wow... generic

So Ilya takes him to a punk concert one evening in a tiny little venue in some grubby basement. Neither of them really expect him to like it much - Shane, as much as Ilya loves him, is a psychopath who doesn't see the point in music. But around the start of the show Shane sees a section of the crowd bumping around and looks over curiously to see that huh, those people are just. Shoving each other. Violently. And somehow it looks... kinda fun?

Ilya looks away for one second and when he turns around he sees Shane just before he gets grabbed and YANKED into the pit. From there he only catches glimpses of his husband as he's tossed around like the die in a magic 8 ball. He's worried about him for a few seconds until he catches sight of Shane's big silly froglike grin through the tangle of limbs and then remembers how Mr Shane Sensory Seeking Hollander-Rozanov likes to be tossed around a bit, whether it's in hockey or bed or locker room rasslin'. Shane is being shaken like an etch a sketch. Full on rag doll physics on this man. He is checking and getting checked. He was worried about hurting someone at first since he's literally a professional athlete but honestly he's so lost in the moment that he couldn't use his full strength on a check if he tried and that's a comfort. He gets crowdsurfed and giggles the whole time. When he gets gently and inelegantly dropped near the back of the crowd right next to his husband Ilya says "did you have fun moy lyubov" and Shane looks at him like this

He’s created a place where Ilya feels safe.

To some extent, Shane knew they sort of always had something like that - in 1410, in 1221, in countless hotel rooms that then became the homes they had separately, in Boston and Montreal - but this, obviously, is different. It’s different in the best way.

He looks down at Ilya, fast asleep with his head in Shane’s lap, covered in a blanket. His eyelashes are so long. There’s no furrow in his brow, and his mouth is just slightly open. He makes the kind of snuffling, clicky noises that he only makes when he’s sleeping really comfortably and really well.

This is a house they share. Ilya’s stuff is safe here. Their dog is safe here. Ilya can fall asleep on Shane’s lap on the couch with the knowledge that he’s safe and loved and cared for in every single moment. He doesn’t have to tiptoe around or worry about someone’s mood or censor himself in the way that Shane imagines he had to do when he was a child, after Irina passed and the house lost all its warmth. Here, Ilya and everything he is is treasured. He’s safe.

Back in June, I asked folks to tell me about their most self-indulgent Hollanov AUs: those fics that live in your heart or that you're dying to read, even if they make no sense for Shane and Ilya.

The response was more than I could have imagined. Shane and Ilya (and Jane and Liliya!) became about astronauts and actors, journalists and musicians, retired hockey players, fantasy creatures, heroic knights, and party to an organized crime syndicate. They were in the 60s in Moscow and Canada, in Regency England, in a 15th-century monastery. They met as kids, or in high school, or as up-and-coming political opponents. It was a day spent celebrating everything we love about Hollanov without the constraints of pesky logistics or concerns about realism.

And now, we're doing it again!

On the AU-gth (8th) of August, we'll be celebrating another Self-indulgent Hollanov AU Day. To participate, just hop over to my ask box and write to your heart's content. You can share your ideas now, or wait until the big day! Please note that your ask is for Self-indulgent AU Day, so I won't share it early.

When it's the AU-gth, I'll post everyone's fic ideas in a day-long spree! Everything will be tagged #HollanovAUgth if you want to follow along, or go ahead and scroll through now to see what folks wrote last time!

Let's have some fun during the hiatus, shall we?

Shane’s nails are scrambling down Ilya’s back, leaving dark marks, his breaths are loud hiccuping gasps and cut off moans and his head is rubbing against the mattress under him squirming wriggling head thrown back in pleasurepleasurepleasure and god Shane loves being fucked so much. And Ilya growls and starts fucking him harder, deeper, somehow and Shane just gasps out.

“Love your cock oh my god” and Ilya is nodding frantic into his throat, biting at his neck. “For you” Ilya slurs out and Shane goes “yeah? It’s for me?” And his voice is pitchy and dazed and he’s he’s so fucking hard leaking wet and messy all over his cock and hip. Ilya nods nods and says “yes sweetheart for you” and Shane whines, broken sound and his toes curl and his leg kicks out, a jolt of his prostate being bullied by Ilya’s thick cock and Shane is nodding and is all.

“Yes, fuck my cock, all mine, belongs to me” and ilya is whining like a puppy, biting at Shane’s ears, jaw. And Shane is being fucked beyond thought, sense.

“Mine mine mine” Shane breathe, his hand fists tight into the back of Ilya’s curls and pulls, twists hard.

“My fucking cock Ilya. Made for me, made just for me, isn’t it? To fuck me like this- oh god” he shakes because he’s so close but he can’t stop “you belong to me, your cock belongs to me Ilya belongs inside me I’ll look after it I’ll always make it feel so good I promise I promise it’s all mine I’ll be so good to it. Love your cock. My cock” and Ilya is like.

Jesus Christ. I’m going to die. He feels insane, at being owned, at being made for Shane and knowing how badly he’s needed at Shane, Shane Hollander being possessive of him.