Percy

Winter, 2018

Ilya was currently half asleep in bed with a sick Shane tucked into his side. Their relationship was so advanced, yet Ilya couldn't bear to tell Shane about a certain fetish of his. Even now, when the scenario was starting him in the face. Fuck, he was such a pussy. Papa was right.

Shane coughed at his side, reaching out for his phone that was on his bedside. Ilya allowed him the privacy, keeping his eyes on the ceiling as he heard the pads of Shane's thumbs beat against his phone screen.

"Sndff! Sveta's coming. That okay?"

Ilya raised his brows, looking down at the man tucked into his side. "Oh? She texted you?"

Shane nodded, producing another soft sniffle as his eyes stayed on his phone. "Mm. She doesn't want to be alone, she's also sick."

Ilya's heart sped up in his chest as he took a breath. Shane and Svetlana. At the same time. "Ah, okey. I'll take care of you both."

Shane hummed happily, sending a reply back to Svetlana and discarding his phone back on his bedside table. Shane tucked his face back into Ilya's armpit without another word.

Ilya gave Shane's hair a kiss, taking a whiff of the man's shampoo. "She is sleeping over tonight?"

"Think so," Shane stretched a little, drooping a leg over Ilya. "The guest bedroom is all ready, so."

Shane's phone dinged again, which made him peel away from Ilya for a second time to answer the message. Shane sat up from bed, rubbing at his eyes as he sniffled. He sounded so congested.

"Where you going?" Ilya mumbled, giving Shane's back a rub where he could manage to reach.

"I'm going to let her in," Shane responded, getting up from bed in just his boxers with another little stretch before padding out of their room. Ilya wanted to follow, but he was pretty sleepy. 5 more minutes of being horizontal should be enough time to be able to work again.

Shane soon returned with Svetlana, opening their bedroom door for her. Svetlana was wearing a baggy black Adidas sweatshirt with a pair of blue shorts. She looked beautiful, but obviously under the weather. Ilya never saw Svetlana in such clothing whenever she was healthy.

"Привет!" Sveta greeted Ilya, her voice quite stuffy as she waved at Ilya from across the room.

"Sveta," Ilya smiled, sitting up against his and Shane's headboard. Shane padded in behind Svetlana, crawling back into bed in his prior position against Ilya. "You aren't well?"

Svetlana shook her head, leaving her purse on the door handle and walking over to the bed. Ilya raised a brow.

Sveta eyed Shane with a little smile. "May I join? Please?"

"Course," Shane sniffled, rubbing his nose against Ilya's clothed pec. "Bed's nice 'n warm."

Svetlana got into bed on Ilya's right side, mirroring Shane as she curled up to Ilya. Ilya frowned at the warmth surrounding him. "Wait, you both have fevers? I have to get medicine."

"No!" Shane mumbled, grabbing onto Ilya's arm. "Just — stay. We just got comfortable, Ilya."

"Hm," Ilya held Shane and Sveta, lapping his lips. "Fine. Later, then. Before we sleep."

Shane mumbled something under his breath, his body starting to stiffen up. "Hh! Hh'rRSHu!" Shane brought up his fist, pressing it into his nose as he shook with a startling sneeze.

"Bless you!" Sveta was the first to say, sitting up so she could see Shane over Ilya's pecs.

"God bless," Ilya mumbled, using all of his mental strength not to pop a boner. Not even Sveta knew about his fetish. He hoped that not telling anyone would make it disappear. Instead, it only seemed to grow over the years.

"Hh'RSHHOO!" Shane barked out another one, yet again smushing his fist against his nose. Shane couldn't stifle to save his fucking life.

"God damn!" Sveta's voice pitched. "He sneezes so loud, Ilyush! I expected little kitten sneezes."

Ilya breathed out a small scoff, running a thumb over Shane's furrowed brows. "Oh, I know so. Surprised me too."

Shane weakly shoved at Ilya, sitting himself up in bed. "Fuck, can you pass me that box?" Shane pointed to the box of tissues, the ones closest to Svetlana.

Sveta nodded, passing Shane the box without hesitation.

Shane took the box with a little 'thanks', plucking out a couple to swipe at his nose with. Don't get hard. Just don't.

"Eeshiu! He'ieeishu!" Sveta suddenly curled into Ilya's side, spraying her hand as she shook with each sneeze.

"Oh, bless you," Shane frowned, offering the box back over to Sveta.

Don't get hard! Don't. Stop. Think of anything else.

Sveta sniffled miserably, reaching over and taking the box from Shane with a shy smile. "Thank you."

Shane nodded, staying seated on his heel as he reached out for Ilya's hand.

"You aren't going to bless me, Ilyusha?" Svetlana mumbled, voice tainted by the tissues currently bundled to her nose. Fuck.

"Bless.. you. Будьте здоровы," Ilya mumbled, forcing his voice to sound more confident than he felt.

Sveta cocked her head with a sarcastic beaming smile, sniffling up her excess mess as she placed her tissue off to the side. Svetlana placed the box on Ilya's chest for easy access between her and Shane.

Shane coughed into his elbow, turning away from the two. Sveta moved to sit up, patting at Shane's back over Ilya. "Hey, it's okay."

Shane soon calmed, nodding in appreciation. Ilya just stared at the two, his lungs itching for an anxious cigarette.

Sveta groaned a little, prodding at her nose. "All I've been doing today is sneezing! So annoying. Can't sleep."

Shane frowned, his empathetic heart not being able to hear her words. "That sucks. Have you tried.. a neti pot or something? I don't know."

Sveta raised a brow. "A what? Pot? No, I don't smoke that anymore."

Shane smiled a little. "No — nevermind. Sndff. Have you taken some medicine?"

Svetlana nodded, continuing to prod at her nose with the back of her wrist. "Nothing works. American colds are crazy."

Shane hummed in agreement, his expression turning a little hazy. Ilya's brain felt dizzy with the sight. This was like a porno.

Shane ducked down, sneezing into his lap. "Hh'rRShuu! H'eRRsHH! Fuck, excuse me. Those ones got away from me."

Sveta giggled a little, eyeing Ilya. "He's so cute."

Ilya adjusted the quilt over his crotch subtly, nodding his head against the headboard. "Mm. Bless you, Shane."

Shane's brow furrowed, eyeing Ilya as he shifted on their bed. "You've been calling me sweet names all day, now it's Shane?"

Ilya spluttered, his eyes flickering between Shane and Sveta. "I — that is your name. You are my baby, you know this."

Shane scoffed, plucking out some tissues from the box on Ilya's chest so he could wipe his nose. "You're being weird."

Ilya frowned, scratching at the stubble on his chin. "I'm being weird? No. I am fine. You're weird."

Shane sent a look of disbelief over to Sveta, to which she mirrored. "Be nice to your boy, Ilyusha."

Ilya swallowed, feeling his skin start to prickle with an unfamiliar sense of shame. They were ganging up on him! "I didn't even — "

"He didn't even bless you a minute ago, right? You had to ask," Shane interrupted, subconsciously leaning over to Sveta as he spoke to her.

She nodded in disappointment, raising her brows. "Yes. I don't know what's up with him today.."

Shane hummed in agreement, reaching over to pluck out another tissue. His hand came out empty. "Ugh, shit. We're out."

Ilya worried at his lower lip, looking into the box at his chest. It sure was empty.

Sveta whined a little, pulling her sleeves over her knuckles. "But I really need one."

Shane raised his brows at Ilya, as if he was expecting something. "Give her your shirt, Ilya. Don't be rude."

Ilya obeyed, tugging his shirt over his head before anyone else could speak. He felt out of his body with the situation at hand.

Sveta took the grey shirt from Ilya's hands, immediately moving it to her nose. "Eeishhyu! EEISHIU! Shhu!" Sveta used the shirt, wiping herself off with it once she felt she was done.

Ilya squeezed his thighs together underneath the sheets, taking measured breaths. This was not fucking happening right now.

Before Ilya had time to calm himself down, Shane was also frantically grasping for the shirt in Svetlana's hands. She handed it over, keeping a hand on Shane's knee for support. Shane buckled into the shirt, barely cupping it over his face in time. "hHR'sHOugh! Fuck—! HRrshuoo! hHSHhue! SHHue! Sndff!"

Ilya's lips parted at the sight, an unmistakable bulge forming in the sheet that covered his crotch. Oh my fucking god. Oh my god.

"Bless you!" Sveta sniffled, squeezing Shane's thigh with a soft pout on her lips.

Shane snuffled into the shirt, blowing his nose weakly. He nodded, mopping up his nose. "Mm, thank you. You too."

Ilya whined a little, clamping a hand over his own lips as his voice box threatened another one. Both Shane and Sveta's heads whipped to him.

Shane grinned. "Oh, fuck. Are you getting off to this? Seriously?"

Ilya bit at his hand, shaking his head. Please no.

Shane eyed Sveta with his lips parted into a smile, keeping the shirt in his hands. Svetlana scoffed, looking down at Ilya. "What the fuck, Ilyusha? He's so hard, look!"

Shane looked down to the space of which Svetlana pointed at, eyeing the obvious bulge.

Shane's wrist came up to his mouth to hide a smile, his eyes now on Ilya. "Oh, wow. He is."

Ilya moved to close his legs but Shane was faster, grabbing both of his thighs and pulling them back apart. "Ah, ah! We've seen it now. Don't hide."

Ilya grumbled out of pure humiliation, rubbing at his forehead. Had he broke a sweat?

Sveta giggled to herself, her expression soon beginning to crumble as her chest swelled. Ilya clamped his eyes shut, feeling his ears get uncomfortably warm under both of their gazes.

"Ee'eishhiu!"

