Shane loosened under his hands. Triumph stirred warm and pleasant inside Ilya’s chest. 

“Shower now?” Ilya murmured against Shane’s neck.

Shane huffed a weak laugh. “It would be faster if I just rinsed off alone.”

“Maybe true.” Ilya hooked a finger beneath the collar of Shane’s shirt and tugged it aside, just enough to mouth lazily at his collarbone. “But I think maybe you need a little more exercise first.”

“That’s not even—“ The protest dissolved as Ilya kissed his throat again. Shane tipped his head to the side automatically, allowing Ilya better access even as he muttered, “You’re so annoying.”

“Mmh, definitely true.”

The matter of the shower became less an invitation and more an inevitability as Shane’s arms looped around Ilya’s neck, pulling him even closer. 

Not that Shane had been trying especially hard to resist.

In the shower, Shane melted under Ilya’s touch. He braced both hands against the tiled wall with his head tipped forward, breath catching in ragged moans. Every sound pulled from him carried a roughness now. His nose ran unchecked over his philtrum in a way he either genuinely didn’t notice or had decided to ignore in favor of more important matters.

There was something sacred in these moments. Shane spent so much of his life wound tight, holding himself in a perfectly polite package. But here, flushed and shaking and reduced to primal instincts beneath Ilya’s hands, he became raw and open. It was deeply intimate, watching Shane unravel like this with Ilya buried deep inside him. 

Through it all, Shane never once kissed him on the mouth. Jaw, yes. Throat, repeatedly. Once to Ilya’s nipple with so much lust behind it that Ilya nearly forgot his own name.

It was absurdly transparent. Apparently Shane believed he was conducting infection control measures all while wrapped around Ilya in a cloud of steam and desire. The earnestness of it charmed Ilya so thoroughly he could hardly decide whether it made him want to laugh or ruin Shane completely—or both, more likely. 

After their shower, Shane dressed in clean clothes (dark jeans, oddly, maybe he thought dressing up made him appear in better health?) and stood before the bathroom mirror, going through his routine of toner and some kind of sunscreen he always nagged Ilya to use. Ilya leaned shirtless against the closet doorway and watched him quietly. 

Shane looked exhausted now that adrenaline had worn off. His nose remained stubbornly pink, eyes heavy lidded. Every few moments he sniffled softly, yet he stood determined, as though refusing to let an oncoming cold compromise proper skincare. The sight filled Ilya with such unbearable affection he nearly proposed another round in the shower. 

By the time noon rolled around, Shane announced he was going to do a working lunch so he could relax later in the afternoon. 

“A lunch date with your laptop?” Ilya teased from the kitchen. He waited impatiently beside a pot of water refusing to boil, a box of pasta in his left hand. “I’m much hotter than emails.”

Shane popped his pre-prepped meal into the microwave, not even sparing Ilya a glance. “Debatable.”

“Wow. Shower Shane would agree with me.”

Ilya made pasta drowning in butter sauce and parmesan while Shane sat at the table answering emails between bites of salmon, increasingly congested sniffles, and periodic pauses to tend to his nose with tissues. 

“Nngkh!”

Ilya’s back was turned as he plated his pasta. The noise had come strangled, but Ilya was certain Shane had sneezed—and probably been dangerously close to blowing out his eardrums trying to silence it. There followed one careful sniffle, and by the time Ilya reached the table, Shane had schooled his expression into bland composure.

Shane finished eating first but lingered at the table with his laptop while Ilya worked through his pasta. Halfway through his meal, Shane went into the kitchen to rinse his meal prep container and returned carrying a clean fork. 

“Can I have a bite?”

Ilya looked up, brow raised. “You want some?”

“It’s a day off,” Shane replied seriously. “I can have one bite. Two, if I want.”

Ilya had to work especially hard to keep himself from grinning while Shane twirled exactly one modest forkful. Under normal circumstances, he would have stolen a bite using Ilya’s fork without hesitation, but Ilya kept this thought to himself.

Ilya finished his lunch while Shane puttered around the house in restless little circuits, tidying areas that already looked clean and repeatedly vanishing down hallways to blow his nose in private, maybe because he hoped that being out of sight would place him truly out of mind—or at least out of range of sound (it didn’t). 

Ilya kept easy conversation speckled between Shane’s self-directed tasks. Upcoming games, next week’s road trip. He reminded Shane to add some snacks to their grocery list, easy and dry things to pack for their next flight. Shane tapped on his phone while he stood at the back door, waiting while Anya sniffed around the yard. 

This kind of normalcy mattered to Shane, as did his image of good health, apparently. Ilya allowed him to keep both for now.

By mid-afternoon, after the dishes were loaded and the lap blankets on the couch had been rearranged to look effortlessly draped and home decor catalogue ready, Shane announced, “I’m going to lie down for a few. I need to decompress my spine.”

Ilya nearly choked holding back a snort. 

