#ray writes

he doesn’t accept that his husband has burrowed himself like some sort of unreachable stoat because he’s “tired” and “wants a nap”. it’s not napping hours. and anyway this man is a furnace - even if he was napping, there’s no scenario where shane’s ever seen him willingly subject himself to three blankets. not even those times when he’s very very sad.

it has to be sickness.

even if ilya leans heavy on denial.

“what are your symptoms,” shane asks on round four of Not Being Able To Stay Away. ilya grumbles, “nagging pest husband.” and even under the blankets shane can hear his irritation. it’s contagious. like whatever he’s caught. and speaking of, “if it’s bacterial we should get you antibiotics.” “you’re bacterial.” and finally shane is just like, whatever. because fuck him, you know? if ilya wants to be a mean, sick asshole then he can be a mean, sick asshole. he’s not gonna bend over backwards to help him.

which is obviously not true. this lasts for twelve and a half minutes before he’s returning to the edge of the guest bed.

“i’m just back to feel your forehead-” “(pathetic rumbly bear noise)” “stop it. let me feel and i’ll leave you alone.” this processes slowly, but finally, the weak strangle-hold around the blankets that shane’s been doing a very good job respecting loosens in quiet defeat. he carefully pulls down the puffy cocoon that ilya’s made for himself to see that he’s caught him somewhere in the slimy midway point between caterpillar and butterfly. his skin is pale and clammy and sweaty and shane taps into those muscle memories from when he was in ilya’s position as a kid, sweating through his hockey puck sheets as his mom sits at the edge of his bed, needling him with affection-driven action points.

ilya’s sweaty curls have fallen and pressed over his head in the process, so he brushes them out of the way. lays his palm over his forehead. and wow. “ilya, you’re sick.” “...no.” “you’re boiling lava hot.” out of habit, he waits for the joke that’s supposed to follow, something like ‘you always think i am hot, hollander’ and the fact that it doesn’t come only seals the deal. ilya is dying, probably. “i’m gonna bring you some ibupr-” the groaning returns, blankets rising back up over his head in a not so subtle display that shows shane has overstayed his welcome. again. “you’re cooking yourself alive!” 

but he is starting to feel extra bad now. naggy. maybe he should just let him rest for a little bit like he’s been whining for. ilya shrimps up underneath the blankets and shane sighs. “fine. you win.” not that he’s fucking happy about it. neither of them are happy about anything right now, to be clear. but. “i’ll be in the living room if you need anything.” he leans forward and plants a kiss somewhere at the top of the blanket shrimp, hoping he’s in the general range of his head. and then he begrudgingly gives ilya what he wants.

dude sleeps for three hours and shane is fighting tooth and nail all three not to make a google doc about it. there’s nothing to plan if he doesn’t know what ilya’s sick with. but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t sit and ruminate, book open in his lap but eyes hazing out somewhere above and to the left of it. when ilya does finally emerge, he’s wet. less in the sweating-to-death way and more in the just-showered way, and shane holds perfect control of every muscle group he can manage to not immediately spring forward and get all up on him with questions and assessments and love.

he simply watches from the couch. doesn’t say a damn word, as his husband clears his throat in the kitchen and then does it again. swallows weird. gets some water from the fridge and gets one drink down with a subtle wince, before going at it again. ‘throat thing…’ shane jots down in his mental google doc. and then, when he can’t possibly stand it any longer, “how do you feel?” ilya shrugs him off not unkindly, but nonchalantly. “fine,” he says, “needed nap.” shane hums in a way that he hopes is just as nonchalant, and then says, “sit with me?” because maybe ilya will interpret it as shane just being needy, which is not entirely incorrect anyway.

he doesn’t get a lot more out of him the rest of the day, but just seeing him out of bed and acting “normal”, no matter how feigned, works shane down from his tizzy. he’s definitely taking notes though. they sit and ilya’s got another blanket draped over his chest and shane rests his arm over the back of the couch, softly playing with ilya’s curls while he reads - feeling them transition from shower-damp to sweat-damp again - the heat radiating off ilya despite the slight shiver in him. shane drops his hand to the back of his neck and he is so fucking hot. shane’s pretty sure his skin should be sizzling right now. but he does note how ilya seems to subconsciously press back into it a little, like shane’s cold hand comes as a beautiful relief. so he keeps it there.

