It's a kissing show

But not a show about perfect people. I post about Heated Rivalry, Interview with the Vampire, and my favorite movies. Sometimes serious, sometimes squealing fangirlishness.

[itsakissingshow]

Wait, wait, wait. So Anne Rice based Lestat on her husband, and she started writing after the death of her child. That's what the Claudia storyline is about. So... Anne Rice is Louis?! Louis is a self-insert character? Is that why she wrote him so irresistible? And so hot? 😳

But also, I just love how she was apparently horny for philosophical vampires (I'm not judging), and we're still benefitting from her legacy of doing what the fuck she wants. What a legend.

[recny]

larry kissing lestat while he's high out of his mind and barely responsive, gabrielle making a spectacle out of fucking his body double in the bathroom during the interview after he tries to establish some semblance of a boundary with her, the fang gang placing a glory hole on top of a cutout of his face on their wall, a book describing his kidnapping and rape being published without his knowledge or consent, him asking his lawyer if he's expected to fuck the hotel owner to make the pr cleanup post vampire-hallway-brawl easier and her saying yes, louis secretly owning 45% of the profits off of the merch for his tour, the one thing he thought he could do to reclaim a little bit of control over his own narrative. hmmm i wonder if it all means something 😃

[commiescummie]

when the yaoi has toxic overtones, manipulation, genuine abuse, gross crossing of normal boundaries and psychosexual obsession

[keydekyie]

"It would have been easier if you'd just said yes."

original

[un-jardin-sauvage]

[weardes]

[itsakissingshow]

I'm going to start saying this when I'm afraid too.

[tanger1nessss]

Perhaps no one had ever left this ball.

[itsakissingshow]

😭😭😭😭😭😭

[cuntylestat]

[stonermossprince]

cliff loves ilyas pussy so much like thats his best girl and his favorite stress reliever, and ilya is all to happy to lay back and let cliff bring him to climax after climax, so when ilya stops letting him hit he knows something is up, he doesn't bring it up till the tunameltdown occurs and all of a sudden ilya is hitting his line before a game with "shes needs to get fucked" and cliff is so excited till he sees ilya in person and knows something changed, his jane usually leaves him glowing with post nut insanity that makes him play like an absolute terror, so when he lets ilya into his empty suite he knows he either needs to talk ilya down or fuck him so well he forgets whatever happened, obviously ilya doesn't want to talk about it so cliff gets on the bed and says "sit that pretty girl on my face" and ilya Obeys, no talk back, not even the usual playful ribbing, cliff knows he has a mission and he sure as hell isn't gonna let his captain down

[sinmonger]

Hudson Williams | Best Lead Performer in a Drama Series

I didn't write a speech but I do have a little thank you list. Immediately to all the other nominees, it's just an honor to be nominated alongside you. I'm honored to be Canadian and this is fantastic.

[afloweroutofstone]

Got a great ad encouraging people to dismantle surveillance equipment and then sell the guts at a pawn shop

[free-my-mindd]

[iressails]

worth the wait forehead kiss / i love you so much double forehead kiss

[hutsonwoolyums]

This installment of Suck Him Off Sunday is brought to you by this moment and my inability to stop thinking about what might have happened in Shane’s apartment that night. This is the last time we see them together in this particular montage before they start forsaking all others to be addicted to their phones, so I’ve been wondering what might have happened then. Here’s one idea.

It’s a familiar place by now, this scary alley behind Hollander’s apartment. But when Hollander opens the door, his energy is different. He’s all restless, fidgeting and bouncing on the balls of his feet, reaching for Ilya’s wrist to all but drag him up the stairs. Once they’re inside Hollander’s apartment he’s pulling at Ilya’s clothes, pushing at Ilya himself as they head toward Hollander’s bedroom. It’s infectious. It’s intoxicating. Ilya doesn’t even try to hide his grin as they move up the stairs, bodies and mouths connected the whole way.

At the top, Hollander murmurs against Ilya’s lips, “Already got myself ready. Need you to fuck me.” 

