Chapter Text
July, 2019.
The phone rang at 7:42 on a Sunday Morning.
Hayden was sprawled on the couch, half-watching a rerun of a sitcom while he scrolled his phone, half-listening to the kids argue about whose turn it was to feed the dog. Jackie was in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher, humming something that sounded like a commercial jingle.
He didn't recognize the ringtone at first. Then he did.
Shane. Shane hardly ever called Hayden. Shane was a texter. It was always Hayden that called Shane. Hayden grabbed the phone and swiped answer. “Shane? What's up?"
Silence. Then a breath. Shaky. Wrong. Noises in the background that Hayden couldn’t identify.
"Hayden."
Shane's voice was wrecked. Not post-game tired. Not flu-season wrecked. Something else. Something Hayden had never heard before.
"Shane? You okay?"
A whimper. High and thin. Not pain, exactly. Something else. Something that made the hair on Hayden's arms stand up. Why did that sound seem familiar? He's certainly never heard Shane make that sound before. He'd have remembered, because Shane doesn't MAKE sounds like that.
And then – in the background – a voice. Low. Russian. Ilya. Shane gave a breathy whimper.
Oh shit, is that….are they….is this a heat thing?
"Shane, what's going on? Where are you?"
"The cottage." Shane's voice cracked. "Hayden, I need – please – can you come?"
"Come where? To the cottage? What’s going on?"
Hayden's mind was racing. He'd known, abstractly, that Shane's heats could get bad. That's why he was on the list. For emergencies. Shane had looked like he’d rather die than be asking Hayden when he’d brought it up a year ago. Evidently his doctor, the one who prescribed his suppressants - the one that league didn’t know about - had required him to list emergency contacts as part of his care plan. Hayden had of course said he would be fine with being on the list. His own wife was an omega, he knew all about heats.
But Shane had never called before. Never needed him before. Shane was extremely private about anything related to him being an omega. Whatever was happening, it was bad enough that Shane was breaking that glass.
A pause, another high pitched, shaky whimper. Then, rushed and desperate: "Please just come. It's - it’s going to be worse than we thought. On the fridge-“
There was a moan – Shane's, Hayden realized – and the line went dead.
Hayden stared at the phone. The screen glowed back at him, blank and unhelpful.
What the fuck?
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Jackie appeared in the doorway, dish towel over her shoulder. "Who was that?"
"Shane." Hayden was already standing, trying to recall where he put his keys. He hoped one of the kids hadn't carried them off again. “I have to go. To the cottage. He needs…I don't know what he needs, but he needs help."
Jackie's eyebrows rose. "The cottage? That's almost two hours away."
"An hour and forty-five minutes if I don't hit traffic."
"What's wrong?"
Hayden shook his head. "He didn't say. He just – his voice was weird. And I heard Ilya in the background." He paused, running a hand through his hair. "I'm on his emergency contact list. For when things get... you know. Bad."
Jackie's expression shifted. As an omega herself, she understood what that could mean. “Has he ever called you before?"
"No. Never. And Ilya is already there, so if must be a rough one if he still needs backup.”
They looked at each other. The weight of that settled between them.
“Do they have supplies? Food? Hydration drinks?” She asked. Dehydration was one of the biggest concerns for omegas during rough heats.
“No idea. He, um, hung up pretty quick. He said something about the fridge?” Hayden’s face reddened as he recalled that last moan that came immediately after that statement.
“Better take some things along. Watch the kids, I’ll get it together.” Jackie began efficiently pulling items from the cabinets and fridge and carefully arranging them in a reusable grocery bag. She disappeared into the guest room and returned with a light green nesting blanket, still in its original packaging. She added that to the bag.
“Hey wait, didn’t I get that for you for your birthday 2 years ago?” Hayden asked, peeking inside the bag to be sure.
“You did, honey, but it’s not the right texture for me. Too much synthetic fiber. It feels too much like activewear, but that’s why I think Shane might like it.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek.
Synthetic fiber. Huh. Noted.
“I should get going,” Hayden grabbed the bag Jackie had prepared. Jackie was so thoughtful and kind. God, he loved her. He heard a screech from one of the kids bedrooms followed by unintelligible yelling. He glanced in the direction of the chaos, then back at Jackie. He gave her an apologetic look.
Jackie nodded, and gave a nonchalant wave toward the sounds of an rapidly escalating sibling dispute. "The kids will be fine. I'll handle the day. Go."
