snz time

Inducing a red and stubborn and VERY snotty nose that is sick and tired of being sick and tired 🙈

“Hi.” Shane said, without looking across, as Ilya climbed into the car, shoving his duffle bag over their shoulders into the backseat.

Ilya stared at him for a moment in sullen silence, before parroting “Hi.” back at him, mocking his positive tone.

“Sorry. Bad journey, then?” Shane asked, starting the car and pulling out of the parking spot.

“You are kidding.”

“No, sorry-” He knew it had been a bad journey, he’d had a fifteen minute phone call with Ilya about how bad of a journey it had been where all the swear words- and maybe a quarter of the other words- had been in abrupt, angry Russian. “-I meant after the bag thing.”

“There is no ‘after’. Bag is still lost. So ‘thing’ is still happening.” Ilya huffed, flopping back in his seat and staring disinterestedly out the window.

“Right, sorry.” Shane shook some of the tension from his shoulders as they pulled out onto the open road. “Did you manage to replace anything at duty free, or do you want to stop somewhere, or…?”

“Got deodorant and candy and uh-” Ilya hesitated, before making a motion like a spray bottle with his hand, “Chht chht, you know?”

“Cologne?”

“Yes. You like?”

“Oh you’re wearing it now?” Now that he thought about it, he had noticed that Ilya smelled different when he'd first gotten in, but they’d been apart for a little while and he had bigger things, like not being photographed in a car together, on his mind at the time. “Yeah, it’s nice.” Not as nice as his usual one, though, Shane thought, a little jarred by the inconsistency.

“You don't like, then.”

“I said it was nice!” Clearly Ilya was in the mood to bicker, and after a reasonably uneventful two weeks by himself, Shane didn't mind. He'd put up with anything so long as it meant getting to be in the same car as his boyfriend again.

“Nice is not real compliment. Means you don't like.”

Shane didn’t fight him on that, he was still forming his opinion, but it didn’t look overly positive so far. “You didn't say if you wanted to stop anywhere.” He deflected.

“No, is fine. I wear same clothes and bad cologne for whole summer.”

The Canadian sighed, mentally adjusting his expectations for the tone of the drive back to the cottage. “Okay then.”

…

They'd fallen into reasonably comfortable silence, Shane allowing himself to think about all the things he'd planned for their time together over the summer, (which he’d intended to talk to Ilya about as they drove), mentally checking and rechecking he had everything they'd need, despite already having made the rounds thrice before leaving the house. At least they were almost halfway there.

Ilya was so still and quiet next to him that Shane was starting to wonder if he was asleep, or just very adept at sulking. He'd considered turning the radio on, but couldn't remember what station he'd left it on last, not eager to open himself up to critique of his music taste. So, silence, and nothing to distract him from driving other than his thoughts. And the awareness that he was blinking slightly more often than usual, which was interesting. To him. Obviously Ilya would think that was a ridiculously boring observation.

After a while, his nose seemed to also decide to betray him with a departure from the norm, trialling a wavering, fluttery, tickling sensation that Shane couldn't instinctively identify. It made its intentions known after only about a minute, however, intensifying to the point where imagining any outcome other than sneezing was wishful thinking. Not while driving. He fucking hated doing this while driving…

Reluctant, Shane reached up to pinch his nose, stealing one last glance at the empty road before, “hhNGTt!”

“G-”

“hHNGTt!”

“God bless you.” Ever since he’d figured out that the acknowledgement was even more embarrassing to Shane than the act, the Russian had made it a point to say the full English phrase every single time.

“Thanks.” Shane swallowed, drumming his fingers awkwardly on the steering wheel when Ilya’s gaze didn’t shift away from him again. It took close to 30 seconds for him to give in to the stare. “What?”

“You are holding them in again.”

He flushed at the reminder, the implication that their relationship was somehow backsliding because he couldn’t remember that it was fine to be gross in front of Ilya, or that he wouldn’t think it was gross, or whatever it was he was supposed to be internalising. “Sorry. I’m driving, though.”

“That is what this is?”

“Yes.” Shane said decisively.

“You are sure?” Ilya pushed, leaning in so his elbows were on the centre console, chin in his hands, probably looking ridiculously angelic, but Shane had decided not to take his eyes off of the view out of the windshield now, apparently, so he couldn’t confirm.

“I’m sure.”

“Mm.” The blond went back to sounding dissatisfied again, sitting back in his seat.

He wasn’t sure. Honestly he’d just freaked out at the idea of breaking the silence and tried his best not to, for no particular reason. But now he was freaking out because he’d sneezed twice and he could still feel that sensation, high up in his nose, buzzing in his sinuses, foreboding. He never sneezed while driving. What the hell was going o-

“hEhNGTt!”

“Hollander.”

“hEHNGTCh! Sorry.” Totally unintentionally, that one had slipped mostly by him, Shane scrambling to cover enough of his face in time to catch it.

“God bless you.”

Shane gritted his teeth against the multitude of sudden-onset discomforts. “Thanks.”

“So it is because you are driving, or because you are sick?”

“I’m not sick.”

“And you are barely driving.” Ilya glanced over his shoulder at the speedometer.

“Ily-”

“So you hate me.”

“No!” Shane threw a glance across at him, to see the Russian staring dramatically out of the passenger side window. “Stop it.” He reached across to touch Ilya’s leg, but the blond pulled back before he made contact.

“Ew, you sneezed on that!”