ilya doesn’t eat much dinner. “big lunch,” he explains, as if shane wasn’t right there analyzing the three chilled cucumber slices he ate and nothing else. before they go to sleep he does end up 4D chessing ilya into taking ibuprofen, under the guise of pain relief for his shoulder. he feels at least a little better that there’s something in his system to take his fever down.

sleep isn’t great for either of them if you can even believe it. so shane is more than happy to pull himself from the furnace-sheets and putter around downstairs while his husband sleeps well into late morning. he still doesn’t know what to do. which is driving him crazy. a thread he can finally pull comes via his very good friend hayden pike, who calls to bullshit but also casually drops the bomb that arthur is finally getting over being sick. the words “strep throat” vibrate louder and louder and grow in size in shane’s brain until they’re knocking off the sides of his head like some sort of cartoon because !!!! sorry to hayden but he does not hear a single word that man says after that.

cue detective-style montage of shane combing the web with his glasses and little things of espresso as an hour ticks by on the wall clock. his mental google doc is filling in. he remembers having strep as a kid, and that shit was NOT fun. honestly he had no idea you could get it as an adult? kind of fucked up? maybe that’s what ilya has. the timing of it lines up annoyingly well with their visit with the pikes last weekend. god, does ilya have strep? he stares at him through the crack in the bedroom door like some sort of michael myers situation, trying to visually assess as ilya scrolls on his phone with the blankets up to his chin.

that afternoon he watches his husband try and fail to act as if his throat isn’t killing him from the inside out. talking is not fun for him anymore. or moving. when he does, shane has to physically stop himself from asking why he keeps spitting in the sink. because he’s like, hyperaware of being a nag now, and how being a nag directly correlates to ilya not cooperating. so instead he tries to float some lowkey questions his way. real under the radar shit. like “doesn’t ice cream sound good right now?” and “do you wanna take a cold shower with me?” and “ilya do you have your tonsils still?” 

smash cut to after dinner where ilya has made an excuse about eating later and will definitely not be doing that, and shane is just about fed up with it. ilya’s been dodging his extremely casual and lowkey suggestions all day and he’s done, he thinks! ilya is sick! with strep! he’s like 99% sure! and strep is bacterial which means this beautiful asshole needs medicine and holy fuck, he can’t ID the specific reason why he’s being such a stubborn prick, but shane is ready to drop the hammer!

maybe wrestling him into the couch and mounting him is not using his best bedside manners, but it gets ilya pinned on his back, his scowl raging as shane wrangles his hands down with one while brandishing his tiny emergency flashlight in the other. “open your mouth ilya.” three guesses if ilya opens his mouth. did you guess that he does? are you stupid? “ilya i’m serious. you’re sick.” and he’s pretty sure he knows with what, he just needs to check off the final box in his mental google doc. but that requires a cooperative husband.

fine. “i’m gonna make you a deal,” he says instead. “if you have white spots on your throat, you’re going to the doctor and getting antibiotics. if you don’t, i’ll leave you alone the rest of the night.” a high stakes gamble. but shane is so confident bitch oh god this motherfucker has strep throat - he just knows it.

the deal is too good to pass up. he can see ilya’s entire soul chomping onto the freedom shane dangles in front of him. too bad he’ll never get it. with an annoyed blink, ilya opens his mouth. shane clicks on the flashlight, shining it far back so it illuminates the red, swollen tonsils and that shit is not pretty but… but…

shane blinks. clicks the flashlight off. immediately plunges back into his mental google doc, trying to figure out where he went wrong. because… “well…?” ilya prompts. gruffly. and shane checks again. just to be sure. what the fuck. 

it’s answer enough. ilya tips his whole body to the left, successfully depositing his failed nurse-husband off of him and onto the carpet (gently.) it’s a night to himself, for him.

