Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Ilya was a pretty confident guy, cocky even, though he was loath to admit it to anyone but himself. “Cocky? Means I have big cock, yes? I think so. You want to see? We measure.” He’d snark to teammates and friends, lips curved into his signature smirk as they cursed at him or rolled their eyes in exasperation.

Svetlana, his best friend, called it a’defense mechanism’. Ilya liked to pretend he didn’t know what that meant either, but it was harder with her. For one, she spoke Russian, so he couldn’t blame his ignorance on a language barrier. For two, she just knew him too well to accept his posturing for anything but what it was. “This again?” She’d ask him when he was being particularly obnoxious. “What are you so scared of, Ilyusha?”

Nothing. Everything. Ilya wasn’t sure. Sometimes the act felt so real, like sinking into bed after a double-overtime game. Warm, comfortable, a balm to his aching muscles. Other times… Other times, it was like he was floating outside his body, watching a man with his golden curls and booming voice, but not recognizing him at all.

He remembered, distantly, a time when he was much different. He’d been young, very young, and deeply emotional about everything. He used to stick beside his mother, tucked into her skirts, and she’d whisper encouragement to him to go play before giving up and stroking his hair like a pet cat. His father had hated it, and his brother had ridiculed him mercilessly, but his mother would comfort him, call him her ‘sweet, sensitive boy’ in a way that made his stomach ache to think about now.

He’d been born a disappointment, his dad's disgust at having fathered a Beta ever present in their household. His Alpha brother took every opportunity to ridicule him for his inadequacy. Only his mother, his soft omega mother, had ever looked at him kindly. He couldn’t smell her pheromones, but he’d felt them, had let her scent mark him, though it meant absolutely nothing to his Beta nose, but it made her happy, and that made him happy.

He wasn’t sure when he took up the bravado or when he stopped hiding behind her and started performing this version of Ilya. Eight? Ten? Twelve? Before she died or maybe right after… he had no clue. He’d been this way for so long, longer than he was ever her sweet, sensitive boy, so he’d thought it didn’t matter.

And then it started to matter again. 

“Fuck, I’m tired.” Troy groaned from behind Ilya, giving his shoulders a friendly squeeze. “Can Hollander just twist an ankle or something? For fucks sake.”

“He’d probably still beat us anyway.” Haas, the rookie, whispered from beside them. It might as well have been a gunshot.

“Shit, kid.”

“What a vote of confidence, rook.”

“He’s not that good!”

The team chorused, arguing and grumbling amongst themselves, but Ilya focused instead on the slump of Haas’s shoulder, the downturn of his lips as he stared down at his skates. Fuck, Ilya thought, i’m going to have to do something about this. So confident, cocky Ilya, it would have to be tonight, though he wasn’t quite feeling it.

“Rook,” Ilya turned his body, gripping the rookie's cheeks and forcing his head up. “Now, now, look your papa in the eye.”

“Cap,” Luca Haas groaned, blushing bright red while their teammates snickered around them.

“You are still baby, I forget. You see, Hollander is okay, probably seems very good to little babies who don’t really know hockey,” Ilya continued.

“Enough, Roz,” Barrett sighed, squeezing his shoulder again. “Hollander is unreal. The greatest player of his generation-” The rest of the team muttered their agreements, much to Ilya’s dismay.

“Betrayers! All of you!” Ilya shouted at his team, turning to Luca again, bringing their faces even closer together. “Who is better? Me or Hollander?”

“You’re both really good…”

“I will speak to management! I will demand new rookie!” Ilya vowed. “One who knows Ilya Rozanov, first overall draft pick, is better than Shane Fucking Hollander, not first draft pick.”

“I thought you guys were friends or something now?” Bood chuckled from farther down the bench. “Is all that charity stuff an act, Cap?”

“We are sort of friends. It is hard for him, knowing how much better I am at hockey.” Ilya admitted, causing his teammates to laugh even as he continued. “He will be very sad when our rookie gets the puck from him and scores.”