“N-no I- I didn’t! I used the other one.” This was stupid, they both sounded like petulant children. Shane thought. But that didn’t stop his face from heating up at the accusation.

“I am pretty sure it was that one.”

“They’re my fucking hands, so I would know.”

“They are your hands, so keep to yourself.” Ilya shot back, pleased with himself.

“Fine.” Shane put his hand back on the wheel, only to remove it seconds later to knuckle at his right eye, which was stinging a bit. If things could stop interrupting his view of the road for ten seconds, that would be great.

“Are you crying?” The Russian’s tone, while still derisive, was slightly softer now, just in case the answer was yes.

“No, shut up. Stop looking at me.”

“What do I look at, then? Is all trees, and road, and trees, and oh-!” Ilya feigned surprise, looking out of the window, “-Road!”

“What did you want, a lazy river lined with naked lumberjacks?” Oh God, why had that been his first thought?

The blond turned back to face him again, leaning in closer in Shane’s peripheral vision. “Maybe. What do they look like?”

“You’re such a-” Shane grimaced as the itch in his face grew sharper, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth and raising his forearm to his face, forgoing his elbow to preserve his view of the road. “hEHTDSHh!”

“Wow.” Ilya somehow enunciated all three letters of the word individually, in a way that sent a shiver of scrutinization down the brunet’s spine.

“hEHTSHhew!”

“God bless you. Okay, you cannot say you are not sick now bec-”

“hhEHSHhew!” When Shane opened his eyes, they were watering desperately, and he blinked quickly, trying to keep his focus, and the car, on the road, only slightly less bothered about keeping the tears from running down his cheeks.

“Budʹzdorov.” The blond’s tone was totally sober now, all his attention on his boyfriend.

“What?” The Canadian choked out.

“Is Russian for ‘bless you’.” Ilya explained. “I think you should stop driving.”

What the fuck was going on? He’d been fine on the way there, but now-

“hheh…EHTDSHhew!”

“Shane.”

“Fuck, sorry. I’m pulling over.”

…

It was a pretty empty road, and technically this counted as an emergency, Shane reassured himself as he turned the engine off, reaching for the door handle to get out of the car. Suddenly the small space felt suffocating.

“I just need a second.” He muttered to Ilya as he unclipped his seatbelt and slipped out of the car, shutting the door behind him and walking around the back to get further onto the verge and away from the road.

The air was cool and clean out here, and he felt grounded by the idea that he was home, even with this strange foreign feeling taking over him, he was in a familiar area, able to recognise the trees, and the road, and the- fuck, Ilya had been right, it literally was just trees and road.

Shane took a second deep breath of fresh air, though it hitched as he attempted to breathe through his nose, the desperate tickly feeling awakening within him again.

“hhEHt-” The sensation died down again, though he’d intended to actually let the sneeze out this time, wondering if holding it in was what had gotten him into this situation in the first place. Absent-mindedly, he reached up to rub at his nose as he let his mind wander, avoiding thinking about getting back in the car to see Ilya’s discerning gaze again, and his stupid ridiculously attractive voice saying-

“You are waiting to die out here or something?”

He turned around to his boyfriend standing behind him, sans sunglasses, staring at him critically. “No. I’m just taking a minute.”

“It has been a minute. It has been like four minutes.” Ilya moved closer, smoothing Shane’s hair back to look at his face, and draping his arms over the Canadian’s shoulders. “You have stopped sneezing, though.” He added quieter, gentler. Something about the way he pronounced that word was…

“I’m fine. It was just- just a random itch.”

“Really? Because it sounded like a bug was stuck in your face.” He said disbelievingly, abruptly returning to bluntness.

Shane briefly wondered if he was still trying to imply he was sick, and had just mixed up the language for that, or if he literally meant what he’d said, before the mental image of having a bug up his nose got a little too vivid, and his nose started to twitch embarrassingly.

The blond frowned, his focus also zeroing in on the offending appendage, linking his hands loosely behind Shane’s neck so he couldn’t escape.

“hehH-” Reluctantly, the brunet steepled his hands over his nose and mouth, ducking into the space between the two of them. “hTDSHh! hhTSHh!”

“God bless you.” Was waiting for him when he surfaced, as was an affectionate kiss to the forehead that sparked something fluttering in Shane’s chest.

“Sorry. Thanks. I don’t kn-hhIHT-” He bit his tongue hard to keep the sneeze at bay.

Ilya pouted. “Ow. Stop that.”

“I- hhIH- for f-uHh-cks s-hEhTDSH! hhEHTSHhew!”

“Budʹzdorov. You are allergic to something, yes?”

Shane rubbed his nose as he straightened up. “Like fucking what? My own car? The same air I’ve been surrounded by for two weeks already?-”

Their eyes met in realisation, Ilya relinquishing his grip and retreating several paces immediately. “It is me.” Shit, of course it fucking was.

“No, it isn’t.” The cologne, probably. Why was that the one thing he’d been able to replace?

“Yes, it is.” The blond frowned, knuckling at his own nose.

“Fuck. How are we supposed to get home if I can’t even sit in the same car as you?” The underlying buzz of discomfort that the few changes to their plan- Ilya losing his bag, new cologne, no debrief in the car, having to pull over- had caused, swelled into a roar of panic in his ears.

“We will figure it out.” Not helpful. Not helpful. Fuck, but he was trying to be.

“Unless you’re planning on sitting on the roof, I don’t know what there is to figure out. You can’t shower out here, and you’re covered with cologne.” Shane almost snapped, forcing himself to take a deep breath afterwards to keep things from escalating further.

