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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    Kip likes Hunter’s teammates more than he expected to, which is to say not all that much.

    Some of them are good—some of them are great—some of them are terrible, and a lot of them just have no idea how to talk to a queer person.

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    15 Jun 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    Ilya grins, a slow, filthy unraveling of lust spilling across his face. “Moya shlyukha, I would not be able to keep my hands off of you,” he rasps, palming his dick, grinning at the faint squelch, the wet drag of his fingers. Shane bucks into his hand, his jaw dropping open, slack with need. Ilya's whole heart aches as he watches his husband sink into pleasure, hitching whimpers escaping from his throat. “You would be the star of the room, no? Every eye would be on you, thorns in their heart for all they cannot have.”

    “You do,” Shane reminds him, as if it's needed, as if Ilya cannot feel it in each clench of his thighs, each wandering drag of his fingers, in the way his hips roll across Ilya's, involuntary, strangled whines rising from his mouth. “You always have.”

    OR: Sometimes, simply being married to Shane isn't enough. Sometimes, Ilya wants him in ways he can't explain; caught and collared and safe beneath his hand.

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    15 Jun 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    Barred from his own locker room after a game against Boston, Shane shows up to the Bears room instead, hoping for refuge.

    He gets that and more.

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    12 Jun 2026

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    12 Jun 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    “It’s okay. I don’t need anything.” 

    “I am not going to eat in front of you while you have nothing, Hollander,” Ilya scoffs. He plucks a can of cold ginger ale from the top shelf as casually as he can manage and slides it over the island, interrupting Hollander’s fidgeting thumbs. “You must be hungry, yes? It’s been hours since you left hotel. I can make something. Easy.” 

    “Make… what?” he asks warily.  

    Ilya rolls his eyes and tosses a look over his shoulder. “Do not worry. I will find something that works for your special hockey diet,” he teases. He reaches back into the fridge. “Tuna melt okay?” 

    “No,” Hollander says primly. “And it’s a disease. Not a diet.” 

    He pulls his hands out of the cold and turns, blinks. “What?” 

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    12 Jun 2026