Jess • 35 • she/her • queer • Dutch • married to @obamainstripes • (icon from picrew by makowwka) • currently obsessed with Heated Rivalry • find me on ao3: jesswantsitall <3
smth smth the way loons return in pairs to the same breeding lake year after year to defend it because once they've found home they keep finding their way back to it. hollanov crossing continents only to end up at the cottage every summer, every season, no matter what the year has brought them. building the wall a little taller each time until the whole world is outside and it's just theirs. shane standing in front of the commissioner saying "i choose him come on ilya." yuna: you would leave boston for shane? ilya: yes. no questions asked. can someone sedate me
and sometimes when you're on you're really fucking on and your friends, they sing along and they love you but the lows are so extreme that the good seems fucking cheap and it teases you for weeks in its absence but you'll fight and you'll make it through you'll fake it if you have to and you'll show up for work with a smile and you'll be better and you'll be smarter and more grown up and a better daughter or son, and a real good friend and you'll be awake you'll be alert you'll be positive through it hurts and you'll laugh and embrace all your friends you'll be a real good listener you'll be honest, you'll be brave you'll be handsome and you'll be beautiful you'll be happy
ilya shuffles around the house with his hands behind his back a lot like a grandpa and babyhollanov notices this and starts to copy him….. shane takes a picture of them standing in front of the tv with their hands behind their backs, watching a game with the same serious mouth, same furrowed brow, and sends it to all of their friends with the text twins :). ilya sees it later and nearly cries about it, zooming in on their baby’s little face that looks just like shane, and yet so much like him, too, matching his mannerisms and quirks so naturally, wondering how their kid that doesn’t have his features can look so much like him, and by default, his mama.
sweet words (pink kisses) | for @hotelstares who yapped with me about “bruise pressing and kissing and biting so give me that on the thighs and hips pls and THANK” | NC-17 | 1,327 words
2014, Montreal
It’s one of those games that just beats the shit out of Shane. It happens every so often; a cacophony of his body slamming into the boards, other players, the ice—not enough to severely injure him or put him down for the count for the rest of a game, but just enough for him to feel sore. Like his skin is stretching too tight over his muscles and bones.
He’s debating soaking in an epsom bath as he leans against the bathroom sink, slowly undressing, when he hears the front door code being punched in via electronic beeps. The front door then opens and closes, quiet shuffling before Ilya appears in the bathroom doorway. He looks freshly showered, the curls in his hair full and damp.
He leans against the doorframe, raising his eyebrows at Shane’s half dressed state, “Forgot how to take your pants off?”
“Fuck off.” Shane mumbles, tossing the t-shirt in his hand with barely any heat.
Ilya catches it easily, not missing the small wince Shane makes. His eyes flutter down to the spattering of bruises already on the sides of his body, blooming over his ribs like flowers. Ilya’s lips twitch into an almost smile.
When his gaze moves back up to catch his own, Shane squirms just a little; a bug with its wings pinned. Ilya isn’t sure if it’s from feeling like he’s under a microscope or because he’s in pain. Either way, he steps into the bathroom and slowly eliminates the space between them, Shane’s eyes now zeroing in on his mouth,
“Your bruises look like Dianthus flowers.” He maps his hand on Shane’s side, the tips of his fingers sneaking into the waistband of his sweatpants. “You know what you can also call those?”
“Such pretty words out of your mouth tonight.”
Ilya smirks but does not take the bait, instead leaning in to plant a kiss to Shane’s upper lip, “‘Pink kisses’.”
A soft blush highlights Shane’s freckles and he finds himself tipping his head forward until his forehead presses against Ilya’s.
Ilya’s thumb brushes back and forth over his ribs and fuck, he’s so sore but he’s not going to deny that that gentle pressure doesn’t feel good. Ilya reads him like an open book,
“You are bruised elsewhere?”
Shane nods even though he didn’t get a decent look in the locker room when he changed. But with how he was going down on the ice tonight, how his thighs are pulsing every so often when he moves a certain way…it seems like a pretty fair bet.
Ilya hums, taking a step back and with a swift tug, his sweatpants are down. Shane steps out of them, continuing to lean against the sink as Ilya looks him over, drinking him in. As suspected, there are bruises on his outer right thigh and probably along his hip as well, underneath his briefs. Shane gently tugs on the elastic, as if fixing it, giving his hands something to do.
Shane watches as Ilya slides his hands along his hips, his thumbs brushing back and forth over the elastic of his briefs. His stomach flip-flops and he lets out a slow breath from his nose, despite the way his pulse upticks.
