Salamander's lair

“Looks like bad weather at the lighthouse.”

Ruby, polishing glasses behind the bar, rolled her eyes as a fisherman, dripping wet from the rain outside, approached her Aunt Hortense with this grim warning. Two weeks working at the Dropped Anchor, banished to the tiny fishing town of White Water for “unbecoming behaviour” with the attractive son of a prominent cleric in the city, had done little to curb her impatience, or tendency towards sarcasm.

“It’s bad weather everywhere. Look outside!”

The fisherman looked to Ruby with disbelief, shaking his head disapprovingly.

“Aye… But it’s bad weather at the lighthouse.”

Aunt Hortense gave a disapproving tut, looking up from polishing the bar and meeting the fisherman’s eyes.

“Ignore Ruth. She…”

“Ruby!”

“Ignore Ruth. She doesn’t know, doesn’t care, and won’t be staying. Does it look bad? Poor Mister Seaver, out there all alone…”

Ruby snorted.

“Does he expect a social life, living in a lighthouse?”

Her elders ignored her completely, with the fisherman going on in grim tones.

“We’ll see how bad soon enough. His supply run day, isn’t it? And if he’s got what half the town’s had…”

Aunt Hortense’s brow creased with worry.

“If he’s got what half the town’s had, he’ll be sneezing up a storm. I’ll see that there’s something on the stove in case he wants to stop by for a meal, and we’ll just have to hope he has matters under control.”

As Aunt Hortense retreated to the kitchen, Ruby turned to the fisherman with interest, no longer even pretending to polish the glass in her hands, instead leaning in for a chat.

“So, what’s the big deal about this Seaver? Someone important? How come I never see him around town, if that’s the case?”

The fisherman shook his head disapprovingly.

“He’s a wizard, is our Mister Seaver. A weather wizard, and a good one, too! So mind you show him proper respect, and leave him be, he likes his space.”

Ruby rolled her eyes, turning back to her glasses and making a half-hearted effort at polishing one.

“Who ever heard of wizards these days? I thought they all live off in towers somewhere, all high and mighty and above it all. And if he’s so good with weather, can’t he warm things up a little? It’s been miserable for days!”

The fisherman opened his mouth, no doubt to chastise her, only to be cut off by a gust of bitter wind as the door opened, and a stranger entered. A tall figure, clad in an oilskin coat dripping with rainwater, his face largely obscured by a blue woolen scarf, and his hair wild and damp from the weather. Ruby caught a glimpse of hazel eyes over his scarf, looking watery from the chill wind.

A terrier trotted in ahead of the stranger. A scrappy-looking little creature, with one ragged ear, and a tail held proudly in the air like a banner. He looked up at the stranger, all attentiveness, and Ruby heard a soft, hoarse voice from behind the scarf.

“Go and sit, Neptune.”

The terrier, Neptune, plainly familiar with the place, trotted over to an isolated table in the corner, while his master approached the bar, hanging back a little as if unsure if the fisherman sitting there was being attended to first. The fisherman nodded respectfully and gestured for him to approach, and shot Ruby a warning glance, as if silently urging her to show respect as well. Evidently this was Mister Seaver, the local wizard.

Never one to blindly bow to those deemed respectable, Ruby had a quip ready along with an empty glass, when the stranger stepped forward, carefully unwinding his scarf. Ruby’s cheeky remark died in her throat.

The term ‘wizard’ had conjured up a mental image of an old man with long white hair and an equally long white beard, with flowing robes and perhaps a pointed hat. A somewhat ridiculous creature from a storybook. Instead, the man revealed as the scarf peeled away was strong-jawed with a hint of stubble, his age hard to determine. Handsome, in a weathered and weary sort of way. Jaw-length brown hair peppered with grey, gentle, intelligent eyes, and a prominent nose, the bridge of which was a touch irregular, as if broken sometime in the past.

Said nose was absolutely ravaged with a seemingly brutal cold. Rubbed red and raw, decidedly damp about the nostrils, it sounded dreadfully congested as the wizard wrinkled it and gave a marshy snuffle.