“What?” Luca goes from extremely flushed to deathly pale. “But-”

“No buts. We all pull our weight. I make goal, Troy make goal, even Bood make goal and he is only so-so at hockey.”

“Fuck off, Rozy!” Bood couldn’t keep the chuckle from his voice.

“So rookie must make a goal now, even us out. Then I will make like 3 more and we will win game. Easy.” Ilya declared, trademark smirk in place. “And also Hayes will not let another puck in, right buddy?”

“Sure, Cap. I don’t know how I didn’t think of that myself.” Wyatt Hayes laughed, squeezing his water bottle into his mouth.

“See? Perfect. I love you Hazey.” And then his attention was back on the rookie. “You getting us a goal, then?”

“I-”

“Yes?” Ilya leaned impossibly closer, smirking when the Alpha's cheeks blushed bright red again. He never could have done this to a teammate in Boston. The Alpha culture on the team had been, in a word, suffocating. It was a constant dick-measuring contest, one that typically ended in physical blows and awkward handshakes over drinks that night. Being a Beta, Ilya had seen his fair share of Alphas bristling at a command from an ‘inferior’ gender, but he’d never had to worry about that with the Centaurs. “Yes, Haas? Say yes. Your captain is saying to you say yes, so you say…”

“Yes,” Luca mumbled, squaring his shoulders before repeating it with a bit more confidence. “Okay, yeah. Yes!”

“Good boy.” Ilya patted his cheek, “I love you. I love all of you, even the betrayers! I will win us game and you will remember how lucky you are to have best player in league on team." 

By the time they’d made it back onto the ice, Ilya was in much higher spirits. Really, there was nothing he enjoyed more than playing hockey against Shane, especially when he was this determined to beat him. Shane seemed laser-focused, face flushed, and eyes zeroed in on the puck. So pretty, Ilya thought, so fucking perfect. Shane’s eyes drifted to Ilya, heat flaring between them in a way that sent pleasurable tingles down the Beta's spine. Ilya raised an eyebrow in response, teasing words on the tip of his tongue. ‘Horny for me, malysh?’

But Shane would actually kill him if he ever dared to say such a thing to him on ice, especially during a game. So instead, he stared, licked his lips, and watched the Omega's eyes dilate at the movement. Fuck, how had Ilya gotten so lucky? Sometimes it felt unreal, like a dream that he was seconds away from waking from. He had Shane Hollander, THE Shane Hollander, sexiest man in the entire world, looking at him like he was begging to be devoured right here on the ice. It was insane, impossible even, and yet here they were anyway.

Again, Ilya was confident, overly so at times. It was this unerring confidence that led the Beta to become a captain in the NHL, a feat only a handful of other Betas had ever accomplished in the history of the sport. He was extremely popular with men and women, subgender be damned. He’d fucked just as many Alphas and Amegas as he had Betas. 

But Shane was different, had been since their first meeting, though Ilya hadn’t been sure why and had been even more unwilling to admit it aloud. He’d tried to play it cool, to treat the Omega like it was all business as usual. Their hookups had been casual, few and far between, because Ilya had options, and he didn’t pine after anyone, no matter how hot they were. Still, when Shane was an option, no one else existed. If Shane was even a remote possibility, Ilya was blind to everyone else around him. If that meant he was spending more nights than usual getting himself off to memories of Shane than with an actual person, well, it wasn’t a huge deal. It wasn’t like Ilya was a sex addict. It wasn’t like Shane Hollander was special.

Until he was. Until Ilya was spending nights out tucked into a corner in the club, texting the Omega about nothing even remotely sexy. Until he was dragging himself to Shane's house, even when he was sick or exhausted, when sex couldn’t have been farther from the table, but all Ilya wanted was to curl up beside him on the couch or in bed, to rest his head on Shane’s chest and let the Omega pet him and rumble like a happy cat against his ear.

