[cam-the-chameleon]

if my head on your shoulder is not too much weight

4k, rated M

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Summary:

It isn’t all just fucking in the years between Sochi and tuna melts; there are also moments of tenderness. Shane isn’t sure what to do with these moments, how to piece them together into a cohesive picture of who Rozanov is, or what they are to each other. This is one of those times. 

Read on AO3 here!

[nymanas]

[kaijuerotica]

[shane voice] ok so i'm the pool boy and you're the older property owner who likes to ogle me while sipping lemonade

[ilya voice] with a little umbrella?

[shane voice] of course with a fucking umbrella. anyway

[marchingmoths]

thinking about the boston raiders spending years watching ilya flirt with models, actors, pop stars, and all sorts of Professionally Hot People. always at the top of his game, no matter how famous or supernaturally attractive they are. no one’s seen him so much as stutter when chatting up someone whose face looks perfect on a billboard and somehow better in real life.

then the raiders shoot a PSA for the boston library. it’s the first time ilya’s been in a library since he was a child. and he simply cannot handle the librarians. they spend an extra hour filming because ilya stutters whenever someone with glasses asks him a direct question. he misspells his own name while getting a library card when the man helping him rebuttons the top of his collared shirt. he tries to flirt with a woman reshelving books by asking her what the numbers on the spines mean and if he can get hers; she doesn't clock his pick-up line and explains the dewey decimal system to him for ten minutes. ilya blushes the entire time. 

marley tells this to shane years later and shane is like,,,that tracks and no i will not elaborate. but we own an industrial grade glasses cleaner because i couldn’t figure out how else to get cum out of the crevices.

[tafkarfanfic]

But you have to understand, this is the environment all this is going down in:

[cloudabserk]

the wicked succubus ilya

[kaijuerotica]

i need more fics to play with shane boasting about his ability in private vs acting super hockey player humble when he's on camera

[kaijuerotica]

shane texting ilya after a metros game like: im so fucking tired of carrying this entire team on my back like fuck sure we won tonight but i'd have had a goddamn hat trick if stevens hadn't been off fucking sides like at what point is it easier for me to be the only guy on the fucking ice at least then no one is gonna miss my fucking passes

shane 2 minutes later to the media: oh for sure it's a team effort, we all do our best to contribute 🙂

[spacemancharisma]

might be my most important piece of fanart to date

inspired by @cuppydogshane's shecko posting

[pluvialcity]

shane waking ilya up at the cottage with his "wait, I have another idea" monologue about starting a charity makes me think that shane is one of those people who just Does That periodically

like he'll be gnawing on an idea for a couple days, and he'll go to sleep thinking about it, and then one day he'll wake up at 3am and it's finally done percolating and he has to Tell Someone About It Right Now and every time ilya is just like

[ilya-sweetheart]

[heatedrivalryfanarts]

morelovforjm_

[penandinkprincess]

diabetic Shane gets yet another service dog who can smell when he’s about to have a low or a spike. her name is Winnie she’s a very good girl and her vest has a little pocket on it that holds gummy bears.

I LOVE WINNIE AND HER GUMMY BEARS

[junkdrawertales]

Winnie is an Alaskan Malamute. Shane got her when he was 16. He picked Winnie because she can run with him outdoors when he’s training. Malamutes are sled dogs, so she loves running. Winnie also loves sliding around on ice rinks and chasing pucks that Shane throws for her. She would become the hockey version of Air Bud if she could. She has gone viral more than once as Shane Hollander’s Hockey Playing Dog.

[penandinkprincess]

GOD WAIT

the tuna meltdown is averted because cuddle time on the couch is happening until winnie (who is visiting this house for the first time along with shane and was SUPPOSED to be occupying herself with her chew toy) discovers that ilya's ice dispenser is NOT winnie proofed >:D

shane is literally kissing his way down ilya's belly only to suddenly hear the clatter of a FUCKTON of ice cubes hitting the floor and just "WINNIE! NO! BAD GIRL!"

and now the potential tension is broken by having to help clean up the ice cubes now scattered all over the kitchen while winnie is cronching as fast as she can before they're confiscated

[penandinkprincess]

winnie "ice fiend" hollander, i would die for you, but you would never let me

From the way Rozanov seems content and unbothered and the way Winnie has made herself perfectly at home, Shane gathers he’s the only one today feels strange for. 

