People the other day were posting about the Hollanov AU possibilities of prince/knight and for the record, that is great and I support it. But if I could quick also make an argument for prince4prince?
Okay, so walk with me: this would take place in a world where political marriages between two men sometimes happen, but it's a pretty recent thing and some people still have hangups about it.Ā
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āYou wanted to see me,ā says Rozanov, āalone?ā Heās smirking in a way that makes Shane reasonably sure heās being mocked, but for once in their very short acquaintance, Shane wonāt take the bait.
āYes,ā says Shane, heart pounding. āClose the door behind you.ā
Itās the first time theyāve ever been alone together before. Rozanov raises his eyebrows, but he does close the door. He takes the chair across from Shane. The way he slumps in his seat is unfortunately attractive, but then, that applies to nearly everything he does.
āHow did you escape the rest of your retinue?ā asks Rozanov idly.
āI evade them very rarely,ā Shane says. āThey were not prepared.ā
āMm,ā says Rozanov. āI evade mine very often, so I am always prepared.ā
There is no point in prolonging this. āI need to tell you why the marriage cannot take place,ā says Shane.
āYou mean our marriage,ā says Rozanov blankly. āThe one happening in ten days.ā
Shane nods. āThere is a provision,ā he says. āItās not used very often but if we both object, we can still get out of it.ā
āYou agreed before. What has changed?ā Rozanovās tone is unreadable, and Shane cannot make himself look at him.
Shane had known, on some level, that the only way out of this situation would be to explain it to Rozanov, but his resolve had been considerably stronger in the early hours of the morning, following another sleepless night. With Rozanov in the room, Shaneās determination is weakening every second.Ā
āIām sick,ā Shane tries.
āYou seem healthy enough to me,ā says Rozanov.
Shane can feel his face start to heat. āNot that kind of sick.ā
āWhat kind, then?ā Rozanov presses.
āDoes it matter?ā says Shane.
āYou are the most duty-bound person I have ever met,ā Rozanov says. āYour entire life is obligation. Why is this the one charge you refuse?ā
This is agony. Shane reminds himself how much worse it would be, for the whole mess to come to light after the wedding. An annulment. Rumors swirling around them, Rozanov sent home in likely disgrace.Ā
āLook,ā says Shane, āyou deserve someone who can be with you.ā He fights the urge to drag a hand down his face. āSomeone who could properly consummate the marriage.ā
āAnd you cannot?ā says Rozanov. āWhat, are you going to try to tell me you arenāt interested in men?ā
Shane freezes. Rozanov is more perceptive than he looks. āNo,ā Shane grits out. āUh. I am.ā
There is a long pause.Ā
āThe problem is the way Iām interested,ā says Shane.
āAnd what way is that?ā asks Rozanov.
Shane presses his lips together.Ā
āWhat,ā says Rozanov, āshould I start listing ways?ā
āNo,ā says Shane before he can stop himself. āFuck you.ā
With some men, this would be the start of an international incident. When Shane risks a glance at Rozanov, there is no fury, no outrage. Maybe a glimmer of triumph, although that makes no sense.
āI, uh,ā Shane says. āThe things I want areāare perverse.ā
Again, no anger. Rozanov also does not run screaming from the room. He says only, āPerverse how?ā
For obvious reasons, Shane has never needed to tell anyone before, but he does probably owe Rozanov the truth.
āI have heard other men talk,ā Shane says unsteadily, āabout what they like, when it comes to matters of the flesh.ā
Rozanov nods. Shane is standing with his toes over the edge of a precipice. There is nothing left to do but fall. He swallows.
āI have never heard another man say he wants to be the one on his knees,ā Shane makes himself say.
Another pause. Shaneās heart is in his throat.
āThis is not unusual, in my experience,ā says Rozanov.
Shane stares at him. āWhat?ā
āEvery time a man has his cock sucked, there must be someone doing the sucking,ā Rozanov says. āThe act cannot happen without it, no?ā
Shaneās mouth is hanging open. He closes it. āI mean, it happens,ā says Shane at last. āBut a man isnāt supposed toāā
āEnjoy it?ā says Rozanov softly. āAnd you do?ā
āI think I would,ā says Shane, ruthlessly honest. āVery much.ā
āYou think you would, but you have never done it?ā Rozanov says. Heās almost smiling.