Ruby felt her cheeks flush. Something about a handsome man with a cold always made something inside of her squirm. It was no coincidence that the cleric’s son who had been her undoing had constantly been catching the sniffles. She broke into a catlike grin, leaning forward on the bar a little, displaying herself to best advantage.

“You must be Mister Seaver. I’ve heard all about you.”

The wizard only briefly met her eyes, and then lowered his gaze. Not to where Ruby wanted it, annoyingly, but rather looking at a corner of the bar, as if embarrassed to look her in the eye. He sniffled again, his nostrils arching with the effort of it, and he rubbed a knuckle beneath his leaking nose.

“I am. Crawford Seaver. At your service. You… erm… You’re new…”

He turned away slightly to cough into his fist, and Ruby took the opportunity to tug the neckline of her blouse a little further down. The fisherman, watching her disapprovingly, tutted and shook his head.

“I am indeed. Ruby. A pleasure to meet you. What can I do for you? You look as if you need warming up…”

Her attempt at a sultry manner was ruined by Aunt Hortense returning and taking her shoulder, pulling her back and directing her towards the kitchen, scowling all the while.

“If you’re not going to make yourself useful out here, you can go back there and start washing dishes. Now, Mister Seaver. You look wretched, I imagine you’ll want something warm in your belly. We’ve a mutton stew, if that suits?”

The wizard, Crawford, nodded, fishing a frayed old bandana from his pocket and roughly pinching at his nose. For a moment, his eyes took on a distinctly absent look, and his breath caught. Ruby, lingering in the kitchen door, watched unashamedly, and tried not to feel too disappointed when the vaguely sneezy expression faded, and Crawford breathed a sigh of relief.

As did the fisherman, who, Ruby noted, had been watching Crawford nervously.

Odd.

Crawford spoke up again, his quiet voice muddled with congestion.

“Thank you, Mrs. Platt. And if I might have some tea? My throat…”

“Sounds like you’ve gargled gravel, and no doubt you could use some steam to clear you up. Go and sit down, the girl and I will take care of it. Ruth, kettle. Now!”

Ruby shot a sulky look at her aunt, and, before retreating into the kitchen, looked back over her shoulder at the ailing wizard. As she watched, he took his bandana again and mopped at his streaming nose, before rubbing it none too gently. His breath caught, his eyelids fluttering. For a moment, Ruby noted both Aunt Hortense and the fisherman tensing up, the fisherman edging away a little. Both only relaxed when Crawford let out the breath as a soft moan, rubbing his nose once more.

Aunt Hortense spoke up.

“You have those sneezes under control?”

Crawford’s cheeks coloured a touch, and he nodded, avoiding her eyes. Stranger and stranger, Ruby mused, before retreating into the kitchen as Aunt Hortense turned and glared. Grumbling under her breath, she set about filling the kettle and hanging it over the fire, while Aunt Hortense came to fill a bowl with steaming mutton stew, and slicing bread to go with it.

“Why’s everyone so nervous of him sneezing? It’s just a cold, and we’ve had half the town hacking and spluttering all over the bar these last couple of weeks. No more risk of catching it from him than any of them.”

Aunt Hortense shot her an irritable scowl, placing the bowl and bread on a tray and passing it to her.

“Don’t you go meddling in our Mister Seaver’s business. It’s none of your concern. Now, take that out, and then leave him be. The poor man’s ill, he doesn’t need any of your nonsense!”

“Oh, I don’t know. He looks rather miserable. A little nonsense might cheer him up!”

“Ruth, I swear to whatever god happens to be listening, if you keep talking back…”

“Alright, alright, I’m going!”

Tray balanced on one hand, Ruby made her way back out to the bar, spotting Crawford now seated at the corner table, his dripping oilskin removed to reveal the same sort of cable-knit woolen jumper the local fishermen wore. He rested his head on one hand, and with the other, kept his bandana pressed to his nose, alternately pinching and rubbing. Evidently the swollen appendage was troubling him immensely.

The little dog, Neptune, sat obediently at his feet, and alerted him to Ruby’s arrival with a sudden “Wuff!”. Crawford sat up a little straighter, and lowered his bandana, avoiding her eyes once more. Up close, she could hear him giving soft little sniffles with every other breath. Offering her most charming smile, Ruby set down his food, and lingered, holding onto the tray.