Ilya's heart skipped a beat. Instead of reaching for the shirt, Sveta must have forgotten about it. He felt specks of spray hit his stomach.

Ilya's eyes snapped open, his stomach swirling with arousal. "Eeishu! Eeyyishu!" Sveta continued, leaning over to wet Ilya's stomach as her lips parted over and over. What the fuck? No, what the fuck? Was he concussed?

Shane rubbed at Sveta's arm. "Bless you, bless you. It's okay, he likes that. Fucking clearly."

Ilya frowned, glaring at Shane as his cheeks matched the same shade as Shane and Sveta's noses.

Svetlana sighed as she was done with her fit, using Ilya's shirt to dab at her nose with. "Mmh, too right. He is weird like that."

"I don't like it!" Ilya mumbled, his voice gruff as he kept his brow furrowed. His balls were definitely blue by now.

Shane gasped in mock offence, triggering his own nose as he froze up again. Shane's head lulled back slightly, his hand coming up to his mouth. Sveta pulled Shane's hand back, not allowing the action.

"IIIRSHho'ou!" Shane ducked with his sneeze, spraying the other side of Ilya's tummy as he fell forward with the force of his sneeze. "HRR'shiiu! SHHuoo! HIH'RRSHoough!"

Ilya heard himself unwillingly moan, his hips rutting up into nothing like some rabid old mutt. He could feel the weight of both of their spray mixing on his tummy and it was driving him fucking insane. This must be a hoax or something. Shane got into his YouTube search history, right?

Shane panted with the aftermath of his fit, glancing over at Sveta. Svetlana was eyeing Ilya with a look of amusement, sitting back on her heels. "Bless you!"

Shane sniffled, pawing at his nose to quench the itch. "Ah — thank you. Ilya? No blessings for us?"

Ilya tried to get his voice to work, but it wouldn't. His throat felt tight, his skin on fire as he just slumped there.

"Ohhh! I forgot," Shane mumbled, patting Sveta's thigh. "Tissues can't talk."

Ilya whined. He audibly whined through closed lips as his eyes fell cloudy. "Sh'ne.."

"Tissues can't talk," Shane repeated, now looking at Ilya. "Well, good ones at least. Only the bad ones talk. We don't use those ones."

Ilya felt close to sobbing. He was good. He was so good.

Sveta sniffled, the familiar sounds of hitching hitting his ears once more. God, not again. He was going to explode out of his dick and potentially die.

Sveta tilted her head forward as she stayed where she was, her hand blindly reaching for Shane's as she curled up with a sneeze accidentally aimed at Shane's lap. "Eeh! Eeishuu! EeiShOou! Oh, fuck! Sorry, Shane! Did I get you?"

Shane held her hand, fixing Svetlana's hair that had fallen out of place. "That's okay. Bless you.. oh, you look so ill," he mumbled, swiping his thumb against Sveta's cheek to catch her now running mascara.

"Stop!" Ilya managed to whine out, his dick pulsing beneath the sheets. "I can't! I will come! I can't, I can't.. oh my god..!"

Shane pursed his lips at the outburst, eyeing the man who was begging so prettily.

"Nobody said you couldn't touch yourself, baby," Shane reassured, his voice ever so soothing.

Ilya bucked up again, his hands unable to move. Wait, why couldn't he move? If he didn't touch his dick in the next minute, they'd have to drive him to the emergency room. "F'ck! Can't.. baby, help. Pl'se.. help me..!"

Shane snickered softly, blinking down at Ilya as he held Svetlana's hand. "Wake up."

Ilya awoke with a desperate gasp, his lungs filling with air as he jolted up from bed. What the f —

"Baby?" Shane mumbled from his side, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He was blinking up at Ilya was a concerned expression that made Ilya stop for a second.

Ilya panted, attempting to catch his breath. Shane too sat up, hand on Ilya's chest. "Ilya? Breathe. You're freaking me out.."

Ilya forced himself to breathe like a normal human being, his hand coming up over Shane's on his chest. "Oh my god, oh my god. О, нет."

"What happened?" Shane rubbed at Ilya's chest, the other hand on Ilya's back. "Oh, Ilya. Nightmare?"

Ilya frantically shook his head, opening and closing his mouth. "Fuck. Opposite."

"Opposite?" Shane parroted in a soft mumble. Shane scrunched up his brows in confusion, eyes drifting down. Oh. He was quite literally about to explode in the waking world, too.

"Right.. opposite," Shane let out a breathy laugh as he calmed at the sight. "Want to share with the class what you, uh.. dreamt about?"

Ilya groaned, subtly rubbing up into the quilt. "I am pervert. I need to wash brain. Need to see priest, Shane. Was crazy. Fucking insane. Ебать."

Shane couldn't wipe the smile off his face if he tried as he continued to hold Ilya. "C'mon, I won't judge. Talk to me."

Ilya let a whine slip as he shook his head, covering his face with his hands. "You.. and.. Svetlana."

"Oh?" Shane mumbled, placing a kiss to Ilya's shoulder. "Greedy."

Ilya laughed a little, leaning into Shane. "Fuck. I can't ever look at you two the same now. Fuck. Ugh."

"What happened?" Shane tried again, holding Ilya's wrists in attempt to see his boyfriend's face again. Ilya just sighed, curling into Shane.

"You both.. used me. That's all I'm saying."

Shane whistled lowly, nipping at Ilya's naked shoulder. "Whoa, okay. We used you? What, at the same time?"

Ilya nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. "I know, okey? Am man whore. Am greedy."

Shane hummed, placing his thumb over a mole on Ilya's wrist. "I didn't know you were into that kinda stuff."

Ilya just kept shaking his head, flopping back down into his prior position on their bed. "You both used me as a tissue, okay? There. I said it. Fuck."

Shane stared, raising a brow. "Wait, we wiped our asses on you? What — Ilya — "

"No!" Ilya spat out, almost choking on a laugh. "No no no — no, Shane. The achoo kind. I was used that way. You know?"

Shane wiped at his mouth with his wrist. "We.. sneezed on you?"

"Yes," Ilya hissed, curling up so his back was facing Shane.

Shane cooed a little, coming to spoon Ilya. "That isn't a big deal. Did it turn you on?"

"Obviously!" Ilya whined, turning around so that he was facing Shane on his side. "I am.. freak. You were both sick, and took advantage of me. I liked it."

Shane hummed, turning so Ilya could spoon him instead. "I'm just glad we didn't shit on you. That would have been — "

"Okey," Ilya mumbled, cutting Shane off before he could say any more. Ilya pressed into Shane, accidentally bucking his hips into the slot of Shane's clothed ass.

Shane breathed out, amused to see how worked up Ilya was. "Do tell me more, though. I'm curious."

Ilya sighed, resting a thigh over Shane's hips. "You.. I don't know. You guys laughed at me."

~ i think hollander is sick

[Video footage clearly shot from a phone camera, shakily zooming in on the Metro’s bench. Hollander is talking to his winger, then suddenly, as if struck by lightning, stiffens and turns away. He’s had a towel in his hand, but he brings it up now over his face. His body shakes a few times before he lowers the towel, blinks, and turns back to Pike. Pike puts a hand on his shoulder and jostles him lightly. Says something. Hollander shifts and looks apologetic.] 

~ omg he’s so cute. was he sneezing???? 

[Quote-tweet of the video of Hollander and Pike.]

there’s a rumor holzy has bad allergies, maybe something was bothering him 

yeAH i think he was

no def, i think he’s fighting something rn. im looking and there’s a clip of him at warmups someone took where he sounds kinda congested my poor baby

omg he’s so polite with it im going to die

~ Go Metros!! hollander def sick. still won the game, that’s our fucking boy. 

[screenshot of Hollander talking to press post-game. He’s pressing a knuckle to the side of his nose and his face is scrunched up as he looks at the reporter.] 

i bet he’s pissed. holzy literally never gets sick 

24 fuckin killed it this game

Hollander is a fucking god 

yeah he has a cold or something

~ when the rivalry is too good that u both have to catch colds to even it out. 

[Quote-tweet of Rozanov from last week.] [Rozanov is leaving a restaurant, looking decidedly annoyed as he throws his sleeve over his face and sneezes. He’s clearly intended to keep walking, but he stumbles as he continues to sneeze and stops, bending forward. He eventually retreats from his elbow and growls at the camera, “You don’t even say bless you after filming me?” Rozanov continues towards an orange sportscar, hands in his pockets, muttering in Russian.]

he’s so fucking hot. i’d take care of him. give me a thermometer and a box of tissues (and a very slutty nurse costume) and i’ll take very good care... 

rozanov sneezes a lot i don’t think he was sick here 

 are u new to hockey?  roz sneezes all the time lol. <link> Ilya Rozanov Sneezing Compilation 

thought he would have dad sneezes. but he sounds more like he’s moaning

 oh, to be his puck bunny. 

No one has so far, so i’ll say it. bless you! bless you!! mr. ilya rozanov. Bless you, sir. 

~ my shaneeeee. his nose is so cute 

[Picture of Hollander smiling. It’s wide enough that the bridge of his nose is wrinkled and his freckles are coming together.] [Picture of Hollander itching under his nose, turned away from the camera so it’s a full side-profile.] [Picture of Hollander at the latest game walkout, suited-up, pinching the bridge of his nose and angling into his shoulder.] 

i’m going to put his nose in a museum 

they write books about faces like this 

awww i think he was about to sneeze in the third pic. 

— 

Trending:

Taylor Swift 

#LoveWins 

Hollander trending with sneeze. 

Caitlyn Jenner. 

#WorldCup

__

Jane: we won so shut up 

Lily: but u had to sneeze so much... poor Jane. 

