someone get me sick

-

“Yeah, but look at the third paragraph on page ten,” Shane said, leaning forward intently in his desk chair. Something flickered at the edge of his awareness, distracting him for a second, but he wasn’t sure what exactly it’d been. It wasn’t long before the ‘something’ happened again. And again.

“hrr’ishhuhh!...hrr’USHhhoo!...”

Now that his focus had been broken, he was able to catalog the sound. It was his boyfriend, sneezing. That was a relatively common occurrence, fortunately for Shane. Well, sometimes unfortunately. Like right now, since he was on a business call–

“uhhSSSHhh’uh!”

“Um, sorry, could you repeat that?”

Shane swallowed nervously as he realized that the sneezes were getting louder and louder, like Ilya was getting closer. And closer–

“huh’ISSCH’shhue!”

–until… were those footsteps? Fuck, was he right outside the door? Could the brand reps hear him? Shane swung around and saw Ilya peeking through the doorway with a shit-eating grin on his face. He was holding a tissue rolled into a point in his hand, and Shane watched in horror as the curly-haired menace inserted it back into his nostril. His look of mirth turned into one of agonized desperation, and then–

“AH’ISCHHUHhhh!” –an enormous sneeze that seemed to bounce off the walls of the room.

“Bless you!” chirped a chorus of voices in Shane’s ear. His brain short-circuited. Growing warmth in his cheeks told him he was starting to blush.

“No, I,” Shane said without thinking, grimacing as his brain came back online. “I mean, thank you. Sorry. Excuse me for a minute.” He hit the mute button and lowered the phone.

“What are you doing?” he hissed at Ilya.

Ilya scrunched up his reddening nose with a huge sniff. “You have been on this call for so long, and I am so bored, Shane,” he whined. “Don’t you want to get off…” – he paused for dramatic effect – “...the phone? And spend time with your poor boyfriend?” He held up the wilting tissue with an impish smile. “I am much more exciting than some losers in suits…”

“Jesus– fucking–” Shane caught his lower lip between his teeth, blushing deeper. He was no stranger to handling the bleedthrough of Shane into Captain Hollander, especially with Ilya’s penchant for sexting him before Boston-Montreal games, but usually Captain Hollander didn’t have Ilya fucking Rozanov sneezing right in fucking front of him.

“Moy pomidor, you are so red,” Ilya cooed, his smile growing wicked. “You look very wound up tight. I am thinking you need to loosen up, sweetheart.” He slowly reinserted the tissue into his right nostril, and immediately his face went slack, his mouth dropping and his eyes glazing over. His breath hitched once, twice, three times, then he was jutting forward violently in Shane’s direction. “AESZCHhhh’uh! hhaah-! AESHH’uhhhh, hAESHHhhh’ue! -snrf-” Ilya straightened up with a little moan, leaning against the wall with a look of relief on his face. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Shane couldn’t take his eyes off Ilya even if he’d wanted to, staring hungrily. Would he ever get used to how stunning Ilya was? A strangled moan of his own escaped Shane’s clenched teeth, the heat of desire overtaking the confusing mix of feelings swirling in his gut. Lust was going three rounds with embarrassment and it was winning.

Ilya put his nose up to Shane’s ear and snuffled thickly, and Shane felt a shiver run through his entire body. “Get back on the call and tell them that you have something better to do.”

Shane picked up the phone, marshalled his last vestiges of professionalism, and unmuted. “Something’s come up. I’ll have my team reach out to reschedule.” He hung up without waiting for a reply, then flung himself at Ilya, who looked downward at Shane’s crotch and said, with a breathless laugh, “Yes, something has come up.”

“Shut up, Rozanov.”

Ilya laughed again. He’d been right – Shane definitely liked a little bit of danger.

***

It was already May, but it was the first sunny spring day they’d been able to spend together in Montreal, so Shane had suggested they do their morning run in a nearby park.

They were about two miles in when Shane heard Ilya mutter a swear and begin to slow to a jog. Shane matched Ilya’s pace as he stopped in front of a cherry blossom tree and bent down to tie his undone shoelace. Shane took a moment to sip from his water bottle and admire how the muscles in his boyfriend’s arms and calves flexed as he retied the laces with his long, deft fingers.

