hollanov in every verse
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Ilya pierces his ears. Shane is feeling…some type of way about it.
Series
- Part 1 of hollanov in every verse
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You are arrogant; gluttonous; lazy—and you are a bastard King.
The words ring through the crowded, rambunctious great hall with the force of a tolling bell and unleashes a chilling silence so damning even the roaring hearths could not bring themselves to warm the room.
Yvain watches on in morbid fascination; because it is not every day one prepares themselves to see the Hainsworth of Egregica string together enough coherent words that would get himself killed posthaste.
King Ilya Rozanov of Treporium, as the King of the Tri-Continental borders, as a leader of hundreds of thousands, as an alpha of the highest caliber—may be a lot, but even then, there are certain lines and decorum one doesn’t cross unless they’re trying to start a fight.
There is a plot to challenge the alpha King Rozanov for this throne. Rozanov answers with an unexpected strategy of his own.
(And Shane really does not enjoy dealing all this. It’s a good thing he loves his husband so much.)
Series
- Part 2 of hollanov in every verse
- Part 1 of hearth
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Picture this, Ilya wants to tell the naysayers and the haters, the pearl-clutchers and the busy-bodies.
A cold, late afternoon in Ottawa during the throes of a winter hockey season. A warm, cozy two-story home in Rockcliffe Park, snowed-in with a tendril of smoke coming out of the chimney. Shane Hollander, hockey-playing god in human form and the dearest love of Ilya’s mortal life, bent over a dining table covered in pristine hockey cards of themselves while Ilya fucked into him from behind.
Ilya and Shane have a combined 800 hockey cards to autograph. Shane wants to get the job done. Ilya has other ideas (and an unexpected use for that permanent marker).
Series
- Part 3 of hollanov in every verse
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Somewhere in the early morning hours on the third day of Shane’s heat, Ilya finally has to admit: his knot needs a break.
Make no mistake; he is a strong, powerful, and virile alpha in his prime. The scandalous and giddy court rumours call him a beast in bed, a sex god between the sheets, and every last one of those little tidbits and whispers are correct. He is the Wild King—he did not get this far in life without living up to and exceeding a few expectations when it came to pleasuring omegas (and others; Ilya was not necessarily strict about his bed partners when they could all have a good time). There have been literal odes and poems written about his cock. Most notably, one such literary piece lamented the speaker’s envy for the alpha king’s future mate, who will surely spend the rest of their future heats in utterly satisfied bliss, thanks to Ilya’s knot and sexual mastery.
However. Shane is not just any mere omega mate or consort.
Ilya triggered Shane's heat. He takes fully responsibility, of course.
Series
- Part 4 of hollanov in every verse
- Part 2 of hearth
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The doors before them burst open, and Ilya has to grunt and turn his face away from the sudden blaze of daylight—the first bit of real light he’d seen in what feels like a year, even if the skies are largely overcast.
Truthfully, it has only been a few days, by his own estimation, but none of that matters.
Every single passing hour without Shane has felt like a millenia in its own wretched way.
Before Ilya became the Wild King, he tries to give himself up to an old enemy so he could keep Shane safe. It’s a noble sacrifice—Ilya knows this, has planned extensively for it, and prepared his heart for it. Unsurprisingly, Shane does not take this turn of events sitting down.
Series
- Part 5 of hollanov in every verse
- Part 3 of hearth
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“Oh, these are great,” Shane says, sounding genuinely pleased and delighted by the open box and the products laid out on the dining table before him in perfect little rows.
Glasses. So many of them.
Shane gets a sponsorship with a new designer eyewear brand and acquires some freebies. Ilya ruminates on his glasses kink.
Series
- Part 6 of hollanov in every verse
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There are three very notable sensations stuck on Shane this late into the night.
First—the tacky remnants of a spilled drink on Shane’s palm.
Second—the sleek leather of his pants, clinging to the skin of his thighs and calves as though painted onto his body.
And last, but not least, the nerve-wreckingly wet sensation of Rozanov’s come, still inside him.
Shane models for fast cars. Ilya races in those fast cars. They both drive each other absolutely crazy.
Series
- Part 7 of hollanov in every verse