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“...you’ve heard what they’re saying about this season, and how can you blame them? Teams across the league are frothing at the bit for a chance at the ‘Hollander Sweepstakes’-”
“It’s certainly something we haven’t seen in a while, trades facilitated just to test compatibility of the players, knowing that having a bonded pair on a team is like catching lightning in a bottle-”
“Exactly, couldn’t have said it better myself, and when you really stop to consider that there hasn’t been an Omega of Shane Hollander's caliber on the ice in over a decade-”
Angrily jabbing his thumb down against the power button of his remote, Ilya Rozanov bellows curses at the screen, the announcers, the world until the stupid screen finally goes dark.
Hand trembling with rage, he carefully sets the remote on the side table with a barely audible tap of plastic on the glass counter top.
He can’t honestly say what infuriates him more; talking about Shane likes he’s a fine cut of meat in the butcher's case, or the insinuation that there could be any Alpha out there for Shane Hollander that isn’t Ilya Rozanov.
It didn’t matter that it was standard practice in the League; unmated players weren’t allowed on the ice after their 25th birthday. The written rules stated ‘health concerns’ but the truth of the matter was widely known; unmated Alphas were too violent without a bonded mate to ground them, and an unmated Omega could trigger spontaneous ruts in the Alphas around them.
Regardless if the Alphas were mated already or not.
In a disgustingly transparent attempt to put a positive spin on the shit-show that was the Metro’s trying desperately to keep their star player on the ice, the league was rotating Alphas and Betas alike through Montreal’s roster. They called it ‘speed dating’ and ‘good old fashioned match making’, throwing a new player into the rink each day at practice, trying to see if anyone could catch Hollander’s eye.
All they were catching was his ire.
Ilya picked his phone up off of the couch to reread the wall of messages sent by Shane, earlier that afternoon, fuming about the latest ‘shit show on skates’ that had been thrown into his team's practice.
Jane: How the fuck am I supposed to
get us ready for the playoffs when they
keep pulling stunts like this?
Jane: Like adding new blood to the
roster this late in the season is
going to help our chances.
Jane: And even more fucked up,
they’re sending players from teams
that can afford to lose them.
Jane: Which means none of these
fuckers were going to the playoffs
so WHY ARE THEY DUMPING
THEM ON US?!
A Shane that was dropping F bombs and all caps was a furious Shane indeed.
And Ilya had been, unfortunately, completely helpless to stop himself from poking the bear.
Ilya: Maybe if you just fucked one of them,
they would think they have chance and
sit pretty on benches for you.
Ilya: Off your ice then, yes?
Jane: Fuck ALL the way off, Rozanov.
And a Rozanov to boot? Shane had really worked himself into a mood.
Ilya’s phone buzzes in his palm with an incoming message.
Jane: They’re bringing in a pair of Betas
from the Puffins tomorrow. If you don’t hear
from me after practice, it’s because I’m in
jail for murder or I’ve fucking ransomed myself.
Ilya frowns at his phone.
Murder is funny, coming from Shane.
Ransomed?
Ilya has seen many in-flight movies that involve ransoms, but there’s usually a guy with a torn shirt and explosives with a helicopter crashing in the background. Shane is very rich, but Ilya is certain he doesn’t have a helicopter.
Ilya: What is ransomed?
Jane: It’s another stupid old tradition.
An Alpha kidnaps some unmated Omega
and threatens to bite them unless their family
or political party pays the ransom.
Jane: The Alpha gets what they want,
the Omega is basically a fucking
bargaining chip, and they still usually
got stuck with some knothead they
didn’t even like in the end.
Ilya: So, ransom yourself is no more idiots
on your ice, or you stop playing?
Jane: Stop playing hockey?!
Jane: It’s the PLAYOFFS.
Ilya thinks this is actually a fantastic bargaining chip in and of itself. If the league wants to fuck with Shane’s personal life, why shouldn’t he ruin their chances at a Cup?
Actually.
Ilya: Ransom is bad idea. Do murder instead.
Jane: 🔪💯 🔪
Afterall. If Shane ransoms himself, that steals the fun out of it for Ilya.
Feeling much better after even just a short conversation with his favorite feisty Omega, Ilya grins.
Chucking his phone to the side and launching himself off of the couch, he begins to scheme.
💰
There is a very familiar sports car parked outside of the rink when Shane gets out of practice the next day. He doesn’t know the make or model, but it’s small and sleek with absolutely no back seat space, and he can’t actually believe that all six feet of Ilya actually fits inside of it. Even with the top down, as it is.
In February.
Shane: What the fuck are you doing here?
Shane: You have practice at 8AM tmrw.
Shane: It’s a five hour drive to Boston!
Lily: Four hours, fifteen minutes
Lily: Actually
Shane scowls down at his phone, adjusting his lunchbag when it tries to slip down his shoulder.
Shane: You drive like a maniac
Lily: You don’t even drive. Where is uber?
He’s checking on the Uber drivers location pin before his brain registers that it’s none of Ilya’s business.
Granted…
Knowing your off and on fuck-buddy’s game schedule so you could arrange illicit meet ups was one thing. Knowing his practice schedule was probably not within the same realm.
Shane: My Uber will be here in a minute.
There’s a brief moment, so brief that it barely registers, where Shane thinks he’ll just tell Ilya no. That he’s finally grown a backbone and won’t let the cocky Alpha dictate what he does on a random Tuesday evening, just because he happened to drive five hours to surprise him.
Four hours and fifteen minutes.
Whatever.
The thought is gone before Shane even really entertains it though, because really, it’s been a stressful week of putting up with idiots drooling after him and not even sticking around after practice to help clean up the equipment. So sue him, if the idea of climbing into Ilya’s lap and riding his troubles away, just so the Alpha will spoil him and rub his back afterwards sounds better than going home alone.