Lily: the cold i give you is trending on twitter, did you know that? 

Jane: i’m fine asshole. you barely even got me sick. 

Lily: u look nice with my cold 

Lily: maybe i’ll give you another one

Lily: u want this cock so much. 

Lily: [image attached] 

Jane: you’re so weird 

Lily: you got hard didn’t you? 

Jane: no 

With Shane drowsing on his chest, it was remarkably easy for Ilya to fall into sleep as well. He had been up since five to get packed into the team bus, drive to the airport, and catch a flight home. Admittedly, he was a little exhausted. Ilya had planned on arriving to the cottage, getting in a quick fuck, and promptly taking a nap in Shane’s bed or Shane’s couch or honestly wherever Shane was. It wasn’t often that his boyfriend joined him in napping, but Ilya had a way of getting Shane to play with his hair as he drifted under. And /that/ was nearly as good as sex itself. 

Ilya drifted in and out of sleep for maybe an hour and a half, listening to the sounds of people on television bickering over off-white paint. Shane was snoring softly against Ilya’s chest, the sound making his heart squeeze - this was the first time he had heard his boyfriend make such a sound. Firsts were always something he treasured. Shane was soft and relaxed against him, features slack, occasionally snuffling and sighing and burrowing closer. 

They hadn’t really been sick in front of one another before. Hundreds of miles were somehow always between them whenever one of them was down and out. Ilya was pleasantly surprised that Shane was rather sweet and needy when he wasn’t feeling good. 

Shane’s brow furrowed, restless as he coughed softly in his sleep. Ilya rubbed his back with the flat of his palm until he stilled and quieted, soothed back into rest. He felt a bubble of fondness swell in his chest so large it was near to bursting inside of him. The feeling coaxed Ilya into waking fully, tuning back into the weight of Shane on top of him, the gentle sound of the outside wind against the windows, and the afternoon light turning the room golden around them. He continued to stroke Shane’s back slowly, pressing a quick, gentle kiss to his head. 

Although he couldn’t say he enjoyed the extents of Shane’s anxiety, his boyfriend was so endearing in how much he cared about everything. Shane had come a long way from when Ilya had first met him in terms of confidence and excessive worrying, but obviously it still could get to him. The crease in his brow and shining brown eyes when he looked at Ilya earlier, the way he nervously bit his lip, eyes searching for permission to just fucking relax already. As if Ilya would be upset that Shane was getting sick - all Ilya really cared about was being there and, well, he had achieved that.  

Ilya honestly had honestly been insistent about kissing him so Shane wouldn’t spend the rest of the next few days freaking out about contamination. The worst had already been done. Additionally, there were worse things in the world than getting sick. And Ilya really wasn’t kidding about the sexy nurse thing either - that would definitely make him feel better no matter what kind of state he was in. 

It was about twenty minutes before Shane stirred. His gentle, congested snoring was cut off by a deep inhale, a sigh, a gentle reverberation in his throat as he began to wake. His face scrunched up adorably as he registered wakefulness, freckles bunching together as he wrinkled his nose. Shane groaned softly as he blinked to awareness, brows pulled together as he registered the miseries of being awake with a cold. 

Shane lifted his head, eyes widening a little as he saw the the way the light had changed in the room. 

“…Fuck. How long did I sleep?” he rasped, voice beginning to turn gravelly and sore. 

“Almost two hours?” Ilya said, glancing at his watch. “I thought maybe you had died.” 

Shane groaned again and ran a hand over his face, thumb putting pressure on his temple like he had a headache.

“God, I’m sorry, I didn’t think I’d be out so long. You must be bored,” he lamented, sighing and pushing his cheek into Ilya’s chest. He sniffled and rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand. 

Ilya smiled and hugged him tight. 

“Is okay. I was tired after the flight, I took a nap with you.”

Shane sighed and deflated. “Okay. Good.” He sniffled and turned away to cough into the crook of his arm, far away from Ilya. As if that would make a difference at this point. 

Shane looked a little miserable already, brow pinched, mouth in a tiny little frown, nose pink and sniffly. Ilya thought he kind of looked like a pitiful kitten, brown eyes big and watery, hair a mess, pout on his lips. And, like a pitiful kitten, he clung to Ilya like he might not make it otherwise. It always amazed Ilya that all six feet and 180 some-odd pounds of his boyfriend was able to look so small and kissable. 

So, of course, Ilya leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Shane sighed with content and wriggled closer.

“You’re very adorable,” Ilya murmured, so very fond. 

“Mmph. I don’t feel adorable,” Shane mumbled, following it up with a soupy sniffle as if to prove his point. His face was scrunched up in some mixture of disagreement and discomfort, eyes barely open. 

“No, is adorable. You are like a baby animal, so cuddly and sleepy and sweet.” Shane groaned and rolled over to hide his face in the back of the couch, but Ilya could see from his ears that he was blushing. Ilya laughed and continued, “Now is my little kotonok hungry now? I am starving.” 

Shane rolled back over to face him, sighing. “Not really, but I probably need to eat.” 

He slowly peeled himself off of Ilya and sat up on the couch, reaching for the box of tissues on the coffee table. He took one and sheepishly turned away, blowing his nose as quietly as possible. It wasn’t as effective as it should have been, leaving him still sniffly and pink-cheeked, desperately avoiding eye contact. 

Ilya patted him on the thigh and got up to look in the fridge, giving Shane a moment to clean himself up in private. It was endearing to Ilya how Shane still managed to get embarrassed at such mundane things. Ilya understood to a degree, as anyone would after growing up with his father, but he did not feel ashamed about most bodily functions around Shane. 

Still, it was cute. 

It was very quickly apparent there wasn’t much to work with in the fridge in terms of sick people food. It was stocked full of vegetables and healthy lean protein and even more vegetables on top of that. 

Ilya groaned and dug through to the back of the fridge, calling over his shoulder to Shane. “You eat like insane person. The insides of this fridge are a disgrace to all kitchens.” 

He turned at the sound of footsteps to see Shane trailing in sleepily, affronted frown on his face. 

“Shut up. I eat healthy. It’s better than the shit you eat,” Shane grumbled, coming to stand beside his boyfriend to peer into the fridge. 

“I am ordering more groceries, there is no food for sick people in here. I know it is not diet-approved but I will make you some borsht later, yes?“ Ilya said, rummaging around and pulling a few things out of the fridge. 

Ilya expected Shane to deny, to interrogate him about the ingredients, to ask for changes here and there to cut back on carbs or fat or whatever. But he just nodded, sniffling, keeping his eyes away from Ilya’s. He still looked sheepish, embarrassed about something. Being sick, maybe. Ilya kissed the side of his head and shooed him over to a stool.

“Sit, I will make us sandwiches. I will make yours with gluten-free bread and everything. Does that sound good? Okay for your throat?” 

Shane settled onto the stool, leaning onto the counter, nodding in agreement. “Sounds great, thank you.” 

They talked idly while Ilya put everything together, sliding a cold can of ginger ale for Shane to drink while he waited. Ilya plated everything, cut the sandwiches into neat triangles, and hopped into the seat next to his boyfriend with a can of coke. They ate, talked, laughed. Ilya told him about his trip, stupid shit his teammates said, chirps towards players from his last game. Shane let Ilya talk as he ate slowly, stopping now and then to cough softly or pull a tissue from his pocket and dab at his pink nose. 

Once they had finished eating, Ilya took their plates to the sink and began washing them. He looked up at the quiet sound of Shane’s breath catching. Ilya watched as his nose twitched, eyes blinking several times in rapid succession. Memorizing every micro-expression. Noticing how similar they were to the ones he made during sex. The way his eyebrows pulled together, floating up and up and up, lips beginning to part. Shane’s chest shuddered with a few near-silent hitches before his expression scrunched up. He turned to the side, ducking away from Ilya and into his elbow. 

“Hih… hehH-hTDSH! Hih-iITChiew! ETshoo!”

Shane pulled away from his elbow slowly, immediately bringing up the tissue from his pocket to pinch and swipe at the moisture left behind. His cheeks were pink, and he was /definitely still avoiding eye contact. 

“Bud'te zdorovy. Did that feel good?” Ilya teased, finishing with the plates and drying his hands on a nearby towel. Shane’s blush deepened as he brought his eyes up to Ilya’s to glare. 

Ilya could see the panicked arousal behind it.

“Is it possible for you to not be an asshole right now?” Shane scowled and busied himself with shoving the tissue back into his hoodie pocket. Ilya did feel a little bad for teasing - Shane’s voice was going rough and he was getting more sniffly by the minute. But also he was blushing, so maybe Ilya didn’t feel too bad. 

“I thought you were very fond of assholes the last time I had you bent over and-" Ilya was cut off as Shane groaned loudly into his hands, ears red. 

He was so much more reactive than usual, so much more affected. Maybe because he was trying not to share his germs, Ilya thought, trying to make it seem like he didn’t want. Usually by now Shane be all over him. But either way Ilya was going to make sure his boyfriend was well taken care of, in more ways than one. 

Ilya just chuckled and made his way to the bedroom, tugging Shane along with him. 

“Come, it’s time for more medicine, yes? I will stop teasing you.” 

“I don’t believe you,” Shane grumbled, which was a fair point, but he followed anyway. 

Ilya stepped into the en-suite, pulling open the medicine cabinet. Shane followed in after, sniffling and clearing his throat as he leaned against the counter. He still seemed shy, sheepish. 

“What have you taken?” Ilya asked, opening the bathroom cabinet to rummage through the medicine shelf. Thankfully, this was Shane’s cottage, so he was stocked up with absolutely fucking everything. Ilya’s place wouldn’t have had nearly as fruitful findings. 