“You have a dog?” Shane asks, more than a little surprised, when Rozanov rises from grabbing a dog bowl out of a lower cabinet and fills it with water before putting it on the floor, stealing an ear scritch from Winnie before he straightens again. 

“No?” Rozanov asks, seeming a little thrown by the question. 

“That’s a dog bowl,” Shane says, glancing to it again. 

Rozanov suddenly busies himself with a dishcloth on what appears to be a perfectly clean section of counter. 

“Was on clearance at the store last time I was there. I thought it would come in useful, maybe.” 

The answer doesn’t make sense, but Shane doesn’t know how to call him on it. Did he…buy a water bowl just for Shane’s dog? 

“I brought her collapsible one,” Shane offers, even though it’s a moot point now. He’d been planning on using it for the baggie of kibble he’d forgotten to take out of her vest to feed her dinner and then just rinse it out to be for water again. Not having to do that is convenient, certainly, but he also doesn’t know why it’s happening in the first place, another new element today stacking on top of the ones already making him feel on edge. 

Rozanov just shrugs, moving to wash his hands and starting to open the container of tuna salad. 

“No need,” he says. “Already done.” 

Shane doesn’t know how to verbalize that Rozanov going out of his way to get a water bowl for his dog and putting it down for her just makes this entire day feel more like a trap. Rozanov’s always been good with Winnie—Shane knows by now that he’s a dog person—and Winnie adores him because she has terrible taste in men and a weakness for a specific brand of liver treats only made in the US that Rozanov is her regular dealer for whenever they see each other, but it feels beyond the scope of what a hookup would do, making sure his dog is taken care of while he’s visiting. It feels…boyfriend-y, just like Rozanov throwing his clothes at him earlier did. Still, he’s not sure that there’s a way to say, “You’re acting like we’re a couple and it’s freaking me the fuck out” without sounding like a crazy person. 

He takes another sip of his ginger ale instead. 

*

“Win, no!” Shane hisses, rising to grab Winnie when she starts to follow after Rozanov as he walks away to answer his phone, abandoning her chew toy and the blanket Shane had put down for her when they got here as a makeshift bed to tell her where to stay. 

She sees him coming, though, and speeds up, jogging after Rozanov before she can be stopped. Any further, and he’d look like he was following Rozanov, too, and he pauses at the edge of the living room, torn between the manners of allowing Rozanov the privacy he clearly wanted and retrieving his punk ass dog who is not respecting the unspoken request. 

Still, he knows firsthand that Winnie at least keeps any secrets entrusted to her. 

He sits back down. 

*

“Ilya.” 

Shane has one moment of peace after the word leaves his mouth. 

And then the situation fully registers to him. 

Rozanov is smiling in a way that makes his stomach feel warm and cold at the same time, twisting into a knot of pleasure and confusion. He looks so soft and happy, like Shane has given him a gift in saying his name back to him. It makes Shane want to kiss him again, to wrap him in a blanket and run his fingers through his curls, to ride him until they both cum again and snuggle up with him on the sofa and do nothing beyond that. He wants the fulfillment of the pretend this day has increasingly turned into. 

And then he wonders what the opposite swing from something this temptingly good is going to be, how Rozanov is going to slide the casual back in, ripping right through the delicate cobwebs of the goodness of today. 

In an instant, the softness of it is too much, the entire day constricting around him like the mousetrap it’s felt like from the beginning. 

