heart-worth-breaking

she/her, 45, bi

[heart-worth-breaking]

Currently mostly HR fandom, with a dash of Star Trek. BelovedConcubine on AO3.

Some of my favorites:

Boston Tea Party by @k0terina

#open relationship au by @perlukafarinn (masterlist here)

bear 🐻 ilya hearts shane by @viciousratlol

Shane + Ilya sex club au by @bugslibraryy

(blinkies by @ilyasmole and @probablily)

[thisshitisridiculous]

truly i hope they get to have a blast again. i hope it gets to feel like summer camp and wild fun creative work again. i hope they get a unique experience of joy and unburdened pressure getting to step back into these characters they fell in love with. i hope they get the space to live in it with that rest of the team and find that flow of a well oiled set again. it won’t ever be the same experience as filming the first season again, especially with the change in public attention, but i hope they get to have so much fun and make something with so much joy it can’t help but shine through the screen again

[oknotgood]

donate, if you want to, maybe, to help me keep the lights on?

i'm really really really sorry but i don't know what else to do. my electricity is going to be shut off imminently and i can't pay the bill.

it's not like i didn't see it coming. and i tried really hard. we got a roommate. i offered my tutoring services. my wife is looking for a job. but nothing is happening fast enough. there were always more important, more urgent issues that needed to be addressed (like not getting evicted) and i ran out of time. the deadline is today. i'm expecting the power to be shut off tomorrow.

we can't even get a payday loan cause my wife has no income and i'm already drowning in debt.

if you are able and you feel so inclined, you can donate to help out at the link below (my wife's paypal account. the pic is the two of us).

donate here

thank you just for reading! or reblogging.

if you donate, i can't even express how much i appreciate it. there are not enough words in any language. i will definitely cry and i will remember it for the rest of my life.

[totilyapowerexshane]

ilya should give shane a paralytic and fuck him while he’s his weak little ragdoll

[totilyapowerexshane]

ilya should give shane a paralytic and fuck him while he’s his weak little ragdoll

[pinenora317]

Heated Rivalry ll S01EP06

[wordsonapage2]

I wonder if part of the reason that the Game Changer's series is so broadly popular is that it positions homophobia to function as the same mechanism as classism in regency romances. That is, it's an unjust societal force that has elevated people in certain categories as better than others, but crucially, it is a force of societal disapproval, not of danger. The concern of classism that it will result in ostracism from 'polite society' has substituted in a professional hockey league. The dynastic concerns of scandal have been mapped to Russian laws against homosexuality causing Ilya to never be able to go home again. Losing one's inheritance becomes risking the single, lucrative job they are trained for. Crucially, class differences don't carry a risk of sudden, extreme violence so the concern about other players targeting them in a full contact sport is omitted.

It doesn't even cross Kip's mind that hate crimes exist when he asks Scott what's the worse that could happen, because that's not a consequence possible in regency romance. A demand to choose a partner over hockey polite society happens all the time in regency romances. The privileged partner not understanding the dark side of hockey classism, check. A partner caving to the societal expectation of his station and staying the closet is framed as an act of selfish cowardice that he needs to overcome to be worthy of love.

And usually in regency romances, like Pride & Prejudice, the solution to this barrier is for the couple to just choose each other and declare their love and it all works out (due to the man's extreme privilege shielding his wife, which doesn't map to homophobia) or for the couple to happily leave the nasty gossip-mill of polite society (Montreal) to more comfortable country social circles (uber-supportive Ottawa). This could be why the Russian issue is waved away, because regency stories usually end with the couple either winning over dynastic acceptance or with them in a more powerful position than their disapproving relatives. Neither of which can be applied to this situation, so there is no roadmap for Reid to continue the issue.

This could explain why Reid feels that coming out publicly is imperative to a happy ending. If homophobia is positioned by the writer as the modern take on romance novel classism, then remaining in the closet--in any capacity--functions as an adherence to social hierarchy, which the regency genre demands their love interest grapple with and reject.

Well, I'm not a romance genre devotee, so I could be totally off base.

