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Shane fluffs the pillows in the center of the nest, mentally checking that he has everything he needs for his heat. The fridge was stocked with at least a week’s worth of meal prep. Gatorade and ginger ales were in the beverage cooler chilling. Snacks and protein bars were in a basket within reach for quick meal breaks in between rounds. Multiple gallons of water were lined up against the closet door for re-hydration.
His nest was finally to his liking, piles and piles of blankets and pillows and clothing items scattered across his bed for optimal comfort. Shane had chosen the best, most comfortable fabrics over a week ago and had made sure they were scented thoroughly. Soft, oversized hoodies, fleece throw blankets, a cashmere sweater Ilya had bought him last winter, each piece chosen with care to make this the greatest nest Shane Hollander had ever created. (And he had created some amazing nests in his thirty-six years.)
Nearly everything was perfect. The only thing still tugging on his subconscious, the only thing that was missing was, in fact, his alpha.
Shane had made sure to meticulously schedule this heat. He ensured that his suppressants would wear off in time for the post-season, giving them enough of a buffer to celebrate Ottawa winning the cup for Shane’s final season in the MLH without any unexpected accidents getting in the way.
With a sixth cup under his belt, he had announced that this would be his final season in the MLH. Sports pundits and twitter users alike loudly contemplated Shane’s possible reasons for retirement: his age, his recovered shoulder injury, to settle down with his mate?
They hadn’t mated yet though, technically. When they started their relationship back during Ilya’s rookie season, Shane had stated his intention to wait until some of the heat had died down and less eyes were pointed on them, Ilya having already drawn plenty of unwanted attention by having his agent arrange a trade mid-season to Ottawa, simply to be closer to Shane.
Shane’s change to Ottawa the following season was at least understandable. Theriault had refused his request for heat leave when a long weekend with Ilya had turned into a breakthrough heat and triggered rut for them both, respectively. That led to Shane on the ice in Toronto four days into a heat with no sign of stopping or slowing down. After a face off with Kent led to a hormone-fueled tackle to the ice, Shane found himself in the middle of what could only be described as a full-scale riot. It took several officials as well as medical personnel and private security to get the players under control. After twenty minutes and a full evacuation of the arena, Shane ended up backed against the boards in a defensive crouch, blood from Kent’s throat still dripping from his fangs.
Suffice it to say, no one questioned Shane’s move to Ottawa.
Shane pulls out his phone to check Ilya’s ETA, knowing he would have to make the two hour drive from wherever they were celebrating to the cottage.
Shane
Everything’s all set here, Alpha 🙂
Nest is finished and I’m ready for you ♥️
Are you on your way home?
Delivered: 10:07 PM
Shane taps restlessly against the back of his phone when the message isn’t immediately read. Usually Shane didn’t even have to finish typing before Ilya responded. He paces across the bedroom, cramps blooming into a dull ache in his lower abdomen.
Shane
??
Ilya?
Pre-heat’s already starting. Is everything okay?
Delivered: 10:12 PM
Shane throws his phone into the nest, annoyed. He strips out of his sweats, the feeling of thick clothing on his body already starting to overstimulate him. His pre-heats always set in fast, a side-effect of spending so much of his time on suppressants and scent-blocked. When his hormones were finally allowed to run as intended, they hit Shane like a truck, sending him from pre-heat to full blown fever within hours. Which was why they had intentionally planned this heat to the letter. Ilya was still out with the rest of the team, still carrying on their week-long cup celebration in his absence. But he knew how quickly things would turn bad for Shane. He knew to be home the second Shane gave word. Something had to be wrong.
Shane
Rozanov.
Where are you?
Delivered: 10:25 PM
He gingerly enters the nest, immediately grabbing the softest fabric in his vicinity (an old raiders hoodie from Ilya’s rookie year) and rubs it across his scent glands, first his neck, then his wrists, then thighs. Aside from the standard cramps and fever, Shane’s pre-heats made him insatiable for his Alpha’s scent. After having spent so many years of his life in constant distress from other alphas’ scents, his omega wanted nothing more than to constantly be enveloped in Ilya’s comforting cedar and rosemary.