Ilya straightened up and picked up a pink petal from where it had fallen into his golden curls. Hm. Cherry blossom season in Montreal had been wreaking havoc on his allergies, as if Canada didn’t make him sneezy enough already. Shane (and his dick) had certainly taken notice, as Ilya knew by the number of times he’d caught him staring post-sneezing fit, eyes wide and pants tented with a massive boner. Now, Ilya looked down at the petal, then up at Shane, and grinned.

“It’s such a beautiful day outside, Shane,” he said, and something in his tone of voice made Shane’s “Ilya senses” tingle. Instead of warning him of imminent danger, they signaled that Ilya was about to go into menace mode.

“Yes…?” Shane said, eyes narrowing slightly as he searched Ilya’s expression. “That’s why I suggested this.”

“Mm, good choice,” Ilya said. He reached an arm up and delicately tugged at a branch covered in flowers. “Look at how pretty these flowers are. I bet that they smell so good.” He brought them right up to his nose and inhaled deeply.

Fucking. Hell. Was Ilya trying to kill him? Shane rolled his eyes at himself; of course Ilya was. He loved doing this shit to Shane… and, very deep inside, Shane had to admit he maybe, sort of, kind of liked it too.

Ilya snorted sharply and pulled back a little from the branch, his eyes blinking hard. “Mmm, d-delicious,” he said with a slight waver in his voice. “You have to smell these too, Shhhane.”

Shane clocked the hitch in Ilya’s voice mid-word, looked at Ilya, and frowned. Ilya looked back at Shane, angelic, like he’d never heard of the term “ulterior motive.”

Shane glowered at Ilya. He wanted to tell Ilya off, but there were enough other people enjoying the park to make him self-conscious. So instead, he leaned forward until his face was brushing the petals. They did smell nice, but judging from the events of the past minute, he suspected that they were amongst the many flowers that made Ilya sneeze.

“Don’t they -snf- smell good? Mahhhybe I should smell them agaihhhn…” Ilya leaned in close, pressing a sneaky kiss to Shane’s flushed cheek before burying his nose back in the blooms. He breathed them in once more, and it wasn’t long before he took in a huge hitching gasp, turned to the side and braced his hands on his knees.

“hh-hHh-hh’uuhh… AHH’ESSCHHHuhhh! hhiihESCHHHHuue! h’AHHHSCHOOOooh! … ihhSSCHEW–tSSHHiewww! heh’EHSSSSSHhhtt! EKSHHHHhh-huhhh! hhhAHTSSCHIEWww! ahdt’JSHHHeuh!”

He sneezed loudly, powerfully, and so, so itchily, judging by the irritation on his face and the sound of his sneezes. Shane was somewhat of a connoisseur by that point; he knew that the higher pitch and drawn out releases meant Ilya’s sinuses were desperate to expel the pollen. Tears began streaming down his cheeks, and he hastily wiped them away with his arm as the sneezes kept coming and coming.

“hyy’ISSSSHeewww! HEHH-isshoooo! ehhh’SHOOOO! …hk’ZZZISHHhhhue! ehHhH’hh’hHH! EHDD’JISSHHHhHUH!! huhhhjjussh’oooh! huhhh-uhhh…uhhCHHhsssst! ksssh-kssHhh-k’SSHHhhhue! hehh’TSSssCHEEWWh!”

In almost any other situation, Shane would have tissues within reach for Ilya. But not here, not out on a run. He just hadn’t thought about it, since tissues weren’t in his pre-run checklist. Rookie move; he’d need to change that. And, to add insult to injury, he was already chubbing up and these particular shorts weren’t going to hide that for long. He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, rolling it between his fingers as he watched Ilya.

The man’s eyes and nose were streaming, and with his typical tank top lacking sleeves, he began rubbing his face onto his bare shoulder to try and mop up the mess. Then, panting, he held the lower half of his shirt to his face and gave a long blow, exposing his abs. Shane swallowed, his mouth dry even though he’d just had some water, and tugged down on his shirt in a feeble attempt to obscure his rapidly hardening dick.

“À tes souhaits!” a voice cried out. Shane turned in its direction, spotting an elderly woman on a bench with scatters of birdseed around her.

Ilya smiled at her. “Berci,” he said stuffily. “Pardoddez-boi.” Shane bit his lip, hard. He didn’t think he’d heard Ilya speak French before; he was sure he’d remember, since it was definitely doing it for him. And with the congestion dulling Ilya’s consonants? His dick throbbed. Fuck, he was probably going to get arrested for public indecency any time now.