The excuse was absurd on its own, but they were married. They spent plenty of time existing separately in the same house without reporting their movements to each other like coworkers clocking breaks. But Shane had a funny habit of narrating his behavior when he knew it would appear suspicious. 

Five minutes later, Ilya wandered into the bedroom and found Shane fast asleep.

He had collapsed awkwardly atop the blankets, curled on his side in a way that surely wasn’t helpful for his spine. One arm was trapped beneath the pillow, a crumpled tissue still held loosely in the hand resting under his chin. 

Frankly, he looked sick. 

The tension was gone from his face, leaving behind the exhausted reality underneath. His mouth was parted to compensate for congestion, and he was breathing noisily. He looked warm and worn out and painfully human in a way that tugged hard at something protective in Ilya’s chest. 

Ilya quietly backed out of the room. He found Anya’s leash and took her on the long route through the neighborhood to give Shane uninterrupted peace and quiet. Crisp fall air bit pleasantly at his cheeks while Anya trotted happily beside him. Ilya carried one-sided conversation as they went.

“Your dad is pretending he’s not sick,” Ilya informed her gravely as they walked. “Very embarrassing for him. He’s a terrible liar, you know.”

Anya looked up at him. 

“Exactly,” Ilya said, feeling affirmed. He rewarded her with a treat from the pouch at his waist because Anya’s trainer had stressed the importance of consistent reinforcement, and Ilya took fatherhood extremely seriously. Eye contact on walks, apparently, ranked among the top five most important behaviors to instill in dogs. Ilya had initially been a little dubious, but he had also very thoroughly checked the trainer’s credentials and trusted expertise where his daughter was concerned. 

At the next crosswalk, he told Anya to sit.

“Smart girl,” he murmured warmly, crouching down to scratch behind her ear. Then, more solemnly, he said, “When we go home, you leave Dad alone, yes? No jumping, no making him throw your toy one million times. He needs rest. You only bother Papa.” 

Anya tilted her head, and Ilya chose to interpret this as agreement. 

Ilya returned with Anya expecting a quiet home. He knew it wouldn’t be completely silent. Anya’s nails skittered excitedly across the tile the moment he opened the front door (he needed to book an appointment with her groomer at the spa), and he heard the low, muffled hum of the washing machine in the mudroom leading to the garage. But he had expected the particular stillness of his husband asleep upstairs, napping his way through a cold he refused to acknowledge as anything more than allergies. 

Instead, he heard cabinets closing in the kitchen. 

Ilya stopped in the wide passage to the kitchen and crossed his arms. 

Shane stood at the island, hair rumpled and sweatshirt sleeves pushed up his forearms, while he aligned the corners of a kitchen towel. Ilya cleared his throat, and Shane looked up slowly at the sound. 

“You are folding towels,” Ilya observed calmly. 

Shane glanced down at the towel, frowning, then looked at Ilya again. “Uh… Yeah?”

“Why?”

Shane rolled his eyes weakly. “They were clean.” Halfway through smoothing the folded towel, he stopped and wrenched to the side. “Hh-! Hh’ISHH’uh!” He had caught it in the crook of his arm, but he still washed his hands after. Then he grabbed another clean towel from the small basket on the island and resumed folding. 

Ilya watched it all with a soft smile. Earlier Shane had been sharp and defensive, but sometime during his afternoon nap his cold had sunk deeper into him, blunting all that nervous energy and leaving him fogged over. 

“I took Anya on a walk,” Ilya said casually while shrugging off his jacket. He laid it over the back of a barstool at the island counter. “Your back feels better?”

“Yeah. Laying down helped.”

“You nap?” Ilya eyed the red sleep wrinkle still pressed across Shane’s cheek. 

“No.” Shane sniffed thickly, then cleared his throat. “Just... laid down for like ten minutes? Maybe fifteen.”

Ilya crossed the kitchen under the excuse of heading toward the refrigerator for a drink, and he let his hand slide briefly along the back of Shane’s neck as he passed, thumbing at the hair at the nape with gentle affection. Shane was warm, probably from his nap, but not fever-hot. Relieved, Ilya grabbed a can of coke from the fridge and retreated to the living room. 

The rest of the afternoon passed in domestic bliss, unremarkable in the best way. It was the kind of ordinary Ilya had once assumed life could never possibly become for him. A decade ago he’d imagined spending his thirties much the same as his early twenties, drinking his way around cities and keeping warm in unfamiliar beds. Instead, it was this, tossing Anya’s toy lazily across the room whenever she dropped it into his lap while his husband disinfected already clean countertops and snuffled into tissues.

This was, truthfully, much better. 

By evening, it was impossible to miss that Shane was getting worse. His entire nose had gone pink now, a flush spreading delicately over the bridge and sides of it. Congestion won steady ground, leaving his lips faintly parted with quiet breaths through his mouth. His voice roughened, too. Even his sneezes had changed, sounding tired. 