“That ought to put some colour back in your cheeks.”

“Thank you. Very much appreciated.”

Crawford hesitated, seemingly unsure whether to begin eating in her company. No doubt unused to the charms of city girls, Ruby mused, toying flirtatiously with her braid. She offered a teasing smile.

“Everyone says you’re a wizard. You don’t look like one.”

Crawford blinked up at her. There was a hint of feverish haze to his eyes that melted something inside of her, and when he replied, soft and hesitant, his voice was so heavy with congestion, he struggled to make himself understood.

“Erm… Then I must resort to the old cliché, Miss Ruby, regarding appearances being deceptive.”

“I suppose they must be. Your appearance says you should be in bed. Yet here you are, up and about!”

Crawford flushed a little deeper, and looked down at his bowl as if it might hold the answer to escaping this conversation. Unwilling to let him get away just yet, Ruby grinned, leaning her hip on the table.

“So, if you’re really a weather wizard, can you conjure us up a ray of sunshine? Gods know we could use it around here!”

Crawford continued to stare down into his food, stirring it idly and addressing the bowl.

“That would be inadvisable for a number of reasons. Natural conditions shouldn’t be… Hehhh… Shouldn’t be tampered with. Too much… Huhhh…. Uhh… Sndfff!... potential for… for unforeseen… consequences… I’m so sorry, I beg your pardon, I…”

Shaking his head as if he might somehow deny the inevitable, Crawford lurched forward into his much-abused bandana, though, having struggled to talk his way through the build-up to his sneeze, he buried his nose in the damp folds too late, failing to entirely cover an impressive plume of spray.

“HhhhHHRUFFFSSSHOO!”

It was as if someone had suddenly pulled out a weapon. The various tavern patrons, who had been shooting Crawford the occasional worried glance, suddenly pulled abruptly away. One or two leapt to their feet. One dived under his table.

Silence hung in the air for a moment, broken only by Crawford’s unsteady breathing and pitifully damp snuffling. At length, cheeks and ears flushed red, looking as if he wished to disappear, Crawford emerged from behind his bandana at last, and chanced a brief look around the tavern, raising a hand apologetically.

“… Sorry… Under control…”

The patrons returned to their drinks, though wary glances continued to be sent in Crawford’s direction.

Ruby, mouth dry, face warm, struggled to find her words. Gods, the man sneezed like a thunderstorm. Loud, and wet. She swallowed hard, and struggled not to giggle as she spoke.

“Well, I’ll bless you, even if no one else here has manners. It’s alright. No need to be shy. Sneeze as much as you like.”

Crawford shrank into himself a little more, and dabbed at his long-suffering nose.

“I’d very much prefer not to. Apologies. I… You ought to keep your distance.”

Almost as if he meant to chase her off, Crawford buried his nose in his bandana once more, and, thin chest expanding with a slightly wheezy inhale, let loose with a blow that rivaled a foghorn, giving his nostrils a vigorous rub afterwards. Three times, he repeated this process, and at last tucked his bandana away once more, drooping over the table, somehow still looking heavy with congestion.

Far from being deterred, Ruby clucked her tongue sympathetically, and tried not to squirm. If ever a man needed to be held…

“Oh, you needn’t worry about me. I never catch anything. Except when I decide to chase something.”

Once again, her flirtation fell on deaf ears. Crawford merely shrank in on himself further, and shivered. Ruby fought back a sigh.

“Alright. I’ll leave you to eat, and get that tea ready for you.”

As she passed the bar, the fisherman, now being poured a glass of ale by Aunt Hortense, let out a low chuckle.

“You’re barking up the wrong wizard there, my girl!”

Ruby’s cheeks flushed with annoyance as she stormed back into the kitchen, and poured hot water into the teapot to prepare it for the leaves.

“Honestly, does anyone in this washed-up wreck of a town have taste?”

Waiting for the pot to warm, Ruby went to listen by the door, and struggled not to squirm as she heard another sneeze from Crawford’s table. Once again, it sounded loud, soaking, laden with cold… And was once again it was accompanied by the scraping of chairs and sound of movement as patrons drew away, followed by a hoarse, miserable apology, and assurance that all was under control.