Ilya cocked his head, and then pulled off his shirt and swiped at his neck and chest with it a bit. “This is better, right?” As a de-escalation tactic? Actually yes. It was very hard to focus on panicking and staring at his bare chest at the same time. As a fix for the cologne issue?-

“Maybe?”

“I will drive. And we can have the windows d-hHh-” Ilya’s face flickered into surprise for a second before it started mirroring Shane’s expression over the past few minutes, and then disappeared behind his recently doffed shirt.

“hhKk! hKKh! KKh! hiHKSHH! KSHh! hhKSHh! hAHKSHh! hhah… aHKSHhOo!”

“Fuck. Bless you.” Yeah, no, they absolutely could not have the fucking windows down.

“Thank you.” Ilya surfaced, looking endearingly frustrated as he wriggled his nose.

“Fine, you can drive. Just get back in before you can’t see the road properly either.”

“You can’t see the road? You are standing on it.”

The brunet sighed “Ily-”

“aHH-” The Russian cut him off, inadvertently finishing his sentence for him as he sucked in another desperate pre-sneeze breath.

Shane watched him wander round the car, into the road without looking, shirt pressed to his face as he fumbled for the handle of the driver’s side door between sneezes. The cottage was starting to feel further than he’d thought, and getting there in one piece, something he foolishly hadn’t actually worried about, was now a pretty significant concern. Fuck.

…

They were back on the road, about 20km/h faster than before, but Shane was too busy taking short careful breaths through his mouth and scrubbing at his eyes to pick Ilya up on it.

A sharp gasp from the Russian had his head snapping up to check the road for oncoming traffic, though, only to realise that it was just the aftermath of their short jaunt outside taking effect as Ilya’s head tilted back slightly before snapping forward.

“hHKHh! KKh! hiHKKh!-” He made no attempt to cover, hands fixed on the wheel in an uncharacteristically sensible way. At first there was no real problem with that, the sneezes were tiny, practically just aggressive coughs, and he had no shirt or anything to cover his face so Shane couldn’t exactly fault him.

“-KSHh! hihKSHh! KSHhOo! hhhAHKSHhhuh!” But then the real, forceful sneezes started, and Shane watched through watering eyes as spray burst from those gorgeous full lips and danced joyfully in the sunlight on its way to shower over the steering wheel. As aesthetically pleasing as it might be in the moment, he needed to remember to wipe the wheel down once they were both home and less itchy. And also probably the seatbelts. And the entire dashboard.

“Bless you.” He said, after about ten fruitless seconds of trying to remember what Ilya had said the Russian for ‘bless you’ was.

“Thank you.” Ilya sniffled noisily.

“Sorry I made you get out of the car.” The brunet was filled with a newfound empathy for the horrors the Canadian flora was wreaking on his boyfriend, because if the Russian had felt like this last summer, Shane was literally never going to let him go outside again.

“You did not make me.”

“I- hhEHTCHh!”

“Godblessyou.” Knowing there would be another, Ilya rushed the phrase out, stubbornly still insisting on acknowledging each individual sneeze, despite the new increase in number.

“hEHTSHh!”

“God bless you.”

“Yeah, thanks, you can stop-hh- saying tha-ahHTSHh!”

Ilya took a hand off the wheel to place on Shane's shoulder, concerned.

Shane didn’t give him a chance to voice said concern, though, “hhihHTCHoo! God, sorry.”

“Fuck.” The blond’s voice was low and serious, and he studied Shane closely as he spoke, “You are dying?”

“Keep pPSH! your ahHTSHh! eyes on hTSHh! the r-road. hhEhTSHHh!” Every breath he took in to speak only served as fuel for the endless sneezes that now seemed more focused on quantity than quality, breathy useless things that did nothing to aid the itch burrowing itself into his very soul.

“Is not good.” Ilya protested. “You have never sneezed like this.”

“No, I definitely have.” Just never in front of anyone.

Shane flushed at the curious look his boyfriend threw him, reaching out to manually turn the blond’s head back to face the road, so they didn’t drift off course.

Ilya recoiled dramatically, though he did turn his eyes back to the road. “Ugh, you touch me with your sneeze hands again.”

“No! Shut up.” He actually had this time, but it wasn’t the worst fluid he’d had on his hands while putting them all over Ilya, and they both knew it.

“Is ok. I don’t care.” The blond reached out and grabbed his chin, swiping his thumb over one of Shane’s nostrils before the Canadian could react.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

Ilya, amused, wiped his thumb off on his own bare collarbone. “See? I wear your…sneeze juice with pride.”

“That’s fucking disgusting, Ilya.” Shane said, burying his face in his hands. His sneeze hands. “Oh my god.”

…

At some point, Shane had remembered that he had both napkins and tissues in the glove compartment- because of course he did, he’d witnessed Ilya’s tendencies to cover his face with anything and everything (or most often nothing) the summer before and stocked up- and frantically retrieved them in a lull between sneezes. Now he was using them mostly to hide his face from the Russian- because God only knew what it looked like- and partially as a sort of filter to stop him from breathing in any more cologne.

“You should blow.” Ilya commented, unhelpfully, as though Shane had forgotten what to do once he’d got the tissues over his face, and needed further instruction.

“I’m good.” He sounded almost like an entirely different person, courtesy of the congestion and throat strain, which was slightly distressing.

“You are not.” The blond poked him in the shoulder. “Blow.”