“Oh, you poor dear,” The woman said in French. “Allergies are so bad this time of year. The pollen count has been very high lately.”

Ilya looked a little confused. “Excusez-moi,” he directed politely at the woman, then: “Shane,” he said with an amused smile and a cheery voice, “could you translate, please?”

Shane’s eyes widened with consternation, but he couldn’t even say anything because it was an objectively reasonable request. “Um,” he had to clear his throat before continuing, “she said… Poor thing, all–” His brain had, with its usual efficiency, already translated her words, but his mouth stumbled over them. “Allergies,” he mumbled, blushing, “are terrible this time of year. The, the pollen has been, um, high.”

“Oh,” Ilya said, his smile growing wider. “Could you tell her that she’s right, and that my allergies are making me very itchy?”

Shane stared incredulously at Ilya, trying to beam the message “Seriously?!” into his boyfriend’s brain.

Ilya returned his gaze, incorrigible. “It’s not polite to keep her waiting, Shane,” he said with a wink.

Shane exhaled sharply, unable to resist discreetly elbowing Ilya before turning toward the woman. “Apologies, ma’am, my… friend, he does not speak French. He agrees with you and says that… ah, his allergies are making him very itchy.” Despite his embarrassment and unease, the idea of saying something else didn’t even cross his mind.

The woman nodded sympathetically. “Your friend needs an antihistamine and a cup of peppermint tea.”

“She says you need meds and some peppermint tea,” Shane relayed smoothly. This sentiment, at least, didn’t make him want to squirm out of his skin.

Ilya nodded back to her and put a hand to his chest, looking ever the gallant (pain-in-the-ass) gentleman, and for a moment Shane thought he might actually bow to her. “Merci beaucoup, Madame.” As the woman blushed, Ilya turned to Shane and said, loudly, “So true, Shane, a Benadryl would probably help these horrible allergies I have that make me sneeze and sneeze–”

Instead of doing what he wanted to do, which was shout, “Oh my God, are you fucking kidding me,” at Ilya, Shane flashed Ilya his best murder eyes, grabbed his shirt, and started towing him back towards the apartment as fast as he could manage with his dick hard enough to drill diamonds.

Ilya smiled widely as Shane dragged him along. He always enjoyed getting Shane worked up, but lately he’d especially liked doing it the sneezy way. The parallels between sneezing and sex were obvious – the release of a satisfying sneeze (or six) could be surprisingly orgasmic – but after spending so much time planning how to indulge Shane and then doing so, he was starting to understand Shane’s attraction.

He could see how hitching breaths and sighs of relief could sound sexy. After all, Ilya loved how Shane gasped and moaned and sighed during sex, how his breaths grew higher pitched and more erratic when he was about to come. Sneezing involved a lot of noises like that, actually.

He’d felt the intimacy in being known. Although he’d never paid much attention to his own sneezes, now he noticed that his sneezes sounded and felt different when he was inducing manually than when his allergies were acting up. And Shane had noticed that, too. Ilya flashed back to a hookup from a few years ago…

“Bless you. Do you want me to close the window?”

Ilya wiped his hand beneath his runny nose after his latest triple and, blinking away allergic tears, turned towards the man on the other side of the bed. “What?”

“It’s been really windy and the pollen’s super high, so…” Shane turned dark red. “...I can close the window if you want.”

Ilya stared at Shane for a moment. He looked so beautiful when he blushed, not that Ilya would ever admit it out loud. “I mean, sure. If is what you want.” He rubbed at his nose, which was definitely growing itchy again. Stupid fucking Canadian air.

Shane looked down at Ilya’s nose, took in a breath, and nodded before getting out of bed. Ilya was pleased to notice that he was already hard again.

It was as if he’d been telling Ilya “I know you, and I love you,” all those years ago.

***

“AESZCHHhh’ooh! hy’ESCHHHh’yew! HAH’AHHH’SHOO! -snrf-”

“Bless you!” Shane looked at Ilya with concern, reaching out to brush his hand against Ilya’s cheek. He’d felt awkward about blessing Ilya before he confessed his kink and for a while after, but it finally felt like second nature. And, honestly, he loved saying it now. Well, not when his boyfriend was trying to see how hard he could make Shane blush in public, but when they were alone.