Shane feels absurd all of a sudden. In my experience, Rozanov had said, implying he has committed such acts before, maybe with some frequency, while Shane has done almost nothing. He breathes through his nose and tries not to feel like a child. Shaneās inexperience is not the problem. His perversion is.
It occurs to Shane that he had chosen to share perhaps the mildest of his predilections. Worse, that he had done so because on some level, he still does not want Rozanov to think less of him. Stupid.
āThat is not the only thing I want,ā says Shane. And he reaches for the worst, most incriminating fantasies he can think of, thoughts that make him burn with shame even when he is alone. And Rozanovācocky, boastful, outrageous Rozanovāsits and listens. It is absolutely horrible, but after the first few, there is something strangely comforting about admitting these things aloud to another person. He wonders if this is how Catholics feel in confession.
Rozanov does not react with mockery or disgust. Occasionally, he asks a questionāso in your mind, when this man holds you down and makes you take it, is he rough with you? Does he hurt you? And Shane answers with the same curious detachment, Maybe but it is less about the pain and more about not being able to stop him, because he knows I want it.
Sometimes there is an odd strain in Rozanovās voice, but he does not flinch away from any of Shaneās lurid, sinful imaginings. Shane regrets meeting this more considerate side of Rozanov only now, before they are to prevent the wedding from ever happening.Ā
If Shane is being honest, he loses track of the time, is only reminded of the outside world when footsteps sound in the hallway behind them, from the other side of the door.
āAh, so theyāve found us,ā says Rozanov, with an unfairly devastating smile. āYour people or mine, do you think?ā
An awful thought seizes Shane. āYou wonāt tell anyone, will you?ā he says, cold in the pit of his stomach.
āOf course not.ā Rozanov stands, stretches. āWho would believe me?ā
The door opens. āYour Highness, where have you been?ā An unfamiliar voice. One of Rozanovās retinue, then.
Shane busies himself with the papers on the table.
āRight here,ā Rozanov tells his attendant. āNo international incidents today. We were just having a chat.ā
āThank you for the conversation, Highness,ā Shane tells Rozanov, holding out his hand to shake. When Rozanov steps close enough to clasp hands, Shane adds in an undertone, āI can draft the papers to void our engagement tonight.ā
Rozanov takes Shaneās hand in his own. His palm is warm and dry, his fingertips rough with callouses. His Royal Highness Ilya Rozanov is known to be a fine athlete, skilled in fencing. So is Shane. There is a reason King David and Queen Yuna had hoped the match might be a happy one. Shane feels a pang of something, that they will likely never have another conversation alone. Still, he has at least freed Rozanov from a life shackled to Shaneās debaucherous soul.
Rozanov squeezes Shaneās hand. āDonāt,ā he says.
āWhat?ā says Shane.
āDonāt draft the papers,ā says Rozanov, almost casual. āI will not sign them.ā
He releases Shaneās hand, turning to go.
āWhat do you mean?ā says Shane dumbly.
Rozanov looks back at Shane and smiles again. There is an edge of something to it that Shane doesnāt know how to define, except that it makes him shiver.
āOur wedding is in ten days,ā says Rozanov. He backs out of the door, attendants urging him forwards. āThank you for the conversation. Very illuminating,ā he calls from the hallway.
I love the idea of Shane's Wikipedia page having a single sentence about him being "previously romantically linked to Rose Landry" under Personal Life with Rose Landry's name hyperlinked and Ilya getting irrationally annoyed by it.
He makes an offhanded comment to Shane about it during dinner one night and Shane says something like "Oh I didn't even know it said that. You can submit a correction and edit it to delete that sentence if you care so much since you're so whiny and jealous" and Ilya is like "I'm not whining, I'm just making boring conversation about boring people on boring website." Then promptly excuses himself and whips his phone out to do the very thing that Shane has just inadvertently taught him.
And Ilya is getting more and more frustrated that it keeps getting edited back to say Shane dated Rose. He can never mention this to Shane because then Shane will know that Ilya is still jealous AND still checking his Wikipedia page.
This goes on for weeks. Wikipedia eventually restricts Ilya. He makes a second account and the same thing happens. He eventually takes the L.