so. ilya doesn’t have spots and shane is like, so fucking pissed dude. there’s no way it’s not strep. but now ilya’s even more emboldened by shane fumbling the bag so hard and like… fuck. he sits up, criss cross applesauce on the floor. crosses his arms. son of a bitch. something’s gotta give.

the Something is practice. shane hard-launches the return of nag mode but for very good reason, he thinks. there’s no way ilya should be going to practice the next day. he’s dying. and if he goes, they’ll have a team of strepped up centaurs. shane's already made peace with the fact that he’ll be getting it - it’s only a matter of time with the way he was all up in ilya’s tonsils like that. difference is, at the first sign of sickness, he’ll be hitting the amoxicillin hard, sniping it from his body before it can fully get him. unlike his husband, who is dead on his feet but still showing up to practice (shane went so far as to drive separately because 1) he refused to be an accomplice to the crime, and 2) he thought maybe the protest would register in ilya’s brain as significant. but he guesses not much registers in a brain that’s been cooking with a fever for three days.)

everyone is dressing in the locker room except for shane, who is leaving the team doc’s office feeling like the biggest narc on the planet, but also his blood is pumping with sour, horrified adrenaline. they breach the locker room and he’s power walking a few steps ahead of the doc toward ilya like his life depends on it, arriving to preface ilya’s confusion about his approach with a quick solemn “i’m sorry” before “rozanov. let’s go.” 

ilya looks at the doc. then shane. the doc, realization connecting in his head very quickly so that when he fixes shane with his next look, it’s tired but undoubtedly betrayed. “snake,” he croaks at him. shane frowns. “i know.” “rat.” “i’m sorry.” ilya disappears into the hallway and shane doesn’t see or hear from him the entire rest of practice and he feels like he condemned him to the shadowlands or something. the worst fucking husband on the planet. he would be beyond pissed if someone snitched on him to the team doctor to keep him off the ice, so he can understand where ilya’s coming from. except for the fact that he’s saving ilya’s throat. and however else untreated strep can fuck up a person’s insides. but that doesn’t mean he isn’t skating around like a sad, guilty puppy the entire practice.

when it’s over, he showers and dresses quickly and makes several stops before coming home, returning with ice cream and throat drops and a large chocolate milkshake, hoping that perhaps he won’t find his husband hunched over divorce paperwork, fresh, beautiful amoxicillin now coursing through his system. 

ilya is not filing for divorce. but he is giving him the silent treatment. which is new. it appears the man’s throat has to be literal millimeters away from closing for him to shut up. shane helps himself to the space next to him on the couch anyway, olive branch milkshake in hand. the bottle of meds is on the coffee table. next to it is a sticky note and pen - the time he took it jotted down pointedly. ilya probably knows shane’s gonna wanna know. and that alone kind of makes shane wanna cry in a not so bad way.

“is it strep…?” he quickly asks. ilya nods. shane nods too, deciding to leave it at that, instead of feeding into the immense sense of justification that floods him. it’s not about that now. it’s about fluffing and folding his ailing husband.

“i’m sorry i snitched on you,” he says. “i love you and i don’t want you to die.” perhaps a little dramatic, but true all the same. “and also you should probably not infect the entire team if you can help it.” ilya floats a look over to him, and it’s not exactly in disagreement. he holds it for a second, doing a little assessment of his own on shane. then he takes the chocolate shake from his hand and gives it a sip. 

shane can’t help the little smile that tugs at his mouth as ilya’s eyes close in bliss, probably from the relief of the cold ice cream and the delight at the chocolate. “does this mean you’re done being a hardass now?” he has to ask. ilya shrugs, but tosses him a microscopic look of appreciation from the corner of his eye. which means… “yeah…?” oh no, shane’s just full on smiling now, “you get to be my baby…?” they could both definitely go for some affection right about now.

Your girlfriend being the head of her company had its perks, she spoiled you, rotten, anything you even paid more than 5 seconds of attention to she'd buy it for you. Going abroad to sight see, spending time in beautiful villas and beaches. Driving you around in expensive cars with that clean smell. Dates in exclusive restaurants drinking wine you couldn't afford even if you worked for months. It was a lush lifestyle you never imagined until you bumped into the curious woman at your local cafe a few years ago.

