Seattleskies



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    He snagged a cue stick from the wall and set up the break. Leaned over the table and rolled the polished wood between his fingers, getting a feel for its weight. Then, with one eye closed, he lined up the shot like a rifle and struck, watching the balls scatter like shrapnel. It was one of his best breaks yet, and Shane lifted his head instinctively, half-hoping one of his roommates had appeared at exactly the right moment. Instead, he found the bartender.

    OR: Bartender Ilya Rozanov challenges university student Shane Hollander to a game of pool

    (inspired by that one picture of Hudson playing pool — iykyk)

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    10 Apr 2026

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    “Is very far from entrance to house,” Ilya said, brushing lightly past Shane to assess the space.

    “That’s a new one,” Shane noted, his eyes narrowing. “No problem. If we have to keep looking, I’ll keep that in mind. Any reason why? Sore after the games, or…?”

    “No.” Ilya shook his head, his gaze trailing over Shane from head to toe before drifting slowly back up and settling on the wide set of his cupid’s bow. “I just do not need guests to see whole house before I get them into bed.”

    OR: Ilya doesn’t want a new home, but he definitely wants his real estate agent.

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    10 Apr 2026

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    If he were sober, he might have recognized how catastrophically bad this idea was. That the roulette ball was not a sign, that they’d been playing for over an hour and it was bound to land on twenty-four eventually. But there was a buzzing warmth flooding his veins and a very loose grip on his rationality, so he headed away from the bar, through the lobby, and out onto the balmy Vegas strip. He leaned against a shadowed wall and scrolled to a contact he’d hovered over a thousand times before.

    This time, he called.

    Or: Five years after Rose helped Shane come to terms with his sexuality, he’s done everything else on his own. Coming out, surviving the backlash, being traded to Ottawa. When the dust finally settles, Shane meets a nice guy from Montreal and tells himself he’s ready to move on. He’s definitely not thinking about Ilya. Or Ilya’s gorgeous Russian wife. Not at all.

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    10 Apr 2026

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    Were they actually fighting about Ted fucking Lasso? Shane buried his face in his hands and let out a long groan. Maybe he should’ve picked something else to watch, but it was right there, and it said continue watching, and it was so easy that how could he not? Plus, he’d been dying to know who was going to win the final match, because it turned out soccer was way more fun to watch when it was fictional.

    OR: Ilya and Shane discover that marriage comes with its fair share of arguments and most of them are silly. One of them isn't. (5+1 fic)

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    10 Apr 2026

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    “Olesya.”
    “Oh-lee-syah,” Shane repeated slowly, making sure he pronounced it right. “What… what are you going to do?”
    “I don’t know,” Ilya said, resting his head in his hand. “I don’t fucking know.”
    Shane’s voice was steady. “What can I do?”
    How long had it been since someone offered to help Ilya? He took care of his family, carried his brother’s financial burdens, tended his own injuries, paid his way through life without aid. The question, softly spoken and rich with genuine intent, was enough to bring tears to his eyes. Could he really trust it? Could he ask someone for help?
    For once, he wanted to try.

    OR: Ilya is left with sudden custody of Alexei's daughter and calls Shane to help.

    (Set just before the cottage.)

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    10 Apr 2026