Sheepsfleece



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    “You’re going to Boston.”

    Long after Farah hangs up, the words keep echoing in Shane’s head. If he had thought his thoughts had been chaotic this morning, when his biggest problem had been his rival potentially fucking him when he came to Montreal in two weeks, that’s nothing compared to the code-red panic that started the instant he found out he was being traded to Rozanov’s team.

    Rozanov, who was supposed to be his great career rival. Rozanov, who he’s hooked up with twice now. Rozanov, who had been planning on coming to Shane’s apartment in Montreal to fuck him the next time they saw each other. God, how on Earth is Shane going to walk into his locker room in Boston in a few days time?

    The impending awkwardness of dealing with Rozanov is almost enough to eclipse the hurt he’s trying to ignore. The knowledge that Montreal values him so little that they’re willing to dispose of him only six months into his rookie season. Almost, but not quite.

    -

    Or, Shane gets traded to Boston AU.

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    04 Feb 2026

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    Lestat used to seem to drink life itself, to hold so much of it inside of him. He used to feel like putting your bare hand on a furnace and feeling the ferocious roar of fire inside. Heat and motion, his Lestat.

    Or: Louis takes care of Lestat, then Lestat takes care of him.

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    05 Oct 2025

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    “Well, it’s too bad because I do feel like dancing. If you won’t, I think it would not be hard to find someone who will."

    “God damn it,” I muttered and took a deep breath. Embarrassed as I was, the idea of watching him dance slowly in the dark room with another man set my newly sharpened teeth on edge. I can’t say it was out of concern for the longevity of his dancing partner’s life. Jealousy flared in me in a way I’d never known before. Both literally and figuratively, Lestat had turned me into a green-eyed monster. He smiled and reached for my hand, knowing he’d won yet another battle. It wouldn’t be his last victory, not by a long shot.

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    20 Sep 2025

  4. Public Bookmark 83

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    Two nights in 1993. Louis watches a documentary on the AIDS crisis. Lestat reflects upon his life with Nicolas in Paris, and the blight of damnation.


    “My point is...” he swallowed, and he got a strange, faraway look in his eyes. He took one of my hands and held it, brushing his thumb over the blue veins on the back of my hand. He sighed. “I understand. To some degree, though perhaps not perfectly, what it had been like for you as a mortal man. When you were living in Paris.

    “And I understand,” he whispered, looking pointedly into my eyes. “…some measure of what you lost.”

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    10 Sep 2025

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    It's the same face Louis had pulled when he'd anxiously asked Lestat if he was leaving them - him - again, back in the graveyard, and that means Louis is afraid that postponing the trip to London might provoke Lestat into leaving him for good. Lestat wants to protest, but… well, the fear isn't entirely unfounded. His knee-jerk reaction had been anger, after all.

    Writing those books has pushed him into far too much self-reflection, he thinks grouchily. He's never second-guessed himself this much before. Never worried so much about everyone else's feelings.

    No, he thinks, You just had decades of regrets instead.

    He grinds his teeth, but he's not really angry. How can he be, with Louis here in his arms, so anxious to be near him? And thinking about his plans in London that had felt so delicious and exciting - to break the rules, and put the fear of The Vampire Lestat into David Talbot - now they seem so pointless and empty. This - this is more important.

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    28 Aug 2025