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Shane's heart was beating too fast, throat pulsing with anxiety.
He wished he could at least identify what he was anxious over, wishing it were something rectifiable. As it was, Shane lay awake in the dark, quiet apartment, watching as the clock ticked past midnight. Thinking about how he needed to sleep only made him more anxious, anticipating how his sleeplessness would influence his performance. In turn, his growing anxiety made sleep more elusive. It was a vicious cycle.
Shane wished Rozanov were there. Warm hands and a comforting scent might be enough to ease his racing pulse.
A small voice echoed in the back of his head, reminding him of his conversation with the team doctor the day before: 'Omegas sometimes begin to struggle when they go unmated. It's normal to feel nervous or have a hard time sleeping by yourself.'
Shane couldn't afford to put stock in her words. He tried to reason that it was only because he was lonely, that he was simply prone to these nerves.
Shane could handle this if it was just regular anxiety. He was in control of his own emotions, he reminded himself, the master of his own body. His omega couldn't rebel against him if he didn't allow it.
Turning over, he focused on counting sheep, trying an old trick to coax sleep into his mind.
Bent over Bergstrom's desk, Shane's sweatpants pooled at his ankles. His bottom burned, crossed with welts from the strap, laid over paddle bruises from the week before that had only just begun to fade. His muscles trembled as he strained to hold the position Bergstrom had maneuvered him into after the night's game.
He had complained, once, about the strain that arching like this put on his spine. Bergstrom hadn't really considered his objection, only arguing that Shane should be able to hold it, that it was a natural position for omegas.
Shane remembered being a rookie, back when he was really only disciplined around once a month. He had struggled with the frequency of the punishments then, but he had forced himself to push through them. He could take a few spankings, if that was what it took to keep playing his sport. He had reasoned that the punishment would surely decrease in frequency as he grew with the team, as he learned how to please Theriault and found his stride within the MLH.
He had been wrong on that account. By his fifth season in the league, Shane found himself bent over Bergstrom's desk at least once a week. He could follow the coach's logic, in a sense. He had more responsibilities now, as a captain and a seasoned player, and it made sense for those expectations to be strictly upheld. The Metros had won the cup last year; they couldn't count on a repeat performance if they were captained by an undisciplined omega who ran astray.
Now, Shane was feeling every bit of that carefully crafted discipline, still bent over, waiting to be told he could break position. His eyes were wet with tears, though he had already managed to get his breathing under control, trying to swallow the pain, hating to give Bergstrom too strong of a reaction. He expected the strap to be held to his face, to be made to kiss the leather. Instead, Shane felt Bergstrom's thumb press against his hole, wet with spit.
Not wet enough, though, to ease the thumb's entry as Bergstrom pushed inside of him. Shane couldn't keep his back arched, a whimper crawling out of his throat as he tried to pull his hips away from the intrusion. His hips only met the hard wood of the desk, digging in painfully. He was stunned, not sure of how to respond; Bergstrom had never penetrated him in the eight months he had taken charge of Shane's spankings.
"Does anyone fuck you here?" Bergstrom asked, thumb pressing in steadily, parting Shane's yielding flesh until it was buried inside him.
Shane thought of Rozanov, the only alpha he'd ever taken inside his hole. Rozanov, who Shane knew would never be so stingy with lube. He was too preoccupied to answer the question. This dry penetration was a different sort of pain from the spanking, striking somewhere deeper, more vulnerable.
"Please," Shane responded. "You have to use lube or- or something."
Bergstrom gave a hard flex of his thumb, reigniting the burning stretch. "I don't have to do anything," he warned. "Answer my question. Do you take alpha cock in this hole?"
"No," Shane lied. It was the only correct answer; he couldn't tell Bergstrom that Rozanov even knew he was an omega, much less that he was sleeping with him. "I don't sleep with anyone." He suspected Bergstrom expected this already.
"Probably part of your problem," Bergstrom mused. "Little omega with no alpha to take care of him."
"I don't need an alpha," Shane insisted. His words were met with another painful, dry wriggle of Bergstrom's thumb, holding him open. It was difficult to answer like this, focus stolen by Bergstrom's hand. "I'm on suppressants and scent blockers."
"But you're still an omega," Bergstrom reminded him. "That's why you spend so much time bent over getting your hide tanned, isn't it?"
