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ilya treating shane's inner thighs like a chew toy. they've gone a couple of rounds and are all loose-limbed and sleepy, and ilya just finished blowing shane but he's not ready to move so he just. doesn't. just stays there between shane's legs, biting and licking and sucking hickeys into the sensitive skin of shane's inner thighs.
it feels good, obviously, and shane's too worn out to get hard so he lays there and enjoys it, one hand in ilya's hair, lazily petting it.
they have practice a couple of days later and shane has honestly forgotten all about it until they're hitting the showers and he's getting undressed and he hears someone say, "holy shit, dude."
he looks up to see hayes studiously avoiding his eyes, cheeks bright pink. he's not the only one; at least five different centaurs are looking anywhere but at shane, faces red and expressions guilty. shane looks down at himself, realizing for the first time just how dark and numerous the marks on his inner thighs are.
he looks back up, catching ilya's eyes this time. "oops," ilya says, shrugging.
shane has to go take a cold shower immediately because the discovery that his exhibition kink is applicable to real life and not just a thing he wants to fantasize about + ilya's completely blasé attitude about marking him up so blatantly is doing things to him that cannot be happening in the centaurs' locker room.
continuation of this short post where shane tipsily contemplates getting squished between ilya and marleau’s sweaty bodies <3
it’s been several months and shane isn’t even thinking anymore about getting panini-pressed between his husband and his husband’s bro-y best friend. it was buzzy and fun and ilya teasing him about it while they fucked afterwards was kinda hot but he’s done with all that now.
that’s the plan, at least, until he finds himself in a club. finds himself a little drunker than he intended. finds himself on the dance floor, ilya guiding him with long, sexy movements that keep them pressed together so nicely, chest to chest. it’s less dancing, to be honest, and more swaying. taking stock of each other’s bodies and following the ebb and flow of them. and shane is drunk and happy and a little turned on by his smoking hot husband so that’s why he reacts the way he does when it happens. when they’re suddenly not alone.
shane is perhaps hyperaware of cliff marleau’s presence tonight, but only in the way that ilya hasn’t gotten to see him in such a long time. it’s a reunion of sorts. so vibes are up. his husband’s happy and that makes shane happy, his slightly swimming brain latching onto the endorphins that spike around marleau like they’re his own.
it’s why his body reacts the way it does when one moment, things are footloose and fancy free, and then the next, there’s this solid, hulking weight settling behind him, not touching but unmistakably there. it’s marleau’s deep voice. marleau’s woodsy cologne. marleau’s heat, hovering just shy of shane’s back as he leans over his shoulder to shout something at ilya.
it’s loud as fuck in here, the bass sitting low in shane’s chest, so he really does mean shout. but ilya leans in a bit to catch his words. seamlessly. they’ve done this so many times, shane assumes, finding each other in clubs after inevitably splitting up. and that’s fine. that’s good. ilya’s laughing and he’s happy and that makes shane happy. and then the crowd moves.
it’s light - a ripple effect as a group of girls make their way through the sea of bodies - but it’s just enough, that adrenaline spiking with a top-off of sweet endorphins as suddenly, marleau’s body sinks in to press all along shane’s back.
it’s nothing. an accident. and yet shane’s heart suddenly bunny-kicks in his chest, the light squeeze of him caught between ilya and marleau’s chests sending a pulse of satisfied heat through his core. because neither of them are moving away. there’s a natural sway to them that comes from being in a crowd of bodies, but the extra space must’ve never freed up behind marleau after the girls passed. and all of the sudden shane’s brain and dick register that he’s stuck. that he’s squished, by firm muscles, from all sides.
he’s been in this position before. on a dance floor like this. rose kissing him, miles’s lips not so secretly brushing against the back of his neck. it’s not a new position, but tonight is nothing like that. right now, there’s nothing remotely sexual even happening. it’s just ilya talking to his friend. just having a moment. casual and circumstantial and yet shane’s skin is on fire. his muscles are screaming with relief, the beautiful satisfaction of the deep pressure surrounding him making his brain swim down deep.
ilya shouts something back to marleau with a devastatingly handsome smile. it gets both hands reaching over shane’s shoulders to give ilya’s a friendly rub and it’s too loud to catch. all shane knows is they’re both laughing now. they’re like boys again - a revisit to their clubrat days and they’re just as smooth and sexy but they’re mature now. stable. and shane is ilya’s, those big hands on his hips now that marleau’s snug against his back. there’s no room to actually dance and shane’s finding he couldn’t be happier about that, pulse thick and thundering in his ears as another wave presses in, marleau’s touch dropping back to clamp over shane’s deltoids as he’s forced to press forward again - so fucking tightly into him this time that shane stumbles that last half a step into ilya’s chest and fuck.
