Iâve written for a long time and lurked for a long time. Iâve always written kink fics just for me but finally decided to make a separate blog just to post these and other stuff that will never see the light of day on main.
This is a snz!kink blog, if that isnât your jam, I donât need to hear about why. Just click off.
If youâre a minor, do not interact with this blog or you will be blocked.
If there isnât an age in your bio, you will be blocked.
I write for so many fandoms my list is ridiculous. Asks and messages will always be open (unless my technologically incompetent ass canât hit the right buttons) so if you want to request something please do! Iâm always looking for new prompts.
Iâll try and tag all my fics under a #mywriting tag since I have no idea how to do a master list (Iâm too young to be this old)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
here is this!!! here it is. it's here. it's... it's something.
just a lighthearted little thing, some silly n sweet stuff because I needed to practice it. HUGE thank you, once again, to @silklined for making me sound like I have a working brain. you are incredible! I appreciate the beta/editing so much!
here we are! shane is in a mood, and shane is definitely, absolutely, positively suffering from allergies. it's just allergies. ilya loves shane and lets him pretend.
Married life had taught Ilya many things.Â
It had taught him the humbling reality that an adult relationship under a shared roof mostly consisted of planning meals, laundry cycles, and standing in the kitchen discussing whether they were out of olive oil. Marriage also transformed everything that was supposed to be communal into territory ripe for possession eventuallyâdrawers became claimed, blankets accrued ownership, and taking his husbandâs favorite seat at the dining table was akin to a criminal offense. Even a banal discussion about landscaping options somehow became a debate over financial priorities, a question of morality, and an exercise in international diplomacy until they both remembered they could compromise.Â
It had not, however, taught Ilya that Shane could turn literally any bad experience into a personal failure. Ilya had learned that lesson long before vows and rings and shared home insurance.Â
The Centaurs had played Montreal last night.Â
The Centaurs had lost.Â
Which meant Ilya woke alone. The space beside him had long since cooled, blanket straightened and smoothed. Pale, early morning sunlight stretched around the curtains. It was the sort of morning that invited laziness and going back to bed.Â
Ilya remained sprawled beneath the blankets for a moment, staring at the ceiling, his heart heavy with disappointment. Truthfully, he had known better than to expect Shane to waste the morning in bed with him. After particularly ugly games, Shane was a creature possessed. But some indulgent part of Ilya had still imagined another hour or two tangled together under the covers, sunlight crawling slowly across freckles while they kissed each other awake.Â
Ilya sighed and dragged himself out of bed. There would be no practice today, no meetings, no obligations other than surviving Shaneâs mood.
He could picture it perfectly. Clipped replies, distant eyes, compulsive productivity. Shane would spend the day treating himself like a problem to solve. He would bleed guilt over everything he touched, and he would quietly punish himself through absurd little acts of self-denialâlike rejecting sleeping in on a day off.
Today, Ilya decided, he would be patient. Today, Ilya would be understanding. Ilya would be whatever calm, stabilizing force Shane needed while he dissected every mistake he thought heâd made, the majority of which werenât his fault. And then Ilya would drag him back to bed and kiss him until he forgot about hockey entirely.Â
Then a smell hit him.Â
Ilya stopped halfway out the bedroom. The odor creeping through their home was bitter and earthy, as though someone had taken the entirety of a forest and boiled it down into concentrate. He followed the smell to the kitchen where Shane stood at the stove, hunched over a steaming pot.Â
Ilya demanded, âWhat the fuck is that smell?â
The words escaped him automatically, a reflexive blow. It was like getting hit in the knee during a checkup in exactly the right place, kicking out before your brain could catch up.
So much for being patient.Â
âFuck off,â Shane muttered without turning around. He looked wrong, somehow. Curled inward at the shoulders, tense up through his neck. His hair was a mess, like heâd been dragging his fingers through it for the better part of the early morning.Â
Ilya took a breath and rolled his shoulders. âSeriously. What is that?â The smell truly was awful, medicinal in a way that suggested Shane was attempting to make soup using ingredients gathered from the yard.Â
âGo away.âÂ
The words would have had more impact if Shane hadnât punctuated them with a wet little sniffle.Â
Ilya approached slowly, gaze sharpening as he came to stand beside Shane. Shane sniffled again, nose slightly wrinkled, and his eyes held a wet shine. Ilya stepped behind Shane and slid both arms around his waist, pressing an absent kiss beneath his ear.
âIlya, stop,â Shane groused. âGet off me.â
Instead, Ilya tightened his hold. âWhatâs wrong with you?â he asked, gentler now. âWhy are you crying?â
âIâm not crying.â Shane knuckled irritably at the side of his nose. âItâs just alleehh-! hhâISHHhâuh!â He jerked his head sharply to the side, burying the sneeze into the crook of his arm. âsnnf! Allergies.âÂ
Ilya closed his eyes briefly, remembering his vow to prioritize Shane and all his idiosyncrasies. Especially after a grueling, embarrassing loss. âMmh,â he hummed agreeably. âAllergies, of course.â
Shane went still, surely suspicious at how quickly Ilya accepted his excuse.Â
Ilya swallowed his amusement and peered over Shaneâs shoulder, inspecting the steaming pot. Floating within the dark water were citrus peels, ginger, and what genuinely appeared to be pieces of the shrubs in their yard. âWhat is this?â he asked. âYou make gross soup for allergies?â
Shane made an exhausted noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh. âItâs tea.â His voice cracked faintly on the word, and he cleared his throat afterward. âItâs supposed to help with allergies. I found the recipe online.â
âOnline where?â Ilya scoffed. âMedieval doctor blog?âÂ
âUgh, shut up.â Shane sniffled again, thicker this time, and pulled a tissue from his pocket to wipe at his nose.
âWhat if this⊠tea kills you?â
âThen I wonât have allergies anymore,â he snapped.
Ilya barked out a laugh before he could stop himself. Shane, though huffing, relaxed a little into Ilyaâs hold. Â
So Shane wasnât sick. He just had allergies bad enough to wake early on what was supposed to be a slow Sunday and brew forest tea while looking seconds away from a mental breakdown.Â
âYou sound bad,â Ilya probed gently.Â
âItâs allergies,â Shane insisted, clearly aware that he did, indeed, sound bad.Â
Ilya smiled against Shaneâs shoulder, then kissed it. This was all too familiar, Shane trying to outmaneuver his own body through denial and stubborn insistence. Shane preferred suffering privately whenever possible, which in practice meant acting annoyed at Ilya when he noticed Shane was clearly having a terrible time.Â
It was fine, really, because Ilya could wait. There was no need to corner Shane about it now when his nose was pink and his eyes were wet and his voice was nasally. Nature was building Ilyaâs case against Shane quite well.Â
âRight, right.â Ilya settled his chin on Shaneâs shoulder and peered once more into the pot with a brow raised. âDoes allergy tea taste better than it smells?â
Shane stared down into the murky brew for a long moment, clearly weighing whether honesty was worth the humiliation. He finally admitted, ââŠProbably not.â
Ilya bit the inside of his cheek and kept quiet, deciding Shane deserved some reprieve.
Ten minutes later, Shane drank his questionable tea while Ilya busied himself with making breakfast. Ilya had cracked eggs one-handed against the edge of the counter and watched Shane take the first sip from the corner of his eye.
Shane had raised the mug with cautious resolve, taken exactly one swallow, then gone utterly motionless in the way prey did upon realizing danger was near. His expression had tightened, and a tiny, tortured flare of his nostrils followed.Â
Shane was stubborn, however, and he continued drinking with small sips. He swallowed with visible effort, and Ilya kindly continued stirring the scrambled eggs on the stove, pretending not to notice.Â
Ilya set the bar counter at the kitchen island, complete with eggs and yogurt and fruit cut into neat little pieces because he wanted Shane to actually eat. Shane continued his brave battle against his allergies, taking meager bites of breakfast interspersed with wet sniffles. Ilya noticed every single one and kept his mouth shut.Â
âHuhâISHhâoo! -ISHHâuh!âÂ
The sneezes burst out suddenly and hard enough to pitch Shane into an awkwardly angled curl away from the counter. He caught them into the crook of his arm just in time. For a moment, Shane remained frozen there. Then came a slow, defeated reach for another tissue (from a box that had somehow ended up on the counter when Ilya hadnât been looking).
Ilya lifted his coffee to his mouth to hide his smug smile.Â
Shane blew his nose gently and looked up just to find Ilya watching. Ilya widened his eyes innocently, while Shane narrowed his, and Ilya took a loud, slurping sip.
After breakfast, they stood at the sink, shoulder to shoulder, while Shane rinsed his mug and Ilya helpfully organized their dirty dishes for maximum soakage. Ilya joked about his excellent dish engineering, and Shane couldnât help but laugh. A rough cough followed the laugh, and Shane turned it into his shoulder.
Ilya nudged him lightly with an elbow. âCome shower with me.â
Shane looked at him, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.Â
Ilya feigned offense, arranging his face into wounded innocence, because he had only partly meant for it to be taken as a proposition for sex. If Shane wanted, maybe. Which he would, probably.Â
âFor allergies!â he clarified. âHot water, steam, touching you. All very good for allergies.â
âOh, yes.â Ilya turned and leaned back against the counter with his arms crossed, all smiles and warmth. âI can heal you.â
Shane sniffed and averted his gaze. âI already showered.â He turned the faucet off and stepped away from the sink. âMaybe after we work out.â
Ilya stared at him in genuine disbelief, just for a brief moment. He had already suffered six straight days of practices, games, and Shaneâs morning yoga routines. Some days had stacked all three.Â
âNo.â Ilya pushed off of the counter and left the kitchen with complete peace, abandoning Shane to his compulsive exercise regimen while Ilya claimed his rightful place on the couch. âToday is for rest.â
By the time Shane wandered into the living room, Ilya had already spread himself on the couch beneath a blanket with Anya tucked against his legs.
Shane stopped short at the sight. âSeriously?â
âYou should try resting. Will fix your allergies problem, maybe.â
Shane looked scandalized. âYou always feel better with active recovery.â His voice was slipping into his captain cadence, an old habit Ilya wished Shane would have left back in Montreal (which wasnât true, but he much preferred when Shane used that voice in the bedroom). âIlya, itâs basic condition-⊠ihh-ing⊠hhâISHHâuh!â
Ilya smiled, positively coy. âWe can actively recover in the shower,â he offered sweetly. âBut nooo, you need to do some scary bosu ankle shit.â Â
âItâs for stabilization,â Shane gritted through his teeth, rubbing irritably beneath his nose with a tissue procured from his pocket. âYou had that high ankle sprain just last seasonââ
Ilya waved a hand dismissively. âAahh, whatever. Healed in a week.â
âIt absolutely did not heal in a week.â
âWell I played after a week. Was fine.â
Shane stared at him incredulously, seeming to weigh whether this argument was worth expending energy over. Somewhere beneath the internal battle and oncoming definitely-not-a-cold, affection flickered helplessly through the exasperation on his face.Â
Ilya, of course, found this adorable.Â
âI love you, and I love your strong ankles,â Ilya conceded. âBut I am going to rest and watch Youtube.â
Shane prepared for the home gym alone by filling his water bottle and arming himself with pockets full of tissues. Ilya watched this preparation from beneath his blanket on the couch and released a long-suffering, dramatic sigh.
Shane lifted one hand behind himself in a gesture that made Ilya laugh loudly and long enough to follow Shane all the way down the hallway.Â
Ilya remained sprawled over the couch with Anya curled against him in a warm little crescent while a nostalgic Vine compilation played on the televisionâan old comfort. The video had started as actual entertainment, the strange humor of a bygone but familiar era, and gradually devolved into background noise while his mind wandered elsewhere.
Mostly, it wandered toward Shane. Specifically, he was imagining Shane sneezing through calisthenics and growing increasingly more frustrated.Â
He didnât have to wonder about Shane and his failing workout for long. Footsteps sounded down the hallway far too soon. Ilya glanced at the time on his phone. Shane couldnât have been gone for even an hour, likely closer to half that.
Usually Shane returned from workouts flushed with heat and self-satisfaction, loosened with the restless static worked out of his system. Exercise settled Shane in a way Ilya envied sometimes. Ilya always emerged from hard training with energy crawling under his skin, but Shane always seemed sated and relieved.
Now, however, Shane just looked pale.Â
He would probably still pass a cursory public outing. No stranger on the street would stop to ask after his wellbeing. He didnât look awfully ill, but Ilya knew Shaneâs face too intimately. Shaneâs eyes were always easy for Ilya to read, and they were presently glazed with fatigue. The skin beneath them had begun to shadow faintly violet. Even his posture looked wrong, sagging under the weight of feeling unwell.Â
âHow was your workout?â Ilya asked casually, fixing his attention back on the television.Â
âFine,â Shane insisted, but he ruined the illusion by ducking into the crook of his arm. âHuhâISHHâooh!â
Ilya muted the television.
Shane narrowed his eyes as Ilya unfolded himself from the couch. âDonât start.â
âI say nothing,â Ilya replied with saintly calm. He crossed the room slowly, enjoying the suspicion gathering across Shaneâs face.Â
Ilya slid both hands over Shaneâs hips. Shane looked downright silly, averting his gaze and taking a slow drink from the water bottle still in his hand, trying to appear unaffected. Ilya slipped his fingers beneath the hem of Shaneâs shirt, spreading his hands over warm skin and feeling the subtle flex of muscle beneath them.Â
âMmh,â he hummed approvingly. âThank you, exercise.â
Shane rolled his eyes. Ilya took the water bottle from his hand, pushed the mouthpiece closed against his hip, and tossed it onto the couch.Â
Ilya kissed just beneath Shaneâs ear and smiled against the skin when Shane exhaled softly. Ilya followed the line of his throat downward with slow kisses, feeling Shaneâs pulse thrum hard and quick against his mouth. Bit by bit, Shane loosened under his hands. Triumph stirred warm and pleasant inside Ilyaâs chest.Â
âShower now?â Ilya murmured against Shaneâs neck.
Shane huffed a weak laugh. âIt would be faster if I just rinsed off alone.â
âMaybe true.â Ilya hooked a finger beneath the collar of Shaneâs shirt and tugged it aside, just enough to mouth lazily at his collarbone. âBut I think maybe you need a little more exercise first.â
âThatâs not evenââ The protest dissolved as Ilya kissed his throat again. Shane tipped his head to the side automatically, allowing Ilya better access even as he muttered, âYouâre so annoying.â
âMmh, definitely true.â
The matter of the shower became less an invitation and more an inevitability as Shaneâs arms looped around Ilyaâs neck, pulling him even closer.Â
Not that Shane had been trying especially hard to resist.
In the shower, Shane melted under Ilyaâs touch. He braced both hands against the tiled wall with his head tipped forward, breath catching in ragged moans. Every sound pulled from him carried a roughness now. His nose ran unchecked over his philtrum in a way he either genuinely didnât notice or had decided to ignore in favor of more important matters.
There was something sacred in these moments. Shane spent so much of his life wound tight, holding himself in a perfectly polite package. But here, flushed and shaking and reduced to primal instincts beneath Ilyaâs hands, he became raw and open. It was deeply intimate, watching Shane unravel like this with Ilya buried deep inside him.Â
Through it all, Shane never once kissed him on the mouth. Jaw, yes. Throat, repeatedly. Once to Ilyaâs nipple with so much lust behind it that Ilya nearly forgot his own name.
It was absurdly transparent. Apparently Shane believed he was conducting infection control measures all while wrapped around Ilya in a cloud of steam and desire. The earnestness of it charmed Ilya so thoroughly he could hardly decide whether it made him want to laugh or ruin Shane completelyâor both, more likely.Â
After their shower, Shane dressed in clean clothes (dark jeans, oddly, maybe he thought dressing up made him appear in better health?) and stood before the bathroom mirror, going through his routine of toner and some kind of sunscreen he always nagged Ilya to use. Ilya leaned shirtless against the closet doorway and watched him quietly.Â
Shane looked exhausted now that adrenaline had worn off. His nose remained stubbornly pink, eyes heavy lidded. Every few moments he sniffled softly, yet he stood determined, as though refusing to let an oncoming cold compromise proper skincare. The sight filled Ilya with such unbearable affection he nearly proposed another round in the shower.Â
By the time noon rolled around, Shane announced he was going to do a working lunch so he could relax later in the afternoon.Â
âA lunch date with your laptop?â Ilya teased from the kitchen. He waited impatiently beside a pot of water refusing to boil, a box of pasta in his left hand. âIâm much hotter than emails.â
Shane popped his pre-prepped meal into the microwave, not even sparing Ilya a glance. âDebatable.â
âWow. Shower Shane would agree with me.â
Ilya made pasta drowning in butter sauce and parmesan while Shane sat at the table answering emails between bites of salmon, increasingly congested sniffles, and periodic pauses to tend to his nose with tissues.Â
âNngkh!â
Ilyaâs back was turned as he plated his pasta. The noise had come strangled, but Ilya was certain Shane had sneezedâand probably been dangerously close to blowing out his eardrums trying to silence it. There followed one careful sniffle, and by the time Ilya reached the table, Shane had schooled his expression into bland composure.
Shane finished eating first but lingered at the table with his laptop while Ilya worked through his pasta. Halfway through his meal, Shane went into the kitchen to rinse his meal prep container and returned carrying a clean fork.Â
âCan I have a bite?â
Ilya looked up, brow raised. âYou want some?â
âItâs a day off,â Shane replied seriously. âI can have one bite. Two, if I want.â
Ilya had to work especially hard to keep himself from grinning while Shane twirled exactly one modest forkful. Under normal circumstances, he would have stolen a bite using Ilyaâs fork without hesitation, but Ilya kept this thought to himself.
Ilya finished his lunch while Shane puttered around the house in restless little circuits, tidying areas that already looked clean and repeatedly vanishing down hallways to blow his nose in private, maybe because he hoped that being out of sight would place him truly out of mindâor at least out of range of sound (it didnât).Â
Ilya kept easy conversation speckled between Shaneâs self-directed tasks. Upcoming games, next weekâs road trip. He reminded Shane to add some snacks to their grocery list, easy and dry things to pack for their next flight. Shane tapped on his phone while he stood at the back door, waiting while Anya sniffed around the yard.Â
This kind of normalcy mattered to Shane, as did his image of good health, apparently. Ilya allowed him to keep both for now.
By mid-afternoon, after the dishes were loaded and the lap blankets on the couch had been rearranged to look effortlessly draped and home decor catalogue ready, Shane announced, âIâm going to lie down for a few. I need to decompress my spine.â
Ilya nearly choked holding back a snort.Â
The excuse was absurd on its own, but they were married. They spent plenty of time existing separately in the same house without reporting their movements to each other like coworkers clocking breaks. But Shane had a funny habit of narrating his behavior when he knew it would appear suspicious.Â
Five minutes later, Ilya wandered into the bedroom and found Shane fast asleep.
He had collapsed awkwardly atop the blankets, curled on his side in a way that surely wasnât helpful for his spine. One arm was trapped beneath the pillow, a crumpled tissue still held loosely in the hand resting under his chin.Â
Frankly, he looked sick.Â
The tension was gone from his face, leaving behind the exhausted reality underneath. His mouth was parted to compensate for congestion, and he was breathing noisily. He looked warm and worn out and painfully human in a way that tugged hard at something protective in Ilyaâs chest.Â
Ilya quietly backed out of the room. He found Anyaâs leash and took her on the long route through the neighborhood to give Shane uninterrupted peace and quiet. Crisp fall air bit pleasantly at his cheeks while Anya trotted happily beside him. Ilya carried one-sided conversation as they went.
âYour dad is pretending heâs not sick,â Ilya informed her gravely as they walked. âVery embarrassing for him. Heâs a terrible liar, you know.â
Anya looked up at him.Â
âExactly,â Ilya said, feeling affirmed. He rewarded her with a treat from the pouch at his waist because Anyaâs trainer had stressed the importance of consistent reinforcement, and Ilya took fatherhood extremely seriously. Eye contact on walks, apparently, ranked among the top five most important behaviors to instill in dogs. Ilya had initially been a little dubious, but he had also very thoroughly checked the trainerâs credentials and trusted expertise where his daughter was concerned.Â
At the next crosswalk, he told Anya to sit.
âSmart girl,â he murmured warmly, crouching down to scratch behind her ear. Then, more solemnly, he said, âWhen we go home, you leave Dad alone, yes? No jumping, no making him throw your toy one million times. He needs rest. You only bother Papa.âÂ
Anya tilted her head, and Ilya chose to interpret this as agreement.Â
Ilya returned with Anya expecting a quiet home. He knew it wouldnât be completely silent. Anyaâs nails skittered excitedly across the tile the moment he opened the front door (he needed to book an appointment with her groomer at the spa), and he heard the low, muffled hum of the washing machine in the mudroom leading to the garage. But he had expected the particular stillness of his husband asleep upstairs, napping his way through a cold he refused to acknowledge as anything more than allergies.Â
Instead, he heard cabinets closing in the kitchen.Â
Ilya stopped in the wide passage to the kitchen and crossed his arms.Â
Shane stood at the island, hair rumpled and sweatshirt sleeves pushed up his forearms, while he aligned the corners of a kitchen towel. Ilya cleared his throat, and Shane looked up slowly at the sound.Â
âYou are folding towels,â Ilya observed calmly.Â
Shane glanced down at the towel, frowning, then looked at Ilya again. âUh⊠Yeah?â
âWhy?â
Shane rolled his eyes weakly. âThey were clean.â Halfway through smoothing the folded towel, he stopped and wrenched to the side. âHh-! HhâISHHâuh!â He had caught it in the crook of his arm, but he still washed his hands after. Then he grabbed another clean towel from the small basket on the island and resumed folding.Â
Ilya watched it all with a soft smile. Earlier Shane had been sharp and defensive, but sometime during his afternoon nap his cold had sunk deeper into him, blunting all that nervous energy and leaving him fogged over.Â
âI took Anya on a walk,â Ilya said casually while shrugging off his jacket. He laid it over the back of a barstool at the island counter. âYour back feels better?â
âYeah. Laying down helped.â
âYou nap?â Ilya eyed the red sleep wrinkle still pressed across Shaneâs cheek.Â
âNo.â Shane sniffed thickly, then cleared his throat. âJust... laid down for like ten minutes? Maybe fifteen.â
Ilya crossed the kitchen under the excuse of heading toward the refrigerator for a drink, and he let his hand slide briefly along the back of Shaneâs neck as he passed, thumbing at the hair at the nape with gentle affection. Shane was warm, probably from his nap, but not fever-hot. Relieved, Ilya grabbed a can of coke from the fridge and retreated to the living room.Â
The rest of the afternoon passed in domestic bliss, unremarkable in the best way. It was the kind of ordinary Ilya had once assumed life could never possibly become for him. A decade ago heâd imagined spending his thirties much the same as his early twenties, drinking his way around cities and keeping warm in unfamiliar beds. Instead, it was this, tossing Anyaâs toy lazily across the room whenever she dropped it into his lap while his husband disinfected already clean countertops and snuffled into tissues.