It isn't until like 5 years into marriage that Svetlana drunkenly admits that she's the one that put the Rose Landry fact in Shane's Wikipedia page in the first place and that she edits it back in there every time she notices it's gone.
times ilya rozanov was so lost in the sauce that he ascended to a higher plane: in (mostly) chronological order from hook-up era to marriage
the first time shane rode him during the hook-up era. when shane was still hollander, still nothing more than a torturous daydream, something he could have for small, greedy moments before having to let go of again. and he's still in denial about it all at this point, unwilling to put a name to that echoey, achey feeling in his chest that blooms when hollander leaves their bed and puts his carefully constructed mask back in place. Shane Hollander--the captain, the teenage phenom, the golden boy, the pride and joy of Canada--replacing the boy ilya had just had under his fingertips, in his mouth, beneath his body. anyway. it's a heady thing, for ilya, to have this side of hollander. to have hollander sat on top of him, holding ilya down with his wrists pinned above his head, hips moving slow and confident and maybe a little mean as he pants and grins and teases "you okay there rozanov?" and ilya just nods. he's totally okay, he's not seeing god or nirvana or angels or whatever the fuck. it's just hollander, bent over him, pretty face full of open wanting, a flush high on his cheeks, his mouth bitten red and slack around sweet sweet little 'unh unh unh' sounds every time he rolls his hips just right. and ilya just lays beneath him and grasps at his hips as he bounces and grinds in his lap. when he comes it makes him dizzy, his heart pounding in his throat, warmth tingling down his chest to his toes. it takes him a moment, too lost in the sauce to notice that hollander is still hard but then ilya is quickly rolling them over and swallowing him down the second he realises. later, he showers and thinks of how to get hollander on top of him--bouncing and grinding and rolling those strong hips, flexing those thick thighs, ass jiggling--again.
obviously, the most profound moment of ilya "lost in the sauce" rozanov is at the cottage. post-iloveyous, post-shanewakesilyaupinthemiddleofthenighttoplanthenextdecadeoftheirlivestogether. it's that moment when they're tangled up together in the soft sunlight, rain pitter-pattering on the wide glass windows, shane looking back at ilya so sweetly asking "this is real right" with his big, strong hand gripping at ilya's curls. and i think we can all agree that moment is the first moment they don't use condoms so ilya is trying to answer--to give shane the verbal confirmation he needs--but his entire body is buzzing with sensation at how warm, tight, soft, close shane feels like this. his mind is just drowning in loud tingling pleasure, his body also. all of him honed in on shane, shane, shane. he couldn't think of anything else if he tried. all he can do is nuzzle his nose into shane's pit, smear kisses over his ribs, lap helplessly at shane's nipple, and watch shane beneath him. watch his pretty face as his freckles bunch up, as his big brown eyes water with pleasure, as his cheeks get ruddy and his brows pinch then relax as his beautiful boy sinks into the sensation. and when they're both done, ilya stays tight to shane's back, just stroking up and down the thick muscle of his lover's thigh, kissing at his ribs, enjoying the afterglow. enjoying it the way he's wanted to for so long, with nothing between them and no need to wash away his longing by showering as fast as possible.
maybe not that first summer but after a year or two ilya manages to convince shane to smoke a blunt with him. and shane is terrible at it; he complains that the smoke burns his lungs and he coughs violently and chokes on each inhale, barely taking any in. so, of course, ilya takes over. presses his mouth, damp and hot and full of smoke, to shane's and pushes his tongue past shane's lips. and that's how shane gets high, breathing in the smoke ilya traps behind his teeth. they smoke out on the dock, at sunset. shane says he feels nothing and ilya just hums, says "sure, hollander" and pokes shane's flushed cheeks, laughs at shane's wide pupils, lounges back against the wooden dock with a wicked quirk to his smart mouth. and he feels it. in his limbs, that heavy warm floaty buzzy feeling that makes him kinda feel like sleeping and kinda feel like bursting into a fit of childish giggles. it takes about ten minutes for shane's body to loosen, for him to turn to ilya with heavy, hazy eyes and then crawl over top of ilya, pushing him down into the dock to kiss him all sloppy and demanding and hot. and ilya's had sex high before, made out high before, but suddenly his heart is frantic. shane is heavy in his lap, shirtless and drenched in orange-gold light, freckles stark over his cheeks and shoulders. he's beautiful, his brown eyes turned amber in the sunset, his pouty mouth swollen and dragging heated kiss after heated kiss from ilya's lips. and ilya's heart is pounding, so fucking loud in his ears, he can feel the hectic thumping of it in his throat, in his chest, banging on his ribcage. actually, he's so violently turned on and the adrenaline is pumping so fast he feels sick and he wrenches away with a gasp and feels lightheaded and has to hold off shane who is pouting and whining for more kisses. all the blood in ilya's body has travelled to his dick and all that's left in his brain is a druggy haze of lust and cotton. this is the first time ilya rozanov ever freaks the fuck out on weed -- because his high brain got so turned on he nearly forgot to breathe between kisses. he has to lie flat on the dock breathing in through his mouth and out his nose for twenty minutes before he can get up and go inside.
