yoongle



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    And Shane wants to let go. He wants to let go so bad, but he can’t help but feel like something bad will happen if he does, that the universe is somehow going to punish him for this, that everyone will be able to read this submission on his face and deprive him of everything he worked so hard for.

    As if reading his mind: “Just us in here,” says Rozanov, glancing around for emphasis, voice a solid, anchoring whisper.

    God, Shane wants. Shane wants so much that it hurts, makes his whole body ache with emptiness, and what he wants more than anything after to be held and pushed into – by Rozanov – is to listen and submit – to Rozanov. He wants Rozanov, and it should be scary, but all he feels right now is a want, an impenetrable need that makes him swallow around glass shards stuck in his throat and slowly put his palms flush on the floor in front of his knees, watching Rozanov like he’s in a trance.

    or, being the best might be starting to take its toll on Shane, and Ilya knows how to help

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    27 Jan 2026

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    God, Shane never wanted to be mad at him. He hadn’t wanted to continue it. He had wanted to play, too, to suspend reality and just let himself believe that this room was his whole world, that he could talk to Rozanov, play with Rozanov, that nothing else mattered. And the champagne in his blood, the looseness it brought to his shoulders, the ease it granted his brain made it so he could merely sniff in the extra moisture in his nose, blink away the wetness in his eyes, and look up at Rozanov like they were normal, like nothing else had been said. “Why would God take a call from you, Rozanov?” he had said, voice small but brave.

    Rozanov had finally grinned, had let Shane see his beautiful teeth. Shane had wanted to be bit, in that moment, all over. “He knows me,” had been his response.

    Shane had sniffed again, had looked down at Rozanov’s shoes, how one of them was gently stepping onto Shane’s foot. An anchor. “God’s not gonna take a call from you.”

    “Hm. Why?”

    His chest had felt warm. “Because you’re evil.”

    or, Shane's drunk, and yearning for Ilya Rozanov is inescapable, and probably bad for him

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    27 Jan 2026

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    Shane bites his lip. “So what, uh, what are you wearing?”

    A never-ending beat of silence. Then: “What?”

    Shane facepalms. And then keeps his face hidden in his palm. The only reason he doesn’t press the phone against his chest so he could groan loudly is that he knows Rozanov would hear his heartbeat too clearly. He’s about to have a heart attack. Not that Shane is freaking out, but he is literally going to go outside to dig his grave with his own two hands.

    “Never mind,” he rushes to say, muffled against his hand, and he hangs up.

    Jesus fucking Christ.

    or: Shane can't stop thinking about being bad at sexting and figures out that maybe, just maybe, he's better at phone sex. The only way to figure it out is to try.

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    23 Jan 2026

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    “If you wanted to be more… dominant. With me. I would…” Shane was sure his flush was spreading away from his cheeks down his neck and towards his chest. “I would like that. I would really like that.”

    He was barely aware he’d screwed his eyes shut in flustered embarrassment until Ilya, after a moment of silence, murmured his first name again. Shane opened them, dragged his eyes towards the screen, and felt his mouth go dry.

    Ilya was rubbing his fingers thoughtfully against the seam of his plush lips. His eyes looked dark, lust obvious. “You like being submissive for me, Hollander?”

    Of fucking course Ilya would know that word.

    Ilya had another day left in Moscow. Shane couldn’t stop thinking about him. (Or, oddly enough, Wayne Gretzky.)

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    02 Jan 2026

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    “You never answer my question,” Rozanov repeats. Shane turns the water pressure down just a little so that he can hear the Russian over the spray, wipes some condensation from the stall window so that he can see him. “About your thing.”

    “My…thing?”

    “Your dildo.” Rozanov flashes him with a shit eating grin and points at him with his green plastic toothbrush. The green plastic toothbrush that Shane brought. The green plastic toothbrush that Shane brought, just in case Rozanov ever decided to stay longer than the time it took for the cum to dry on Shane’s belly.

    He brought the toothbrush for when Ilya smells like cigarettes, because Ilya always smokes a cigarette after sex.

    Oh yeah, that’s something that Shane apparently knows about him now.

    "Well?" Rozanov asks expectantly, "What colour is it?"
    __

    Shane Hollander has a dildo. Ilya Rozanov has a hyper fixation. They both benefit from it in some way.

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    19 Dec 2025