This was, truthfully, much better.Â
By evening, it was impossible to miss that Shane was getting worse. His entire nose had gone pink now, a flush spreading delicately over the bridge and sides of it. Congestion won steady ground, leaving his lips faintly parted with quiet breaths through his mouth. His voice roughened, too. Even his sneezes had changed, sounding tired.Â
âHhâISHhh-âISHâuh!âÂ
Shane no longer seemed embarrassed about them, either. Earlier he had politely buried them into his elbow, and now he halfheartedly caught them in tissues.Â
What truly convinced Ilya that Shane felt awful, however, was that he didnât hover over Ilya when he had said he would handle dinner.Â
Normally Shane supervised Ilyaâs cooking. At his best, he tried to be helpful. At his worst, he moaned and groaned about nutritional value. He had eased up on his strict diet over time, but he still liked their meals to be reasonably balanced.Â
Tonight, Shane simply leaned against a wall nearby, staring off and looking miserable.Â
âI was thinking baked chicken,â Ilya announced. Anyaâs head perked up from her food bowl, chicken apparentlyfar more enticing than her specially tailored meals Ilya paid too much for. âRoast vegetables on the side?â
Shane blinked at him. âHuh?â
âChicken. Vegetables. Healthy things.â Ilya motioned to the ingredients heâd been steadily gathering on the counter. âFor dinner.âÂ
âOh. Yeah?â Shane nodded, rubbing at his nose. âThat sounds⊠really good, actually.âÂ
What Ilya truly wanted wasnât anything Shane would want to eat. Chicken parmesan, Chinese takeout, last night he had even thought about ordering from the new chicken wing place in town. He wanted something glutinous, a meal the teamâs dietitian certainly wouldnât have planned for them while on the road these next two weeks. But Shane looked terrible and certainly didnât need to fret over poor dinner choices, so Ilya took pity on him.Â
âGo sit on the couch.â Ilya nudged lightly at Shaneâs hip as he passed him, heading for the cabinet where they kept the baking sheets. âDonât bother the chef.â
Shane narrowed his eyes faintly but definitely seemed too tired to argue. âFine,â he surrendered.
Ilya prepared dinner while Shane suffered in the living room.Â
From the kitchen, Ilya periodically passed the wide passage leading to the living room. Every time Ilya chanced a look, Shane was further sunk into the couch. At first, Shane had been sitting upright, some forgettable home renovation show playing in the background. Soon after, he had curled into the corner piece. By the time Ilya had the chicken and vegetables in the oven, Shane was nearly horizontal, only his dark hair peeking over one of the cushions.Â
âHh⊠HâISHHh!âÂ
A muffled groan followed several seconds later.
Ilya sat in a stool at the island and scrolled through his phone. Twice while dinner cooked, Shane disappeared upstairs.
The first time, Ilya caught movement from the corner of his eye and looked up just in time to see Shane trudging slowly toward the staircase. A minute later, muffled sneezing echoed faintly down the hallway overhead. Shane returned soon after with a fresh box of tissues and the small wastebasket from their bedroom.Â
The second trip upstairs happened barely fifteen minutes later. Ilya hadnât seen Shane leave, but he heard Shane climbing the stairs and stopping halfway up while he coughed.Â
Ilya frowned down at the vegetables he was turning over on the baking sheet. He wondered how much more miserable Shane needed to be before he would admit to his cold outright.Â
It was a double-edged sword, really. Shaneâs stubbornness over this cold irritated Ilya, but it also reassured him. If Shane felt truly awful, he would eventually stop pretending otherwise. Shane still trying to salvage dignity meant he probably felt well enough to push through.Â
When dinner finished, Ilya worked on piling two plates and called Shaneâs name.Â
He didnât answer.Â
Ilya expected to find Shane asleep on the couch but instead found him curled under a blanket with the tissue box on his lap, awake but thoroughly wilted.Â
He looked awfully exhausted, staring off with his gaze unfocused. His eyes were dull with fatigue and were watering. And congestion had settled heavily across his face now, the space around his sinuses appearing almost puffy.Â
His nose, especially, looked worked into the ground. His nostrils were rubbed raw and swollen, the kind of angry red one might expect to see played up with makeup in a commercial for cold medicine. His nose looked sore enough that sympathetic pain prickled over Ilyaâs skin just looking at it.
Ilya had the overwhelming urge to gather Shane up in his arms and carry him straight upstairs. Change him into warm pajamas and put him to bed properly, press kisses into his hair until he fell asleep.Â
Instead, Ilya crouched in front of Shane and put a hand on his shoulder. âShane.â
Shane blinked at him, sleepy and embarrassed.Â
âYou look so sick.â
A miserable groan escaped Shane instantly. He dragged both hands over his face and left his palms pressed against his cheeks. âI know, I know,â he rasped. âI thought it was nothing.â
âNo, you thought it was allergies,â Ilya taunted, and Shane closed his eyes briefly in shame. Ilya pressed the back of his hand to Shaneâs forehead and found it warm, maybe, but still not feverish. He asked softly, âHow bad do you feel?â
âNot that bad.â Shane sighed softly and leaned into Ilyaâs touch. âNo fever.âÂ
Ilya raised a brow, encouraging him to continue.
âI, uh⊠checked already.â Shane hesitated just long enough to sniffle. âWhile you were making dinner.â
âAh, sneaky.â Ilya brushed a thumb softly under Shaneâs eye. âI thought you didnât want me to hear you sneeze your brains out.â
Shane huffed a weak laugh and ducked his head shyly. âNo, Iâm sure you⊠heard that anyway.âÂ
Rather than confirm, Ilya pressed a chaste kiss to Shaneâs forehead and stood. âYou should eat. I will bring it here.â
Shane nodded once and murmured a tired, âOkay.â
Shane wasnât normally one to eat full meals on the couch, nothing beyond a light snack, and the simple compliance stirred concern inside Ilyaâs chest. He supposed he was glad, however, that Shane was up to eating at all.Â
Shane leaned fully into his cold now that he acknowledged it. He ate in small and distracted bites between sniffles and coughs, rough little things he muffled dutifully into crumpled tissues. Once, with the fork halfway to his mouth, his breath hitched warningly. He dropped the fork and fumbled for a tissue.Â
âHehâISHHhâiew! Fu-uuhâISHHâuh!â
âWow.â Ilya rubbed a firm hand over Shaneâs back. âYour allergies are really terrible.â
Shane shot him a bleary glare over the tissue held to his nose. âShut up.â His voice came out wrecked, cracking at the end.Â
âYou want some more allergy tea? I think we have so many ingredients outside.â
Shane rolled his eyes, but the irritation behind them had dissolved completely now that he no longer had to defend himself. He was embarrassed, maybe, but definitely relieved. He looked tired and soft and willing (open, vulnerable, loved).
Ilya took the blanket from his own lap and wrapped it around Shaneâs shoulders, cocooning him further in warmth. Shane accepted this without protest, even offering Ilya a shy little smile. When Ilya scooted closer, so that their thighs pressed together, Shane didnât move away.Â
Shane might have asked Ilya to keep his distance, when he was younger and struggled to give into simple pleasures in the face of more responsible choices. Tonight, Shane merely sniffled and leaned subtly closer. A year of safety, held in Ilyaâs arms with the world watching and coming out better for it, had made it easier for him to give in and claim what he wanted.
By the time Ilya finished his plate, Shane had managed a little over half of his own. It wasnât ideal, with their busy week ahead, but it was enough, especially given that Shane was fully leaned into Ilyaâs side now and flagging hard.
âYou are done?â Ilya asked quietly.
Shane nodded, drifting somewhere closer to sleep.
Ilya carefully helped Shane back against the couch, tucked the blanket tighter around his shoulders. He gathered their dishes and carried them to the kitchen, listening to muffled television punctuated by the occasional cough while he rinsed the plates. He started the dishwasher before he returned to the living room and dimmed the lights low, then sat on the couch, opening one arm invitingly toward Shane.Â
Shane looked at Ilya for approximately two seconds before practically crawling into his lap.
He wasnât particularly graceful about it, either. It was a desperate grapple, frantic in his reach as his fingers curled at the front of Ilyaâs shirt. Shane buried his face in the crook of Ilyaâs neck and shuddered out a sigh that signaled a homecoming.Â
Ilya had been waiting for this, watching Shane white-knuckle his way through the day. Gathering Shane closer, Ilya shifted to bear the brunt of Shaneâs surrender.Â
âGood,â Ilya murmured into Shaneâs hair. âMuch better.â
Shane only coughed softly in reply.
For a long while, they stayed like this. Ilya scratched his fingertips gently over the hair at Shaneâs nape. Shane tucked his head lower, giving Ilya more access.Â
âHuhh-! HehâINGSHâieh!â
The sneeze burst suddenly, directed at a bunch of blanket clutched in Shaneâs fist that rested on Ilyaâs chest. He groaned into the blanket after, muffled and miserable.Â
âBless you,â Ilya murmured into Shaneâs hair. âYou are allergic to me, I think.âÂ
Shaneâs fingers halfheartedly pressed into his ribs.Â
Ilya smiled and kissed the crown of Shaneâs head. âPractice tomorrow is optional. You should stay home.âÂ
Shane stiffened, and Ilya soothed him with a pass of his fingers through Shaneâs hair.Â
âIâm probably okay,â Shane murmured after a beat, though even he sounded unconvinced.Â
âMmh.â Ilya continued stroking gently through his hair. âWe have a road trip soon. Better you rest now.âÂ
Shaneâs shoulders rounded just slightly, a subtle tensing Ilya had learned meant Shane was preparing to shoot back yet was bracing for a retaliation to follow. He was two steps ahead in everything he did, on and off the ice.Â
âHihâISHHhâuh! -ISHHâuh!âÂ
Except when his cold sent him five steps back.
Ilya waited, and Shane eventually sighed against his chest. Embarrassment hung heavy in his voice when he croaked, âYeah, maybeâŠâÂ
Ilya brushed his lips, perched in a soft smirk, over Shaneâs hair in slow passes back and forth, a sort of drawn out kiss disguised nuzzle. He breathed Shaneâs scent as he took stock of the home around him. Anya slept curled nearby on the rug, paws twitching faintly in dreams. The dishwasher hummed distantly in the kitchen. Shaneâs breathing warmed steadily through the fabric of Ilyaâs shirt, growing slower and softer yet a tad noisier the closer Shane drifted toward sleep.
Married life, Ilya thought, had so many lessons.
Today, it had reminded him how love settled into ordinary placesâinto grocery lists and lap blankets, and eating dinner on the couch. Into open arms, and letting your husband crawl into them without needing words.Â
Maybe years from now marriage would teach him other things, too. It would teach him how Shaneâs hair would silver at the temples first, how his laugh lines would be earned, which insecurities would soften over time and which would stubbornly survive.Â
Maybe it would teach him that head colds wouldnât always be eased into with the excuse of allergies. One day Shane might wake up with a catch in his throat and climb into Ilyaâs arms unabashed before even getting out of bed.
It would teach him every version of Shane through time. In turn, it would offer Shane the same.
That thought frightened him a little. He would reach an age he never imagined for himself, with a person he loved there to witness it. It was a terrifying thought, loving someone long enough to have decades of him remembered. The proud moments, and the lowest.
That, he realized, was marriageâs greatest lesson.Â
It was learning, over and over again, how Shane would show Ilya that he wanted to see it all, and that he trusted Ilya to watch him grow and change, too. It was spending thousands of ordinary days learning each other by heart, only to find there was always something new to love. It was coming to understand he would never really reach the end of knowing Shane, and being grateful that there would always be more to learn.Â
And if that was what Ilya would remember his life as, decades of learning Shane, then he could think of no greater life spent.
i still cannot get over ur xmas fic!!! SO SO GOOD, will you be writing a part 2 ?
Thank you so much! Somebody commented and suggested a part 2 with Shane and honestly Iâve been reeeaaally mulling it over in my head and I do think Iâll end up writing it when I can get to it.
When the QUEEN asks, you answer!!! Thank you very much for the idea and I hope you enjoy, @bluerose777! đđ
NSFW (more fluff coming soon, btw), kink!Shane, some mess, lots of nose blowing aka the author's poorly disguised absolutely undisguised fetish
Part 1
ââ
Two days after Ilya first started coming down with his cold, Shane woke to a slight pain in one ear, a dryness in his throat that wouldnât abate even with a few coughs to clear it, and, of course, a feeling of stuffy fullness in his nose. He knew that him catching Ilyaâs cold had been inevitable - the two had thoroughly taken advantage of Ilyaâs sneeziness over the last few days, after all - but heâd still held out some hope that maybe he would get through the week unscathed. No such luck.Â
And while yes, they still had plenty of time together before the start of training campâŠ
ââtchiew! hdtâshiew!â
âŠquite a bit of that time was going to be spentâŠ
ââhitâchyew! ahhâSHiew!â
âŠsick and sneezy.
(Although there were certainly worse ways to spend oneâs time.)
âBudâ zdorov, budâ zdorov, budâ zdorov, budâ zdorov,â Ilya repeated dutifully, rubbing up and down Shaneâs back with a guilty look in his eyes. Â
Shane wiped at his eyes with a tissue and coughed itchily. âYou donât have to say that every time I sneeze.â
Ilya frowned. âYes, I do. Itâs my fault that you sneeze.â He pulled the blankets up a little higher on Shaneâs lap.Â
Shane snuffled and reached for another tissue. âItâs not your fault, Ilya. Besides, itâs just a little cold.â He turned to the side and blew gently, then, when the pressure in his head refused to subside, blew a little harder. The effort made something in his chest twinge and he started to cough again, which made Ilya even more frowny.
âThis cold does not seem so little,â he said before turning away with a few rumbly coughs of his own.Â
Speak for yourself, Shane wanted to say. This cold had been a doozy for Ilya since day one, leaving him sneezing in breathless bursts several times an hour. At this point, Shane wasnât too far behind him, and there was an empty tissue box on his side of the bed to prove it. Now there was a new record for the NHL - Most Combined Sneezes by Hart Trophy-Winning Secret Centerman Boyfriends. The stats nerds would have a field day with that one. The thought made Shane snort, then duck back into his tissue as his nose started to burn with irritation.Â
âhishâshiew! ahhâIShhhew!â
âBudâ zdorov, budâ zdorov,â Ilya, who had a supportive arm wrapped tightly around Shane, said with a defeated sigh.
Shane blinked away his tears - god, colds made him so impossibly fucking drippy - and touched Ilyaâs shoulder. âIlya. Iâm okay. Stop feeling guilty.â
Ilya took a tissue and dabbed all around Shaneâs leaking face. âI feel bad that you feel bad,â he said plainly, and Shane felt his heart skip a beat.Â
He leaned in and kissed Ilya then - one good thing about sharing a cold was that they no longer had to worry about contagionâŠnot that theyâd ever been able to fully keep their hands off each other when one of them was sick. âItâs okay. I guess we get to just relax a little longer.â At this point, even though Shaneâs routine had been knocked entirely off-kilter, he was simply too exhausted to let himself be burdened by anxieties about missing his morning run or not eating salmon-comma-brown rice for lunch. Now he just got to be extra snuggly with Ilya, and on a chilly September day when he didnât feel well, that was all he wanted.Â
Ilya pressed the back of his hand to Shaneâs forehead and cheeks to check for fever. âHm, you are capable of relaxing? What has happened to my Shane?â
Shane laughed and swatted Ilyaâs hand away. âFuck you.âÂ
ââ
As with many facets of their personalities, Shane and Ilya handled having a cold very differently.Â
Shane tried to keep tidy, making sure to have a trash can near his bed to deposit his used tissues into. Ilya, meanwhile, would use a tissue and drop it carelessly next to him on the blankets, surrounding himself with a little flurry of damp crumpled snowballs until Shane scolded him to throw those away, you gross monster. So Ilya would try to make free throws into the trash and, more times than not, miss. The flurry would then stay on the ground until one of them, usually Shane, had the energy to pick them up while out of bed.Â
Shane sneezed neatly into his elbow or a tissue. Ilya did his best to coverâŠwhich, for him, usually meant aiming loosely at his shoulder or into his hands. With the way he had barely bothered to cover when heâd first caught this cold, despite his initial attempt to hide his symptoms from Shane, it was no wonder that Shane had caught it too. (Would contagion normally disgust him? Yes. But because it was Ilya who had gotten him sickâŠwell. There was something dizzyingly intimate about sharing a cold with the love of his life. But it might have been a different story if it wasnât the off-season.) Sometimes Ilya would be overtaken by a bout of sneezes so fierce that he forgot to cover altogether, leading to another mini-lecture from Shane about his gross-monsterness. But Shane did take the opportunity when it happened to watch Ilyaâs pre- and post- sneeze faces in glorious detail.
Shane blew his nose as unobtrusively as possible, just enough to rid himself of the fullness in his sinuses. Ilya blew like a fucking foghorn at all times, stuffed up as he was. Had Shane not been absurdly attracted to Ilyaâs honking blows, it would have driven him absolutely insane. It did still scare him half to death when he tried to drift off to sleep and an unaware Ilya blew like the Titanic setting sail next to him.Â
Shane was still a little self-conscious and shy about having this bad of a cold, blushing whenever he had a particularly strong (for him) fit that Ilya would coo over him for. Ilya, meanwhile, didnât give a fuck that he was a congested mess, allowing himself to sneeze and blow as loudly as he needed to relieve himself of a tickle. Speaking of whichâŠ
âAESCHhhhh! hyâAAASHHhhhuh! AESCHHhhooo!â
âBless you,â Shane croaked as he recovered from another bout of his own little âtishâhew! ishhuhh! hishâshue! ahhâshhiew!â sneezes.Â
Despite his lethargy, Shane couldnât help the jolt of excitement that went through him whenever Ilya sneezed. His sneezes were just soâŠloud. Powerful. Uncontrollable. Deep and vocal and rough and masculine. They never failed to make Shaneâs toes curl, whether the two of them were on the ice or in the bedroom. Seeing his big broad boyfriend at the mercy of an itchâŠnostrils flaring and breath gasping and brows knitting and eyes closingâŠbody frozen in place as he became consumed by the all-encompassing need to let out at least three huge sneezes in a row, every single timeâŠfuck. Shane swallowed. If he didnât feel like his body was stuck in mud, Shane would have pounced on Ilya twenty-five sneezes ago.
While he never wanted Ilya to feel unwell, he just couldnât help but drool over the man when he was sick and sneezy like this.Â
And Ilya knew this full well. Case in point, he was winking at Shane right fucking now as he rubbed at his nose with a tissue in a way that could only be described as sensually. He was moving it in slow, methodical motions as he stared directly into Shaneâs eyes, even fluttering it a little to expose his red nose like a performer with a feather boa before a striptease.Â
Oh god. Shane wasnât sure how much longer he was going to survive their colds before he was incinerated by horniness.
ââ
A day later, the pair were both still sick and sneezing their heads off. Shane was frankly impressed with how Ilyaâs other cold symptoms had seemingly disappeared into the ether, leaving only his nose to give him trouble.
Shane had woken that morning to the sound of Ilya sneezing loudly and harshly in the shower, the sound of the water and the closed bathroom door both doing a terrible job of hiding the volume and ferocity of the outbursts. Shane was too sleepy to do anything but smile and rub at himself a little, not entirely sure if he was awake or in the middle of a very pleasant dream. When Ilya came back to bed, looking pale and sleepy himself, Shane clung to him and yawned against his chest. âGood morning, obez'yĂĄnka,â Ilya said with a sniffle, covering them both with the blankets theyâd taken from the couch for extra warmth.
Shane woke later in the day to find himself alone. Not feeling any more refreshed than before his nap, he got out of bed and went downstairs to get more water to take with his cold meds. He couldnât believe how wiped out he was, and how chilled and shivery he felt. He found one of Ilyaâs old Raiders sweatshirts in the hall closet and wore it into the kitchen, instantly feeling warmer, his fingertips peeking out from under the longer sleeves.
Ilya was chopping something on the counter next to the stove, where a huge pot was bubbling. Shane peeked around his large body to see what he was making, and saw onions, carrots, celery, broth, pre-shredded chicken. All of the ingredients Shane had bought to make Ilya soup before heâd caught the same cold and felt too tired to cook.
Ilya made a huge snorting sound and scrubbed mercilessly at his face. âAre you okay?â Shane said, concerned at the wetness he saw glimmering all over Ilyaâs sleeve.
Ilya whirled around, and his eyes and nose were streaming. âGospodi,â he said, the Russian word deeper in his congested voice. âYou are so quiet, lyubimyy.â
âSorry. Why are you crying?â Shane took the cuff of his own sweatshirt sleeve and ran it across Ilyaâs cheeks and under his nose, not caring that it would feel damp afterward. As he came closer, however, he could smell the answer to his question. The onions were so pungent that it made him pull away with a little cough. âJesus, those are strong.â
Ilya nodded, then rested his cheek against Shaneâs palm and closed his eyes. He looked about ready to drop just standing there. âI could go without, butâŠit makes difference, I think.â
âIlya, youâre so tired. Go back to sleep, donât worry about cooking.â
âNeed to make my boyfriend soup,â Ilya said softly, turning away to grab the knife and resume chopping the onions. âSo he can feel better. Since I got him sick.â
âIlyaâŠâ Shaneâs eyes and throat were starting to feel very hot and tight, and he went to give him a big kiss when Ilya suddenly gave a great heaving gasp and stepped away from the food.
âhyihhâŠ! hgyâihhâŠ! haaAAASHHHhh! gyâAAASHHhhoo! HAAAhhhooo!â His upper body spasmed in the direction of his shoulder in huge jerks, curls bouncing wildly as the punishing sneezes kept coming. âAAASHHhhhooo! GYâISHHHhtt! GYâIHHSHHHhhhoo!â
âOh my god, Ilya, put the knife down,â Shane said, ignoring how shrill his voice sounded.
Ilya dropped the knife and it clattered against the cutting board as he curled even further into himself. âAESZCHHHhuh! GYâIZSCCHHâhhhuh! HAADTâSZChhhuhh!â
âBless you, oh my god.â Shane put one hand between Ilyaâs shoulder blades and used the other to turn off the stove before guiding the both of them to the couch. He made Ilya, who was panting and snorting and snuffling and coughing, sit down while he hunted for a box of tissues. âHere,â he said when he found one, and the blow Ilya gave into a huge stack was so long and loud that the rest of Shaneâs sentence about ordering in was completely drowned out. Oh, the poor thing, he was so miserableâŠand Shane was on fucking fire.
Ilya rubbed and rubbed and rubbed his nose against his palm. âAgh, zudyashchiy,â he grumbled. Itchy. (Shane may have secretly googled the translations of Russian words related to colds and sneezing and allergies to keep in his brain. For science.) He looked over at Shane, and whatever expression he saw on his boyfriendâs face made him grin like the Cheshire Cat.
âShaneeee,â he whined, moving closer until they were nose-to-nose. âWhy is this cold making me so snuhh-huhh-heezyâŠâ And oh god, just hearing Ilya say that word while his tongue tripped over hitchy breaths was nearly enough to make Shane, already fully hard from watching Ilyaâs fit, cum in his damn pajama pants. The next thing he knew he was straddling Ilyaâs lap, and Ilya had his hands full from cupping and kneading at his ass. Ilyaâs face was awestruck, his pupils huge against the blue of his irises.
âTell me,â Shane said huskily, grinding his crotch over Ilyaâs and making them both groan. âTell me how it feels. YourâŠnose.â He hesitated over the word, but there was no judgment in Ilyaâs eyes. Only love, and lust.
Ilya sniffled wetly, scrunching his red crooked nose right in Shaneâs face. âSo itchyâŠâ
âTell me in Russian. Please,â Shane damn near begged.