“Just some Advil earlier.”

Ilya pulled out a thermometer, capsules of DayQuil, name brand decongests, and a large bottle of ibuprofen. He then ducked down to rummage under the sink for a new box of tissues. He rose and dumped his findings on the bathroom counter. 

“It is your nose that is giving you the most trouble, yes?” Ilya asked, choosing to talk about Shane’s nose just because he could, because it was the easiest tease in the world, because it always got Shane so worked up so fast. His cute shy boyfriend with his cute horny sneezes. 

The current circumstances were technically uncharted territory as this is his first time experiencing Shane with a cold, so Ilya continuously kept an eye on his body language. And by his findings it looked like Shane was battling to keep his restraint intact. Ilya watched hungrily as the question registered, then promptly choked him until he could gather back his bearings. Shane blinked twice, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and brought a hand up to tug at his earlobe nervously. His face was still pink, eyes absolutely anywhere but on Ilya. 

“Um— uh, yeah,”Shane choked out after a brief moment of obvious internal struggle.

Ilya frowned at him, feigning ignorance. 

“You look flushed, lubimyy, do you have a fever?” 

“I don’t think so,” he replied. Ilya stepped closer into his boyfriend’s space, cupping Shane’s cheek with one hand and lighting up with desire as he watched the blush there darken. 

“It is okay if you are feeling bad. I want to take care of you,” Ilya said, aiming for earnest and caring and much less horny than he actually felt. He wanted to get to the root of whatever was working Shane up so much, wring it out with his bare hands until the answer was at his feet. 

“I’m. Uh, I’m okay,” Shane said, still struggling to maintain eye contact. He sniffled again, sound wet and thick, and it made him wince. Shane dabbed at his rapidly-reddening nose with the tissue from his pocket, too embarrassed to blow. 

“Let’s check just in case.”Ilya drops the hand from Shane’s face to pop the plastic cap off of the thermometer, shaking it. “You know how to do this part - open.” 

Shane did as he was told, letting Ilya slip the thermometer under his tongue before the words really registered. Ilya saw the moment they did as Shane froze, eyes finally snapping up to meet Ilya’s. His eyes were the perfect deep brown they always were, gaze that familiar curious mix of anger and embarrassment and lust. 

Ilya patted his cheek. 

“Good boy. You always look pretty with something in your mouth,” Ilya purred. Even under the circumstances it was true. Shane looked unbearably lovely even in the midst of a cold - cheeks gently flushed, nose red and twitchy, freckles prominent. His brown eyes were ever so slightly glassy, much like they were when he was sex drunk and sated. 

Ilya saw the moment Shane was about to open his mouth and yell at him a little, so he put a finger to the underside of Shane’s chin, firmly holding his jaw shut with the pad of his finger. Shane could have easily fought it, but his lips stayed sealed, bowing to the faintest pressure. 

“Ah-ah. No talking. We need your temperature.” Ilya continued to look him directly in the eye, still holding his chin so Shane couldn’t tilt his head away. Shane’s face was flushed with embarrassment, but his eyes betrayed him. His pupils were blown wide, a longing look of lust seeping through the seams of his expression. 

They both knew he didn’t have a fever but they played along anyway just for the sake of the game. Ilya was aware Shane knew he was just playing this shit up, but Shane let him anyways. He was malleable and perfect like he always was when Ilya laid it on this heavy. 

Then suddenly, Shane’s eyes fluttered shut. Ilya thought that maybe he was lost in the pleasure of the moment, about to finally give in and reach out and take, but then his breath hitched. 

Oh, Ilya thought. 

Ilya caught Shane’s arm as he brought it up to rub at his nose, lowering it back down to his side. No touching unless I say so, it said. Shane’s eyes snapped open, still squinty and itchy, giving Ilya a questioning glare. The thermometer still poked out from between his pouting lips. 

“Don’t sneeze. We will have to start all over. You can hold it back for me, lubimyy.”

The command landed as they always did. Shane shuddered, eyes squeezing shut again as his brows knitted in concentration, all confusion and frustration replaced by focus. He kept his mouth firmly shut, breathing slowly through his nose only to be interrupted by a hitch in his breath. He scrunched and wiggled his nose, chest rising and falling with each scissoring breath. Shane clenched his jaw, blinking furiously as irritated tears gathered at his lash line. 

There was a second that Ilya thought Shane might loose it, teetering on the very edge of a sneeze - his chest swelled high and stayed there, eyebrows pinched upwards, head tilted back and giving Ilya a perfect view of damp, flaring nostrils.  

But, after a few wavering moments, the urge passed. Shane blinked his eyes open slowly to meet Ilya’s, glassy and teary, still with the thermometer under his tongue. He shifted his weight, bulge now obvious in those grey sweatpants that always drove Ilya fucking insane. Ilya held Shane pinned with his gaze for a couple of long seconds before he leaned forward to whisper directly into Shane’s ear. 

“Good.” 

Shane let out the quietest shaky breath through his nose, eyes rolling up and slipping shut like one word alone was too arousing to handle. Ilya ran a feather-light touch over Shane’s clothed dick just to watch him shiver. 

The thermometer, finally finished with its reading, beeped and flashed numbers on the small digital screen. Ilya stepped back and plucked it from Shane’s lips, not missing as Shane chased his touch with his hips, making a soft noise of protest. 

“Ugh, fuck you,” Shane grumbled, sniffling and rubbing at his nose with the tissue from his pocket. Ilya was unsure which part of the last two minutes he was being cursed at for specifically. 

To Ilya’s surprise, Shane did actually have a low-grade fever: 99.8. He flipped the instrument around to show his boyfriend the reading. 

“You’re warm. Will be a fever later, maybe. We will keep an eye on it,” Ilya purred, setting the thermometer aside and cupping a hand to Shane’s cheek to feel the warmth there. 

Shane was about to respond when his breath caught on a huge inhale, sudden and aggressive. He barely had time to bring up his elbow before he was sneezing harshly. 

“Hah-hiITCHiew! HiINGTShu-hDTCH-ADTChoo! Hih-INGTSHIEW!” 

Shane stayed tucked into his elbow, panting and blinking away the moisture in his eyes. Ilya was a little bit shocked - he had never in his life heard Shane sneeze like that. It was fittish like how it was when he was aroused, but also heavy, harsh, and visibly uncontrollable. Shane’s head had jerked forward with each one, pulled down again and again with the force of the fit. He had to cough several times after like the congestion had shifted wrong and choked him. 

Ilya quickly pulled a handful of tissues out of the new box and pressed them into Shane’s free hand. He quickly brought them up to his nose, still hiding in the crook of his arm. 

“‘Scuse mbe, sorry. Thangk you.” Shane’s voice came out clogged and hoarse and once again, embarrassed. He avoided Ilya’s eyes as he cleaned up and tossed the evidence into the bathroom trash. He started to cough again and ducked back into the crook of his elbow. As if that would save Ilya from the germs he had already kissed right from Shane’s mouth.  

The giveaway that Shane was still enjoying it all was the straining fabric of his sweatpants. Ilya was a little surprised at that - if anyone was a big enough horndog to want to fuck while unwell it was himself. But Shane still looked painfully riled up. Even despite the mess and the sore throat and the headache and the sneezing. If Ilya could have taken a guess before, he would’ve thought Shane would be uptight, overstimulated, and cranky when he was sick. But so far he’s turned out to be needy and panting and pliant, and Ilya is absolutely not complaining. 

Shane was so turned on, and Ilya wanted to get him so desperate that Shane finally broke and went for it, took it with his own two hands for his own pleasure, his own want. 

“Oh, lubimyy, you really don’t feel good do you? Bud'te zdorovy, I have never heard you sneeze like that before. My poor malysh. Someone needs to take care of you, yes?” Ilya brought his hands from Shane’s shoulders, sliding down to his hands, passing over the backs of them to rest on his hips where he rubbed slow, slow circles with his thumbs, arching ever closer to where Shane clearly wanted touch the most. 

Shane’s breath caught as he shuddered. He didn’t speak, currently too overwhelmed for words. 

Ilya wanted him to say it anyway. 

“Yes? Is what you want?” 

Shane nodded, eyes hazy. 

“Tell me,” Ilya purred, thumbs still rubbing circles in the divots of his boyfriend’s hips. 

“I wandt you to take care of mbe,” Shane said, voice hoarse and wavering, increasingly clogged with congestion. Ilya felt through the stretch of fabric under his fingers as Shane’s dick twitched. 

It was then Ilya began to figure out where this heady, needy arousal of Shane’s was coming from. 

“Yes? Because you’re feeling bad? Tell me why.” 

Shane noded again, eager, waiting for Ilya to touch him, to kiss him, to do /something./ 

“I… I wandt you to mbake mbe feel better. Mbake mbe forget. Take care of mbe. Please,” Shane said, voice wavering and nearing a whine. He was panting now, staring blatantly at Ilya’s mouth. His face was beautifully flushed, eyes wanting and glassy, expression so painfully longing that Ilya wished he could take a picture of this moment to have it forever. To sear into his memory. 

Ilya, still holding him by the hips, leaned in and kissed Shane with an open mouth. Shane sighed into it, eyes fluttering shut as he tilted his head for best access to Ilya’s lips. Their noses brushed, and Ilya was surprised to find he didn’t mind the transfer of moisture that occurred as a result. Not when Shane was gasping into his mouth, unable to breathe through his nose but still desperate to kiss. It was like Shane was starving for it, for the feeling of Ilya’s tongue in his mouth, oxygen deprivation be damned. He was puffing breath into Ilya’s mouth, panting, yet still ravenous with his intensity.

