Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

When you are born, upon the first sound of your cry and the opening of your eyes, the discussion about your place in society begins. And then, during puberty, the presentation is made – the males and females reveal their secondary gender: Alpha, Beta, or Omega.

Shane Hollander had a 78 percent chance of presenting himself as an Alpha. He was betting on that, calculating it a million times over in his mind. As hockey became more intense, with scouting and international tournaments, he seemed fulfilled as a top prospect to be drafted to the NHL, just as he had planned.

But life didn’t expect the other 22 percent to lead him to his first heat at sixteen. How humiliating and wet he felt when his secondary gender, Omega, came out with its stupidly sweet new scent. He didn’t want to be sweet. The world – much less hockey – was inclusive of omegas. No, omegas were at the bottom of the pyramid; weak as a feather. Shane had never seen anyone successful in hockey who identified as an omega, and that thought destroyed him. He couldn't fall into that stupid stereotype. If the universe challenged him as an omega, he would prove he was more than another omega. He was worth fighting for.

Everything was going well, until Ilya Rozanov showed up – the cold, clueless Russian darling. It was no surprise when he introduced himself as an Alpha. Shane was probably jealous. It was easy for Ilya to show off his scent while others regularly stuffed themselves with heat suppressants. Shane barely knew how many scent stickers he had been buying over the years. He always changed them precisely three times a day, no more, no less.

It used to be easy, preying on a good neighbor policy. Things were good on the outside; he still managed to be selected by the Montreal Voyageurs. He still held hope. All he needed was discipline to keep it from anyone. He could go far, no matter how badly he vomited at the end of the day, how high his fever rose, the headaches, the doctor’s visits – everything would be worth it. It had to be worth it.

But Ilya Rozanov seemed like an annoying little stone that refused to pass through a sieve. It could have been simple if he hadn’t taken that water on the gym floor, the dirty talk in the washroom, given him his room number so easily, and let himself in that night. And God, Shane still felt guilty for enjoying it so damn much.

So yeah. They went with it. Rivals on the ice and bedmates, almost a double life, which made it harder for Ilya to think he was a beta. Shane hid it well. He wasn’t as small as the other omegas, but he was far from being like an alpha. Still, for him, it was enough – even if it meant living secretly, lying to Ilya… but it was for the best, right?

I mean… whatever. He needed to focus. Maybe the smell of pine he carried at the end of the day would help.

They were all fine. Things had been sorted out. Shane had talked with Rose; he was grateful to have told someone about him, the gay part. He didn’t feel ready to talk about being an omega to anyone else yet. Not even Hayden knew, and he would definitely kill him if he found out. He’d get over it someday.

Shane takes another pack of suppressants, feeling them go down his throat. They taste terrible, but he needed them to delay his heat until after the game in Montreal. He was still a bit concerned about Ilya, even after their call on the stairway. They texted each other, but he was almost anxious to finally see him. Then, as if reading his thoughts, his phone buzzed on the table. The notification from "Lilly" made him chuckle.

Shane didn’t even have time to finish typing when a burning sensation rose in his throat. He ran to vomit, throwing up the little food in his stomach. Vomiting was horrible, strange even, because his new suppressants had stopped his previous vomiting. He wiped his mouth in the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror, exhausted. He should take better care of himself. You can never take too much care of your image, right? Ugh. Being an omega almost made him sick.

He came out of the bathroom a little dazed, thinking for a moment before picking up his phone again.

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Shane looked at Ilya as he opened the door to his house. He seemed the same as before, only with a more solid exterior.

"Your hair looks not so bad when it’s fixed," he remarked as he entered, turning to look at Ilya, without teasing now. "Honestly, how are you?"

"I don’t know. How am I supposed to be feeling, being officially an orphan?"

"Ilya…"

Rozanov shrugged, his hands moving to Hollander’s waist, pulling him close, pressing their foreheads together.

"I’m fine. You’re still here, right?"

Shane gave a little sideways smile, arms wrapped around Ilya’s neck. "You really pulled me out of a week of workouts to be here."

Ilya chuckled, squeezing Shane’s waist as he stole a peck on his lips. "I needed a little bit of you," he whispered, looking at Shane with those ocean-blue eyes. "I wish you had brought those glasses."

Shane slightly pushed his shoulder. "Fuck you, they’re just for reading." Hollander let out a small squeak when Ilya lifted him off the ground.

"You look hot in them," Ilya said, pulling him in for a kiss, arms wrapping around Shane as if he weighed no more than a feather.

Shane drew into the kiss, his back hitting the soft fabric as Ilya carried him to the couch. His hands flew quickly to Ilya’s hair as Ilya devoured his mouth almost hungrily.

"Hey," Shane breathed against his lips. "Did you really miss me that much?" He pressed his lips to Ilya’s jaw.

Rozanov groaned huskily, his palms pushing Hollander up so he was on top, sitting on his lap. "You have no idea," his hands sliding up inside Shane’s shirt, taking in the pretty one from head to toe. "You know, the couch stuff didn’t work out the last time."

Shane bit his lip, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "We’ve already talked about this." He leaned forward, lips level with Ilya’s ear. "Now, do you want another ride, or are you going to keep babbling all through the night?"

He didn’t have to finish; Ilya quickly removed his own clothes.

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As his back fell onto the sofa exhausted, Ilya held him close, face buried in Shane’s embrace. Shane’s hands moved to his curls, caressing them.

"Want to talk?"

"About what?" Ilya’s voice muffled by Shane’s shoulder.

"Your grieving process? If you want, whether in English or Russian."

Ilya lifted his head, looking at him, and snuggled back against Hollander. "I don’t have much to say. It’s just weird; my family isn’t as commercial as yours."

Shane was almost offended, but let it go. "I suppose you came back early for a reason. And clearly, I’m very handsome, but that’s not the only reason you flew back early."

Ilya gave a hint of a smile. "No, slick." He took a little bite out of one of Shane’s freckles. "I came to take care of some things… boring things from Russia."

Shane nodded, turning to snuggle up to Ilya as well. "And things turned out okay?" A touch of concern in his voice.

Ilya brushed his forehead again, looking into those brown eyes. "You worry too much," he whispered. "I’ll be fine."

Shane bit his lip again, hesitant. "I just want to help with whatever I can," he huffed.

"You already help me too much by being here. How privileged am I to be breaking your highly regimented routine to be here?"

Shane pushed him away. "Fuck off," he almost laughed, but his stomach churned.

Ilya noticed immediately. He glanced at Shane with concern, hands moving to the sides of his face. "You okay?"

Shane swallowed hard. He didn’t need to hide the annoying side effects of his suppressants now. "I’m fine. Just a bit queasy."

Rozanov raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn’t expect anything less from your crazy diet," he said, checking Shane’s face.

Shane snorted, holding Ilya’s hands on his face. "My diet has nothing to do with it. Must be my body trying to knock me out before a game. I’ll survive."

Ilya didn’t look convinced but let it go. "All right, but please don’t die before then," he said, sitting down. "Can I at least get you a glass of water so you don’t throw up on my couch?"

Shane raised his hands in surrender. "All right, I accept."

Ilya got up, still naked, and Shane couldn’t stop staring at that perfect ass.

"I didn’t know nurses could have such great asses," Hollander teased.

"It’s part of the hard work," Ilya shouted from the kitchen, the refrigerator opening audible in the living room.

Shane chuckled, hands in his lap, mouth dry. He stared at the ceiling. This really is a side effect of the measurement, isn’t it?

His thoughts dissipated when Ilya placed the glass of water at eye level. God… maybe Shane really was paranoid.