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“Congratulations,” Shane grits out, holding a hand out to Ilya Rozanov. Shane’s mom is talking with the coach and the trainer, probably still sorting out his medical paperwork, and he just wants to get out of there as soon as possible.
His wishes are dashed when the GM comes over, drink sloshing out the side of his glass.
“Fucking hit the jackpot, didn’t we?” he says to the two boys, clapping them on the shoulder. Shane’s nose fills with the scent of whiskey. Luckily, his scent blocker keeps the alpha stench from registering. Shane avoids Rozanov’s gaze, as he has all night.
No matter what he wants to think, he hasn’t gotten over the alpha’s rejection of his courting gift.
At 14, Shane had stupidly thought that the years they spent as friends meant something to the alpha. It was early, sure—most omegas waited until 16 to present their gifts, but his parents had encouraged Shane to follow his heart.
But the heart was often wrong—Shane guesses it was a good lesson to learn young.
“We’re gonna make history, boys. And the league’s first omega, too! Having a player that’s easy on the eyes definitely isn’t gonna hurt our ticket sales,” the GM slurs, directing that comment mostly at Ilya. Shane risks a glance at the other alpha’s face, which is a blank mask.
Something in his stomach twists. Was that the only reason they drafted him? As with everything, hockey was one of the last institutions to catch up. The NBA already had tons of omega and beta players, prized for their quickness and agility. Shane knew he had a double-pronged challenge, being both Japanese and omega. But he had tried not to make it a big deal.
If he continued to refuse to answer journalist’s baiting questions about his ethnicity and designation, they’d get bored eventually. He and his mom all but ensured it, practicing keeping his tone even and language straight to the point–in French and English—for the many press conferences he expected to be called to attend.
The GM’s palm lifts from his shoulder to motion someone else over to where they’re standing, and Shane uses the excuse to slip away from the group. He doesn’t even wait for his mom, pulling his phone out to text that he’s heading up to the room.
She’ll probably tell him it’s rude, but Shane’s just about at his limit. He hates the stiff collared shirt and the patch on the back of his neck—his heat is scheduled in a few days, to give him enough time to prepare for training camp, so he’s foregone his usual pills the last few days.
The patches work fine, but they have to be left on for 12 hours at a time, and the adhesive irritates his skin. But he can’t risk going without blockers, not just because he’s the only omega in a league of alphas, but because he’s scared what his scent could give away about his feelings toward Rozanov.
Shane never got over the rejection partially because he never got over Rozanov. Other alphas still held no appeal to him, and the few betas he’d hooked up with had left rather unenthused about his performance.
The elevator takes forever, and when it does come, a stream of people rush out, forcing Shane to step aside to let them out. He has to rush to put his hand between the doors before they close.
The button for floor 14 lights up when he presses it. He goes to step back, but there’s a body there he hadn’t noticed before.
“Oh, sorry,” he rushes out, trying to get out of the way. He isn’t sure why the other person didn’t just ask him to press the button for their floor, until he turns and sees who it is.
Rozanov.
He’s just staring at Shane, and it makes him inexplicably mad.
“The fuck do you want?” he grits out, turning to face the closing mirrored doors. At least this way he doesn’t have to look directly at the alpha.
“Are you okay?” His voice is the same, husky and slightly accented.
Shane takes a deep breath as the elevator jolts into motion. “Yeah. Fine.” They’ll have to learn how to be professional, since they’re technically coworkers now.
“Crazy night, yes?”
Shane huffs a breath out his nose. “Yeah.”
“Is what you call a coincidence?” Except he pronounces it “co-in-see-dince.”
“CoINcidence,” Shane corrects off hand. “And yeah, sure.” He doesn’t know why Rozanov is still talking to him. The man hasn’t made an effort to speak to him or reach out in over 4 years.
The elevator lands at his floor and he steps out. Rozanov follows. It’s just his luck they’re on the same floor. But as Shane turns down the hall to his room, so too does Rozanov. He stops.
“Are you following me?” He draws his shoulders back, trying to keep his breathing in check. That they’re alone, that his mom probably still doesn’t know where he is, and that there’s an alpha following him to his room is suddenly very real in Shane’s mind.