“You are sore?”
Shane nods, “A little.”
Then something in Ilya’s demeanor shifts and he squeezes Shane’s hips, thumbs digging in. A breathy gasp empties out of Shane’s mouth, far too close to a moan, and his cheeks stain a further crimson. His hands grip the sink, his hips shifting forward—
And Ilya does not miss the way his cock twitches in his briefs,
“Oh,” Ilya whispers, leaning down to press a kiss underneath Shane’s ear, “You like that, don’t you?”
“Rozanov,” Shane says but it comes out more of a plea than a protest.
Ilya purses his lips with a soft hum, “No? Let’s see…” He trails off, hooking his thumbs underneath his briefs.
He pulls them down in a deft motion, the cool air to the bathroom on heated skin sending a shiver down Shane’s spine. He’s already hard, precum beading at the flushed tip, but Ilya ignores that. He instead sinks to his knees, hands spreading Shane’s legs apart, as if he’s inspecting his body close up. Shane’s breathing stutters in his chest, his fingers squeezing the sink so he doesn’t touch himself.
There is a spattering of bruises lining Shane’s hip and down his thigh, almost to his knee. It’s a patchwork of soft red and pinks and one of Ilya’s hands grip his ankle, his head leaning down and—
A soft breath jolts into his lungs as he feels Ilya’s lips press kisses to the bruise before his other hand moves and—his thumb digs in. A whine curls up Shane’s throat, his eyes squeezing shut, but fuck, fuck. His cock jerks, there’s no mistaking it or hiding from it this time.
Ilya looks up at him through his eyelashes, purposely licking his lips. “Good?” He asks him. Shane nods but this time when Ilya presses, his large hand wraps more firmly around his thigh, squeezing, his thumb brushing the underside of his balls, “Use your words.”
“Fuck,” Shane squirms, his hand slipping into Ilya’s curls and tugging so he doesn’t touch his cock, “Yes, Rozanov, jesus. Yes, just—fuck, please.”
Ilya hums softly, pressing a kiss to his knee, “Who has the pretty words now?”
In one fluid move, Ilya shifts to lift Shane up so he’s seated on the counter next to the sink and lowers between his legs again. He spreads them further, encouraging Shane to lean back, his shoulder connecting with the mirror. Ilya maps a series of kisses along the inside of his thigh, nipping gently with his teeth—
Before he bites down at the fleshiest part. It’s not hard enough to draw blood, but it’s enough to leave a mark. He quickly soothes over it with his tongue but heat slingshots down into Shane’s belly at the overall sensation.
“Oh fuck,” Shane pants, his hands sliding through his own hair, tugging as his eyes squeeze shut. He’s so turned on that Ilya barely has time to wrap his lips around his cock, his tongue teasing his shaft before he’s coming. His hand cups the back of Ilya’s head, fingers intertwining in his curls, keeping him there for a moment.
Ilya pulls back when Shane lets go, his heartbeat thudding against his eardrums. He shifts forward on the sink as Ilya stands, hovering between his legs, a small smile pulling the corners of his lips as he cups Shane’s cheek. He presses on his lower lip before kissing him and a moan shudders out of Shane’s chest when Ilya’s tongue slips into his mouth, tasting himself.
Before Shane’s hand can slip between their bodies, Ilya is taking a step back. “Bath first? For your bruises?”
There’s warmth in those words, affection, something dangerous as they straddle this invisible line of fucking and caring about one another. Shane nods softly and watches as Ilya moves to the tub, heating water up, looking through cabinets for his epsom salts. He slides off the sink, moving to sit down on the closed toilet seat as Ilya tests the water a few times before allowing the tub to fill up.
“Careful Rozanov, I might get the impression that you care about me.”
Ilya smirks, turning to look at him. He clasps his chin between his fingers, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips, “Oh don’t worry, Hollander. This is purely selfish. Can’t have you too sore so early in the night,” He sinks to his knees again, pressing another kiss to the bruise on his ribs and then again to the one on his thigh, “Not with how I am going to fuck you.”