“Honestly, they can sail through a storm but can’t handle a man with the sniffles…”

As Ruby emerged from the kitchen with a large, steaming mug of tea, her attraction to the ailing wizard merged with sympathy. Looking to his table, she saw him shivering hopelessly, having pulled his oilskin back over his narrow shoulders, poking miserably at his food. And, as if to further compound his misery, all those who had been anywhere remotely near his table had relocated to the other side of the tavern.

“Honestly, it’s just a cold…”

Ruby glanced at Aunt Hortense, and found her at a table at the other side of the room, laying down the law regarding a patron’s unpaid tab. Taking her chance, Ruby ducked beneath the bar, seizing a bottle of whiskey and adding a generous shot to the mug of tea. That ought to chase away the chills!

Crawford, feeding Neptune a piece of mutton from his stew, looked up at Ruby with bleary eyes as she approached his table, setting down the mug with a smile.

“There. That’ll have you nice and warmed up in no time.”

Worn and weary and wretchedly full of cold as he looked, this time, Crawford managed a slight, shy smile in return.

“Thank you. Very much appreciated.”

Crawford wrapped his hands around the mug, sighing in relief at the warmth, and raised it to his lips, attempting to inhale some of the steam through his stuffy nose. Failing this, he took a deep sip instead.

His eyes, closed in relief at the warmth, suddenly opened in horror.

“Is… Huhh… Is there… Snff-SNF! Huhhh… HaAHhh… whiskey in this?”

“Just a nip! I thought it might warm you up?”

Crawford gave a flustered snort, setting the mug down and pushing it away, and grabbing urgently for his bandana. His reddened nostrils flared wide, and he shook his head, as if he might somehow refuse the oncoming sneeze, even as his eyelids fluttered closed and his chest and shoulders jerked with violent hitches.

“I… I can’t… Ihh… I’m sorry… I… Ehh… HehEHhh… HhhHRFFFSHHHOO!”

Crawford did his best to smother the explosion in his bandana, but to no avail. It was torn from him, throat-scraping and violent, and already he was gasping in air for another. Neptune gave a sharp yap, and retreated under the table between Crawford’s feet. The patrons at the other side of the table rose to their feet, and Ruby heard one of them cry out.

“Best clear out, here he goes!”

“HhiieeffsssSSHOO!”

The second sneeze left Crawford panting and teary-eyed, bracing himself against the table, coughing weakly, but already drawing in air for a third effort. Several patrons hurried out the door. Others ducked under their tables. Aunt Hortense, spying Ruby, came storming over and seized her by the arm.

“Get away, you silly girl, before…”

“HhhHHRAAASSSSHOO!”

The sound of the sneeze itself was nearly drowned out by a crack of thunder, and a blinding brightness as lightning flashed just outside the window. Wind shrieked through the tavern, blowing an abandoned newspaper about the room. Ruby gave a shriek of alarm, clutching Aunt Hortense as the sudden violent gust tore at her hair.

Crawford, rubbing furiously at his swollen, leaking nose, attempted to stammer out an apology.

“I’m so sorry… The whiskey… I… Iihhhh… AhhHAAaahh… AHHhhHASHOO!”

Aunt Hortense swore, shoving Ruby aside and taking Crawford by the arm, trying to haul him to his feet.

“What whiskey? Who… Alright, time for you to step outside!”

“I… Hhhehhh…”

“Oh, no you don’t! You keep that nose of yours under control!”

Crawford struggled to get to his feet, but, seemingly clumsy from illness, stumbled back into his seat with the sheer force of the next sneeze.

“HhhhHHYAAASSSSHH!”

Aunt Hortense took Crawford by the arm once more, snapping at Ruby as she did so.

“Help me get him out, girl! Before…”

“EhhhHESSSHOO!”

Another violent wind ripped through the tavern, and this time, fat, heavy raindrops began to fall, slowly at first, then thick and fast. Ruby gasped as they splashed against her skin, rapidly cooling her flushed cheeks. Seeing the urgency of the situation now, she took Crawford’s other arm, and between them, the two women helped him to the door, the poor wizard already shuddering with urgent hitches, fueling the next sneeze.