“Hh’ISHhh-‘ISH’uh!” 

Shane no longer seemed embarrassed about them, either. Earlier he had politely buried them into his elbow, and now he halfheartedly caught them in tissues. 

What truly convinced Ilya that Shane felt awful, however, was that he didn’t hover over Ilya when he had said he would handle dinner. 

Normally Shane supervised Ilya’s cooking. At his best, he tried to be helpful. At his worst, he moaned and groaned about nutritional value. He had eased up on his strict diet over time, but he still liked their meals to be reasonably balanced. 

Tonight, Shane simply leaned against a wall nearby, staring off and looking miserable. 

“I was thinking baked chicken,” Ilya announced. Anya’s head perked up from her food bowl, chicken apparentlyfar more enticing than her specially tailored meals Ilya paid too much for. “Roast vegetables on the side?”

Shane blinked at him. “Huh?”

“Chicken. Vegetables. Healthy things.” Ilya motioned to the ingredients he’d been steadily gathering on the counter. “For dinner.” 

“Oh. Yeah?” Shane nodded, rubbing at his nose. “That sounds… really good, actually.” 

What Ilya truly wanted wasn’t anything Shane would want to eat. Chicken parmesan, Chinese takeout, last night he had even thought about ordering from the new chicken wing place in town. He wanted something glutinous, a meal the team’s dietitian certainly wouldn’t have planned for them while on the road these next two weeks. But Shane looked terrible and certainly didn’t need to fret over poor dinner choices, so Ilya took pity on him. 

“Go sit on the couch.” Ilya nudged lightly at Shane’s hip as he passed him, heading for the cabinet where they kept the baking sheets. “Don’t bother the chef.”

Shane narrowed his eyes faintly but definitely seemed too tired to argue. “Fine,” he surrendered.

Ilya prepared dinner while Shane suffered in the living room. 

From the kitchen, Ilya periodically passed the wide passage leading to the living room. Every time Ilya chanced a look, Shane was further sunk into the couch. At first, Shane had been sitting upright, some forgettable home renovation show playing in the background. Soon after, he had curled into the corner piece. By the time Ilya had the chicken and vegetables in the oven, Shane was nearly horizontal, only his dark hair peeking over one of the cushions. 

“Hh… H’ISHHh!” 

A muffled groan followed several seconds later.

Ilya sat in a stool at the island and scrolled through his phone. Twice while dinner cooked, Shane disappeared upstairs.

The first time, Ilya caught movement from the corner of his eye and looked up just in time to see Shane trudging slowly toward the staircase. A minute later, muffled sneezing echoed faintly down the hallway overhead. Shane returned soon after with a fresh box of tissues and the small wastebasket from their bedroom. 

The second trip upstairs happened barely fifteen minutes later. Ilya hadn’t seen Shane leave, but he heard Shane climbing the stairs and stopping halfway up while he coughed. 

Ilya frowned down at the vegetables he was turning over on the baking sheet. He wondered how much more miserable Shane needed to be before he would admit to his cold outright. 

It was a double-edged sword, really. Shane’s stubbornness over this cold irritated Ilya, but it also reassured him. If Shane felt truly awful, he would eventually stop pretending otherwise. Shane still trying to salvage dignity meant he probably felt well enough to push through. 

When dinner finished, Ilya worked on piling two plates and called Shane’s name. 

He didn’t answer. 

Ilya expected to find Shane asleep on the couch but instead found him curled under a blanket with the tissue box on his lap, awake but thoroughly wilted. 

He looked awfully exhausted, staring off with his gaze unfocused. His eyes were dull with fatigue and were watering. And congestion had settled heavily across his face now, the space around his sinuses appearing almost puffy. 

His nose, especially, looked worked into the ground. His nostrils were rubbed raw and swollen, the kind of angry red one might expect to see played up with makeup in a commercial for cold medicine. His nose looked sore enough that sympathetic pain prickled over Ilya’s skin just looking at it.

Ilya had the overwhelming urge to gather Shane up in his arms and carry him straight upstairs. Change him into warm pajamas and put him to bed properly, press kisses into his hair until he fell asleep. 

Instead, Ilya crouched in front of Shane and put a hand on his shoulder. “Shane.”

Shane blinked at him, sleepy and embarrassed. 

“You look so sick.”

A miserable groan escaped Shane instantly. He dragged both hands over his face and left his palms pressed against his cheeks. “I know, I know,” he rasped. “I thought it was nothing.”

“No, you thought it was allergies,” Ilya taunted, and Shane closed his eyes briefly in shame. Ilya pressed the back of his hand to Shane’s forehead and found it warm, maybe, but still not feverish. He asked softly, “How bad do you feel?”

“Not that bad.” Shane sighed softly and leaned into Ilya’s touch. “No fever.” 

Ilya raised a brow, encouraging him to continue.

“I, uh… checked already.” Shane hesitated just long enough to sniffle. “While you were making dinner.”