Despite how terrible he looked - dark circles cratered beneath his tired eyes, tangled curls askew, nose bright scarlet from all the sneezing and blowing and rubbing he’d been doing - Ilya smiled at Shane’s blessing. “Thagk you,” he said croakily, reaching for yet another tissue to blow his nose loudly into.

“You didn’t sound this bad on the phone yesterday,” Shane said, frowning.

Ilya shrugged. “Is not so bad,” he said, but both of them knew that he was lying.

“Well, I’m glad I brought you these, then.” Shane went over to his bag, dug around inside it, and emerged with a stack of plaid handkerchiefs. He returned to the couch and held them out to Ilya. “I, um, don’t know if you like using these, but when I’m sick, I do. So, I thought…” Shane trailed off awkwardly, starting to blush.

Ilya looked a little skeptical but took one of the handkerchiefs and used it to wipe his nose. The look of relief on his face was palpable. “Better,” he said softly, then looked at Shane with adoration and gratitude in his eyes. “Doesn’t hurt my nose at all.”

Shane smiled, relieved. “Good, your nose looks like it could use a break. How else are you feeling?”

Sitting up a little straighter, Ilya took a stuffy-sounding breath in and out, as if to evaluate how else he was feeling. He ended up looking a little exhausted from the effort. “Heavy?” he said, questioning. “I think. Not sure.” He scrunched up his gorgeous nose with a huge snuffle.

Shane nodded like that made perfect sense, then looked Ilya up and down, doing his own evaluation. “I’m gonna make you some soup. You stay on the couch, baby.”

Ilya perked up at the mention of soup, which eased Shane’s worry a bit. He couldn’t have been feeling as miserable as he looked if he was still hungry. Shane rose, pressed a kiss to the top of Ilya’s head, and went to the kitchen. Shane wasn’t a great cook, but he’d been making miso soup since he was a kid. The groceries he’d picked up on his way over were still in their bags on the island. First he set some water to boil, since that would take the longest, then started unpacking. He knew that Ilya didn’t have any Asian-style soup spoons, so he’d bought a couple. He washed and dried those, then grated some ginger, which he added to the heating water along with a sprinkle of instant dashi. Next, he drained and diced some soft tofu, chopped some green onion, and spooned some miso into a bowl, glancing over at Ilya in between tasks. When the water started boiling, he added the tofu and lowered the heat. He ladled some water over the miso to loosen the thick paste and began stirring.

Partway through dissolving the miso, a high-pitched gasp made Shane startle and turn towards his boyfriend. Ilya was holding one of the handkerchiefs in both hands, his face screwed up in irritation, mouth wide open as he practically whined out hitching breaths.

“hy’ihh! hahh! ahh, hah, haAAESHHhhmff! hy’AASHHHH’uhmf! hy’ESSCHHhhmff!” The sneezes were muffled into the handkerchief but still loud enough for Shane to hear every dragged-out syllable, every ragged intake of breath between them, every ounce of desperation shouting its way out of his body.

God, those were hot, Shane thought, a warm twinge of arousal snaking through his body. Of course he would rather that Ilya was feeling better… but he also couldn’t deny how incredibly sexy he found his boyfriend like this. He swallowed to make sure his voice would be strong and steady enough to carry over the space between them before calling, “Bless you, bless you, bless you!” Maybe Ilya was still out of it enough that he wouldn’t clock Shane’s reaction to all of him? Shane realized that he’d stopped stirring and took a second to be grateful he hadn’t dropped the bowl before scraping the mixture back into the pot.

“gy’uhh,” Ilya groaned. “Spasibo,” he mumbled before blowing his nose with a honk that echoed throughout the living room and into the kitchen.

Shane stirred everything together, a shiver running down his spine as Ilya blew his nose, then ladled soup into two bowls and topped them each with a generous handful of green onion. He left the clean up for later, when he was pretty sure Ilya would be napping, and brought the bowls over to the couch.

He put one on the coffee table, started to hand the other to Ilya, then paused. “Do you have any, uh… any sneezes coming? Before…” Shane looked down at the gently steaming bowl in his hands, then at his gorgeously cold-ridden boyfriend. It wasn’t that he’d ever actually given someone a cup of tea and then had to snatch it back before it spilled because they were about to sneeze, but he’d (fuck, he was almost blushing just from thinking about it) read enough kink erotica that the question had just popped into his mind.