"Thanks." Hayden gave her one more kiss and stepped over the scattered toys littering the hallway, pulled on his jacket, checked his pockets for his wallet, his phone, his keys. "I don't know how long I'll be. Maybe a few hours. Maybe overnight."
"Take your time." Jackie's lips twitched. "You might want to warn Shane before you get there, though. About the mustache."
Hayden paused. "The mustache?"
“He hasn’t seen you all summer. He might be confused when he called you, but Brian Fontana shows up."
Hayden snorted, despite himself. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, rubbing his mustache on her, and was rewarded with a giggle. "Love you."
"Love you too. Drive safe."
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The drive was long, but the weather was nice. Hayden rolled down the window, let the air blow through the car, and tried not to think too hard about what might be await him at his destination.
He'd been to the cottage before. It was nice. Lakefront. Quiet. A good place to get away from the city.
And away from the kids, he thought, and immediately felt a little guilty. They'd been crazy all summer – fighting, yelling, leaving Legos on the floor for him to step on. A night away, even if it meant helping Shane through whatever was happening, sounded almost like a vacation. Just kicking back and making some heat snacks for when Shane and Ilya come out to the kitchen during the lulls sounded like a pretty good deal.
He made a mental list as he drove. Easy foods he could make with what Jackie packed. Things Shane probably had ingredients for. Fresh fruit cut into small pieces. Cheese and crackers. Maybe a smoothie if they had a blender. Light and easy to eat. That’s the kind of stuff he made Jackie during her heats. He'd restock the fridge with cold drinks. Keep the place tidy. Catch up on some TV shows when Shane and Ilya were resting. Or just enjoy the peace and quiet, something unheard of in the Pike household.
It wouldn't be fun; Ilya would be there, and the guy was insufferable. But it wouldn't be hard. Just... supportive. Like bringing soup to a friend with the flu.
Maybe a little smugly, he thought about how he could rub it in Ilya’s face that Shane called HIM to help, since he knows all about omegas from Jackie.
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The cottage looked quiet when he pulled into the driveway. Sunlight slanted through the trees. The lake sparkled in the distance. It looked peaceful. Idyllic, even.
Hayden killed the engine and stretched. The drive hadn't been bad at all. He grabbed Jackie’s packed bag and walked to the front door, taking in the fresh, pine scented air. Birds happily twittered above. He thought he saw a heron soar across the lake. He knocked.
No answer.
He knocked again. Harder.
Still nothing. Not entirely surprising. Heats could be exhausting. They were probably sleeping.
He pulled out his phone, checked the text from Shane – the passcode. 1217. He punched it into the keypad and pushed the door open.
"Hello? Shane?"
The entryway was sunny and tidy. All was quiet.
"It's Hayden. I'm here."
He kicked off his shoes by the door. “I brought some stuff,” he called out. The floor was cool under his socks. He walked deeper into the house, his voice dropping to something less cheerful.
"...Rozanov?"
The air hit him first. Thick. Stale. Musky. Pheromone-laden in a way that made his beta nose feel like it was being violated. He coughed, brought his hands to his mouth, and took shallow breaths.
His first glance around the space made him raise his eyebrows. The living room was a disaster. Blankets and pillows from the sofa were piled on the floor. Even the couch cushions were crooked. Random clothing articles were strewn about – a sweatshirt here, a pair of shorts there. One of the chairs at the kitchen island was on its side. Hayden walked over, picked it up, and put it back in place. He sat the bag of supplies down on the island, an orange rolling out and coming to a stop in front of some sort of spilled liquid.
Then he heard it.
Whimpers. Gasps. Other…sounds. Coming from down the hall. From the main bedroom.
Hayden walked toward the sound. The door was closed. He knocked.
"Shane? You in there?"
No response. Just the whimpers. Louder now.
He chewed his lip. Shuffled his feet. He didn't want to invade their privacy, but they weren't answering. And the smell coming from under the door – even to his flattened beta sense of smell – was overwhelming. Alpha musk. Cloying sweet omega. And other things. Things he didn't dare guess at.
He really, really didn’t want to open this door.
What if they're hurt? he thought. What if something's wrong? Shane wouldn’t have called if he didn’t need you.
He pushed the door.
It didn't move. Something was blocking it.
He pushed harder. The door swung open about a foot – just enough for him to squeeze through. A chair was overturned on the other side, wedged against the frame, a rug partially bunched up in front of it.