“Ah, sneaky.” Ilya brushed a thumb softly under Shane’s eye. “I thought you didn’t want me to hear you sneeze your brains out.”

Shane huffed a weak laugh and ducked his head shyly. “No, I’m sure you… heard that anyway.” 

Rather than confirm, Ilya pressed a chaste kiss to Shane’s forehead and stood. “You should eat. I will bring it here.”

Shane nodded once and murmured a tired, “Okay.”

Shane wasn’t normally one to eat full meals on the couch, nothing beyond a light snack, and the simple compliance stirred concern inside Ilya’s chest. He supposed he was glad, however, that Shane was up to eating at all. 

Shane leaned fully into his cold now that he acknowledged it. He ate in small and distracted bites between sniffles and coughs, rough little things he muffled dutifully into crumpled tissues. Once, with the fork halfway to his mouth, his breath hitched warningly. He dropped the fork and fumbled for a tissue. 

“Heh’ISHHh’iew! Fu-uuh’ISHH’uh!”

“Wow.” Ilya rubbed a firm hand over Shane’s back. “Your allergies are really terrible.”

Shane shot him a bleary glare over the tissue held to his nose. “Shut up.” His voice came out wrecked, cracking at the end. 

“You want some more allergy tea? I think we have so many ingredients outside.”

Shane rolled his eyes, but the irritation behind them had dissolved completely now that he no longer had to defend himself. He was embarrassed, maybe, but definitely relieved. He looked tired and soft and willing (open, vulnerable, loved).

Ilya took the blanket from his own lap and wrapped it around Shane’s shoulders, cocooning him further in warmth. Shane accepted this without protest, even offering Ilya a shy little smile. When Ilya scooted closer, so that their thighs pressed together, Shane didn’t move away. 

Shane might have asked Ilya to keep his distance, when he was younger and struggled to give into simple pleasures in the face of more responsible choices. Tonight, Shane merely sniffled and leaned subtly closer. A year of safety, held in Ilya’s arms with the world watching and coming out better for it, had made it easier for him to give in and claim what he wanted.

By the time Ilya finished his plate, Shane had managed a little over half of his own. It wasn’t ideal, with their busy week ahead, but it was enough, especially given that Shane was fully leaned into Ilya’s side now and flagging hard.

“You are done?” Ilya asked quietly.

Shane nodded, drifting somewhere closer to sleep.

Ilya carefully helped Shane back against the couch, tucked the blanket tighter around his shoulders. He gathered their dishes and carried them to the kitchen, listening to muffled television punctuated by the occasional cough while he rinsed the plates. He started the dishwasher before he returned to the living room and dimmed the lights low, then sat on the couch, opening one arm invitingly toward Shane. 

Shane looked at Ilya for approximately two seconds before practically crawling into his lap.

He wasn’t particularly graceful about it, either. It was a desperate grapple, frantic in his reach as his fingers curled at the front of Ilya’s shirt. Shane buried his face in the crook of Ilya’s neck and shuddered out a sigh that signaled a homecoming. 

Ilya had been waiting for this, watching Shane white-knuckle his way through the day. Gathering Shane closer, Ilya shifted to bear the brunt of Shane’s surrender. 

“Good,” Ilya murmured into Shane’s hair. “Much better.”

Shane only coughed softly in reply.

For a long while, they stayed like this. Ilya scratched his fingertips gently over the hair at Shane’s nape. Shane tucked his head lower, giving Ilya more access. 

“Huhh-! Heh’INGSH’ieh!”

The sneeze burst suddenly, directed at a bunch of blanket clutched in Shane’s fist that rested on Ilya’s chest. He groaned into the blanket after, muffled and miserable. 

“Bless you,” Ilya murmured into Shane’s hair. “You are allergic to me, I think.” 

Shane’s fingers halfheartedly pressed into his ribs. 

Ilya smiled and kissed the crown of Shane’s head. “Practice tomorrow is optional. You should stay home.” 

Shane stiffened, and Ilya soothed him with a pass of his fingers through Shane’s hair. 

“I’m probably okay,” Shane murmured after a beat, though even he sounded unconvinced. 

“Mmh.” Ilya continued stroking gently through his hair. “We have a road trip soon. Better you rest now.” 

Shane’s shoulders rounded just slightly, a subtle tensing Ilya had learned meant Shane was preparing to shoot back yet was bracing for a retaliation to follow. He was two steps ahead in everything he did, on and off the ice. 

“Hih’ISHHh’uh! -ISHH’uh!” 

Except when his cold sent him five steps back.

Ilya waited, and Shane eventually sighed against his chest. Embarrassment hung heavy in his voice when he croaked, “Yeah, maybe…” 

Ilya brushed his lips, perched in a soft smirk, over Shane’s hair in slow passes back and forth, a sort of drawn out kiss disguised nuzzle. He breathed Shane’s scent as he took stock of the home around him. Anya slept curled nearby on the rug, paws twitching faintly in dreams. The dishwasher hummed distantly in the kitchen. Shane’s breathing warmed steadily through the fabric of Ilya’s shirt, growing slower and softer yet a tad noisier the closer Shane drifted toward sleep.