Ilya gave an experimental sniff, paused for a moment, then shook his head. “I ab okay.”

“Well,” Shane said, handing the bowl over, “let me know if you do, okay?”

Ilya held the bowl closer to his face, chapped nostrils flaring wide as he breathed in the steam. For a brief moment, the ill man’s eyes slipped closed and a little smile played out on his face. Then, his brows began to furrow and his eyes began to narrow, and he was looking over at Shane with a mixture of confusion and fear on his face. He pushed the bowl back into Shane’s hands with a gasping series of “ihh-hiHhh…” noises that conveyed his absolute, unavoidable need to sneeze.

Shane accepted the bowl, fully on auto-pilot, eyes locked on Ilya’s face. Holy shit. Was this cliche scenario from sneeze fiction actually happening?

Ilya buried his face into his shoulder with a strong, wet triple. “hhhGGXHhhhuh! ehh’RRRIIISSsshhh! huhIISSSSCHHooo!” He grabbed for the handkerchief, which had been lying draped over his thigh, and used it to wipe at the tears in the corners of his eyes. Then he held it to his nose and blew with another enormous congested honk. When he lay back against the couch cushions with a huge sigh, his entire body seemed to deflate.

Apparently it was…. or, well, it had. Shane, still dazed with disbelief, looked between the bowl and Ilya. Ilya looked back at him, wet-eyed and red-nosed, and raised an eyebrow. “Zayyy-chik?” he said in a singsong tone with a smile that instantly brightened his pallid complexion. Embarrassingly, it made Shane a little weak in the knees. “Are you not going to bless mbe, Shade?”

“Fuck, sorry,” Shane said apologetically, then gave his a head a little shake. “Bless you, baby.” He didn’t often call Ilya that when blessing him, but the endearment had felt right this time. And he didn’t even mind how fucking breathy he sounded.

Ilya’s eyes grew very wide, and a flush spread over his cheeks. “Thagk you,” he said, sounding just as breathy as Shane, then snuggled in a little closer and put his head on Shane’s shoulder. “You take such good care of me, lyubimyy.”

“I like taking care of you,” Shane admitted, leaning his head against Ilya’s and wrapping his arm around the blond. “And I want to make up for all the times I couldn’t.”

Ilya was quiet for a moment, then sniffled thickly and took a shaky breath in and out. “Ya tebya lyublyu,” he replied, sounding like he was trying his best not to cry. Shane turned his head and murmured, “I love you too,” in between pressing kisses against Ilya’s curls.

Tears sprung to Ilya’s eyes. Shane was so sweet and thoughtful, so gentle and tender with him - it was overwhelming, but in the best way. The fact that the man Ilya loved so deeply loved him back, with the same amount of fervor, still shocked him. But here he was, a gross, snotty mess, and Shane was holding him tight like that didn’t even matter. He’d blessed Ilya dozens of times, kissed his forehead to check for fever, made him soup; hell, he’d even bought him nice soft handkerchiefs because he’d been worried about Ilya’s nose getting sore. Ilya let out a sob into Shane’s chest. He had never, ever thought that he could have a love like this.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Shane said softly into Ilya’s hair and started to rub slow, soothing circles on the blond’s back. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

Ilya sniffled again, cringing at just how liquid the sound was. “S-sorry,” he mumbled, feeling his cheeks heat.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Shane said sincerely. “You’re so sick, baby, you can’t help it.” He picked up the handkerchief from where it was laying, sifting the fabric through his fingers to find a dry patch, and brought it up to Ilya’s nose, hovering just above the irritated skin. “Here, blow.”

Even though he was a little embarrassed, Ilya’s nose was definitely going to start dripping soon if he didn’t do something about it. When he moved his face to nuzzle into the cloth, he felt his stomach flip as Shane placed his fingers over his nose, comfortable and assuring and practiced. Ilya blew, and when he paused to take a breath before blowing again, Shane adjusted the handkerchief to a fresh dry spot before holding it back to his nose. It was like the two of them had choreographed the motions, they were so in sync. Like two hockey players on the same line, passing the puck back and forth without even needing to look across the ice at each other. Knowing what the other’s next move would be.

As Ilya blew again, something at the bridge of his nose twinged. His face scrunched against it, but the tickle only grew stronger, and with a flash of panic he realized that he was going to sneeze into Shane’s hand. “Sh-Shhhane…!” he tried to warn him.