The Canadian complied, wincing at the shifting pressure in his sinuses, and coughing itchily a few times as the tickle danced over his palette to lodge in his throat. Ilya’s hand came to rest on the back of his neck. “Good.”

Shane flushed at the praise, breath snagging and causing him to cough again, slightly harsher this time. Ilya echoed the sound, prompting the brunet to glance across at him, checking if he was being mocked.

“Not copying.” He clarified, with a sniff, and another little cough, raising his shoulder to half block his mouth.

“I didn't think you were. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Ilya looked offended at the implied alternative. “Of course. Always okay.”

Shane didn't respond, deciding to take that at face value, leaning his forearms on his knees and bending forwards slightly, eyes shut, focusing on his breath.

Ilya waited a minute, focusing on taking the car smoothly around a bend before glancing back at his boyfriend. “What are you doing?”

“I’m just…breathing.” He wasn’t sure that was the truth, since every inhale felt frustratingly inadequate at this point, and his brain was starting to feel starved of oxygen. Maybe that was why he voiced the second sentiment, half smiling, inexplicably amused, “Need to focus. It’s hard.”

“Breathing is hard?” Ilya was clearly alarmed, something not just evident from his tone, but also the fact that he hadn’t made Shane’s words into a euphemism.

“No, I didn’t mean-”

But the driver was already hitting the button to lower Shane’s window for him, the fresh cool breeze rushing in to wash away the air that had started to feel agonisingly heavy and stale to the Canadian. He drank it in for all of 15 seconds before logic caught up with his gratitude.

“Wait, fuck. No.” He turned to see Ilya already digging his knuckles into one eye, the other squinted at the road. “Shut the window.”

“You will suffocate.”

“You’ll fucking suffocate with it open! And you’re driving!” Shane grabbed his wrist, dragging his hand away from his eye.

Whatever Ilya was about to say in response was interrupted by the universe siding with him as Shane ducked away to cough breathlessly into his elbow. The Russian extricated his hand from Shane’s grip and used it to rub the brunet’s back instead. If it was possible to rub someone’s back smugly, his boyfriend was currently doing so.

“hHKKh! KKh! hKSHHh! KSHhUh!-” Shane dragged his head up as the car swerved, almost imperceptibly, but still more than he’d appreciate while sitting in the passenger seat. Okay, he had to shut this down right now before they both died.

He grabbed another few tissues from the compartment and shoved them into the hand Ilya had been using to rub his back, now distractedly hovering in the space between them, moving it up to prompt him to cover his face.

“-hSHh! hiHMPHh!-”

The second the ‘sprinkler system’ was redirected, he leaned across, ducking out of Ilya’s eyeline so as not to further endanger them, and hit the driver’s side button to close the windows.

“-hAHMPHh! hHSHHhoo!” Without the noise of the wind rushing past them now that the windows were shutting, the vocality of the Russian’s sneezes was undeniable again, and Shane had to force himself not to flinch as the explosions half deafened him. Unrestrained and unapologetic as ever, Ilya finished the fit with a nose blow that was somehow even louder than the preceding sneezes.

“Bless you.” The brunet offered, sitting back in his seat and trying to ignore the ringing in his ears.

Ilya discarded the balled up napkins in his lap, throwing him a look that said very clearly that he would open all the windows again, and possibly remove the doors from the vehicle entirely if the Canadian gave him cause. “Thank you.”

With a glance out of the windshield, Shane estimated that they were ten minutes out from the cottage. Just ten more minutes.

…

As the car came to a stop, and the Russian turned the engine off, Shane felt the anxiety of the journey finally begin to ebb away. Sniffling thickly, Ilya reached over to comb his fingers through his boyfriend's hair. “We make it.”

“Yeah. Thank you for driving, I'm sorry you had to, after your flight and everything.”

“I did not drive the plane, why should I not drive the car?” Ilya shrugged, putting his sunglasses back on. “Besides, we do half each.”

“I guess,” Shane frowned. “It's just not what I planned.”

“This is surprise. I thought you wanted to have allergy attack and die halfway here.” Ilya deadpanned.

“I'm not- hhEHTSHh!”

“Godblessyou.” The Russian grinned triumphantly at fitting the phrase in before Shane had even started inhaling for the second one, unbuckling and leaning across to open the passenger side door.

“hEHTShew! Sorry.”

“God bless you. Fresh air. Breathe.” He made an illustrative motion, opening his own door, “I will get bags- bag. Yebat.”

Shane, as instructed, took a minute to breathe. He hadn't had an allergy attack- not that he was having one now- in a long time. It felt awful. He felt awful. His head hurt and his throat hurt, and every single part of his face, inside and out, itched, plus he wasn't completely sure he'd regained his full lung capacity quite yet.

Behind him, Ilya pulled his bag from the backseat, and retrieved his t-shirt from the footwell before setting off towards the door.

The Canadian realised that he hadn't given him the key at about the same time that the Russian stopped walking, tipping his head back to look at the sky as his bare back visibly swelled with a deep breath and then stuttered as he apparently started letting the tiny opening sneezes out into the air in front of him.

Shane got out of the car just as Ilya snapped forward, “-kKSHhOo! KSHH! hIHKSHh! hiHSHhuh! hhah… hAHSHHhOo!”

His sunglasses clattered to the floor. Shane winced, sweeping in to take the bag from him.

“Bless you, bless you, here.” He handed him the keys and gave him a small push towards the house.