Shane’s shoulders slump in defeat.
Across the lot, through the open top of the sleek, silver, stupid car, Shane swears he can hear Ilya snickering at him.
Shane: Fuck you
Even if he’s imagined the laughter, Ilya’s earned that much at least.
Shane: … what hotel are you staying at?
He still needs to go home first. He’s left meat out to thaw for dinner tonight, and there’s no way he wants to show up in today's clothes for tomorrow's practice.
Lily: I will take you
Shane’s shaking his head in the negative faster than his thumbs can punch out a reply on his phone, but before he gets a chance to send the reply, a dull red Prius pulls into the parking lot. His Uber is here, and Ilya will just have to wait.
Except now his phone is ringing.
Glaring across the parking lot at Ilya’s ridiculous car, Shane answers.
“What? Just answer the damn text. I need to go home and change.”
“Does Uber have dashing camera?” Ilya demands.
The Prius is pulling up to the curb now, and even from this distance, Shane can see the blinking red light on the device hanging from the rearview mirror.
“A dash cam? Yes? Why?”
The line goes dead though, and Shane’s attention is stolen by the sound of rubber screeching on asphalt. Ilya and his stupid car are careening towards Shane and the Prius, and for one insane moment, Shane thinks he’s going to actually hit the damn Uber with his stupidly fancy car.
But Ilya whips the wheel around at the last possible second, the car rocking to a stop and the passenger side door swinging open, flung wide by the car's remaining inertia.
As if this weren’t insane enough to begin with, Ilya opens his mouth and for the first time in all the years they’ve been fooling around, uses his Alpha Voice on Shane.
“Get. In.” Ilya orders.
Shane’s body is moving, posture gone slack like he’s been scruffed, and he meekly shuffles into the car, pulling the door closed behind him out of muscle memory more than any conscious choice. He’s dazed, the instinct to obey drowning out his shock that Ilya would ever use that tone on him.
The Uber driver is out of her car and yelling, but Shane can’t process the words over the buzzing in his ears; he’s hyper aware of Ilya’s every movement though, and his breathing starts to come heavier when Ilya flips the woman off before speeding out of the parking lot and Shane physically can’t make his mouth move to reprimand him.
They’re flying down the road a moment later, and all Shane can do is sink into the heated seats of Ilya’s car, and try to remember how to breathe.
💰
Ilya barely remembers pulling off at the bus station and stashing Shane’s phone inside a rentable locker. He knows he did it, has the key fob in his pocket to collect it later as proof, but the details are fuzzy. They’re parked in the closed garage of the remote house he’s rented outside of town before his brain comes even partially back online.
Shane has been silent the entire time.
His scent is dull, has been dull since Ilya used his Voice on him, and it makes him want to whine with distress.
Getting out of the car and switching on the garage lights, Ilya opens Shane’s side of the car and kneels on the hard concrete floor.
“Shane.” he says softly, as if he could possibly spook the Omega more than he already has. “Hollander.”
The continued silence tightens like a noose around Ilya’s neck, his breaths coming shorter and shorter.
“Please, Shane.” he croaks out. “Say something.”
When another full minute passes without Shane even moving, Ilya whines; high and distressed.
This had seemed like such a good idea earlier, stealing Shane away so that he could play the stupid League’s stupid games and maybe buy Shane a couple days away. Days Ilya could spend spoiling him while they ransomed the League into just leaving Shane the fuck alone, but now he’s gone and ruined it, ruined Shane-
A hand tangles into his curls, tugs him closer.
Choking back a sob, Ilya goes readily.
Shane presses Ilya into his thigh, and Ilya flings his arms around Shane’s waist, ignoring the sharp whack it earns him from the dashboard when he doesn’t quite fit into the cramped space of the car's front seat.
“What- what did you do?” Shane asks, his voice slow and confused. “Where…are we?”
“I am helping?” Ilya offers, so fucking relieved that Shane is talking to him.
“Did you- you used your Alpha Voice on me.” Shane frowns, tugging at Ilya’s curls and forcing the Alpha to look up at him. It’s not a hardship; Shane looks gorgeous from every angle, and the confused wrinkle to his nose draws the eye to his beautiful freckles.
“Sorry.” Ilya says, meaning it. He shrinks beneath Shane’s gaze, making himself as small as possible and tilting his head to the side; baring his neck in submission to the upset Omega.
It works; with a grunt of discomfort, Shane brings his hand down, laying it protectively over Ilya’s exposed throat.
“Can we go inside?” Shane mutters, eyes scrunching closed. His hand slides to the back of Ilya’s neck, the scent gland on the inside of his wrist dragging across Ilya’s throat; marking him. If Ilya weren’t already kneeling on the hard concrete of the garage floor he would have collapsed in shock at the easy forgiveness Shane is offering.
“Da, yes.” Ilya babbles, wobbling to his feet and offering a hand up to Shane.
Shane nods, eyes still not entirely in focus.
“Don’t-” Shane leans into Ilya’s arms when he stands, mutters the next few words directly into the skin of Ilya’s neck. “Don’t do that again.”
A shadow of the fear that’s been tailing him since he used his Voice and it worked flashes through Ilya’s heart.
“No, never again.” he swears.
💰
It’s weird being in a house that smells like the industrial cleaners they used in hotels to clear out scents between guests. A house should smell like the people that live there, but there’s no one here; everything looks ‘homey’, but it’s so obviously staged that Shane feels off kilter just from walking in the door. He kicks off his shoes with the same muscle memory he’d closed the car door with, before trailing after Ilya.
“Sit, pozhaluysta, I will get water.” Ilya fusses, nudging Shane towards the living room.
Please, Shane’s brain offers up; it’s one of the handful of words Ilya has been teaching him.
“What is this place?” he asks, collapsing onto the couch and sinking into the cushions. His body still feels weirdly disconnected from his brain.