When Ilya broke away to give him a fucking chance to breathe, Shane chased him with his mouth, making a low displeased noise in his throat. His eyes were dark and hungry, covered by a glassy, watery sheen. 

“Fugck, Ilya, come on,” Shane whined, still short of breath, almost more worked up and desperate than Ilya had ever seen him. He sniffled thickly and ran a hand under his now-red nose, too distracted to care about how gross he usually found it and that tissues were literally within his reach. On top of all of that, he had a slight wobble to him like he was dizzy. 

“You can’t breathe, milyy, you need to blow your nose,” Ilya replied, hands roaming up and down his boyfriend’s ribs. 

Shane visibly reddened all the way down to his neck. If Ilya looked, it would probably be deliciously spread over his chest. In Ilya’s peripheral vision, he saw Shane’s dick twitch again. Proof that he was on the right track whether Shane would verbally tell him that or not. 

Still making eye contact, Ilya reached over and drew a few tissues from the box. Shane reached for them but Ilya pulled back, making a tutting sound 

“I am taking care of you, remember? This is for me to do.” 

Shane visibly struggled for a second, embarrassment beginning to creep back in, but it was stopped by a furrow in his brow and a twitch of his nose. He hitched, expression tortured and itchy, gearing up for however many sneezes his body decided was enough to express his arousal. He loved Shane’s little fits. They were like music to his ears, visual and auditory proof that Ilya was turning him on just right. 

“Hah- Ilyaahh, I-,” 

Ilya reached out and cupped the tissues around his nose. Shane’s hands flew up to meet them, clamping Ilya’s hand firmly in place. 

“HiISHIEW! HihH-hDTCH-ahISHIEW-ITCHoo! HahH-ADTCHOO!”

Shane sneezed harshly, over and over again, breath warm and damp against Ilya’s palm. The tissues flooded with warmth as the expulsions forced the congestion to shift and loosen and expel itself. He finished the fit with a noise between a groan and a whine, equal parts relief, mortification, and arousal. 

“Bud'te zdorovy,” Ilya purred, pinching the mess away from Shane’s nose with one hand while the other plucked a few more tissues from the box. Shane’s hands slowly withdrew from his face as he let Ilya do the work, face beautifully flushed. Ilya was quick to tent the fresh tissues against Shane’s nose, holding them tightly in place. “Now blow.” 

Shane for a second looked like he would protest, but something in Ilya’s expression stilled it. Instead he took a trembling inhale and blew, a couple hours worth of congestion flooding outward into the folds of the soft paper, warm against the pads of Ilya’s fingers. While Ilya clearly understood this was foreplay (Was it weird? Yes. Did he really give a shit? No.), it also felt sweetly intimate and trusting. Like a skittish kitten eating out of your hand. Or something. Maybe Shane just always reminded him of a kitten. 

Ilya had him blow one more time before cleaning him up, murmuring sweet praise into his ear while he did so. Shane looked so fucking blissed out it was insane and Ilya wanted to swallow him whole. 

Thankfully, it did seem like he could breathe a little better after blowing, which made Ilya feel better about accidentally suffocating his boyfriend during a makeout. Ilya nuzzled into Shane’s collarbone, gently teething on the skin there. Shane shivered and swayed, fingers tightening on Ilya’s shoulders as he moved in for another kiss.  

“You should be lying down,” Ilya breathed into his mouth, kissing him and walking Shane out of the bathroom and towards the bed, pulling their shirts off as they went. Shane fell back on the bed once the back of his knees hit the edge of it, propped up on his elbows and looking up at Ilya through his lashes with dark, glassy eyes. He was breathing hard, chest heaving, and nose beautifully red. 

Ilya went for the drawstring of his boyfriend’s sweats with fast, nimble fingers, tugging them down and off in a single practiced motion. Shane shivered as Ilya ran his fingers up his thighs and to the seam of his boxers, throwing his head back and exposing his neck. 

“You have been so reactive to me. So tense, so nervous. But I can see that you like it. I told you, I can always tell when you want,” Ilya said lowly, leaning down to mouth at the skin of Shane’s inner thigh. Shane trembled, sighing, twisting the bedsheets with tight fists at his sides. “You just want someone to take care of you, yes? Fuck the cold out of you?” 

The man beneath him groaned at that, dick twitching in his boxers. And the next moment Shane was sneezing again, gasping once and twisting to the side.

“Hih…hihH-INGTSHiew, ihHITCHuu, hah-ADTCHiew! Ngh, fugck, sngff, Ilya blease-”

Ilya watched, mouth watering as his boyfriend’s abs contracted and released over and over. With the next breath he was begging, panting, sniffling thickly, pulling Ilya closer by hooking his heels around Ilya’s ass and tugging. 

Ilya chuckled and kissed a line up Shane’s throat. 

“Oh, I know that sound. So eager even when you don’t feel good.” Ilya pulled back to look Shane in the eye for a second, savoring the tension and want in his boyfriend’s gaze. His nose was running already, eyes dark, embarrassed flush blooming down his neck at the intense attention. He sniffled thickly then turned to cough into his wrist. Ilya ran his hands over Shane’s ribs. “My poor Shanya, you are so sick.” 

Shane made a keening noise in his throat, reaching up and pulling Ilya down for the neck to mash their mouths together.

Soon enough Ilya had Shane on his back in the middle of the bed, the both of them naked, kissing a line down Shane’s body until he reached his groin, dick straining and untouched. Like the rest of him, it was flushed red. Precome gleamed at the tip. Ilya licked a slow, sensual stripe up his cock before swallowing it to the base in one smooth slide. 

Shane moaned loudly and tried not to writhe, both hands balled into fists in Ilya’s hair. His voice was fully hoarse now, but that didn’t seem to be interfering with his need to be vocal. Ilya took the opportunity and reached up to put his fingers in Shane’s mouth. Shane groaned and sucked on the digits dutifully, coating them with saliva. Ilya focused back on the cock in his mouth, bobbing his head and laving his tongue along the underside of it, pausing to suck at the tip with each slide. He was startled out of his rhythm when Shane caught him by he wrist and tore Ilya’s fingers from his mouth, grip tight and desperate. But then he was gasping, twisting to the side and - 

“Fu-uhhck, Ilya, I- INGtshiew, hDTCH-ahINGTSH-idtSHIEW, ahITSHIEW! Hih-hiISHIEWW!”

Shane’s dick thrusted into Ilya’s mouth with each sneeze, fingers tightening on Ilya’s wrist in time with the expulsions. Ilya stilled and relaxed his throat, feeling as the sneezes forced Shane to fuck forward into his throat again and again. Shane had never let Ilya do this before, too afraid of being rough and choking him. He had this irrational fear he’d make Ilya throw up... as if Shane could be rough enough cause anything other than a ghost of a gag. Ilya groaned at the sensation, eyes rolling back into his skull. Fuck this was hot. He couldn’t believe a cold is what got Shane to finally fuck his face. 

He didn’t give Shane a chance to think about it too hard though, quickly taking his slicked fingers to work his boyfriend open at the conclusion of the fit. Shane was clearly in no mood to wait - as soon as Ilya’s fingers were inside him he was groaning and squirming and pulling at Ilya’s hair, murmuring fever-drunk pleas all the while. 

Ilya was never one to say no to him. 

Ilya pulled Shane closer by the thighs, reaching up and making sure his beautiful head was propped up by a pillow so he at least had a chance at breathing properly. He smoothed a hand down Shane’s chest and stomach, admiring. Shane looked so wrecked already and he had only had a few fingers in his ass. He appeared as though he had already gone a couple rounds, face red, hair a mess, body slick with sweat. Shane’s nose was glistening and he couldn’t go a handful of seconds without sniffing. Ilya put a few tissues to his nose for him to blow, then kissed his forehead. 

Ilya slicked himself up with lube and pushed in slowly, giving time for Shane to adjust. He felt warmer than usual, hot muscle tight around Ilya’s cock. It felt so unbelievably good that he had to stop and breathe for a second one he was fully seated. He was glad he did because seconds later Shane was succumbing to another fit of sneezes, squeezing him tight over and over. 

“Nah! Hah- haAETCHiew, ITCHiew-hDTCH-ahISHIEW-ITCHoo! Hih-ITSH-ISH-ADTCHIew!” 

Shane usually had a fit right when Ilya bottomed out, but just how good and warm and tight his boyfriend’s ass was nearly made him forget. The spray fell cool on his overheated, sweat-slick skin. 

Once he was able to access coherent thought again, Ilya said, “Bud'te zdorovy. So sneezy. Does your nose really like this?”

“Shitd,” Shane whispered, dropping his head back and clenching down on Ilya’s dick as he began to thrust. “Yes.”

Ilya pulled Shane’s legs up over his shoulders for a deeper angle, to which his boyfriend cried out. Ilya kept his pace steady and thorough, hands roaming and groping every bit of flesh they could find - his boyfriend’s stomach, his pecs, his thighs, his ass. Shane shivered underneath his touch, overwhelmed tears gathering in his eyes and rolling in fat drops down his cheeks. Every time Shane had to stop to cough or sniffle it seemed to push himself ever closer to the edge. He was moaning and slurring words in that beautiful congested voice of his. 

Ilya was getting close. The feverish heat of him combined with just the sight of his lover was ruining him forever. Shane was a fucking mess - sweaty and fever flushed, lips dry and mess gleaming on his top lip as he’d stopped caring about appearances some time ago. His eyes were hazy, far-off and glassy, with tears leaking steadily over his cheekbones. 

But Shane had to come first. This wasn’t about him. 