However, her job also had its cons, specifically her need to travel from time to time. The job was demanding, having to go to different sites was one of them. It wasn't often but when it was it was for a few weeks at a time leaving you lonely in your shared bed, missing her comfort dearly.

The time difference wasn't much, leaving you a few hours ahead, and she called routinely in her evenings after countless meetings. Usually you'd talk about her day, useless staff not handling her instructions, or your day and how your part time job was going. Tonight however, you were missing one of her features in particular, her ability to make you feel good. You were craving her touch.

"it was an absolute nightmare, I kept telling him he needed to format the spreadsheets before printing them because of the pdf conversion but he just wasn't getting it."

Wanda's voice was smooth through the phone speaker, her subtle accent normally mesmerized you, but there was a slight hoarseness from how tired she was. The usually raspy tone she'd take with you when telling you to spread your legs or lay still.

Your thighs were mindlessly rubbing together, as you found yourself fidgeting to suppress the ache between your legs as your girlfriend spoke. You cleared your throat before attempting to respond.

"haven't you already explained that to him the last time you saw him?"

You listened to the slight groan from the other side, more lewd thoughts filtering into your mind and the idea of how she was usually under you when making that sort of noise.

"I did yeah,"

She took a sharp breath before continuing, you wanted to pay attention, but the throbbing was unbearable and the thought of Wanda next to you stroking your thighs wasn't leaving your head anytime soon.

You shuffled around, humming along to what Wanda was saying, focusing on removing your pyjama bottoms and panties.

"and he tried to argue that he hadn't had this issue before, but he absolutely did because I have told him so many times the graph gets cut off on the right hand side,"

Your focus was faulty, your hand gliding over your right breast slowly, pinching ever so gently over your nipple, all you could process was the cracking of her accent and the wetness spreading across the skin of your thighs.

You rolled your nipple a few times before placing your phone on speaker, onto your nightstand, tracing slow lines down your abdomen before your mound. You needed Wanda so badly, shutting your eyes imagining her hands on your skin.

You pick up specific words coming from Wanda's rant, "dumb" "choke" "so well" "for me" "go on", those few words usually used in a context of punishment or pleasure with you.

Your head was fuzzy, imagining Wanda's fingers gliding up your soaking folds, warm and sensitive from the neediness of the situation. You hummed in response to Wanda's sentences whenever she paused for more than two seconds.

"Are you okay?"

The question snapped you out of your trance for a moment, your fingers freezing, and you began composing yourself to answer,

"Yeah Wands," you were more breathless than you realised, "yeah just keep talking."

"okay darling, well," she paused to remember where she was, your fingers rising to rub tight circles on your clit, "after all of that she finally agreed that,"

Warm, you felt so warm, your chest rising quickly, your fingers moving faster, you weren't even aware of how heavy your breathing had gotten over the phone.

"Are you listening detka?"

Wanda's voice wasn't irritated, but rather low and curious, you began nodding before answering, gulping as you hummed in response not trusting your own words.

There was a few moments of silence before Wanda spoke again,

"let me hear how wet you are."

Your eyes rolled and you let out an audible whine at her words. Usually you'd be humiliated with how she knew what you were doing, embarrassed that you couldn't control yourself around her, but with how close you already were and how badly you needed her, you slid your fingers slowly into your pulsing hole before finding a rougher rhythm.

Wanda could hear your fingers pumping in and out of your cunt, the wet sounds echoing through the phone. She reached for her own pyjamas, pulling them down before placing her phone on speaker matching you.

“Do you miss me that much sweetheart? Need my touch that badly?”

You whined down the line, your fingers moving faster inside yourself, you were nodding quickly, even though Wanda couldn't see, she knew you were, she knew you were answering like the good girl you were. You could feel yourself throbbing around your digits, feeling slightly unsatisfied knowing it wasn't Wanda's slender fingers filling you up.

“Tell me, what would you want if I was there detka?”

You hummed softly, pulling your fingers from your pussy and onto your clit, making faster circles than before, needing a release.

“I.. I would want you to be rough, make sure I knew you still needed to touch my body, feel my pussy around your fingers.”