Married life, Ilya thought, had so many lessons.

Today, it had reminded him how love settled into ordinary places—into grocery lists and lap blankets, and eating dinner on the couch. Into open arms, and letting your husband crawl into them without needing words. 

Maybe years from now marriage would teach him other things, too. It would teach him how Shane’s hair would silver at the temples first, how his laugh lines would be earned, which insecurities would soften over time and which would stubbornly survive. 

Maybe it would teach him that head colds wouldn’t always be eased into with the excuse of allergies. One day Shane might wake up with a catch in his throat and climb into Ilya’s arms unabashed before even getting out of bed.

It would teach him every version of Shane through time. In turn, it would offer Shane the same.

That thought frightened him a little. He would reach an age he never imagined for himself, with a person he loved there to witness it. It was a terrifying thought, loving someone long enough to have decades of him remembered. The proud moments, and the lowest.

That, he realized, was marriage’s greatest lesson. 

It was learning, over and over again, how Shane would show Ilya that he wanted to see it all, and that he trusted Ilya to watch him grow and change, too. It was spending thousands of ordinary days learning each other by heart, only to find there was always something new to love. It was coming to understand he would never really reach the end of knowing Shane, and being grateful that there would always be more to learn. 

“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 felt 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?”

Mini Crash Course on Plants + Pollen

What's the deal with plants? Like, where do I start if I know...nothing? You can start right here!! Okay, so there are a lot (and I do mean a lot) of different ways we classify plants. but for the purposes of this post, I'm going to to break down a few of the key ones in a way that (hopefully) isn't too overwhelming.

The Linnaean Classification system: This is the standard method of classifying all living organisms, using taxonomic binomial nomenclature (a formal, 2-part naming system in Latinized forms).

🌱 FUN FACT: Common names of plants often vary from region to region, culture to culture, and era to era. You can learn a lot from a plant's common name, and often a lot more from its binomial nomenclature. For example, the plant known as Common Sneezewort (Achillea ptarmica) derives its binomial species name (ptarmica) from the Greek word ptairo ("sneeze") which means "causes sneezing!" -- Thus, the plant's full scientific name translates to "Yarrow that causes sneezing." Pretty on[in?]-the-nose if you ask me.

Do all plants produce pollen? Nope! Not all plants produce pollen. I've put together the following chart which helps break down how we further classify plants --specifically in the context of what plants produce pollen and how they are pollinated, which all leads us to understanding what makes them more/less allergenic and why...we'll get into shortly.

Why do plants produce pollen, and what exactly is pollination? It's how plants get it on, bay-bee! 🐝 Pollination is how the male parts of a plant transfer genetic material to the female parts of the plant, allowing plants to produce seed and fruit, and ensure the genetic diversity of its species is maintained. Let's talk about it!

Reproductive Categories: Both Angiosperms (flowering) and Gymnosperms (non-flowering) have male structures which produce pollen and female structures which develop seeds and fruit.

In Angiosperms, the part of a flower containing the male reproductive organs is called the stamen. At the tip of the stamen is the anther, which is where pollen is produced! The part of a flower containing the female reproductive organ is called the pistil, which contains the ovary. Once fertilized by pollen, this part develops into the mature fruit/seed.

Flowers (and cones) can be male, female, or bisexual -- and there are even more categories I'm not going to get into but...Nature is queer, y'all! And it's awesome.

Monoecious plants have both male and female unisexual flowers on the same plant, which means they are self-pollinating. Examples include: Birch, Oak, Spruce, and Pine trees; and vegetables like pumpkins, cucumbers, corn and tomatoes. Dioecious plants have unisexual male and female parts on separate plants, and need to be cross pollinated in order to produce seed. Examples include: Juniper, Poplar, Maple, and Willow trees; and vegetables like asparagus and spinach.

🌱 FUN FACT: On monoecious conifer trees, female cones grow on the upper branches of the tree, where they can be fertilized by the pollen of male cones blown upwards from the wind.

Okay, so exactly how are plants pollinated? Biotic Pollination (by animals - primarily insects, but also birds and small mammals). In exchange for pollination services, these plants provide animals with food (pollen is very high in protein and nutrients).

Abiotic Pollination (by natural phenomenons - like wind, rain, or water). These are strong, independent self-pollinating plants who don’t need no bugs.

What makes some plants more allergenic than others? It all has to do with how they're pollinated!