[ilyarozynovs]

on summer, escapism, the cottage and home

mary oliver - roses, late summer // noah kahan - willing and able // mary oliver - the roses // ada limón - how far away we are // ibid. // charles simic - clouds gathering // derek walcott - midsummer, tobago // joy sullivan - move to orgeon in july

made for shane summer fest | week 4: the cottage

[actuallysara]

Collider confirms that all 8 episodes of YAGA, starring Hudson Williams as Henry Park, will premiere at once.

"The eight-episode series will premiere all at once, and each episode has a runtime of about half an hour, similar to some recent genre-bending hits like Maximum Pleasure Guaranteed."

[heart-worth-breaking]

[totearup]

In my head Shane is 14 when one of his coaches finds him on the ice doing extra drills after practice and he makes some Crack like, "Guess you're not a once in a generation talent after all." And Shane is surprised and doesn't know what he means, and thinks maybe he did something wrong? A stupid newspaper called him a generational talent a couple months ago and the kids on his team - well it's fine. They're still winning. "More like twice huh?" The coach finishes. He holds up a DVD in an unlabled jewel case (because it's 2005) "Got something you're going to want to see."

The coach takes him to the video room and puts the DVD in, "There's a kid in Russia, same age as you. They're saying he's the next Gordie Howe."

He presses play and they watch a shaky video of two Russian teams. Shane's heart starts racing as he watches. He can immediately tell who coach is talking about. One of them is clearly faster and smarter than the rest, moving through the defense with a slick confidence that Shane immediately finds fascinating.

"His name is uh," coach digs though a pile of paper, "Romanof or something." He finds what he's looking for, "Ilya Rozanov. He'll be draft eligible the same year you will."

Shane feels that same sense of determination, terror, and joy he always feels when one of his coaches talks about him getting drafted like it's a forgone conclusion. He keeps watching the kid on the ice, the same age as him, and very good, and also already set for the draft.

His play style is fascinating, and when his shift is over Shane grabs the remote to fast forward to the next time he gets on the ice, wanting to see more.

His coach laughs and claps him on the shoulder, "Don't worry about him too much. You won't be playing him for a couple of years."

Shane watches this boy skate around his teammates like it's easy, like he's bored, maybe as bored as Shane sometimes is with his own team. He can't wait.

[boringmenace]

I go back and forth on how emotional hollanov would be when they say goodbye at the cottage/airport their first summer together, but I ultimately think it would hit them at different points.

The first time it really hits Shane is the night before Ilya’s flight back to Boston. The pair were lying in bed together, fingers dancing on skin, Ilya’s breath rhythmic on Shane’s neck. Their last full day had been a haze, barely getting out of bed, bodies glued together for nearly every moment.

Shane genuinely lost count of the orgasms, his body feeling like one giant aching bruise in all the best ways.

And now, he was exhausted. He could tell Ilya was too by the way his hands that were gliding against Shane’s skin slowed, his breaths evening out more and more, hanging on the precipice of sleep.

If they slept now, they wouldn’t see each other until the morning. Until they would have to pack up in Shane’s car.

Until Ilya would leave.

Tears stung Shane’s eyes.

He squeezed them shut, trying to will himself to calm down, the burning in his throat near agonizing. He must have tensed too much, because Ilya began to pull out of his dozing and adjust, his nose brushing against Shane’s. “What’s wrong?” Ilya whispered.

Shane made a pathetic noise in protest, refusing to open his eyes.

“Shane. Look at me.” There was a sternness to Ilya’s voice that was too commanding for Shane to ignore. It wasn’t loud, the volume still that of a whisper, but it was clear.

Shane opened his eyes to meet Ilya’s and the way Ilya’s eyes shuttered told Shane that he must look wrecked. “What is it?” He pressed again.

Shane’s voice came out in a croak, a tear falling from his waterline. “You’re leaving tomorrow.”

And Ilya understood. He understood the gravity of that and how the perfect bubble of these last weeks was about to be gone. So he gathered Shane up in his arms. “I’m still here now,” he murmured, pressing his lips to Shane’s head.