Alpha’s that used their Voice on other players were automatically ejected from the ice and put on probation for the next three games, minimum. It really only worked against the Beta and Omega players anyway, but the protections had been written into the League's rules from day one.
Shane had never even heard of Ilya using his Voice, let alone ever expected to be on the receiving end of it.
“Air bee and bee.” Ilya replies, handing Shane a bottle of water before kneeling at his feet.
“What are you doing down there?” Shane asked, frowning at Ilya’s weird subservience.
Ilya shifted, guilt and fear still strong in his scent.
Shane hated it.
Ilya had such a nice scent most of the time; the first time he’d caught a whiff of it, without any scent blockers or clothes between them, he’d nearly mauled Ilya in the communal showers. His scent was almost perfect, strong without being overpowering, enticing without being overwhelming; it was missing something, sure, but in a way that felt incomplete, not lacking.
The first time they’d mixed their scents, rolling around on cheap hotel sheets, Shane found what was missing.
It had felt like pulling teeth, dragging himself out of the hotel room the next morning at check out. He’d wanted to stay in the bed where their scents were so perfectly mingled forever; or at least, until Ilya’s had faded into obscurity.
Even hours after he’d left, Ilya’s scent had cradled Shane close, comforting and warm and perfect.
“You are upset.” Ilya says slowly, like he’s not sure he plucked the right word from his list of English options. “I need to make better.”
“And you’ll do that from down there?” Shane huffs, sipping at the bottle of water tentatively; it’s room temperature, but the second it hits his tongue, he’s suddenly parched and chugs half of it.
“I don’t know.” Ilya admits. “Feels right? Better, I think.”
Shane turns that over in his mind as he recaps the water and sets it aside.
“Like you need to make it up to me?” he asks, because Ilya’s scent is still off.
He thinks he knows how to fix that, but he needs to know what the fuck Ilya is doing first.
“Why are we here?” he asks, because it doesn’t look like Ilya knows how to answer his last question anyway.
“I am ransoming you.” Ilya admits. “I take you, we tell League to leave you be, I let you go.”
That’s-
“Ilya, that’s insane.”
Every other iteration of Ilya that Shane has had the, sometimes dubious, pleasure of knowing would have rolled their eyes, or sassed Shane back.
This Ilya, huddled on the floor and resting his chin on Shane’s knee, eyes wide as he stares up Shane, flinches like Shane’s struck him.
“I mean- it’s just-” Shane flounders. He doesn’t know what to do here, this isn’t what they do. “Will you get up here? Please?”
The ‘please’ has barely left his mouth before Ilya is moving, laying himself out on the couch beside Shane so that the Omega still holds the higher ground, but turning inwards and curling towards Shane’s body before tentatively laying his head down on his lap.
Shane buries his fingers in Ilya’s hair again, the curls wild from the car ride in the open air.
“How’re you going to ransom me? What did you even demand as payment?” Shane asks, petting at Ilya’s curls and fretting at how the Alpha seems to be trembling under his touch.
“Have not, yet.” Ilya murmurs. “Was not sure you would let me.”
Shane wants to point out that by using his Alpha Voice, Ilya took away Shane’s ability to say no at all, but given that the Alpha is currently falling to pieces in his lap over that one mistake, he refrains.
“I shouldn’t have told you about ransoming.” he snorts instead.
He probably shouldn’t have bitched so much about the potential mates that the League was throwing at him, but he didn’t have anyone else to talk to about it. Hayden wanted him to give the guys a chance, his other teammates just wanted to get through playoffs and take their stab at the Cup, and his parents…
It wasn’t so bad with his Dad. As a Beta, he wanted Shane to find someone he loved.
His mother though; Shane wasn’t sure if it was because she was his Mom, or because she was an Alpha. Whichever it was, he was fine tuned to scent her disapproval, or disappointment, and every time he’d brought up how much he hated having people being thrown his way, her scent had soured.
They both insisted that they just wanted him to be happy.
But Shane was happiest playing hockey.
“You really didn’t have a plan, beyond ‘kidnap Shane and hide him at my secret rental house’?” Shane asks dryly, tugging playfully at Ilya’s curls.
“Well.” Ilya sniffed. “Was not my only plan.”
Rolling his shoulders to bring him in closer to Shane’s body, Ilya deliberately runs his nose up the seam of Shane’s pants, locking eyes with him; with a deep, deliberate inhale when he reaches Shane’s groin, Ilya’s pupils blow wide with lust.
Ilya’s scent is still borderline strange, but the arousal curling through it is as familiar to Shane as the back of his own hand.
Suddenly, planning seems like something that can definitely wait for a little while longer. Shane needs to fix Ilya’s scent, and he knows two surefire ways to do that.
Brushing against the scent gland on Ilya’s neck with the matching one on his wrist eases Shane’s nerves and checks one of the two boxes.
“Does this place have bedrooms?”
💰
Shane’s scent leveling out after he had some water and sat for a bit had helped to settle the fragile feeling in Ilya’s chest. He still felt shaky, and like even the slightest hint that Shane was upset with him would send him spiraling, but he was marginally better than before.
He hadn’t used his Alpha Voice in years; reasoned that it would make the ransoming look more real to the League if he used it to force Shane to come along. But to use it on Shane of all people; Shane, who did what Ilya told him every time anyway, and only rarely made a real fuss about it-
He did not deserve that.
Ilya does not deserve Shane.
Ilya hasn’t been in this house before, has no idea what the floor plan is. But Shane seems happy to explore, and the low level curiosity mixing with the arousal blooming in his scent is like catnip to Ilya’s nose. He follows Shane upstairs, watches him poke his head into each of the bedrooms before deciding on one he likes best.
What Ilya likes best, is Shane tugging at his hand as he leads the way around; though Ilya would follow him like a lost puppy even if he didn’t.