“I-”

He starts to pull back, avoiding Rozanov’s mouth even as it chases his own. He looks away, overwhelmed by the liquid joy in Rozanov’s eyes, knowing it’s something he shouldn’t be seeing, something Rozanov isn’t going to like him having seen later, when this day is over and he’s had time to think about it. He has to go, he knows in an instant. He has to go right now. He has to leave and-

“Shane?” Rozanov asks, holding onto his hips. “What-” 

They both jump as the noise of something like gravel hitting cement echoes through into the room, the movement making them bang their heads together. Shane leans forward for just a moment, hand pressed to the spot, until the surprise-pain of it fades just enough to return to knowing exactly what his dog has just done. 

“Winnie!” He yells, climbing off of Rozanov clumsily for very different reason than his attempt literally one second ago. “Bad girl! Leave it!” 

By the time he gets to the kitchen, though, it’s too late. 

He exhales in annoyed frustration and leans against the wall, watching his disservice animal gleefully chase her stolen hoard of ice cubes around the kitchen, pausing to crunch one with clear pleasure before returning to sliding the others around with her nose and paws. 

He watches her slap shot two under the fridge in quick succession and wonders if he could just complete his previous urge to flee. 

Without Winnie. 

*

“-so fucking sorry, seriously,” he says to Rozanov, both of them on their knees and trying to locate all of the rogue ice cubes, their work watched by a resentful Winnie who has been banished to the doorway and told to stay, her head propped on her paws in a canine performance of pouting. 

“If you had told me, Winka, I could have just given you some,” Rozanov says to her, sounding amused. “You are a guest.” 

“Jesus,” Shane complains, smiling a little despite himself. “Don’t encourage her.” 

“So what if the lady likes ice cubes?” Rozanov teases. “We all have our vices.” 

“Yeah, well,” Shane says dryly, rising onto his knees to toss his latest recovery into the sink and smiling again when Rozanov playfully cheers when he makes it, “none of my vices mean ending up with a wet sock later.” 

“Hmm,” Rozanov says, leaning forward to grab an ice cube from under the edge of the cabinet in a move that makes his muscles flex in a way Shane probably shouldn’t find as attractive as he does when he’s cleaning up his dog’s mess with a guy he absolutely almost just bailed on, “probably not the worst thing your socks have faced based on how horny you are all th-” 

Shane’s next ice cube also hits its target. 

Rozanov’s look says he’s not nearly so impressed. 

*

Rozanov takes pity on Winnie and releases her from her stay so she can show off her trick of balancing a treat on her nose before tossing it up and catching it after being told “Okay.” 

For the sheer joy of watching Rozanov’s joy—and repeating each “okay” in his mouth silently, enjoying the feeling of it—Shane is almost regretful when he has to call it. 

Even if his dog didn’t deserve even one treat after her little stunt. 

“Should we talk about before?” Rozanov asks, standing and brushing his hands off on his sweatpants. 

Shane suddenly becomes fascinated looking through Rozanov’s spice rack. 

“What about before?” 

“When you jerked us both off and then looked like you saw a ghost?” Rozanov asks dryly, and Shane feels a strange mix of emotions in his chest at the way he knows exactly what expression matches that tone. 

“I mean, we don’t usually do…this,” Shane hedges, avoiding eye contact. 

“‘This?’” Rozanov repeats, and from his peripheral vision, he sees him prop his hip against the counter, arms crossed loosely across his chest. 

“Spend the night and…wear each other’s clothes and shit.” He doesn’t bring up them also not using each other’s first names. For some reason, that feels like the greatest boundary broken today, like they’ve removed a necessary layer of formality. 

A layer Shane doesn’t know how to operate without. 

“You do not like this?” Rozanov asks, and his tone is just off enough that Shane looks up. 

Somehow the little show of uncertainty makes him feel a little better, steadier that maybe Rozanov is feeling this out as he goes, that the path feels new for him, too. 

“I,” he hesitates, trying to decide if he likes it or not. “I didn’t say that. It’s just…new.” 

“Then maybe we try something new,” Rozanov says with a half-shrug. “Is okay?” 

“Why?” Shane asks, because that’s really the central thing he needs to know here: why Rozanov is suddenly changing the game without telling him the new rules. 

“Because maybe,” Rozanov says, and when he crowds him back against the counter, Shane doesn’t stop him, “it could be nice.” 