Ilya looked like he wanted to protest, but an inadvertent jagged breath that had him staggering backwards, almost stepping on his sunglasses, scrubbing at his face, changed his mind.

Shane watched him stumble up the steps and fumble with the lock, pressing his shirt to his face again, thankfully, because that would be a pain to clean off the glass, and bent to pick up the abandoned sunglasses from the gravel Then he turned back to the car, retrieving his phone, his own sunglasses, and shutting all three of the doors that Ilya had opened and neglected to close, before following him in.

…

Ilya was nowhere to be seen on the way to the bedroom, so Shane dropped off his bag and headed back towards the kitchen to get himself an antihistamine and some water.

He was peacefully filling up a glass, and absently rolling the pill back and forth in his other hand, when a groan from the living room confirmed his guess at his boyfriend's location. It was quickly followed up with-

“hKKh! KkH! HKSHh! hMPHH! hIHMPPHh! hhAHMPHhOo!”

“If you're on the couch, you're getting pollen all over it.” Shane called, placing the medicine on his tongue and shutting his eyes to swallow a gulp of water, shivering slightly at the feeling of the pill going down his throat.

There were heavy footsteps, and Ilya joined him in the kitchen, scrubbing at his eye again. “Is invisible. Why you care?”

“You'll have a reaction every time you sit down there, that's why.” Not to mention he knew the Russian had been sneezing directly into the couch, or at the very least the throw pillows, and since he hadn't actually bought them, he had no idea how to clean them, which would mean this moment stayed stuck in his mind every time anyone sat down there for probably several years.

Ilya groaned in response, stumbling towards him and taking the glass from his hand to gulp down the remainder of his water. Shane knew he probably wanted to be challenged on that, but he also knew they should definitely both get clean of each other’s respective allergens sooner rather than later, so he let it go.

“Do you want to shower?”

“Together?”

“Sure.” It had been what he was intending, but he still played it off as being Ilya’s suggestion.

“Mm yes.”

“And then we can eat.”

“Good.” Ilya started walking towards the bathroom “What we eat? 100 burgers?”

Shane didn’t bother defending himself, both of them well aware that the memory was one of their favourites, and the blond brought it up not to be mean, but to be guardedly nostalgic, as was his way. Besides, the allergic reaction had really taken it out of Shane and he wasn’t completely sure he couldn’t eat 100 burgers right now. But they should definitely shower first, so he could be within a foot of his boyfriend without his throat closing up.

“hKKh! KKh! KKh! KKSHh! hiH-” And so Ilya could be within a mile of whatever Canadian flora was fucking with him without his throat closing up either.

“Bless you.” The brunet offered as he overtook him, entering the bathroom and pulling his shirt off, fiddling with it one handed as he watched the end of the fit.

“-KSHh! hKSH-KSHhuh! hIHKSHH! hAHKSHhOO! Ugh.” The Russian pressed his palm to his nose and rubbed it upwards, flicking the tip with his thumb as an afterthought. “Thank you. I get clothes first.”

Shane watched him leave, and turned away to turn the shower on and temperate. When he turned back, like some sort of horror movie character, Ilya was practically breathing down his neck, clothes for both of them and a mysterious bottle discarded on the countertop. He blinked. Don’t say ‘hello’ that’s fucking stupid.

Ilya took his waist with cold fingers, pushing him back against the closest wall. “You think I forget.” He said, voice slightly gravelly in a way that would have been very attractive if the Canadian couldn’t feel the other shoe about to drop. “You say you sneeze like that before.” Oh fuck, no. “When?”

“Ilya, I don’t really want to talk about this.”

“Why not? I am your boyfriend. I need to know if you will randomly die of sneezing.”

Shane was sure his face was visibly flushed in a way that probably wasn’t helping his ‘I’m not going to die’ case. Ilya had a point. He knew they had to have this conversation, or one like it, at some point, but he wanted it to be on his terms, like at a time when he wasn’t uncomfortable in every possible way. How the fuck was he supposed to get out of this? He glanced away evasively, hoping to distract Ilya from the fact that he was simultaneously inhaling through his nose as deeply as he could.

“Hollander.” The blond pushed.

“S-sorry-” He responded, excusing himself but meaning the word in an entirely different way as he mimicked Ilya’s earlier action, raising his shirt to his face- it was fine, he was about to throw it in the wash anyway, and he wasn’t planning to make a habit of this- and turning his head to one side, though Ilya’s hold on his waist didn’t waver “-hEhTSH!”

“Godbl-”

“hEHTSHhew!”

“Godbless-”

“hhEHTDSHh!”

“Agh, Godb-.”

“hHSHHuh!”

“Fine.”

“hhEHSHhuh!”

“…” The silence between sneezes, though brief, was pointed, and Shane felt oddly guilty about interrupting Ilya’s weird little ritual.

“Sorr-hiHTSHHew!”

“You are done? Good. Finally. Budʹzdorov.”

“Thank you. Sorry.” But when he looked back at his boyfriend, he seemed less annoyed, and more concerned with a thin, totally transparent layer of faux-exasperation on top. That didn’t particularly help with the guilt.

“We should shower now. Talk later.” Shane couldn’t have agreed more.

…

He felt mostly much calmer, and cleaner, after diligently scrubbing all the pollen off his skin, and patiently waiting while Ilya messed around and kissed him and delayed getting out so he could ‘make sure he got all the cologne’ which just involved experimentally holding various body parts close to Shane to see if he had a reaction, which, other than mild disgruntlement, he didn’t.