The smell hit him like a wall. He gagged. His eyes watered. The room was dim. Lamps on the nightstands cast a low, amber glow. The shades were drawn, covering the windows completely. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. And as they did, a crime scene unfolded in front of him.
Towels. Empty bottles. Crumpled wipes. Everywhere on the floor. Stains. Dried fluids. Slick-soaked clothing. Some of it shredded.
And then – the motion.
In the center of the room. On the bed. In the nest.
Hayden’s brain blue screened.
Ilya was on his knees between Shane's legs, completely naked. He was covered from chin to knees in slick, completely drenched in sweat, flushed and feral. He was holding Shane up and thrusting into Shane like an animal, with one of Shane's legs hiked so far up that his knee was at his ear. Shane's other leg was wrapped around Ilya's waist.
Hayden didn't know anyone could bend like that. He had the absurd thought that it must be the yoga Shane was always telling him to incorporate into his own fitness routine.
Shane was being pounded mercilessly into the nest. His hair was plastered to his head with sweat. Around Shane’s neck was a bite collar – the kind designed to prevent a mating bite. It looked like it had been chewed on by a pack of wild raccoons. He was keening, whining, his voice punched out and desperate: “Alphaaaaaaa, more, please, need your knot alphaaaaaaaa.”
That sounded nothing like Shane Hollander. Nothing. Shane’s voice – normally composed and steady, reserved and measured – was gone. Replaced by something raw and broken.
Shane writhed, his body begging for more. He was digging his heel into Ilya’s ass, encouraging the brutal assault Ilya was waging on him. His face was a portrait of utter omega heat drunk surrender and bliss, mouth slack, eyes closed and lids fluttering.
He rolled his hips and breathlessly begged “Need your knot, your knot alpha, pleeeease - ugghhhnnn.”
That was the Metros team captain. Hayden's best friend. Shamelessly begging to be knotted as he got absolutely railed by a feral Russian alpha.
Ilya accelerated in his mission. Piston-ing his hips at an impossible pace. Growling. Possessive. Grunting one word over and over: “Mine." Veins popped from his neck and forehead. His sweat soaked curls flopped wildly around his flushed face. His breathing was ragged and labored with exertion, like he just finished doing a brutal round of bag skates.
The sounds created by the prolific amount of slick were obscene. Like somebody was violently stirring maple syrup with a canoe paddle. Or perhaps, slapping maple syrup with a canoe paddle. The slapping sounds punctuated every thrust of Ilya’s hips, thick strings of glistening slick connecting between their bodies whenever Ilya pulled back.
Shane gasped. Tensed. Threw his head back, exposing his throat as much as the collar would allow. Arched his spine. His hands scrambled to grasp at the fabric of the nest above his head. He made a high-pitched cry – breathless, keening – pure omega – and came. Hard. Ropes of semen shot forth and covered his chest and splattered across his own chin. Hayden’s brain helpfully supplied the visual of when he and his kids put mentos in cola bottles in the back yard.
To Hayden's horror, Ilya immediately leaned down and began to lick…no – Jesus Christ – slurp up the cum with a satisfied-sounding grunt. Still thrusting like a creature possessed as Shane continued to whimper and keen, writhing beneath him with the aftershocks of his orgasm.
“Oh my god, oh my FUCKING god!!!"
The words burst out of Hayden before he could stop them.
Ilya looked up, directly at Hayden’s mortified face. Shane's release was smeared on his lips and chin. He licked his lips. And then he growled – a dangerous, rumbling alpha growl directed straight at Hayden. His eyes were red. His fangs were bared. Feral. Territorial. Not a trace of humanity behind it.
That was finally enough to reboot Hayden’s brain.
He stumbled backwards and slammed the door closed. He continued to back up until his heels hit the wall behind him.
"What the fuck what the fuck what the actual fucking fuck," he whispered to himself, pressing his back against the wall. The sounds continued behind the door in front of him– the wet slapping, the keening, the growling.
He pressed his hands to his eyes, like he could erase the images with the pressure of his fingers. Or maybe just gouge out his fucking eyes so he didn't have to see anything ever again.
He took a deep breath. Forgot about the smell. Choked.
Through the door, he heard Ilya give a satisfied roar. Shane whined “Alphaaaa" over and over. The rhythmic slapping and squealching stopped. A deep purring sound took its place.
Hayden heard Shane's voice, slurred and sated: “Your knot, s'good."
He put his hands on his knees. Swallowed hard.
What the FUCK did he just walk into?