Insect-pollinated plants generally tend to be the least allergenic, as the pollen grains are generally larger and stickier, allowing them to easily stick to insect bodies. I mean, just look at these guys. They’re absolutely lost in the sauce:

Wind-pollinated plants, on the other hand, tend to be the most allergenic as their pollen grains are smaller and lighter. They also tend to produce a lot more of it in quantity, since their distribution method is a lot less targeted (they rely on the variable forces of wind and water vs relying on, say, a bee that is reliably going to fly from flower to flower).

Depending on the anatomical structure of a species’ flowers, it may be both animal and wind-pollinated. Privet, for example, is primarily insect-pollinated, but because it has anthers that protrude considerably from its flower (hubba hubba), its pollen can be distributed by the wind, as this article explains.

🌱 FUN FACT: Some bees have special structures known as pollen baskets (or corbiculae) to help them efficiently store and carry pollen!

How is allergy season defined? The peak flowering/pollen times for plants varies by region, even if the same plant species grows across a wide geographical range. This is influenced largely by climate, and may vary slightly year-by-year. Ragweed, for example is abundant throughout all of central-eastern continental US, but pollen levels may peak at different times, depending on what state you're in (the state of allergic misery perhaps). For example, someone who usually prepares accordingly for ragweed season to hit them in mid-September where they live might be in for a bit of a surprise if they travel to another part of the country in mid-late August...!

What is hay fever, exactly? Is it the same as seasonal allergies? Essentially, yes. Hay fever is actually bit of a misnomer, as it was originally believed that the scent of freshly-cut grass (later dried to be used as hay*) was triggering allergic symptoms. Grass pollen of course can be a major trigger for allergies, nowadays the term is used almost interchangeably with the more-accurately described allergic rhinitis. *Consider also, if you really want to put your character in a Situation, the fact that dried hay often contains not only pollen, but mold spores and dust/dried plant particles...

Why does pollen make people sneeze? In simple terms: pollen allergies are an immunological response to the proteins found in different types of pollen. This article, titled 'Allergies: The Radical Theroy of Sneezing' goes into much further detail. Also, um, hello?!!? That name???

🌱 FUN FACT: This paper is the first recorded medical description of 'hay fever.' In case you want to read it. For science, obviously.

A Selected List of the Sneeziest Plants

🌻 wildflowers + weeds

Asters, Daisies, Sunflowers (Members of the Asteraceae family) in general  Ragweed (members of the Ambrosia genus): specifically Common Ragweed (Ambrosia artemisiifolia) and Great Ragweed (Ambrosia trifida) Mugworts (members of the Artemisia genus) - particularly Common Mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris) Pigweed (members of the Amaranthus genus) Goosefoot (Chenopodium album)

💐 cultivated or cut flowers

Baby’s breath (Gypsophila paniculata) and its relatives in the same genus Chrysanthemums or 'Mums' (members of the Chrysanthemum genus) Asters, Daisies, Sunflowers (Members of the Asteraceae family), including: Dahlias (members of the Dahlia genus) Gerberas (members of the Gerbera genus) 

🌾 grasses

Timothy grasses (members of the Phleum genus) Sweet vernal grass (Anthoxanthum odoratum) Bermuda grass (Cynodon dactylon) Kentucky bluegrass (Poa pratensis) Ryegrass (members of the Lolium genus) Orchard grass (Dactylis glomerata) Bahia grass (Paspalum notatum)

🌳 shrubs/small trees

Common Sagebrush (Artemisia tridentata) Hazels (members of the Corylus genus) Juniper (members of the Juniperus genus) Cypress (members of the Cupressaceae family) Privet (members of the Ligustrum genus)

🌲 trees

Alder (members of the Alnus genus) Ash (members of the Fraxinus genus) Beech (members of the Fagus genus) Birch (members of the Betula genus) Cedar (members of the Cedrus genus) Elm (members of the Ulmus genus) Hickory (members of the Carya genus) Maple (members of the Acer genus) Mulberry (members of the Morus genus) Oak (members of the Quercus genus) Olive (members of the Olea genus) Sycamore (members of the Platanus genus) Poplar (members of the Populus genus)

🌱 FUN FACT: People who are allergic to the pollen of one plant species are more likely to also be allergic to species in the same plant family. For example, those who are Ash tree pollen may also be allergic to the pollen of Olives and Lilacs, as all three are members of the Oleaceae family.