They stayed that way until morning.

Ilya didn’t break until they were at the airport.

They were… okay, leading up to it. They were okay as they got ready, they were okay as Shane started driving. But Shane quickly noticed that the closer they got to the airport, Ilya got quieter. His grip on Shane’s hand was getting tighter and tighter, to the point where it was near crushing.

When Shane parked the car in the back of the lot, they were silent. Ilya stared out the passenger window, refusing to look at Shane. “Are you okay?” Shane dared to ask.

Ilya didn’t look back immediately, but when he did, Shane’s heart broke.

Ilya’s eyes were shining and his mouth had the smallest of trembles. His Adam’s apple bobbed once before he spoke. “I love you,” he said, voice wobbling.

“I love you, too.”

Ilya bit his lip and looked down at the space between them, where their hands were clasped. “I don’t know how to go back,” Ilya said. “How do we go back?”

“It’ll be different now.” Shane started. “Better. We’ll talk all the time. Every day, we’ll at least text, and then call when we can. It’ll be hard, but people do long distance all the time.”

A tear slid down Ilya’s face and Shane had to stop every nerve in his body that screamed to wipe it away. “Do you think people who do long distance are as in love as we are?”

Shane smiled sadly at him, and shook his head gently. “Probably not.”

Ilya’s face crumpled even more and he gasped, leaning forward to press his lips to their joined hands. Shane leaned forward too, pressing their heads together over the center console.

Shane didn’t dare kiss him, but he would allow them this much. Ilya was whimpering softly against their hands, eyes screwed shut, forcing Shane to close his eyes too to stop himself from crying also.

“We’ll be okay,” Shane promised. “We can do this. Just one season.”

Ilya made a noise in acknowledgement, but did not speak. Shane wasn’t sure how long they sat there together, but he knew that Ilya had to go or he would miss the flight. “You have to pull it together, baby,” Shane whispered as softly as he could.

“I know,” Ilya replied.

After a few more seconds, Ilya took a loud, deep breath, and sat up, separating their hands.

As Ilya tried shaking off the emotions, Shane spoke. “Text me when you board.”

“Okay.”

“And when you land.”

“Yes.”

“And call me when you get home.”

Ilya huffed wetly and nodded, a smile pulling at him. “I will.”

They looked at each other one last time, and Shane made sure to memorize Ilya’s face as much as he possibly could. Every mole, every blemish, every pore. “I love you,” Shane said again, but in Russian, hoping he wasn’t butchering the phrase. Then, in English: “So much.”

Ilya nodded once. “I love you.”

Then Ilya was basically throwing himself out the car and hauling his bags out the back hatch.

Shane watched Ilya walk toward the airport doors, not looking back. Only when Shane lost sight of him, did he close his eyes and rest his forehead on the steering wheel.

What a fucking summer, huh?

[ilyapasta]

It's Hozier, but is it Hollanov?: A ranking of Hozier songs based on how Hollanov they are

We know Hozier's music is often used for Blorbo feelings fodder, but I find some of the traditional shipping songs don't actually work for Hollanov's vibe. This is both an excuse to re-listen to all of Hozier's mainline albums (and whatever singles I choose to interact with) and rank them based on how relevant they are to Hollanov's love story and characterizations. Crucially, I'm NOT ranking how much I like these songs or how good they are as music, just how much they make me think of Hollanov as a couple or individual characters at different points of the story. Also, I'm going to stick to canon narrative (book and show) for this, but that is subjective to my interpretation. You can disagree though. I'll probably enjoy reading your thoughts.

The Ranking System: I'm Coming to the Cottage -> This song is them in every possible way, in every possible time period and era, and describes an aspect of their love story. Is Just a Plan to Fuck-> The song fits them but just in a horny way. Shanalysis-> This song is a Shane understander. Ilyanalysis-> This song is an Ilya understander. Don't Worry it Will Fit-> There are elements of this song that could connect with aspects of Hollanov's story, but I'm probably stretching it. What's YouTube?-> This song is irrelevant to Hollanov's journey. Still Hozier though, so you should listen.