Ilya put his lips up to Shaneâs ear, sniffled again, the sound stronger and wetter, and sighed, âZudyashchiy, malysh.â
âOh, fuckâŠâ Shane gasped desperately. He made quick work of pulling down both of their sweatpants - of course Ilyaâs were tight and grey, and of course his beautiful hard dick had already been showing through them - and taking them both in hand. He was consumed by thoughts of the last few days, of sharing colds and kisses and laying in bed together all day, all sniffly and sneezy at the same exact timeâŠof Ilyaâs adorable attempts at caretaking despite his cold-ridden nose having other ideasâŠit was so overwhelming, and so fucking good.
âSh-ShaneâŠâ Shane looked up from where his head had been pressed downward against Ilyaâs chest as he jerked them both off, and saw that Ilyaâs nose was running past his Cupidâs bow. He wasnât normally one for mess, but when it came to Ilya RozanovâŠ
âŠnothing was off the table.
âI deed, uh.â In the middle of his panting and stuffy voice and dripping nose, Ilya was turning bright red. Shane, feeling the warm sunshiney sensation of release already creeping up on him, moaned and grabbed a few tissues from the box next to them. He held them to Ilyaâs nose, and the sound of his enormous honking blows made Shaneâs orgasm hit him like a bolt of lightning.Â
âOh fuck, Ilya!â He cried out as he shuddered in Ilyaâs arms and collapsed against him. Ilya was still stroking himself and panting faster and faster before coming as well, with a shout of Shaneâs name. Shane stayed in the crook of Ilyaâs neck for a while, sniffly and overheated from all the action, feeling Ilyaâs hands caressing his back, not quite believing that this was his life.Â
Eventually, he peeled himself off of his boyfriend and started to clean them both up with some tissues. As Shane blew his nose afterward, Ilya looked at him with a smug expression and said, âWow. That did not take you long at all.â
Shane turned brick red. âFuck you.â He tossed his balled-up tissue at him, which Ilya batted out of midair with a grin.
Ilya lay against the couch cushions, stretching his arms behind his head and crossing one ankle over the other, looking perfectly, infuriatingly relaxed. âI am just too irresistible like this, hm? It makes you always want to jump my bones?â
âMore like crush your bones,â Shane muttered with an annoyed huff.Â
âI am ignoring the mean words coming from your cute face,â Ilya said before he reached over to kiss Shaneâs closed lips. He pulled away with a serious expression on his face and gently put his hands on Shaneâs biceps. âShane. I am very happy that I can sneeze for you, milyy. I love to make you feel good. It is what you deserve.â
Shane buried his head in his hands, his cheeks burning. âGod, IlyaâŠWhat the fuck. How can you go from being an asshole to saying something so romantic in two fucking seconds.â
âI have many talents.â Ilya kissed Shane again, who was much more eager to reciprocate this time, then grabbed his phone. âNow letâs order some soup. It will help your headache and sore throat.â
âHow did youââ
âBecause I had same thing.â
ââ
Later, Shane shot up with a gasp in the middle of the night, his heart pounding, his pillow sweat-soaked. He panted heavily with a hand to his chest as the fuzzy remnants of a nightmare (fever??) clung to him. Then the tingling in his nose, which heâd felt even before he drifted off to sleep in Ilyaâs arms, spiked and left him gasping for a different reason.Â
He was faintly aware of Ilya stirring next to him. âMmâŠShane?â
Still dazed and sleepy, Shane raised his hands and stared into the distance, waiting to sneeze. His eyes were filling with tears, and he let out a few audible âhih-ihh-iHhâ breaths as Ilya made a soft, sympathetic sound and put a hand to his back. The touch somehow triggered something in Shaneâs nose and he fell forward into his cupped hands.Â
âBless you. Oh, bless you,â Ilya was murmuring as Shane was overtaken with rapid sneezes that scraped at his throat and made tears stream from his eyes.Â
With a final âihh-SCHIEW!â Shane lay back, coughing and sniffling and rubbing at his chest and wiping his eyes. âThagk you,â he rasped when Ilya handed him a wad of tissues, blowing harshly.Â
Ilya pet Shaneâs dark hair. âBless you, sweetheart. Your cute little nose is so redâŠthis cold really is all in our noses, mm?â
Shane groaned loudly beneath the tissue and looked at Ilya pointedly through his wet eyes. âFuck, dude, you canât justâŠsay things like that.â
âLike what? About how sneezy we are? I bet you would like me to start sneezing again, wouldnât you? I always enjoy a good sneeze, Shane,â Ilya said in his ear, laughing when it made Shane shiver all over. âStop,â Shane said, voice strained. âYouâre taking advantage of a weak sick person.â
ââWeakâ is never the right word to describe you,â Ilya replied. ââSickâ? Yes. But âweak?â No. You are strongest person Iâve ever met.â He cupped Shaneâs cheek as Shane lingered in the sweetness of his words. âHow are you feeling, dorogy?â Ilya, for his part, was looking and sounding a bit better, thankfully.Â
âAwful,â Shane sighed. âTired. Achy. Nose wonât stop running.âÂ
âDo you want a massage?â
âMaybe later. Jusâ wanna sleep now,â he mumbled as he lay back in Ilyaâs welcoming arms. He brushed a kiss against Ilya's hand just as he felt a kiss simultaneously being pressed to his forehead. Ilya was saying something about a thermometer, about checking for fever, but Shane kept a firm grip over him so he couldnât leave the bed. Whatever Shane hadâŠthey could deal with it tomorrow. Right now, Shane thought this was the perfect way to spend his time.
Weird and random question? But are you from upstate NY? In your heated rivalry fic you described a Christmas light show almost verbatim to one Iâve been to
Oh definitely not đ
Iâm from the south
I kinda took inspiration from one I went to with my wife and nieces last Christmas.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
i/lya is definitely not sensitive to smoke. at least thatâs what heâs always telling himselt
sure, he has to stifle a sneeze or two (or a whole fit) every time heâs out smoking, but he usually has to sneeze when heâs out anyway, so itâs not like itâs cus the smoke is bothering him
sure, back in Russia, he always had those suppressed fits around his father and family friends, but surely it was because of the exotic plants and flowers all around the house
so obviously he expects a sneeze or two when heâs in the cottage with s/hane, during the first campfire.
what he does not expect is him not being able to stop sneezing to the point where he canât get enough air inside his lungs to properly inhale for a bigger sneeze (hoping that a harsh, forceful let out will help him stop sneezing)âŠ
so heâs just kind of stuck and sure S/hane finds it amusing at first but then he gets more and more worried when he realizes that I/lya is not really stopping and continues to have those little bursts of sneezes while trying to act casual and talk at the same time
I kept thinking about this and oops I couldnât resist writing⊠a few slight differences but i hope it does your idea justice <3
In the early spring of 2018, Ilya Rozanov breaks his nose for the third time.
Heâs nearing the end of his final season with Boston. Things with Shane are stable, his plans for the future are more meaningful than any long-term goal heâs ever had before. Life is pretty decentâ except for the ache behind his ribs every time heâs forced to part ways with his boyfriend.
The Raiderâs are up 2 - 1 against Toronto when heâs met with a high stick that knocks him off kilter. Graphite meets his nose with a sickening crunch. Heâs all too familiar with that nauseating sound of cracking bone, but it's equally as cringe worthy now as it ever has been.
He gets it set that night. It fucking hurts, but itâs still preferable to the lengthier process of replacing teeth. Itâs a miracle his mouth went unscathed. He tells himself he got lucky.
He spends two days swollen and red, before purple and blue speckle the bridge of his nose and start to amount to two black eyes.
At first, itâs not so horrible. Ice becomes Ilyaâs new best friend, until his face starts to look more like, well, a face again. And he winds up with thirty plus progress selfies in his camera roll by Shaneâs insistence that someone needs to monitor the healing process if Ilya isnât going to do so himself. But he spends most of his time watching old Russian movies that remind him of his mother. That part is nice.
Six days post-break, however, he finds himself sick of the so called rest and relaxation heâs been having, or rather, been forced into. Shane is busy, his teammates are at practice, Svetlana working 24/7, and itâs not like heâs going to call up Yuna and David just to chat. His head is cloudy and his thoughts grim, and fuck he just needs a smoke. Shane will never know, and besides, whatâs one more cigarette after a lifetime of them?
Thereâs a box stashed deep in his nightstand, for âemergenciesâ like this one. He taps the box against his palm, the intimate familiarity sending a chill down his spine. After rummaging once more through his cluttered bedside drawer and reacquainting himself with his Bic, he pulls out a cigarette. In this light, one might mistake it for a gift from God. He sparks it, takes a drag, enjoys the burn against his lungsâ proof that itâs been too long.
And before he can even return the filter back to his lips a second time, wisps of tobacco smoke slither into his sinuses, tracing up the walls with ticklish fingers. It makes him cough in surprise, then hiss an inhale sharply through his teeth, and suddenly heâs shuttering with a throaty double.
âHuhhâKHFSHHh! hhâKHTSCH!â
They tear through him, still stinging against the tender state of his sinuses, a brief reminder of why heâd sworn last time he broke his nose that heâd never let it happen again. Well.
He sighs tiredly, taps his middle finger against this cigarette to dislodge ash, then finishes his nicotine fix without another incident.
+++
It becomes what Ilya thinks might be a pattern. He canât put his full confidence behind the theory, considering he smokes only twice more over the next three monthsâand heâs proud of himself, by the wayâ but each of those times, he was powerless to the ticklish sensation that filled his nose just moments after his first pull.
Heâs fully weaned himself off of Marlboros by April, and in May he and Shane are out of the playoffs. Disappointed with a less than satisfying end to his time with Boston is something of an understatement, but he canât deny the relief he feels when heâs able to retreat to the quietness of Shaneâs cottage and spend every second of the next couple months lazily lounging with and doting on the love of his life.
One cool summer night, Shane builds their first fire of the season. Ilya watches contently as he piles together logs and drops in a match. Joins Ilyaâs side and lets himself be pulled close.
They sit there for a few minutes, silent and still, lone for the sound of the flames crackling. And then Ilyaâs chest starts to go. Pulls in and out in a stutter, before Shane feels Ilyaâs chin graze the top of his hair as he turns towards the cool night air and away from Shaneâs head.
ânnNTâschhhh! hh-h! huhâKNGTâshhoo!â
âBless you,â Shane says, ear pushing against Ilyaâs clavicle as he turns to look up at his boyfriend.
Ilya glances down with a soft smile, before his attention is quickly whisked away by another feathery itch that intensifies behind his eyes. His chin tilts off to his side again, protecting Shane from his next outburst, misting the space just beyond his other shoulder.
âhhhtâKHTSCHH! ihhtâTSCHHhiew!â
He knows Shane will probably groan something about how unsanitary heâs being. But heâs never found sneezing on himself to be particularly sanitary either, nor pleasant.
The next sneeze comes after only a couple seconds, teeth catching on his lower lip as it barrels out of him.
âhhuhâKHFSCHHh!â
âBless you. You okay?â Shane asks, chuckling, pulling back to sit up right. He tries to catch Ilyaâs eyes, but doesnât. Instead Ilya looks off, nodding, cheek prickling under Shaneâs obvious gaze. Knuckling his nose doesnât do much except exacerbate the issue.
âIlya?â Shaneâs nudging his bicep, probably off-put by the literal cold shoulder heâs receiving, even if itâs an inadvertent one.
The Russian hardly has the presence of mind to form a word before the next set presents itself, scraping at his throat.
âhhâKHTSCH! KHHSHh! Fuck. Canât stop.â
Itâs not a reassuring response, but rather than a worried huff, Ilya hears laughter beside him. Heâd turn to see it with his own eyes, but heâs not confident that if he does, Shane wonât receive a face full of sneeze. Maybe normally heâd be less concerned with his noseâs ability to overpower him, but these are slightly rougher than heâs used toâ forcing their way out of him before he can wrangle them in. Ilya almost prides himself (albeit, internally) on his ability to coerce his sneezes into whatever they need to be; repressed or obnoxious, perceivable or indiscernible. Heâs not sure whatâs offending his immune system right now, but whatever it is has a disturbingly strong hold over him.
As his nose teases him, sends mixed signals that his lungs heed, his chest reacts in shotty, wavering breaths that teeter on the edge of another fit.
âhhh-ehhh! h-h-huhhhâŠâ
âWow,â Shane remarks. Ilya manages to turn his head for a glance, and finds the smile on Shaneâs face is starting to fade.
Itâs enough of a distraction for his sinuses to take advantage. He pulls his elbow to his face, as if it matters at this point. Maybe because Shaneâs concerned stare is becoming palpable as the seconds tick by.
âhuhâKHTSH-khtschh-tdschhiew!â
He tries for a deeper breath, but he canât manage one beforeâ
âhhâtdschh-ihtschh-khtschhh!â
âJesus, Ilya. Bless you.â Shaneâs tone is flatter now.
Ilya wants to tell him not to worry, but he canât rightly focus on much other than this angry itch in his sinuses. He rubs the inside of his now damp arm against his ribs, ridding himself of the unsettling, germy sensation there.
He attempts again to regain some semblance of power. Trying to turn the unrelenting hitches into a manageable breath, to force this out in one solid, ear-shattering sneeze, seems like a lost cause. Instead they continue to shoot out rapidly. Itâs rare that he gets stuck in fits like this, firing off one after the other. Usually thatâs reserved for the dead of spring without Zyrtec.
âhhdâTFSCHHh-tdscchh-Hahâtdschhh!â
âBless you, bless you.â Shane is leaning forward now, a hand pressed to Ilyaâs back. âOkay, youâre kind of freaking me out now.â
Ilya coughs through a sigh. He doesnât want to cause Shane any more stress than he already has. âYouâre not the one sneezing, you should not be freaking out,â he manages, snarky instead of soothing, sniffling delicately. Then more gently, âI donât know what is causing this, though.â
âMaybe the pollen levels are high?â
âhhehâKHTSCH-ehhâKHTCH!â Ilya sniffles, producing a horrible, thick sound. âMaybe.â
âBless you. Maybe we should goââ
âhhâKHTSH-KHFSH-KTSCH-KHHTSCHhhiew!â
ââinside. God, Ilya, yeahâInside, now.â
Shane sits forward to stand, but Ilya presses a hand against his chest as his head rears back again, lungs filling more deeply than theyâve been capable of in the last few minutes, sneeze building painstakingly, before he finally releases what his nose has seemingly been searching for towards his own knees.
âhhahâKHHTSCHHHhuhhh!â
âBless you!â Shane says, giving Ilya another second, then grabbing his wrist. âCome on.â
++++
âI cannot believe I am allergic to fire,â Ilya wines, falling back against the couch.
âItâs probably the smoke, but still,â Shane scoffs. âneither can I.â
âahhâTSCHFHHH!â
âStop sneezing,â Shane orders, stretching out his words. He plops down on the couch beside Ilya, holding out a bottle of antihistamines that might as well be glowing under a spotlight.
âWell, since you ask, I will try.â Ilya snatches the bottle and pressed a kiss to Shaneâs hand.
âThis didnât happen to you last summer,â Shane muses while Ilya downs a pill with a big gulp of water.
âLast summer was before stupid Mitch Turner broke my nose again.â
âOh shit. You think thatâs what happened?â
Ilya shrugs. âI mean, it makes no sense, but that is my best guess, yes. I never used to sneeze when I smoââ The cut off is anything but inconspicuous.
Shane stands up. His hands find his hips almost immediately. âWhen did you smoke?â
âNo, no. I was saying, uh, smelled smoke.â
âBullshit. Ilya, seriously?â
Ilya balks like heâs not the one lying, then squints, gasps, and for once welcomes, âhhâKHTSCHhuh! hhtâTDSCHHhmm!â neatly into his elbow. He looks up innocently.
Shane shakes his head. âOh, donât try to get out of this one.â
Ilya grabs Shaneâs wrist and drags him down onto the couch, ignoring his yelps to stop. If he canât sneeze his way out of this one, heâll have to try somethingâŠless appropriate.
Ilya is set to spend his first Christmas with Shane and his family. When he comes down with a head cold, Ilya is anxious about his illness derailing their plans.
7.4k words
cw: some mess mentions, insecurities, dubious attempts at Google Translate
Shane was practically vibrating with excitement. He woke up bright and early the day Ilya was supposed to fly into Ottawa to spend Christmas with the Hollanders. It was their last Christmas technically apart since, next Christmas, Ilya would be living in Ottawa. Shane had been so excited all week as he prepared everything he needed to show Ilya all of the Christmas traditions his family had kept up since his childhood. He was helping his parents make sure everything looked immaculate as they would be spending the majority of the holidays at Shaneâs childhood home and only really going to the cottage to sleep.
Ilya woke up the morning he was supposed to fly to Ottawa regretting many of his life decisions. About a week prior, there had been a nasty cold working its way through the Boston locker room. Ilya had mentioned it to Shane when he commented that nearly everyone was playing like shit. Shane had immediately freaked out, worrying that Ilya was going to get sick and it was going to disrupt their holiday plans. He started hovering; repeatedly telling Ilya to wash his hands more often, making sure he was taking extra Vitamin-C, drinking orange juice, and trying to tell Ilya to stay away from the infected group as much as he could.
Heâd complied so he wouldnât have to look at the angry kitten look on Shaneâs face, but apparently it had been pointless. The second he woke up, he knew he was going to be in for a hell of a day.
His sinuses felt like they were packed full of concrete, his throat felt like heâd spent the last several hours gargling with gravel, and his head was pounding behind his eyes. Ilya tried to huff out a frustrated breath, but it immediately made him double over coughing. He clutched at his throat and his chest as he fought for breath, tears springing to his eyes with the effort.
Ilya immediately knew he was going to have to find some way to hide this from Shane. He didnât want to see the disappointed look on Shaneâs face because Ilya fucked up their holiday plans and he didnât want to deal with the guilt of being the cause of Shaneâs disappointment.
Even though the last thing Ilya wanted to do was get out of bed, he managed to drag himself to his feet and throw his exhausted body into the shower. Thankfully, the hot water managed to loosen some of the congestion. Unfortunately, that meant his nose was streaming down his face. It wasnât so bad at first since all of the mess was immediately washed down the drain. It became impossible to ignore when the shifting in his sinuses ignited a sharp tickle deep in his nose. He had practically no warning before he was snapping forward at the waist, barely avoiding smacking his head on the shower wall.
âHâJYSZZCHH! ahHâyIISHhhuU! ehH? ehH-EHâTZZSHHuu! Ublyudok!â he groaned, sniffling frantically after the fit. He grit his teeth as he tented both hands over his nose and mouth and blew productively, letting the mess wash down the drain, cringing to himself as a voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Shane muttered, âGross".
He finished his shower quickly after that, desperately needing a tissue and to dose himself with as much cold medicine as he could before boarding a plane. He shivered as the cool air hit his overheated body and quickly pulled on his warmest sweatpants and a hoodie heâd stolen from Shane, whining softly to himself when he realized he couldnât smell the traces of his boyfriend through his stuffy nose.
Thankfully, Ilya had the foresight to pack the night before and the only things he needed to shove in his suitcase this morning were his toothbrush and toothpaste. He dropped his duffle bag in the kitchen as he went to rifle through his cabinets for any kind of cold medicine he might still have. He managed to find some liquid Dayquil that wasnât expired and he downed a bit more than the recommended dose, washing it down with the last dregs of a Coke he had open in the fridge.
Right before he left the house, he pulled out his phone and texted Shane.
Lily 09:47:
           âLeaving the house now. Flight leaves at 11:30. Iâll see you soon. I love youâ
Jane 0949:
           âBe safe. Iâll see you soon. I love you too.â
On a whim, Ilya shoved a handful of tissues and cough drops into the pocket of his sweatpants and walked out the door to wait for his cab.
~~~
           Ilya slept through the entire plane ride from Boston to Ottawa but he was still visibly drooping as he got off the plane. Thankfully, since he slept through the entire flight, he wasnât forced to deal with all of his symptoms in front of the fleet of other passengers, except that meant they all felt exacerbated as he exited the plane. Even through the haze of his cold medicine, he could feel the tickle in his nose buzzing through the wall of congestion and the urge to cough was constantly there. It was only because he kept popping cough drops and drinking water that he wasnât hacking up a lung as he slipped into the airport bathroom to try and make himself slightly more presentable before he saw Shane. He slipped into a stall to blow his nose, having to quickly stifle a sneeze into the bundle of tissues. Which quickly turned into three. Then six. He stopped counting after that. By the time he finally finished, he was panting and the tissues had become a sodden wad in his hand. He grabbed a handful of toilet paper and blew one more time, managing a squeaking breath through his nose for the first time that day after the effort. He unlocked the stall door, tossed the wad of tissues into the trash, washed his hands, and splashed water on his face before heading out into the parking lot to find Shane.
Shane was waiting in the car for him, wearing a hoodie and a pair of sunglasses so he wouldnât be recognized. Ilya opened the back passenger door and thew his bags inside before dropping down into the passenger seat with a sigh. Thankfully, Ilya didnât have to find an excuse not to kiss Shane right then since neither of them would chance it in the airport parking lot.
âHow was your flight?â Shane asked once theyâd pulled out onto the main road.
âGood. Short.â Ilya muttered, trying to avoid any words that would put his congestion on full display for Shane.
âGood. I canât wait for you to see the house. Mom did a great job; itâs beautiful. Weâre supposed to bake cookies when we get there, too, so theyâll be ready for the weekend.â Shane started, going through the entire list of tasks that were expected of them upon their arrival. Ilya leaned his head back against the headrest as he listened to Shaneâs excited rambling. The soft sound of Shaneâs voice wouldâve been enough to lull Ilya to sleep if he wasnât in a battle with himself to keep his sniffles to a minimum and his cough under control. He drank so much water on the drive to quell the itch in his throat that he practically had to run inside when they finally arrived to use the restroom.
While he was in the restroom, he splashed more water on his face to try and get rid of the flush that was slowly spreading across his face and down his neck and blew his nose softly.
When he walked out, greeting Yuna and David with a smile and a hug, he saw that Shane was already in the kitchen with a myriad of ingredients in front of him for making cookies. From scratch. Like theyâd done since Shane was born. Ilyaâs only experience with making cookies in his adult life came in the form of a tube of dough from the grocery store.
Shane quickly began instructing Ilya to mix the dry ingredients together while he dealt with the wet ingredients. Ilya nodded dutifully and grabbed the bag of flour to begin measuring.
Thatâs about how long he lasted in the kitchen. He measured out the required amount of flour, but when he dumped it into the large mixing bowl, a cloud of the white powder flew up into his face. It immediately sent Ilya coughing and spluttering. He took several steps back away from the food, holding his elbow tight to his face as he fought for breath. He stopped coughing after a moment, but as if the universe had it out for him, he hadnât even caught his breath before his eyes were fluttering shut as his breath hitched.
âheEH! nNGgtt! â nnGgkT! Hh! nNGT'tshh!â he started, not bothering to lower his arm from his face after the first initial wave, knowing he wasnât done.
âBless you, sweetheart.â Yuna muttered, surprised at the reaction from a simple cloud of flour. Ilya just shook his head quickly, trying to signal that he wasnât finished.
âhhn! nGKT'Chh! Ugh.â Ilya let out a pained moan during the brief reprieve, the effort it took to stifle his sneezes making his head pound even worse.
âHey, stop that.â Shane muttered softly, coming up behind Ilya and rubbing a reassuring hand between his shoulder blades as his breath continued to catch. Shaneâs touch was enough to ground Ilya for the moment, plus he was getting too tired to keep holding them in.
