Bjorkisms



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    “There are so many pretty people in Milan, Connie.”

    “Oh?” Connor is not going to tell Drunk Hudson that he’s been seeing the pretty people dancing in his feed all night. That he hates them.

    (Or, Connor is watching the Milan afterparty videos roll in when he gets a tipsy, needy, mostly-naked FaceTime. He’s resolved never to go there with Hudson, but he's losing his grip -- and there's a whole Eurotrip ahead of them. Originally a oneshot, now updated with OlympicTorch!HudCon.)

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    02 Feb 2026

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    Ilya stared at Shane in bemusement. “Sounds… complicated for just sex. What, you going to spank me, tie me down?”

    Shane was silent at that. His eyes were steady on Ilya, his face determined.

    Ilya’s heart thumped in his chest. “Are you?”

    “I’m not going to hurt you,” Shane said. “I mean. I might bite and scratch at you a little, but no more than I normally do.”

    That did not answer the tying down part of the question.

    But if Shane wanted to try something new, Ilya could indulge him. This was Shane after all, Ilya’s sweet, desperate bottom. What harm could it do? It wasn’t like they didn’t both know how this would end, with Shane face down on the bed, begging for Ilya’s cock.

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    29 Jan 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    "Ilya," he says, and knows even as he says it that he's doing it wrong. That he doesn't sound at all serious about it, winded and belly up on the couch with his boyfriend taking up all the space in the world over him. "Get off me."

    Sure enough, Ilya snorts and doesn't move a muscle. "Say it like you actually mean it," he shoots back, "and maybe I will."

    Shane and Ilya experiment with resistance and with trust.

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    29 Jan 2026

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    The bellboy scene was glazed over way too quickly. What if we held space for that?

    check tags pls

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    28 Jan 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    Ilya smirks. “What am I doing?” His thumb drags over Shane’s mouth more roughly this time, making his lips part in an unflattering way.

    There’s something about the way Ilya’s holding him, butter-soft leather digging into his skin. Something about the way Ilya looks in the dim lighting, dark clothes blending into the shadows. 

    Maybe it’s Ilya, tall and imposing, standing in the dark with his gloved hands gripping Shane hard enough to hurt.

    “Hurting me,” Shane whispers.

    ———

    Shane buys Ilya a pair of leather driving gloves, and then gets so worked up seeing him wear them that he spontaneously invents consensual noncon.

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    28 Jan 2026