Alright here we go!

Part 1: Hozier (the self-titled album)

"Take me to Church" Ranking: I'm Coming to the Cottage This one wins out for the chorus alone. All-encompassing love that comes with intense physical, life changing attraction. That's them. And argument can be made that this is an Ilyanalysis contender because Ilya would 100% be more likely than Shane to use religion as a language of devotion, but I think that the lyrics about desire point to Shane as well. Notable Lyric: "I was born sick, but I love it, command me to be well."

"Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene" Ranking: What's Youtube? Despite Ilya's smoking and weed use, this song's allusions to drug use both literal metaphorical don't really fit with Hollanov's more sober encounters. They are drunk off each other, but they're always in their right minds.

"Jackie and Wilson" Ranking: Ilyanalysis This is him. The way that Ilya sees his love for Shane as an anchoring force, something that is going to save him, something that he must learn to deserve, that's all Ilya. This is a happy song, but I think it speaks to Ilya's desire for love and affection when he's gone without it for so long. We'll just ignore the part in the end about it being a fling, but in a way Ilya is never really secure in his attachment to Shane. He wants forever with him, but is unsure if he'll get it. Notable Lyric: "I need to be youthfully felt, 'cause God, I've never felt young."

"Someone New" Ranking: What's YouTube? I don't see much connection here. These lyrics are way more self aware than I think Shane or Ilya could ever be. There's possible elements of TLG Ilya in there, but they're just too in love to really be involved in this somewhat jaded song.

"To Be Alone" Ranking: Shanalysis (possibly What's YouTube) There's a lot of elements to the lyrics of this song, but if we take it as referring to addictive and conflicting sexual encounters, I think we can apply that to some of Shane's early sexual experiences and self-discovery. However, there are strong elements of this song pointing to it being about a sexual assault victim, so I'm hesitant to make that a definitive ranking.

"From Eden" Ranking: Don't Worry it Will Fit This is not the MOST relevant song to them, but there's something there that reminds me of Shane's view of Ilya, how he intrigues him, and how Shane in turn intrigues Ilya with his wholesomeness. They are both also entangled with other people for a lot of their early years, and experience the first pangs of jealousy for each other before realizing their feelings. Notable Lyric: "There's something lonesome about you, Something so wholesome about you, Don't you agree?"

"In a Week" Feat. Karen Crowley Ranking: I'm Coming to the Cottage+++++++++ This song has EVERYTHING for Hollanov, specifically cottage Hollanov. Something about the imagery of lying there and decaying makes me think of them isolated in the country, falling in love in this indulgent isolation. The death imagery also calls to mind the old medieval metaphor of death being a stand-in for orgasm. Also, the way the lovers in the song are experiencing deep relaxation and enlightenment from their time together reminds me of Hollanov's sweet haven away from the world. Notable Lyric: "I have never known sleep like this slumber that creeps to me, I have never known color like this morning reveals to me" AND "I'd be home with you."

"Sedated" Ranking: What's Youtube? Nah, this song is very much about addiction and drug use specifically. Like, maybe if you take the drug allusions as metaphorical you can squeeze some Ilyanalysis out of it? But neither of them really try to self-medicate in that way, even when Ilya is in the throes of depression.

"Work Song" Ranking: I'm Coming to the Cottage This is absolutely long-term relationship and married Hollanov. I can find lyrics in here that are relevant to both of them and their feelings for each other. The way they see the best in each other, sometimes almost blind to each other's faults because of their deep love. There's something very relevant to Shane here, in that he loves to imagine that it's him and Ilya against the world. But there's also Ilya in there, reveling in how Shane loves him despite his perceived faults. There's also a vibe of invincibility, in that they can conquer anything as long as they're together. (This is my all time favorite Hozier song btw, and I cried human tears when I watched him perform it live) FANON ALERT: This song has copious uses of the endearment "baby," and sue me, I think Ilya is Shane's baby. PUT ME IN JAIL. Notable Lyric: "I just think about my baby, I'm so full of Love I could barely eat."