Rozanov steps forward, and Shane steps back.
“What are you doing, Rozanov?” he asks more firmly.
The alpha looks at him. “I need to talk to you,” he says evenly.
“Talk to me tomorrow. Or better yet, talk to my agent and she’ll tell me.”
“I do not want to tell this to your agent.”
“Rozanov—” Shane stops. He hates the way his voice falters on the alpha’s name, a bit of his panic slipping through.
Rozanov’s brow furrows. “Hollander, is okay.”
Shane’s eyes dart around the empty hallway. “Yeah, well, is there a reason you’ve cornered me outside my hotel room?”
“No, no. Is not like that.” Rozanov looks around too. “But this is not the kind of conversation to have in the open.”
Shane finally meets the other man’s eyes, and the look there is intense, but not aggressive. He can feel himself giving in, against his better judgment, but if Rozanov suddenly wants to talk to him after years of silence, Shane isn’t sure he can resist the urge to hear what he has to say.
He slips his room card out silently, and opens the door for the alpha to go in before him.
Rozanov goes straight to sit on the end of the bed, loosening his tie. He seems smaller here, less imposing. Shane slips off his shoes and jacket, and goes to lean against the desk.
Shane doesn’t say anything, and Rozanov stares silently at the ground for a long time. He wants to snap at him to hurry up, that he doesn’t have all night. But it’s like the longer the other man is in the room, the more his shoulders slump. Rozanov is all but folding in on himself, and Shane doesn’t know why, but he does know he wants it to stop.
“I—” Rozanov starts, then falters. His voice is low and broken, even on that one syllable. Shane has an all but irresistible urge to go to him, but he doesn’t. They aren’t like that anymore, not friends, not teammates, not—not mates.
Rozanov takes a big inhale and tries again. “I wanted to accept your courting gift.” He looks up at Shane, and the man is wrecked. He’s gripping the edge of the mattress as if it’s the only thing keeping him upright. The look in Rozanov’s eyes is devastating.
“Why didn’t you?” Shane whispers. He’s confused, for one. Why not then, and why tell him this now? Any other thoughts he has are an indistinguishable swirl of emotion.
“My father, he—” he pauses to swallow. “He had already chosen someone for me. A beta from Russia. I was already—”
“And you couldn’t tell me that the whole time we were friends?” Shane bursts out, but regrets it when the alpha flinches back. “Sorry, sorry. Continue, please.”
“It was mating contract. They are still legal in Russia, but not here, so I could not say anything. And then,” Rozanov takes a gulp of air, turning his eyes back down to the ground. “And then mama died—”
“Oh my god,” Shane gasps at the revelation. He only met the woman a few times, but she had always been kind to the gangly kid who followed her son around the neighborhood.
Shane hasn’t seen Rozanov in years, but he can see how hard this is for him to say. The alpha turns his head away, but keeps talking.
“It was— not good, the way she died. Very taboo in Russia. So they cancelled contract. And by then you were with Rose, and my father wanted me at private school. So.” He shrugs.
Shane lets the silence settle over the room. He needs to think, to sort through his thoughts. A bubble of hope is threatening to burst—but Rozanov could just be getting this off his chest so they can start fresh. Wipe the slate clean before they have to work together. But there’s one detail Shane needs to correct.
“Rose and I weren’t—I mean, we did. But we decided pretty quickly we were better as friends.”
“Ah, okay.”
Shane takes a step forward, then another and another, until he’s sitting next to Rozanov on the bed. An arms’ length apart.
“I’m so sorry about your mom. I didn’t even—” he falters, feeling tears gather in his eyes. “If I’d known—”
“I know, I know.” The alpha stares up at the ceiling, and Shane has the sudden urge to learn sculpture so he can carve this man’s profile in stone.
“I was mad. I didn’t handle it well, when you said no, and I thought the best thing would be to try to forget you. Pretend it hadn’t happened.”
“I really, really wanted to say yes,” Rozanov whispers.
The words feel like a gut punch. Shane doesn’t know what to say as the reality of what Rozanov revealed settles over them.