Ilya hadn’t fallen in love. He’d tripped and plummeted full speed into it. He’d crash-landed into love with Shane Hollander, and it had been the most terrifying, exhilarating, beautiful experience of his life. He’d blinked, and suddenly Shane had been there, had seen him, truly and irrevocably.

The second the fear of being seen had passed, a new fear had popped up. This one had been more subtle, more subdued in its approach. Ilya couldn’t say when it had started. Maybe it had slipped in unnoticed one day, somewhere between stray thoughts of ‘How did I ever deserve him?’ and ‘How can I make sure to keep him?’ And then it was there, loud and refusing to be ignored. ‘YOU AREN’T ENOUGH FOR HIM.’

Stupid. Foolish. Shane loved him, adored him even. They were soulmates. Ilya was sure of it. He wanted everything with Shane. A happy marriage, a big, beautiful house, and as many kids as they could afford. But then Ilya would get to thinking about it; They couldn’t get married while their relationship was a secret. They couldn’t just buy a house together while living in two different cities hours apart. Maybe one day, when they retired, when people wouldn’t care as much… someday, many years away, but still… They could have it. Ilya could give him that one day, eventually.

But Ilya could never give him children. Not as a Beta and Omega. Maybe they could adopt, if Shane wanted to, if they could convince an adoption agency to adopt to an Omega and Beta couple… so it would be fine. Ilya didn’t need to worry. Ilya could give him that, too. Kind of. Sort of. Maybe. And in the meantime, he’d fuck his brains out so often he didn’t have any time to think about it.

Shane brushed past him on the ice, back to his bench as they swapped lines. Ilya watched him, the graceful glide of his skates seeming to drag more than usual. He couldn’t help but zero in on that, on the flush spilling down his neck and under his jersey. He looked a little clammy, now that Ilya was paying attention to it. Had he been that stiff and sweaty the whole game?

And then he saw it, Shane whispering a question to Pike, his Omega teammate. He watched Pike casually lean into his neck, giving a discreet sniff before pulling back and nodding before saying something Ilya couldn’t quite make out, but it didn’t matter. Ilya had known Shane long enough now, a whole decade of history and observation had made it impossible for them to hide things from each other.

Shane was in heat, or as close to it as he could be without actually tipping over. Once Ilya thought about it, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it sooner. He couldn’t smell him, but it was obvious now that he knew what to look for. Shane was burning up, sluggish, flushed. He was sure no one else could tell. Shane was meticulous with his suppressants and scent dampeners. Even now, he was checking in with the other Omega on his team, making sure it wasn’t noticeable. His poor baby, his sweet, responsible Omega… He should be home. He should be on heat leave, though Ilya knew Shane had never and would never take one, would probably hiss at Ilya for just thinking about it, but Ilya couldn’t help it. He hated to think Shane was suffering, hated even more knowing there was nothing he could do to help.

He’d tried once, thoughtlessly, foolishly. 

He’d practically begged Shane, coaxed and sweet-talked him for weeks leading up to the summer. He’d known, now that they were official, that Shane kept his heats for the summer at the cottage. It was going to be their first one as a real couple, and Ilya had been, admittedly, a little overexcited at the thought. He’d never shared a heat with an Omega, not even Svetlana, though they’d talked about it once before deciding it was a bit too intimate for them.

Intimate. Yes, Ilya wanted Intimate with Shane, wanted it more than anything. He’d listened to Shane explain his reservations, how sensitive he was to pheromones near his heat, how out of control he might be. How he might growl and hiss and even bite. He’d listened to all of it, nodded, asked questions, did research, and then presented it all, very calmly, to Shane for his own review.

And then he’d seduced his Omega for good measure, had made him cum hands free, so hard his eyes crossed and his back arched like he might levitate off the bed. He’d wrung his lover dry, stopping only once Shane’s eyelashes began to flutter, his consciousness slipping in and out of sleep. Shane had agreed once he’d woken up the next morning, though they now had a list of things they needed to prepare before Shane’s heat hit.