“I… I’m really so… Huh! UhhHuhh… sorry, I… HhHRUFFFFSSSHOO!”

The force of it nearly sent Crawford stumbling, and Ruby put an arm around him to steady him as they stepped out into the street, where wild winds tore at their hair and clothes, and sleet stung their skin. The chill, Ruby noted, made the feverish heat radiating from Crawford all the more pronounced. With her arm around him, she could feel his chest heaving, readying for the next effort. The little dog, Neptune, yapped urgently, getting underfoot in his attempts to herd them onwards.

“HhhHRASSCHOO!”

Ruby felt the spray of that one on her cheek, and the shiver that ran through her wasn’t entirely from the cold.

As Crawford, teary-eyed, nose streaming, looking exhausted, stumbled to a halt as the next sneeze began to overwhelm him, Aunt Hortense took Ruby by the arm and tugged her back, looking grim. Still reeling from all that had unfolded, Ruby watched with wide eyes as Crawford leaned back in readiness, and was flung forward by the force of one final, exhausting sneeze.

“Ehh… Hehh… Huhhh... HhhhHHUUURUSSSSHOOO!”

 One last burst of howling wind swirled outwards from the unfortunate wizard, followed by an eerie silence, broken only by his soft moaning and snuffling, as the pattering rain turned to a thick, heavy fall of snow.

Crawford, shivering as snowflakes settled over his hair and clothes, raised his now all but useless bandana to his nose and gave an exhausted, careful blow, and looked to Aunt Hortense with rheumy eyes, looking thoroughly miserable.

“I… I’m really so terribly sorry. I could have sworn I had it under control, only…”

Aunt Hortense folded her arms across her chest, shooting Ruby a look that promised dire consequences to come.

“Only this one slipped you a shot of whiskey, it seems. That’ll be coming out of your pay, girl! And as for the mess…”

Crawford held up a hand apologetically, wrinkling his nose and snuffling terribly.

“You mustn’t blame her, she didn’t know. And if you’ll let me catch my breath, I can clear all this up…”

“She knows better than to slip people drinks they haven’t asked for! And by the time you’ve collected yourself enough for that, you’ll have sneezed us up a proper storm!”

Unable to argue with that, Crawford visibly slumped, hanging his head, mopping at his nose once more. Aunt Hortense strode briskly back inside the tavern, and returned with Crawford’s scarf, which she briskly wrapped around his neck, before pulling his oilskin coat around him tighter.

“Go home, Mister Seaver. I’ll speak to the grocer and have your supplies sent to the lighthouse.”

“I… You mustn’t go to any trouble…”

“Did it sound like I was asking?”

“… Thank you. Good day, Mrs Platt.”

The wizard and his little dog turned to walk away, Neptune with his tail still carried high, Crawford with his metaphorical tail between his legs, sniffling and coughing all the while. Ruby watched them go, vaguely aware of Aunt Hortense scolding her.

“And you, my girl, can spend the rest of the day with a mop for company!”

📖 2026 Event Prompt List

"I told you, I'm fine." / Loss of Balance

"When was the last time you actually slept?" / Sensory Overload

"Stop talking for a second." / Pharmacy Run

"I can handle it." / Lab Results

"You look pale." / Chronic Illness/Injury

"You feel warm." "I know." / Sharing a Bed

"I made coffee/tea." / Tired Caretaker

"Don't look at me like that." / Too Busy To Stop Working/Moving

"Let me help you." / Anxiety/Panic Attack

"Just sit down before you fall down." / Overworked

"You don't have to carry this by yourself." / Fever Induced Confession

"Just give me five minutes." / Hiding An Illness

"Everything is vibrating. Please stop talking." / Shaking Hands

"I'm just tired." / Burning the Candle at Both Ends

"I am completely capable of doing my job." / Brain Fog

“I was just trying to help.” / Exhausted Silence

"Everything is too loud." / Sleep Deprivation

"How long was I out?" / Waking up disoriented

"It's just a headache, drop it." / A cold compress.