By the time Ilya finally finished, he was backed all the way against the cabinets opposite the counter they were baking at, he was panting, his eyes were streaming, and everyone was staring at him, concern written all over their faces.
âBless you, baby.â Shane mumbled, pressing himself closer to Ilya so he could reach up and swipe the irritated tears off of his cheeks.
âI think, maybe, you should sit out of baking duty. Itâs kind of inevitable that you get clouds of all the dry ingredients in the air, and that definitely doesnât seem to agree with you.â Yuna reasoned, and Ilya nodded eagerly.
âWhy donât we work on this puzzle and watch them bake.â David offered, making Ilya smile softly and nod.
âSure. Just⊠firstâŠâ Ilya muttered, trailing off as he gestured vaguely to the bathroom and his nose, which was running again after that display.
No one stopped him as he scurried off, embarrassed, to blow his nose. When he returned, his nose was pinker around the edges, but his voice was a bit clearer as he sat down on the couch to help David with the puzzle that was laid out on the coffee table.
Ilya only managed to get a few pieces in before he resorted to watching Shane and Yuna bake in the kitchen. His gaze kept trailing to his boyfriend; content to watch him laughing and happy in the kitchen with his mother. He leaned back on the couch, getting in a more comfortable position to quietly observe, a soft smile on his face.
Ilya didnât realize heâd dozed off until he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. When his eyes fluttered open, Shane was waving a cookie in his face while he had one in his mouth. Holidays seemed to be the only time that Shane indulged in eating a few sweets, so Ilya wasnât going to discourage him. He took the cookie from Shane, smiling sleepily up at him as he bit into it.
âVery good.â Ilya mumbled, shoving the whole thing in his mouth when he realized it was still warm and the chocolate chips were still melty. Shane smiled proudly and flopped down next to Ilya on the couch, tugging him closer until Ilyaâs head was resting on his chest.
~~~
           After dinner, they all curled up on the couch to watch one of Shaneâs favorite Christmas movies that they, apparently, watched every year. Shane had balked at him when Ilya admitted heâd never seen Home Alone and went on an at least ten-minute rant about why Ilya had to see it.
Shane had draped a blanket across their laps and dragged Ilyaâs head down to rest on his shoulder so he could run his fingers through Ilyaâs curls. Ilya managed to watch the first few minutes of the movie through half lidded eyes until Shaneâs fingers in his hair and the lingering exhaustion managed to lull him back to sleep. Shane didnât notice right away that Ilya had dozed off, but he couldnât find it in his heart to wake him once he did, even though heâd been so excited for Ilya to experience all of their Christmas traditions. He just continued to run his fingers through Ilyaâs hair as he let him sleep.
When the movie finally went off, Yuna and David announced that they were going to bed. Yuna pressed a kiss to the top of Shaneâs head as she passed and David ruffled his hair.
âWe made up your room for you boys. Just in case.â David commented, gazing pointedly at Ilya, who was still snoring softly on Shaneâs chest.
âI think weâll probably stay tonight.â Shane whispered, gazing down at Ilya, who looked so peaceful he hated to wake him, but they couldnât sleep on the couch all night. David nodded with a smile before turning to follow his wife.
Once they were alone, Shane gently shook Ilya awake.
âHey, Ilya. Itâs time for bed.â He mumbled softly once Ilyaâs eyes fluttered open. He nodded slowly, turning his head to muffle a yawn into Shaneâs shoulder. He stood up first and stretched before starting to turn toward the front door, but Shane caught his hand and shook his head. âLetâs just stay here tonight.â He proposed, smiling when Ilya just nodded and turned toward Shaneâs room. Shane stood up off the couch and followed him, finding Ilya already pulling back the covers to slide into bed.
That made Shane pause, furrowing his brows curiously. Ilya always wanted to shower before bed after being on a plane. He began to wonder if maybe there was something Ilya wasnât telling him, especially with how tired heâd been today. Shane didnât say anything, not wanting to spook him. He just went to quickly brush his teeth before sliding into bed next to Ilya, who was blinking slowly at Shane, like he was already half asleep. Shane leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead.
When he wasnât met with any unnatural heat, he shook off his suspicions and figured Ilya was just tired from so much traveling and that heâd be fine in the morning.
âI love you.â Shane mumbled softly, leaning back in to brush a gentle kiss to Ilyaâs lips.
âI love you, too.â Ilya mumbled, and it was clear that he was barely hanging onto consciousness, because it couldnât have been more than two minutes since the words left his mouth before he was snoring. Shane grinned down at his adorable boyfriend. He dropped one last kiss to Ilyaâs curls before snuggling up to him under the blankets and sighing happily as sleep overtook him.
~~~
The next morning, Shane woke before Ilya and went to help his dad start making breakfast. They were making omelets while Yuna gathered up all of the gifts so they could wrap everything together. Theyâd been doing it this way since Shane stopped believing in Santa as a child. His parents would put all of the gifts into boxes with whoever it was for written in sharpie on the side and then they would wrap gifts as a family. While father and son were busy cooking, Yuna continuously appeared and reappeared in the living room as she dropped off rounds of packages.
When Ilya finally emerged from Shaneâs bedroom, he was still in his sweatpants but heâd pulled on a different one of Shaneâs hoodies. He was scrubbing at his eyes and his curls were all over the place.
âGood morning.â Shane greeted brightly, kissing Ilyaâs cheek as he passed, smiling softly when Ilya stayed in the kitchen to wrap his arms around Shaneâs waist while he cooked, his head resting on Shaneâs shoulder.
âGood mborndig.â Ilya mumbled into Shaneâs shoulder, making him pause. Ilyaâs voice was thick with congestion, which wasnât necessarily abnormal. The man always woke up stuffy after having broken his nose so many times; but this was different. He sounded sick. Shane furrowed his brows slightly and turned around in Ilyaâs arms to kiss his forehead. He felt a little warm but he mostly felt sleep warm, not fever warm. Shane sighed, hoping that if something was wrong, Ilya would come out and say it.
âBreakfast is almost ready. Weâre having omelets.â Shane said, watching Ilyaâs face for any hint that he didnât want one. He nodded agreeably and wordlessly went to sit down at the table after retrieving a glass of juice and a ginger ale for Shane.
After their breakfast, it was time to wrap packages. Yuna briefed Ilya on the tradition over breakfast and he seemed excited to participate. They all piled in the floor in a circle with the wrapping paper and bows in the middle. David joined them last after putting on some Christmas music to play over the speakers. They each grabbed a package and a roll of paper and began wrapping.
Shane was still keeping a close eye on Ilya as they wrapped which was how he noticed that Ilya kept sniffling. They were soft, unobtrusive little noises that could barely be heard over the Christmas music, but Shane could also see how Ilya kept pressing the cuff of his sweatshirt against his septum and wrinkling his nose. No one else was paying attention, too wrapped up in their tasks, but Shane was only really watching Ilya. That was also how he noticed when Ilya gasped softly and ducked into the cuff of his sweatshirt. Shane watched as Ilyaâs head bobbed eight times as he stifled his sneezes into silence. When he was finally finished, he sniffled softly and shook his head, his curls fluttering around his ears.
He glanced at Yuna and David first to see if theyâd noticed. When he decided they hadnât, his gaze shifted to Shane and he blushed when they locked eyes.
âAre you okay?â Shane mouthed to him, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention. Ilya nodded wordlessly and continued to wrap the present he was working on. When he finished, placing it into the pile with the rest, he stood up, stretched, and retreated to the bathroom. Shane listened carefully to see if he could hear the toilet flush. When he didnât, but heard the sink turn on, he knew Ilya had gone to blow his nose in private.
He came back and resumed his position, not saying a word to anyone. Shane dropped the matter for the moment, knowing that he was going to circle back later when he and Ilya were alone.
He only lasted about half an hour before Ilyaâs soft gasps drew his attention again. His brows were furrowed, his eyes were fluttering shut, and his pink nostrils were flaring wildly as he tucked his head into his shoulder. This time, Shane counted a whopping fifteen head bobs before Ilya practically scrambled up and retreated to the bathroom again.
âIs he okay? He doesnât seem like himself?â David asked after Ilyaâs quick disappearance drew his attention. Shane shrugged, having had enough.
âIâm gonna go check.â Shane said, getting up himself and following Ilya into his childhood bedroom, which was the bathroom heâd disappeared into this time.
As soon as Shane stepped through the door, he could hear Ilya coughing softly through the door before blowing his nose. Shane sighed heavily, silently shutting the door behind him and sitting down on the edge of the bed.
When Ilya emerged, his nose pinker than ever, he froze when he caught sight of Shane, who wordlessly held out his hand to Ilya to tug him down into his lap.
âIlya, please be honest with me. I can tell youâre not feeling well. I just want you to tell me whatâs wrong.â Shane pleaded, gazing at Ilya with open concern. Shaneâs arms wrapped around Ilyaâs back while Ilyaâs hung limply at his sides. He glanced away from Shane, not making eye contact until Shane turned his head back to face him with a finger under his chin. His heart broke when he saw tears shining in Ilyaâs eyes. âBaby.â Shane whispered softly, and thatâs when Ilya broke.
âI'm sorry. Feel like garbage. Tried so hard not to get sick. Did not want to ruin your Christmas plans. You were so excited. I did not mean to fuck it all up.â Ilya cried into Shaneâs shoulder, finally wrapping his arms around Shane, who was holding him tight and rocking him slightly. Shane craned his head back slightly to kiss Ilyaâs forehead and, yep, definitely a fever.
âBaby, you havenât ruined anything. You never could. Iâm sorry I made you feel like you couldnât tell me how you were feeling. I â we just want to look after you.â Shane told him softly, rubbing Ilyaâs back as he let out soft, hiccupping sobs into Shaneâs shoulder.
âI could not bake with you yesterday, did not even make it through wrapping presents, or your Christmas movie. I ruined everything.â He cried, still not looking up at Shane.
If Ilyaâs father could die twice, Shane would be going to prison for murder in the next few hours.
âBut youâre here. Spending Christmas with us. With me. Thatâs all I wanted, Ilya. I wanted you here. Everything else was just a bonus. I wanted you to have a good family Christmas. I didnât want you to torture yourself and make yourself miserable because you were scared to tell me you were sick.â Shane whispered softly to him, moving one hand up to run his fingers through Ilyaâs curls as his sobs tapered off into soft sniffles.
âButâŠâ Ilya started, but Shane shook his head.
âNo butâs. Thatâs the truth. I promise. I just want you here.â Shane adamantly told him, removing both hands to hold Ilyaâs face, making him look into Shaneâs eyes to see that he was serious. He studied Shaneâs expression carefully and, finally, seemed to realize that he was being truthful.
âYou promise?â Ilya asked softly, suddenly seeming much younger than he was. Shane smiled up at him and wiped the tears from Ilyaâs cheeks with his thumbs before leaning in to kiss the tear tracks.
âI promise.â Shane repeated, then waited until Ilya nodded to continue. âNow, can you tell me how youâre feeling?â he asked softly, still stroking Ilyaâs face.
âStuffy. Head hurts. Throat hurts. Cold. Tired.â He listed, which thankfully just sounded like a bad cold rather than the flu or something worse.
âOkay. Can we give you some medicine? I think you have a fever.â Shane requested, but Ilya shook his head frantically.
âNo pills.â He protested, but Shane shushed him softly.
âI know, baby. I know. I can see if we have any liquid medicine, and run to the store if not.â Shane offered, but Ilya shook his head again.
âDonât want you to leave.â He mumbled, leaning to tuck his face into the crook of Shaneâs neck again.
âOkay. What if I do a delivery order? I can get whatever you want, and itâll come straight here.â Shane suggested next, which seemed to appease Ilya, who nodded, and rolled off of Shaneâs lap and onto the bed next to him so he could pull out his phone and scroll through the delivery options.
Once heâd finished putting everything into his cart, he handed the phone to Ilya to look over it. Heâd added liquid cold medicine, liquid fever reducer, tea, cough drops, lots of tissues, and some popsicles. Ilya nodded and handed the phone back.
âOkay. Itâll be here in about an hour. Do you wanna take a nap in here?â Shane asked, but Ilya shook his head.
âDonât want to take you from your parents on Christmas.â He protested, clearly still feeling guilty.
âOkay. Why donât we go curl up on the couch and watch a movie. Theyâre probably done wrapping presents by now.â Shane suggested, and Ilya smiled and nodded. Shane stood up and took Ilyaâs hand, helping him to his feet before wrapping him in a hug. âI love you.â Shane mumbled, then kissed the side of Ilyaâs neck. He felt Ilya droop further into his embrace.
âYa tebya lyublyu.â Ilya mumbled back, following it up with a heavy sigh as he allowed Shane to lead him back out into the living room.
âEverything okay?â Yuna asked as they piled up on the couch and Shane draped a blanket over their laps. Shane glanced at Ilya, who nodded shyly and let his head drop onto Shaneâs shoulder.
âIlyaâs got a little bit of a cold, so I think weâre just gonna rest here for a bit.â Shane said, immediately getting sympathetic looks from both parents.
âCan we get you anything, son?â David asked. Shane felt Ilya smile into his shoulder.
âI donât think so. Iâve got a pharmacy order being delivered in a little bit.â Shane told them, which seemed to appease them. They both went back to putting the finishing touches on their last few packages and Shane turned to Ilya. âSee. Nothingâs ruined. They just want to make sure youâre okay, too.â Shane whispered, kissing the top of Ilyaâs head after. He nodded sleepily and gazed up at Shane lovingly, who took the opportunity to press a kiss to the tip of Ilyaâs nose. He blushed and wrinkled it in response before ducking down to scrub his nose into Shaneâs shoulder when the touch made him itchy.
âSorry.â Shane apologized, but he was giggling softly when Ilya had to bring both hands up to his face.
ânNâTSCHh! â iiHTSHh!â Ilya grumbled when he finished and poked Shane in the side accusingly.
âAsshole.â He grumbled, while Shane continued to giggle.
âShane, stop teasing him.â Yuna admonished, making David chuckle.
âYes, Shane. Stop being mean to your dying boyfriend.â Ilya added, making everyone laugh.
âYouâre not dying, you drama queen.â Shane poked Ilyaâs cheek, leaning in to kiss the spot heâd just poked when Ilya grinned.
âBoys, arenât you supposed to be resting?â David asked, ever the voice of reason.
âI am trying, David. Talk to your other son.â Ilya replied with a pointed sniffle, then another. Shane just rolled his eyes.
They finally managed to sit quietly on the couch and watch Home Alone 2, which made more sense to Ilya after Shane explained the plot of the first, until the doorbell rang, indicating the arrival of Shaneâs pharmacy order.
He hopped off the couch to retrieve the bags and came back with his arsenal, including a thermometer heâd pulled out of the kitchen cabinets.
âUnder your tongue.â Shane instructed, tapping the underside of Ilyaâs chin until he complied. He sat there looking all pathetic with the device under his tongue until it beeped and Shane swiped it from his mouth. â38.3°. Not too bad. Still need some Tylenol.â Shane mumbled as he started to pull items from the bag.
First, he handed Ilya a capful of liquid Tylenol, taking it like a shot. Then, he got a capful of liquid Dayquil and swallowed it down quickly.
âGross.â Ilya grumbled, giving his head a shake.
âPopsicle?â Shane asked, offering him a neon green one. He nodded happily and took it, crunching down on the ice and sighing happily as it slid down his throat, the cold numbing the pain slightly. Shane tossed a box of tissues onto the couch next to Ilya and finally sat down next to him, draping an arm around his shoulders.
âShane? I think your father and I are gonna start cooking for tomorrow. You two just hang out on the couch. Weâve got this.â Yuna told them, ruffling Shaneâs hair as she passed and leaning down to kiss Ilyaâs forehead, humming softly as if she didnât trust the thermometer. âWe may need to rethink the lightshow tonight. If heâs already not feeling well, we donât need to drag him out in the cold.â Yuna mumbled softly to David as she walked into the kitchen, making Ilyaâs head whip around.
âNo! Please! I want to go!â Ilya exclaimed, which sent him coughing into his elbow. Shane rubbed circles on his back as he caught his breath and tossed a skeptical look over his shoulder at his parents.
âIlya, are you sure thatâs a good idea? Youâre already shivering on the couch; do you really want to sit in the car for an hour with the windows down just to look at some lights?â Shane asked, starting to run his fingers through Ilyaâs curls.
âI never had anything like this in Russia. I want to see what your Christmases are like. I will be fine. I promise.â Ilya reassured them all, before flashing Shane his pleading baby blues.
âWeâll see.â Shane finally mumbled after a brief standoff. Ilya seemed appeased at least for the moment and they settled back in to finish the movie.
Normally, Shane would be in the middle of the kitchen, preparing the food for Christmas Day, but he found himself perfectly content to lay on the couch with Ilya, even though he was periodically coughing and sniffling into Shaneâs chest. Ilya also finally seemed content, snuggling with Shane and watching Christmas movies even though he felt like garbage.
After a while, the delicious scent of Christmas dinner began to fill the house. It wasnât long after the smell began permeating that David came into the living room carrying turkey sandwiches.
âLunch?â he offered, handing a plate to both of them.
âThank you, dad.â Shane said, taking both and handing Ilya one. âThey always do the turkey early and reheat it for lunch the day before. We usually have leftover turkey for Christmas and a fresh ham.â Shane told him.
âGood leftovers.â Ilya mumbled around a mouthful of sandwich. Shane snorted but didnât say anything as he started eating his own sandwich. David and Yuna joined the pair on the couch with their own sandwiches. They all ate lunch together as they started watching A Christmas Story.
Once Ilya and Shane had finished their lunch, they stretched out on one side of the couch, Shane laying out across the couch with Ilya splayed out on top of him. Their feet were tangled together and Shane reached up to pull the throw blanket from the back of the couch and drape it across Ilya. Ilya sighed happily and tucked his face into the crook of Shaneâs neck. It wasnât long before his breathing evened out and he was snoring softly.
âWhatâre we thinking about going to see the lights tonight?â Yuna asked softly once Ilya started snoring. Shane hummed softly and turned his head to press a lingering kiss to Ilyaâs forehead.
âHeâs cooler now with the medicine in him than he was earlier. I think if he feels up to it, we can bundle him up and go.â Shane reasoned, knowing Ilya would be more upset if they didnât go. He didnât want Ilya to get worse, but he really didnât want to see his boyfriend crying again, wracked with guilt over ruining Christmas.
âWe can crank the heat up in the car, too. I think heâll be okay.â David chimed in, smiling at Shane, who sighed in relief.
âOkay. As long as heâs not doing worse when he wakes up, weâll plan to leave a little after dark.â Yuna stated before getting up, grabbing the lunch dishes and heading back into the kitchen. âReady to get back to cooking, honey?â she called to David, who nodded and got up to follow her.
Shane sighed and relaxed into the couch, letting Ilyaâs warm weight soothe him into an afternoon nap of his own.
~~~
           When Shane woke up, it was to the feeling of a gentle finger tracing lines across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. His eyes fluttered open and met Ilyaâs bright blue ones. He grinned when he saw that Shane was awake.
âHi.â Shane mumbled, turning to muffle a yawn into his shoulder.
âHi. Youâre very pretty.â Ilya mumbled, leaning closer to Shane to kiss his freckled cheeks.
âYouâre delirious.â Shane teased, lifting a hand to press the back of it against Ilyaâs forehead and cheeks. Thankfully, he wasnât any warmer than he was earlier. âHow was your nap?â Shane asked as he pushed himself up into a seated position.
âGood. Ready to see the lights.â Ilya whispered excitedly, his grin lighting up his face.
âYouâre sure youâre up for it?â Shane asked, still skeptical as he gazed at Ilya with his pink cheeks and nose. He shot Shane a halfhearted glare.
âShane, Iâm fine. I want to go.â He promised, gazing earnestly at Shane.
âUgh, fine. If you insist.â Shane muttered teasingly, then turned to glance outside to see that the sun was going down. âItâs probably almost time to go. Letâs get dressed.â Shane said, tugging Ilya up from the couch and leading him to the bedroom.
Shane quickly tugged on a pair of jeans and a hoodie on over his long-sleeved shirt. Then, he began rummaging through their bags. He pulled out a pair of sweatpants, a long-sleeved shirt, a hoodie, and a beanie for Ilya.
âThis is dramatic.â Ilya muttered as Shane also pulled a pair of fuzzy socks out of a drawer. When Shane shot him a withering glare, Ilya nodded wordlessly and began dressing. He rolled his eyes but he did sit down on the edge of the bed to pull the socks onto his feet. When he stood back up, Shane tugged the beanie down over his curls.
âYou are hovering. Like mother hen.â Ilya grumbled, but Shane could see that the corners of his lips were fighting not to turn up into a smile. Shane just grinned then turned to pluck a handful of tissues out of the box on his nightstand and stuffed them into Ilyaâs pockets.
âIf you get too cold or start feeling bad, we can turn around and come back. Promise me youâll tell me if you need to come back.â Shane requested, flashing Ilya his best puppy-dog look.
âYes, I promise. Letâs go.â Ilya grinned excitedly, turning on his heel and heading for the door. Shane rolled his eyes and followed after Ilya, whoâd been waylaid in the living room by Yuna, who was looking him over one last time before agreeing to let him out the door.
âOne more dose of medicine before we leave, I think.â She said, quickly moving to pour out a dose of both the fever reducer and decongestant. Ilya took them both like a champ before practically skipping out the door.
âIs he always like this?â Yuna asked, her gaze jumping between Shane and the door Ilya had just walked out of.
âStubborn? Absolutely.â He grumbled, rolling his eyes again before following after Ilya, who was waiting out in the cold by the locked car door. Even though Shane could already hear Ilya sniffling from the cold, he was practically bouncing with excitement on the balls of his feet. âGet in the car! Are you trying to give yourself pneumonia?â Shane grumbled once heâd heard the two beeps of the car doors unlocking. Ilya rolled his eyes and climbed in. Shane settled in behind the driverâs seat and Ilya shimmied himself into the middle seat, pressing himself against Shaneâs side.
Before David and Yuna had even made it out of the house, Ilya was frantically fishing one of the tissues out of his pocket.
âheht-tisschâuh! Ihhschâoo! âŠhhh? Ihhhâischhh!â Ilya sniffled frantically and scrubbed his itchy, runny nose into the tissues before doubling over again with a surprise fourth. âeihâyishhshiew!â
He blew his nose quickly to head off any more while Shane rubbed his back.
âBless you, baby.â Shane mumbled, moving his hand up to give the back of Ilyaâs neck a gentle squeeze.
âFuck. Sorry.â He mumbled, sniffling like he was still itchy. Shane knew him well enough to know that he was probably going to spend the whole light show sneezing. Being cold made his nose run, his nose running made his whole face itch, and any minor irritation tended to make him sneeze his head off.
âWeâre still in the driveway. We can still go back inside.â Shane offered one last time, but Ilya was shaking his head before Shane could even finish his sentence.
âMight need more tissues, though.â Ilya admitted, but that was his only indication that anything was wrong. Shane grinned victoriously and pulled a travel pack of tissues out of his own pocket. Ilya grinned bashfully and ducked his head.
âI know you.â Shane replied simply right as David and Yuna climbed into the car. Ilya blushed and snuggled his head into the crook of Shaneâs shoulder.
âReady, boys?â Yuna asked, turning to glance at them before David threw the car into drive and started to pull away. They both nodded and settled in to watch the world go by as they drove toward their destination.