“So is this what we do now?” Shane asks, because he just needs to know. “We stay over at each other’s houses?” 

“Mm,” Rozanov agrees, leaning in to kiss him. “If you want.” 

“And we-”

His follow-up question is interrupted by the clatter of more ice cubes, his fucking criminal of a dog using his painfully awkward “what are we” conversation as a distraction to sneak back to the dispenser without being noticed. 

“Winnie!” 

*

Because Ilya Rozanov is apparently very weak-willed when it comes to the discipline of dogs who should know better, Winnie is allowed out onto the patio with an entire container of ice cubes tossed onto the concrete for her benefit. 

Watching her nearly trip herself with glee, Shane gets the feeling that Rozanov has just begun a very bad habit he’s going to get sucked into. 

It wouldn’t be the first time, he thinks in resigned fondness. 

He watches Rozanov watch Winnie, looking almost boyish when he smiles. It’s lighter than Shane is used to seeing him usually. It feels like a gift, almost, getting this glimpse of a part of him that he knows by now other people don’t. 

He considers for the first time that maybe today was the same thing: the offer of something of Rozanov’s that other people don’t get. 

The thought is…oddly pleasing. 

“It’s all fun and games until she starts deciding the rink looks like a big ice cube,” he says, and Rozanov glances at him without turning. 

“She will improve things. Maybe then Montreal will not be so boring to watch.” 

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” Shane says, but he’s smiling when he does. The joking along with the acknowledgement that things are different and it’s not just in his head is helping to settle his nerves some. It occurs to him that Rozanov often has that effect on him, has since the start, really. 

Maybe he should just…let him make this feel calmer. 

“Do you usually-” A crash from the patio makes them both turn to look, and Shane winces, Winnie’s enthusiasm having made one of Rozanov’s patio chairs collateral damage in her ice cube insanity. “Told you not to let her play with them,” he observes. 

Rozanov snorts and then tilts his head slightly like he’s weighing something mentally. After a moment, he crosses over to Shane, standing beside him and wrapping his arms around his chest, chin on his shoulder, so they can watch Winnie’s property damage together. Shane is tense reflexively but then testingly leans back, finding Rozanov solid and steady behind him. 

Finding Ilya solid and steady behind him. 

“Okay?” He asks softly. 

Shane reaches up and squeezes his wrist gently. 

“Okay.” 

They keep standing like that while they watch Winnie continue to rearrange Ilya’s patio furniture. 

*

“You are mean and cruel and abusive,” Ilya observes while they’re making dinner, a third attempt at illicit ice cube acquisition from Winnie meaning Shane went out to the garage to use the flap of an old box to make an ice dispenser shield that matches the one on his own fridge back in Montreal. 

Winnie, watching him balefully, appears to be conveying the same judgment she did when he put his up. 

“You want to wake up to an empty ice dispenser and a flooded kitchen?” He asks lightly, taping the cardboard into place. 

Ilya finishes chopping up tomatoes without comment. 

*

After a last round of fucking for the night followed by a shared shower (...and a shower blowjob), Shane lets Winnie out one last time and then gets her settled on the blanket he brought up from the living room, folding it and setting it down in a corner of the room. She circles and circles and then settles, well-used to sleeping wherever he does. 

Climbing back into bed next to Ilya, he wishes he could say he was equally at ease. 

He feels hyperaware of the stretch of sheets between them, unsure if he’s supposed to venture closer or if Ilya is used to sleeping apart. Shane tries to remember the last time he shared a bed with someone and comes up blank, trying to remember from television shows how people usually sleep and then wondering if that’s just for the sake of the shot or if-

“So far away,” Ilya observes. Shane looks over to him. “Come here.” 

“You come here,” Shane says automatically, but he obeys, turning onto his side and shifting closer, letting Ilya guide him back down, counting on him knowing how people usually share beds while sleeping. 

He’s the one who’s had plenty of experience after all. 

“Comfortable?” Ilya asks after they’ve settled, Shane’s head on his shoulder, Ilya’s arm around his back. 