“And then I thought you moved on. And then I hear you entered the draft.” He takes a breath. “And then Montreal called me.”
Shane turns to see Rozanov staring at him. He doesn't even realize he’s leaning toward him until Rozanov’s hand comes up to cradle his jaw. His eyes are wide and clear, that almost-blue, almost-green that had been Shane’s favorite color since the moment he first met a Russian boy on a frozen pond in the back of his neighborhood.
“So maybe, one day, you will ask again? So I can say yes?”
Shane looks up at the alpha, whose thumb is brushing lightly over his cheekbone. Even though it’s the only point of contact, Shane doesn’t think he’s ever felt more held in his life.
“Ilya,” he says on an exhale. The name slips out, bringing him back to the last time he’d said it, standing at the other boy’s door with a basket in hand. Inside was his favorite blanket, his official courting letter, and his great-grandfather’s jade pendant.
When his parents had seen him walking back toward the house, basket still in hand, they’d rushed down the drive. His father had pried the handle out of his grip, and he hadn’t seen any of those items since.
The alpha’s hand slides around to the back of his neck, but he pauses when he feels the edges of the scent blocker.
“Oh, sorry. I can’t take my pills, my heat is in a few—”
A rumble issues from the alpha’s chest, shocking Shane into silence.
“Sorry, sorry,” Ilya squeezed his eyes shut. “Just need to— Say something else, please.”
Shane smiles. He isn’t sure what comes over him to make him ask: “Do you want me to take it off?”
“Fuck! You are killing me, Shane.” The grip on the back of his neck tightens by a fraction, and he figures fuck it.
He moves quickly, settling himself in the alpha’s lap. “Is this okay?” he asks. It’s taking everything in him not to press himself up against the other man. He thinks it’s probably too fast, maybe a bit reckless, but he’s lived four years thinking Ilya didn’t want him. And learning that that hadn’t been true?
“Da. Is okay.” Ilya brings their foreheads together, and Shane closes his eyes. If Rozanov takes off his patch, he probably won’t be able to resist the urge to scent him.
Shane remembers the first time Ilya’s scent ever registered for him. They were finishing up hockey practice, messing around as they made their way to the locker room. Ilya had put Shane in a head lock, and the smell that filled his nose made his brain scream alpha, alpha, alpha.
Shane reaches for his neck, starting to pick at the edge of the adhesive. Ilya’s hand comes up to stop him.
“Wait,” he says, thumb rubbing against the bone of Shane’s wrist.
“What?” Shane asks.
“Just, let me do this first,” Ilya whispers, and Shane’s about to ask what he could possibly need to do first when lips brush against his. He starts a bit, though the contact is brief and gentle. Ilya looks back up at him, tears gathering in his eyes.
“I am so sorry.” Both of Ilya's hands come to cradle his face, and Shane lays his own over top of them. “I wish—”
“Shh,” Shane hushes him. “It’s okay. We’re here, I’m here now.” He leans in for another kiss, bringing his hand back to peel off the patch. He finds himself flipping through the air as Ilya puts him on his back, huffing into his neck to chase his scent.
The effect is more gradual for Shane, the blocker that keeps others from smelling him also dulls his own senses. It starts in the back of his throat, then the alpha’s pheromones permeate the space more, mixing with his own scent.
“Shane,” Ilya moans. Shane tries to control his own breathing. It’s overwhelming, the smell of them both. He buries his nose in the crook of Ilya’s neck, taking deep, long breaths. His hands wander over Ilya’s back, pressing and groping to get him closer.
Ilya straightens his arms to hover over him. Shane can see his pupils blown wide, sure his own are similarly affected. He pulls Ilya back down into a kiss, this one more hungry, more searching. He’s hard, and can feel himself getting wet.
“Off,” he groans into the kiss. The alpha’s hands have made their way under his shirt, but they can’t go far with it buttoned. “Take it off,” he demands, pressing Ilya back so he can start on the buttons. They meet in the middle, and Ilya is already pressing his face into the space between Shane’s pecs when he tries to slip out of the sleeves.
