fabbiosa



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    The first sound Ilya hears is a thin, discordant symphony of beeps and whirs. Something vibrating. 

    The next thing he hears is…wet. A sort of shaking, gargling sound, that feels like the ugliest crying he’s ever heard. And through it, Shane’s voice. 

    “I’m with him now, mom. He’s— he’s not fine. He’s not. I know—”

    Ilya wants to ask who's not fine, but he can’t feel his own body, his mouth, enough to ask.

    “Yeah,” Shane is saying, only slightly calmer. “I know. He wasn’t breathing—"

    Ilya knows there's a link, between the clinical musicality of medical settings, Shane’s audible, awful distress, and his own physical incapacity. It’s just, it’s so tenuous, and the air around him is so thick, so heavy. It would be easy, to sleep, a little. 

    -
    Footage of the last game between Ottawa and Montreal is everywhere; it’s breached containment from the sports world, and now it seems like everyone is baying for Montreal’s blood. Except, Ilya is oblivious. Not exactly blissfully so, but as the fight for accountability within the league rages on without him, Ilya just wants someone, anyone, to tell him what happened.

    Language:
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    02 Jul 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    They’ve hooked up like this about half a dozen times by now, maybe more; often enough, apparently, for it to become something Shane eagerly looks forward to. Beat Boston, then get railed by Rozanov. Preferably on all fours.

    He isn’t going to let a tweaked knee get in the way of that, goddammit.

    (In which Shane and Ilya have to be careful with each other during sex for the first time.)
     



    Shane tears his eyes away before Rozanov can say something obnoxious like “Like what you see?” or “Is rude to stare,” but Rozanov is towering over him now, and when Shane drags his gaze up, his entire field of vision is filled with rippling muscles.

    “Jesus Christ,” he mutters.

    “Like what you see?” Rozanov asks, looking down at himself.

    “Yeah,” Shane says, resigned. No point in denying it.

    Warm hands cup his face, tip his head back. “Is rude to stare, you know.”

    Shane allows himself to melt into the touch. “I know.”

    He feels the tension drain from his shoulders the moment their mouths meet.

    Language:
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    28 Jun 2026

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    Now that they're settling down, Shane and Ilya know they should really be more responsible about the kink they both enjoy. So they set up a safeword.

    Shane really doesn't like having one.

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    28 Jun 2026

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    He still didn't know if this was normal - asking your friends about how good they were at sucking dick. Maybe this was how friendship worked for other people, if you weren't both hockey players, if one of you wasn't married, if your friendship didn't depend so much on knowing as little about each other as possible. If you knew the other person liked sucking dick.

    Maybe he just likes it when Rose looks at him like that, awestruck, like he's scored a hattrick. He doesn't know anyone else who would be this impressed by his knowledge of having sex with men, which is unfair, seeing how long he's worked to build it.

    Maybe that's why he ends up where he does, one arm extended to stick two fingers in Rose's mouth, her pink lipgloss sticky, smearing around his fingers, three of her fingers pressed as far as they can go into his, both of them drooling and stifling little snorts of laughter.

    Rose asks a lot of questions.

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    26 Jun 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    A different woman—in a very different situation—helps Shane understand himself, and for Shane and Ilya to begin to understand each other.

    Or, Hollander and Rozanov are young, dumb and yearning, so they have a threesome: a tuna melt AU.

    Language:
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    26 Jun 2026