i recently enjoyed a really good post discussing the plausibly deniable BDSM in heated rivalry and how the subtext is there “for those with the eyes to see.” this was around the same time that we saw the post about interpretations having a strong basis in the source material being reblogged back-to-back by people who are diametrically opposed in their interpretations. this made me laugh and it also made me think—because as much as i personally remain a loyal soldier in the war on strict domtops on the side of strict domtops, i also don’t want to act like every person who disagrees with me is an idiot acting in bad faith. that would be in bad faith lol. so i wanted to think more about why this disconnect is happening—how it is possible that there is such a wide spate of headcanons about shane and ilya’s onscreen dynamic and their offscreen/future sex life—and i think the answer has something to do with genre norms and the fantasy inherent in a romance narrative.

the indulgence of a romance novel, at its core, is that characters are able to engage in their deepest (and often kinky) desires without having to ask or negotiate for it. the term “bodice ripper” literally refers to the ravishment fantasies present in a lot of mass market romance, in which the female protagonist is subjected to what would, in real life, be considered nonconsensual sexual assault, but is permissible in-narrative because her inner monologue shows that she wants it, however deep that desire is buried within her psyche. you get what you want (forbidden romance, a life of luxury, kinky sex) without having to acknowledge your want for it. Bella Twilight gets to pretend she doesn’t want a lavish vampire wedding. Anastasia 50 Shades gets to roll her eyes at a first-class plane seat.

in heated rivalry, shane is the primary recipient of all his unasked-for desires coming true, and ilya the rakish, domineering love interest (or perhaps the horse in the horse girl movie). shane gets neatly cruised in a locker room shower after ilya intuits his gayness through a few charged glances. shane doesn’t have to initiate the second hookup and barely has to prompt the exchange of phone numbers. shane never has to request to bottom. as far as their sexual encounters go, ilya, like most fictional rakes/semes/doms, comes factory-programmed to fulfill all of shane’s deepest needs.

i don’t think it’s a particular point of disagreement that the domination and submission that occurs onscreen is unnegotiated. in the same way we are famously not watching shane douche in the bathroom, we are also not watching them pick out a safeword or compare BDSM test results. as vital as negotiation is to the practice of kink in real life, in a romance narrative it takes away the frisson of the unexpected, the suspense of the will-they-won’t-they as the sexual and the emotional careen closer and closer. good communication is boring to read about. getting a dubiously negotiated quasi-exhibitionist phone call blowjob is sexy.

anyway they're all sitting around a fire pit having cunty little cocktails or smth and just enough has been consumed that the convo turns scandalous. someone (we'll say his stylist) is waxing poetic about her gorgeous new fwb and their equally gorgeous friend and says "that's a sandwich i'd love to be the jelly in."

and shane - tipsy but ever present - his ears sort of perk up puppy style across the fire like, "sandwich...?"

which inspires this whole conversation about handsy threesomes. and shane's gonna be honest, in theory that sounds hot. he's had his fair share of late-night jerk offs around the idea, don't get him wrong. but he's got ilya locked down - he's not sniffing around for a third. the concept, however...the physical sensation of being caught between two hot sweaty dudes? yeah that's juuuust enough to get him zoning out into the fire, tipsy mind having a field day filled with sweaty muscles and tight, delicious pressure crowding him in on all sides.

ilya recognizes this look in an instant, of course. he's sitting right next to him after all. "making your imaginary sandwich in front of your husband..." he tsks, but it's all in good fun. he's obviously very interested, just like everyone else who has tuned into the convo because shane's kinda-

"panini..."

"what?"

"meat in a panini," he drowsily explains, in what he thinks is a perfect and impressively cohesive explanation of the image in his head right now. "absolutely fuckin' crushed..."

ilya can't even pretend to be surprised because he knows his man. and his needs. and his frequent desires to be smashed into oblivion under ilya's full weight. not even fucking him, most times. just squeezing him. pressure for pressure's sake. "ah... of course." this makes perfect sense. even if the rest of the group doesn't seem to be following. "and who is bread for your meat, my panini?"

that gets a couple giggles, but shane is fucking locked in, brother. like he's making plans already. "well you, obviously."

"obviously." okay thank god. "and who else?" he's reaching out to run his fingers through the back of his husband's hair while he speaks. "who will help me keep you still? maybe bood would if we-"

"marleau."

ilya pauses. blinks. "what?"

"cliff marleau," shane says. as if ilya is seeking clarification on which marleau is being discussed and like-...

ilya tilts his head and it's a little judgy. he knows. like the careful tone he carries with what he says next but like...hello? "sweetheart, cliff marleau fractured your collarbone and put you in hospital..."

go back and tell it