Ilya spent the car ride with his head on Shaneâs shoulder, observing as much of the scenery of Shaneâs hometown as he could in the dark until, finally, they turned off the main road onto a side road and the world immediately exploded into technicolor. Shane glanced down at Ilya to see that heâd lifted his head and was gazing at the lights with a childlike innocence. His mouth was slightly open in both disbelief and necessity, and Shane could see the colorful lights reflected in Ilyaâs eyes.
Yuna began messing with the radio until she got to the right station to correspond with the light show, and cheery Christmas music filled the car.
âIlya, honey, weâre rolling the windows down now. If you get cold, tell us and weâll turn the heat up.â Yuna said as David pressed the buttons to roll all 4 windows down. Ilya nodded blankly as he continued to stare at the lights.
Although this was one of Shaneâs favorite traditions, this year, he spent his time watching Ilya instead of the lights. He would mouth along to the words of some of the Christmas songs he recognized as they came on the radio and he kept his head on the swivel so he wouldnât miss any of the lights.
âHow do they do that?â Ilya finally asked after a particularly intricate display where the lights danced around to the beat of the song on the radio.
âI have no idea. Iâve always wondered that, too.â David chimed in from the front seat as they creeped along behind the line of cars ahead of them.
âIt is beautiful.â Ilya mumbled softly and Shane couldnât help but lean in and press a soft kiss to his forehead. âThank you for bringing me.â Ilya whispered, gazing up at Shane.
Shane wanted nothing more than to shrink Ilya down and carry him around in his pocket. Sometimes, he couldnât believe this huge, normally stoic, Russian hockey player had the capacity to be so cute.
Thankfully, Ilyaâs cold symptoms seemed to be held at bay by all of the clothing Shane had bundled him up in coupled with Shaneâs body heat and the heat blasting through the car. He did have to keep a few tissues clutched in his hand to swipe at his runny nose and to muffle the occasional, âheht-tisshâuh!â when the cold air became too much for him, but thankfully he was able to stay warm enough to avoid any full-fledged fits.
When they got home, Shane immediately shoved Ilya into a warm shower while he helped his parents make hot cocoa. When Ilya emerged in clean sweatpants and one of Shaneâs hoodies, curls dripping, they all piled onto the couch under blankets to watch The Santa Clause.
Ilya managed to stay awake through the entire movie, even though he started blinking sleepily at the screen about halfway through. Once it was over and everyone had finished their drinks as well as a few cookies, it was almost midnight and, therefore, time to retire to bed. David carried the mugs to the kitchen and Yuna took the dirty plates while Shane pulled Ilya to his feet.
âNight boys. Weâll see you in the morning. Merry Christmas.â David called from the kitchen since heâd started rinsing the dishes before placing them in the dishwasher. Yuna made her way over to the two boys, wrapping Shane in a hug and whispering something in his ear before moving on to Ilya.
âMerry Christmas, sweetheart.â She whispered to Ilya as she wrapped him in a hug as well and kissed his forehead. âFeeling any better?â she asked, unable to resist mothering him.
âMuch better. Thank you. Merry Christmas, Yuna.â Ilya whispered, trying not to tear up from the motherly display heâd missed so much.
âGoodnight, boys.â She told them both as they turned to head to Shaneâs room.
Once they were behind closed doors, Shane wrapped Ilya in a tight hug, where he let out a huge yawn into the crook of Shaneâs neck.
âSleepy?â Shane asked softly as he ran gentle fingertips across Ilyaâs back.
âMmhm. And happy. Thank you for sharing this with me.â Ilya mumbled, pulling back slightly from the hug only so he could wrap his arms around Shaneâs shoulders. They stood in the middle of Shaneâs childhood bedroom, swaying slightly from side to side.
âThank you for letting me.â Shane replied, pushing himself up slightly on his toes to press a kiss to Ilyaâs forehead before planting a lingering kiss to his lips.
âYou are wanting me to give you my cold for Christmas?â Ilya teased, but he didnât pull back from where his grin was pressed against Shaneâs mouth.
âI want to kiss my boyfriend on Christmas.â Shane reasoned, making Ilyaâs entire body flush hot and he ducked bashfully into Shaneâs shoulder. âCome on, letâs get another dose of medicine into you and go to bed.â Shane instructed, giving Ilyaâs back a pat before pulling away to go dose out the medicine. Ilya just nodded and joined Shane in the bathroom. He quickly swallowed down both capfuls then brushed his teeth side-by-side with Shane.
He whipped his hoodie off before crawling into bed but held his arms out for Shane to snuggle into when he fell into bed next to Ilya so he could steal his body heat.
They laid nose-to-nose for a bit, just breathing each other in.
âMerry Christmas, dorogoy.â Ilya replied, leaning in to press a lingering, sweet kiss to Shaneâs lips before nuzzling into his chest, tucking his head under Shaneâs chin, and wrapping his arms tightly around Shaneâs torso. âTy luchshee, chto kogda-libo sluchalos so mnoy.â Ilya muttered into Shaneâs chest.
Shane had been working on his Russian, but he wasnât quite that advanced. He knew, though, that Ilya liked to express his more vulnerable thoughts in Russian. This time, Shane gave him a pass and didnât ask for him to translate. He could tell by the tone of Ilyaâs voice that whatever heâd said was something incredibly sappy that would probably bring Shane to tears.
Shane craned his neck down to kiss the top of his head, nuzzling his nose into Ilyaâs curls and sighing contently. He began trailing his fingers up and down Ilyaâs back, letting the rhythmic movement of his hand lull them both to sleep.
Shane hated that Ilya hadnât been feeling well for their first Christmas together, but here, wrapped up in the arms of his love, he couldnât help but feel like this had already been the best Christmas of his life. He fell asleep with a smile on his face at the thought that it wasnât even over yet.
Another shortie for @poetic-illness đ also had to do something with this :) <3
ââ
Shane crashes the day after his first All-Star Weekend as a Centaur.
What was supposed to be silly fun has left him miserably overstimulated.
Practicing with people heâs never played with before. The unseasonable winter heat of Los Angeles that chokes him every time he goes outside, followed by the freezing cold of the airplane that takes him and Ilya back to Ottawa. The press conferences, where everyone and everything is loud and flashy and exhausting. Where reporters have been warned by the NHL to keep questions about Shane and Ilyaâs relationship to a minimum but clearly want to ask about it anyway. Ilya gives them all death glares, but really, itâs the leagueâs fault for having a joint presser with just the two of them.
Theyâve just gotten back from the airport, and Shaneâs daylong headache has only gotten worse. The ache behind his right orbital bone is unceasing, leaving him squinting even behind his sunglasses. He canât even get himself to sleep on the car ride home, trying his best to just lean against the window in such a way that the bumps of the road wonât slam his fucking head around too much. Ilya is driving, quietly, and when he puts his hand over Shaneâs, Shane pulls his own away, even that small touch being too much for his oversensitive skin. Ilya keeps to himself the rest of the ride, and Shane appreciates the silence. His brain needs it.
Itâs all too much right now.
âToo much?â Ilya says as they walk through the front door and Shane kicks his shoes off haphazardly, rather than stacking them neatly on the rack.
Shane looks at him even though his eyes, and his temples, are fucking screaming at him. âMm,â he says in agreement, sniffling, then goes to curl up in the corner of the couch, trying to meld with the cushions.
Ilya goes into the kitchen, then comes back with a glass of water and some pain pills. He hands them to Shane wordlessly, then turns to leave, when Shane snags his hand.
âStay,â he says weakly.
âYou are sure?â
âMm,â he says again. He doesnât want to risk nodding and making his head explode.
âOkay.â Ilya sits next to him and guides Shaneâs head into his lap. Shane shivers and fists his hands around his sweatshirt sleeves. Why does he switch so quickly between feeling like touch will burn him and craving constant, crushing amounts of contact?
He feels all the pain pool in the right side of his head where it rests against Ilyaâs thigh, but he doesnât care so long as he can stay like this forever. Or, for now, at least.
Ilya runs a soothing hand over his shoulder, petting him slowly and gently. Shaneâs head throbs with every heartbeat. He tries to clear his mind, to ignore everything but the feeling of his boyfriendâs big hand on him. An itch tickles his nose, and he hitches quietly into his covered hand.
âhih..ihHh! hipâschiew! hadtâchoo!â
âBudâ zdorââ
âhahIDTSCHhew! mnguhh,â Shane moans as the stronger sneeze sledgehammers a jolt of pain into his brain.
âBudâ zdorov. Uh-oh. Sweetheart,â Ilya coos. âI know that sneeze.â
Shane is busy recovering from the feeling of stars exploding behind his eyes. âHuh?â He slurs out.
âYou are getting sick,â Ilya says worriedly. âYou only sneeze like that when you have a cold.â
Shane doesnât know what to say other than, âOh.â That last sneeze had hurt more than the others. And sure, the temperature change had made him a bit sniffly all day today. But a cold?âŠHm. Well, maybe. Fuck.
Ilya resumes petting him for a bit, until Shane takes in a sharp breath that catches embarrassingly. âah-ghHihhâŠ!â
âOh, ShaneâŠâ
âhadtâshuhh!â
Ilya tightens his hand on Shaneâs shoulder. âBless you. One more?â
âHISHhuhh! ahâISHhoo!â
âOh, two,â Ilya says with surprise. âBudâ zdorov, lyubov moya.â
âI thigk I need to lie dowd,â Shane says stuffily.
Ilya presses a kiss to the top of his head - coincidentally, right where another flare of pain has taken root. âOf course. Letâs go.â
Shane whimpers at the jostling of his head as he lifts it from Ilyaâs leg, then takes Ilyaâs hand. He covers his eyes with his other hand as they walk, Ilya guiding him to the guest bedroom so he doesnât have to walk upstairs.
In bed, he snuggles under the covers and is faintly aware of Ilya padding around the room, closing the curtains and turning the fan on, leaving a box of tissues next to him. He hands him the water and pills. âJust drink, and then you can sleep, yes?â
Shane takes a small sip, then guzzles down the rest of the glass, feeling the liquid cool something in his burning head. He puts the glass down and smushes his face into his pillow, sleepily rubbing a little at his nose. âThagk you,â he mumbles out.
âSpi sladko, milyy,â he hears Ilya say softly. Right before dissolving into sleep, he feels the brush of a kiss being pressed to the shell of his ear.
much like clicker training, snzfet shane accidentally trains ilya that sneezing = rewards
6.3k includes intentional contagion, allergies, light nsfw
Ilya found out in the February of 2018.
Wellâ he didn't necessarily find out anything himself. Ilya thought he knew Shane better than himself, but Shane had managed to keep one thing locked away. It eventually had to come out.
Shane had been mentally preparing himself all morning to tell Ilya about his kink. He couldn't hold it back anymore, not when it wouldn't go away. Shane tried to will away the thoughts and fantasies but they wouldn't budge, even after a whole decade.
He really tried, though.
He started with a harsher workout than usual, really putting his all into the equipment, so he wouldn't have any second thoughts. He needed to feel the buzz from all of the movement that helped still his brain.
After that, he had some light oats with some small cut-up bits of a banana. Nice, simple and healthy. Less stress.
He even deep-cleaned his house, hoovering the carpets and scrubbing his bathroom clean. The chemicals sure helped dull that mess in his head.
Shane was stiffly lounging on his couch when he heard the familiar beeps of his front keypad being unlocked, Ilya stepping into his threshold.
Shane jumped to his feet, feeling more nervous than he had in months. Ilya never made him nervous anymore, because they were each other's to finally enjoy.
"You wanted to talk?" Ilya began, padding into Shane's home after taking off his shoes by the door. They hadn't seen each other in a month, but Ilya was in town for hockey.
Shane nodded, not knowing what to do with his hands. "Yeahâ I did. Sit, please."
Ilya raised his brows, flopping down on Shane's couch. "This sounds extremely serious. Who died?"
"Nobody died," Shane took a breath, pacing for a second before sitting down with Ilya. Fuck, could he lose Ilya over this kink? Maybe this was a bad idea.
Ilya could sense Shane's internal spiral, placing a cautionary hand on his boyfriend's shoulder. "Hey. It's okay, don't think. Let's talk."
Shane nodded swiftly, rubbing his eyes. He could barely even look at Ilya.
Shane cleared his throat, the couch feeling suddenly too uncomfortable even though Shane carefully picked out each piece of his furniture to his liking.
"I have.. a thing," He started, squinting as he rubbed his temples.
"A dildo? Yes, you've already told me this before," Ilya scoffed softly.
"Don't be an asshole right now, please. Don't laugh. I seriously don't know what the fuck I'd do if you were to laugh in my face right now, fuckâ "
Ilya frowned, Shane was so nervous. "I was joking, Hollander. I'm sorry. I won't laugh, yes? Nobody is laughing."
Shane nodded at the reassurance, trying to think of how to say what he needed to say. Trying to think of how much he should say. Would Ilya even understand?
"There's something I haven't told you about myself. A kink," Shane used his hands to help him speak, looking at the coffee table in front of him.
Ilya blinked, fiddling with his golden crucifix. "Okay.."
Shane glanced at Ilya to attempt to get a read on the Russian's expression, quickly looking away after succeeding. Ilya looked relaxed, not judgmental or humorous.
"It's.. basicallyâ I enjoy.. sneezes?" Shane mumbled, his face heating up against his will as he side-eyed Ilya.
It was silent for a minute too long before Ilya spoke. "Sneezes? Like achoo achoo? Those?"
"Yes," Shane gritted weakly, rubbing the cluster of muscles in his forearm. "It's a kinkâ I've looked it up. There's a whole forum of people online. I've known for a long time, actually."
Ilya nodded, rubbing at his chin. "This is it?"
"What do you mean 'this is it'? You don't care?" Shane's voice wobbled a little, now looking at Ilya. "You're not disgusted?"
Ilya shook his head, looking genuinely confused. "Why would I be disgusted? At least you're not into.. shit, or something. Is fine, Shane." Ilya blinked, rubbing the chain of his crucifix. "This is nothing compared to what I hear the guys in locker room say."
Shane raised his brows, disbelief painting his features. "You're justâ okay. It's seriously okay with you?"
Ilya nodded, shrugging. "Tell me more, though. What gets you going about it?"
Shane couldn't help but flush, scrubbing at his eyes. He'd never had the opportunity to verbalise his kink to anyone. He hadn't been able to connect with the people in the forum out of shame.
"I don't think I could put it into words, but. I like.. I don't know. Colds. Allergies. How it all seems like such a dirty thing, yet everyone sneezes. Sickness isn't erotic. My brain just decided to enjoy them."
Ilya grinned a little, rubbing his crucifix on his lower lip. "Who knew Shane Hollander could be such a little freak?"
"Oh, fuck you. You're the freak," Shane mumbled, crawling over to Ilya.
"I wouldn't mind if you got off to my sneezes, or, whatever. What do you fantasise about?" Ilya mumbled into Shane's neck, holding him on his lap.
The conversation continued into late nightâ which mostly just consisted of Shane loosening up and telling Ilya some of his fantasies. Ilya seemed okay with it all. Maybe he was more okay with it than Shane ever thought he'd be.
* * *
Ilya's first allergic reaction since finding out about Shaneâs kink unfortunately had to happen without Shane.
His nose had been buzzing ever since he stepped foot into the Raiders locker room to play a home game. They were scheduled to play against Ottawa today, which was easy work.
Ilya pawed at his nose as he got his uniform out of his duffel bag, sniffling and grunting as he went.
Someone's cologne was not being so friendly to his nose this evening, but that obviously wasn't going to stop Ilya Rozanov from playing. Especially as team captain.
Once Ilya's uniform was on correctly, he sat on the bench and eyed the rest of the guys as they took their time getting on their own uniforms. Ilya couldn't help but continue to prod and rub at his nose, sniffling as he chewed on his mouth guard.
His original dull tickle swiftly moved into the tip of Ilya's nose, triggering some itchy sneezes. "Hah'tsHH!! Hahh...haaH'TSHH!! Hah'ktSHH! Snndf."
He directed them down to the floor in between his legs. He wasn't sick, so there was no point in covering. Nobody even blessed him anymore, Ilya had been known for his pre-game sneezes.
He found himself immediately thinking of the private conversation between himself and Shane. Shane's kink.
Ilya's cheeks grew unnecessarily hot as he imagined Shane's face if he were to witness Ilya's little fit just then. His dick felt suddenly all too restrained in his compression shorts.
Fuck, he was getting hard. Did his own sneezing just turn him on? No, no. God, he had gotten soft. The thought of turning Shane on turned him on beyond belief, and if sneezing was the thing to do it? So be it.
Pleasing him pleases me, is what Ilya told himself.
He alternated between pushing down on his bulge subtly and wiping at his nose. Now wasn't the time for these thoughts, they had a game to win.
Ilya's hockey headspace clicked as soon as his skates hit the ice, winning the faceoff against a who-knows-who Ottawa rookie and scoring two pucks in the first two periods.
Needless to say, he was doing amazing. He took some opportunities to swipe at his itchyâ now runny nose whenever he passed the puck to a teammate.
* * *
Shane was currently in a hotel room in New York, accompanied by Hayden. Wellâ not currently. Hayden was out somewhere doing god knows what before they had mandatory practice later at 7 pm before tomorrow's big game.
So, this gave Shane some time for himself. He decided to hop on some random sports channel to catch a hockey game and little did he know, Boston was currently playing against Ottawa.
He put on his glasses, clicking on the livestream. He'd seen Ilya play one hundred thousand times before, but it never got old to analyse the Russian's elegance on the ice. Or his brutality.
The livestream greeted Shane with some commentators.
"âThe Eastern Conference with 21 games to play, will continue their attempt to climb it when they face the slumping Toronto Maple Leafs at Prudential Center. Don't miss that."
"Rozanov is looking pretty good on the ice tonight. Those gloves keep coming up to tend to his nose, though. He needs to focus on the puck, not that nose."
The other commentator spoke up. "Cut the guy some slack, he's already scored two for Boston."
Shane squinted at the screen, looking for the familiar 81 to see what the commentators were talking about. Ilya did seem to be touching his nose whenever he wasn't in the thick of it. Huh.
As Shane witnessed a live Boston win, he sent Ilya a text.
Montreal Jane :
16:57 Is your nose broken or something? Congrats on beating my hometown, I guess.
Shane put his phone to the side, not expecting a text back for a while. Ilya would surely be off celebrating a hometown win.
His phone dinged several minutes later.
Boston Lily :
17:09 Not broken, allergic. đ
Shane stared at the text. The emoji. Then the text again.
He didn't even know how to respond, especially with last week's conversation. He ended up leaving the text read, getting up to change into gym clothes for practice later. Anything to keep his mind occupied.
His phone dinged again after Shane had finished changing into his gym clothes. Shane cautiously eyed the notification. Boston Lily.
Shane sighed dramatically, picking up his phone to look at whatever Ilya had sent him.
Boston Lily :
17:16 (1 Attachment)
This is me because you left me on read.
The photo that Ilya attached showed the Russian taking a mirror selfie in the locker room of the TD Garden arena.
Ilya was jersey-less, wearing his hockey pants with a pout on his lips looking into his own eyes. What really stood out to Shane was Ilya's pink, irritated-looking nose with some tissue tucked in the fingers that held his phone. The Russian had sent that with intent. On purpose. Fully knowing and aware.
Shane silently cursed, zooming in on the photo. He could feel his abdomen tighten just from looking at the picture. His pecs were turning pink. His noseâ fuck.
Montreal Jane :
17:20 Were you expecting a compliment?
Shane snickered at his own text, his thumb pressing send as he rested back in bed. Catching a glimpse of Ilya's allergy-ridden nose without the blockage of a helmet should not be turning him on this much.
Boston Lily :
17:20 You looked at my picture for 4 minutes, so yes. đ
"Oh, this asshole.." Shane mumbled to himself in the quiet of his New York hotel room as he eyed the text, holding his phone in one hand. Out of spite, he wouldn't send a compliment over text.
Shane ended up coming from just looking at the picture, along with his hand and his wonderful imagination. Totally out of spite for Ilya. Totally. Absolutely not from his nose.
And if Ilya was getting himself off to the thought of Shane coming to his picture? Shane would never find out.
* * *
The next time it happened, Ilya was unfortunately not with Shane for the second time.
He was currently sat in front of an audience of about 150 people for a press conference, cameras and lights blocking his view of the faces in the crowd.
He was sitting with three other guys on his team that he wasn't close with, but could definitely praise them. They were better sportsmen than Hayden Pike, that is.
Ilya watched as three makeup artists scuttled around, patiently waiting for his turn. He didn't even know why he got chosen for these things anymore, he couldn't perform a detailed response the way his English teammates could. It made him feel less than.
Ilya had been quite sniffly all morning, but that wasn't weird for him. Sometimes he had days where his nose wouldn't leave him alone, he was used to the familiar feeling.
One of the makeup artists eventually made her way to Ilya, not giving him any warnings as she dabbed a brush along his cheekbones.
He blinked, trying not to make a snarky comment on it. Sit still and don't talk where the instructions the boys were given, and he would listen. Ilya hated upsetting the higher ranks. Especially his coach.
The makeup lady tapped some powder onto his forehead and chin, moving to dust the brush along his nose. Unfortunately, she caught him on a very sensitive day.
He moved his head down, cupping a hand over the lower half of his face, "Ht'ksâ Hnn'gtt! Nn'gshh! In'gsh!" He sniffled desperately, ears turning red as he heard his own sneezes loudly mirrored back to him by the amplifiers around the room. He had forgotten he had a mic strapped to his chest. He managed to stifle against his hand, fortunately.
"That's enough, Rozanov. Maria? Thank you," Coach LeClair quipped, sending away the makeup artist as he glared at Ilya. As if he could help a natural human reaction, Jesus Christ.
"Sorry.." Ilya caught his bearings, sniffling profusely as he wiped his hand on his dress pants under the table. He blinked over at the cameras, seeing that the livestream for the MLH had not yet started.
Ilya felt disappointed. He wanted Shane to see that fit, live on television. Ilya knew Shane was bundled up somewhere waiting for the stream to commence, as always.
He furrowed his brow at his own train of thought. What?
And then, naturally, he couldn't help but imagine the look on Shane's face if he witnessed that fit.
Fuck. He was getting hard again.
Ilya squeezed his legs together under the privacy of the table and its covering, trying his very best not to think about Shane right now.
If Ilya was going to pop a boner after every sneeze, this would be a problem. He never would have thought sneezing could do this to him. Had Shane's kink rubbed off on him? Surely not.
* * *
The third time was finally something.
Ilya had invited Shane over to his Boston house, since their schedules finally seemed to line up.
Ilya was up on his feet as he heard the expected knock, opening the door for Shane. Shane's eyes lit up every time he entered Ilya's home, as if he was seeing it for the first time over and over again.
"We have not seen each other in forever. Or called," Ilya tried not to whine but his speech still came off as needy as he walked Shane to the couch, taking Shane's jacket from his hands to hang it up.
"It's only been about two weeks. You went six months without contacting me once," Shane mumbled with a little smile, sitting himself down on the familiar couch.
"No, you lie," Ilya mumbled, coming to join Shane on his couch. Ilya felt slightlyâ nervous? A total foreign feeling for the normally confident Russian.
"I'm.. sorry if I scared you away. With photograph," Ilya eyed Shane, fixing his crucifix on his neck even though it didn't need fixing.