i think their wedding night they are too drunk and delirious with joy to manage anything more than a sloppy, messy, grinding makeout in bed after everyone leaves. they're both coming in their pants and showering afterwards together and kissing some more and then falling asleep in a heap of tangled limbs. their honeymoon, however, is full of ridiculous, ilya "lost in the sauce" rozanov sex moments. the most notable being after a night out at some club. shane had been just so fucking sweet and hot and joyful all night. dark hair styled nicely, big arms on display in the tight little sheer black t-shirt ilya buys him to wear out to the club, his fingers tucked into ilya's waistband most of the night, just a little possessive and a little clingy. but ilya just has such a nice night. he does shots with a drag queen and meets fun, attractive, queer people. he dances in public with his husband under pulsing neon lights and kisses shane in the corner underneath the speakers throbbing ear-splitting club music. he feels a little trashy and a lot young and infinitely in love with his husband who mostly just bobs his head awkwardly to the music and holds ilya's hand with a besotted look on his handsome face. and when they get in the uber back to the hotel at 4 in the morning shane doesn't even flinch when ilya plasters himself to his side, kisses all over his neck, gropes his chest in the backseat. and when they're finally in the hotel room and stripped naked there's glitter on shane's skin from brushing up against the other bodies on the dancefloor and he's sweaty and he smells a little musky and a little like alcohol and ilya just loves him. loves his husband for coming out with him to a club and indulging everything ilya wanted all night even if he was nervous. loves his husband for the way he'd just had eyes for ilya all night, not even noticing anyone else looking at him, dark eyes never straying from ilya. and they go into the bathroom to shower the night off their bodies but ilya gets distracted looking at shane in the mirror, looking at him standing there all naked and glorious in the soft yellow light, and he can't help but drop to his knees behind shane and pry apart his asscheeks and bury himself there, tongue lapping, pressing, smearing, sliding over shane's hole. and he sucks kisses into the skin, pushes his tongue in, drools over his own chin as he presses his face in deeper. eats shane out for so long that his neck cramps and his knees hurt but he's entirely lost in it. moaning and groaning and whimpering when shane pushes his hips back, when shane reaches back to grab his hair and hold him closer, when shane curses and pleads and whines for more. ilya isn't even thinking of fucking shane--he is enjoying this too much. at some point he started jerking himself off tho and he comes like that, tongue buried in his husband, moaning loudly and dripping saliva down his chin.
ilya has been injured for a week, on IR, out of commission. he's miserable about it. not just because of the hockey--not just bc he is captain and feels like a sack of shit for abandoning his team, to which shane had said "baby, it sucks but it's good it happened now and not later in the season. you'll be back on the ice in time to make sure we still make it to the playoffs"--but also because his injury has prevented him from doing much with his husband. shane has been on a roadie and ilya has been with yuna and david, being dotted on, which is a bit overkill -- it's just a sprained groin not even a severe sprain, the doctor had said it was only grade two and he'd been fine in a few weeks. but before that he hadn't been allowed to do much either -- nothing at all in the bedroom -- and he is miserable. when shane gets back he picks ilya up from his parent's place and anya too and they all go home to their quiet ottawa place. anya runs off to her favourite corner of the yard to reacquaint herself with her favourite pile of dirt in the bushes and shane fusses over ilya on the couch. ilya is NOT sulking at all, not at all bitching and whining like a child. he's just saying that he doesn't need all this fuss hollander, it's fine, please just come here and let me blow you at least. and shane--who is currently been bumped from A to C--is trying to be responsible and telling his husband "no, you will not go on your knees and strain your groin further just to suck me off" and ilya groans and says "okay, i will lie flat and you can sit on my face, do all the work yourself" and, well, shane's dick is a little interested in that. but no, he shakes his head. so ilya pulls out the big guns, he pouts, flutters his thick lashes, looks up at shane with his eyes all pleading and says "i miss you" and shane groans, rubs a hand over his face and stomps away. ilya thinks his tactic has failed but then shane is coming back, dropping lube onto the couch then climbing behind ilya, dragging ilya back to lean his back against shane's chest. and ilya is confused by this turn of events but says nothing as shane kisses at his throat, runs a featherlight touch up and down the ladder of his ribs, the other hand massaging ilya's thick thigh muscle, careful of where ilya's muscle tore. and shane does this for ages, just kissing at ilya's neck, biting at