#lavsnzwrites

Shane has a love/hate relationship with his annual summer colds. On the one hand, he’s thankful they always hit him at the end of the season, so there’s no interfering with hockey. On the other hand, it sucks to start out his vacation while sick. He supposes he can’t complain too much though, with him and Ilya now being married and on the same team, it’s inevitable that Ilya would also catch what Shane has, they’ve never been good at keeping their hands to themselves.

Shane’s in bed cuddled up to Ilya for the night, his head on Ilya’s chest. They decided to head to bed early, Shane’s symptoms of the cold that he’s certainly coming down with getting worse as the day progressed. Shane’s reading a new book (surprisingly, not about hockey for once) and Ilya is scrolling through something on his phone. His glasses are on, the lights are dim, and his eyes are heavy. He feels himself starting to nod off when there’s suddenly a very telling itch in his nose, causing him to bolt up right.

“Shane? Is everything okay?” Ilya asks, moving to sit up right with him.

Shane nods and buries his face into his elbow. “I have to – hPNXTch! hehPNXTch! Sneeze… Excuse me.”

“Bud'te zdorovy,” Ilya says, pressing a kiss to the side of Shane’s neck.

Shane, who still has his face buried in his elbow, turns to his nightstand to grab a tissue, only to find that the box he normally has there is gone.

“Ilya, do you have tissues on your nightstand? I must have run out and not replaced the box.”

Ilya doesn’t answer, but turns to his nightstand. Instead of grabbing tissues, Shane hears him open the little drawer and pull something out. He gives Ilya a confused look when Ilya places a bunch of differently colored fabric squares on his lap.

“What are these?” Shane asks, face still buried in his elbow.

“Is… I don’t know English word. Like Cloth tissue?” Ilya sheepishly hands him one.

Shane takes it in his hand but doesn’t use it quite yet. “Do you mean a handkerchief?”

“Yes, is that. Handkerchief.” Ilya says the word slowly, but looks proud of himself after.

Shane laughs. “Ilya, why did you buy handkerchiefs?”

“For your nose. You buy fancy tissues with lotion but they still make your nose red and hurt after you use too many. These are much softer, better for your cute nose. Now use.”

Shane feels himself blush up to his ears. He finally takes the handkerchief in his hand, brings it to his nose, and blows. He has to admit, it's softer than any tissue he’s ever used and feels much better than them too.

“Much better, yes?” Ilya questions, giving Shane a knowing smile. Shane’s about to answer when his breath hitches and he feels like he’s about to sneeze again. Wordlessly, Ilya hands him a new handkerchief.

“HPNXTchoo! HeptSHiew! Fuck, excuse me,” Shane says with a sniffle. He puts down the handkerchief he just sneezed into and reaches back to the first handkerchief Ilya handed him, blowing his nose into that one. Ilya chuckles and Shane raises an eyebrow. “What’s so funny?”

“I am very glad I bought larger pack. I thought you would need at least two, one to catch sneezes and one to blow your nose, and I was right. Bud'te zdorovy, moya lyubov'.”

“You know me very well,” Shane blushes. He wiggles his nose a few times trying to quell another set of sneezes.

“I do, moy zaichonok.” Ilya smiles and kisses Shane’s nose with a knowing smirk.

“HehPNXTch! HehSHiew! Really?” Shane says, exasperated.

“Yes, sweetheart. You needed those, you were wiggling your nose. Bud'te zdorovy.”

“Thank you,” Shane finally lays back down as Ilya pulls him onto his chest, blowing his nose into the nose blowing handkerchief as he settles. “Wait a minute, you said you bought the larger pack. How many did you buy?”

“Pack has one hundred.”

Shane nearly sits up again to stare at his husband but Ilya’s arms are wrapped around him. “One hundred? Ilya, I do not need that many.”

“Is true, you do not. But I will also use when I am sick or am having allergies. Plus you will use a few once they get too wet for your liking, and considering what happens when we have sex–”

“Okay! Okay, I get it. Probably a smart decision,” Shane says, clearly flustered.