“Back up, you fucking neanderthal,” he complains, pressing against Ilya’s shoulders. He can feel wetness as Ilya licks up the center of his chest, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his neck before finally lifting up.
Ilya pulls his shirt off too, undoing the top buttons and then pulling the whole thing over his head. Shane takes the opportunity to scoot up the bed, and Ilya follows, straddling his legs. Shane rubs his hands up and down the wide expanse of his thighs, large and strong from years on the ice. An apt symbol of the power contained within the other man’s body.
There is an obvious bulge where Ilya’s cock tents the fabric, and Shane wants to press his face there, to inhale the concentrated scent of him. He drags his hands up closer to it, looking up to gauge whether the alpha approves of this direction.
Ilya’s eyes are wide, his chest moving rapidly with his heavy, panting breaths. It seems like they’re both on the same page, but Shane wants to be sure.
“I want you to fuck me.”
Okay, so he hadn’t meant to be quite so direct, but the angle works. Ilya grips himself like he’s trying to hold off the urge to come.
“Fuck, Shane.” He scoots down a bit, moving Shane’s leg so he’s kneeling between them. “You are sure?”
Shane nods. He feels strangely clear-headed, which is especially odd given the amount of pheromones in the air. They finish taking off their clothes, and Shane spares a thought for his slacks crumpled on the floor, which will be unwearable until they’re drycleaned again.
Ilya stretches himself over Shane’s body, and the feeling of nothing between them is indescribable. Shane wraps his arm around his back, rubbing his hands down to palm Ilya’s ass, pressing them together.
They stay like that for ages, trading kisses and scenting each other until Shane feels like there’s a damp spot underneath him on the bed. Ilya’s hand inches toward his cock, and he can’t help but press up into the contact.
Ilya gives him a few strokes, then trails his hand back behind his balls to where he’s wet and open. Shane’s face heats and he turns his head into Ilya’s neck as the man rubs a fingertip over his entrance.
“What, malysh? You want me here, yes?”
Shane nods, feeling the blush creep down his chest.
“Look at me,” Ilya whispers. As Shane meets his eyes, Ilya sinks a finger inside him, forcing a whine past his lips. “So wet for me,” he murmurs, pumping his finger out and in. Shane can hear it in the silence of the room, filling his belly with a mix of embarrassment and excitement.
As Ilya sinks another finger inside him, he experiments with a roll of his hips, and it’s so good he keeps going. Ilya leans in to kiss him, then trails his lips down Shane’s neck and chest, not stopping until his mouth hovers over his cock. Shane’s still moving, but Ilya presses his free hand over his hip to stop him.
“Please,” Shane cries, needing Ilya’s mouth on him.
Ilya waits a beat, letting his eyes connect with Shane’s, before licking a stripe up the underside of his cock, giving extra attention to the head. Shane moans, unable to keep quiet as Ilya takes him inside while resuming the movement of his fingers.
Shane feels like he’s about to explode when Ilya stops, glancing up at Shane as he removes his fingers.
“You want to come like this?” he asks.
Shane shakes his head. “No, not yet.”
Ilya moves then, grabbing hold of Shane’s thighs and pressing them back so his knees frame his ears. He doesn’t even pause before diving in, licking over Shane’s hole.
A growl issues from his chest, making Shane laugh.
“Can’t help it,” Ilya says, looking up with damp lips, “you taste too good.”
Shane rolls his eyes, then gasps as Ilya dives in again. He’s already plenty wet and open, but the alpha stays down there for ages. He has to pull on his curls to get Ilya to come up for air, and when he does, he looks drunk.
“Come here,” Shane urges, using his hands and knees to pull Ilya up his body. They kiss, and Shane groans at the taste of himself in Ilya’s mouth. “C’mon. Want you,” he murmurs.
After slipping on a condom from his wallet, Ilya presses the head of his cock against Shane’s entrance until it slips inside. Shane gasps at the stretch, despite being plenty relaxed, and a chill runs down his legs and arms. “Shane,” Ilya grits as he sinks further inside. “So fucking good.”