Wanda's hand found her own clit, groping her breast firmly as she breathed out, imaging you squirming beneath her, crying for anything,

“What about my strap hm? Would you want me to fill that pretty cunt of yours?”

Her voice was broken and your eyes rolled at the idea, suddenly feeling empty with just your hand to pleasure yourself. You cried out as you pushed two fingers back into yourself, curling them the same way Wanda would.

“Please, please I need your cock.”

Your voice was dripping with impatience and neediness, Wanda knew you were close, and the moans that were falling from your lips were pushing her faster to her own climax. She could imagine the way your pussy would throb around her strap, sucking her in deeper as you twitched in pleasure from such strong orgasms.

“I miss you so much.”

Wanda let out an unholy whine at your words, squeezing her eyes as she focused on the sounds of your fingers squelching in your heat. She felt the familiar coil in her abdomen, needing to let go of her pent up stress.

“You have no idea how badly I want to taste what's making all that noise.”

You bit your lip at your girlfriend's voice, breathless and whiney. Her voice was always so commanding and stable, right now it was anything but, shaking and cracking as she moaned through her words. Even the idea of how needy Wanda was to feel and taste you was enough to push you to the orgasm you were ready to beg for,

“Can I cum? Please can I cum? Please please?”

Wanda thought it was adorable how messy you were when begging, repeating words, struggling to finish a sentence, it was utterly adorable. She waited a few seconds, successfully catching up to you before answering,

“Come for me detka be a good girl for me.”

As soon as you heard Wanda's high pitch moan leave her lips, hearing the slight ruffle of the fabric on her end from how hard she was convulsing, your body finally snapped. A white hot rush spread across your body, your limbs locking as they shook erratically, your legs squeezing your hand and arm. Your back arched off the bed and you let out a cracked moan, falling limp immediately as your legs fell back open.

Your breaths synchronised, and you ran your fingers through your hair as you caught your breath, eyes remaining shut as you came down. Just as you were ready to apologise to Wanda for not listening to her rant, her quiet voice climbed through the speaker,

Let me set the scene for you, logan sitting on the small pull out couch in their small yet cozy apartment that wade and he share with blind Al, wade sitting on the floor, on his knees, infront of logan who is whimpering as wade drags a finger over logans much too sensitive tip.

How did they get into this situation you may ask? Well blind Al was out at some bingo event or something, she had called wade to let him know shes staying the night at a friend of hers, so obviously wade used this as a chance to have some lovely alone time with his feral boyfriend.

Moving on

Logan whimpers as wade pulls his hand away, denying him of release, again.

"Ah ah not yet peanut"

Wade teases a smile plastered on his face, hes met with a groan and a weak glare from logan.

This had been going on for well over an hour now, wade getting logan all hot and bothered, bringing him to the edge then denying him any release.

Logan is unaware to the fact wade has an advantage, he knows when logan is close because of the way the tips of his claws edge (ha) out every single time he's close, wade had been observing this fact for a while before putting it to the test (what better way to test his theory than edging the wolverine?) And yep he's right. But that's not the only way wade can identify when the man's about to cum, having seen logan cum by wades hands (and other parts of his body) more times than he can count, he notices the small things, the way logan tenses slightly, how his eyes focus and unfocus and the noises the man makes that would put a porn star to shame.

After half a minute wades hands are back on logans dick, using just the right amount of pressure to make him all but whine. Wade slides his hand down to the base, kissing the tip before taking it into his mouth for only a second, pulling off with a 'pop'

"Bub, you're killing me"

Logan moans, looking down at wade as he teases his aching and leaking cock.

It's rather strange to see THE wolverine like this, so submissive. Logan had been much more dominant in bed begore he met wade, he had never trusted anyone to see him like this, he's never trusted anyone enough to see him vulnerable. Yet wade easily peeled back all those feisty layers within just a year, how? You might ask, well even logan doesn't know. Logans trust issues aside, no one he had slept with in the past cared enough to learn the small things about him, like how wade had noticed the first time they slept together that logans claws peek out when he's close and fully come out when he finishes, and they certainly didn't bother to learn the ways to make logans brain turn to mush with pleasure like wade had.