"Like Real People Do" Ranking: Shanalysis This song has a lot of allusions to bogs in folklore as they relate to a new relationship, and I interpret it as having meanings related to queerness. Shane goes on a journey of letting go and accepting his queerness, ultimately finding his counterpart in Ilya. When he accepts that he is not going to have that "normal" relationship with a woman, Shane realizes that instead he's in love love with a man, and seeks to claim that love when he sees Ilya again in Tampa. Shane's story has a bittersweet quality to it, because his sincerity is up against Ilya's doubts. Shane is running from a "bog" of his own making, and in accepting himself let's the "swamp" overtake him and allows himself to lose control, and in doing so he is rewarded with something "real." Notable Lyric: "We should just kiss like real people do."

"It Will Come Back" Ranking: Ilyanalysis If the previous track is all Shane, this one is all Ilya. He resists falling into a relationship with Shane, but ultimately fails. Ilya often sees himself as unworthy of Shane's love, and this song makes me think of Ilya saying "Don't fucking do this, Hollander" and "You don't like me" in the Tampa hotel room. There's practical reasons why this love can't happen for them, the Russia of it all, but there's also internal reasons. Ilya doesn't think he's good or deserving of it. This also relates to a later Ilya in The Long Game, who wants to be good enough for Shane, and be okay with their situation, even though it's aggravating his mental health issues. I think, in his heart, Ilya thinks he loves Shane more than Shane loves him, and sees himself almost as this "howling" thing outside Shane's door, like in the song. Musically, I also think the halting, distorted guitars feels like Ilya's conflicted anguish, even as he enjoys every minute he gets with Shane. Notable Lyric: "Jesus Christ, don't be kind to me, honey, don't feed me, I will come back."

"Foreigner's God" Ranking: Don't Worry it Will Fit (possibly What's Youtube?) This one is tough. The song is describing a person who is in love with a woman who doesn't bend to patriarchal traditions, which is somewhat a metaphor for a complicated relationship to one's homeland. In canon, Ilya isn't really sad about leaving Russia, so I don't know if this really works for him, but I think there's a way to apply it. FANON ALERT: There are plenty of great fics that explore a more complex relationship to homeland and family in Ilya. In those cases, a song like this applies more.

"Cherry Wine - Live" Ranking: What's Youtube? Despite my love for this song, it's really about the contradictions in the narrator's feelings about their abusive relationship, so no canon Hollanov for me there. FANON ALERT: All of you Hollanov toxic relationship and trial separation and divorce truthers, behold! A song for you.

Overall Ranking: Solid Hollanov album, with a few songs that don't apply. Musically, Hozier's gritty but full vocals accurately portray the emotions of this story. Also, the lighter toned songs are welcome, because Hollanov are ultimately a happy couple.

Coming Soon:

Part Two: "Wasteland, Baby!" and other assorted singles

[sladucer]

Say it again in russian please...

[bighollanov]

Thinking about an AU where Shane and Ilya never get back together after the tuna melt day, and Shane still dates Rose for a bit, but when she tries to have the “You’re gay” conversation he flat-out refuses and keeps denying it. Eventually he finds another girl to date who cares way more about Being Superstar Shane Hollander’s Girlfriend than she cares about Shane himself, which is perfectly fine by him. Shane doesn’t need anyone else looking at his life too closely. 

So Shane keeps playing hockey, and he keeps dating this girl. Eventually they get married, and everyone’s so happy for them. Shane’s mostly just relieved. He did it. He’s got the Wife and the Career and he’s normal, he’s finally normal, and all that stuff from his early twenties was just a momentary aberration. (And if there’s a hollowness in him, an ache that can’t be filled unless secretly opening himself up on his fingers or ordering enough room service to make himself sick, that’s no one’s business but his own).

Then Shane retires, and the first real cracks start to appear. He’d been traveling constantly for most of their relationship, and now that he’s home all the time he and his wife find they don’t have much to say to each other. When she does speak to him, it’s mostly to make pointed comments about his body.