"I didn't realize how bad it was until I sat down." / Uncontrollable shivering.

"Can you turn the lights down?" / Fluffy Blanket

"I don't think I can get up from here." / Warm drink

"I've handled worse than this." / New Medication

"I didn't think it would hit this fast." / Contlagion

"Hold onto me for a second, the floor is moving." / Stomach Virus

"My brain won't shut up." / Relapse

"Don't treat me like I'm fragile." / Loss of Fine Motor Skills

"I can't remember the word for it..." / Failed Masking

"I think I'm awake, but I'm not sure." / Wired but Tired

"Is it just me?" / Hot Flashes

"Just rest." / Tunnel Vision

🔄 Alternate Prompts

"Did I already say that out loud?"

"It's fine, it's just a seasonal thing."

"I don't need a doctor, I need an hour of silence."

"Everything is just... too much right now."

"I didn't mean to snap at you."

Ringing Ears

Nausea

Fight or Flight

Fever Dreams

Abandoned Tasks

Hey everyone, a quick note from me.

You might have noticed things have been a bit quiet around here lately, and the prompt list didn’t quite make the midnight debut like it was supposed to. Life got a little crazy behind the scenes, and the scheduled posts simply didn't happen. I’m really sorry for keeping you all waiting!

Thank you so much for your patience and for sticking around. The prompts are officially up now, and I’m incredibly excited to see what everyone creates this year.

They always end up near the back of Fabian's shows because of Ryan. He's so tall, it's the only place where he doesn't block anyone's view. And frankly, Shane is okay with it because it also allows a certain amount of anonymity. Every since he and Ilya were outed and became teammates for the Centaurs, his public profile has risen to a level higher than ever before. Now, it's not only hockey fans that recognize the pair, but anyone who watches the news. The media can't get enough of the fact that two professional athletes play on the same team (literally and metaphorically). 

As if on cue, Shane sees Ilya stop and exchange a few brief words with a guy in the crowd, leaning in to pose for a selfie. The man, a lithe redhead, roars with laughter at something Ilya has said, and Shane feels a little tinge of jealously flare in his stomach. It’s not that he would ever suspect Ilya of cheating; they're still as obsessed with each other as ever. And it's easy to see why Ilya is drawing attention from the crowd. He's wearing a tight mesh black top that clings to every inch of his chest in a way that had Shane suggesting they skip the concert altogether when they'd started to get ready earlier that evening. 

“Hi,” Ilya says in Shane's ear, finally reaching their spot. He presses a cold glass into Shane's hand as he tucks himself behind his back. “Sorry – too many people.”

Shane sips at the cold beer, trying to ignore the sweat pooling along his spine in the closeness of the room. Ilya's hips are tucked against his and Shane can feel the muscle of Ilya's chest against his shoulder blades. He leans back a little against his husband and Ilya tucks his head over Shane's shoulder.

“I'm glad we came,” Ilya says over the opening act's final notes. “I'm excited to hear his new stuff.”

The lighting in the club shifts dramatically as an electronic hum fills the speakers. The crowd chatters with excitement as a technician swaps a few cables onstage and sets out Fabian's violin. There's another flourish of lights, a burst of stage haze, and Fabian emerges to a thunderous cheer from the crowd. 

And then the hush. The crowd goes quiet as the first notes fill the air and Shane relaxes a little, trying to get lost in the sound of the strings and Fabian's voice. 

There's a slight jostle of people still as the crowd inches forward and latecomers try to get a better view of the stage. Someone hits Shane's elbow and he barely manages to not spill his beer. A group of giggling women pass in front of them, trying to get to the bar but they're blocked by the roped-off soundboard. They pause to survey the scene and Shane nearly chokes when it hits him – the scent of a flowery perfume applied so heavily that he can practically taste it.

From behind him, there's an irritated sniffle from Ilya, inhaled close to Shane's ear.

Instantly, the blood rushes to Shane's cheeks. The sound of Ilya's sniffles is not novel. In fact, come springtime, it's so present that it reaches the point of annoyance. But here, in the closeness of this club and with Ilya pressed against his back, it portends the inevitable – Ilya is going to start sneezing.