🏅special mentions (plants that may or may not necessarily be allergenic but still deserve to be mentioned)

Highly fragrant plants (known to or most likely to trigger scent reactions) Lilies – particularly Asiatic hybrids such as Lilium orientalis (aka the Stargazer lily) Hyacinths (members of the Hyacinthus genus) Lilacs (members of the Syringa genus) Wisteria (members of the Wisteria genus) Lavender (members of the Lavandula genus) Jasmine (members of the Jasminum genus) Freesias (specifically the highly fragrant Antique White Freesia aka Freesia alba) Viburnums (Specifically the Burkwood Viburnum aka Viburnum × burkwoodii) Roses (members of the Rosa genus)* *There are certain types of hybrid Roses that have been bred specifically for traits like fragrance (eg. the variety known as “Mme Isaac Pereire”) but honestly...most of my knowledge pertains to wild rose species and I'm not researching this topic any further because people who grow cultivated/hybrid roses can be Extremely Serious about it and I’m genuinely a little scared of them. Small, fluffy seed heads (wind-distributed seeds that are very tiny and light and easy to breathe in...Do you see where i'm going with this? You see the vision?!) Dandelions (Taraxacum officinale): Willowherbs (members of the Epilobium genus) Cottongrasses (members of the Eriophorum genus) Asters (members of the Aster genus) Goldenrods (members of the Solidago genus) Pearly Everlasting (Anaphalis margaritacea) Hypoallergenic plants (these species tend to have thick/sticky pollen that does not become airborne, or needs to be intentionally disturbed by specialist polinators in order to disperse). A pollen allergy to any of the following plants would extremely unlikely, but an objectively hilarious affliction to give to a character. Orchids (members of the Orchidaceae family)Cactus (members of the Cactaceae family) Irises, Crocuses, and Freesias (members of the Iridaceae family) Columbines (members of the Aquilegia family)

🌱 FUN FACT: Many flowers have been cultivated (intentionally bred or hybridized to for specific traits) to produce less pollen. We call these varieties "cultivars." For allergy sufferers, hypoallergenic cultivars are great to grow in their garden (or to purchase at a florist). For pollinators who expend energy to search for a food source, it's not so great. It's even less great if these cultivars are native species which are subsequently planted or introduced into the wild, as it can compromise the genetic integrity of that species' wild populations, and negatively impact native pollinators.

💥 Sternutatory or Errhine plants Sternutatory (adjective): Also sternutative. causing or tending to cause sneezing Errhine (noun): a medicine to be snuffed up the nostrils to promote sneezing and increased discharges.

Important Disclaimer ⚠️ DO NOT TRY THESE AT HOME ( I cannot stress this enough). This is for information purposes only and should not be used as a how-to guide. Many plants, including some on this list and the resources at the end of this guide can be extremely toxic, dangerous – or even deadly – if used, consumed, or prepared incorrectly. Misidentification of plant species can also be deadly. Seriously, do not be silly in your pursuit of snz. Stick with chhinkni, folks.

Wait, so…plants can make you sneeze even without pollen? Heck yeah, friends! We've all heard about pepper as a snz trigger, of course...Well, Black Pepper is just the common name for the plant also known as Piper nigrum. Peppercorns are its dried fruit, and it's what we grind up to get black pepper seasoning! And chhinkni? It's all plant parts! We'll get into that later, too.

Indigenous peoples around the world have been using plants medicinally for millennia. Traditionally, sternutatory (yes, that is the fancy scientific word for ‘sneeze-inducing’) plants were used to treat or cure the common cold, headaches, or in some cases as a stimulant. Are you writing a fic with a character who is an herbalist, traditional medicine practitioner, healer, witch/wizard, etc? Perhaps they would be familiar with some of the following plants:

Sneezeweed (Helenium autumnale) - [crushed dried leaves and flower heads] Sneezewort (Achillea ptarmica)  - [dried powdered roots; possibly leaves?] Sneezewood (Ptaeroxylon obliquum) - [powder from wood, bark] Spreading Sneezeweed (Centipeda minima) - [squeezed flower heads] Kentucky coffeetree (Gymnocladus dioicus) - [dried crushed roots; dried crushed pods] Spanish chamomile (Anacyclus pyrethrum) - [powdered roots] Leopard’s Bane (Arnica montana) - [freshly crushed flowers; whole plant; dried/powdered] Scarlet Creeper (Ipomoea hederifolia) - [roots] Redberry (Deeringia amaranthoides) [powdered roots] Cypress vine (Quamoclit pennata) - [powdered roots] Ipecacuanha (Cephaelis ipecacuanh) - [dried roots and rhizomes] Southern Wax Myrtle (Myrica cerifera) - [powdered root bark] and its relatives Box Myrtle (Myrica Esculenta) and Swamp Bayberry (Myrica caroliniensis) Yopo (Anadenanthera peregrina) - [dried pulverized seeds] Mouse-ear hawkweed (Pilosella officinarum) - [leaves] Lemon balm (Melissa officinalis) - [powdered] Betony (Betonica officinalis) - [powdered herb/dried leaves] Rosemary (Rosmarinus officinalis) - [dried powdered leaves often added to snuff powders]Bee Balm aka Wild Bergamont (Monarda fistulosa) - [dried tops of the plants] Pasque Flower (Pulsatilla vulgaris) [dried roots] Horse Chestnut (Aesculus hippocastanum) - [powder of the dried nuts] Sage, Marjoram, and Tobacco [referenced here as a “gentle” sternutative]

🌱 FUN FACT: Mugwort is considered one of the most important herbs ("the mother of herbs") in traditional medicine (and witchcraft, allegedly). It is both a sternutatory plant and a highly-allergenic plant. It sure would be a shame if your herbalist/healer/witchy character had to both grow/harvest it and prepare/pulverize it...