But Shane can’t really blame her. He knows his weight problem is spiraling out of control. It started his last few seasons on the ice, when his runaway appetite had made him gain a handful of pounds above the solid 200 he’d maintained throughout his career. He was so close to retirement that the trainers just laughed it off, said Hollander deserved some newlywed bulk. But after he’d stopped playing, he still couldn’t stop eating, and his weight had snowballed rapidly. The pounds packed on and on, his widening belly carrying most of the fat but still leaving a hefty amount split between his ass and thighs. 

His wife was understandably incensed. She’d married Shane Hollander, Hockey Star, not Shane Hollander, Chubby Retiree, and doesn’t he know how embarrassing it is that she can’t post beach vacay-thirst traps of them together anymore? 

And Shane knows she’s right, that he does need to get a handle on it, that his plump tummy and thick love handles probably should be embarrassing, but also he can’t really bring himself to do anything about it. Nothing has felt particularly real to him since hockey ended, least of all his body.

One day he’s at a gallery opening his wife had dragged him to in Montreal, wandering around with a plate of hors d'oeuvres while his wife holds court among a group of influencers in the back corner. He’s chewing a cube of gouda while staring absently at an abstract sculpture when he hears the voice. 

A little more gravelly from years of smoke, a little bit less of an accent from years in the States. But still the same voice Shane’s had memorized since that cold December day in Saskatchewan, 2008.  

“Nice show, I think. Though I am not sure what this one is supposed to be...”

Ilya Rozanov’s standing by his side, gesturing at the sculpture with a tip of his graying curls. He’s wearing a collared shirt buttoned low enough to expose the sexy scruff of his chest hair, sleeves pushed up to show off his muscular forearms.

For the first time since retiring, Shane feels very, very awake. 

He opens his mouth, intending to make some polite comment and bid his farewell, but what comes out, in a playful, slightly snotty tone he hasn’t heard himself use in years, is “I think it’s pretty obviously you crying on the ground after we knocked you out of the playoffs in ‘25.” 

Rozanov’s silent for a moment, and then his joyful burst of laughter is loud enough to make the nearby visitors shoot them curious looks. “Ha! So Hollander still chirps, eh? You know, this is funny, because I was actually thinking that statue looks very much like you on your knees, Vegas ‘14, coming untouched...”

A little jolt goes through him to hear their sexual past referenced so baldly like that, and he waits for the attendant rush of shame, the turtle-like instinct to retreat into his shell. But it never comes. Somehow, from Rozanov’s lips it all feels completely… normal.  

 “Fuck you,” Shane says, but he’s laughing too. “Don’t say ‘untouched,’ you make it sound like I just came in my pants or something. You were definitely doing some touching.”

“Okay, okay. Hands free, we will say.” 

“Better.” Shane elbows Rozanov in the ribs, and Rozanov elbows him back, laughing again.

“Fuck, Hollander. I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Shane admits plainly, then hastens to add, “I mean, those last few years weren’t the same without you on the ice.”

“Mmm.” Rozanov shrugs. “Well, you had other things to keep you busy.”

“Right.” Rozanov had retired around the same time Shane got married.

For a moment they’re both quiet, staring at the sculpture. Shane fidgets with his cocktail napkin and chances a glance to his right. Rozanov is already staring at him, eyes dark and calculating. He doesn’t look away when he notices Shane watching him.

“You look good, Hollander,” Rozanov says lowly. His eyes trace a deliberate path up and down Shane’s body. “Very good.”

Shane instinctively looks down at himself, and for the first time he remembers how much bigger his current body is than that of the Hollander Rozanov used to know. Blood rushes to his cheeks as he stares at the chubby spill of his belly over his belt, his thick thighs straining the seams of his pants. “Oh,” he says awkwardly. “I know I need to—“

But before he can get into a lie about how he’s working on losing weight, his wife is there, pulling him by the elbow off into the crowd.