Ilya blinked, eyes assessing Shane's body language. "Well, I don't know. You didn't text me after my press conference."
"I've just been busy," Shane explained, fixing the neckline of his shirt. "I actually thoroughly enjoyed your photo."
"Ah, you are perverted. I like it," Ilya snickered, rubbing his face with relief. So he hadn't read the situation wrong? Great.
"Can't say I expected photographic evidence, though," Shane smiled, moving to straddle Ilya as if it was natural.
Ilya shrugged, eyeing Shane's neck pulse. "I just want to get this right. Your kink."
Shane exhaled softly, holding onto Ilya. "That's more than enough. You're doing way more than most people would."
Ilya just smiled, pulling Shane closer to hide the fact that he was close to tearing up. Shane was so appreciative over the bare minimum, it was insane.
Ilya took a deep breath through his nose as he fit into Shane's neck crook like a missing puzzle piece, holding the Canadian by his waist through his hoodie. "You smell nice. New cologne?"
Shane nodded against Ilya, thumbs rubbing small circles into Ilya's shoulders. "I picked it up at an airport somewhere last week."
"Mmm," Ilya pressed kisses to Shane's neck, feeling saliva slide down Shane's throat as he swallowed against Ilya's lips. "Vanilla is good. Not many men choose this scent."
Shane chuckled lightly, kissing into Ilya's curls. "Don't go calling me a girl now."
"My wife," Ilya mumbled into Shane's neck, his lower abdomen beginning to warm up in a way that felt comfortable. The sensation was soon mentally disregarded as an odd tickle flared in the back of Ilya's nose. "Pretty.. hih.."
Ilya pressed his nose into Shane's neck as a poor attempt at quelling the tickle, only to make it unnecessarily worse. The sudden pressure to the front of his nose was like a trigger. "Ht'kshht!" Ilya's head jolted forward into Shane's neck crook, which only triggered more. "Hnn'gtt! Nn'gshâ Huh-tschh! Ah.."
Shane couldn't help the way his hips involuntarily bucked down against Ilya, both of their bodies rocking with each one of Ilya's sneezes.
"Are you okay? Bless you.." Shane mumbled, voice shaking as he pulled away to look at Ilya. Shane could feel the sprayâ the wetness on his neck. Shane also knew that Ilya could feel his dick gluttonously filling with aroused blood as their crotches sat together, confined by layers of clothing.
"Sndff.. I'm okay. Strong cologne," Ilya mumbled, a sly smirk easing its way onto the Russian's lips. "Vanilla makes me quite tickly," Ilya said, vaguely gesturing to his nose and neck.
"Right," Shane breathed out, shifting his hips a little. No amount of pretending could hide how much Shane wanted Ilya right now.
Ilya pressed back into Shane's neck crook, holding Shane by his biceps. "We could take advantage of it," The Russian had said quietly.
"Fuck," Shane whispered, hips looking for a hint of friction as they seemed to take a mind of their own at Ilya's words. "You're sure?"
Ilya took a deep inhale of Shane's oesophageal skin, the same skin that got doused with cologne an hour before because Shane hated the idea of smelling bad in the company of Ilya. "So sure, Hollander."
A broken whine from Shane slipped through the cracks as he got to work on unbuttoning his jeans, tugging at the waistband of Ilya's sweatpants.
"It's crazy how worked up you get.." Ilya mumbled, watching with fascination as Shane got his and Ilya's dicks out by himself. Ilya hissed through his teeth with a spike of unexpected pleasure as Shane shuffled forward in Ilya's lap, stroking their dicks together with one hand.
* * *
Shane and Ilya somehow made their way into Ilya's bed throughout their scrambling of hands and kisses, now left catching their breath together with an occasional sniffle from Ilya.
Ilya eyed the ceiling, hand on his chest as he breathed out. "I can't believe you waited this long to tell me."
Shane scoffed to himself, casting his eyes to the Russian. "There have been multiple times that I've tried, but."
"Like when?" Ilya moved to his side so he could see Shane, basking in post orgasm bliss.
Shane shrugged, judgment clouded as he examined Ilya's features. "I remember.. you had a cold back in 2010 or something. I was watching that game andâ fuck. I couldn't keep my hands off myself."
Ilya's jaw dropped comically as his eyes lit up. "What?"
"Yeah, it was crazy. I was worried too, obviously. But it was the first time I'd seen you in a state of anything less than perfect health," Shane mumbled, his shyness creeping out.
"You should have called or something! What the fuck," Ilya sighed, fingers scrunching his curls. "We could have had so much fun."
Shane squinted, "As if Ilya back then would have taken it seriously. You were so mean and scary.." Shane trailed off, tone teasing as he took one of Ilya's hands.
Ilya gave Shane's hand a little squeeze, thinking about too much at once.
* * *
As the next week of hockey games commenced, Ilya found that his mind was.. distracted. To put it bluntly.
The thought of Shane unable to stop getting turned on while watching one of Ilya's hockey games on television while he was sickâ it was messing with his head.
Why did Ilya find the thought so hot? How many times did Shane cum while Ilya wasâ fuck. Not here.
Ilya glanced around the locker room in hopes that there was no mind reader among them, his cheeks must be beet red. Whatever.
He got into his uniform as clockwork, tying his laces with precision. That's when he heardâ
"SnnNNDDFFFDDXX ugh! This fucking cold, man," Marleau huffed as he trudged into the locker room, getting his uniform out right next to Ilya.
"You are ill?" Ilya mumbled, stomping his skates onto the ground to lock the blade in tighter.
Marleau coughed a little, undressing out of his civilian clothes. "Yeah. Fuckin' shuuuucks."
Ilya hummed, pulling on his gloves. "Don't let it ruin your performance, da? We win tonight."
* * *
Ilya let his eyes wander around the arena after Boston had won. It was a Wednesday night and the crowd was happy with a home win. Many were drinking and celebrating already.
Ilya could see Marleau off to the side drinking from one of the blue Gatorades provided by the league, and a sick idea flooded his head.
Maybe if Ilya managed to catch a cold, Shane would like it again? Ilya could actually experience it with his own eyes instead of hearing about Shane's fantasies.. Ilya wanted to be good for something. He wanted to please Shane. He wanted the attention.
"What the fuck am I doing?" He had mumbled to himself, skating to the side after Marleau went into the locker room with some of their other Boston teammates.
Ilya's eyes found the unattended Gatorade bottle that Marleau had just put down, grimacing slightly before taking a swig from it. And then another swig just to be sure. "Fucking freak. Blyat. New low. Okay," He said to himself, skating offside to undress in the locker room.
What Ilya woke up to on that following Friday morning was absolutely gnarly.
His throat was on fire and there was a little wet spot on his pillow from where his nose had run while he slept.
He subconsciously reached out to the other side of his bed where Shane normally slept while he had the Canadian over, but was met with an empty bed. Ilya heard himself involuntarily whine. Ilya got himself up, throwing on a Boston Raiders sweatshirt from the floor.
His body felt heavy already, the cold had come on hard and fast. His brain wasn't too upset about it, though.
Thank the hockey gods that Ilya had no games for the rest of his weekend.
Ilya picked up his phone with squinted eyes, sending Shane a text.
Boston Lily :
9:47 Call? I am lonely đ
Nice and simple. Nothing that gave away Shane's special surprise. Ilya put his phone down to give Shane some time to respond as he flopped back down into bed. His body didn't agree to being vertical today.
Ilya jumped as his phone dinged, coughing a little into a fist before reaching out again for his phone.
Montreal Jane :
9:49 Can't, sorry. About to play an early morning game against Ottawa, and then I'm having lunch with my parents after. Dad's birthday.
Ilya sighed out a whine, tossing his phone to the side. Of course Shane was super busy with some random events on the first day of Ilya's cold. The one he had specifically caught for Shane.
"Stupid.. fucking.. Ottawa. Stupid David Hollander. Why is your birthday today? Fuck," Ilya babbled to himself, patting a rhythm on his chest as he stared up at the ceiling. "Stupid,"
Ilya felt himself slipping into a state of unconsciousness from how tired he was, but suddenly jolted awake with an idea. Another sick idea.
Ilya remembered back to when Shane recorded a little video of himself on a run when Ilya wasn't able to answer the phone, just simply talking him through his morning. What if he did something like that for Shane? Shane only did that because Ilya had told him he liked the way Shane pants while running.
Shane did all that for Ilya in mind.
Fuck, he must be feverish. He isn't thinking clearly.
But he didn't particularly care. Nobody was around to tell him no.
Ilya got up, swooping his phone into his hand as he looked around in his attached bathroom for some tissues.
Once he had a box of tissues to clean himself up with, he situated himself back in bed. The curtains were still drawn, but he could see himself fine on the little rectangular screen of his phone.
Ilya sniffled, admiring his muscles for a moment as he flexed before pressing record. Oh my god, what the fuck was he doing?
"Okay.. it is currentlyâ " Ilya leaned over to the side off camera to get a look at his bedside clock. "10:06 in the morning. Jesus," Ilya grimaced at the sound of his own voice. His accent sounded heavier as his vowels sounded congested with sickness. "And I've woken up sick."
"I wanted to record for you.. because.. you won't call me right now," Ilya pulled his blanket aside, looking at himself on the screen. "If this is weird, just click off now. And we can forget about it."
Ilya sniffled, rubbing at his nose. "I feel so crazy for talking to myself, but.. snddff. I don't know. I thought that maybe you would like this.." Ilya mumbled, feeling slightly self-conscious as his English was a little more sloppy with his cold.
"I'm going to put your hockey game on and laugh when you trip," Ilya sent a little smile to the camera, switching on the TV in his room with a remote. He changed to his main hockey channel, finding that the Montreal vs Ottawa game was 6 minutes into the first period.
"Okay, I see you," Ilya sniffled, eyes on the tv as he left his phone recording. Ilya shook his head, trying to keep his focus on the game and the recording at the same time. "Someone just blocked your hit.. too bad. Hhih.."
Ilya's breath hitched before he could bully Shane anymore, hand coming up to cover. "Hih-tschh! Hihh.. hih-tschhhuhâ Huh-tshh! Fuck," Ilya swore, hands now covered in spray as his nose ran down his lips. He felt a weird pang of arousal in his abdomen, too strong to ignore.
Ilya hurried to clean the mess off his hands with his tissues, his boner now in plain sight to see through his sports shorts. "Ah, sorry. I look like a pervert now," Ilya mumbled, blowing his nose into the tissue. "I'm just imagining your reaction if you made it this far.."
Ilya blinked, eyeing the television once he could see again. "Ooh shit, I missed a Montreal goal. Fuckfuck- stupid cold. You'll have to tell me about it.. over the phone later," Ilya sniffled, looking at his camera. All for Shane.
"Fuck, I need to jerk off. Okay," Ilya breathed out as he palmed himself through his shorts, coughing into his shoulder.
"Mmh.. snndf. I wish you were here," Ilya said to himself, getting his dick out of the waistband of his shorts as he kneeled on his sheets for the camera.
"I feel like a whore," He mumbled quietly, a hand coming to wrap around his hardening dick as the other fumbled for more tissues. He started to stroke himself as his other hand wiped his nose, abs clenching for the camera.
Ilya groaned softly, spreading his thighs a little more for the camera to see. For Shane to see. "Aah.. snddxff sndff," Ilya sniffled, glancing up at the television.
He saw Shane on the livestream, watching as he dodged an Ottawa guy trying to elbow him into the boards. Ilya rested on his ankles as he began to feel lightheaded from being vertical for so long.
"I feel like shit," Ilya groaned to the camera, spurting a little over his stomach. "You better win this game. Will make meâ ah! feel better."
Ilya doubled over as he came, painting his stomach as he moaned weakly. His throat was really starting to hurt from how vocal and sneezy he had been.
Ilya sighed, mopping the mess up with a tissue as he looked at the camera. He sniffled obnoxiously, sounding like a complete mess.
"I hope you like.." Ilya breathed out, nose burning as he shuffled up his shorts. "And I hope you have.. nice time. With parents. Hh! Hih-tschh! Oh, fuck."
Ilya coughed, elbow coming up to cover after sneezing down at his lap, his spray glowing with the hint of sun in his room. "Okay.. I end this here. I go to sleep now.. blegh. Hope you like," Ilya waved a hand to the camera, ending the recording.
11 minutes of material for Shane.
Boston Lily
10:23 (1 Video Attachment)
* * *
Shane didn't check his phone after his game, nor at any time throughout lunch with his parents. He liked to be respectful like that, he didn't have time to check his phone between the taxi and keeping his attention on his dad.
Once Shane got home to his Montreal apartment after a long afternoon of conversations and calorific dinner, he had to cool down.
Shane got into comfortable clothes and got himself an ice-cold ginger ale from the fridge. Once he had situated himself on his bed with a good hockey book, he decided to pick up his phone for the first time since before his game.
He was met with his usual notifications, Hayden, Mom, a vitamin supplement reminder andâ a video notification from Ilya? Huh.
He ignored his other notifications and clicked on the one that led to his text thread with Ilya. He was met with an 11-minute-long video, which had an option to press play.
Shane furrowed his brow. What was this? He couldn't exactly tell from the blurry little thumbnail.
Shane's thumb pressed on the play button, putting his book aside and sliding his glasses on his nose to help him see the video better.
It looked like a recording with the front camera, Ilya was setting his phone up so he was in view of the whole screen.
Shane turned up his volume, taking in the sight of Ilya. That's when Ilya started to talk. "Okay, it is currently.. 10:06 in the morning, Jesus," Shane sat up a little, holding the phone in both hands. Ilya sounded.. off. "â and I've woken up sick."
Shane could feel his blood run cold. What the fuck was this?
Ilya continued, "I wanted to record for you.. because.. you won't call me right now, If this is weird, just click off now. And we can forget about it."
"Oh my fucking god," Shane said to himself in the quietness of his home, his body starting to get his nervous tremors, pausing the video as he took in the words.
Ilya had recorded a whole ass video. For Shane. Because he knew Shane would like it. Oh my god. Oh fuck.
Shane had to squeeze his legs together as he continued through the video, his head getting dizzy. Ilya looked so sick, but was performing a whole show for the camera. All for Shane? This was unreal.
Shane came three times to the video before he had to tap out, his lower abdomen burning as he was left flushed and panting. All from a fucking video.
Shane took a quick shower, drying himself off so he could text Ilya. Call himâ anything.
Montreal Jane :
17:28 Oh my god.
17:29 What the fuck.
17:32 You look so good.
17:33 Are you okay tho? đ
17:33 Fuck, Ilya. I can't believe you recorded all that for me.
17:47 Please call when you can.
* * *
Ilya woke up with a stuffy nose, glancing up to catch a look at his little clock. 19:02 blinked back to him.
Fuck, he slept for a while. Ilya stretched out his aching limbs like a little house cat, resting himself up on an elbow to check his phone.
Shane had finally seen the video.
Ilya's heart sank ever so slightly as he saw six notifications from Shane. Shane rarely double texts, even now. He either loved it or was spreading it all over Twitter. No, Shane wouldn't do that. Shut up brain.
Ilya swiped his passcode in, clicking on their text thread. He had to squint to see whatever Shane had said, eyes still sore from his long afternoon nap.
Ilya felt his lips curl up with a smile, a genuine one. His plan had been successful. Shane obviously enjoyed the video.
Ilya sat himself up in bed, clicking on the FaceTime option as he flicked on his bedside lamp.
Shane answered on the second ring, his face filling Ilya's screen. Shane immediately scrambled for his glasses, standing up to focus better. "Fuck- hey. How are you feeling?"
"Fine. Sndff," Ilya sniffled, appreciating the view of Shane in his glasses.
"Are we gonna mention how fucking insane that video is? Oh my god," Shane breathed out, pacing his room.
Ilya chuckled stuffily, blinking away sleep. "I'm glad you like.. was nervous. That you wouldn't like."
"Fuck. It was so hot, I can't. While watching my game, too? It's burnt into my memory forever."
Ilya's stomach felt warm, the words sending soft waves of dopamine to his brain. "I caught it just for you."
"What?" Shane's brow furrowed on Ilya's screen, his lips looking pink and puffy from what Ilya could only assume to be from Shane biting them. Shane had a habit of doing that while jerking off.
"Da.. I did. I won't go into details.. I know you said you hate germs," Ilya mumbled, eyes glistening from the light of his little lamp.
Shane rubbed his temples. "I can't pretend like that's not hot. Fuck. You're such an idiot."
Ilya scoffed, a rare teeth smile slipping from his lips. "Worth it.. look at you. You look fucked out. And I sent it hours ago."
Shane swallowed, eyes flickering somewhere off-screen. "Well, yeah. I haven't been able to stop thinking about the video. Fuck you."
Ilya cooed as an act of false sympathy, sniffling. "You think about it.. and then get hard.. and then need relief. And the cycle continues? Poor little Shane. How will you ever get through your game tomorrow?"
Shane groaned softly, sitting down on his bed as he eyed Ilya through the screen. "You're sick. Physically and mentally."
Ilya just shook his head, propping himself up. "You'll step foot on the ice and think about the video. About how sneezy I was watching your game. Da?"
Shane palmed himself as Ilya spoke with his stuffy voice, listening to how thick his Russian sounded. Thinking about how sneezy Ilya was in his recording. "Fuck.. fuck. Stop."
"Stop what?" Ilya asked innocently. "You know I'm right. I bet you're hard again, aren't you? Sndff. You're so easy, it's sad."
Shane audibly groaned, bucking into his own palm as he leaned back in bed, holding his phone with his free hand to see Ilya. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know enough. I see it right now," Ilya purred, wiping his nose on the back of his hand as he could see the familiar expressions of Shane receiving some much-needed pleasure.
"Good luck for tomorrow's game.. sndff hhih.. maybe you'll get another video? Only if you win."
Shane's lips fell parted, eyes closing as he was pathetically close to coming and he hadn't even gotten naked yet. "You promise?"
Ilya nodded, watching Shane. "Mm. Make sure to win. Fuckâ I need to.. hih! K'hihtsHH!" Ilya winced at how chesty it felt.
"Bless you.." Shane groaned, swivelling a hand underneath his boxers desperately. Shane gave himself approximately 10 tugs before he was dirtying his clean chest with more come. "Oh god, Ilya. Oh shit.. ah."
"How many times have you come today?" Ilya asked, his own shorts uncomfortably tight as he stayed watching Shane.
Shane shook his head, taking off his glasses with quivering hands. "Seven.. times. I think. Maybe."
Ilya raised his brows, wiping his nose on his hand. "I'm impressed, Hollander."
Shane just sighed, head back on his pillows. "You really caught a cold.. on purpose.. to please me? Seriously though?"
"Yup," Ilya popped the P, sniffling to no avail. "I don't regret it. You look amazing right now. Sndff. You play better when you come, too." Ilya rasped, resting his head down.
"You sound so sick," Shane ignored what Ilya said, a frown now on his bitten lips. "You should sleep, alright? I don't want you hurting yourself."
"Oh, how nice. You'd like it if I got worse, Hollander," Ilya snickered to himself, getting all excited again at the idea.
Shane scoffed weakly. "Fuck off. Get well soon and keep the videos coming."
There was a moment of stillness before they both laughed together, Ilya's ending in a fit of chesty coughing.
The vanillas are saying Connorâs sick and couldnât hear well so plz scream with me that heâs probably all stuffy and head cold-y
He also looks way tooo good for someone who is sick but omg i just wannna boop his nose and like i hope he feels better but i also hope he only feels better after we get a sneeze clip đ„čđ„čđ„č
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
pretty sure its confirmed that connor was sick at the glaads⊠something to think about
ty anon, i will most definitely be thinking about itâŒïž
as @sickhaze said not so surprising to hear since heâs probably interacted with hundreds of people in the last week. soâŠco/nnor sneeze inevitableâŠ?
Watery eyes from a cold is so cute like aww is all that congestion putting pressure on your little tear ducts đ€ Sounds like maybe you need some help sneezing some of it out? Wouldnât that be such a relief?
Grizz had spent the entire day working the farmland and gardening. On these days when he was completely exhausted and his entire body ached, he usually went back to his own house. Depending on the rotation they had with Eden, sometimes he was alone, and sometimes Sam came with him. They always had at least two people in the house at one time but who depended on who had what shift the next morning. Between Becca, Sam, Grizz, Allie, Will, Gordie, and Bean, someone was always eager to babysit or help out the parents when they were too exhausted to stay up with Eden.Â
This was one of those days where Gordie, Will, and Bean all had early shifts the next morning, so Allie, Becca, and Sam were at Allieâs on baby duty while Grizz sat on his couch in pajamas, reading. Heâd taken a couple of painkillers since his back was killing him and was sipping a mug of tea to relax before he finally fell into bed. It was already 11:30pm and he was almost ready to put his book down and flop into bed.Â
Thatâs when there was a knock at the door. Grizz jumped in surprise, before setting down his book and heading cautiously to the front door. When he glanced out and saw a familiar head of red hair, he rolled his eyes and threw open the door.Â
âWhatâre you doing here? Itâs so late?â Grizz asked, ushering him inside. Sam shrugged, slipping his jacket off and hanging it by the door.Â
âBecca wanted me out of the house. Too many germs.â he rolled his eyes casually, walking further into the room leaving Grizz confused in his wake.Â
âAre you sick?â Grizz asked, coming after Sam who looked like he was just trying to brush Grizz off.Â
âJust the sniffles or something. But everybodyâs sick so Becca didnât wanna take any chances.â he shrugged, finally coming to a stop when Grizz grabbed his hand and tugged him around.Â
âYou know you donât have to hide from me. Or lie to me.â he promised, laying a hand on Samâs cheek, then moving it to his forehead. No fever, so at least he wasnât lying. Not yet, anyway.Â
âIâm not lying. Itâs just nothing at this point.â he shrugged again, but he was flushing under the attention. Grizz was smiling softly, though. Sam was a bit paler than normal and the tip of his nose was flushed pink. Heâs adorable.Â
âYou know you can tell me if it is something, though, right?â Grizz asked, staring firmly at Sam, who nodded.Â
âI know.â he squeezed Grizzâs hand.Â
âOkay. Letâs go to bed, itâs late. Iâll make you a cup of tea while you change.â Grizz said, pressing a kiss to the top of Samâs head and nudging him in the direction of the bedroom while he headed into the kitchen.Â
When Grizz returned with a fresh mug of tea for Sam and the rest of his own, Sam was curled up under the blankets in one of Grizzâs sweatshirts.Â
âHave I mentioned how much I love you in my clothes?â he mumbled, placing the mugs on the side table before leaning over the bed to press a kiss to Samâs lips.Â
âYou mightâve mentioned it a few times. Donât.â he laughed, then grumbled against Grizzâs lips as he kissed him.Â
âIâm not afraid of your cooties.â he teased, leaning in to kiss him again before crawling into bed and handing Sam his tea. He rolled his eyes, settling into Grizzâs chest when he turned on an old movie to watch until they passed out. He flipped on the subtitles and wrapped his arm around Samâs shoulders, settling into the pillows he had stacked up behind his back.Â
They drank their tea silently until Sam handed over his empty mug and laid down to snuggle into Grizzâs side. Grizz laughed, knowing this meant bedtime. He turned off the tv and the bedside lamp before flopping down on his back and tugging Sam so his head was resting on his chest.