“Yes, I am full of those,” Ilya replies, and laughs when Shane playfully hits his chest. Ilya then hands Shane quite a few handkerchiefs. “Here, for your nightstand. Mine can barely fit them all.”

Shane takes the handkerchiefs after stealing a quick kiss and rolls to his side to put them away. As he does, Ilya grabs his ass and starts kissing the side of his neck.

“Ilya…”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“What are you doing?” Shane damn near purrs as Ilya starts biting at his neck.

“Loving my husband,” Ilya says into Shane’s neck.

“You were the one who suggested going to bed early tonight.” Shane reminds him.

“Ah, I suggested getting into bed early tonight. Not sleeping early tonight,” Ilya leans over Shane with a mischievous glint in his eyes, one Shane has come to know all too well. Ilya continues with his ministrations, and his hands start wandering up and down Shane’s chest.

“Ilya,” Shane warns, feeling himself start to get hard.

“Is something wrong, Shane?” Ilya questions, smirking. He’s too damn smug for his own good and Shane loves him for it.

“No, but if you’re not careful I’m going to start sneezing again and I don’t want it to get all over you.”

“Oh, but lyubimyy, you sound so stuffy and you will feel much better if you sneeze it out. Sex is good decongestant, yes?”

“How the hell do you know that?” Shane asks, eyes wide.

“Google,” Ilya responds, his hands traveling lower down Shane’s body.

“I don’t want you to get this cold either,” Shane moans. Ilya’s hand palms Shane through his boxers and Shane is positive he’s about to sneeze on his husband when a handkerchief is suddenly pressed to his nose. “In’gsh! Nn’gsh! Nn’gSH! Nn’gSH! In’gsh! Excuse me.”

“Bud'te zdorovy, solnishko. Do not worry about me, I will catch your cold anyway. I can hold handkerchief to your nose if it makes you feel better.”

“Spasibo,” Shane moans as Ilya palms him harder. The Russian thanks gets a rise out of Ilya, he practically growls as he pulls Shane’s boxers down. Ilya grabs lube that somehow got on the bed at some point and pours some in his hands, before taking Shane’s dick in them, which sends Shane into another fit.

“Oh, god. Nn’gsh! In’gsh! Nn’gSH! N’gSH! In’gSHH! Nn’gSH! Oh, fuck me.”

“Am working on it sweetheart,” Ilya promises. “Bud' zdorov, bud' zdorov, bud' zdorov, bud' zdorov, bud' zdorov, bud’ zdorov, ya tebya lyublyu,” Ilya whispers into his skin.

Shane moans and nods as Ilya moves from his dick to start opening him up, continuing to sneeze. “ya tebya lyublyu,” Shane says through his sneezes.

True to his word, Ilya holds a handkerchief to Shane’s nose the whole time, even grabbing new ones when the previous ones get too wet for what he assumes is Shane’s liking. Shane swoons at just how well Ilya knows him and his sensory needs and preferences. In his wildest dreams he could never imagine having all of this, being known so deeply that words are not needed.

Ilya grabs another new handkerchief and holds it to Shane’s nose once he’s cleaned them both up. “Blow, rodnaya, and bud'te zdorovy,” he instructs.

Shane does as Ilya says with a small shake of his head, making Ilya softly chuckle. “Thank you,” he whispers, once Ilya takes the handkerchief away. “For all of this. For knowing me and loving me and being you.”

Ilya looks at him with what can only be described as pure love in his eyes. “You are welcome, lyubimyy. Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

Shane pulls Ilya into one more kiss before Ilya shuts off the lamp on his nightstand. When Ilya lays back down Shane’s head finds its way to Ilya’s chest, as it always does. Shane feels a kiss pressed to the top of his head and hears something in Russian murmured into his hair, but he’s too spent and it’s too soft for him to understand what was said.

“ya tebya lyublyu,” Shane replies anyway.

“Spokoynoy nochi, ya lyublyu tebya bol'she vsekh na svete,” Ilya says.

russian translations:

bud'te zdorovy = bless you

moya lyubov = my love

moy zaichonok = my bunny

lyubimyy = beloved

solnishko = little sun

spasibo = thank you

bud' zdorov = bless you

ya tebya lyublyu = i love you

rodnaya = dear

“What is that?” Ilya questions.