Shane’s eyes roll back as Ilya bottoms out, hips pressing into the back of his legs. They stay like that for a moment and Ilya presses his face into Shane’s neck. A slight tremor wracks the alpha’s body, and Shane attempts to soothe him by rubbing his back with one hand and weaving the fingers of his other hand through his hair.
They build up slowly to a rhythm, both of them panting and groaning. Shane can feel himself get close after only a few minutes, the friction of Ilya’s stomach on his cock helping reach his peak.
“Gonna come,” he forces himself to say, muscles tightening.
Ilya curses in Russian. “Yes, come on my cock malysh.”
And Shane does, crying out as cum shoots from his cock and his ass contracts with rhythmic pulses.
Shane isn’t sure how long it goes on for, but Ilya doesn’t falter in his rhythm until he’s done. “Ilya,” he breathes, pulling the man in for a messy, uncoordinated kiss. “Want you to come inside me.”
“Fuck—” Ilya pulls away, keeping one hand on the base of his cock.
“No, I—I want it. Please,” Shane whines. Ilya’s knot has already started to swell, and he can feel it pressing against his entrance on each thrust.
“Shane, fuck, you are sure? I do not want to hurt you.” Ilya slows his rhythm, giving Shane a moment to respond.
Shane nods, looking up at the alpha. “I’m sure.”
“It will be a lot,” Ilya warns.
“I know. I have, um, a thing?”
Ilya stops. “A thing? What thing?”
Shane rolls his eyes. “A dildo. A, um, knotting dildo.”
Ilya presses himself inside and groans. “Fuck, Hollander that is so hot. But come,” he taps Shane’s hip. “It will be more comfortable on your side when we are stuck together.”
When Ilya enters him again, it’s from behind, one arm circling his waist and the other anchored at his hip. Shane can feel the extra stretch as the slight bulge at the base of Ilya’s cock presses against his entrance. He angles his hips just right, allowing the full length to slip inside.
Ilya builds up their pace again, face now pressed to the gland at the back of his neck. Shane finds himself hard again sooner than he thought possible. He leans his head back for a messy kiss, letting the alpha lick into his mouth and suck on his lip.
“Close,” Ilya grits out, hold tightening.
“Yeah, come on,” Shane urges, lifting his top leg. Ilya takes hold of it, bringing his elbow under Shane’s knee to increase the leverage of his thrusts. The knot is bigger now, but Shane’s relaxed enough that that stretch isn’t painful. He feels the moment it becomes almost too much, and Ilya increases the pressure on his hole until it pops inside.
He can’t pull out, but he keeps making small thrusts that brush against Shane’s prostate, stimulating him enough that he shakes and comes apart again.
Ilya growls as he comes at the same time, knot fully inflating to lock them together. Ilya’s whispering something in Russian, voice soft and sweeter than Shane’s ever heard it.
He almost can’t believe this is real. He’d woken up this morning thinking he might be subject to the embarrassment of not getting drafted, to having to watch the man who he had wanted to spend the rest of his life with beat him in the only thing he’d ever wanted to do.
Shane stretches his legs, feeling the knot catch slightly. “Careful,” Ilya hisses.
Shane hums in response. He isn’t quite ready for words yet, so he brushes his hands along the alpha’s arms, which are still wrapped around him, then down his sides. Ilya nuzzles his face back into Shane’s neck, and Shane can feel how his breaths deepen as he takes in Shane’s scent from the source.
“Okay?” Shane asks when the silence stretches out. He feels the alpha nod behind him.
“Wanted this, so long,” he mumbles, lips brushing against Shane’s ear. “Never thought,” he trails off.
“Me either.” Shane chuckles.
“What?”
“Oh, just, we’re on the same team. I mean, the odds of that—”
“Maybe, is not all luck,” Ilya says cryptically.
Shane turns as much as he’s able to. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I maybe found out they were going to draft you. So I tell them we are mates and they must take me too.”
“Ilya!”
“What? Will be true soon anyway.” Shane feels the man shrug.
“You’re ridiculous,” Shane responds, annoyed. “And what if I still hated you?”
Ilya buries his face in Shane’s neck again. “Would not matter. Would still be with you.”
And Shane can’t really stay mad at that.