The fragile feeling in his chest might shatter completely if he lets Shane out of his sight for even a second right now.
Shane tugs him inside of the bedroom, and even though they’re the only ones in the house right now, Shane still presses the door closed behind them.
“Are you okay?” Shane asks, tugging Ilya in close and putting his palms on Ilya’s cheeks.
What an impossible man.
“I should ask you.” Ilya swallows past the strain in his throat that hasn’t managed to loosen up just yet. “You were kidnapped.”
Shane rolls his eyes, but the small smile that follows heals some of the fissures inside Ilya’s chest.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure the cops will be after you after that little stunt. That’s why you waited for the Uber, isn’t it?” Shane shakes his head. “Dashing camera. Jesus, Ilya.”
His first name, the name his mother gave him, rolling out of Shane’s beautiful mouth…
Ilya will never tire of it.
“Is good plan.” he mutters. “Could be better. But still good.”
“I still think you’re insane.” Shane informs him, brushing his thumbs along Ilya’s cheeks.
He can’t stop himself; Ilya turns and presses a kiss to Shane’s palm, the inside of his wrist, suckles softly at the skin over Shane’s scent gland. Not enough to mark, but enough to taste.
“But are you? Okay?” Shane presses when he’s recovered from the sharp gasp that Ilya’s touch had drawn from him.
Ilya’s head nods, but it’s wobbly, and he can’t meet Shane’s eyes.
“Better, yes. I think so. Probably.”
“What would make it even better?” Shane asks, running his hands down Ilya’s body; just the barest ghost of touch against his neck, over his chest, palms coming to rest on the toned muscles of his stomach. Scenting him, marking Ilya with his beautiful scent and making him shudder with relief.
“You.” Ilya admits easily.
“What do you need from me?” Shane presses. “Be specific.”
It’s not like Shane to take control of a situation like this in the bedroom; but it’s not like Ilya to need him to, either.
Right now, Ilya cannot stomach even the thought of telling Shane what to do.
“Can I touch you?” Ilya pleads, voice cracking on touch. “Please?”
He needs to make things up to Shane, to lay himself bare before the Omega and use his body to beg forgiveness for forcing Shane to do something, anything he didn’t want to do.
The fragility in his chest wobbles; the cracks splintering further as his mind replays the way Shane had gone limp, eyes dull as he bent to the will of Ilya’s Voice.
“Shh.” Shane’s frowning again, Ilya can barely see it through the tears welling in his eyes, but he knows it’s there. “Yes, of course you can touch me. Jesus Ilya, you’re scaring me.”
Ilya’s knees threaten to give out with relief, so he lets them fold anyway, dropping to the rough carpet and pressing his face to Shane’s belly. The give of his toned torso welcomes Ilya in, and he presses apologetic kisses through the team hoodie that Shane’s still wearing.
💰
The disconnected feeling is still lingering enough at the edge of his senses that it’s throwing Shane off. Ilya’s strange mood isn’t helping, but there’s an instinctive need to fix, to help Ilya, that Shane thinks will be good for both of them.
Peeling off his Metro’s hoodie, Shane pulls it back towards his chest, dropping the hood down before carefully crossing the sleeves; he lets that fold forward over his forearm, before neatly setting the sweater onto the bed. He isn’t wearing a shirt beneath, because his original plan had been to go straight home, and he’d been too warm from the shower anyway.
Ilya snuffles at his belly, nosing up and down in a line between Shane’s belly button and the waistline of his pants; he sometimes wishes he were one of those Omegas that could grow a happy trail. But he’s seen Ilya wince in the shower when cleaning half dried cum out of his, and maybe he actually wouldn’t like it all that much.
The Alpha at his feet has never expressed anything other than delight with every inch of Shane’s body. Sometimes twice in one night.
With Ilya’s head in the way, and the Alpha’s arms slung around his hips, Shane can’t reach his pants to get them off. Looking back over his shoulder at the bed, Shane tugs at Ilya’s curls until he follows along on his knees, luring the Alpha along with him until he can sit on the edge of it.
The second that Shane is sitting, Ilya’s face is buried back in his lap, breathing deep and taking in his scent. The arousal that had tailed him up the stairs and into the bedroom had faded into the background with the strangeness they were both feeling, and Shane wasn’t the only to notice.
“You do not want me.” Ilya mumbles into the dark fabric of Shane’s pants. He sounds wretched.
“Of course I want you.” Shane huffs, tugging at one of Ilya’s curls in admonishment. “This is just- Things are weird right now.”
“I want to fix.”
“Me too.”
“I don’t know how.”
Ilya sounds so heartbroken about it, and Shane’s seen some of his darker moods, but this is entirely new and it’s making his instincts crawl and writhe under his skin.
“Come up here, with me.” Shane pleads, desperate for some way to clear the sour scent of their combined misery out of the air.
Ilya moves slowly, like Shane’s going to take away his permission to even be in the bed together. The second he’s on his feet, Shane hooks his legs around the Alpha and flips, powerful thighs rolling Ilya along with him.
This, at least, is familiar. Ilya on his back, staring up at Shane, with the Omega kneeling over his hips. Shane dips his fingers under the hem of Ilya’s own hoodie, skimming his hands along the Alpha’s skin and dragging the sweater up as he goes. He’s deliberately marking Ilya up with his scent; the sooner they mix, the better the both of them will feel.
Shane’s lost track of the number of shirts in his wardrobe that were originally Ilya’s; knows for a fact that the Alpha has his own pilfered collection. Given the soft lining of this particular sweater Ilya’s wearing, Shane is almost certain it’s one of his; that, or the Alpha bought it specifically because he knew Shane didn’t like the itchy stuff, and wanted it to appeal to the Omega’s particular tastes.
Either option appealed to Shane, making him smile down at the tousle haired Alpha he’d pinned.