“They’re kind of like a room spray, that’s for pillows. The scents are supposed to calm your mind to help you sleep. And it wouldn’t be just for you, I’d use it too. You know how much trouble I have falling asleep when we’re on the road, hopefully it’ll help with that.” Shane knows Ilya has a hard time talking about his symptoms of depression, so he’s hoping that including his own use and need for the spray will convince Ilya to let them try it. He gives Ilya a small smile as he waits for a reply.

“You’ve already bought one, haven’t you?” Ilya asks, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Of course I have. I’d like to try it, to see if it helps either of us. I can spray it on my pillow first, and if either one of us hates it I'll grab a new pillow case and we can toss it or give it to my mom or something.”

Ilya nods, giving Shane a silent go ahead. Shane reaches over to his night stand drawer and pulls out a small purple bottle. He sprays it directly onto his pillow. The scent hits him first, and he has to admit that it is calming. But it clearly hits Ilya right after, and Ilya’s breath starts hitching.

“HA-AATSHIEW! AATSHIEW! AATSHIEW!” Ilya sneezes into cupped hands around his nose.

“Bless you! You okay?” Shane asks. He hears quiet hitches, a sign that Ilya isn’t done yet.

“HUH-PTSHIEW! APTSHIEW! APTSHIEW! C-c-can’t s-stop! HA-ATSHIEW!”

Ilya can barely catch his breath between his words and his sneezes, and Shane can see his eyes starting to tear up from the sheer force of the sneezes. He grabs Ilya’s arm and hauls him to his feet, grabbing Ilya’s tissue box before ushering him out the bedroom door and to the guest bedroom across the hall.

Shane guides Ilya to the bed and helps him sit down, grabbing a handful of tissues from the box he took with them to hand to Ilya. “Bless you. Here, take these.”

Ilya quickly grabs the tissues from Shane in between sneezes and then starts up again. “HEH-PTSHIEW! APTSHIEW! HAATSHIEW!” Ilya tries to blow his nose between sneezes, to no avail. Shane rubs a hand up and down Ilya’s back and murmurs quiet blessings. After a while Ilya’s breathing seems to even out.

“God bless you,” Shane says. “All done?”

Ilya looks up at him with teary red eyes and shakes his head. As if to prove his point Ilya sneezes out a final “A-AAKSHIEW!”

Shane can’t help but laugh. “À tes souhaits,” Shane whispers as he presses a kiss to Ilya’s cheek. Ilya doesn’t growl, but it’s a near thing and he tackles Shane to the bed and pins him down. Shane smirks up at him.

“Using dirty tricks against your husband after you just give him allergy attack is not very polite,” Ilya says.

“In my defense I didn’t know you were going to react that way, it was supposed to help you sleep!”

“Or was it to torture me for your pleasure?” Ilya asks, with a smirk on his face.

Shane stills and moves to create space between him and Ilya. “Ilya, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Ilya closes the space and takes Shane’s hand. “I know moya lyubov'. But I would not be against using it to make me sneeze on purpose.”

Shane’s breath catches. “Really?”

“Yes really, I know you like it. And I like making you horny, so it works for both of us.”

Shane nods and looks at the floor. “I have a few more, I bought sprays that have different scent combinations. All of them have lavender, but a different second scent. The one I sprayed is lavender and cedar wood. I’m not sure which scent is making you sneeze, but maybe we can try the others to test it out?”

Ilya tips Shane’s chin up to look at him. “Go get them, it will be a fun experiment.”

Shane kisses Ilya’s cheek and heads to their bedroom. He stops by the linen closet on the way to their room to grab two pillowcases, one for each spray he has left for them to test out. He finds the pillow spray bottles with ease in his nightstand drawer and sprays the lavender/chamomile spray onto the gray pillowcase and the lavender/vanilla spray onto the blue pillowcase. He makes sure both pillowcases are sufficiently covered with the spray and that he’s able to distinguish between the two scents. His nose starts tickling, but he’s not sure if it’s the pillow spray or the thoughts of what’s about to occur that’s causing it. He grabs his own pillow with the spray that made Ilya sneeze just for good measure.