Ilya, however, unmedicated, still feeling the effects of the pollen that was probably lightly dusting both of them, and a little sensitive to the steam of the shower in the first place, spent a good portion of time ducking away to sneeze at the floor or the wall, or occasionally down his own chest when Shane had him pinned into a corner, and, after almost hitting his head on the wall at the climax of a particularly explosive fit, was guided out of the shower by his boyfriend, dizzier and probably somehow dirtier than when he’d gotten in.

The brunet kept an eye on him as he towelled his hair dry and sniffled, making sure he wasn’t about to ricochet his head off any of the various extremely hard surfaces in the vicinity and give himself a concussion in the first few hours of being there.

Apparently Ilya had a similar thought in his brain, because he suddenly snorted, looking up to meet the Canadian’s gaze. “What will your parents say when they hear I almost killed you before we even got here?”

The brunet’s mind ran a very sped up feature length film of all the horrifying possibilities that this scenario presented, trapped in a time loop style, using resources that probably should have been spent keeping his heart and lungs working. Because it very much felt like they’d stopped.

“Nothing, because we’re not going to tell them.” Shane replied firmly. More firmly than he said most things. Not half as firmly as he could have done if he’d stayed past the credits of the mind-movie, though.

“…Oh.” Ilya said after a moment, apparently struggling to incorporate this new information into his opinion of Shane’s parents.

“Not like that. It’s just -it’s embarrassing. Okay? And not the regular kind of embarrassing. I… I just really don’t want you to do it.” He could hardly explain it to Ilya right here and now, honestly he could hardly explain it to himself lying awake at night, but he somehow needed to convey the opposing messages that his parents weren’t monsters who would punish him for being human, and also that it was absolutely not okay to talk about him sneezing in front of them.

“Okay. I will not do it.” The blond made the ‘my lips are sealed’ motion.

“Thank you.” Shane said shakily, subtly reaching out to feel the cold, hard support of the countertop against his sweating palms. Ilya stared at him with an intensity that definitely would have scared the shit out of most people, but kind of just felt grounding and reassuring to the brunet. Kinda like that deep pressure thing he’d been reading about…

“You know-” The Russian started laughing, expression relaxed again as his giddy brain presented another anecdote to share with Shane. “-the woman at the uh-” He did the spray bottle hand thing again.

“Cologne.”

“Yes, cologne shop. She showed me four, and this-” he gestured at the bottle he’d brought in,-why had he brought that in? was he planning to put it back on? “-is the only one that did not make me sneeze.”

“Oh.” Shane tried not to imagine him standing in the middle of duty free, sniffing cologne samples, and sneezing his head off.

“But it makes you sneeze.” Ilya continued, pointing an accusatory finger. “Is funny, yes?”

“Not really.”

The blond clicked his tongue in disappointment, retrieving the bottle and taking a deep sniff in of the scent. “You are jealous?”

“No. I can go outside and breathe.” Shane walked out of the bathroom to do just that, mind full of the possibility of the Russian dropping the bottle and him dying on the spot.

“I can do this too!” Ilya called after him.

“Yeah, not in summer in Canada, apparently.” Shane shook his head at the memories from their last summer together. “I picked up more of those antihistamine patches, by the way, so you might want one now if we’re going to eat outside.”

There were quick footsteps behind him and Ilya tackled him into a hug, kissing him forcefully, if clumsily, on the ear. “Thank you.” He said in a sing song tone, overtaking him to get to the refrigerator.

“You're welcome. I’ll forgive your terrible taste in cologne if you unpack while I make dinner,” It was one of his little bugbears, his boyfriend living out of his luggage. It made the cottage feel frustratingly his and not theirs, like Ilya was a guest in his life and not a cornerstone of it.

“Not taste,” Ilya emerged from the fridge, holding a beer. “You smell cologne, not taste. Plus, is not my fault, is woman who shows them to people's fault.”

“Oh, so this is the first time this has happened?” Shane asked, faux innocently, opening the box of antihistamine patches he'd retrieved from a drawer.

“Shut up. Still not my fault. “ Ilya said, irked, opening the drink and sipping it as he walked over to have the patch put on.

Shane smiled, knowing the Russian was regretting telling him about the time he'd accidentally incapacitated Marleau with a poorly timed cologne change before an important match. You’d think eventually the man would learn to stick with what he knows, but apparently not.

“hihHH-”

Entranced by the pre-sneeze expression Ilya was making no move to conceal, just openly standing there with one arm extended and the other lazily holding his beverage off to one side, the Canadian absent-mindedly slapped the patch onto his arm, interrupting said expression abruptly.

“Ah.” Ilya looked down at his arm and then sniffed. “I am cured. Thank you.”

Shane shook his head. “It doesn’t work that fast.”

“No it does! I don’t have to sneeze anymore, see?” The blond proceeded to walk around the kitchen sniffing constantly and gesturing to his face as ‘proof’ as Shane watched on, unswayed. Ilya’s hubris was very quickly disciplined, as he opened the door to the backyard, got halfway through inhaling a deeply theatrical breath, and reeled backwards, “hhihKKh! KKh! hIKSHh! KSHh! KKSHhuh!-”

As he stumbled around, loosely covering his face with the towel he’d left draped over his shoulders, Shane sidestepped him, shut the door, and turned to survey his mess of a boyfriend, who’d wound up leaning on the edge of the kitchen island with his elbow, whole upper body jolting with every sneeze that ripped out of him and into the towel that was now being used to cover his whole face. “-hiHMPHH! hhMPHH! hhAHMPHH!-” He pulled back slightly to suck in a deeper breath, “hHAHKSHHoO!”