And, the thing is, Ilya's sneezing does something to Shane. Something primal and inexplicable and embarrassing and sweet and all together too overwhelming to happen in a crowded club.

“Christ,” Ilya mutters into Shane's ear and his nose presses against Shane's shoulder, giving a sharp rub against the fabric of Shane's t-shirt. “Did she take a bath in that shit?”

Shane can already hear the falter in Ilya's voice and he doesn't need to turn around to know the expression that's forming on his husband's face. He can see it so clearly in his mind: the slight furrow of his brows, the barely parted lips, the fluttering eyelashes. 

Ngh-TXGHT! Ilya jerks into Shane, his head bobbing in and out of Shane's peripheral vision. 

The crowd of women have moved on, but the damage is done.

Hehh—eh'TSGHT! There's a low rumble of Ryan's voice offering a “bless you” and Shane nearly tells him not to bother. There's going to be no end in sight to this.

Shane stares at Fabian, trying desperately to focus on the performance. He takes a deep, steadying breath even as he feels Ilya's own breath rush in and then – Nhhh-TSGHT! Tsh'GGHT!

Ilya's vodka glass is now on a nearby ledge, abandoned in favour of one hand around Shane's waist and the other rubbing at his offended nose. Ilya tucks his head back against Shane's neck and trails the edge of nose briefly along the skin there.

Shane closes his eyes, fighting the building desire. Ilya knows exactly what effect his sneezes have on Shane by this point and he's clearly trying to take advantage of it.

“Not here,” Shane growls softly. “Jesus, Ilya.”

“Can't help it,” Ilya whines into his ear. “So itchy...I....heh...ehh-TSGHT!”

Mercifully, Ilya is stifling the sneezes but Shane feels a small rush of warm air as Ilya sneezes against his t-shirt. 

Concussion recognition tools, Shane thinks, trying to bring his focus to the most boring thing he can think of at present. They'd recently reviewed concussion protocols for their Game Changers hockey camps. What are the reasons you should immediately call an ambulance? Neck pain...double vision...loss of consciousness...

TSHH! Hehh'khtshh!—eh’tsghtt!

Ilya's hips are pressing against Shane's ass as he sneezes and Ilya is holding on to Shane...he is fucking doing it on purpose. And it's working. Shane can feel the insistent press against the fly of his jeans. Thank god the club is dark.

“Are you alright?” Ryan asks, staring at Ilya. 

There's a thick sniffle next to Shane's ear and then the low rumble of Ilya's voice, now congested-sounding.

“Some had on too much perfume. Sorry – this happens -I just – I –ehh—hehh'TSGHTT!”

Shane has to bite his lip to stop a moan as Ilya bumps against his ass again.

“Maybe we should step outside?” he says through gritted teeth. “Get some air?”

“Yes, good idea,” Ilya agrees.

They make their way across the back of the club – Ilya still occasionally shuddering with suppressed sneezes and Shane trying to subtly hold his hands over his crotch.

Ilya shoulders open an exit door past the bathrooms that leads out to an alley behind the club. It's a warm summer night and insects buzz around a nearby utility light mounted by the door.

“Oh my god,” Shane groans, leaning against the brick wall of the building. “You can't do that in public, Ilya.”

“Do what?” Ilya says innocently, coming towards Shane and reaching down to palm over his jeans. “Make you so hard you nearly cry?”

“I swear, either you stay out here until you stop...until you stop doing you know what...or we might as well just call it a night and go home now,” Shane says, pushing Ilya's hand away even though he wants nothing more than to be touched.

“Or we could -”

“I am not letting you give me a hand job in a back alley downtown, Ilya.”

Shane looks up at his husband for the first time since the perfume assault, and a rush of affection and desire washes over him. Ilya's nose is pink at the edges and his eyes are starting to water.

“Especially not like this,” Shane adds, reaching up to thumb a bit of irritation away from Ilya's eyelashes. 

Ilya sniffles and shrugs.

“Fine. Longer we wait, less I sneeze.”

“I know that isn't true,” Shane says with a smirk as he takes out his phone to call their car service. He taps a few buttons on an app and pockets the phone again. “They'll be on the side street in two minutes.”