the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder, scratching blunt nails over ilya's sides and rubbing his thumb over ilya's nipple. ilya is hard as fuck and wants to squirm away but shane holds him tighter and sucks a bruise into the soft skin behind his ear. eventually he's pushing down ilya's pants and briefs and slicking his hand with lube and slowly, torturously, meanly, stroking ilya's cock in lazy drags. his palm and fingers applying the faintest amount of pressure, dragging over ilya's cock lazily, like he has all the time in the world. and ilya can't fucking do anything about it. shane has one leg clamped over ilya's knee to keep him from moving and has his other hand wrapped firm around ilya's hip. he keeps kissing wet and messy and biting at ilya's throat. keeps stroking just on this side of too little. he maybe spends half an hour like that, nosing at ilya's jawline, murmuring softly to him saying "baby, baby, shh, just like this" and ilya is going fuzzy at the edges. forgetting all about being annoyed abt being on IR, forgetting all about feeling lazy and useless. "let me take care of you, you do so much, work so hard," shane sighs "just enjoy it" and ilya, strangely, does. the world's slowest, lightest, sweetest handjob reducing him to a puddle of goo melted between shane's thighs. when ilya eventually comes it's with a soft whimper and then shane is cleaning up his tummy and kissing his forehead and making him a nice meal and getting him an icepack for his groin.
their first wedding anniversary is probably the most profound moment of ilya "lost in the sauce" rozanov. it's the anniversary of their pikelet wedding -- during the season and not a public date that their team, friends, or the wider hockey world is aware of. it's just a date for them. the day ruby and jade married them with children's plastic rings in stupid costumes. ilya doesn't really tell shane in the lead up to it that he has a plan -- and he doesn't know that shane has one either -- so they're both going to practice on the day and acting coy when asked abt their plans for the evening. (they both made dinner reservations at the same spot where they had their first date post telling Crowell to fuck himself). and so they get home after practice and shane says -- before ilya gets a chance -- "i booked us a dinner for tonight, since it's our anniversary" and ilya is briefly overcome by joy, elation, absolute ridiculous gooey sappy emotion before he says, outloud "fuck!" and shane is blinking like ??? and ilya says "nothing, lyubimy, nothing" and then "i am excited" even though internally he is like fuckfuckfuckmyplans but then they park outside the resturant and he bursts into laughter and shane is again like ??? and ilya explains through hysterical bursts of laughter that he booked the same place and when they get inside they ask to see which table each reservation had assigned to it then pick the best one -- shane's table because he remembered the exact table they sat at that first time. and they eat a beautiful dinner together, without any nonsense from paps or fans, ankles tangled under the table, smiling stupidly at each other over the massive chicken parmesan ilya ordered. and when they get home they kiss all the way from the front door to the bedroom, hands wandering all over, careful, tender touches. and we all know ilya "loverboy" rozanov loves to make love to his husband missionary so shane is on his back with his legs around ilya's hips and his ankles hooked around the small of ilya's back and their fingers are tangled above shane's head on the mattress and their foreheads are pressed together as they breathe into each other's mouths just moving slow slow slow. and ilya gets lost in it. the slow rhythm of their bodies, the wet drag of their mouths, the press of shane's slick tongue, their noses rubbing, their foreheads touching, lips smudging and panting together. it's probably a good half hour of just slow rocking, quiet moans, soft sighs, until ilya picks up the pace, presses in harder, and sends them both over the edge. and ilya fades out for a bit, laying on top of shane's chest, ear pressed to shane's heart, listening to its steady pulse. shane's arms around him, caressing and rubbing his spine. and maybe he rolls shane onto his side and slides back into him and fucks him again twenty minutes later, fingers locked around shane's hip, pulling him tighter, burying growls and whimpers in shane's neck, nipping at his earlobe. he starts crying at some point, but shane is too, though he thinks shane's tears are from pleasure. ilya is just happy and sad all in one confusing tumble. both so joyful he got this and so scared that there had been a moment where he might not have gotten it. and he comes again, rutting deep into his husband's body, clutching him close, wiping his tears away by dragging his cheeks over the wings of shane's shoulder blades. and after, shane rolls over, grabs either side of his face, kisses him all over, forehead and brows and eyelids and mouth and nose and cheeks and chin, and murmurs "love you so much, husband" and ilya garbles something back along that same sentiment and bites at shane's chin. he wants to eat him, devour him whole, swallow him. it's ashame they can't be one being. but this closeness will do.