“Christ, Hollander,” Ilya says as Hollander pulls him toward the bed, smiling.

After that it’s a blur of kisses and discarded clothes and then Hollander’s back is arching as Ilya pushes into him. Ilya has a tight grip on Hollander’s hips and not much else. He feels giddy with how Hollander greeted him ready to get what he wants, with how what he wants is Ilya. And, fuck, Ilya wants him too. It’s just that there’s nobody quite like Hollander. How he looks so pretty all spread out on the bed. How he groans and swears and shudders when Ilya fucks him. How he can take everything Ilya has to give. So maybe Hollander’s energy affects him. Maybe it loosens his tongue, makes him say “fuck, Hollander,” and “oh God, Hollander,” and “taking me so good, Hollander,” a bit too often, too awestruck.

After they finish, he flops down on the bed beside Hollander, and neither one makes any move to get up. This happens more and more lately, one or both of them drawing it out, not even talking, really, just dwelling in the sex-spell that hangs over the room as they catch their breath and the sweat dries.

Tonight, Hollander is loose and lax against the pillows, eyes closed and wearing that small, pleased smile he gets when he thinks Ilya’s not looking. Ilya rolls over onto his stomach and lets himself look. He looks at Hollander’s back as it rises and falls, looks down at where Hollander’s legs are still spread, where his hole is soft and open, and Ilya can’t help it, really he can’t, he just has to—

Hollander makes a small, questioning sound when Ilya’s fingers find his hole, not pressing in, just giving the lightest teasing touches against the skin there. “You were ready for me,” Ilya says, a little mischievous, a little questioning, and Hollander must feel too good to be shy because he says, “Mmm, yeah, didn’t want to wait.” 

“Is hot.” 

“Fuck off,” Hollander says with a grin.

Ilya huffs out a laugh as he starts to press one finger inside, moving slowly and with the barest of pressure, relishing in how Hollander’s body relaxes even more into the mattress below him.

“Is this ok?” he says, even though he’s not completely sure what he’s working toward here, but Hollander’s quick to say, “Mmm, yeah, feels good,” and his eyes are still shut and he looks so sweet, so Ilya keeps going, pressing in until he’s as deep as he can get from this angle, then pulling out just as slowly. It doesn’t take much before Hollander’s hips start to shift on the bed, before his breath picks up, and even though Ilya can’t see his cock he knows Hollander is getting hard again. He pulls his hand away, ignoring Hollander’s protesting whine, grabs the lube from the bedside table and gives Hollander a gentle slap on his hip. “Turn over,” and he does, easy as that.

The sight of Hollander so open and trusting and all for Ilya makes his stomach flip. Ilya moves in close, hands and mouth near Hollander’s cock, and lets his eyes flick up to Hollander’s face. His eyes are open now but heavy-lidded, and he’s just watching Ilya, lip trapped between his teeth.

“Can I? I think you’ll like,” Ilya says, fingers once again teasing over Hollander’s hole, and he hasn’t even explained what he wants, not really, but Hollander just nods. Ilya gets his fingers slick and slides two in this time, a slow drag to let Hollander adjust. But then Hollander’s groans pick up, and his cock is so hard and leaking at the tip, and he’s gasping out, “More, I need—please, Rozanov.”

“Yes, yes, Hollander, I know,” is all Ilya can say as it crashes down on him how badly he needs to get Hollander’s cock in his mouth.

Hollander must know how much Ilya likes blowing him. Ilya knows he gives it away in how quick he is to do it, in how he can’t help but moan from the first taste of Hollander on his tongue until he’s swallowing Hollander’s release. But Hollander shows he likes it too. He asks for it often enough, and it makes him noisy in his Hollander way, all bitten off curses and whines and Rozanovs. It’s all so good it makes Ilya feel drunk.