_

Ilya watches Shane’s retreating form lumber through the crowd, the petite blonde woman he recognizes from his years of internet stalking attaching herself to Shane’s side like an angry barnacle. She hisses something in Shane’s ear, and then his belly retracts slightly in a clear attempt to suck in. But Shane’s too fat for it to make much of a difference. His wife is clearly aware of this, because her face hardens and she takes the plate of hors d’oeuvres from Shane’s hand and dumps it in the trash. 

Ilya can only stand there stupidly paralyzed, all the confidence and bravado that had driven him here having melted away almost instantly after coming face to face with Shane again for the first time in years. Fuck. It was his only chance, and he fucking blew it, struck dumb by the utter miracle of him, the irresistible loveliness of Shane’s soft bulk. Ilya hadn’t been able to do much more than choke out an awkward compliment that made Shane regard him warily like he thought Ilya was making fun of him, and then Ilya just let Shane walk away before he could say everything he’d been keeping in his heart. 

Just like last time, Ilya thinks bitterly. The broad curves of Shane’s shoulders fall into a slump as he shuffles forward. There will never be anything as painful as watching Shane walk away.

(But what had he even been thinking, Ilya berates himself. Did he seriously expect that Hollander would, what, leave his wife for him? Get a grip, Rozanov.)

But then— at the mouth of the gallery, Shane turns around. His eyes lock on Ilya’s for a single electric moment, and then he’s pushing back through the crowd, his wife’s lips forming a cherry-red ‘O’ of outrage behind him. 

Shane’s a big man, and the crowd parts easily in his wake. In no time at all he’s back in front of Ilya, slightly out of breath, a deep flush reddening his round cheeks. 

“Rozanov,” Shane pants. “I wanted to ask… would you, would you want to maybe get coffee sometime? Catch up?”

Inside of Ilya, a long-dormant spark begins to glow so brightly that he knows it’s surely spilling out from every gap of his toothy grin. “I would like that, Hollander. I would like that very much.”

[argillaforma]

in honor of fingers in his mouth friday i offer you oral fixated self soothing shane :)

--

Ilya remembers being seven and seeing a deer in the woods for the first time. His mother had whispered to him to keep his voice down and not make any sudden movements, as to not scare it off. He watched silently as it trotted around the grass, looking for something to eat, and he barely dared to breathe in case it ran away.

He feels the same about Shane sometimes. Stay still, don’t draw attention to it, don’t scare him off. Like right now where Shane’s back is half glued to Ilya’s chest and he’s playing with Ilya’s fingers. There’s a game on the TV that Ilya is only half paying attention to because he can’t help but feel a bit distracted at the way Shane gently kneads his hand. There’s a finger tracing the lines in his palm, fingers gently kneading his digits almost meticulously. Pressing, pinching, stroking almost in a pattern. He starts with Ilya’s pointer finger, rolling the skin between his fingers from the bottom to the top, before moving on to the next finger and doing exactly the same.

Ilya doesn’t say anything, just lets Shane do his thing. It feels nice. Intimate in a different kind of way. It doesn’t take long before he feels a pinching sensation. Shane’s nails dig into his fingers in a way that makes his breath hitch but isn’t downright painful. Ilya can imagine the small nail marks it leaves on him, because Shane seems to be leaving them in a certain kind of pattern too. The marks won’t be there tomorrow, actually they will probably be gone in five minutes, but Ilya likes the idea of them. He’s unsure if Shane has even noticed what he’s doing.

Ilya’s eyes are back on the TV when he suddenly feels something wet around his pointer finger. He notices a tiny, tiny humming sound coming from Shane. It sounds like contentment. Ilya thinks about the deer again. How at this very moment, it’s crucial that he stays still. No sudden movement or it’s all gonna be over. There’s a tongue, then. Different from when Ilya shoves his fingers in his mouth while he’s moving inside him. This is slower, more exploratory, not in search of anything specific. Just tracing little patterns around his finger, occasionally a hint of teeth.

There’s a sweet little huff from Shane and the next time his mouth opens, Ilya takes the opportunity to gently place a second finger in his mouth. Ilya could easily turn this into something else. Tell Shane to suction around him, see how far back he could push before Shane gagged. But he doesn’t. He won’t, because he doesn’t think that’s what Shane needs right now. Instead he lets his two fingers gently rest in Shane’s mouth, content to let him do whatever he wants with them.