Shane shudders, wrapping his fingers in the fabric of Ilya’s shirt to tug him closer and kiss him, long and languid—not even caring when the tub almost overflows.
shane holding onto ilya’s fingers with his whole hand at the cottage is so sweet to me… it’s so reminiscent of something kids do, grabbing onto someone they love with a clumsy grip. and shane is just a kid, with ilya… something about you makes me feel small, shy, safe. if i’m holding onto you, i’m tethered. even the barest point of contact anchors me. it feels unreal that you’re here with me, i get to show you everything, let me show you everything. we never get to hold hands anywhere else, and i’m allowed to want you, here, in this place that always made me feel like i could exist freely. i’m allowed to touch you however i want; i want you to touch me whenever, wherever, all the time, here. we don’t have to hold hands just to go up the stairs, but i want to. i know we have two weeks, but i don’t want to let go of you for even a second — call it making up for lost time.
in re conversations that thankfully seem to be occurring only on other sites, i actually love when the fiction i'm reading uses words i don't know and have to look up! admittedly it does not happen often, because i am an adult who read a lot as a kid and has since done what is frankly maybe a bit too much education, but please do casually drop words like phalanstery in your book so i have to look it up and then find myself reading wikipedia pages about 19th century socialist utopianism! please do throw around rare plants and birds whose names i don't know because they're not native/common anywhere i've ever been! then i get to look at pictures of things that i've never seen before!
Something neuroscience-y that helps with prose: attention is selective. A character will not notice everything in a room. They will notice what matters to their goal, fear, desire, training, wound, or obsession. A jealous character notices hands. a hungry character notices food. A soldier notices exits. A lonely character notices pairs. Description becomes character when attention has a bias.
“I just… I was surprised, okay? I’d had such bad luck with actors that I’d figured I’d branch out and Shane Hollander? Athlete? Hockey player? My brothers all played so I knew what to expect. I mean… I thought I knew what to expect… I definitely didn’t expect you.”
“To be gay?” Shane deadpans.
“To be lovely,” Rose corrects. “But also, yeah, gay! I definitely wasn’t expecting the gay thing! But I guess I should have known you weren’t using me. I mean, you were always too good of a guy to willingly lead me on like that.”
“I am still sorry about it,” he tells her.
“Eh,” she shrugs. “I mean, I got a best friend and a good chapter for the memoir. I think it’s okay.”
“He didn’t take the hint though?” Hayden asks and Shane shoots him a look because he thought Hayden was the one person here staunchly on his side.
“God, no!” Rose laughs. “He just said… ‘yeah, must be… but not like publicly’ and I thought ‘oh boy … we’re really in it now’.”
“How was I supposed to know you were asking me if I was a gay hockey player?” Shane asks.
“Nuance?” Ilya teases.
“Yeah, well, we all have our blindspots!” he groans.
“Yes,” Ilya agrees, planting a soft kiss on his cheek—himself madly in love with Shane and his blindspots.
“How’d you get it out of him then?” Svetlana asks, her voice as neutral as if Rose were a fellow spy torturing the enemy for secrets and not a ridiculous twenty-three year old thespian, halfway through a martini, outing a gay man to himself.
“I told him I didn’t think I was doing it for him,” she shrugs. “I remember because I don’t usually objectify myself quite that much and it made the whole messy conversation feel even messier. For me at least.”
“What’d he say?” Ilya asks.
“Oh he lied,” she says easily but the detail certainly isn’t that easy for Shane.
“To you maybe,” he admits. “But also to myself,” he argues. “I mean… I really, really did want you to do it for me Rose!” he offers but it’s a terrible consolation prize.
“Ah, yes. I can hear the wedding vows now.” Rose jokes, adopting an overly flippant tone, “’I worked really, really hard to be into you and I’ll continue to work really, really hard for the rest of our lives—just you, me, and my viagra, baby!’”
“Honestly,” Ilya murmurs, taking another sip from his glass. “Those are maybe better than Shane and my vows.”
“We didn’t want to write our own, babe!” Shane huffs, and even though no one else here has ever been privy to this fight, he’s annoyed enough that it’s obvious it isn’t the first time this has come up.
“Yes, but we maybe should have Googled what we were signing up for first!” Ilya argues.
Keep Reading on Ao3
Summary: Newly obsessed with romance, Ilya and Shane’s seven-year-old daughter decides she wants to hear her parents’ love story. Fortunately, Jackie, Hayden, Svetlana, and Rose are all on hand at the cottage to help her parents figure out how to tame it down.
reminiscing • chosen family • they drink by a fire • that’s the plot basically • the peanut gallery is loud • idiots in love • make shane blush 2031 • leaning into the romance of this romance bb • ruby pike is not actually a villain • domestic hollanov and friends • siri play casual by chappell roan on repeat at progressively louder intervals • hindsight is twenty-twenty • mika the daughter • kaya also the daughter • at the cottage with the whole crew • the angst of memory • fluff but sometimes you might have to squint to see it