When Shane gets to the guest room he finds Ilya undressed, a pillow covering his dick. Shane rolls his eyes, but is hopelessly endeared. Ilya pats the empty space next to him and gives Shane a smirk. When Shane sits down Ilya is at his neck immediately, kissing & biting along it. He starts to rub his nose against Shane’s neck and Shane has to take steadying breaths to calm down. Ilya’s hands are wandering Shane’s chest and Shane’s head is tossed back, his eyes closed. He doesn't realize that Ilya had taken one of the pillow cases until he hears him sneeze.

“HA-AATSHIEW! AATSHIEW!”

Shane’s eyes open to find Ilya’s nose buried into the gray pillowcase. “Bless you twice,” Shane says, his heart starting to race.

“Thank you. That smell is not as bad as the first one. Tickled less.”

“That was lavender and chamomile.”

“What is this one?” Ilya asks, picking up the blue pillow case.

“Lavender and vanilla,” Shane replies.

Ilya nods and brings the pillowcase to his nose, taking a big sniff of it. Shane and Ilya wait, but nothing happens. Ilya takes another sniff, and still doesn’t sneeze.

“This one doesn’t tickle. This one will be okay for sleep spray. Will not make me sneeze like a mad man,” Ilya concludes after a few minutes of not sneezing from the spray.

“I’m glad we were able to find one that doesn’t irritate you,” Shane tells him.

“Mm, yes. But is also good that we found ones that do, yes?” Ilya asks, moving closer to Shane.

Shane goes bright red and stares at the floor. When he told Ilya about being into sneezing he was drunk. He never in his wildest dreams imagined his husband would indulge him in this. But he does, and it makes Shane’s heart and dick swell. Before Shane can do anything else, Ilya is on top of him. Kissing, licking, taking Shane’s clothes off. He’s grabbing Shane’s ass and chest, and Shane is making all sorts of noises that would be embarrassing if it wasn’t Ilya. Shane’s on his stomach, ass up and ready, when he feels Ilya’s hands leave his body. He whines in protest and turns his head to see where Ilya went. When he looks back, Ilya has his entire face buried in Shane’s pillow and he’s taking deep sniffs.

“HUH-PTSHIEW! APTSHIEW! APTSHIEW! HA-ATSHIEW!”

“Fuck, bless you,” Shane moans.

Ilya continues sneezing, switching between sniffing the pillow and having his hands glued to Shane’s hips. The sneezing isn’t slowing down and neither is Ilya, he lets out a particularly harsh sneeze as he enters Shane.

“HEH-PTSHIEW!”

“Bl-bless you,” Shane says, his own breath starting to hitch. He’s hard and his nose tickles, he tries to sniff it away.

“No, lyubimyy. Sneeze for me. Let me hear how good I make you feel. How good my sneezes are for you.”

And if that’s not the hottest thing Shane’s ever heard, he’s not sure what is. “Fuck. Fuck. I’m sneezing, I’m sneezing. I’m — In’gsh! Nn’gsh! Nn’gSH! In’gsh!”

“There you go, so good for me,” Ilya purrs.

The praise only makes Shane sneeze more. “In’gSHH! Nn’gSH!”

“Bud’ zdorov, ya tebya lyublyu,” Ilya tells him.

At some point Ilya stops sneezing. He holds Shane through his sneezing fit, through both of their orgasms, and through the aftershocks. Shane’s so blissed out that he doesn’t register anything around him until he feels a warm wet washcloth on his stomach. He opens his eyes to find Ilya smiling that small private smile that’s only for Shane.

“Ah, there are your pretty eyes. Are you with me again?” Ilya questions.

Shane nods and hums.

“Come, is bed time,” Ilya says. Shane groans which makes Ilya laugh. Ilya bends down and scoops Shane up, holding him bridal style.

“Oh my god, put me down you asshole,” Shane murmurs into Ilya’s neck.