Okay, but how and why exactly do these plants make us sneeze? Excellent question, so let's get into it! Come on over to...

The Chhinkni Corner

Ever wondered why Chhinkni works? Why it's so effective? What the ingredients are? Exactly how/why these ingredients make us sneeze? Let's dive into some plant + snz science (Snience)!

First, let's break down the ingredients of Chhinkni:

Skimmia laureola [leaf, powdered] Box Myrtle (Myrica Esculenta) [bark, powdered] Indian sandalwood (Santalum album) [wood, powdered] Camphor tree (Cinnamomum camphor) [extract] Peppermint (Mentha piperita) [extract] Southern Blue Gum (Eucalyptus globulus) [oil]

Well, we know from the list of (some of the known) sternutatory plants above that the root bark of Myrica species is sternutatory, so that makes sense! But what about the others on this list? Let's get back to that important question:

What about these specific plants/plant parts make us sneeze? It all has to do with Transient receptor potential channels (TRP channels). TRP channels are primarily located on the plasma membrane of our cells. They detect environmental stimuli and translate this exposure into sensations of chemesthesis (irritation, burning, cooling, tingling) pressure, taste, and smell. There are six main categories of specialized TRP channels, which play different roles throughout our body. Here's a chart that helps visualize each category:

Woah, this is getting a little overwhelming. What the heck does this have to do with snz? Or plants?! Everything, my friend! Everything! Many TRP channels are heavily expressed in the epithelial cells of nasal mucosa. Each TRP channel is activated by different things (with some overlaps) including different chemicals found in specific plant families. Let's look at some of these TRP channels (and what activates them) and things will start to make a lot more sense:

TRPV is activated by: --- Capsaicin (found in Chili Pepper), Piperine (found in Black Pepper), Carvacrol (found in Bee Balm), Camphor (primarily found the Camphor tree, but also found in plants like Rosemary), Menthol, Cannabis, Incense, Ginger, Menthol (mint). TRPA is activated by: --- Mustards (mustard, radish, horseradish, wasabi), Cinnamaldehyde (cinnamon), Tobacco, Cannabis, Wintergreen oil (aka what gives mint candies/gum its flavor), Shogaols (found in Ginger and Sichuan peppers) TRPM is activated by: --- Eucalyptol (oils from Eucalyptus plants), Menthol (mints),  --- Cold temperatures

Hmm...does anything on this list sound familiar in a snz context??!?!?!?!

Wait, is this why things like pepper, cold temperatures, mint, spices, and strong smells make people sneeze? It sure is! When certain TRP channels are activated, they send signals to your body that trigger protective reflexes (eg. sneezing and coughing) to get rid of the irritant. Everyone's cellular make-up is as unique as they are, and we all react and respond to external stimuli in different ways. Some people might only get a runny nose when exposed to cold temperatures, while for others it might trigger sneezing.

🌱 FUN FACT: There have been studies examining TRP channels in the nasal cavity and the role they might play in allergic rhinitis. There have also been studies on specific TRP receptors in the nasal mucosa comparing patients with and without allergenic rhinitis. There is even this study on the nasal effects of camphor, eucalyptus, and menthol!

Learning Tools and More Resources

See where plants grow on a map: Want to know where specific plants grow? Input the plant species (or the genus or family -- now that you know what that is!) into the search bar, and it will show you its global distribution range based on user-submitted data. You can also narrow results down to a specific area. Note: This data is compiled through user-submitted data and may be erroneous. For best results, filter search results using the “Research Grade Observation” option. While the results don’t provide insight on historical range, native vs. introduced species, it’s a great tool to get you started! Pollen Allergen Tool: An interactive chart that shows common allergenic proteins and which plants produce pollens containing them. Repeated Disclaimer ⚠️ The following resources are shared for information purposes only. Many plants, including some on these lists are extremely toxic, dangerous – or even deadly – if used, consumed, or prepared incorrectly. Sternutatory Plants: A list of sternutatory plant species compiled by the USDA Sternutatory Plants: A second list, compiled using various data sources. This paper published in 2021 on the use of sternutatory plants in herbal medicine, TRP activity. and this banger of a quote: "Sneezing had great significance and value throughout history; it exerted a strange fascination on humans" I protest the use of past-tense, but alas. Folks, this paper is Snience (Snz Science) in action. If the following excerpt is any indication:

The End!!

THANK YOU for reading if you got this far, and congrats on making it to the end of this post! I hoped you learned as much as you horned (if not more) and I hope this little guide can come in handy one way or another.

As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, if you ever have any questions on any of these topics, please feel free to reply to this post (or send me an ask if you prefer to be anonymous) and I'll do my best to answer! 💚🌿