Chapter Text
Shane is not and had never been a nester.
He’s never felt the urge to pile pillows and blankets on his bed and suffocate himself with linen. In no way has that thought ever held any appeal. He had come to realize that he was a bit strange and an outlier for this but it’s not the first (or last) thing that made him different, so what did it matter. It’s not like the subject came up all that often and he could easily navigate the conversation away from said topic whenever it come up in his relationships (whether it be friends or lovers).
He remembers when he first presented, at a time when most of his peers were also presenting, the school held a presentation. First was a quick explanation on omegas. Shane grimaces thinking about the experience. The presenter explained how to ‘omega’ basically. He vaguely remembers it being about ‘docile creatures’ who nest and purr and crave an alpha’s attention. Whose wiles - when used incorrectly - could make alphas do unspeakable things, gasp. The presenter was very adamant that everyone knew that it was the omega using their scent and body in ways that made an alpha do things.
Not that an alpha was a person who made choices.
It was bullshit then and it’s still bullshit now.
The alphas got a presentation about treating omegas ‘delicately’ because they’re ‘fragile’ and how their scent could make you crazy.
Stereotypes were bullshit.
Shane was sure that everything the presenter said was a lie.
And most of it was, he’s sure, it’s just that some of it, according to others, was true. Maybe not for him but others.
He’s meet so many omegas who rave about their nest, the comfort and safety it brings. They whine when their alphas are away.
And alphas that brag about their omega being perfect little dolls that do whatever they say. Okay maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration because Shane is a bit (tiny little bit) cynical about the whole thing.
In reality, everyone was … normal. Like, looking out into a crowd you couldn’t really tell the difference between an alpha, omega, or beta. Everyone acted human, with quirks and flaws, some leaning into certain stereotypes while pushing against others.
Shane just so happened to push against most of the stereotypes laid out for him. He wasn’t ‘delicate’, he didn’t purr, he didn’t nest, and most of all, he didn’t yearn for an alpha.
He played hockey.
He loved for hockey.
He was hockey and that’s all he needed.
Until Ilya fucking Rosanov.
An alpha who flaunts his way through the stereotypes, chirping what could be considered borderline toxic masculinity on the ice. Flirting with anyone who looks his way and Shane has seen more than a few magazines articles talking about his numerous nightly encounters, most of them females and more than that, omegas.
What did Shane care. He didn’t. He didn’t care that Ilya texted him whenever he was in town, sent him a room number, expecting Shane to run to his beck and call.
Even if Shane always went.
But Ilya wasn’t any better and always came to Shane’s call too!
He didn’t care that Ilya’s smile was a bit lopsided, soft fangs peeking through whenever he whispered obscenities to Shane in a dimly lit hotel room. Or dimly lit bedroom.
He didn’t care that his heart rate spikes then calmed to something sedated and content whenever he received a message - or a hug, or a kiss, or even a smile - from ‘Lily’.
What he did care about was the way his bed didn’t feel like his bed anymore as Ilya kissed him goodbye with a promise to text or call later.
He cared that his room, his sheets, and his world smelled like Ilya, Ilya, Ilya. His heart sunk, thumping in big lonely wallops when Ilya exits his view. That something in his gut twists at not being able to spend more time with Ilya.
That was their … relationship (that word used very loosely) though. Clandestine meet ups and quick releases before they got back to the real world - where they were rivals.
Shane changed the sheets on his bed, opened a window to air out the room, and scrubbed off the last remaining dredges of Ilya’s scent. All the while pretending he didn’t hate every moment of it. He had never been the kind of omega to revel in an alpha’s scent, to want it, to soak in and never let it go.
He had never been. (He hates the heavy emphasis on the past tense.) That is until Ilya. Fucking Ilya.
Stupid, handsome alpha with his delicious, addictive scent.
Shane got really good at pretending.
The next time he gets Ilya in his arms is at his cottage, tucked away from the world. For two weeks. Alone, together. Something he never thought would be possible for so many reasons.
And yet.
Everything is different.
Ilya is smiling at him with soft sparkly, crystal blue eyes. Lips curled in a fond smile, so pure an unadulterated in their admiration and adorement.
“You are so pretty.” Ilya rumbles, as he nuzzled into Shane’s neck, dick sliding deeper and deeper inside Shane. The comment in the past would have riled him, quick to retort with a snarky remark about how he wasn’t pretty, he was handsome or masculine.
But Ilya said it in a way that made him feel the word. Ilya made him feel pretty - the way silk feels on the skin or the way a flower looks in the early morning as it begins to open its petals. Ilya’s hands roam over his skin like he’s worshiping the craftsmanship that years of hockey had carved and molded his muscles and bones into. The arches and curves of his waist, hips, and thighs - that Shane used to think made him weak but now feel soft and loved.
Ilya’s lips pressing over scars, stretch marks, and most importantly, freckles like he was memorizing the patterns and placements to recreate them in his mind, cement them there like a statue for all of eternity.
“You are so good. So perfect for me.” Ilya breathed against his neck as Shane bows off the bed into Ilya’s willing arms. A whine and gasp are the only responses Shane is capable of as Ilya fucks him like it’s the only thing in world he can do. “Moe сокровище.” Moy sokrovishche. My treasure.
Shane’s head is scrambled and muted like world stopped existing except for Ilya. The way he stretches Shane open, making space inside him so Shane will feel him for hours – days - later. Building his life around Shane, brick by brick, thrust by trust. And Shane’s fingers can’t clutch tight enough to Ilya, leaving trails of red and finger shaped bruises as Shane wills their bodies to get closer and closer even when there’s no space left - he wants more.
This deep visceral ache of “please” and “stay” and most scary of all “love me”.
Ilya’s knot catches and his body shivers and clenches. The sweat between them feels like steam as Ilya gently mouths at Shane’s shoulder until a hint of fangs press just so into his skin and Shane’s world turns to flashes and fireworks behind his eyelids and static fills his ears and Ilya’s warmth is surrounding him all over - inside and out.
He wants so much. Something he’s never felt before. He’ll never admit to anyone - not even himself - as he idle scratches over Ilya scalp, fingers tangling in the damp golden curls, that maybe they were right about omega’s craving alpha’s attention.
Because he does. He wants Ilya's attention more than anything else. Maybe, he thinks, almost more than hockey.
He’s also sure that Ilya would do anything he asked. Ilya would burn castles and conquer lands for Shane. Especially if the love drunk stare he’s getting is anything to go by. Ilya’s pupils are blown, yet glazed in contentment. He’s flushed, hair mussed, sticking out and tangled a bit but his arms are wrapped around Shane like he’s afraid he’ll float away. Shane brushes a rogue curl away from his forehead and Ilya leans into the touch.
Then as Ilya is pressing the softest kiss to the tip of his nose, he purrs.
The rumble stops as quick as it had started in a hiccup that startles Shane.
He’s never made the noise before.
Ilya stares, waiting. He gently presses their foreheads together before brushing their noses. The rumbles starts again but Shane feels more prepared for it this time and lets it continue into something steady and strong. Ilya’s face does something, an emotion that Shane’s not sure of - but he thinks he knows - and it feels a little bit like eternity.
Ilya melts down, forehead pressing against Shane’s chest before shifting to lick a long strip up his sternum, ending with a few nips around the base of Shane’s neck and collarbone. The purr rumbles his ribs as Ilya settles, ear pressed against Shane’s heart. Ilya lets out a low growl that mimics Shane’s purr, tightening his arms around Shane, looking euphoric.
And Shane gets it. He fucking gets it now.
That stupid presentation back in high school hadn’t been so wrong afterall. He just needed the right alpha.
His alpha.