“It’s okay,” Shane reassured him. “Go ahead, baby, get those sneezes out. I’ve got you.” He was absurdly proud of himself for how steady he’d managed to keep his voice, sensing that Ilya needed that from him right now.

Ilya had been doing his best to hold back, to stop being disgusting, to avoid looking weak in the eyes of the one person who meant more to him than anyone in the world, but something in Shane’s voice put his mind at ease. Allowing himself to let go, he pitched forward into Shane’s cloth-covered hand. “heHh…eHhh…! hy’ESZCHHhhhmfff! gy’AASHHhhh’umfff! hAAASHHHhh’mfff!”

Maybe Ilya was delirious with fever, but he felt like now he understood the inherent vulnerability in sneezing. When he had to sneeze, his body was completely at the mercy of his nose and he was unable to concentrate on anything but the sensations coursing through him. He was… exposed. Letting Shane see him and being rewarded with Shane’s desire? Undeniably sexy.

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

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

His favourite, unquestionably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you have a fever?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

__

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

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

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

“Fuuck. Snff. Hollander.” 

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

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

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

"Hheh-- a'dczh'UUoo!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. 

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

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

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

“Bless you,” Hollander mumbles.

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

“Shut up.”

__ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

__

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

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

Rozanov. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Glad to hear it, man.” 

“I’m good, yeah.”

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

“All good,” Shane assures him. 

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

Impulsively, he shoots out a text. 

Jane: I got your cold, asshole. 

Immediately, a reply.

Lily: Sorry (((

Lily: but i did enjoy that asshole ))

Jane: fuck off

Lily: feel better Jane <3 

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

Lily: maybe i did do biological warfare

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

Lily: i almost feel bad. 

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

Early in their relationship, Kip used to fantasise about times like this. Wistful but in no way certain there’d ever actually be a day when they could be seen together in public without Scott skirting on the edge of a panic attack, never mind hold hands. Or press a kiss into each other’s cheek. Or cuddle up next to each other in the corner of a booth in a bar. Each gesture that once felt like an incriminating little snapshot inside their own heads, encased in barbed wire and branded a danger, repurposed into being, well, normal.

Even so, Kip’s heart still fluttered when he felt Scott’s hands on him where anyone was free to look. Tonight they’d done all three. He still went flush with pride at how far his man had come; felt joyful for everything they had because Scott finally gave himself permission to be happy.

“hhH’ESSSCHEUH’hh!”

Scott emerged from the crook of his elbow with a tight, sharp sniff.

It hadn’t been the first sneeze of the night. Having spent most of it practically tucked under his arm, Kip had felt each of them coming too, mentally pulled out of the conversation each time the other man’s chest began to shake against his shoulder. He’d chance a glance up and sure enough, Scott’s expression would be hazy and faraway, silently losing the fight against–

“Ble-”

“hh’aH’EHDTZZS’sssch’huh!”

Scott had brushed it all off at the bar, declaring to the group when it became unavoidable that he must be allergic to something in the air. Someone’s perfume, or some cleaning product randomly driving him nuts. Kip knew better, though. He could hear the gravel in his voice, the hint of stuffiness starting to bleed into the edges of his voice; the urgency in his sniffles in the aftermath of each sneeze.

Though not without some degree of difficulty, for Scott’s sake Kip dutifully refrained from openly acknowledging it each time it happened, despite how doing so went against every polite instinct his mom and dad had gone to great lengths to instill in him, the ‘nice Brooklyn boy’ that he is. Let’s just say they’d learned of the very unintended impact Kip’s blessing had on him the, uh, hard way. 

But now, wrapped in the shrouded, comfortable cocoon of their home, the peace afforded them safety. Ever since the door snicked shut the air had crackled with something live and anticipatory, heavy with unspoken possibility as they danced round each other a bit now. Kip hadn’t realised he’d been keyed up waiting for something, but apparently he had. The sneezes simply said the word ‘go’ from the director’s chair.

“Bless you,” he emphasised, face creased with sympathy. God, Scott looked affected even just at that. Kip closed the distance between them and cupped the nape of his neck, pulling himself up onto his toes so he could kiss the hinge of Scott’s jaw. Kip felt the shiver wrack through him. “Those sounded like they hurt. Are you okay?”