âGoodnight.â Grizz signed, kissing the top of Samâs head. Sam just nodded, turning his head to kiss Grizzâs shoulder and squeezed his hand. And despite how exhausted Grizz was, Sam almost immediately passed out. He sighed, figuring Sam was probably going to feel bad tomorrow even if he didnât right then.Â
~~~~~
When Grizz woke up the next morning, Sam wasnât in bed beside him. This was a bit concerning since Sam was usually the one who slept later between the two of them. He immediately jumped out of bed to go and find Sam.Â
He found him on the couch with another mug of tea and a blanket draped over his lap. Sam glanced over his shoulder before Grizz could approach, feeling the vibrations of his steps.Â
âMorning.â Grizz smiled, walking around the side of the couch to plop down beside Sam.Â
âMorning.â he replied back, but Grizz winced at the sound of his voice.Â
âYou donât sound good, baby.â he mumbled, leaning forward to press a lingering kiss to his forehead. Still no fever. He just shrugged and let his head fall onto Grizzâs shoulder. Grizz could tell his throat hurt now by the sound of his voice and his consonants were muddled, making it difficult to understand him. Grizz hoped that wouldnât become a problem. Heâd gotten a lot better with his sign language over the past few months, but he was still nowhere near fluent and still heavily relied on Sam speaking and signing to him. âYou feeling worse?â Grizz asked when Sam just nuzzled into his side. He nodded, scrubbing his fist against the space between his eyes.Â
âThroat hurts. Head hurts. Canât breathe.â he mumbled, sniffling into his mug.Â
âIâll try and find you some medicine.â Grizz mumbled, running his fingers through Samâs hair for a few minutes before kissing his cheek and getting up. He went to rummage through the medicine cabinet. He came back with three pills. âHereâs some pain medicine and I found one Sudafed but it expired last month. It should still be fine but it might not be as effective. You can try if you want.â he offered, smiling when Sam took all of them and swallowed them down with a swig of tea.Â
âThanks.â he mumbled, slumping back against Grizzâs side.Â
âWant anything else?â he asked, moving his hand back to run his fingers through Samâs hair. He shook his head, pulling his knees up to his chest and tugging the blanket up to his chin.Â
âJust you.â he mumbled, sounding sleepy as he snuggled into Grizz, nuzzling into his shoulder.Â
âYou sound tired. Whyâre you up so early?â he asked, swiping Samâs empty mug from his hand and placing it on the table so he could fully snuggle into Grizzâs chest, wrapping his arms around him.Â
âDidnât wanna wake you up coughing.â he admitted shyly, ducking his head when Grizz rolled his eyes.Â
âYou shouldâve. Do you wanna go back to bed?â he asked, realizing how bad he must feel when he actually considered it. Sam wasnât usually a nap person.Â
âCan we just lay down? Cold.â he asked softly, sighing when Grizz ran a hand down his back.Â
âYeah. Come on.â he said, tugging Sam up and holding his hand as they went back into Grizzâs room to snuggle up in bed. Grizz could tell he was probably going to spike a fever later because he was still cold wrapped up in Grizzâs sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants compared to just the sweatshirt and boxers he fell asleep in. He tossed another blanket onto the bed and whipped off his own sweatshirt, figuring heâd be plenty warm. Grizz grabbed a book on his way to bed but laid down and tugged Sam to his chest, holding the book above his head.Â
âSorry, Iâm boring.â Sam mumbled into Grizzâs chest, his voice muffled more than it already was by his cold. Grizz just shushed him, wrapping one arm around his back, massaging circles on the small of his back. He fell asleep quickly, warm and sleepy, as Grizzâs movements lulled him to sleep. Grizz sighed, still rubbing Samâs back as he slept. He could tell how congested he was by how loud he was snoring.Â
âPoor baby.â Grizz mumbled to himself, making a mental note to text Allie later to see if she could get them Dayquil or Nyquil. For now, he kept rubbing Samâs back and running his fingers through his hair while he read.Â
~~~~~
Grizz never fell asleep fully, but heâd been dozing for at least an hour when Sam coughed himself awake. He sat up, making Grizz jerk awake, automatically reaching up to rub Samâs back.Â
âBreathe, baby.â Grizz mumbled, trying to feel useful even though he knew Sam couldnât hear him. When he finally stopped, he slumped against Grizzâs chest, clearing his throat with a wince.Â
âSorry.â he signed, not trusting his voice.Â
âNothing to be sorry for. Can I get you some more tea?â he asked softly, smiling when Sam nodded. He kissed his temple, then crawled out of bed and made his way to the kitchen.Â
While the tea steeped, he pulled out his phone to text Allie.Â
âDo you have any cold medicine stored anywhere?â
âIâm sure thereâs some at the pharmacy but we have some.Â
Might as well bring him back. Beccaâs already sick, too.
We can keep everyone quarantined.â
âShit. Howâs Eden?â
âHappy and healthy as ever. I took her to give Becca a break.Â
Hopefully, it wonât get worse. Howâs Sam?â
âHeâs exhausted and congested to hell. Not running a fever, though.
Weâll see how long that lasts. Iâll see if heâs up to coming over later.Â
Iâll bring tea and pain meds.â
Grizz pocketed his phone and grabbed the tea, bringing it back to Sam. He was sitting up in bed, scrolling on his own phone.Â
âHere. Drink that while itâs hot. I texted Allie. She said Beccaâs not feeling well now, either, so we might as well head over there. If youâre both already sick, itâs probably just a matter of time before everybody gets it anyway.â Grizz said, sliding back into bed and wrapping Sam up in his arms. He just hummed, and let his head rest back on Grizzâs chest. He could see, though, over Samâs shoulder, that he pulled out his phone to text Becca. He asked her how she was feeling and apologized if he got her sick.Â
âIf Beccaâs sick, youâre definitely gonna get this.â Sam mumbled, glancing up at Grizz. And, yeah, he had a point. It wasnât like Sam was kissing Becca and sheâd gotten it anyway.
âIâll be okay. Donât worry about it. But if you feel up to it and if they are about to start dropping like flies at Allieâs, we should probably go. I can help with Eden while you and Becca sleep.â he said, then leaned forward to further doom himself and brush a kiss against Samâs lips. He laughed softly and swatted at Grizzâs chest.Â
âStop trying to get sick.â he rolled his eyes, making Grizz laugh.Â
âDrink your tea, sick boy. Then weâll go.âÂ
~~~~~
âYou werenât kidding. He looks exhausted.â Allie commented almost the second sheâd opened the door, taking in the circles under Samâs eyes. When Sam clearly read her lips, he turned around and glared at Grizz, who froze. There was no heat behind his gaze, but still.Â
âYouâre beautiful.â Grizz signed, tugging Sam to him by the back of his neck and kissing his forehead. He just blushed, grumbling under his breath as he pushed his way into the house.Â
âGross.â Allie teased, letting him pass, but stopping Grizz until he groaned and rolled his eyes.Â
âHowâs Becca?â he asked as they stepped inside.Â
âSheâs still asleep. She said her throatâs killing her and her whole body hurts, but she doesnât sound congested.â Allie shrugged, gesturing to Sam, whoâd made himself comfortable on the couch.Â
âHeâs stopped talking as much, so I think his throat hurts pretty bad too, but he wonât tell me. I can hear it in his voice, though. When he uses it. I didnât have the heart to tell him that he was so stuffed up before we left that I could barely understand him when he talked to me.â he sighed, shaking his head.Â
âWe can help translate for you if he gets worse and you really canât understand him.â Allie offered, making Grizz sigh in relief, but still feel a little guilty. He was getting so much better, but he still wished he was already fluent. He nodded his thanks to her before scrubbing the back of his neck.Â
âIâll go check on Eden.â he said, giving Allieâs shoulder a squeeze before going to find the baby. She was almost six months old and was starting to develop her personality. Grizz knew he was biased, but he thought he was her favorite parent, right behind Becca and Sam. And he couldnât help but love her like she was his own. She was sleeping peacefully when he found her, still in the middle of her afternoon nap, so he quickly and quietly backed out of the room so he wouldnât wake her.Â
When Grizz walked back into the living room, Allie was perched on the edge of the couch, a hand pressed to Samâs forehead.Â
âI donât think heâs warm, but heâs clammy.â she sighed, getting up so Grizz could take her place. âBeccaâs running a low-grade one. Iâd figure itâs only a matter of time. Want some orange juice?â Allie asked, resignation in her tone.Â
âSure. Thanks.â he smiled before a surprised noise escaped his lips when Sam tugged him down onto the couch. He pushed him backward, practically flopping on his chest and wrapping himself in Grizzâs warmth. Grizz just laughed, running his hand up and down Samâs back. When Allie came back with the juice, she laughed at the couple, rolling her eyes fondly when Sam glanced up, flipping her off. âHeâs probably gonna fall asleep here. Iâll apologize in advance for the snoring.â he teased, nudging Samâs head back down when he glanced up to try and figure out what Grizz was saying. Allie just giggled, giving Samâs shoulder a pat before settling into the chair next to the couch and flipping on a movie to keep the pair of them entertained while everyone else slept. Sam fell asleep quickly again but Grizz stayed awake, talking quietly with Allie until they heard Eden start crying.
âIâll get her.â Allie said since Grizz was quite literally trapped underneath Sam. He nodded his thanks and sat up a bit to shove a throw pillow under his head. Sam stirred slightly but he stilled again when Grizz ran his fingers through his hair.Â
When Allie returned with Eden, she had a strange look on her face and Eden was still screaming.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â Grizz asked, taking in the concerned look on Allieâs face.Â
âSheâs warm and she has a runny nose.â Allie sighed and Grizz groaned. What the hell do you do with a sick baby?
âHow did all three of them go down so fast when no one else is sick?â Grizz asked, sighing.
âNo idea. It is in that weird time of year when nobody knows if theyâre sick or if their allergies are acting up. Anybody couldâve given them something.â Allie shrugged, bouncing Eden to try and get her to stop crying.Â
âWhat do you even do with a sick baby?â Grizz asked, completely out of his depth.Â
âThey make baby Tylenol or something? We might can find something. Other than that⊠no idea.â Allie mumbled, shaking her head, groaning when Eden still hadnât stopped crying. Grizz sighed, shaking Sam gently. When he opened his eyes, Grizz nudged him up into a sitting position, then whipped off his sweatshirt and sat up beside him.Â
âIâll take her. This usually works when she wonât stop crying.â he mumbled, taking her from Allie and laying her on his bare chest, rubbing her back in small circles. When Sam figured out why Grizz woke him up, he smiled softly, then leaned over to lay his head on Grizzâs shoulder. She calmed down fairly quickly, finally warm against Grizzâs chest, but she still sniffled against him. He reached up to wipe the tears from her cheek, then glanced at Allie. âShe is warm. Jesus.â he sighed, glancing from Eden, who was flushed and still a little upset, to Sam who looked like he could fall back to sleep sitting up, then thought of Becca who had somehow slept through the whole thing upstairs. They were doomed.Â
âOkay, you know what weâll do? Iâll take Eden to Kellyâs. I sent everybody else over there when Becca started feeling bad so hopefully, we could keep it as contained as possible.â Allie suggested, but Grizz shook his head.Â
âBecca would never go for that. Do you think Kelly would take one for the team and come here to help out? We need to have at least two or three healthy people here to take care of these two and the baby.â Grizz said, grimacing slightly.Â
âShe might. Whatâre we gonna do when me and you go down?â Allie asked, wincing.Â
âIâll be fine. Iâm used to just powering through.â he mumbled vaguely. He wasnât about to tell her that heâd never taken a sick day unless he was actively puking because his parents wouldnât let him stay home if he wasnât feeling well. She rolled her eyes fondly but didnât say anything else. She just went to flop back in her chair, pulling out her phone to text Kelly.Â
âWhat?â Sam signed, not having bothered to pay attention to their conversation.Â
âLittle oneâs sick. Allieâs gonna ask Kelly to come over and help.â he signed back, gesturing to Eden who was now resting comfortably on Grizzâs chest, breathing through parted lips. Sam pouted, reaching over to stroke her cheek. She glanced up at him with big eyes, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly, then reached out for him. Grizz handed her over, maneuvering them so he could tug Sam against his chest while he held Eden after pulling his sweatshirt back on.Â
âDamn.â Sam signed, shaking his head as he did. Grizz rolled his eyes but blushed when Allie snorted from across the room, clearly having looked up at the right time.Â
Since Eden was up, Allie changed the movie to a princess movie they had laying around the house from when they were kids and took her off Samâs hands once he started to droop again. He flopped against Grizzâs shoulder, sniffling and scrubbing his nose against his sleeve.Â
âYouâve got another hour or so before I can give you more medicine. Howâre you feeling?â he asked softly, sighing when Sam shrugged.Â
âMy head hurts.â he mumbled, and Grizz could tell by the way he was squinting that he was in pain.Â
âWhy donât you go take a bath? The hot water might help loosen up the congestion and help your head.â Allie suggested. Sam nodded, willing to try anything.
âCome on.â Grizz mumbled, tugging him to his feet and flipping Allie off when she winked at him. They made their way upstairs to the bathroom where they began filling up the tub with hot water and bubbles. Grizz looked anywhere but at Sam until he was submerged in the water. This wasnât the time to get distracted. âIâm gonna get you some clothes and help Allie with some stuff. Just relax and text me if you need anything.â Grizz told him, squeezing his hand then he leaned down to kiss the top of his head.Â
He walked back into the bathroom a few minutes later with a change of sweatpants, a sweatshirt, a pair of boxers, and a pair of fuzzy socks. Sam was leaning back against the edge of the tub, submerged all the way to his neck, breathing through parted lips with his eyes shut. Grizz smiled fondly and let him be, closing the door behind him.Â
He went downstairs to help Allie clean and make lunch for everyone, mostly taking over the job of keeping Eden occupied so she could actually use both of her hands. He also rummaged through the medicine cabinets to find something to give to any of them. He managed to find some Dayquil to give to Sam and Becca as well as liquid Tylenol with instructions for a childâs dose for Eden. Then, he found a few packets of Emergen-C, which he and Allie took, clinking their glasses together and then downing them like a shot. Heâd just finished heating up soup for Samâs lunch when he came trudging down the stairs, scrubbing his nose into tissues.Â
âHungry?â Grizz asked, nudging the soup bowl towards him. He just shrugged but accepted it anyway. Heâd been nursing the bowl of soup for a few minutes when Becca came down the stairs and flopped on the couch.Â
âHey, Bec. Howâre you feeling?â Allie asked, only getting a groan in response. âWe found medicine.â she said, laughing when Becca perked up at that. She brought her the pills and a glass of orange juice which she quickly swallowed, wincing when the juice burned her throat.Â
âWant some soup?â Grizz asked, smiling when she nodded. At least she wanted to eat. She walked over to the table, stopping behind Sam and falling forward until her forehead rested between his shoulder blades. He just hummed and continued to eat his soup until she stood up. She sat in the empty seat beside Grizz and promptly dropped her head onto folded arms while Allie popped the soup in the microwave.Â
âBec, Edenâs running a little fever. After she eats, we found baby Tylenol to give her.â Allie said, making Beccaâs head shoot up in alarm, but when she realized they had it covered, she relaxed.Â
âThanks, guys. Sorry, Iâm useless.â she grumbled, rolling her eyes when everyone shook their heads.Â
âItâs not your fault you feel bad. Thatâs what weâre here for.â Grizz smiled, reaching over to squeeze her shoulder. She just sighed, smiling softly at him before glancing past him.Â
âHow you feeling?â she signed at Sam, who looked preoccupied.Â
He shook his head quickly a few times before ducking into the elbow of his sweatshirt with a sudden, âettCHSshhiew!â.
âBless you.â Becca and Allie signed while Grizz said it, but made sure to commit the sign to memory. He pressed his nose back into his bundle of tissues, sniffling heavily, tears in his eyes.Â
âThat good, huh?â Becca mumbled, glancing at Grizz. âSorry I pawned him off on you just to get it anyway.â she mumbled, but he just shrugged.Â
âYou know I donât care.â he mumbled, which was the least sappy thing he could possibly say in that situation. What he wasnât gonna say was that Sam, who already loved cuddles, had practically attached himself to Grizzâs side, and that his nose scrunched up adorably when he sniffled, and the way he scrubbed at his eyes when he was sleepy were some of the cutest things heâd ever seen.Â
They finished lunch a few minutes before Kelly walked in.Â
âThis is a sad sight.â she mumbled, taking in the group that was piled in the living room in front of the tv. Sam and Grizz were draped across the couch, Grizz being supported by pillows while Sam rested on his chest, snuggled into the crook of his neck, nearly asleep. Allie was sitting in front of the couch, bouncing Eden in her lap, who was periodically fussing; not quite upset but she definitely didnât feel good, and Becca was draped across one of the chairs closest to the couch to keep an eye on Eden while Cinderella played on the tv.Â
âWhat do you mean? Itâs a party in here.â Grizz joked, craning his neck to meet her gaze over the arm of the couch.Â
âI can tell. Youâll be down by tomorrow morning.â she teased, gesturing to Sam.Â
âIâll risk it.â he grinned, smoothing a hand through Samâs hair, his smile softening when he made a pleased noise and snuggled closer.Â
âUgh, stop being gross and in love.â Becca grumbled, not able to deal with their sappiness today.Â
âWant me to snuggle you? Would that help?â Kelly teased, but clearly, it wasnât an empty threat when she nudged Becca up and crammed into the chair next to her. Luckily, they were both tiny. She shut up after that, a pink flush on her cheeks.Â
âMight wanna chug some vitamin C before you get too close.â Allie warned her, gesturing to the open box of Emergen-C on the kitchen counter.Â
âSmart.â she mumbled but didnât make any moves to get up.Â
It was quiet after that except for the sounds of the movie, Edenâs baby babbling, Beccaâs soft snores once she passed out again, and Samâs sniffling. That had been a constant since his bath. Grizz had joked that it did its job too well and Sam had smacked his chest.Â
Grizz was about to doze off, himself, too comfortable on the couch when he felt Sam stiffen. He ducked to the side, muffling a strong double, âhetCHisssh! CHsshew!â half against his wrist and half into Grizzâs chest.Â
âBless you.â he signed, knowing it was sloppy, but the sentiment was there. He quickly brushed off Samâs soft apology by smoothing a hand through his hair and kissing his forehead. When he lingered for a moment too long, then pulled back to look at him, concerned, Sam raised an eyebrow. âI think you have a fever.â he mumbled, moving his hand to Samâs cheek, then his forehead, before nodding. âIâll give you a fever reducer later. Take your nap first.â he nodded encouragingly, even though it didnât take much encouragement for him to droop against Grizz and close his eyes. He was snoring in minutes.Â
âYouâre doomed.â Kelly laughed, glancing over at him. He just shrugged with one shoulder.Â
âProbably. But how am I gonna say no to him?â Grizz mumbled, blushing when Kelly shot him a fond look.Â
âThatâs kind of adorable.â she teased, laughing when Grizz just flipped her off, his blush intensifying.Â
~~~~~
Everything just went downhill from there. By the end of the night, Will was back under their roof, having woken up from an afternoon nap with a fever. He decided he should get out of the house, and leave Bean and Gordie so they, hopefully, wouldnât catch it. Then, by the next morning, after being around Sam, Becca, and Eden for a few days and then sleeping with Will, Allie stumbled down the stairs coughing into her elbow, eyes bloodshot. Kelly took over most of the baby duties while Grizz worked to take care of everybody the best he could. He felt like a mother hen and Becca had already snapped at him to just let her sleep and leave her alone. Will and Allie spent most of the day curled up together in her bed, fast asleep. He had to beg Kelly for help, though, when Sam woke up that morning so congested that Grizz finally couldnât understand most of the words that came out of his mouth. Kelly watched them try to communicate, slightly amused as Grizz got more frustrated with himself and Sam got more desperate. That is, until tears appeared in Samâs eyes, quickly spilling onto his cheeks. She watched Grizz scramble up from his seat on the edge of the coffee table, flopping down on the couch in front of Sam and tugging him into his lap.Â
âIâm sorry. I know it sucks. Iâm sorry.â he mumbled over and over, running his fingers through Samâs hair and across his shoulders. He finally managed to get a feel of his forehead and, when he did, he sent Kelly a panicked look. âHeâs burning.â he mumbled, his eyes pleading for help. She sighed, setting Eden down in her highchair for a moment while she walked over to them.Â
âWhy donât you put him in a warm bath? Not too cold to put stress on his body but not so hot that he overheats.â she suggested, smiling when Grizz nodded enthusiastically. âJust calm him down. Iâll go fill up the tub.â she smiled, squeezing his shoulder before heading upstairs.Â
He held Sam for a few more minutes before he pulled back to look at him. He sniffled and wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, accepting the tissue Grizz handed him to wipe his nose.Â
âLetâs go take a bath.â he suggested, reaching up to brush Samâs hair off his forehead, then kissing his forehead. He nodded, amenable to anything Grizz suggested as long as it kept them pressed together since Sam had been attached to Grizzâs side since they woke up that morning.Â
When they went upstairs to find Kelly sitting on the edge of the tub, she smiled at the pair and then headed back downstairs to get Eden, leaving them to strip and step into the warm water. Sam shivered, but Grizz just tugged him into his chest to keep him warm since he couldnât make the water any hotter. He finally seemed to relax and Grizz could feel his temperature go down. They got out when Sam almost fell asleep in there, and he didnât want to have to wake him up to get him in bed. He helped Sam into one of his own sweatshirts and a pair of boxers and sweatpants, before pulling on sweatpants and an oversized tee shirt. He pulled his damp hair up into a bun as he followed Sam into their room, flopping on the bed beside him. He curled into Grizzâs side without another word, promptly falling asleep. When Kelly came to check on them about an hour later, Grizz had also fallen asleep with Sam tucked under his chin. His arms were wrapped around the smaller boy, one under his head and the other wrapped around his waist. He didnât move when the door opened with a squeak, soft snores escaping his lips. She sighed, hoping he wasnât getting sick as well before backing out and closing the door.Â
~~~~~
Sam and Becca were both feeling a bit better by the next afternoon, right about the time Kelly started complaining of a headache. Becca was still running a low-grade fever, but her throat wasnât hurting and she wasnât congested anymore. Sam was exactly the opposite. His fever broke during the night, leaving both him and Grizz with sweat-soaked clothes, desperately needing a shower that morning, but he still couldnât breathe through his nose. Becca was able to help Kelly with Eden again, but she tired out quickly, so Gordie and Bean offered to come help with everyone. Grizz was more than happy with this arrangement. After helping take care of everyone during the day and Sam all night, half the time sitting up with him at night because he couldnât breathe, he was exhausted.Â
After being in bed for so long, Sam was more than ready to play cards with Gordie when they came over, happily sitting at the table with his mug of tea after lunch. Grizz was helping with Eden, mostly playing with her on the couch while also watching a mindless kids' movie on tv. He kept his gaze split between Eden and Sam as they played cards, but when Eden yawned widely, still not feeling her best either, and curled up on Grizzâs chest for a nap, he wasnât long behind her.Â
He woke up when he felt something shift on his chest and he opened his eyes to find Sam picking up Eden, holding her on his hip. Sam smiled softly at him while Grizz yawned and rubbed at his eyes.Â
âAre you feeling bad?â Sam asked, gazing at him sympathetically, but Grizz shook his head.Â
âIâm just tired.â he mumbled, and it was the truth. He could breathe, his throat didnât hurt, he didnât have a headache, and he wasnât chilly like he had a fever. He was just exhausted.Â
âYou know you can tell me if you do, right?â Sam asked, shifting Eden, who was trying to go back to sleep in his arms. Grizz nodded, reaching over to squeeze his hand. âWhy donât you go up to bed?â Sam suggested, but he shook his head, electing to turn around once Sam sat down on the couch so his head was in his lap. He just laughed, cradling Eden in one arm so he could run his fingers through Grizzâs hair with his other hand. He was asleep in minutes.Â