“Hm. No.”

Shane laughs into Ilya’s chest but doesn’t put up a fight and instead lets himself relish in the feeling of being held by the love of his life. Ilya puts Shane down on the bed and grabs a pair of boxers while Shane grabs the lavender and vanilla pillow spray and sprays it over their pillows. Once Ilya’s back in bed he finds his way to Shane’s chest, head on Shane’s heart. He presses gentle kisses to Shane’s jaw while Shane plays with his curls.

“Did you spray pillow spray?” Ilya asks, sniffing a few times.

“Yeah, the one that didn’t bug your nose. I do want to see if it helps.”

“Achoo,” Ilya says with an evil grin and raised eyebrows.

“I hate you,” Shane deadpans.

“I love you more,” Ilya replies with a sigh.

Shane tilts Ilya’s face up and gives him two small kisses. “Not even possible.”

russian translations:

moya lyubov' = my love

lyubimyy = beloved

Shane was in the process of getting his mic hooked up to his jersey when Harris said something that stopped him in his tracks.

“Ilya mentioned that you’re sick, so if you’re not feeling up to this we can totally switch to someone else.”

Shane could feel his cheeks heat up. Of course Ilya mentioned it to Harris. It was sweet and well intended, but made Shane a bit embarrassed. “It’s just a bit of a head cold, I’ll be okay,” he said, hoping the smile he gave didn’t show any signs of him being flustered. Once the mic was all ready to go he walked back into the locker room and right up to Ilya’s stall, putting his head on Ilya’s shoulder from behind.

“Moya lyubov,” Ilya says.

“You told Harris I’m sick,” Shane pouts.

“Yes, just in case you start feeling worse during the game. I talked to Hayes, we can mic him up if needed. He is silly, sings to himself when he is all alone,” Ilya smiles, his eyes lighting up as he turns to face Shane.

“It’s just a small head cold, I’ll be okay,” Shane replies. Ilya raises his eyebrows at him when he sniffles.

“If you say so. But if that changes you tell someone and we take care of it.”

Shane nods and Ilya presses a kiss to his cheek, quick and subtle. Shane’s not one for PDA, but he allows it now because he’s not feeling his best.

The team heads out to the ice and Shane and Ilya are told their mics are officially on. Shane gets down and starts to stretch and Ilya plops down right next to him.

“Ready to kick some Columbus ass, Hollander?” Ilya asks him.

Shane’s about to answer when he feels that telltale tickle in his nose. He nods and brings his elbow to his face. “HPNXTch! HehPNXTch! Excuse me,” he says with a sniffle. “Yes, yes I am.”

“Bud'te zdorovy. Let’s do this,” Ilya responds, standing up to head towards their bench. He lends Shane a hand to get up and between that and the blessing, Shane is so glad that his helmet is partially hiding his blushing cheeks.

The first period manages to fly by. Shane makes sure to talk to some of his teammates to try to keep things interesting for those listening in, but his energy is going quickly. Ilya does most of the talking, throwing out extra chirps at both teammates and the other team and going over to Hayes to obnoxiously sing into his mic while the refs debate a play. Shane appreciates the way Ilya knows him so well, the way Ilya can fill space when Shane doesn’t have the capacity to.

“Great goal,” Ilya says as he pulls Shane into a hug.

“Thanks. Thank you for the assist,” Shane replies, with a sniffle that he’s positive is picked up by both of their mics. The buzzer sounds, indicating the end of the second period. The score is 3-1, Centaurs, but Shane knows it’s too early to get cocky. He’s lost in his thoughts when his nose starts tickling again.

“HeptSHiew! HextSHiew! Excuse me,” Shane says with a shake of his head.

“Bud'te zdorovy. Off the ice, and medicine time for you. It’s been six hours,” Ilya replies.

“You’re timing when I take medicine?”

“Da. I want you feeling better.”

Shane’s heart melts. Ilya takes his hand and they skate off the ice together. As soon as they’re in the locker room, Shane is greeted by the team doctor. She has the bottle of cold medicine Shane brought with him with the cap already full for him.