Ilya’s own hands were tentative as they echoed Shane’s movements; he danced his fingers along the stretch of Shane’s bare arms, watching him intently. When Shane didn’t protest at all, he watched some of the strain ease from the Alpha’s shoulders; Ilya deliberately dragged his own wrists downwards, marking Shane’s skin and causing the Omega to roll his hips in approval.
Neatly folding Ilya’s sweater under the Alpha’s dazed look, Shane sets it next to his own on the bed before returning his hands to Ilya’s chest, running them along the firm muscles and coursing his fingers through the scratch of hair that he loved to bury his face in. Leaning down over the Alpha, he looks to make sure Ilya is watching him before rubbing his cheek against the Alpha’s skin.
Ilya’s lips part, his breaths shallow as he scents the air, eyelids half closed in pleasure. His scent is improving, relaxing into Shane’s easy touches.
It’s not perfect yet, but it’s getting there.
💰
There is something intoxicating about being the sole focus of Shane Hollander’s attention.
Crouched low over Ilya’s body and aggressively scent marking him, Ilya doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more beautiful sight. When he glides his hands back up Shane’s arms , wrists rolling against Shane’s neck before splaying his fingers wide on the Omega’s back, he’s shocked to hear the beginning rumbles of a purr kick up in Shane’s chest.
Pride swells in his chest, knocking aside the fractured feeling aside.
No one else does this to Shane; he’s never once caught another Alpha’s intent marking his skin, and if he has his way, he never will.
“So pretty.” he murmurs aloud, grasping at Shane’s face and tugging him upwards. Shane comes easily, his scent flooding with relief and happiness at Ilya’s silent command.
“Better?” Shane asks, lips ghosting along Ilya’s own, just teasingly out of reach.
“Almost.” Ilya rumbles, tilting his chin up and stealing a kiss, gripping the soft skin of Shane’s face and tilting him just so.
The Omega hums happily into his mouth, lips parting and letting Ilya in when he dances his tongue along the seam of them. He touches against the points of Shane’s canines, pressing into their sharp points until it hurts, but doesn’t quite bleed. Shane’s media trained smiled keeps the vicious little things tucked away most of the time, but Ilya revels in drawing out big smiles from his Shane, showing off the points of his teeth.
Distracting Shane with his mouth, Ilya’s hands sneak down, gliding along Shane’s waist; he can just barely grip the muscular swell of the Omega’s ass from this angle, and he uses his grip to start a steady rocking motion in Shane’s hips. The friction is nice, gets nicer when Shane catches on and starts rocking against him with purpose.
“Want you to use me.” he says against Shane’s lips. “Want to make you feel good.”
Shane presses his teeth into Ilya’s lower lip, holding it captive for the span of a couple heartbeats. “You always make me feel good.”
The mingling of their scents always lowers Ilya’s inhibitions; he feels half drunk on the smell of happy Omega, this happy Omega.
“Not good enough. Want to be so good you keep me. Never let go.”
There’s an admission in there that he wishes he could convince Shane was more than pillow talk, because it’s a painful realization to carry on his own, what with how true it is.
He’s expecting some kind of pull back, an admonition that that’s not what this is, was never what this thing between them was supposed to turn into.
But if anything, Shane’s purr grows louder, the sound deepening as he presses kisses down Ilya’s jaw, biting gently at the jut of his jaw.
“You could, you know.” Shane breathes, tiny little kitten licks tickling at the scent gland on Ilya’s throat. “I would let-”
From the foot of the bed, Ilya’s hoodie starts screeching music, an American pop song that Cliff hated more than anything. Growling in annoyance, Ilya rolls his body upwards, refusing to let go of Shane for even a moment, and slaps at his sweater until his phone falls out onto the bed.
“...She got a booty like a Cadillac, but I can send you into overdrive-”
The music cuts out as Ilya accepts the call, putting it on speakerphone for Shane’s sake.
“The fuck do you want?”
“Are you fuckin’ serious right now Roz? Did you fuckin’ kidnap Hollander and think no one would give a shit?” Cliff bellows back at him.
Sitting now on the bed, with Shane in his lap, Ilya’s having a hard time regretting his life choices.
“Kind of surprised he’s the first one to call.” Shane admits, the words whispered against the skin of Ilya’s neck, where he’s currently buried his face.
“Phone is do-not-disturb. Cliff gets pass.”
“Is that him? Holy shit Roz. You crazy son of a bitch. What the fuck are you doing?”
“Ransom.” Ilya says firmly, because he’s got Shane Hollander in his arms and that makes him feel more than a little invincible.
“You gotta make demands with a ransom, jackass. You can’t just kidnap an Omega and expect- wait-”
Something terrible is happening on the other end of the line, Ilya knows this. Anytime Cliff Marleau has an epiphany, an angel loses their wings. Or their patience. Something like that.
A door slams shut, and the sounds of traffic come through the phone's shitty speaker.
“Your Montreal girl, that Omega you’ve been chasing for years. Jane.”
“Marly.” Ilya growls, because Shane is tensing up in his arms and his scent is starting to smell like burnt wires and fear.
“No. Fuck you, I’m thinking.” Cliff barks back. “The fucked up thing here is, Roz, this stupid ransom idea might be your best bet at lockin’ that shit down.”
Ilya slides a hand up Shane’s back, palming the back of his neck and roughing their cheeks together; he’s gratified when the combination forces some of the tension from Shane’s body.
“How?” he demands.
💰
Cliff Marleau, for all his noise and posturing, was actually… kind of a good friend. To Ilya.
Shane knew the two were close, that Cliff was for Ilya what Hayden was to Shane, but it’s one thing to know people are friends, and another to hear it play out in real time.
“You two are in a shit place. Enemy teams, real Romeo and Juliet shit.” Marleau says. From the way the traffic sounds keep shifting, it sounds like he’s pacing back and forth outside.