Ilya did all of it, every last thing Shane wanted. Any bit of peace of mind he could provide his darling Shane, he was going to provide. So they prepped the cottage together, stocked up on trail mix and protein bars, and began to gradually introduce Ilya’s scent into Shane's nest. Admittedly, Ilya had been pretty nervous about that part. All the Omegas he’d ever known, and all he read, said Beta pheromones could be particularly irritating to an Omega in heat. Outwardly, Ilya assured Shane it would be fine. Obviously, Shane was obsessed with him and would love his scent in his most special space. Inwardly, Ilya prepared for a possibly visceral rejection. He told himself he needed to be calm, to not take it personally if Shane decided he needed him gone and tossed all his clothes outside in a fit of heat restlessness. It would hurt him, but he couldn’t show it, couldn’t let Shane feel guilty when Ilya had begged for it.

So when Shane began the gradual weaning off of his suppressants, Ilya held his breath, his stomach turning with a bittersweet mixture of anxiety and desperate longing. Days passed, and Ilya gradually noticed the tell-tale signs of Shane's impending heat. Flushed cheeks, bone-deep fatigue, and mercifully, an intense neediness for Ilya that had surprised both of them. Not only had Shane not been bothered by Ilya’s presence, he seemed distressed by even the shortest of absences. Ilya couldn’t so much as go to the bathroom without Shane hot on his heels, a distraught whine building in the Omega's throat from the moment the door closed.

Shane had been mortified, naturally, but also seemed absolutely powerless to control it. For his part, Ilya tried his best to reassure Shane that he loved the clinginess. They spent days tangled together in one location or another. Ilya had never been so at peace. He held Shane tightly in his arms, stroked his back or head until he coaxed a pleased purr from him, and tried his best to memorize how perfectly content he felt in those moments. If nothing else good ever happened to him again, this would be enough. Shane and him, here, connected, intimate. He almost didn’t even care if they ever got to the sex part. Almost.

When Shane’s heat had finally hit, he’d been delighted. It had been like normal sex, only if Shane forgot how to process shame. The Omega had been so eager, desperate even as he kissed and sucked at Ilya's neck, licking a trail down his chest till he reached his cock. Shane had made such a delighted sound when he’d found Ilya hard and aching, burying his face in his balls and sucking them with such genuine eagerness Ilya had almost come from the sight alone. Then Shane had choked himself on Ilya’s cock, refusing to come up for air until Ilya had yanked him back by his hair so hard it tore a pained whimper from the Omega. Before Ilya could even comfort him, he’d moaned, seemingly turned on by the rough treatment, and had begged Ilya to fuck his mouth until he finally relented.

By the time he got inside Shane’s ass, he’d been a dripping mess, the nest absolutely soaked beneath them. If Shane had been in his right mind, he’d have flushed and sputtered and demanded they change the sheets right then and there. Ilya would have relented, like always, because he always wanted Shane to be comfortable, and then they’d ruin the new set of sheets, too. In heat Shane might have attacked Ilya if he’d tried to step away to change sheets. He’d looked ready to attack him even as he pulled away to adjust himself between Shane's legs.

Sinking inside of Shane had been just as amazing as always. Wetter too, the sounds of their bodies slapping together slightly more obscene. Shane scratched at Ilya’s back, keening and grinding his ass down on Ilya’s cock every time they slammed together. “So good, so good, so good,” He’d chanted, his body shaking in Ilya’s arms as he came untouched between them. 

They fucked for hours, fucked until Ilya’s cock felt raw and Shane was practically limp in his arms. They slept together, curled around one another, in the nest of slick and cum soaked blankets. Ilya expected a full night's sleep, maybe even longer given how strenuous the previous night's activities had been, but somehow he was blinking his eyes open in the pitch blackness of the night, his cock hard and soaked as Shane rode him back to awareness. Ilya had checked his phone and almost gasped when he realized only four hours had passed since they’d collapsed from exhaustion.