The scent helped satiate some of his anxiety, for now at least. In a few hours even that wouldn’t be enough. Nothing would, except for the alpha himself.
He grunts in pain as another wave of cramps pulse through him. He squeezes his thighs together, the hoodie trapped between them, in an effort to stave off the worst of the feeling. Shane grabs his phone from where he tossed it, typing out another text to Ilya, irritation bleeding into the messages.
Shane
If you’re ignoring me to party with the team while I’m suffering I am going to cut.
Your. Knot. Off.
Delivered: 10:32 PM
Shane
You better not be in a ditch somewhere or I’m going to be so pissed off at you.
You are not allowed to die when I’m going into my heat, asshole.
Delivered: 10:37 PM
Shane
Ilya, seriously. Are you okay?
Delivered: 11:18 PM
Shane
You have five minutes to text me back or I’m calling every hospital in Ottawa.
Delivered: 11:25 PM
Shane
Alpha. 🙁
Delivered: 12:49 AM
Shane cuts off a whine as it escapes, burying his head into his pillow. Where the fuck was he? He pushes the call button, growling in frustration when it goes straight to voicemail. Again.
Hi, this is Ilya. I will never listen to your voicemail.
Unless this is my darling Shane.
Shane rolls his eyes. The voicemail greeting that usually makes him smile fondly is pissing him off in this moment. He waits for the beep and brings the speaker up to his mouth.
“Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov. I swear to fucking God, if you aren’t here in the next twenty minutes I’m going to lose it. Fuck, the cramps are like. Really bad. Way worse than my last pre-heat. And I’m already sweating and everything feels wrong and–”
He blinks back the tears he can feel trying to escape, gathering at his waterline. “I just. I really need you. Where are you? Please call me back.” He sniffles, wiping his nose on the jersey in his arms like a child. “And I love you. I’m sorry I was m-mean. Please don’t be dead somewhere. I love you so much.” He rubs Ilya’s jersey against the scent gland in his wrist, fingers twisting uselessly in the fabric. “Okay. Please call me. I love you. I promise I’m not going to be mad, I just need you, Alpha.” He breathes out, raggedly. “Okay. Bye.”
Shane buries his head in the sheets, the previously comforting scent of his alpha now just a glaring reminder of the fact that he‘s missing. Where was he?
Ilya turns the key in the lock and pushes the front door open, the hinges creaking faintly as he steps through the entrance. He should make sure to oil the hinges this summer before Shane did. Ilya liked doing little things like that. Making his omega’s life easier for him.
He had not made his life very easy this evening.
While hilarious, the night had ended in a complete disaster and with the knowledge that all of his teammates were now safe and out of harm’s way, he could focus all of his attention on being there for Shane. Even though he hadn’t been there for him while his pre-heat set in. It was nearing 4 AM and if Shane had expected his pre-heat to set in sometime after dinner, he was surely well into it by now. He must have been so worried when he couldn’t reach Ilya. Fuck, Ilya hoped Shane wasn’t too angry with him.
He drops his wallet and keys off at the entry way, quietly making his way to their shared bedroom where he knew Shane had been setting up his nest. He said he would call when he was ready for Ilya to come home, promising him a special surprise for this heat. And Ilya had ruined it by showing up hours after his omega had needed him. He was the worst alpha to ever exist.
“Shane?” He calls out as he approaches the doorway to the bedroom. “I’m home.”
Ilya steps into the room and is immediately hit with a wall of scent. There’s the smell of desire, of an omega in heat, of course. But there’s also a simmering top layer of anxiety and distress. Shane must have been unsatisfied for awhile now, poor omega.
His face is clearly upset when Ilya rounds the corner and the nest is brought into view. A gorgeous nest, with practically every pillow and blanket and article of clothing they own. He looks like an angel sitting on a perfect little cloud, wrapped in a soft muslin blanket, torso bared to the chill of the air conditioning.