Scott let out a huff of laughter. They all sound like that – always. “Not any more so than usual. I-I’m fine,” he said, punctuated by a sniffle. He hadn’t been able to look Kip in the eye as he said it, which wasn’t like him, not if he was actually trying to convince him of something.

Kip bit back a smile.

Oh, that’s what we’re doing.

“Are you sure?” Kip replied seriously, playing along. “You’ve been so sneezy tonight. You’re all sniffly now, and your nose is going all pick at the edges…” His searching gaze pinned Scott in place, who squirmed a little under the scrutiny. “I think you’re catching a cold, sweetheart.”

Kip felt like he could guide Scott to the edge of the earth and have him stand on the very edge with the way he relaxed under the palm of his hand. Honestly, it still made his head spin to be confronted with the fact that he could have any kind of command over a man like Scott. That he trusted him with his vulnerability like this. It made him feel so incredibly special.

“I-I don’t know…” Scott stuttered. “Maybe? Do you… do you think so?”

Kip tilted upwards, moving in to kiss him properly, but at the last second Scott swerved before their lips could connect. Kip just smiled, unsurprised.

“See? I think you know.”

Scott’s head dipped down again and Kip brought a hand to his face, imploring it ever so gently upwards with a cupped hand to his cheek. He let his thumb swipe delicately over the other man’s cheekbone, as if kissing with its pad in lieu of his mouth. Led by an ember of mischievous impulse, he shifted the focus of his fingers’ attention. Experimentally, he pressed his thumb into the spot between Scott’s eyebrows, satisfaction warming him when his face crumpled in relief.

“Does that feel good?”

Scott’s eyes had fluttered closed and he nodded silently, obediently.

Kip would bet he could make it feel even better.

He hummed his approval, replacing his thumb with his forefinger and trailing it lightly down the bridge of Scott’s nose. He flinched a little at the pressure when Kip pressed in a smidge, wiggling the cartilage as if trying to shake something loose. Kip froze, worrying for a split second that he’d hurt him, but when Scott’s eyes opened again, they did so into a look that was decidedly more hazy than aggrieved. His nostrils flared.

“Oh no, what’s this?”

Scott’s breath scissored dangerously, eyes filling with moisture as they fluttered closed. Meanwhile, Kip’s lips found his neck, kissing around to his throat where his breath was contracting. The cologne he’d applied earlier was well-faded by now, overwhelmed at this point by the scent of Scott himself, and something spiked in Kip’s stomach. His hand, teasing and exploratory, skimmed up Scott’s shirt to settle on the firm ridges of his abdomen.

“hhhuhH’AEH’DZZSSSHhhhh’uh!”

Kip hummed, the sound dripping in sympathy. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was just trying to ease some pressure, and look what happened. So sensitive.”

Caught between the urge to succumb to Kip’s ministrations or the still ever-pressing need to sneeze, though one hand had risen instinctively to press Kip in closer by the small of his back, the other he just managed to get to his face as he nudged it away, just over the top of Kip’s head.

“hhh’aH’EHTSSSCHhh’huh!”

“Bless you. Poor thing…”

Kip grabbed Scott’s cock through his jeans. Oh, he was rock hard; positively throbbing. It ripped a watery groan from the older man’s throat as he immediately rutted against Kip’s hand, chasing the friction as squeezed and rubbed with the practiced, expert rhythm of someone who knew his body like the back of his hand. Only–

“hhH’AEHHTCH’ssch’iew!”

The sneeze got away from him slightly, not quite as well covered as before, and the burst of spray glistened in the soft, warm lamplight.

“Oh, bless you, sweetheart – you don’t sound well at all.”

Each word Kip uttered was a precisely pointed jab at Scott’s resolve, the doting layered on intentionally thick. Left bleary-eyed and full of sniffles, but with the distinctly viral itch now seemingly ebbed, Scott appeared to only fall further into the heady encouragement of his attentions.

“I’mb sorry…” he mumbled, followed quickly by a thick sniffle. The sensation bothered him enough that he spared the back of a hand to mash his nose into, scrubbing it back and forth with a slick, congestion clicking sound.

Kip’s expression crumpled. “Hey – you have nothing to be sorry for, okay? Not a thing. It’s gonna be alright. Y’know why?”

Scott shook his head. “Ndo. Sdnfff. Why?”

“Because I’m going to take care of you.” Kip gave Scott’s erection a firm squeeze. “Starting with this, hm?”