“Drink up, lyubimyy,” Ilya says, giving Shane a small hug from behind. Shane knocks the cap of medicine back and makes a face of disgust.

“That shit is so awful.”

“Mhm. But will help you feel better,” Ilya replies, and sneaks a small kiss on to Shane’s shoulder.

They quickly talk through plays and Ilya hypes the team up. They may have a two point lead now, but they can’t afford to get sloppy. The team heads to the ice with renewed focus and energy, but Shane knows he’s starting to fade. He steels himself, ready to give the rest of the game his all. Just two more periods, showering and changing, media, and then he can go home with Ilya and enjoy their two days off. Hopefully he’ll be able to kick whatever is going on in his nose and sinuses before the next game.

It’s close to the end of the second period when Shane gets checked hard as he’s about to go back on the bench. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem, except the guy who hit him is absolutely doused in cologne or body spray that sends Shane into a fit that he can’t control. He barely has time to bring his elbow to his face before he starts sneezing.

“HPNXTch! HehPNXTch! HPNXTchoo! HeptSHiew! Jesus, excuse me.” He gets handed a small towel to blow his nose into, and while he normally avoids that at all cost, he knows he has to. Ilya is over the boards and by Shane’s side once the buzzer sounds, and runs his hand up Shane’s arm. The team walks off to their locker rooms and Ilya pulls Shane aside.

“Bud'te zdorovy.”

“You saw all that?” Shane asks, embarrassed that his husband who was on the ice managed to see him in such a mess. If Ilya noticed, other people must have too, especially since he’s mic’d.

“Yes. You were folding in half because you were sneezing so hard,” Ilya replies. He’s not wrong, but Shane still sighs. “After the game is over you shower, change, and pack our bags. I will handle media alone.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to.”

“Yes, am sure. We need to get you home as soon as possible, will give us good reason to get media done quickly.”

Shane nods and makes his way into the locker room where Harris meets him.

“Shane, we’re gonna give your mic to Hayes.”

Shane slumps. He feels guilty that Hayes has to be subjected to being mic’d up because he’s sick, but he knows it’s for the best.

Harris must be able to tell he’s a bit upset because he pats Shane on the shoulder once his mic is off. “Don’t worry about it. Hayes has been wanting to do one of these and with how awful Columbus’s offense is he’s going to be very entertaining alone down there. We don’t want you stressed about the game and about being mic’d up when you’re sick.”

Shane wants to argue that it’s just a small head cold, but he knows that’s probably not the case. It’s all in his nose right now, and it only seems to be getting worse. Harris gives him a sympathetic look when he sniffles wetly, and goes over to Hayes to mic him up. As Ilya rounds the guys up for a pep talk he squeezes Shane’s shoulder, a small show of support. Shane appreciates him immensely.

They win 4-2, the third period passing in a blur. Shane is a flurry of sneezes and sniffles all period, his nose running like crazy by the end. Shane is the first one off the ice after the celebrations and the handshake line up, plucking up a few tissues from the box that the team doctor is holding out to him by their bench. He murmurs a small thanks and she tells him to get plenty of rest the next few days so he’s better for the next game, and to text her if he gets any worse.

True to their plan, Shane showers, gets changed, and handles packing his and Ilya’s bags. He saw Ilya take the quickest of showers before heading out to handle the media circus that was surely waiting for him, especially after he said some things that needed to be bleeped out on the air. Thank god for the five second air time delay. After everything is packed Shane debates hiding in the locker room until Ilya is back because he opted out of putting back on his game day suit in favor of throwing on comfy sweatpants and a sweatshirt. He never does that, but he’s sick so he makes an exception. But, he knows that Ilya is hoping Shane being sick will give him an excuse to end his session with reporters early, so he walks out with both of their bags, staying just around the corner from where Ilya is.

Shane knows he has quiet feet, it’s something his parents have pointed out to him his whole life. Somehow Ilya is always able to hear him coming, is drawn to him like a magnet. As soon as Shane is settled against the wall, Ilya turns his head to Shane and smiles.

“Ilya?” a reporter prompts.