shane’s eyes flutter closed. hands fall to clutch into the back of ilya’s tank top. his dick jumps in his jeans as the heady pressure squeezing around him tightens. neither of the men seem to care that marleau’s all up on shane and maybe that’s normal. maybe that’s just the way the club scene is. you get cozy and flush against your best friend’s partner and no one bats an eye because it doesn’t mean anything. it’s just a spacing issue.
maybe shane’s the freak.
because he’s trying not to, but he can feel himself getting hard. he can hear all that teasing that poured from his husband’s lips after he admitted to hypothetically wanting this around that fire pit. the pressure. the trap. with this man specifically.
marleau leans his head back for a second and his warm breath fans against the nape of shane’s neck and suddenly, like a demon has possessed him, it’s taking everything in shane’s power not to back his ass up into marleau’s lap. to grind against him a little. just to see. god, he’s drunk. he needs ilya to take him home and fuck him. he needs to stay right here and live out his days crushed between these two sweaty bodies, their colognes mixing into this insane aroma that gets in shane’s head and makes him wanna do something crazy.
he just needs to recenter. steady his pulse. enjoy the pressure without equating it to something filthy, like he can usually do so well, but for some reason is struggling hard as hell with right now.
shane rests his chin over ilya’s shoulder with a hum. closes his eyes. remembers himself and where he is and opens them back up, making eye contact with a twink who’s watching him with what can only be described as biblical proportions of envy.
they need to leave. before shane does something stupid. before he ruins a friendship that’s been in the works for over a decade because he’s drunk and horny and can’t control himself.
shane lifts his head to brush his lips against ilya’s ear, but before he can ask, something happens behind them. whatever it is, it’s got marleau’s lap pressing up flush against his ass and god, it sends this buzzy pleasure through him so, so deeply and the noise escapes shane before he can reel it in. before he can act like he’s normal and not very obviously so fucking turned on between them.
he can feel ilya’s chest rumble. hear the smirk that’s dancing across his lips as he noses his way over to shane’s ear instead.
“soon,” he murmurs, and shane has no way of knowing how his eyes flick up to snag on marleau over his shoulder. “let us play with you a little longer.”
out and married hollanov having drinks at a non-hockey friend's house. maybe shane's old stylist who he really got along with and then her friend group absorbed him, which in turn meant they absorbed ilya.
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..."
and shane, god love him, he's just sitting there with this dreamy, almost blissed out haze over his eyes as his mind wanders. "exaaactly..."
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using "what were YOU doing at the devils sacrament" to mean "yeah i made an embarrassing reference but you understood it which is also embarrassing" is very funny to me
my favorite part is that absolutely nobody says this except here. so if you use it in public, it's a dead giveaway that you spent the last ten years on tumblr. but then again, they recognized it, which means they were at the devil's sacrament
I tested this theory in the wild the other day at work. I was on a call with my department lead and a few other folks and I replied to an email the DL had sent me, thinking that, because he was on this call, he wouldn't notice when I sent it and would not catch me multitasking.
However, he replied to said email within five minutes, asking a question that required an answer. So I answered and was like "Also, I was going to apologize for answering emails during this call, but I see we're both here at the Devil's Sacrament, so I don't think an apology is necessary."
I watched him read that on screen and try not to laugh. And then at the end of the call as everyone started saying goodbye, he goes, "Hey, MJ, I meant to tell you. I like your shoelaces."
And I looked straight into my camera, stone cold serious, and said, "Thanks. I stole them from the president."
And the rest of the team was like, "What...the fuck...?" before he abruptly ended the call for everyone.
So now my DL and I know this about each other. He could be any one of us.
At some point on the journey back to Erid, Rocky gets around to asking Grace exactly why he was so mesmerised by seeing the astrophage in the Petrova line.
Grace describes it as best he can, but all he can really manage to get across to Rocky is that he was surrounded by small floating lights.
Later on, Grace is talking about the stars and how important they've been to human cultures for millennia. “What do the stars look like, question?” Rocky wants to know.
Oh, y'know, they're a bunch of small floating lights.
There's a disco ball on the Hail Mary. Grace says it's there because it “makes me happy”. “How does it make Grace happy, question?” Rocky wants to know.
Oh, it creates the illusion that he's surrounded by small floating lights.
Rocky begins to do some research.