“Oh, you notice this?” Ilya snarks, and Shane pinches him for it.
Ilya turns his head to retaliate, presses the barest amount of pressure with his teeth to Shane’s jaw and making the Omega’s breath catch.
“I know you didn’t name your price to the League yet, that shit would’ve been all over the news.” Marleau continues. “So what’s the plan? How you gonna fix this fuck up?”
“Is not fuck up.” Ilya insists; Shane’s just impressed that Cliff is willing to talk like this to his Captain. None of the Metro’s would talk to Shane like this, even as an Omega.
Granted… Hayden and JJ were really the only Metro’s that did talk to him, outside of strictly work or hockey related things.
“We tell League to stop throwing Alphas at Shane, he keeps playing hockey.” Ilya replies, shrugging like it’s that simple.
“If this is your idea of Alpha posturing bullshit, you’re barking up the wrong fuckin’ tree Roz.” Cliff laughs. “There’s no fuckin’ way they’d let Hollander get stuck on an Alpha’s knot when-”
Ilya’s snarl of disapproval is loud in Shane’s ear, and he can’t help but bare his neck instinctively at the sound. Ilya quickly palms the column of his throat, hiding the exposed skin and pressing a kiss to the top of Shane’s head in apology.
But what was Cliff talking about?
“What-” Shane begins, but Cliff’s apparently recovered his voice, if he even lost it at all.
“You know they’re only throwing Betas on Hollander’s ice. No fuckin’ way the Metros would risk losing their star player to paternity leave.”
Shane freezes; he hadn’t made the connection between the players all being Betas. And the Alphas on his team had been more standoffish than usual lately, other than Hayden. The unmated Alphas on his team wouldn’t even sit on the same end of the bench as him anymore, and he’d never-
“I don’t care if Hollander picks Beta or Alpha for mate.” Ilya snaps, biting out the words. His body betrays the lie, though he probably doesn’t realize he’s swiped the scent gland on his wrist down Shane’s back again, possessively coating the Omega in his scent. “He picks. Not League.”
“That’s real fuckin’ progressive of you Roz, and also total bullshit. I’ve seen the way you drool on your phone when Montreal hits you up.” Cliff snorts. “And Hollander doesn’t get to play through the next season if he doesn’t get locked down. So what’s the fuckin’ problem?”
“Problem?” Ilya scowls. “League is fucking-”
“Your time’s almost up too.” Shane realizes, feeling a sick swoop in his stomach at the thought.
“What? No, I got another year before I have to deal with that bullshit.”
“He is talking about me, dip shit.” Ilya drawls.
Shane was only a month older than Ilya. They wouldn’t let him play next season either; not if he couldn’t finish it out, not without a mate.
The idea of the League throwing eligible Betas and Omegas at Ilya made Shane’s teeth itch and his lips curl into a snarl of their own.
There was no doubt in his mind that the League would want Ilya paired off with a mate, preferably one that could give him an endless line of star playing hockey babies-
“Kotik, you are growling.” Ilya sounds unbearably fond as he pulls Shane away from his neck and forces him to make eye contact.
“M’not a cat.” Shane grumps, annoyed that Ilya’s joking at a time like this.
“Not cat, no. Baby cat.” Ilya clarifies.
“Kitten.” Cliff supplies helpfully, probably more out of habit of feeding Ilya English vocabulary than out of any desire to humiliate Shane further.
Probably.
“All I’m tryna say is this man. You’ve got the League by the short and curlies. You’ve got their star Omega. He’s been puttin’ up with your insane level of bullshit for years. So dog and pony that bitch and get back on the fuckin’ ice.”
“The fuck is dog and po-”
“Thanks Marleau. We’ll talk about it.” Shane says, heartbeat kicking into overdrive as Marleau’s words sink in.
“Good fuckin’ luck man, you’re gonna need it.”
Ilya looks touched.
“Thank you Cliff. Is good you called.”
“Fuck you Roz, I was talkin’ to Hollander.”
Marleau’s ‘fuck you’ sounds like something much softer, but the call ends abruptly anyway.
Ilya mumbles something in Russian that Shane thinks might’ve involved sex with goats, but he thinks, hopes he’s just got his words mixed up.
“Oh shit.” Shane jolts upright, realizing he’s just sort of melted into Ilya’s lap for the entire call. “I need to call my Mom.”
“No-” Ilya shakes his head, and Shane glares at him. “First, the fuck is dog and pony? Sex thing?”
Shane laughs.
💰
“No, it’s definitely not a sex thing.” Shane assures him, his nose wrinkling in distaste.
Cliff’s call has spoiled the mood from before, but the half naked Omega in his lap is a good consolation prize. There’s also a furrow on Shane’s brow, like he gets when there’s a power play on and his brain is working overtime to strategize.
“Dog and pony, it’s… Tell them one thing, but give them something different.” Shane explains, clearly distracted. He’s working out said distraction by toying with the curls of hair at the back of Ilya’s neck though, so the Alpha doesn’t take it personally that he doesn’t have Shane’s full attention at the moment.
“Marleau has a point though.” Shane finally says, tugging twice at Ilya’s curls to get him to open his eyes; they’d fallen shut, Ilya just basking in the moment. Shane’s scent was all around him, and it was hard to worry about the problems outside of this room; not when Ilya’s whole world was currently sitting in his lap.
“No, listen. I need to find a mate before next season, and so do you.” Shane explains, and he’s using his ‘shut up, I’m the Captain of the Montreal fucking Metros, so you’d better listen to me’ voice. The twitch of interest from Ilya’s cock is hard to miss with the way that Shane is sitting on him, and his lustful lapse in attention earns him another pinch from the serious faced Omega.
“The obvious answer is that we mate with each other.” Shane concludes. “But-”
Shane is clearly having very big thoughts about this, but Ilya can’t hear them past the rushing in his ears. Shane. Mated.