Hooking his fingers down the waistband of Scott’s jeans, Kip directed him over to the edge of the couch. He popped open the button and shimmied them down a little on his hips, before gently coaxing Scott downwards. Feeling the heat of Scott’s gaze as he looked up at him from below, Kip wasted no time climbing into his lap and pulling his dick out of his pants. In a bit of a pinch, he spat into his own hand before taking Scott in hand, his stroke calm and rhythmic.

Scott’s eyes had glazed over slightly, gleaming as they took him in, openly adoring and worshipful but slightly unsure, begging for something he couldn’t give himself permission to vocalise. Kip couldn’t help himself. He started to move in, but Scott instinctively stiffened.

Kip held his gaze resolutely, bringing a hand round to the back of his head to hold it in place, and when he spoke his voice was low, warm, trickling like honey. “It’s okay…” he assured him, inching his face closer, closer, as he muttered it over and over again, quieter and quieter each time, like an incantation to lull Scott into a trance with. “It’s okay… this is okay… s’okay….”

Scott’s shoulders relaxed again as he eventually gave himself over to the moment with Kip’s insistence, sighing into his mouth as their lips slotted together. Time melted away as they kissed, Scott’s hands finding Kip’s ass as they tended to do, kneading and squeezing as Kip’s hand worked his length with consistent, maddening efficiency. Kip licked into his mouth, suckling on Scott’s bottom lip in the way that usually has him unable to keep from smiling against his face.

Instead, now, Kip feels him pull away, sucking in what sounded like a much-needed breath, sniffling back the audibly growing congestion settling in.

“Awww, you’re starting to get all stuffy, I can hear it…” Kip continued stroking him as he said it, letting his thumb circle, featherlight, over his red, swollen head, catching some of the pre-cum gathering in his slit. Scott whimpered. His eyes grew heavy lidded, his body tensing up as Kip felt him tiptoe closer and closer to the edge with each stroke, each word.

He had him in the palm of his hand.

Kip hummed. “You need a tissue, don’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll get you one when we’re done…” He huffed out a chuckle. “Won’t be too much longer, now. I can feel it. You’re so hard it must be painful, baby. Let me take care of you right… you can let go whenever you need to…”

As if to affirm his point, Kip picked up the pace, Scott’s body jolting in answer.

Kip, feeling his blood heat and his own cock harden in the face of just how turned on Scott evidently was, reattached himself to the side of Scott’s neck, laying kiss after indulgent, suckling kiss all the way across the hot, stubbled skin, right up under his ear. Fuck, Scott has to go to practice day after tomorrow and he should probably be more careful… Scott will never hear the end of it from the guys if he rocks up with a hickey.

Scott was shaking now, more so with every handful of seconds that passed as he got closer and closer to the precipice, even his sniffling growing all the more desperate as his breaths grew laboured and staccato.

“S-Sorry, I h’hhave to–”

“Again?”

Scott nodded, regretful. Kip sighed.

“Go ahead. Get it all out, sweetheart, you’ll feel better–” Kip’s lips found the shell of Scott’s ear, his next words hushed and uttered directly into it. “...but you’ll be going straight to bed after.”

“hhUH’IHHHDZSSTCHhh’uh!”

Scott came with a strangled moan on the tail end of that final sneeze as he spilled into Kip’s hand, the sound enunciating an edge of hoarseness to his voice Kip could tell was likely to stick around now for the next few days as he coaxed him through his orgasm, with utterings of ‘bless you…’ … ‘there you go…’ … ‘come for me…’ … ‘so good for me, look at you… so good…’.

God, he looked so hot when he came. He wasn’t sure he’d ever quite get over it.

With Scott’s body now lax and sated, he slumped back into the couch, the heaviness of lust gradually cleared away from his gaze with his release, sheepish gratitude rising to replace it in the aftermath as he rushed to thumb away where his nose was now running into the crease of his nostril.

“Sorry,” he repeated, appearing to be flirting with the idea of being ashamed, but not quite able to get there. Good, Kip thought, you absolutely shouldn’t.

“Hey– don’t. You’re totally fine. I wanted to help.” Kip joked, his tone light as he caught Scott’s averted eye, smiling in a way the other man was helpless but to mirror. Kip sat back a little in Scott’s lap and carded his, um, free hand through his hair. “I meant what I said, though– you don’t sound good and we’re getting you into bed pronto.”