Shane takes stock and then slowly brings his leg up to rest it over Ilya’s hips. 

“Comfortable?” He parrots back, looking up as best he can. 

Ilya’s answer comes in the form of a kiss to his head. 

Shane finds himself relaxing faster than he expected, soothed by warm skin against his and the faint thrum of Ilya’s heartbeat. He dares wiggle a bit, settling more, and he feels the vibration of Ilya humming a laugh. 

“Better?” He asks when Shane is still again, sounding amused. 

Shane yawns. 

“Better.” 

He falls asleep to gentle fingertips stroking over his back. 

[snail-mail-33]

myshane tried to watch brokeback mountain in 2014 when he was completing a "100 movies to see before you die" list. he didn't make it the whole way through the film. not because it was too emotional or anything, no he just thought the whole plot was stupid because the characters could easily avoid all their problems by just not being gay. that's what he'd do if it were him. definitely. he supposes they must just be weaker or dumber than him so they deserve whatever they get. he turned it off after Alma spots them. he's not sure why he cried in the shower that night but a silly cowboy movie probably had nothing to with it.

[zwiazdziarka]

Out of order

4k | rated M | time travel | Irina POV

It’s not possible. The man — the older version of her Ilyusha — reaches under the collar of his shirt and pulls out a golden necklace. He shows it to her, hope shining in his eyes. The necklace is identical to the one she’s wearing. It doesn’t prove anything. It's the simplest Orthodox cross design, and there are tens of thousands of necklaces like this in Russia alone. But Irina knows already. A mother always recognises her child. -- OR: Irina gets a visitor from the future.

Read it on AO3

And listen to the playlist here. It's great, I promise.

[ramslambsandwolves]

2 professional hockey players, both in their late twenties; described as some of the jockiest jocks you’ve ever known………………i’m just trying to figure out why y’all think these two would ever be heavily involved or interested in wedding planning lol.

Like Shane wouldn’t have had them both say some vows before a scrimmage face off and play to win the other’s last name with a team of groomsmen? (Plus Svetlana and Rose as goalies) (If Shane wins they are the Rozanovs & if Ilya win’s they are the Hollanders and excuse Shane if he plays the worse hockey of his life :)

[lavenderprose]

"I have to ask you something, and I need you to promise not to freak out."

Shane watches out of the corner of his eye as Rose goes still, turns halfway towards him, carefully recaps the bottle of water she'd been drinking out of and places it back in the (climate-controlled; these towncars she hires when she's in Montreal are insane) cupholder between them. When she finally speaks, she is clearly clinging to the edge of her own self control with two weak fingertips.

"Okay," she says, "even you must know how ominous that sounds--"

"Even me," Shane scoffs, and then Rose gives him a look and he sighs gustily. "It's nothing bad. I just. I need to clarify something."

"Okay," Rose says, no less skeptically. "Here's where I remind you that neither of us ever really finished high school and we're generally clueless about the same things."

She's correct, of course. Shane's high school diploma is from Ontario Virtual Academy which essentially gave him a pass/fail score on his exams and thrust him out into the world only technically a high school graduate. Rose's degree is from a performing arts school somewhere in central Michigan that offered Vocal Training for Audiobook Narration as an elective. They are mutually shit at things like algebra, the history of their respective countries or carrying on conversations with people who are not involved in their respective highly specialized fields (Or, perhaps more accurately, people who have any remote level of chill about their passions in general--because Shane thinks he would find it relatively easy to match the energy of someone who was fanatically enthusiastic about, say, quilting versus someone who says things like, "Between you and me, hockey isn't my thing, but the networking opportunity just couldn't be passed up--") and that mutual cluelessness is, in fact, the basis for their friendship.

Unlike Rose, Shane is surrounded daily by people he genuinely is not sure know how to read. The concussions alone would bring it into question. Despite his lack of formal education, he rarely feels self-conscious about it when compared to the vast majority of his colleagues. But he has never in his life felt less judged for not knowing who the fuck Charli D'Amelio is than when he is sitting next to Rose in a booth at a restaurant neither of them wants to be in, listening to someone rattle on about Charli D'Amelio. Whoever he is.