Ilya kept his pace steady, bringing one hand down to wrap around Shane’s dick. Shane’s legs clenched around him. He groaned as Ilya thumbed at the precome-wet slit at the apex of each stroke. Shane was fuck-drunk and lost in it, brow pinched with pleasure, mouth open as he continued to lose his voice around the moaning and incoherent babbling for mbore, yes, blease, Ilya, righdt there.

Shane gasped, breath hitching and catching around his desperate panting, and Ilya knew he was close. 

“Come for me, Shanya. I will take care of you, come for me, good boy, yes, /fuck/-“

Shane climaxed with a cry, squeezing Ilya tight with his cry. The come on his stomach was immediately joined by the spray of his desperate, aroused fit of sneezes. 

“Ahhng, fuckfuck fuuhHITSHiew, hiISHIEW, iINGTSHoo, ADTCHOO-ETSHIEW-ITCHOO!” 

Ilya wanted to keep going, wanted to fuck Shane through it, but Jesus fucking Christ the way Shane looked and sounded and clenched down on his cock with each sneeze was too much. 

Quickly, he pulled out so Shane didn’t have to clean out, and was coming hard over Shane’s stomach with three quick stokes of his hand. Shane gasped, threw his head back, and snapped forward with another predictable fit. Ilya shuddered with pleasure as his dick was drenched in it. 

“HihH-idSHiew! hiISHIEW! HihH-hDTCH-ahISHIEW-ITCHoo! HahH-ADTCHOO!”

Shane’s face was a mess. His nose was an irritated red, wetness spilling over his cupid’s bow and down his chin. But in the post-coital bliss he didn’t seem to care yet. He was boneless and panting, staring at the come on his stomach and chest with drowsy, leftover arousal. It was unbearably sexy when Ilya made Shane a mess, when he fucked him so good that he didn’t care about the sweat or the come or the spray. That he alone was able to have this, to see this, to make this happen. That he was able to get Shane so fucked out that he didn’t care if he sneezed all over himself or all over Ilya. He cherished the fact that he was the only one who knew how much Shane Hollander liked to be covered in come and sweat, disheveled and messy. 

“Fuck,” Ilya breathed. It felt extremely well-spoken all things considered. 

“Yeah,” Shane agreed, just as out of breath. “Fuck.”

Ilya sat back on his heels on the bed and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. “So,” he started. “You will catch a cold again soon, right?” 

Shane burst into surprised, hoarse laughter and Ilya thought it was maybe the sweetest sound he had heard all day. 

…

After Ilya had cleaned Shane up with a warm cloth and fed him a handful of various medicines from the discarded pile in the bathroom, he pulled Shane on top of him for a cuddle before he began to insist on a shower. Shane sounded a lot less congested after the sex and multiple rounds of blowing his nose. Ilya filed this away for later when he eventually caught this - oh Shane, a blowjob would make my nose feel better, don’t you think? But for the moment he was just content to hold his boyfriend and run a hand through his damp hair. His skin seemed to be more sensitive than usual so Ilya kept the pressure firm until Shane stopped squirming at every touch. He still had a bit of a cough and his voice was definitely going out, but Shane didn’t seem to be too bothered by it. 

“So,” Ilya said, “Will we talk about this now or later?” 

Shane groaned and turned red, burying his face between Ilya’s pecs. 

“Never,” he groaned. 

Ilya chuckled. 

“Later, then. I have never seen you so worked up, lyubov.” 

“This is so embarrassing,” Shane replied, still hiding his face.

Ilya rolled them over so they were both lying on their sides, nose to nose. Ilya kissed the freckles on his face, then his eyelids, then his nose until Shane was relaxed and giggling. 

“Never. You are the hottest man alive and it isn’t fair you kept this kind of sex from me.” 

Shane laughed. “It’s not like I meant to. This is like, our first time really together when I…” He gestured vaguely - he couldn’t get himself to finish the sentence. 

“Have a cold? You are very sweet and needy when you’re sick, it’s very nice. I thought you would be a big asshole.”

“Hey!” Shane punched his arm. “I’m never an asshole. You’re the asshole.” 

“Shane Hollander, that is a lie. You and me are the same amount of asshole,” Ilya said, grabbing Shane and rolling on top of him, trying to tickle his sides. 

Shane groaned and tried to push him off. “Ew, Ilya, you’re so sweaty. We need to shower.” “You did not care about this five minutes ago.” 

“Well five minutes ago you had my dick in your hand. Things have changed.” 

Shane ran his thumb back and forth across the bottom of his phone, staring at Ilya's contact, debating calling. He had only a few minutes before he'd need to head into the arena for the game and he would really like his anxiety level by then to be about half of what it was now.

When they'd spoken last night, Ilya had mentioned having a pretty bad headache, half his face scrunched up against the dim light of the lamp he seemed to have turned on only to talk to Shane, two fingers rubbing incessantly at his temples. He'd been sniffly too, although he was almost always at least a little sniffly, and it hadn't taken either of them very long to connect the dots to a flu that was making the rounds in their conference, principally because of the fact that a good quarter of the Centaurs were currently out with it.

So the fact that Shane couldn't get him to reply to a text currently was more than a little worrying. The last three texts he'd sent- “Ilya. Ilyaa. ILYA.”- had been more than 30 minutes ago, and the blond hadn't so much as read them.

Shane glanced over his shoulder into the back of the car, checking he had everything he'd need this evening. Nope, clearly he didn't because there wasn't a gorgeous blond Russian man curled up asleep there. Not that he’d feel particularly good about leaving his probably sick boyfriend in the fucking car while he amused himself on the ice for a few hours. Which is what this game would be, amus-

The phone buzzing in his hand came as such a shock that he almost dropped it, head whipping back to the device to read the notification.

LILY: whatttttt

LILY: I am alive

He sighed in relief, double checking the time before typing out a quick response.

YOU: Ok good. Stay that way. I love you. Keep me updated on how you’re doing, please.

And then with a click, the phone was off, and he was hopping out of the car to grab his bags, the pre-game adrenaline already starting to flood into his system. Kit? Check. Boyfriend? Alive. Win? Incoming.

…

He didn’t get a chance to check his phone again until after warm-ups, having been the mostly unwilling mediator in a stupidly heated debate about if it would be better to be reincarnated as a hockey puck or a stick. These guys seriously had too many concussions under their belts.

Despite the extended departure from his phone, it hadn’t been that long, and Shane was borderline alarmed to find he had more text messages than his lock screen would provide a specific number for, having resorted to a simple “10+”.

He unlocked the device, scrolling through to see a plethora of short messages from Ilya.

LILY: i love you toooo

LILY: update- doing ok

LILY: update- still doing ok

LILY: update- drinking water

LILY: update-lost fucking tv remotw

LILY: update- found

And so on. For over 30 messages. Some of them Shane couldn’t decipher however, either due to misspellings or Romanized versions of Russian words that he couldn’t quite translate. One however, appeared many times over.

LILY: update- chikh

LILY: update- stolko chikhhhh

Shane frowned.

YOU: I’m glad you’re okay. What is ‘chikh’?

Ilya read the text immediately.

LILY: timing is crazy. you are psychic?

LILY: is like spxhhi

What the fuck did that mean?

“Hollander! He’s making the stupid tape point again, you gotta come tell him he’s wrong!” Fuck.

With an anxious glance back to the still bouncing ‘typing’ bubbles, Shane tossed his phone back into his stall and returned to his captain duties.

…

He hadn’t had a spare second to consider what the last messages had meant in the whole of the first period, their opponents coming out strong and not letting up the entire time. A stupid fight had left them shorthanded, and Shane was so focused on not letting the disadvantage tip the score, that he’d forgotten all about his boyfriend’s ‘condition’ until he was lining up for a face off, flying high off the relief of a goal.

His stick clicked against the ice, and he kept his eyes down, uninterested in meeting the opposing center’s fiery hot gaze. Before the puck could drop, he heard Hayden, off to his left, say, “The fuck are you doing, dude?”, and then a sound that snapped his attention across to the wing.

“hEh…Kkf- hUhTNGKk! hhUh…hHTNGXhoo!”

It seemed that the illness that had the Centaurs flat on their backs was also running rife through the Raiders. So it would have gotten Ilya even if he hadn’t move- Oh, fuck, Ilya! He was watching, probably, although how much of the actual game he was taking in with the distraction of his symptoms was anyone’s guess. And the symptoms themselves, echoing through his empty house, no one to acknowledge them, acknowledge him… it was a tragic mental image. Or at least that was what he was forcing himself to think. Because he’d give anything to be a fly on the wall in that house right about-

Head still tilted to the left, eyes distant, stick hovering nowhere particularly useful, Shane, unsurprisingly lost the face-off. Fucking-

He turned fast, sharp, anger and embarrassment creating a flush high on his cheeks, ready to give chase. Thankfully, the defense had closed ranks behind him, and, with their right winger still flagging, Boston had lost possession.

After thirty seconds of what was essentially just keep-away, and Shane glaring hard at the puck, and the players around him, and trying to stay focused, he was heading back to the bench, turning to Hayden as they sat down, seeing the frown on the winger’s face.

“Sorry.” He muttered.

“Huh?” Pike looked like he’d been pulled from deep thought, “For what?”

“I fucked up the puck drop.” He confessed, shocked that the alternate captain hadn’t already picked him up on it.

Hayden reached for the nearest bottle, skying the liquid into his mouth as he stared absently at the jumbotron, swallowing before responding, “It’s no big deal, we can’t win ‘em all, right?”

“…right.” He doubted that he’d take the same attitude to the game itself, so he needed to get it together. They all did. For the love of fuck, Coach had better yell some sense into them at intermission, or they’d be losing to a team of invalids who would probably pass along this flu for their trouble.