Shane nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. "Yes." He couldn't argue the truth of the statement.
"Poor baby." Bergstrom's free hand began to rub over Shane's back, sliding under his shirt, soothing Shane in spite of the thumb still inside of him. "Maybe you'd spend less time here if you had an alpha at home."
Shane thought of Rozanov. "You think so?" He asked, confused by the direction of the conversation.
"Yes. You'd probably play better. You get lonely at night, don't you? Sleeping by yourself?"
"Yes." Shane answered before thinking better of it, not wanting Bergstrom to know of his nighttime wishes. "Well… Sometimes."
He couldn't come up with a better answer, feeling his hole clench around Bergstrom's thumb, wanting to push him out. Shane felt like he couldn't quite lie like this, like Bergstrom had managed to crack him open.
"You'd sleep better with an alpha." Bergstrom said, words accompanied by a hum. He spoke authoritatively, reciting common beliefs. "Omegas struggle with focus when they don't have an alpha at home. Your bodies get too tight, anxious without an alpha's presence."
"I know," Shane answered. He'd talked to the doctors about his sleep recently, been given this advice already. Now, it felt like a slap in the face, a reminder that the solution to his problems was out of reach. He couldn't exactly date safely when he was lying to the world about his designation. "But there's nothing I can do about it."
"No," Bergstrom agreed. "But there's something I can do about it." He jerked his thumb out, not bothering to be gentle.
Shane's hole stung now, having been forced open without enough lubrication. He felt himself clenching in an attempt to soothe the raw feeling left behind. "What do you mean?"
"I'll be your alpha."
Shane was shocked by the offer, struggling to process it. He knew he didn't want Bergstrom to be his alpha, but he couldn't find a way to say that, too wary of his response.
Bergstrom laughed, pressing the rough pads of his fingers over Shane's hole, now massaging him without penetrating. "What? You're scared? Or maybe you're saving yourself for your future mate? You want to still be a blushing virgin when you retire at forty?"
"No," Shane answered, wanting to stand, struggling to have this conversation when he was bent over and exposed, when Bergstrom had so much access to him. "No, that's not it."
"It's not your fault that you struggle to focus on the ice, Shane," Bergstrom said, using his first name, an intimacy Shane wasn't used to with the coach. His voice was uncharacteristically soothing, even as his words were crude. "I can fuck you. All omegas need a good pounding now and again to perform well. You'll spend some time unwinding on my knot, and then maybe you won't need discipline so often."
Shane couldn't not consider the proposal. The idea of being spanked less was appealing, a promise of less bruises, like the pain of discipline might return to something manageable. Shane could also concede that maybe there was a logic to it, that maybe regular sex would help him with hockey. Shane knew he often played better after hooking up with Rozanov. Perhaps the same principle could apply to other alphas.
Still, the idea gave Shane pause, not trusting Bergstrom, feeling a little ill over the idea of sex with him. "What- What would that involve?"
"Well, getting fucked would involve my cock up your hole," Bergstrom answered, condescending. "But more broadly… I already take care of your discipline needs, don't I? I could also take care of some other needs. You would get an alpha to fuck you, to hold you while you sleep…"
And fuck, that sounded nice. The very offer put a pit in Shane's stomach. An alpha to hold you while you sleep. Rozanov couldn't provide that, even if he wanted to, which Shane wasn't sure Rozanov did want to. It had been so long since Shane slept easily.
"You would play better hockey," Bergstrom continued, voice still soft, quieting almost to a whisper, close to Shane's ear. "You would sleep better. You would have less spankings. I would give you regular releases. And you still get to keep your secret. What other alpha can give you that?"
Ilya skated to center ice, allowing a slight grin as he watched Hollander meet him. The man had ignored his flirty texts before the game, but Ilya wasn't overly nervous, still certain Hollander planned to meet him. Ilya couldn't spare it too much thought, now, not when he had a hockey game to play. The roar of Boston fans called to them, filling the stadium with familiar game-day adrenaline.
Mirroring Hollander, Ilya moved into position, trying to keep his expression fierce, to play the role of a formidable opponent. He didn't have time to chirp, though, before Hollander surprised him by speaking first.
"We have to stop texting," Hollander murmured, keeping his head down to avoid Ilya's eye. "I've started seeing someone. Thought you should know."
Ilya thought the ice had fallen out from under him.