Sam watched, a bit suspicious, as he slept. He slipped his hand around to feel his forehead, but it was cool. He just sighed, figuring if something was actually wrong, Grizz would eventually tell him.Â
~~~~~
Beccaâs fever broke by the next morning, but Kelly was down for the count. Gordie and Bean had slept over, though, taking up residence on the couch and an armchair once everyone had gone to bed. Becca came down with Eden the next morning while Grizz was making coffee and Sam made breakfast, shaking her head when Grizz asked how Kelly was.Â
âI donât think she slept. I heard the mattress squeak all night.â she sighed, smiling and accepting the mug of tea Grizz handed her.Â
âShe gets Nyquil tonight. She needs sleep.â Grizz said, making them all nod in agreement.Â
âYou feeling better?â Becca asked, glancing at Grizz. âYou slept all day yesterday.âÂ
âYeah. Having more help was nice. I was just exhausted. And Sam finally slept, so I did too.â he shrugged, but she caught him stifling a yawn into his shoulder a few moments later.Â
âAnd you look better, too.â she smiled at Sam when he came over to kiss the top of Edenâs head.Â
âMostly. Sinus headache, still.â he shrugged, but she could hear that his voice was a lot better.Â
âSheâs fine now, too. A couple days of baby Tylenol knocked it out.â Becca smiled, bouncing a smiling Eden.Â
âGood. If her fever got as high as everyone elseâs I wouldâve freaked out.â Grizz sighed, slumping against the sink next to Sam. He sipped his coffee before whining when Sam plucked the mug out of his hands.Â
âGo drink your juice. This is just gonna make you jittery. If you need some caffeine, Iâll make you tea.â he instructed, knocking Grizzâs hip with his own before shooting him a wicked smile and taking a drink out of the mug. âMine now.âÂ
âUgh. Youâre lucky I love you.â he grumbled, stalking over to the fridge and pulling out the rapidly depleting carton of orange juice.Â
âIs he okay?â Becca signed, not saying it out loud.Â
âHe says he feels fine and he doesnât have a fever, but Iâm not buying it.â Sam signed back, his gaze flitting to Grizz, thankful he wasnât facing them. Becca just shrugged and took the plate of pancakes Sam offered her, swiping one strip of bacon off his plate before going to sit down.Â
They all ate in relative silence until Gordie and Bean woke up and wandered over for food. About half an hour after theyâd finished breakfast, Allie and Will stumbled down the stairs. Allie was wrapped in a bathrobe and sweatpants, her hair pulled up in a messy bun, while Willâs hair was all over the place and he was in sweatpants and what looked like one of Allieâs sweatshirts.Â
âHere. Eat.â Sam almost immediately said, getting up and thrusting two plates of pancakes at them. They hadnât been seen since lunchtime the previous day, pretty much sleeping through dinner and through the night.Â
âShe lost her voice.â Will mumbled, sounding on his way to losing it himself, gesturing to Allie. She shrugged, going to make tea before eating. Sam squeezed her shoulder, nudging her back to her chair so he could make it for her.Â
âFun group.â Bean mumbled, glancing around the table at everyone, who either looked like they were about to drop, or were barely past the point of not wanting to curl into a ball and die.Â
~~~~~
Becca was the only one to see Kelly for that entire day because she was staying in her room with Eden. She wouldnât get out of bed, though, so Becca took her food. She said her entire body was aching so badly she didnât want to move and she was running a 102.4° fever the last time sheâd checked. She emerged the next morning for a mug of tea and a bagel before going back to bed. By that point, Becca felt completely better and Sam felt fine but his voice was still thick with congestion. Allie and Will were feeling a bit better but still pretty awful and now neither of them had a voice, Gordie was yawning constantly, and Bean had a headache. They all figured it was only a matter of time. Except for Grizz, who was, amazingly, still healthy. Except Sam still wasnât buying it.Â
âYou were so good to me. Youâre so sweet. Can I do something for you?â he asked that night after everyone had gone to bed. Grizz was splayed on his back in bed, his hair loose around his face as he fought to keep his eyes open.Â
âI donât think Iâm awake enough to return the favor.â he admitted. Heâd been up with Eden since early that morning because Becca had been taking care of Kelly.Â
âI didnât ask you to.â Sam shrugged, grinning when Grizz nodded at that. Sam stripped him out of his sweatpants but kept his sweatshirt on when he tried to take it off and Grizz batted his hands away, claiming it was cold. Sam raised an eyebrow but didnât say anything. He kissed down his neck, nipping at the soft spot behind his ear before moving down the bed to nip at Grizzâs thighs before taking him into his mouth. He still couldnât breathe properly, so it was a bit more difficult than usual, but it still didnât take long before Grizz was moaning, fisting a hand in Samâs hair, and coming down his throat.Â
He was completely boneless after that, allowing Sam to easily help him back into his sweats, then curling up under the blankets with him. Sam smiled when Grizz let him be the big spoon, not putting up any kind of a fight about it, only muttering a soft, âGoodnightâ to Sam before he was asleep.Â
~~~~~
Grizz slept completely through breakfast the next morning and when he finally emerged, it was almost noon and he was rubbing his forehead.Â
âHeadache?â Sam asked softly, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around his waist.Â
âSlept too long.â he mumbled but didnât deny it. Sam didnât say anything, just kissed his shoulder and moved to stick a few leftover sausages in the microwave for him but he motioned for him to stop. âIâll wait until lunch.âÂ
Sam still didnât say anything when Grizz wordlessly swallowed down the Tylenol he handed him once they ate lunch.Â
~~~~~
It was the next day when Gordie and Bean were officially sniffling and everyone had given up on any semblance of functioning and piled into the living room to watch Frozen. It was the best entertainment they could come up with that also would entertain a baby. Bean groaned after a rough coughing fit, slumping back against Gordieâs legs and glancing over at Grizz.Â
âHowâd you escape this?â she asked, glancing around the room at Gordie, who was staring blankly at the tv, his eyes glassy with the low-grade fever he was running; Becca who was cradling Eden, grimacing in sympathy having been there herself a few days prior; Allie and Will who were curled up together under one blanket, half asleep; Kelly, who was resting her head on Beccaâs shoulder; and Sam who was laughing softly while tapping a random rhythm on Grizzâs shoulder.Â
âI have no idea.â he mumbled, shrugging. She grumbled in irritation, turning back to the tv. Sam glanced at Grizz while he wasnât paying attention. He still hadnât said anything to him, but he was wearing a sweatshirt, sweatpants, and thick socks with his hair down, his cheeks were pink, and so was the very tip of his nose. Sam could also see a few wrinkles on his forehead and he knew that meant he had a headache. But still, he hadnât said anything, so Sam wasnât about to push it.Â
Everyone fell silent, distracted by the tv until they jumped out of their skin at the sudden, âHrusssschoo! uhhUSCHâooh!â from the couch. Everyone turned in sync to Grizz, who looked guilty with his steepled hands in front of his face.Â
âSaw that coming.â Sam mumbled, rolling his eyes before getting up to get him a dose of Dayquil and a cup of tea while everyone else blessed him.
Ian had never exactly come out and said the words, but he knew people had noticed and probably googled it themselves. It was embarrassing, no matter what anybody said. One of the reasons he liked being a top so much was because he didnât like the feeling of not having control of his own body, but apparently, the universe loved to screw him over.Â
The problem was that Ian had a⊠a quirk. Heâd always had it from the very first time heâd jerked off after asking Lip about it. Fortunately, nobody really paid attention and it was an easy write-off. However, Lip and Fiona did eye him suspiciously the next morning, sliding him an extra glass of juice and asking him if everything was alright. When it kept happening every time he fucked somebody or every time he jerked off, he braved the embarrassing Google search in an incognito window on one of the school computers and finally had a name for it. He still never said the words to anybody, though, since they wouldnât know what it meant. When he couldnât hide it anymore, he explained it in a few words, and they moved on.Â
He couldnât really hide it from Kash since he liked to fuck face-to-face, but he thought it was endearing even though Ian was embarrassed. Ned had been the same way, thinking it was funny and endearing. Caleb never exactly made fun of him for it but heâd laugh and move on, not really saying anything about it. Trevor actually thought it was cute and even though heâd let out a few giggles when Ian got going, he was sweet about it. He was good enough at hiding it from anybody that was just a casual fuck or people at The Fairy Tale to not have to explain anything to any of them.Â
Mickey was another story entirely, though. It was harder to hide from Mickey even before they started fucking face-to-face. Mickey was the hottest guy heâd ever seen and being able to fuck him was one of the most intense feelings heâd ever had, which only meant that the reaction was all the more intense. However, Mickey seemed to like it when it made Ian piston into him sharper with no real rhythm, taking him by surprise.Â
Then, once they started fucking face-to-face, Ian knew he couldnât hide it anymore and, once they snuck back into the cooler, Ian had to sheepishly explain it to Mickey, who just stared at him impatiently until Ian managed to shut the fuck up and get on him, clearly thinking he was exaggerating.Â
He sure fucking wasnât, though, but when he kept stopping in the middle of everything to apologize, his cheeks pink and his eyes bashful, Mickey just told him to shut up with an eyeroll, brushing it off with a slightly amused expression on his face.Â
So, maybe it wasnât ideal, especially once Mickey got up the courage to kiss Ian, but clearly Mickey didnât really mind. It actually managed to pull a giggle out of Mickey a few times when the simple act of them making out on the couch like the horny teenagers they were had Ian jerking to the side with a desperate double even before Mickey got his hands on his cock. It was weird as fuck, but Ian was weird as fuck in general and he was perfect. So, Mickey didnât mind.Â
Things were different the second time around when Ian came back. With Terry out of the picture for the time being, Mickey was a lot more carefree about every aspect of being with Ian. He didnât care if his brothers knew about the two of them or not, he was a little more relaxed around Ianâs family and didnât care as much if they saw a little more of his soft side, but mostly, he clung to Ian like an octopus. Heâd hit you if you called him cuddly, but every time they were fucking or just lying in bed, Mickey would be completely wrapped up around Ian. Things were different when they fucked, too. Mickey only ever wanted to fuck face-to-face now and, more often than not, heâd have his legs wrapped around Ianâs waist and his arms around Ianâs back with his fingers tangled in Ianâs hair as he pounded into him. He didnât even give two shits about Ianâs little quirk, either. Every time Ian would try to pull away, Mickey would tug him in closer and shove Ianâs head down against his shoulder or into the crook of his neck. When Ian would protest, Mickey would just scoff and tell him they already had enough of each otherâs bodily fluids everywhere, a little more spit or maybe some snot wasnât gonna kill him.Â
Ian couldnât figure it out. He wasnât sure why Mickey of all people didnât think it was gross, but Ian reasoned that he wouldnât really care if things were the other way around and it was Mickey with the problem.
Things were even more intense when Mickey broke out of prison. Mickey still stayed wrapped around Ian whenever he could, but it was also with an air of fear that, if he let go, Ian would disappear right before his eyes. And yeah, okay, it wasnât like his issue was the most inconvenient thing in the world because Mickey wasnât ashamed to admit that he loved the way Ianâs hips would snap quicker and harder into him every time he sneezed. Heâd always loved it and he wasnât about to become ashamed of it now.Â
And prison was just another problem. Theyâd never really had to worry about fucking quietly before and now they did. There were several problems with that, not only Ianâs issue. But, to be fair, Ian had learned how to be quiet a long time ago so it was easier to keep himself quiet than it was to shut Mickey up.Â
Then once they got out, things went pretty much back to normal. Or, as normal as theyâd ever been when you think about the sheer ridiculousness that happens every time they fuck.Â
The new development came after they got married and this time, it was Ian cracking the fuck up while Mickey was embarrassed. To be honest, it had probably been happening for a long time and nobody ever noticed, including Mickey. Unfortunately, that was about to come to an end.Â
Ian and Mickey had gone over to the Gallagher house to collect the last of their things to move into their apartment. Theyâd probably waited too long, but Ian hadnât been entirely convinced that Mickey would change his mind about being on the West Side and decide it really was one step too far. But, even though Mickey didnât like the West Side, heâd decided that he didnât really care where he was as long as Ian was there with him. The realization came right around the time they were able to go back to their own place that wasnât full of relatives after their anniversary party and Ian could fuck his husband as loudly as he wanted and wherever they wanted.Â
So, they were finally collecting the last of their things but theyâd taken a break to eat lunch. They were sitting at the table together talking over everything theyâd packed to make sure they hadnât forgotten anything when Lip came bursting through the door with a giant bouquet of flowers clutched in his hands.Â
âTami here?â he asked quickly, sounding out of breath.Â
âDonât think so.â Ian said at the same time Mickey huffed a laugh and said,
âThe fuck did you do? Rob a florist?â
Lip just groaned and flopped into the empty chair beside Ian, scrubbing a hand over his face.Â
âSheâs pissed at me about something. I figured Iâd get her these and apologize before she got mad enough to disappear. So much for that.â he grumbled, missing the look Ian and Mickey exchanged that was somewhere between, âpoor bastardâ and âIâm so glad weâre married and this shit isnât that complicatedâ.Â
âJust leave âem here for when she gets back. Iâm sure sheâll appreciate them all the same.â Ian shrugged simply, nudging Mickeyâs foot under the table to get him to nod along.Â
âYou two think you can get them in a vase and make âem look nice? Iâve got shit to do, like, right now.â Lip asked, staring pleadingly at Ian after eyeing his watch.Â
âWeâre not really those kinda gays, man.â Mickey commented, rolling his eyes while Ian snorted from beside him.Â
âReally, Groomzilla? Stargazer lilies motherfucker, gold chairs with white cushions? None of that ring a bell?â Ian teased, jerking away before Mickey could aim the, predicted, kick to his shin. Ian just laughed, getting up from his chair and leaning over to kiss the top of Mickeyâs head, even when he continued to grumble while Lip kept laughing at him. âI got it.â Ian rolled his eyes and went to rummaging through cabinets for a vase that would work.Â
âThanks, man.â Lip said, laying the flowers on the counter and clapping Ian on the shoulder as he headed out the front door just as quickly as heâd come in.Â
It took a few minutes but Ian managed to come up with a vase for the flowers then laid them all out to trim the stems. Mickey watched him move around the kitchen seamlessly as he prepared the flowers even though they both knew Ian had never done this before. It didnât matter, Mickey was always watching Ian. And Mickey knew Ian, which was probably how he caught what was happening before Ian did. He turned his head to firmly scrub his nose into his shoulder as he filled up the vase with water and didnât stop until he could wrangle it under control with both his hands free.Â
And okay, what the fuck was going on, because Mickeyâs cheeks should not be turning pink right now as he watched his husband rifle through the drawers for scissors.Â
âCome help me?â Ian asked, making Mickey jump in surprise when he realized heâd been staring at Ian for who knows how long and now heâd been caught. He nodded mechanically, getting up out of his chair and moving to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his husband whoâd already started trimming the ends of the flower stems to make them all the same length.Â
The longer he stood next to his husband, accepting each flower he handed him and arranging them in the vase after Ian trimmed them, it felt like every nerve ending in his body was standing on end. Ian still seemed happily oblivious even as he kept repeatedly sniffling and rubbing his nose against his shoulder or scrubbing it with his wrist and Mickeyâs head was spinning with arousal and confusion. Because, okay, what the fuck! There was literally no reason in the world that this should be happening right now. Yeah, okay, sure, Ian always got like this when they were in bed together. He couldnât help it. It was just part of him and it had been since they were fifteen and sixteen, fucking in the freezer. And it was still part of them at twenty-six and twenty-seven, but Mickey couldnât ever remember acting like this before. He didnât even act like this when they were in bed together. It had always just been a cute little quirk of Ianâs that, admittedly, felt pretty damn good when it made him fuck into Mickey that much harder, and yeah, it was cute when Ian got all embarrassed and bashful about it, but theyâd been married for over a year, for fuckâs sake, and he wasnât really like that anymore. Mickey still liked to tease him about it a little, but Ian wasnât embarrassed about it anymore because he knew Mickey didnât give a shit.Â
And Mickey didnât give a shit. One way or another. He didnât care that the second Ian got even a little turned on, heâd start sniffling and sneezing, but Mickey also wouldnât care if he suddenly stopped having that reaction.Â
So, why the fuck was he starting to get hard in the kitchen while his husband slowly began to realize that he was allergic to the flowers he was cutting?
âHIHâDZSHIEWW! Fuckinâ Christ!â Ian mumbled in surprise after quickly ducking into his elbow then sniffled and shook his head to get rid of the buzzing sensation that was still hanging around in the back of his sinuses. He didnât have time to figure out why Mickey had suddenly gone stiff before he was yanking the collar of his shirt up over his nose and mouth. âetCHISShoo!âÂ
âBless you.â Mickey managed to mumble after he gave his own head a few good shakes and pressed his front closer to the counter.Â
âFuck, thanks. Think Iâm allergic to something in there. Are you good to finish that?â Ian asked, turning to Mickey as he continued to scrub at his nose with his knuckles. Mickey swallowed heavily and nodded mechanically again, not really listening to a word Ian was saying and trying to will away the bulge in his jeans. âAre you okay?â Ian asked, raising an eyebrow as he reached past Mickey for a paper towel to blow his nose. âFuck, again?â Ian grumbled to himself before Mickey could answer, though, as his eyelids fluttered and he clamped the paper towel closer to his face. âEISHoooh! het-hTCHshiew! Oh my fuck, okay.â Ian groaned, sniffling and quickly wandering out of the kitchen until heâd calmed down.
Mickey felt like a robot as he did as Ian asked and continued to trim the flowers and shove them in the vase until they were all beautifully arranged, his remaining focus and self-control went into not flinching or letting any desperate little noises slip out of his mouth as Ian rode out the allergy attack from the living room.Â
Once he was done, he placed the vase on the kitchen table as far away from Ian as possible, who was still sniffling on the couch. When he finished, he didnât make any moves to join his husband on the couch. He just leaned against the kitchen counter and took deep, measured breaths and tried to wrangle his arousal and get it under control before Ian noticed and he had to figure out a way to explain whatever the fuck just happened when Mickey didnât even really know himself.Â
But, well, the universe really liked screwing him over. Heâd been standing stock still for a few minutes when Mickey felt warm arms wind around his middle and he jumped, not having heard Ian get up off the couch.Â
âThanks. Donât know what that was about.â Ian smiled, pressing his lips against Mickeyâs neck, his grin widening when he felt Mickey automatically melt back into his arms.Â
âYou good now?â Mickey couldnât help but ask, forcibly pushing down the swirl of emotions in his gut when Ian nodded against him.Â
âYeah, think so. I can still kinda feel it but as long as Iâm not fuckinâ around with them anymore, I think Iâm good.â Ian reassured Mickey then nuzzled another kiss against his neck. Mickey sighed happily, letting himself relax into his husbandâs embrace, thinking that he could explain away any lingering arousal as Ianâs hands running over his arms and chest now and from him kissing Mickeyâs neck. But Ian just kept kissing Mickeyâs neck and then he sniffled against his skin and gently rubbed his nose against Mickeyâs shoulder and it was finally too much and Mickey couldnât help the low moan that slipped through his lips. Ianâs movements faltered and he took a small step to the side so he could look at Mickey. He took in his glassy eyes and his flushed cheeks, then chanced a glance down before Mickey realized Ian had moved. When Mickeyâs eyes finally snapped open, Ian was gazing at him with an expression that was a mixture of amusement and curiosity.Â
âAre you hard right now?â Ian asked, knowing heâd hit the nail on the head when Mickeyâs flush immediately spread to his entire face and down his neck and chest.Â
âFuck off, Gallagher.â Mickey grumbled, but he wouldnât meet Ianâs eye. He squirmed out of his embrace and moved to sit down at the table, knowing Ian wouldnât get too close since the flowers were on the table.Â
âWhat of this is getting you going?â Ian asked, stepping closer even as he eyed the flowers, trying not to get too close. Mickeyâs flush only darkened as he crossed his arms over his chest protectively and wouldnât meet Ianâs gaze as he sighed heavily.Â
âWhoâs the bitch with the dog and the dinner bell?â Mickey asked, quickly glancing at Ian, who had an amused eyebrow raised.Â
âPavlov? Whereâre you going with this?â he asked, clearly confused. Welcome to the fucking club. Mickey sighed heavily, the sound morphing into a groan by the end of it.Â
âI think you Pavlovâs Dogâd my dick, man.â Mickey reluctantly admitted, glancing away from Ian as he said it before looking back at him to see his reaction. He only seemed confused, though, making Mickey groan when he realized he was going to have to explain it. Good fucking luck, he didnât even know what the fuck was happening.Â
âWhat are you talking about?â Ian asked, clearly as confused as Mickey thought he was. He sighed heavily one more time before letting his head fall back so he was staring up at the ceiling instead of at Ian.Â
âI donât fucking know, man. Youâre only like this in bed and I think after all these years youâve finally scrambled my brain.â Mickey admitted, spitting it out quickly. He kept staring up at the ceiling for a few moments before finally chancing a glance at Ian who promptly burst into laughter the moment their eyes met. âOkay, fuck you.â Mickey grumbled, his face practically turning the color of a tomato as he got up to go storm out the back door.Â
Before he could, Ian caught him around the waist and spun him around so their chests were pressed together.Â
âIâm not making fun of you, baby. That just wasnât what I expected you to say.â Ian promised, backing them up so he could press Mickey against the counter.Â
âIt's your fucking fault, bitch.â Mickey grumbled since Ian was still giggling softly against his neck.Â
âI know. Iâll make it up to you. At least now I know for sure you donât think itâs gross and you just love me too much to say so.â Ian grinned at Mickey, then immediately dropped to his knees, making Mickeyâs breath hitch.Â
âYeah, yeah. Youâre never gonna let me live this down, are you?â Mickey grumbled, but he was smiling down at Ian and running his fingers through his hair.Â
âProbably not. But itâs cute, so donât worry about it.â Ian promised, rucking up Mickeyâs shirt so he could press a kiss to the space right above the waistband of his jeans, then started to pop the button.Â
âOkay, weâre not at home. Youâre not blowing me in the kitchen here.â Mickey protested, although it took the last of his remaining self-control to do so as he pulled Ian back to his feet. He happily let Ian kiss him deeply pressed against the kitchen counter, though. A shaky moan escaped Mickeyâs lips when he felt Ianâs nose twitch against his, knowing that all of this talk and the kissing was going to get him riled up, and Mickey wouldnât survive if Ian wasnât inside him in the very near future.Â
Mickey reluctantly stepped away from Ian before either of them could get carried away and give in to fuck right there on the kitchen floor.Â
âI think itâs time to go home, sniffles.â Mickey teased, grinning when Ianâs cheeks flushed to match his own.
âYeah, okay.â Ian agreed quickly, the allure of their own apartment where they could be as loud as they wanted and take as much time as they wanted was much stronger than his desire to shove Mickey into any room with a door that would lock for a quickie. The pair raced up the stairs to grab the last of their things and were out the door and into the ambulance in record time. If Ian turned on the lights and sirens to get them home a few minutes faster, Mickey decided he wouldnât complain about being discrete this one time.