To Ilya.
It hurts, shredding his soul from his body kind of hurts, but Ilya interrupts, “We can’t. League would never allow.”
“Fuck the League.” Shane growls, sharp Omega canines on full display, lips curled back in a snarl at Ilya.
“No, now you listen.” Ilya tilts his head back, exposing his throat to Shane to show that he doesn’t want to fight. “League wants lighting bottle, they cannot have that if we are on different teams.”
“What?” Shane sputters, confused. “What lighti- you mean, lightning in a bottle?”
“Why can’t English say what it fucking means?” Ilya bitches, because seriously? “You are star player. I am star player. Together, we make opponents see many stars when we take them out on ice. But we do not do this together. You are Metro. I am Raider.”
Ilya’s hands have settled on Shane’s waist, and he uses this handhold to shift them further up the bed together; Shane is an Omega, but he’s six feet and two hundred some odd pounds of Omega, and Ilya’s legs are going numb.
He resettles them, pulling Shane into his side so the Omega’s head rests on his shoulder, Ilya’s arm looped over him to pull him in close.
“Would you-”
Gone is the Metro’s Captain, the spitting Omega from the minute before. This is Shane feeling vulnerable, and Ilya’s instincts snap to attention.
“Would you want to change that?” Shane asks, uncertain. “We could make that our demand. We get transferred to play on the same team. Would you even want to be a Metro?”
Ilya considers this. Canadian alcohol might be better, but Boston was fun. He likes his team, he has friends in Boston.
He would give it up in a heartbeat for Shane.
But.
“I could do it. But, answer me on this, kotik.” Ilya braces himself, but he’s never shied away from a fight when the stakes were this high. “Do you like being Metro?”
It’s a low blow. Shane is on a winning team, sure. But his teammates are not his friends. He has Hayden, and maybe that JJ guy. But Ilya doesn’t hear nice things about the Metros from Shane beyond game stats, and he’s seen almost every single one of Shane’s games.
When Shane is being targeted on the ice, the defense are slackers. His team are slackers. They do not watch Shane’s back; Ilya has screamed obscenities at the Metros from the comfort of his own couch many, many times because they let Shane down like this.
When Shane is so good for them.
Montreal isn’t the only team with an Omega; they’re fast as fuck, and there’s a strategic value to them in that Alphas are naturally inclined to be less confrontational towards them on the ice, and that lends itself well to minimizing interference when an Omega has the puck.
It doesn’t stop every Alpha, every time. But enough to be an advantage.
Boston has Omegas too, and Ilya would tear his team to the quick if his players left anyone on their team, regardless of secondary gender, out of the fold like the Metros do to Shane.
“This isn’t just you trying to get me in your jersey again, is it?” Shane jokes, but it falls flat. He’s got his thinking face on, and judging by the way his scent has gone soft and hurt at the edges, he’s thinking along the same lines as Ilya.
“You would look good in black and gold.” Ilya says seriously, before adding, “Look good out of it, too.”
This earns him an elbow in the side, but the faintest hint of a genuine smile from Shane, so. Worth it.
“Can I borrow your phone? I need to call my Mom, and I don’t know where mine ended up.” Shane sounds more resigned than upset about this, and Ilya hastily hands his phone over before the Omega can think too hard on that detail.
💰
“Mom?” Shane says as soon as their landline picks up. It’s kind of embarrassing, some days, that his parents still have one. But it’s the only phone number he’s ever memorized, and his Dad refuses to get rid of it; two facts that are probably, actually directly connected.
“Oh my god, Shane, are you alright? David!” Yuna turns away from the receiver to call his Dad over, but she’s still loud.
“I’m fine.” Shane assures her, batting away Ilya when he leans down and nods in Shane’s face, giving him a thumbs up and a grin.
“Where are you? You’re not hurt? The League called-”
“Wait, why is the League calling you?” Shane asks, confused. She’s his manager, but it’s not like being ransomed has anything to do with his contract, or marketing deals.
“Because you aren’t answering your phone, and they wanted to know if any demands had been sent to us, given your fathers job.” Yuna says, obviously exasperated.
“Oh.” Shane nods, because that makes sense. At Ilya’s confused look, because Shane’s got her on speakerphone too, Shane clarifies, “My dad works for the treasury board.”
“Ah.” Ilya nods wisely, as if he has any idea what that means. “Sounds boring.”
Shane bites back a grin as he shoves Ilya.
“Is that him?” Yuna barks. “Rozanov, you piece of shit, when I get-”
“Mom!” Shane yelps, cheeks feeling like they’re on fire. “Stop!”
The silence on the other end of the line is so absolute, Shane’s pretty sure he can hear the ticking clock that lives on the wall about the landline phone.
“Shane.” Yuna’s voice is unbearably gentle. “Did he- are you-”
“I did not bite your son.” Ilya butts in. “I have not claimed him.”
A shiver of something works its way up Shane’s spine at the implied ‘yet’ to Ilya’s words.
Yuna’s sigh of relief is both terribly audible and kind of hurtful.
Ilya reacts to Shane’s discomfort by squeezing him closer and pressing a kiss to his temple.
“I need some advice.” Shane admits. “Do you have a minute to talk?”
“Shane-” Yuna huffs into the receiver, disbelieving. “Yes, yes, I can talk. I’ve been sitting by the phone since we got the call.”
“What is the League saying?” Shane asks. He’s almost scared to find out, but they need to know what they’re dealing with here.
“They want you back, obviously. They don’t know why Rozanov hasn’t made any demands yet-”
And it’s ridiculous and so, so like his Mom to be disappointed in someone for being inefficient at kidnapping her son.
“I am thinking about it!” Ilya protests. “Has been only two hours!”