“Sorry, what was the question again?”

“Do you and Shane Hollander have a protocol when one of you is sick? It’s obvious he has something, and since you two live together we assume you don’t want to catch whatever he has since the season is starting to get serious.”

Ilya huffs and Shane quietly laughs, trying to stay hidden. “Do you ask this question to other players?” Ilya asks, obviously annoyed.

“Wh-what?” the reporter mumbles, flustered.

“Do you ask this question to other guys? Half the league is sick right now. Their wives and children are also probably sick. It’s February. Everyone in the world is sick. Do you ask other players if they stay away from their wives and children when they’re sick?”

“Well no, because—”

“Because you do not know when that happens. You do not ask them personal questions about their living habits. You only ask about me and Shane because you’ve decided you have a right to our private lives because we are hockey players on the same team. You can ask me questions about the game and future games and I will respond. But I will not answer your questions about what my husband and I do in our private lives.”

Shane’s heart fills with pride and gratitude. It’s been a tough season of figuring out how to fend off reporters when they try to question their relationship off the ice. The media likes to pry every bit of information they can out of them, trying to create false stories of Shane and Ilya’s relationship causing problems with their game. They’ve talked with Harris on how to go about it, but it’s always easier when they’re together handling the media. Shane knows Ilya will defend him, defend them, always, but it’s one thing to know and another thing to see. Shane’s listening to the now very embarrassed reporter try to back track his question when he sneezes. “HehPNXTch! HehSHiew!”

“Ah, there is my husband,” Ilya says, motioning for Shane to come join him. Shane picks up their bags and sheepishly walks up to Ilya’s side.

“Excuse me,” he whispers as Ilya puts his arm around Shane.

“Bless you,” Ilya replies, unbelievably fond. Shane hears a chorus of blessings from reporters, but Ilya’s is the only one that mattered.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go home to nurse my sick husband back to health and see our dog.”

Ilya gives the reporters a look, waiting for any of them to object to him ending the post game interview. None of them do, likely too worried about any pushback they may receive from Ilya if they try to press him more about Shane. Ilya takes Shane’s hand and they make their way to the back exit.

“Thank you for that,” Shane says once they’re in the car.

“Is nothing. I get very annoyed when they ask about our relationship. They do not ask other guys this. Only us because they feel like they have the right to know about our relationship since we are both hockey players. Is very stupid.”

Shane kisses Ilya’s hand and sniffles.

“Let’s get you home now. You need tissues and sleep.”

Shane hums and sniffles again which makes Ilya laugh.

“Don’t laugh at me, I’m sick,” Shane pouts.

“Yes, but you are very cute when sick. Is very sweet.”

Shane’s thankful that the night sky hides the way he blushes.

“I love you,” Shane tells Ilya. He’ll never get tired of saying it. He could say it every minute for the rest of his life and it still wouldn’t be enough.

“I love you too. Medicine then bed for you. I will take out Anya then join you upstairs.”

Shane nods and turns up the volume on the soft music Ilya has playing. He’s exhausted and ready to collapse. He doesn’t realize that he nodded off in the car until Ilya is gently shaking his shoulder.

“We’re home, sweetheart,” Ilya whispers.

Shane rubs his eyes and doesn’t fuss when Ilya unbuckles his seatbelt for him. Shane heads upstairs and changes into a pair of Ilya’s boxers and one of his shirts while Ilya takes Anya outside one last time for the night. As soon as Ilya joins him in bed Shane wraps himself around Ilya.

“Moy koala,” Ilya purrs. He runs his fingers through Shane’s hair and presses kisses to the top of Shane’s head. Shane’s positive he’s all snuffles because he feels Ilya press a tissue to his nose.

“Blow one last time, then you can sleep miliy,” Ilya soothes.

Shane blows his nose into the tissue Ilya’s holding, not worrying about how potentially gross or unsanitary it is. When he’s done, Ilya tosses the tissue into the trash can by his bedside and scoops Shane into his arms.

“Sladkikh snov, ya tebya lyublyu,” Ilya says, pressing a final kiss to Shane’s forehead.