“Moy milyy mal'chik. I am so sorry I am late. Are you okay? Do you have everything you need? I can bring you–”
“Where the hell were you?” Shane doesn’t typically raise his voice, most times he doesn’t need to. His natural authority and control over most situations leading others to follow. But he’s definitely doing it now. “You didn’t answer your phone, I didn’t know what to think–”
“I know, kotik. I’m so sorry. Is a very long story. But I’m here now!” He pulls off his t-shirt and whips it across the room, kicking his shoes off against the wall. Shane flinches at the sound, narrowing his eyes at the added mess to the formerly pristine room. “Okay!” He rubs his palms together, “Time to fuck.”
As he reaches the edge of the mattress, a low, warning growl stops him in his tracks. His eyes cut to Shane who looks very, obviously pissed. Or would if this were a normal day. This deep into his heat, (Ilya grimaces–he thought Shane would have longer this time before his heat set in) he looks nearly feral, eyes glazed over and body tensed.
“Shanya?” He leans forward, slower this time. Before he can make any real movement towards the nest, another growl stops him.
“Where. Were you.” Shane says, the words forced out over sharp omega fangs.
Ilya releases a puffed-out sigh. Then: “Okay, so. We were at that bar that Bood likes, yes? That sells the BBQ outside and is themed like America? Red, White, and Booze.”
Shane keeps fierce watch of the space between Ilya and the bed, relaxing slightly when he voluntarily backs away a few inches.
“So. Um, we are drinking and enjoying ourselves. I wasn’t because I was being a perfect boy for you and kept saying ‘no no, my beautiful mate needs me, boys. I cannot.’”
“...Not your mate yet, asshole.” Shane grits out.
Ilya plows on, choosing to move past that. “And they would whine and cry because I am most fun and interesting person to have around when drinking, obviously. So, anyway. Everyone is drinking and happy, and we have the cup, of course. Dykstra was giving it shots, it was so funny. Like pouring them into the cup when everyone did a round, it was hilarious–”
“...Ilya.”
“Right, so we are having good time, yes? And we are in America-themed bar in Canada, so of course, there are Americans there. And maybe. We were being loud and kinda crazy, but we won the fucking cup, everything was perfect. Except that my beautiful omega was not also there to celebrate with us–”
Shane throws his head back against the headboard, swallowing thickly. “Ilya. I’ve got about five seconds of lucidity left before my heat sets in completely, can you get to the point–”
“Basically, half of the team got taken to jail and the other half went to the hospital–”
“WHAT?!”
“But, everything’s fine! Hazy called Lisa to bail them out and Harris drove Young and Barrett to the emergency room–”
Shane sits up fully, “Ilya, back the fuck up. What happened?!”
“Okay, so. Loud asshole Americans were there and they had a problem with us and tried to pick a fight which was stupid of them, but was even stupider for Luca to take the bait and actually swing at one of them–”
“Luca?!”
“I know right? I was so proud. But they had insulted someone’s girlfriend who was there. And I’m pretty sure they called at least one of us a slur, they were just so drunk I couldn’t understand what they were saying. But Luca must have and he just–bam! Knocked the fucker’s lights out. Which was hilarious. But then that started huge fight, and Barrett got shoved and the cup fell on his head, but he’s alright. Harris said he might have sprained his neck but nothing was broken. And cops came, or mounties, or whatever you call them here. But they didn’t come on horses, just cars–”
“Ilya.”
“Anyway, they only took Hazy and Luca, which is actually fucked up because Hazy was only trying to pull Luca off the guy, ‘cuz the kid was going crazy on him, but they threw him in the car as well. I think they’re fine, Luca used his phone call to tell Harris to tell the rest of us that Lisa was bailing them out. And I think someone called the team’s lawyer and Wiebe, maybe? But I had to go because I had already wasted too much time at the hospital making sure they were still alive. So Harris said he’d handle everything so I could go home to be with you, and I left my car at the bar when I rode with Harris, so I just ordered an uber from the hospital, which by the way we will need to get my car after your heat is over, if they haven’t towed it–”
“Ilya, what the fuck. Why didn’t you call me and warn me you were going to be late, at least?”