“Bless you.” The Canadian moved over and carded a hand through Ilya’s still damp curls as he coughed, smiling slightly as he tilted his head up to look at him.

“Thangk you.” He straightened up with a sigh, throwing a glare over Shane’s shoulder at the assorted shrubbery of the garden. “I will be like this all summer. Useless.”

“No. The pollen count’s just high today, we’ll keep on top of the patches, and you’ll be fine.” Shane placated him.

“He gets high too much.” Ilya pinched his nose between two fingers, massaging it vigorously. “We should overthrow him.”

Surprised by the pun, Shane laughed openly, though his boyfriend remained deadpan, wandering over to flop down in the living room again.

“And he is not invited to dinner!” The Russian added, slightly muffled by what Shane could only hope was the machine washable towel he’d taken with him and not any of his throw pillows.

“Does that mean you want to eat inside?” He called back, making his way to the fridge to retrieve what he needed for dinner.

There was silence for a minute, until Shane had almost forgotten what he’d asked, and then Ilya called back. “Maybe. But we eat outside tomorrow!”

“Oh—of course, of course.” Alex stepped back through the doorway.  They went into the room where, Alex realized with a blush, it was clear he’d been asleep. 

“I’b so sorry to bother you right dow,” Casey said, trailing off with a stuttering cough. “But do you thidk I could sit dowd?” 

“Of course!” Alex said. They sat down, one on each of the room’s two queen sized-beds. 

“I kdow you were ebbarrassed today,” Casey said with a slight smile, “but you—“ he broke off as his breath hitched. “But you—ehh—ohh—heh-schhhnttt.” He buried a wet, soaking sneeze into the hanky he’d hurried to pull from his pocket. “Excuse be. That’s beed happedidg a lot,” he added ruefully with a bigger smile. “I dever seeb to kdow whed they’re cobidg.” He gave a long, noisy nose blow into the hanky, which already looked drenched. He looked up, eyes hazy with cold. “What was I sayig?”  

Alex was already beginning to wish he’d pulled a pillow onto his lap. “That I—um—that I shouldn’t have been embarrassed?”

“Huh, yeah. Snnnnnsrrrrffff.” Casey’s sniffle was long and crackling and deep, reflecting sinuses clogged to the hilt with thick mess. “I said that colds dod’t get be goidg, and that’s true, but, ubb, I ab gay, add seeidg you so turned od defiditely bade be a little bit hot. Cough cough cough.” 

Alex was surely blushing horribly. “Oh,” he squeaked. “I guess I’m glad that I didn’t make you uncomfortable. I mean, I know you signed up for the experiment, but still, you don’t feel very good, that’s clear, and to see me, um, well, enjoying it—” His face was beet red. 

“Snrrgggh. Let’s be clear, Alex. You edjoyidg it was the—ehh—was the—ehh-SCHIEW! Snnff. The best part of it.” 

“Ha!” Alex blurted out. His pulse was thumping in his ears. “Well, I did. I guess that’s why they picked me for the experiment, huh.” 

“Cough-cough, cough-cough-cough.” Casey half-heartedly covered his mouth with his hanky as he coughed. They both knew it was pointless; he’d openly sneezed all over Alex six hours ago, which was the objective of this experiment anyway. Alex was supposed to get sick. “Alex let be bake this clear,” he said. Those coughs were starting to sound thicker, chestier, crunchy and wet with congestion. “This whole experiedce, while, umb, pretty udcobfortable, has beed weirdly, umb, snrrrff, hot? I dod’t kdow, mad.” He shrugged with a sheepish smile. God, his nose was red, and there was a gleaming puddle underneath it growing larger, like it was running onto his upper lip without him even realizing it. “Ad also, this is hot for you, and like, it bight be a dice distractiod for be… Would you wadt to—ad you cad say—eh—-ehhhhh—youcadsaydo——HETSCHOOGHHH.” He gave a tremendous, torrential sneeze into the hopelessly ruined hanky, a sneeze that left a waterfall of opaque, infected snot trailing from his nose and mouth. It was disgusting. He tried in vain to sniffle it back up, leaving strands of mucus trembling over his mouth and nose. 

Alex surged forward and kissed him. It tasted like salt, a distinctly messy kiss, but he didn’t care. As Casey relaxed into the kiss, he gave a little huff of breath that pushed more mucus out of his nose and onto Alex. Casey huffed and pulled away. “Oh god,” he moaned, wiping his face with the back of his hand, “that’s disgustidg. I’b so—I’b—ehh—HSSSSHOO! Cough-cough, I’b so sorry!” Despite his swagger of moments before, Casey seemed truly abashed. The tips of his ears were red and he couldn’t quite meet Alex’s eyes. His face was misted with spray, and his eyes had the glaze of a light fever. He was the most arousing thing Alex had ever seen. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Alex soothed. “Let me get you some tissues, you’re a wreck.” He went to the bedside table, his cock already throbbing, to grab the whole box of tissues. He wouldn’t put Casey through what had happened in the experiment today. “Blow,” he said, pushing a fistful of tissues intoCasey’s germy hand.  

“Cough-cough, thadk you,” Casey croaked, and covered his soaking, snot-smeared face with tissues. His blow was horrendous: thick and gurgly, choked with seemingly unending mucus. The disruption to his sinuses made him cough. When he pulled the tissues away from his face, they were visibly wet and unusable. Sheepishly, he threw them into the waste basket and reached for another handful. Oh. He wasn’t done. 