This Shane had been much less coherent. His eyes had been glazed, his whole body flushed, his pretty cock leaking like a fountain as he bounced on Ilya’s cock like his cum would win him the Stanley Cup. It had been mesmerizing, so fucking hot, Ilya wasn’t even tired anymore, just desperate for Shane to keep doing what he was doing. The next few hours were hazy, and eventually they collapsed again, momentarily sated.

Day two was mostly Ilya trying to force feed Shane bland protein bars and mouthfuls of water in between bouts of extremely athletic sex. They fucked in the nest, in the bathroom, on the kitchen table, and on the living room couch. They fucked in the laundry room when Ilya had snuck away for some clean blankets, and Shane had hunted him down like a man possessed, slamming him into a wall before deep throating him and then getting bent over the washing machine. They fucked in the garage when Ilya had moved the car inside while he’d thought Shane had been sleeping. Then they’d climbed into the backseat and Shane had ridden him to another mind melting orgasm.

By the third day, Ilya had been exhausted, and Shane had become insatiable. Ilya had finally resorted to the sex toys, specifically the ones with knotting functions that kept Shane filled for longer stretches of time. At first, it seemed to work. Ilya had time to look after Shane, to maintain the nest and wipe him clean between rounds, and even got more than a couple of bites of food into him before the knot deflated and Shane was miserable again. It became a bit of a routine: fuck, knot, clean, feed on repeat until Shane would exhaust himself enough for both of them to indulge in a few brief hours of sleep. They got through almost a day and a half before events took a turn for the worse.

Shane was inconsolable, sobbing even as Ilya inflated the knotting toy inside him, the fucking motion of the dildo stopping as it reached full size and locked inside of him. “No, no, wrong, it’s wrong,” Shane was crying, shaking his head as Ilya brushed his sweaty hair from his face. “No, Ilya, no.”

“What is wrong, Malysh? Is hurting? Too sore?” Ilya fretted, wiping tears from his omega's sweet, freckled cheeks. “No more?”

“No, no, Ilya,” Shane whimpered, trembling as Ilya pulled him from the nest and into his lap. “Yours, I want yours. Please, please, please…”

“My what, moy lyubimiy? Shh, is okay. I give it all.” Ilya assured him, peppering his sweaty face in kisses. “Everything, Zhizn moya.” Shane whined again, a pitiful sound that made Ilya’s heart ache. The omega wriggled his hand between them, gripping Ilya’s cock in his hand and jacking him almost frantically. “You want my cock, Shane? You have had so much already. Your pretty little pussy must be shaped for me now. Still, I give more. I will fuck you till you pass out, till you-”

“No, no,” Shane shook his head. “Your knot. Yours. Alpha, please. I’ll be good. So good. I want it. Please, Ilya, please. Knot me, mate me, make me yours. Please, Alpha. I need it, need you, only you.”

Ilya’s heart shattered. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he buried his face in Shane's neck to hide them, kissing him and whispering how much he loved him as Shane whined and begged and whimpered for something he couldn’t give him. It lasted for hours, no matter how hard Ilya fucked him or how many times he used the knotting toy. Shane was delirious, could not seem to comprehend that Ilya was a Beta, no matter how many times he reminded him, apologized to him, begged him with his eyes to please stop. When Shane finally passed out, Ilya sat up staring at the wall for hours.

He’d finally figured it out, the one thing he could never give Shane, no matter how much he tried. There was no substitute, no toy that could compare. Ilya was lacking, and Shane knew it now, would come to his senses and realize Ilya couldn’t give him what he really needed. For the first time since his childhood, Ilya thought about dying. Not killing himself, never that, but maybe somehow going to sleep and not waking up.