…

Trudging into the locker room at what barely remained a 1-1 draw, Shane felt his heart rate pick up, knowing he’d get to answer those questions that had been building up in his mind ever since he’d lost half his focus to his boyfriend just over halfway through the period. Nowhere near the ice and still stealing his attention. Remind him not to tell Ilya that when he saw him.

“He literally sneezed like, right in my face, I mean, can you believe that?” Hayden was still complaining as they made it to their stalls.

“Yeah- or, no, that’s wild.” The captain was more focused on retrieving his phone and checking for updates, stripping off the unnecessary layers one handed as he unlocked it.

“I think that counts as biological warfare, for real. I hate that dude. I think I’m starting to get the way you feel about Rozanov.”

“What?” He looked up, having been just about to click on the aforementioned player’s contact when his name was voiced.

Pike looked slightly taken aback by the speed with which he’d met his eyes. Well, he wasn’t exactly known for his love of eye contact at the best of times. He actually couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked into Hayden’s. “I’m just saying, who does that? Like yeah, he looked really pathetic about it afterwards, but like, cover your face, man. I almost feel sorry for him, but instead it’s just like pure…hatred.”

“Yeah.” You keep telling yourself that, buddy.

As Hayden considered his ‘hate’ for the opposing winger more quietly, Shane finally opened the message thread, and started back up where he’d left off.

LILY: I type wrong

LILY: still chikh

LILY: can not see

LILY: *apchhi

LILY: apchhi! apchhi! you know?

LILY: you know bc I do all fucking summer

Shane’s eyes went wide.

“You okay, man?” Hayden nudged him, lightly, but Shane almost dropped his phone all the same.

“Yeah, I- sorry, I have to take a call.” He headed out into the hallway, eyes skimming back over the messages. No way Ilya was…live texting him his fucking sneezes?

…

It had taken him a good minute to get his breathing under control enough to hit call on the contact and even as it rang, he found himself leaning back against the wall of the corridor to try and stop his head from spinning.

“Hello?” Ilya’s voice was destroyed, so muffled and broken that it sounded like the phone line was bad. Which it wasn’t because he could hear the TV playing commercials in perfect clarity in the background.

“Hi. I uh, just finished the first period.” He knows that, dumbass, he’s watching the game.

“I know.”

“Some of the stuff you were saying, I couldn’t understand it, so I just wanted to call and check you’re okay.”

“I am good. What couldn’t you understand?” He broke off to cough throatily away from the receiver.

“The um-” It was slightly easier, saying it in a different language, if he was saying what he thought he was saying, that was. “-the ‘chick’ thing?”

“Oh, chikh. I explain already, Shane, is like- wait. I will do for you.”

He would fucking WHAT?

There was a snorting sound on the other end of the line, and then some kind of soft tapping noise. Shane waited silently, breath baited.

“hH-here I go-hKk! Kkh! hHKSH! KKh! hKSHuH! hrRSH! HRSHH! hhAHSHhOo!”

“Bless you.” He whispered, pressing his back against the wall in the corridor as though he could disappear into it, stomach flipping so intensely he worried it would get caught in his ribs somehow. Why did the idea of Ilya doing…that… on purpose make him feel like he was about to pass out?

“Thank you. How you not understand, though? I spell it out and everything.”

“You said ‘apchi’. That’s not a sneeze.” He hissed. If he framed it like an argument, he could ignore the words coming out of his mouth, right?

“What is it in English then?” Ilya sounded less than bothered, vaguely interested but also like his real focus was elsewhere.

Shane clenched his jaw, heartbeat thudding in his ears at the thought of having to verbalise the stupid sound, “It’s like… it’s like ‘achoo’.” He wished for the ground to open up and swallow him.

“What? Who the fuck says ‘a-choo’? That’s stupid.”

“You literally did five seconds ago.”

“No, I didn’t.” He paused, evidently playing back the sounds he’d just made, in his head before conceding. “Is because I spend so long listening to idiot Americans and Canadians doing this, now I sound like idiot too.”

“Fuck off.” Shane pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to get his thoughts and his heartbeat and his dick under control. The idea of the sound of a sneeze being contagious… he could only hope Ilya hadn’t caught that strangled sounding thing that he’d just heard from their winger. “I have to go now.”

“Okay, I keep you updated.” There was a clear smile in his tone, and it did nothing to help the snowballing panic that was overwhelming the Canadian. Ilya was taking over his fucking brain, and he needed that to play. Not everyone did, clearly, but for him hockey was a mind game, which kind of necessitated showing up with your mind there in your skull and not over a hundred kilometres away with its metaphorical dick out, laser focused on your secret, sickly, so so sexy, boyfriend.

He’d walked about five steps down the corridor when his ringtone rang out again.

LILY: update- finish tissue box

Oh, god, this was actually going to be the death of him.

…

During one of the previous flu outbreaks in the league, the Metros had started a policy where they’d take all the players temperatures before they hit the ice; warmup, first period, second, third, like clockwork, and Shane was exceedingly glad that they weren’t doing that now- not that they’d ever actually scratched anyone based on the results- because he was full of a fire that was part anger part lust, and that had beads of sweat rolling down his face before he even had his gear all the way back on.

He considered the feeling while benched between shifts, the furnace-like heat in his chest, making every breath feel hot enough to start melting the ice- he was almost sure he could feel his mouthguard turning soft and pliable between his teeth- and then that tightening feeling slightly higher up than the fire, like a rope being pulled taught, like at the slightest slash of a blade, it would snap. And he wasn’t sure what snapping would involve, but it would almost definitely end with him in the penalty box or back in the dressing room, regretting the entire night.

On autopilot, he stood as the receding line approached the bench, vaulting the boards and hunting down the puck, focused, ruthless, ready. He took possession, finding Pike and passing to free himself of the three Raiders who’d immediately descended upon him the second his skates hit the ice- clearly their intermission speech had involved the instruction ‘stay on Hollander’- trying to find space to receive it back.

Before he could make the pass, Hayden disappeared into a sea of white and gold as the puck got trapped against the boards. Shane joined the mass of players, trying to get eyes on the puck, and his winger, whom he couldn’t actually see among the taller Raider players.

Normally he’d leave this stupidity to happen on the other side of the ice, while he found a nice open area, ready to receive or intercept depending on who came out in possession, but right now he could not be left alone with his thoughts for the amount of time that that might take. So here he was.

His thoughts, as he realised belatedly, one weak swipe in the puck’s direction in, did not wait politely outside of the huddle, they clung to him with sharp, spiteful grips, and at the slightest invitation, would most certainly be taking back over his mind. He was surrounded by Raiders, and, right as the group shifted, and his balance was thrown, pressing him against the player to his left, said player sniffled pretty urgently and muttered a curse word in what definitely sounded like Russian. And even though he knew it wasn’t Ilya, and he could have turned to stare into the idiot’s face to confirm that, had he so wished, he froze, a shiver running down his spine, mouth going dry and gaze going distant as his mind ran away with him for a moment- Ilya draped over his back like a blanket, sniffling in his ear while he made lunch for the two of them, Ilya trying to speak through his typical early morning fit and cursing his nose out as it interrupted him, Ilya pressed against him in a hotel elevator, heat radiating off of him as he breathed noisily through his mouth, accent tinting each exhale-

The puck was freed. The puck had been freed somewhere close to four full seconds ago, and here Shane still was, staring at his own reflection in the glass, seeing someone entirely different. Once again cursing his own imagination, and his lack of concept of time passing, he spun, barely a millisecond behind the player ahead of him, but several crucial seconds behind the one in possession, opting to sprint rather than bother to push off and try to pick up speed, making it out to center ice just in time to see the flash of a stick and the crack of impact and then be promptly deafened by the goal horn. Fucking great work.

Shane never noticed it before, but the sound effect that played in the Metro’s arena when the opposing team scored had this ‘ding’ to it that kind of sounded like a phone notification. Like his phone notification. And as he was skating back to the bench, face blank, head down, all he was thinking about was his phone lighting up over and over in his bag in the locker room with notifications of every single development in his boyfriend’s illness. Every cough, every noseblow, every sneeze. He felt like he was visibly flinching every time the sound repeated, because it was definitely making his heart skip a beat each time. How quickly was it possible to become conditioned by a noise? He was pretty sure he had either just broken a record or at the very least tied that dog with the fucking bell. At least the dog actually got its food, while he was just imagining the reward- there was definitely something seriously wrong with getting gratification from your boyfriend’s flu symptoms right?

“Hey, game’s not over yet.” JJ clapped him on the back as he passed by.

In lieu of responding ‘get your fucking hands off me, I’m too fucking riled up to deal with this shit’. Shane nodded silently, following him through the door and slumping down on the bench, pretending not to notice how that impact felt as it jarred through him.

The jumbotron, which he’d glanced up at as a distraction, kindly displayed a shot of the opposing bench, players grinning and banging their sticks against the boards, and on the edge of frame, a player with his head down, apparently emptying his sinuses into a towel, glancing up, massaging his nose, and flushing when he saw himself on the screen.

Shane swallowed dryly, gratefully accepting the water bottle as it came his way and taking several gulps as though it would cleanse him of the endless temptation towards distraction that this game had apparently decided to present.

…

Period two had stayed 2-1, both teams starting to flag slightly, the Raiders, it seemed, out of pure exhaustion, and the Metros falling apart as their first line went to pieces for no apparent reason. Shane had made his way back to the locker room with his head down, not even attempting to offer the rest of the team any words of encouragement, because deep down, he knew he was the problem. Or, one of them at least. Pike was inexplicably all over the place, too, missing passes, and almost falling face first over the boards as he hopped over for one shift, not to mention the attempt to pull Drapeau that had seen the goaltender head halfway to the bench and then immediately have to sprint- or as close as he could get to it- back to the crease to field away a shot.