Glitter: a substance invented by humans to make things look like they're covered in small lights.
Human jewellery: mostly involves gemstones or polished metals, designed to reflect small lights.
Christmas lights. Candles. Lanterns. Fireworks. Glowsticks. Glow in the dark paint. Rocky is beginning to notice a pattern here, statement.
It takes Grace a fucking while after getting to Erid to notice that a lot of the gifts he's receiving from grateful Eridians are either a) sparkly, b) incredibly shiny, or c) fitted with lights.
While the last one is obviously a concession for his human light sense, he's confused about the former two. Are Eridian materials usually this shiny? Is there some quality about sparkly or highly polished surfaces that makes them sound better? Or is there something about Eridian geology/metallurgy that makes their materials like this?
He asks Rocky about it.
“Simple. I tell people humans like lots of small lights. Humans are easy to make happy.”
Grace kind of wants to protest that humans are much more complicated than that.
But honestly… it fucking works. Like yeah the polished gemstones, shiny metals and glittery rocks are beautiful. Yes those Christmas lights you put up around the house did markedly improve my mental health, Rocky. Thank you, I hate it.
Grace spends a lot of time trying not to think about whether his species' urge to explore the cosmos (that saved their planet and nearly killed him several times) is tied to the same instinct that made his students like glitter gel pens.
Shanebug who was SO wiggley when he was young. David would come home and barely have five seconds before being tackled by four year old Shane. Shane climbing David like a tree and settling himself with his arms around his neck.
or Yuna comes home from grocery shopping and five year old Shane is climbing onto the counter to grab different groceries and putting them away.
Shane using the kitchen drawers as steps, standing on counters to reach the upper cabinets. he was always careful with whatever loot he had grabbed, but when it came to his body he would throw himself to the floor and stand back up with no comment.
Yuna and David are used to it by the time he's five and making sure they knew he can do it.
my non threathening hc of the day is that ilya is a raw dough consumer. he is making brownies with yuna and he is licking that bowl until it's pristinely clean you would never know there's been brownie batter in there. jackie is making homemade dinner rolls with the kids and ilya sweeps in and plucks a chunck out of the dough and throws it in his mouth and the christmas cookies get fucked up every year before they've even been in the oven. ilya is not scared of salmonella, salmonella is scared of him
publisher: I've been looking into tumblr, have you thought of using Blaze to promote your book?
me: NO
publisher: But it seems like an efficient way to get this in front of more eyes-
me: people on tumblr hate Blaze.
publisher: There is no algorithm and you can't pay to promote a post? I don't understand how anyone advertises anything on tumblr.
me: That's the best part. They don't. They can't.
(trying to make him understand that we do not control the attention. We just have to show something shiny and gay enough and if people are interested, they'll reblog.)
(Mrs. Victoria buys a brothel, a deconstruction of the colonialist cowboy mythos dressed up as a sapphic romance.)
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I would like to see more people talk about how jobs treat disabled employees.
I used to prep, wash dishes, and cook at mellow mushroom. I had chronic pain that wasn't NEARLY as bad as it is today, but it was still very debilitating. I told my employer "i cannot stand more than 4 to 6 hours. I CANNOT do shifts longer than this due to my illness." And even though i made my boundaries VERY clear, everyday i worked it was 8 hours at the least and 10 or 12 at the most. I would go up to my manager and say "look i really need to leave, my shift is over, my chronic pain is killing me." And he'd say "we really need to here, you HAVE to push through." And so i did, and after one, ONE month of that job my crps got incredibly worse to the point where i could no longer walk my dog around the block which was .5 miles. I quit, and that was FOUR years ago, and ever since that day I HAVE BEEN BEDRIDDEN AND HAVE TO USE A WHEELCHAIR. It is my biggest regret in life.
My best friend who has seen my whole journey has recently developed undiagnosed chronic pain, and she is in the EXACT same scenario i was 4 years ago. Busting her ass at a pizza place with extreme pain that hurts her so much she tells me "im in so much pain i don't even feel like a person." She doesn't feel LUCID. And her manager and coworkers are saying the same thing "if you don't help us you will let us down, we'll be in the shit."
That job thats hurting you isn't fucking worth it. I promise you no money is worth losing all your physical abilities and never getting them back. Your coworkers and boss do not give a shit about you, so don't you dare suffer for them. They will never understand your struggle and they will never try. They truly think being understaffed is worse than whatever pain you experience. They would rather you permanently damage yourself than inconvenience them. FUCK THEM. DON'T FUCKING DO IT!
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