He’s not sure how long it lasts. All he knows is the wetness around his fingers, and the little noises Shane produces that lets Ilya know that he’s exactly where he wants to be. Ilya can feel it on him too. The way Shane's body relaxes against his chest, heavy in a good way. Ilya doesn’t dare move.

[gayhockeyshow]

Damn. Seeing hudson and connor come back together after all these months makes me think of how you and I used to come.. Together. How u doin bbygirl I miss you

[gaynehollander]

For once, Shane actually catches onto an internet trend before Ilya - if only because JJ sends it to him and tells him he would pay good money to see Rozanov's reaction to Shane pulling this shit on him.

Ilya's pulled quite a few of these internet pranks on Shane and Harris always loves them so, eager to get one over on his husband, Shane sets up his phone, makes sure the camera is rolling, and sits down at their kitchen island with his morning smoothie. When Ilya makes his way into the room, Shane offers him a sip of his drink, which Ilya happily takes, with a softly spoken "thank you, любовь." Shane knows he doesn't like his smoothies but they've reached an agreement, where Ilya will always taste it and, in return, Shane won't make him drink a full glass.

Shane then carefully wipes off the rim of the glass with a napkin before sipping it himself.

He can see Ilya freeze up in his periphery and Shane can feel every nerve ending tingle as he desperately tries to remain nonchalant, so as to not give the prank away.

"What was that?" Ilya asks, his voice perfectly level, if slightly cold.

"Nothing," Shane tells him, trying not to vibrate out of his skin, trying not to look at the camera.

"Was not nothing," Ilya replies. "What did you do?"

Shane shrugs, "just wiped the glass."

"Why?" Shane makes the mistake of looking directly at Ilya and can feel a thrill shoot up his spine. He's not afraid of his husband but in that moment he can understand why some people are. Ilya looks imposing. His mouth a thinly drawn line, his eyes steely, arms crossed over his bare chest in a way that makes his already impressive biceps and pecs bulge out. Shane's throat suddenly feels dry.

"Hygiene?" It comes out sounding like a question, weak and croaky.

Ilya slowly raises his eyebrows before repeating Shane's answer back to him. "Hygiene," he says. He lets the word sit there between them for a while, as though to give Shane the chance to retract it.

He doesn't.

The footage never gets shared and when JJ asks Shane if he ever went through with the prank, he blushes from the roots of his hair down to his chest. He thinks he says no. He knows it's not believable. JJ doesn't press the matter but the look in his eye makes Shane fear he knows exactly what went down. Although, he can't, can he? How could he?

There's no way he can tell, just by looking at Shane, that Ilya slowly walked over to him and grabbed his glass before tugging at the drawstring of his sweatpants, letting them drop to the floor. He can't know how Ilya took himself in hand and tugged at himself, eyes firmly on Shane who sat at their kitchen island and watched on, frozen, as Ilya brought himself to climax straight into Shane's smoothie. He can't know how he walked over to their cutlery drawer and swirled it into Shane's drink before bringing the glass back over and sitting down, watching Shane expectantly. He can't know how Shane felt like every muscle in his body had locked up as he watched the display, nor how quickly he reacted when Ilya simply said, "drink." There's no way he knows that Shane drained the glass. He doesn't know the intensity of Ilya's gaze as Shane swallowed it down. He doesn't know how he then stood and grasped Shane's face with the same hand he had brought himself off with, hooking his fingers behind Shane's bottom teeth to open his mouth, as though to ensure that he had indeed swallowed it all down, before he spat into his mouth and closed it, tilting his head back to watch Shane's Adam's apple bob as Ilya's saliva slid down the back of his throat. He doesn't know how Ilya patted his cheek before walking out of the room. He doesn't know how long Shane sat there, completely immobile, his cock fully hard and straining against his trousers, before he gained enough awareness to collect his phone and stop the recording.

There's no way he can know any of that.