Shane, against his better instincts, dropped down into his stall and unlocked his phone. Maybe if he could just check what Ilya had said, he wouldn’t spend the entire time thinking about it, right? He’d know for sure, and then he could stop imagining things.

The latest two (or really three) messages, though, stopped him in his tracks.

LILY: Voice message. 00:41

LILY: did not mean send that 🫵

LILY: *👍

What the fuck could be in this voice note? Oh, this was a hundred times worse than just not knowing what the texts said. He wasn’t about to pull out his headphones and listen to what very well might be actual fucking audio porn in the middle of the damn locker room. But there was… another option…

Unconsciously gritting his teeth as though the button had a fifty-fifty chance of exploding the entire planet, Shane clicked ‘view transcription’.

0:05 stop

0:08 [Music]

0:13 harsh

0:14 [Music]

0:15 fight it

0:16 his shoe

0:22 oh wait

0:24 Shane

0:25 I do not mean to do this

0:27 what the fuck is

0:32 okay I don’t know what it is doing

0:34 how do I delete

0:36 ha I send you this as update

0:39 so you know what I am doing

0:41 okay love you miss you bye

An accidental voice note, then, so it wouldn’t necessarily be too…salacious. But his eyes were drawn to the notation at 16 seconds, reading it over and over in his mind, considering how it sounded…

“Hollz.” The voice in his ear was unexpectedly quiet, and he looked up into Hayden’s wide, focused eyes. “Is everything alright?”

“Uh-” Shane struggled to adjust to the conversation, feeling like the untoward thoughts in his brain were visible in his eyes, audible at the close distance, obvious to anyone who even glanced his way. But no one knew. No one knew what this was. What he was. “-yeah.”

“You sure, bud? You look pretty stricken there, and you have every time you’ve touched your phone tonight. Is someone in your family sick or something?”

What a fucking question Hay’. Yeah, he considered Ilya a part of his family now, even if it wasn’t something that he could really declare to anyone beyond the man himself, and his own parents, and yes he was sick, but… “It’s kinda complicated.”

“Okay, well you know, if there’s anything you need, or you wanna talk about it…”

“Thanks.” He was standing before he’d even really processed the desire to leave. “I’ll be back.”

Hayden nodded, with this disquieting look of ‘understanding’ on his face. Shane grabbed his headphones from his bag and walked quickly towards the door. He’d made it a single step into the corridor when he heard JJ’s voice from behind him,

“Where the fuck is the capitaine running off to again? We are falling apart here, people!”

And Pike’s response, “Shut the fuck up Boiziau.”

…

Shane was fumbling the earbuds into his ears before he’d even shut the door of the bathroom stall, fingers hovering over the play button the moment he’d realised he was alone, breath coming in embarrassingly urgent little puffs as the various combatant feelings within him swelled to a crescendo, heart thumping so loudly in his ears he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hear whatever this turned out to be.

He slammed the bolt across, leaning against the wall and not even bothering to try and calm himself down this time- he had like no time at all before he’d have to be back out there, and he needed every single second of that time for calming himself down AFTER he’d listened to it.

With a final strangled-sounding attempt at a deep breath, his thumb came down on the screen and his ears were filled with static. And then-

“hKk! Kkh! KSH!” Oh this was exactly what he’d hoped and dreaded it would be.

“Stop.” Ilya pleaded with, apparently himself, in the recording, to no avail, “hKSH! KSHH! hhih… hKSH! hh… hhAHSHh! KSH! KXSH! hRSHH! Khvatit. Ple-hihh… hhIHSHOo!”

Shane shuddered, the sweat-drenched material of his compression shirt sticking to the tiled wall he was leaning against, almost holding him up. Ilya panted, loud and unrestrained in his ears, catching his breath. The Canadian shut his eyes, imagined the blond’s head pressed against his chest as he recovered, pressed his hand there just to make it feel a tiny bit more real.

“Oh, wait.”

He let his hand drop again, pressing his damp palm against the cool tile, trying to regulate his body temperature a little.

“Shane?”

The brunet pretended that his heart hadn’t just ejected itself from his chest to sit disobediently in his mouth, leaving an aching, unappeasable pit of desire in its place, at the sound of his name. God, he couldn’t last another second without him, right now. He couldn’t play without him, couldn’t live without him, couldn’t- apparently he couldn’t stand without him either, as his legs crumpled beneath him and he fell to his knees on the floor, eyes opening to stare up into that unyielding gaze, that stony expression that so poorly hid his boyfriend’s adoration for him now that he’d seen it fall so many times, that face, of the man he loved. And he saw only ceiling tiles, harsh lighting, the cold empty walls of the room he’d locked himself in to let down walls of his own. The prison of his own making.

“I do not mean to do this.” Ilya inadvertently apologised for the false hope the audio had given his boyfriend, brow somehow audibly furrowed as his voice got closer to the phone.

“What the fuck is-?” He was silent for a moment and then, “Okay, I don’t know what it is doing. How do I delete?”

More silence, and then, in stark contrast, giggling. “I send you this as update-” He broke off laughing again, the sound wheezing faintly in his chest as he struggled for breath, “-so you know what I am doing.” His voice was playful, but there was nothing lucid about it.

“Okayyy.” Ilya stretched the word out long, like they were on the phone and he didn’t want to be the one to hang up. Shane told himself that the sheen over his eyes was from staring into the ceiling lights, and blinked it away. “Loveyoumissyoubye!” He half-yelled, all as one word, and then there was a slight popping sound and the audio came to an end.

Shane took a shaky breath in, checked how much time he had left, and started to respond.

YOU: Bless you. The voice note was cute, even if it was an accident.

YOU: Do you know if you have a fever?

And then he typed, and promptly deleted, ‘I want to leave the arena right now and drive straight to Ottawa. I want to fucking hold you, I want to fucking fuck you, I want to devour you.’ He swallowed, watching the letters disappear again. No, there was definitely a less aggressive way to say that.

YOU: I love and miss you too.

…

The next hour had passed so quickly, he wasn’t sure it had happened at all, a blur of adrenaline and ice and yelling, and drinking unthinkable amounts of electrolytes as though that would help the time pass quicker, and staring at the clock, and scoring- nice- and then back to a blur again.

Shane took his post game interview- shot from the collarbones up essentially- rhythmically clenching his gloved hands into fists and then flexing them all the way out again, out of sight of the camera, while he gave some pointless answers that really could have been supplied by any of the other players’ kids just as well as they were by the captain.

“What the fuck did he ask you?” Pike had called after him as he’d walked in, already half stripped down, sorted his gear from his jersey and his compression clothes at an eyebrow raising speed- or so he gathered from the look on the winger’s face as he turned- and headed straight for the showers.

“The usual shit!” He’d yelled back, clearly not answering the underlying question- ‘why are you so pissed off?’ and throwing himself under the nearest free jet of water.

Having deftly dodged all other responsibilities for the night, he was now speedwalking out of the building, and navigating to Ilya’s contact, heart rate picking up again at the realisation that he’d made it, he was free from the purgatory of a game that he really should have been enjoying, and now he was-

“H’lo?”

“I’m coming to see you.” He delivered the words forcefully, no room for argument.

“Ok-ehhKk! KKh! hKSH! KSH! KSHUh! hAHKSHh! WhoahH…hKSH! hrRSH! hRRSHHOo!”

“Bless you.” This response was softer, spoken more closely to the receiver, and his fast pace across the parking lot faltered too, mental resolve weakened by the audio display of weakened physical resolve he’d been presented with.

“Thank you.” A thud.

“Are you okay?”

Ilya moaned. “Remote fell. I think I sleep through end of game.”

“Did I wake you?” He was fumbling for his keys, trying to force himself to visualise the inside of his bag pockets rather than the sweet, sleepy expression that was probably gracing his boyfriend’s face right now.

“Yeah.” The Russian’s voice broke on the single word, and he broke off coughing, not moving away from the phone, though Shane could hear him shifting his position on the couch.

He finally managed to find his keys and unlocked the car, jogging the final few steps, opening the back passenger side door and shoving his bag in before slamming it shut again and rounding the vehicle towards the driver’s side like he was trying to outrun a hoard of zombies. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to let you know I was on my way.”

“’S good.” The blond was whispering now, whether because his throat hurt, his voice was gone entirely, or he was simply too tired to make any effort to speak louder, Shane couldn’t discern. “I look forward to meeting you.”

“What?” When he was really out of it, but still coherent enough to retain some English, he’d noticed that his boyfriend seemed to revert to textbook phrasing, sentences he’d probably had drilled in before anything else, and they’d stuck. That was his theory for the overly formal blessing habit, too. And he wouldn’t change that for the world, no matter what it did to him.

“Love you.” Ilya continued, “Have a driving license.” From the tone he could only assume he meant something along the lines of ‘have a safe drive’ , but the first collocation that had come to mind for ‘driving’ was ‘license’. The man really was full of linguistic phenomena.

“L-” He began to reply, only to be abruptly cut off.

“hKk! KKh! hKSH! Kkh! hKSHUh! hKSHooh!” Cutee, why was there no ‘record’ button on phone calls for moments like this? He could have gotten weeks of teasing out of this clip, and months of… other amusement. “hhiHKSHh! KSHUh! huAHSXHh-ugh.”

“Bless you.” He winced slightly at the sound of that last one, “Love you. See you later.”

“Loooove you.” Ilya coughed, what sounded like the start of a whole fit, but put the phone down before he could hear it get to that point.