Ilya’s not one to deny himself what he wants, so he takes Hollander’s cock down in a single, smooth motion that has him arching off the bed immediately. Ilya flings his free arm over Hollander’s hips to hold him down and keep his fingers and mouth in place, and Hollander’s hands find Ilya’s hair, and it’s perfect, getting to touch and be touched like this. Ilya is used to people wanting things from him during sex, used to giving and giving and giving. But with Hollander it’s different. Even tonight, with Hollander’s needy, grasping hands all over him, Ilya feels a balance, like Hollander wants to give and give and give right back.

Hollander’s unraveling quickly, though Ilya keeps his fingers gentle and his mouth soft. His hips are bucking against Ilya’s hold on him, and he’s whimpering each time Ilya’s fingers press deep inside. He’ll come like this, Ilya knows, and the thought makes Ilya suck harder.

“Jesus fuck, Rozanov,” Hollander grits out as his hands go tight in Ilya’s hair, tugging hard, and oh, oh fuck, it’s Ilya groaning now, loud even around Hollander’s cock in his mouth, so loud that Hollander’s eyes fly open and he says, “Shit, shit, sorry,” but Ilya’s shaking his head, pulling off his cock, clearing his throat to say, “Again.”

Their eyes meet over Hollander’s cock, wet and straining toward Ilya’s mouth, and Hollander raises a questioning eyebrow.

“You like that?”

“Da, yes, fuck, Hollander,” Ilya says before dropping right back down onto Hollander’s cock, keeping his eyes open and eager as he starts up the rhythm that had Hollander moaning under him moments ago.

There’s a second of hesitation before Hollander’s hands go tight in Ilya’s hair again, but then it’s back, that perfect stinging pressure that has Ilya’s eyes rolling back into his head.

“Fuck, you really like that,” Hollander says, and it’s all Ilya can do to breathe as he tries to focus on making Hollander come. Ilya really, really wants him to. He wants to feel the pulse of Hollander’s cock in his mouth, to feel Hollander’s hole go tight around his fingers, so he redoubles his efforts, curling his fingers up right where Hollander needs them and burying his nose into Hollander’s soft belly, and that’s all it takes for him to come. Ilya would be more than happy to just stay there as Hollander softens in his mouth, but he’s being pulled up roughly by his hair to meet Hollander’s lips, the sting of the tug making his cock twitch.

Ilya’s shaking a bit and achingly hard, just rutting his hips down against Hollander’s thigh. He feels dizzy from Hollander’s tongue in his mouth, Hollander’s hands pullingpullingpulling with the most perfect aching soreness. In between kisses Hollander breathes out, “Want you to come, just from this,” and all Ilya can do is moan as he’s pulled into the next kiss. Hollander learns fast. It might actually be a problem.

Ilya’s hips pick up speed, and then they’re not even kissing anymore, not really, not with Ilya too desperate and close to do much more than pant against Hollander’s mouth. But Hollander’s strong hands are gripping his hair and Hollander’s beautiful brown eyes are watching him so closely and Ilya doesn’t, can’t, look away as he spills between them, wet and messy, before he falls limp, half on top of Hollander.

It takes a moment for Hollander’s hands to move in Ilya’s hair again, but they do, and this time it’s so gentle, just strong fingers lifting Ilya’s sweaty curls from the back of his neck over and over. Ilya hums his pleasure and opens his eyes— when had he closed them?—to see Hollander’s keen gaze still fixed on him.

“Good?” he says, and Ilya grins, nods, and says “good” right back.