But then Shane woke up again, arms reaching and hands groping for him in the dark. They kissed, tongues tangling desperately, breathing in each other's air like it was the sweetest they’d ever tasted. Ilya’s cock found its way inside Shane again, and they rutted together for hours, Shane begging here and there for a knot, for a mating bite, for an Alpha that wasn’t there. Each time Ilya came inside him, Shane would moan, a ridiculously pleased sound that would make Ilya hard on principle alone. He wished he could knot him, wished he could trap his release inside of Shane and get him pregnant. It was an insane thought. Ilya was obviously sleep deprived. He was going crazy.

“Love you, love you, Ilya. My Ilya. Mine. Mine.” Shane gasped into his ear as Ilya fucked into him. “Kiss me, please, kiss me, Kiss me, Kiss me.” Ilya kissed him, sucked his tongue greedily into his mouth, and moaned around him.

On the fifth morning, Ilya awoke to a groan beside him. “Moy lyubimiy?” Ilya spoke, throat so dry it was barely a rasp.

“I’m so sticky,” Shane whined. “And the nest is all dirty.” Ilya laughed, a miserable, pained, overwhelmingly relieved sound. “Fuck off. Don’t laugh at me.” Shane rolled toward him, pressed into his side despite the admonishment, and kissed his pec affectionately. “So? How was it? Was it… was I… okay?”

Ilya wrapped his arms around Shane, pulled him onto his chest despite the Omega's protest that they were sweaty. “Was amazing, Malysh. Thank you. I love you.” And Shane smiled at him so brightly, Ilya didn’t have it in his heart to even feel guilty about the lie.

“Back on the ice, Rozanov.” Weibe, their coach, patted his back as the lines switched and Ilya hustled toward center ice. Shane was already there, freckled cheeks the prettiest shade of pink Ilya had ever seen. They didn’t speak at first, Ilya, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hide his concern, and Shane, because he wasn’t very talkative on the ice to begin with. Ilya loved him, but the omega couldn’t chirp to save his life. But then Ilya just couldn’t help himself.

“My rookie is going to steal your puck and score a goal,” Ilya informed Shane, like he was filling him in on what traffic might look like for the drive home.

“Not a chance.” Shane scoffed, eyes narrowing.

“Too bad. Is already decided. Then I will score three more. Ottawa wins. Montreal cries. Is nice.” Ilya explained, smirking when Shane scoffed, physically distraught at the idea.

“You’ve had one too many concussions, Rozanov, if you think there's any chance-”

“Is happening.”

“Is not!”

“We will see.” Ilya leaned forward, close enough that no prying eyes could even read his lips if they tried. “Will make you so wet if I do, yes? You will be dripping for me.”

“Fuck off.” Shane snapped back, though it came out much breathier than normal. “I’m not going to want to fuck you if you beat me.”

“Has never stopped you.” Ilya shrugged, skating back and taking position. Once the puck dropped, it was back to business. Ilya and Shane flew through the rink, battling for the puck like their lives were on the line. It’s fun, and Ilya forgets for a moment why he was even worried. Shane successfully stole the puck from him, and he couldn't be bothered to be upset about it. One second, Shane was skating away from the boards, and the next, Ilya was slamming into them, Shane’s body smacking into his so hard it knocked the wind out of him. The force took them both down. Ilya groaned, head spinning as he rolled onto his stomach.

And then he heard it.

It was an awful sound. High-pitched, pitiful, like a sound a scared kitten might make, but somehow worse. Ilya’s head spun, his stomach lurched. The whine echoed in his brain, made him feel such a frenzied anxiousness that he was momentarily paralyzed. His skin began to burn, hot in a way he’d never felt before. It’s how he imagined it might feel to jump into a frozen lake completely naked. It was a burning chill, simultaneously freezing and scalding from head to toe. He could feel his muscles trembling, shaking as he tried to kneel on the ice.

His mouth filled with something bitter, not salty enough for blood nor bland enough for saliva. Ilya spat, but it just kept coming. He couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t think even. The world was suddenly too much, too loud. His nostrils burned. What was that smell? That awful, sour, acrid smell? It was too much. He was going to be sick right here on the ice. 

No… He was going to pass out.

Everything went absolutely red.