Wade continues all but playing and toying with logans cock, licking, sucking, moving his hands in ways he knows logan loves.

Wade is gently sucking on the tip when he sees the claws make an appearance again, the tips of sharp adamantium edging out ever so slightly. Wade removes all contact (no matter how badly he wishes he could just swallow logan whole as he cums down his throat) the face logan makes is one wade will definitely be remembering for one of his personal sessions in the shower. He stares at logan, logans eyes are scrunched up, his mouth open as he whimpers (not that he'd admit to whimpering) a stray tear dropping down his cheek. His cock is aching and throbs as wade pulls his hand away again. Logan grabs hold of the back of wades head.

"Quit teasin'."

He all but growls, wade smirks at this

"Say please peanut"

Logan groans, slumping back into the couch

"Please..."

He utters quietly, wade isn't quite pleased with this not yet at least

"Hm? What was that?"

He says with confidence, he had obviously heard him, just wanted to hear it again, I mean who wouldn't want to hear the one and not quite only wolverine saying please? usining his index finger to collect the pre that's dribbling down logans length, this earns him a whimper from logan.

"Fuck..P-please wade, please just lemme cum"

Holy shit biscuit, is logan begging him? Now this, this pleases wade. Wades face lights up. Sensing logan isn't in the mood for being teased about begging so beautifully wade holds it back. Logans making another face that wade is definitely saving for later.

"One more, then you can babygirl, just hangin there"

The merc responds smoothly, logan whimpers, he's desperate yet he knows he can't change wades mind and is too fucked out to argue.

Wade moves his hand skillfully, adding some mouth to it just for fun, in no time logans claws are peeking out and wade pulls away much to logans displeasure. Wade earns another whimper from his precious peanut.

"Alright baby, the readers were waiting for this one."

None of wades words make any sense to logan, in one ear out the other, so, he just whines in response.

Wade waits a minute before jerking logan a couple times, he then moves on to use his mouth, moving the hand that isn't holding logans dick to his own dick, his movements are fast, skillfully using his tongue, hollowing his cheeks every now and again, moving his own hand quickly over himself. After some attention to logans tip, licking the underside while sucking gently, wade feels more than sees the tips of logans claws poking out into the soft skin on his head. Logans mind is hazed with lust and animalistic pleasure. Wade makes quick work of all but swallowing logans dick down, the tip hitting the back of his throat causing a nice burn, wade gags around his cock as logan cums down his throat, the claws now fully out and slicing the back of wades head and ripping the couch cushion logan was gripping onto.

Logan let's out a choked, loud moan and a series of swears as he cums so hard he almost blacks out, pushing wade further down. Wade makes quick work on himself as he swallow logans cum, looking up at logans face is all it takes for wade to cum all over his hand, thighs and the front of the couch, logans face is dusted red his eyes rolling back, tears trailing down his cheeks and his mouth agape, drool sliding down his chin as he rides out his orgasm.

After a couple minutes logan releases wades head from his grip, the claws are back in and the wounds on wades head have healed leaving only sticky blood behind. Both men are panting, trying to catch their breath.

Wade is the first to move, he stands up muttering a small "I'll be back in a second peanut" before disappearing to the kitchen to get water and a damp tea-towel.

Wade returns with a warm damp tea-towel and two bottles of chilled water. He hands logan a bottle and gently wipes the man's dick clean whispering praises such as "you did so good logan." and "good boy, so good for me" kissing him gently every chance he gets.

Wade moves on taking one of logans hands gently and wiping the blood that had dried there from him extending his claws. Once wades done wiping down logan, himself and the couch he takes a sip of his own water, unfortunately washing away the taste of logans cum.

Both men, exhausted, pull out the couch turning it into a small bed for them both. They move some pillows about and place a blanket down before laying down, another blanket over them that has hello kitty plastered all over it. The two cuddle, logans face burried in wades chest arms wrapped around him protectively, legs tangled together as they share body heat, sharing a few soft kisses.

The physical contact makes falling asleep easy and almost instant which is unusual for both mutants but its definitely not unwelcome.

They sleep without a single nightmare, both men have found peace in eachothers arms.