[sandushengshou]

"My thing with love and Louis is that the last person that Louis told that he loves, walked off a roof, immediately after. So, saying, 'I love you,' is a really big deal for him. It's not just about withholding. The most meaninful moment in Louis' human existence was what happened to Paul, or what Paul did. What preceded that was, 'I love you.' He feels it, but he doesn't necessarily say it." - Jacob Anderson

[ilyasmole]

so the thing about My transmasc shane.... he's a man, right? i mean, obviously. he fully identifies as one and has never felt otherwise. however, he really fucking likes it when ilya refers to his pussy with she/her pronouns. like it makes him fucking insane actually. and he never thought that would ever be the case but then again he had no experience with this stuff before, he didn't know it was even a thing people did in the first place. and besides, before ilya came along only a handful of people even knew he had a pussy, so how was he supposed to know the kinda stuff to expect?

but then one night during their situationship era ilya's halfway down the bed, legs hanging off the edge with his face buried in shane's cunt. and shane is trembling, soft little whines falling past his lips as ilya devours him. he can feel ilya's thumbs holding him open, keeping his lips apart while he tongue fucks shane's wet hole and noses his dick, swollen and dark. and then he's moving his hand a bit to slip two fingers in alongside his tongue and shane practically squeals as ilya fucks him so good and deep with them, and before shane knows it he's squirting (as usual) all over ilya's face. which of course ilya goes crazy for, eyes practically rolling as he laps at shane reverently with a growl rumbling in his throat. and suddenly he's pulling back, eyes desperately peering up at shane as he crooks his fingers the tiniest bit and says, "oh she fucking loves making a mess, doesn't she?"

and shane freezes. because for a second he's not sure what exactly ilya is referring to. for a second he thinks....did he just call me she? and a little bit of panic raises in the pit of his stomach, because ilya has never done that, not once. not ever. but once shane's muddled mind manages to work past the sensory overload of his orgasm he realizes that no, ilya is not calling him a she, he's calling his pussy a she.

and oh. oh. maybe he kind of likes that.

it becomes a bit of a regular thing, after that. it's almost like shane's pussy is a third participant in their relationship rather than a part of shane's body, and shane likes that. he likes the separation, the dissonance. it's freeing, a little. and ilya senses that because god, ilya just always somehow knows these things, knows exactly what to do and say to make shane a wet and whiny mess. suddenly he's texting shane things like "is she wet for me?", "is she drooling for me?", "show me how empty she is", "does she miss me?"

he'll send shane pictures of his cock, precum pearled and glistening at the tip, balls swollen and full, captions it "he misses her" and it makes shane feel deranged. he'll yank his own pants down and use two fingers to hold himself open, snap a positively pornographic image of his leaking hole and text back, "she wants him inside her". and not even ten minutes later they're both spent, laying in their respective beds an ocean away from each other with messes on their skin.

"missed this," ilya will murmur softly into shane's thigh the next time they see each other, after a long summer of filthy pictures and even filthier texts. "missed her," he'll add on, peppering little kisses to the tip of shane's cock, tongue slipping down, down, down to his hole where shane is already drooling.

"she missed you", shane will affirm quietly, cheeks pink, eyes bright. and ilya will smile coyly, giving him a cocky wink before closing his eyes and diving in, ready to take his fill. and shane tries not to think too much about how badly he wants to say, "i missed you too".

partly inspired by forest @stonermossprince's clilya post, specifically the line "sit that pretty girl on my face" 😵‍💫

[itsakissingshow]

Yes, please.

[closet-keys]

when thinking about how oppression works, on a structural level, my guiding principle is that I must spend at least as much time looking down as I do looking up.

what do I mean by this? here's an example. when my surgery is delayed multiple times, I spend a little time looking up (there is only one surgeon in the entire area who will perform this surgery on trans people, so every trans person's surgical timeline is bottle-necked and delayed by months every time he goes to a conference or takes a vacation or experiences an injury. in other words, if I was cis, I would not encounter this difficulty in accessing surgery). and then I spend time looking down (due to nonstop harassment and legal threats, this practice now only treats adults and will no longer perform surgeries on minors. in other words, my access to surgery is predicated on adult privilege I have at the direct expense of trans youth's lack of access).

if you do not build a habit around thinking in this way, you will become the person Audre Lorde describes as "so enamored of her own oppression that she cannot see her heelprint upon another woman's face." If we are seeking to dismantle structures of oppression, rather than to simply use and climb them, then we absolutely must make a practice of looking in both directions, especially when we feel like we're on the bottom.