"I know," Shane sighs, "But there is, y'know, one thing."

Rose's mouth quirks, her eyes narrow, and she announces, "Oh, this is a sex thing," at a volume that Shane would spiral about if the driver of the towncar wasn't signed under one of the strictest NDAs known to man. Shane has been reliably informed that he could talk about his intent to murder the Prime Minister in the backseat of this car and the driver would be utterly powerless to speak of it.

Shane blows out a puff of air between swelled cheeks. "I mean. Yeah."

"Okay," Rose says, still noticably wary. "I mean, I'm always down to hear about your debaucheries--"

"Debauchery is a strong word--"

"And the correct one," Rose stresses, eyebrow raised, and Shane has to make peace once again with the weekend she spent at the cottage last summer, during which Ilya was off posing half-naked against a Ducati somewhere and Rose decided to keep Shane company by getting him "White Girl Wasted" and pestering him to once again elaborate on the whole Peg and Hole situation--a conversation they've had repeatedly over the years but which apparently does not lose its luster in Rose's eyes. Shane went through a week or so where it was difficult to meet his own eyes in the mirror knowing that he'd explained in somewhat excruciating detail how hot it is when his husband spits on him while they have sex. But Shane also knows the name of a Hollywood actor whose dick is apparently too big to fit in a 'cock sock' so they had to sew two of them together and dunk him in cold water before he put it on.

"So obviously I had to see what the hype was about," Rose had said.

"Obviously," Shane had agreed, wine glass waving wildly. "Yes, yeah, you've gotta--honestly, sometimes it looks big and you're like--whoa, that's crazy--"

"Crazy! Like, hello Mister Anaconda, how did you get here from--"

"And sometimes even afterwards you're like whoa how did that fit--"

"Fucking--where do anacondas live--one second, HEY GOOGLE--"

Shane had to politely ask his parents to turn off the period drama they'd been watching last time he visited.

"It's just a question," Shane says, waving away any further prevarication on Rose's part. "I'm gonna explain something and then you--you've gotta promise to just be cool and tell me if you think it's weird--"

"Babe," Rose says, hand on his elbow. "I love weird shit. You know this about me."

Shane knows. He rented out the Mütter Museum for a private tour for her birthday last year. He knows.

"Okay," Shane sighs. Big breath. "So last night when your friend was telling that story about her ex--"

"Kendall Skye is not my friend," Rose says, immediately and vehemently. "Just because we played sisters for a couple of years--"

"Okay, fine--fine! She's not your friend and she's trying too hard and she...wears too much perfume?" Shane waits for Rose to preen and nod, approving of his carefully-learned lines. "Anyway. She was telling that story about her ex. And about how he--"

"Thought wiping his ass made him gay?" Rose says, nose wrinking. "Yeah, babe, that's crazy work. Like, if it's between skid marks or or the rainbow flag, I think there's a clear winner--"

"Yeah, no, that was the worst thing I've ever fucking heard, and I'm a hockey player."

"And you're a hockey player," Rose agrees sagely.

"But no, not that. It was--" Shane sighs again, bangs his head against the headrest a few times. "She said that thing about how sometimes when he stayed at her place, she'd wake up and he'd be--"

"Ohh, that." Rose purses her lips, tilts her head the side. "Yeah."

"And like, obviously if she didn't--like that, or whatever, that's bad. But--" Shane clears his throat. "What if, uh--is it weird or--like, problematic? To, like--like it? Sometimes, if, y'know--"

"Shane Hollander." Rose sounds giddy now. "Please say it with your mouth."

"Oh my God." Shane curves a hand over his mouth, tries to hide how red his neck and cheeks have gone--it is, of course, far too little and far too late. "I don't know! Sometimes when I'm really tired I can't--y'know--"

"Get it up," Rose says, hand out like she's offering the words on a platter, and Shane groans.

