justanotherfall



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    Shane climbs on top of him then, swinging a muscular thigh over Ilya’s shoulder, and then he’s seated on Ilya’s chest, his knees framing Ilya’s head, leaning back so he can still look down and lock eyes with him. “You can do this, can’t you? Just be good and keep that mouth open for me. Let me grind on your tongue, make myself feel good since you can’t do it.” 

    And it’s a lie, of course it is, both of them know Ilya was making Shane feel so good he couldn’t even handle it, but fuck. Ilya nods, desperate and dizzy with it, opening his mouth already, showing his tongue off to Shane like he’s proving himself, look at me, I can follow commands, I can open my mouth for you, I can stick my tongue out and pant for you like a fucking dog, he thinks. 

    “Fuck, you look stupid,” is the last thing Shane says before he lifts his hips up, taking his weight off of Ilya’s chest, and lowers himself down until his cheeks are smothering Ilya, until Ilya’s tongue is right against his hole, warm and engulfing, and Shane’s balls are resting heavy on his face. 

    ---

    Part 3 of pathetic, loser, stoner, frat bro Ilya x cool, confident, slightly mean jock Shane

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    08 Jun 2026

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    "Shane thought, as he studied the creature’s face inches from his own, that it resembled reading poetry to someone on their deathbed; he’d been afforded the mercy of witnessing something very beautiful, before his death. 

    The memory of an annotation surfaced unconsciously, soothing his fear. A scrawled, frantic handwriting in one of the accounts, detailing that the pain of a nightwalker’s bite was remarkable; until replaced with incomparable ecstasy."

    or, apothecary Shane gets a late-night visit from a mysterious customer. 

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    03 Jun 2026

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    Lily's Pilates class is joined by someone new.

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    14 May 2026

  4. Public Bookmark 49

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    11 May 2026

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    “No,” he says, smiling gently, like he doesn't know how irritating he's being. “Is my room first, da? You should speak with front desk.”

    Hollander stares at him.

    And then he starts to laugh.

    You ask the front desk,” he shoots back, in between his odd wheezes. Ilya's heart starts to pound in double time, because this is not—this cannot be Shane Hollander playing bed chicken with him. Their competitiveness is fierce, to be certain, but surely, Hollander would be the bigger person, no? “This is my fucking room, Rozanov. Wild horses couldn't drag me away.”

    OR: Ilya's apartment is under construction. Shane's in town for a game. It'd be a shame if they somehow had the same hotel room.

    [or, or: we need some more goddamn 'there was only one bed' out here.]

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    07 May 2026