Ilya: God, I need some serotonin
Shane: *stands up*
Shane:
Shane: *sits back down*
Shane: I forgot what that was for a second. I was gonna go get you some
I do think that Shane gets a Russian language tutor. He sees that Ilya is always having to think, speak, and translate in his second language. And he knows that Ilya is fluent by this point, but if he's serious about forever with Ilya (which he is) he wants Ilya to be able to communicate with his boyfriend in his native language. He also saw how much his grandparents struggled with learning English as adults and how much more expressive and talkative they were when they spoke Japanese at home together.
So he gets a tutor. He meticulously researches her (she's from Moscow, so he'll learn from someone with Ilya's same accent). She's signed to more NDAs than he can count. She has 10 years of experience, she's certified to teach English and Russian, and she has 4.8 stars on MyTutor.
Shane pays her a frankly concerning amount of money to make house calls. Twice weekly, unless he's on the road, she arrives at his apartment to teach him foundational Russian. She gives him workbooks, Russia cartoon recommendation, podcasts for beginners, etc. He tells her he's learning because his boyfriend is Russian and she outlines a course that focuses on domestic language first (as opposed to travel or business). She even teaches him what she calls a 'culture course' with lessons on Russian music, food, and various traditions.
She's only a few years older than Shane and he actually finds himself looking forward to her visits. At this point, she's the only person other than his parents that knows he has a boyfriend.
About 4 months in, Shane finally feels comfortable enough to ask about what he'd been very excited about learning.
"You want me to teach you how to talk dirty to your boyfriend?" Ekaterina raised an eyebrow.
"Um," Shane blushed. Was this a little too far? Was this inappropriate to ask of a tutor? "Yes? If - If that's okay, I mean."
A slow smirk spread over her face. "This will be fun. Fun for me, now. Fun for you, later."
"I made a list," Shane admitted. He wasn't going to back out now, he put a lot of thought into his list. He turned to it in his Russian notebook and handed it to her.
She scanned over it indifferently. "You will use all this in one night?"
"Yeah, probably. Is it too much?"
"It is good you have a Russian man," Ekaterina said. "They have good stamina. Mostly, anyway."
And while it was a little embarrassing for Ekaterina to correct his pronunciation of please let me suck your cock, it helped that she seemed just as comfortable with that as there is tea on the stove.
Though, maybe he shouldn't have learned those phrases at the same time, because Ilya will never, for as long as they live, allow him to forget asking, while down on his knees and with excellent pronunciation, please let me suck your tea.
Ilya and Shane, but itās just them seeing each other as a version of their husband no one else understands them seeing.
To Ilya, Shane is the funniest, sexiest, bitchiest and downright FREAKIEST person he knows. He tells everyone he knows this, yet for some reason no one seems to believe him. His husband is such an asshole, and Ilya loves him for it.
While to Shane, Ilya is his soft and most precious baby. A heart of gold and with feelings so wide and deep he is breathless at just how much he CARES. Sunshine itself. Shane laughs at how people describe his āscary, no-smiling Slavic nightmare of a husband.ā See Ilya! He DOES get sarcasm (he does not.)
my hc for hollanov sharing clothes is that theyāre the same height but the proportions are flipped. ilyaās hoodies are too big on shane cuz his shoulders are broader and his chest is bigger, and maybe his arms are a bit longer. ilya is experiencing peak cuteness aggression at shane all cozy and cuddled up. BUT. ilya in shaneās sweatpants? theyāre barely staying up on him because shane has bigger thighs and wider hips! ilya is wearing them around the house and shane is fucking salivating at the way they are hanging so so low. flipped proportions makes clothes sharing sexier i dont make the rules.