"Yeah! Sometimes! It's just a thing sometimes, I don't know. And I'll tell him I'm gonna take a nap and then sometimes when I wake up he's there and he's..." Shane makes a single, evocative movement at the level of his own hips. "Um, helping himself?"

"Oh my god," Rose cackles.

"And it's so--" Shane squeezes his eyes closed. "It's so fucking hot, Rose, oh my God. I fucking love it when he does that. Is that--is it--"

"Oh my God, babe." Rose bats at his hands for a minute, and he bats back, and they spend a minute gently tusseling in the back of the towncar--gently, because Shane knows his strength and also that he will pull his punches and Rose won't. When she finally has his hands in hers, Rose squeezes tightly in a way that says Listen To Me but also says These Fingernails Are Acrylic Do Not Break One. "There is such a world of difference between those two things. You are totally allowed to like it when your husband jerks off at you while you're sleeping."

"That's such an insane way to put it," Shane breathes incredulously.

"Would you like to volunteer a better one?" Rose doesn't exactly wait for a response. "Babes, there are definitely skeevy guys in the world who do stuff like that because it makes people uncomfortable. But I don't really think that's what's happening here."

"I think maybe I like it," Shane whispers. "When he's kind of skeevy?"

"Whore," Rose whispers back. "Good for you."

A knock on the window breaks their concentration. Rose jumps and rolls it down, though they can already see Ilya hunched down, eyebrow raised.

"Hello," he says at length. "Were you going to sit in driveway all night? The car has been parked for, like, ten minutes."

Indeed, they've arrived at Rose's rental house without either of them noticing. Shane really needs to look into whatever kind of car this is. Insanely smooth ride, honestly.

Unfortunately, Rose has apparently lost the ability to look Ilya in the face and not dissolve into hysterics. Which she does. Loudly.

"Come visit while I'm in Montreal, says Rose Landry," Ilya mutters as he turns and starts heading back towards the house. "Will be totally cool and not weird at all. Won't get your husband drunk at all, says Rose Landry."

"I never promised that!" Rose yells as she gets out of the car.

"Okay, well." Shane unbuckles his seatbelt and pops open the door. "Uh, sorry about all of that, Tony."

"I didn't hear anything," says Tony, which Shane thinks is maybe the only thing he's allowed to say, but Rose pays him a frankly insane amount of money to drive her around for a handful of hours every day so. There are worse things.

Maybe later he'll tell Ilya that Rose's driver knows yet more details of their sex life and Ilya will flip him over and say something like, "You just can't stop telling people what a slut you are," and then he'll cum on Shane's back and rub it in a bit.

And that'll be. Really nice.

[vesnuszki]

do you ever think about how eyes are literally miracles of nature capturing rays of light and turning them into brain signals and it allows us to perceive so many wonderful things for example the canadian government funded hockey yaoi and shane hollander bouncing on it over and over and over and

[shaneseggs]

i think hayden does ads for royal match

[penandinkprincess]

saw your post about baby shane and night night rules and it speaks to me. imagining little!shane bursting into tears because nana broke the night night rules and now the world has devolved into chaos and will never recover (until she gives him some chocolate milk and he's fine)

GOD nana is babysitting for the first time while yuna and david are on a date night and is trying to be indulgent grandma spoiling shane, and shane is NOT! HAVING! IT!

is VERY upset night night has been delayed and now!! you offer him chocolate milk???? HIS TEETH HAVE ALREADY BEEN BRUSHED. THERE CAN'T BE CHOCOLATE MILK AFTER TEETH BRUSHING.

just an absolute crisis lmao.

[raincitygirl76]

I’m imagining Baby Shane the next morning solemnly telling Mommy and Daddy that Nana can’t be allowed to babysit him again. Nana breaks the rules!

Either that or he forces himself to stay awake in bed until Mommy and Daddy get home from their date night. They peek in on him, and he sits bolt upright in bed. And tattles on Nana right there and then.

[penandinkprincess]

dead on the FLOOR imagining bb shane telling them nana needs time in the penalty box for not following the rules