“-but there’s some question about how they’ll get you back.” Yuna continues. “They know Rozanov didn’t do it for the money, but they have no idea what he wants. They’re also feeling the pressure because you’re supposed to be training for playoffs, and on top of that, they’re having to field concerns that you’re not taking a liking to any of the available players and may not be eligible to play at all next year.”
The Alpha next to him tenses at the insinuation that there’s something wrong with Shane because he doesn’t want to let some slobbering Beta to mark him up.
Which is another thing he’ll have to deal with, when this is over. The Metros didn’t want him mated to an Alpha because, what? They thought he’d just drop his career to be some knotheads broodmare?
It’s not that he doesn’t like kids. Or want them. Anyone who’s seen Ilya with children would be salivating to turn him into a father.
But hockey, hockey comes first and foremost.
And Ilya might be the only eligible Alpha on the planet that understands that.
“Do you think they’ll renew my contract?” he asks bluntly. He doesn’t need to beat around the bush with his mother; she doesn’t appreciate it much anyway.
“They would be fools not to.” Yuna scoffs.
“Do you think-” Shane hesitates, but he has to know. And if anyone has been keeping their pulse on the League’s rosters any closer than he has, it’s Yuna Hollander.
“Do you think there’s a chance I could sign with any other teams?” he forces out. Beside him, tucked as close together as they are, he can feel Ilya’s breath lock in his chest, the Alpha frozen in place.
“What ‘other’ team?” Yuna asks, suspicious. “I think anyone in the League would be happy to have you Shane, but you would have to get past the mating thing-”
Past the mating thing. Like binding himself to someone for life was just another work out plan he had to muscle through. Mating bites were permanent. And yes, sometimes Betas made it into their thirties without a mark, but most Alphas and Omegas were mated by their mid twenties, if not sooner.
That wasn’t always a good thing; heats and ruts took away a lot of choice from their respective populations, with lasting consequences.
Turning his head to catch a glimpse of Ilya’s face in his peripheral vision, Shane thinks he’s actually pretty lucky to have found the Alpha as early as he did. Even if they weren’t mates.
Yet.
“Boston.” he says firmly, and Ilya finally takes another breath.
💰
Shane seems somehow more unsettled after the call with his mother than he did before.
It makes Ilya want to gnash his teeth; to stalk through the house and make sure all of the doors and windows are locked in this unfamiliar space. He settles for turning to Shane and draping himself over the Omega, pinning him with his weight and resting his chin on Shane’s sternum.
“Now we have ransom demands.” he offers.
Shane’s hands come up and rest on either side of Ilya’s neck, thumbs pressing into the tight muscle and making Ilya melt even further.
“We do.”
“Want me to send them?” Ilya asks. He might’ve kidnapped Shane, might be the one that started this; but ultimately he did this for Shane, and taking away his autonomy is the last thing Ilya wants to do.
The stress that lingered in Shane’s scent since he got off the call with his mother is laced through with a hurt that feels old. Like it's hurt for so long that it’s dulled, but will never go away.
“I wish-”
Ilya drags his head up to meet Shane’s eyes, even though it feels like the Omega has melted his bones away with his magic fingers.
“The fucked up thing is, I can see it?” Shane says, his voice getting tight. “I can see finishing out the season with Montreal, and then just-”
A shuddering sigh whooshes out of his favorite Omega, and it makes Ilya’s heart ache.
“I’m just thinking of the logistics. Getting my stuff down to Boston. How much cabinet space do you have, or will we need to buy a place that’s got a bigger kitchen?”
“I feed whole team of hockey players on weekly basis.” Ilya can’t help but point out. “Kitchen is fucking huge.”
“But that’s not the problem Ilya.” Shane huffs, and there’s a certain broken quality to it that has Ilya pressing kisses to his chest, up his neck, peppering them across his beautiful freckles.
“What is problem, kotik?” Ilya hums. “We face together.”
“That’s the problem.” Shane says, soft and defeated. “I’m not thinking about how much I’ll miss my team, or if taking our relationship to the next level is the right call right now.”
Ilya’s heart sinks into his stomach.
He’d known, he’d wanted the insane idea of an easy fix, Shane being his mate. But that wasn’t the careful, meticulous way that Shane Hollander did things.
“Quit it.” Shane grouches, tilting his head and biting at Ilya’s chin. “The problem is that those things, they aren’t problems I’m thinking about. And that’s the problem.”
“Hollander.” Ilya reels back, leveling Shane with a confused look. “What the fuck is this sentence?”
Shane’s shoulders slump.
“I mean-” he says slowly. “It should be a problem. That I’m not worried about leaving people behind. It should be a problem, taking you as my mate. You make me so happy, and I hate when we have to be apart, but we’ve never talked about forever. And now we are. And I’m not worried about it at all, and that’s-”
“Feels right to do, wrong because you think it should be harder than this?” Ilya offers.
“Yes.” the word explodes out of Shane on a puff of air. “That.”
“Hollander. Shane.” Ilya croons, dipping in and brushing his nose against the Omega’s own; biting back a laugh when Shane tries to look and makes himself crosseyed for a moment. “You are so stupid.”
“Ilya!”
Shane’s outrage tastes delicious on Ilya’s lips, and his tongue too, when he licks into the Omega’s mouth to chase the stupid away.
💰
“...In a twist on a tradition that’s older than hockey itself, the League is still scratching their heads over just how this could have happened-”
“I think it’s pretty obvious to anyone who’s watched them at the All Stars games that whatever ‘heated rivalry’ was going on between Hollander and Rozanov had a lot more to do with ‘heat’ than ‘rivalry’-”
“Not sure that’s something that the ratings crew would agree with you on there, but it’s certainly impossible to deny that Boston is in for a real treat. Two lightning dynamo’s on one team, easily the top two players of their generation, and mated to boot?”
“I think we’ll be seeing a lot of good things come out of this powerplay, Rozanov clearly knew exactly what he was doing-”