“G’night, I love you too,” Shane replies, already half asleep.

russian translations:

moya lyubov = my love

bud'te zdorovy = bless you

da = yes

lyubimyy = beloved

moy koala = my koala

miliy = darling / dear

Shane shoots Ilya a questioning look, but Ilya just smiles.

“If any of us tried to bless him or even acknowledge that he sneezed last year he made us do extra bag skates,” Hayes says.

“Really, Ilya?” Shane asks, rolling his eyes. Ilya shrugs.

“So the fact that he let you bless him, hand him tissues, and used the tissues instead of a towel? A complete turnaround from the man of last season,” Barrett adds.

“Having you here has made me a changed man, moya lyubov'” Ilya says, hugging Shane from behind. The rest of the team groans, but Shane knows they don’t mean it in a bad way.

“Get off me, asshole. You haven’t showered yet.”

Ilya presses a kiss to Shane’s cheek, earning some whistles from half of the team and “ew”s from the other half. He winks at Shane before going to the showers.

“Like a damn dog, Hollander. Like a damn dog,” Bood says, clapping Shane on the back.

scenario 2:

Luca had come down with a terrible cold. The kid is all sniffles and rough coughs. Ilya benched him about five minutes into practice, but Haas wouldn’t go home even if it’s what he desperately needed to do.

They’re back in the locker room after practice has finished, taking off the gear and talking about what to expect for tomorrow’s practice when Luca lets out a sneeze.

“ACHOO!”

“Bless you,” Shane says, automatically.

It’s followed by a chorus of blessings from everyone else on the team. Shane hands some tissues from his stall to Luca who accepts them gratefully (and with a bright red face). The locker room conversations continue, and Shane gets lost in his post practice routine until he sees Ilya jackknife in half. He doesn’t have to wait for the sound to know what’s coming.

“HEH-PTSHIEW! APTSHIEW! HAATSHIEW!” Ilya sneezes into a towel that’s between cupped hands. Shane can’t decide if he’s extremely grossed out or extremely turned on by the display.

“Bless you,” Shane says. He looks away as Ilya blows his nose into the towel, hoping no one notices how red his own face surely is now.

“Goddamn Roz, your nose jealous of Hollzy blessing Haas?” Barrett teases.

“You just had to one up the poor guy,” Hayes adds.

“We promise we know Hollzy’s yours, even if he blesses other people when they sneeze” Bood says with a laugh.

“Yes, his attention is all for me. No one else can have it.” Ilya retorts with a sniffle and a shit eating grin.

“You’re impossible,” Shane tells him once they’re next to each other.

“Yes, but it’s what you love about me.”

Shane could feel his cheeks heat up. Of course Ilya mentioned it to Harris. It was sweet and well intended, but made Shane a bit embarrassed. “It’s just a bit of a head cold, I’ll be okay,” he said, hoping the smile he gave didn’t show any signs of him being flustered. Once the mic was all ready to go he walked back into the locker room and right up to Ilya’s stall, putting his head on Ilya’s shoulder from behind.

“Moya lyubov,” Ilya says.

“You told Harris I’m sick,” Shane pouts.

“Yes, just in case you start feeling worse during the game. I talked to Hayes, we can mic him up if needed. He is silly, sings to himself when he is all alone,” Ilya smiles, his eyes lighting up as he turns to face Shane.

“It’s just a small head cold, I’ll be okay,” Shane replies. Ilya raises his eyebrows at him when he sniffles.

“If you say so. But if that changes you tell someone and we take care of it.”

Shane nods and Ilya presses a kiss to his cheek, quick and subtle. Shane’s not one for PDA, but he allows it now because he’s not feeling his best.

The team heads out to the ice and Shane and Ilya are told their mics are officially on. Shane gets down and starts to stretch and Ilya plops down right next to him.

“Ready to kick some Columbus ass, Hollander?” Ilya asks him.

Shane’s about to answer when he feels that telltale tickle in his nose. He nods and brings his elbow to his face. “hPNXTch! hehPNXTch! Excuse me,” he says with a sniffle. “Yes, yes I am.”