here comes the rain (again?)

So he's prepared for what he thinks is going to happen because he's been falling into bed with Ilya Rozanov for the majority of his adult life and he thinks he knows what all of that means. Ilya has a sexual appetite that Shane prides himself on satisfying. They make the best of their limited clandestine time together to the tune of multiple rounds of sex most times they find themselves within 100 miles of each other. Boston and Montreal, yes, but also a handful of times in Vegas. Vermont, half a dozen times over half a dozen years. All Star weekends in Florida and California and fucking New Jersey. Brooklyn, once, because the stars aligned. Shane is very used to shoving two furtive fucks into the space of a handful of midnight hours.

So yes, the time that stretches before them is utterly gluttonous in comparison, and Shane knows that even two professional athletes in peak physical condition won't be able to set the kind of brutal pace they normally allow themselves for two entire weeks, but still. The sex will be hot--fucking unbelievably hot, and it will be nasty and it will be rough and it will be almost fucking constant.

And it is. They barely keep their hands off each other for the first day. Sitting down to play Chel with fucking clothes on is conceived as an attempt to be at least a little normal, as is kicking the soccer ball around. Shane is just a little turned on, constantly, and he would think there was something actually medically wrong with him if he didn't occasionally see Ilya tucking his erection more snugly into the waistband of his shorts. It feels insane. It feels like they are the only two people in the world and they're slowly burning each other up like the filament in a faulty lightbulb.

Then, it settles a little, and the first thing Shane notices about it is the sound of it.

Ilya's got him on his elbows and knees, just how he likes, and he's still open from the morning, and Ilya is tapping his dick on the small of Shane's back and saying Knock Knock and Shane is burying his face in the bedsheet and hiding his grin and telling Ilya that he's a fucking idiot.

"This is how you ask me for it?" Ilya replies. "Is this how my good boy asks to be fucked? No, I don't think so. Use your pretty words."

So Shane says, "Fuck," and then, "I want it. I want it so fucking bad. Please give it to me."

And Ilya taps his cockhead against Shane's hole and says, "This what you need, sweetheart?"

"Yes yes fuck please I need it I need it so fucking bad." Which is probably objectively false, because Shane has had it, repeatedly and good and whenever he fucking wants it, multiple times a day for the last 72 hours. Need probably flew out the window the second or third time Shane had the very routine thought of "I want to be sucking Ilya Rozanov's dick right now" and then realized that nothing was stopping him from doing so. Need has settled into a slow-burning, constant and pervasive want that is making it difficult to focus on his actual needs, like calories and REM cycles.

"Gonna give it to you," Ilya says. "Ask me again, one more time, ask nicely--"

"Please fuck me oh my God please fuck me--"

And Ilya is a hedonist. Shane knows this. He likes sugary foods and fast cars and beautiful people and filthy sex. He likes to have exactly what he wants when he wants it and he likes it to be given to him exactly how he asks. Shane has always, on a level that is crawling further and further to the surface of his being with every day spent alone with this man, been utterly smug that Ilya has never had to ask him twice for what he wants, once they're in bed together. Mostly because Ilya never asks and Shane always gives; has made a study of understanding that when Ilya quirks an eyebrow in a certain way he means Take Off Your Shirt. When Ilya taps his thigh in that certain spot it means Spread Your Legs. When Ilya puts a thumb against Shane's throat and just barely digs his nail into the tender swell of Shane's voice box it means Moan Pretty For Me Baby.

So Shane knows that Ilya takes his pleasure freely, and doesn't hold much back in the taking. This makes it all the stranger and lovelier when Ilya pops the head of his cock into Shane and releases the kind of raw, punched out sound that Shane has only heard from him on the ice. After a hard hit, when he has physically lost control of his ability to moderate his own sounds, the height of release, the height of wantonness, reeling with a punch. A stark, perfect moment of pure reaction.

"Oh, fuck," Ilya moans, in the silence created by Shane going utterly silent and almost completely still, lest he miss a single solitary detail of what's happening. "Uhn. Fuck, Shane."

"Yeah," Shane says, experimentally. "Oh, fuck. Fuck, baby, you feel so good."

"Fuck," Ilya snarls again, and it's like--it's like a fucking dam breaks, something that was built in Ilya's chest before Shane ever knew him, because it just does not stop. The sounds flowing out of him seem to do so without much or any express permission from his brain. He is gone, moaning almost inconsolably as he presses his entire body against the length of Shane's.

"Shane," he says, eventually, and doesn't stop. "Shane, Shane, fuck, SHANE--"

And Shane stops even understanding it as his own fucking name. Suddenly it's blasphemy, it's sacrament, it's a foreign fucking word that means something deliciously vulgar and it's a secret Ilya is keeping from him. It means I love you, and You are a perfect slut, and it means I will fucking ruin you.

And when he comes--God, when he comes. He tells Shane he's gonna give it to him and then he fucking does and every window in the room seems to shake with the power of his voice. Shane somehow feels every vibration of Ilya's vocal cords in his own toes. He barely understands that he's reaching his own calamitous orgasm before it's right there, sudden and stunning like a puck to the gut, and Ilya's voice is still in his ear, low and intense, stroking over his stomach and telling him, "So good, Shane. Let it go."

is it normal to want to crawl inside someone’s skin

is it normal to never want to be without him

codependency definition

is codependency always bad

lol I’m absolutely dying

not only is it Aika but she’s flipping us all off

I REALLY HATE HER!!! (i personally don’t actually i’m so sorry rose landry)

not all of them are aus . many are under 15k hits

put my hand on the stove (and the cross) - unseemlyndisturbed

(beautiful eerie prose, the religiosity holds substance and is hypnotic. Load bearing fanfiction)

“And there.

Through a break in the trees, there is a house. Wooden, old, the pale white paint of it greyed with age and dampness.

"I—" His voice comes out level, at least.

The man has tilted his head. "What? You want to sleep in your car?" He pulls his chin toward the dark interior of the house, a small gesture. "No. Come in. Is no trouble."

God hasn’t abandoned him yet, ha.

Shane Hollander's car breaks down in the middle of nowhere. The man who answers the door is charming, warm, and just his type. Ilya Rozanov is a very religious man. He has a lot to say about repentance.”

HOLLANDER VS ROZANOV I - gone_girl

(i know nothing about boxing, but this conveys the world so clearly. outsider pov in chapter 1. knowledgeable clever cool character study)

“After nearly a decade separated by weight class, Shane Hollander has given up his cruiserweight title to challenge undefeated heavyweight champion of the world Ilya Rozanov. The following is a presentation of HBO Boxing.”

A Side Door Into the Dark - magnetica

(climatology physics scientists in antarctica. includes citations at the end. in a short amount of words the sense of setting is sooo strong. very endearing and cold)

“Amundsen-Scott Station, Antarctica

—

offended if people thought he was a bottom, nah. scared? yeah, for sure that one. like if you follow the sounds-gay-in-russian thing… idk i’m always struck by how he makes those little wrist movements but only when he is alone with shane. like people think that because he isn’t ashamed of his sexuality the way shane is that means he is like, not suffering with it. no. that kind of fear is damaging. that level of perpetual unsafety where anything can happen to you at any moment. he’s living in a bomb shelter. i keep coming back to that scene with sasha. he’s clinging to the barest margin of security by his fingernails.