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
Tuna melt au where Shane starts freaking out and so to distract him Ilya is like "I got the marble imported from Turkey, custom cut by a local contractor here in Boston" and Shane wants to have a freak out but he's always wondered about the quality of marble from Turkey, he got his counters from Italy and China but he saw options from Turkey and Brazil and wondered. He really should go, but now he's wondering if Ilya will answer his other questions like who was the architect that built this house and where did ilya find that tile that's in his guest bathroom. Basically Ilya using Shane's real estate fetish to keep him from running out during the tuna meltdown.
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 oneās 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. itās the first time ilyaās 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.Ā
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 couldnāt figure out how else to get cum out of the crevices.
The first time Ilya fucks Shane so hard he has trouble walking the next day - like legitimately hobbling around the cottage - yes, thereās a bit of pride and possessiveness, but he also worries he went too far. Shane had kept begging for more, more, until Ilya was certain the bed was going to break but now he sees Shane wincing and he worries. So he asks Shane - was it too much, should they have stopped, should they go slower next time? and Shaneās immediately horrified like please donāt threaten to take this away from me omg thereās only a few weeks left of the summer.
(He does however agree to rest on the couch and let Ilya putter around taking care of him which, yes, includes multiple couch blowjobs)
k so basically imagine this - Hollanov universe and this is like a few months after the cottage
so Covid hits and Shane and Ilya have to self isolate away from each other for a bit and during that time Shane decides to (healthily) work out ALOT more and Ilya doesnāt really know how big Shane had gotten cause face time only does so much yk?? And Shane hasnāt really cut his hair decided to get sexier glasses and hasnāt shown Ilya yet cause heās waiting for when they see each other in person.
Cue Ilya coming to the cottage a day earlier than planned to spend the rest of lockdown with Shane only to be fucking gobsmacked when he walks in and sees a completely oblivious jacked up Shane Hollander walking around wearing a white tank top and tiny short with his hair longer and more messily styled and with the most slutty glasses ever and a slight bit of facial hair - bare in mind the last time he saw Shane he looked something like this
and now looks like this
lowkey Iām imagining Ilya wanting to just jump on Shane and eat him alive but physically being unable to do so because heās actually stared hyperventilating and Shaneās worried Ilya actually has Covid and comes over to check on him - only for Ilya to yank Shane towards him the second heās in arms reach and use Shaneās mouth like an inhaler lmao
but also during ilyas ascent to heaven i.e fucking Shane Hollander Ilya just keeps grabbing and biting Shaneās muscles and stretch marks and is obsessed with how even when they are play fighting Shane has gotten significantly more strongerā¦.
pretty pretty please can someone write thisš¤§ because I am unfortunately not blessed with the talent to write and I want to read this full outā¤ļø
k so basically imagine this - Hollanov universe and this is like a few months after the cottage
so Covid hits and Shane and Ilya have to self isolate away from each other for a bit and during that time Shane decides to (healthily) work out ALOT more and Ilya doesnāt really know how big Shane had gotten cause face time only does so much yk?? And Shane hasnāt really cut his hair decided to get sexier glasses and hasnāt shown Ilya yet cause heās waiting for when they see each other in person.
Cue Ilya coming to the cottage a day earlier than planned to spend the rest of lockdown with Shane only to be fucking gobsmacked when he walks in and sees a completely oblivious jacked up Shane Hollander walking around wearing a white tank top and tiny short with his hair longer and more messily styled and with the most slutty glasses ever and a slight bit of facial hair - bare in mind the last time he saw Shane he looked something like this
and now looks like this
lowkey Iām imagining Ilya wanting to just jump on Shane and eat him alive but physically being unable to do so because heās actually stared hyperventilating and Shaneās worried Ilya actually has Covid and comes over to check on him - only for Ilya to yank Shane towards him the second heās in arms reach and use Shaneās mouth like an inhaler lmao
but also during ilyas ascent to heaven i.e fucking Shane Hollander Ilya just keeps grabbing and biting Shaneās muscles and stretch marks and is obsessed with how even when they are play fighting Shane has gotten significantly more strongerā¦.
pretty pretty please can someone write thisš¤§ because I am unfortunately not blessed with the talent to write and I want to read this full outā¤ļø
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