In the end, Casey blew his nose into four bouquets of tissues, each blow wetter and looser than the last. 

“You poor thing,” Alex said, mesmerized. “You’re so sick.” 

Casey gave a long, crackly sniffle. Snnnnsgggrffff. “I really ab,” he said, half pitiful, half smiling. 

“Are you sure you want to—”

Now he was really smiling, albeit through a cough. “Cobe od, Alex,” he rasped. “Dod’t you—ehh—dod’t you wadt—oh god—uhhh-uuuuhhhhh—ACHOO! Snnnnrrfff. Dod’t you wadt to bake be feel better?”  

Alex stared at him, hardly able to breathe. Then he thought, this situation is already strange enough. He might as well make the most of his wildest fantasy coming true. “God, yes,” he croaked. “Get on the bed, okay?” 

Casey clearly felt a bit better after blowing his nose, because he didn’t sneeze or cough, just said, “Okay. Cad I take off by padts?” 

“Please do.” Alex and Casey both partially disrobed, smiling awkwardly at each other. 

Casey sat on the bed and rubbed his nose, eliciting a wet squeak. With rheumy eyes he surveyed Alex’s flushed cheeks and the bulge in his underwear. “This really—huh, you really get off od this, dod’t you?” 

Alex blushed and squeezed his eyes shut. “At least you’re getting something out of it.” 

Casey laughed, breaking into a cough. “Yeah, six huddred dollars.” 

“Six hundred dollars and a blow job.” Alex climbed onto the bed and straddled Casey’s stretched-out legs. “Look, can you do something for me?” 

“Depeds od whether you deed be to breathe out of by dose, cough-cough,” Casey said. His nose was starting to drip again. 

Alex immediately had a vision of Casey trying to suck his cock without being able to breathe through his nose, choking on Alex’s cock and his snot, but he put this out of his mind. “It, um, doesn’t. I just—I’m going to make you feel good, but I don’t want you to use tissues or hide your sneezes, okay? Just let them come, and I’ll clean you up afterward.” 

Casey gave a glazed but smug smile, and reached down to palm Alex’s crotch. “This really does sobethidg to you, kid, snnnrrrffff,” he said, “okay, you got it.” 

Alex rolled his eyes. “Just lay back and let me do the work.” Casey’s cock was also getting hard, possibly more from Alex’s embarrassment than anything else. It didn’t matter. Alex pulled down his boxers and gave his substantial cock a light stroke with his hand before he applied his mouth. 

A broken croak of a moan came from Casey’s mouth immediately, and then he started to cough, the sound resonating in his chest. His cold was definitely getting worse. 

“Do you want me to stop?” 

“Fuck, cough cough cough, no, cough cough cough, distract be, please.” He reached up distractedly to rub at his nose with the back of his hand, leaving a slick, shiny trail on both his hand and his cheek. 

Alex nodded and went down on Casey’s cock, sucking and licking. Casey kept moaning and coughing, sniffling and, inevitably, hitching. “Dod’t st—dod’t stop—-Htd’gsssshiigh!” He sneezed into his own palms. “I’b fide, please keep goidg, please keep g-heh-heh-heh-Hdfgsssshiigh!” He dropped the second sneeze, even wetter than the last, into his hands again, and cupped them as if to hold onto the thick mucus he’d deposited there. There was also the spray—Alex could feel it on his face and shoulders where he was knelt between Casey’s legs. Each sneeze made Casey’s hips hitch a little bit, pressing his cock roughly and unevenly into Alex’s throat. He loved it. God, Casey’s sneezes sounded horrible—the wet thick sound of a burgeoning sinus infection. Alex rewarded him with a light caress of his balls and a hard suck on the head of his cock, and reached down to adjust his own dick in his underwear. 

Casey moaned, as much as in despair as in pleasure. “You’re disgustidg,” he choked out, “if you get off od this. I’ve dever beed so—-beed so—-god, Alex, I’b godda sdeeze again, I’b gonna—uh—ehh—huh—god, do, it’s stuck, cough, cough, snort, snruggffffff.” 

Casey must be able to tell that Alex got off on the humiliation of being watched, because being called disgusting by the most symptomatic and contagious man he’d ever seen had him ready to come. “Can you stop sneezing long enough to come?” Alex taunted, pulling off his cock for a second. 

“I dod’t—fuckidg—probably dot—oh god, it itches, Alex, it hurts, cough cough, heh-Huh-ssshtttoo!” That one had produced a thick webbing of mucus that Casey stared at in his hands. “Ad I cad’t wipe by fuckidg dose—you’re evil, sdrrrrrffff, I’b gonna—oh god, right there, udder the head—Hssht! Hsssshtt! Heh-Shhhht! TSSST! Hattgssshiih!!” He sneezed over and over into his hands until he was splattering mucus in his lap, and meanwhile, at the very same time, his hips were bucking and twitching as Alex sucked him. 

“Blow your nose, if you want,” Alex said, pumping Casey’s now-wet cock with both hands. “You can do that.” 

“With no tish—tishCHOO! Cough cough cough cough cough, fuckkk. Uhh, uhhhh, Alex, that feels so good, snrgggfffff. I’b godda—mmmm, I’b godda—“ 

Alex could feel the pressure in Casey’s balls, the frantic twitching of his hips and his cock. He sucked harder as he felt Casey start to explode from both his groin and his nose.