“Oh, well.” Shane’s eyes narrow at the sheepish grimace on his face. “When Barrett got pushed down, and the cup fell on him, he had my phone because he was going to take selfie of me like…inside the cup, like the cup over my head, and I would just be, like the cup with legs and it was going to be so funny–”
“The cup is 15kg, Ilya. It’s the same weight as like, a 3-year old child. And you were going to put it on your head?”
“It was going to be so funny, lyubimyy. But, that’s when the fight started and Troy got shoved, then I fell on top of him and the cup was on top of me, so…”
“You’re the reason Troy broke his neck?”
“He didn’t break his neck! Just sprained! But yes, the cup fell on his head and also, maybe…my phone. Which he was holding. Cracked it so bad, Shane. It is so dead. But the cup is fine! Harris took it and put it in the hospital bed next to Young, it was so funny. And then I just got an uber straight from the hospital–”
“For god’s sake, Ilya.”
“And now I am here! I’m all ready for you, my love.” He walks towards the bed again. “What do you need from me, my Shane?”
Shane tenses up again, low growls drowning out everything. “Back. Up.”
“Shane, moya lyubov. My omega–”
“It’s not going to work, Ilya. I’ve been here for–fuck. The whole night! Waiting for you. You knew I’d be starting my pre-heat soon. And instead of being here with me, you were in an American-themed bar getting into a fight?”
“Baby, you told me I should go be with the team! You wanted time to yourself to get the cottage ready.”
“I wanted the correct amount of time! I–” Shane’s eyes furrow as a shiver wracks his entire body, thighs squeezing together underneath the thin blanket. “Christ, didn’t want you…to take a 2-hour uber ride after spending half the night in the hospital with our teammates.”
“Troy paid for the uber.”
“You fell on him. You see how that’s worse, right?”
Ilya hums, petulantly, toeing at the carpet with his socked foot. “Omega, I already said I was sorry. It was not my fault!”
“If I had been there none of that would have happened.”
“Yes, I think you are right.” Ilya shuffles closer to the bed, attempting to be subtle. “You’re always right, moya lyubov. Such a good omega. Always taking care of your teammates and your friends and your alpha–”
Shane bares his teeth, a low, rumbling growl escaping. “You are not allowed in my nest.”
Ilya’s jaw drops, his eyebrows creased in sorrow. “Shanya, you’re being ridiculous! I told you what happened, why I couldn’t call. I’m sorry, but I am here now. You’re going to hurt yourself without me to help you through your heat.”
“I can take care of myself. I had to do it for like, ten years worth of heats, Ilya. I can handle a few days.”
“Days? Baby, please. You shouldn’t go that long without your alpha, you need me.”
Shane’s scent spikes sharply, rage turning subtle amber into fiery cardamom. “I needed you three hours ago, Ilya.” The air fizzles between them, Shane’s glare a physical presence on Ilya’s skin. If Shane had a tail, it’d be flicking back and forth like a pissed off cat.
Ilya’s alpha stirs. While other alphas would respond to the challenge as a threat, he melts under the attention.
He takes a step back until he’s in the center of the room, a good five feet from the edge of the nest, and slowly sinks to his knees.
The spike in Shane’s scent almost immediately mellows out, breath coming out in a pleased purr. “That’s better, Ilya.”
He lowers his head, chin tucked, hands folded on top of his lap. “I’m sorry, Omega.”
The warm, syrupy scent of satisfied omega clouds his lungs, until all he can think of is Shane. Pleasing Shane. Giving himself to Shane. Nothing else in the world matters.
Ilya grew up in a household where omegas were treated like the ground beneath an alpha’s feet. Existing only to serve, to submit, to take what was given. His mother was the kindest, most gentlest woman and was crushed between his father’s fist like a daisy plucked from a garden. His brother had learned from the example, treating his mate like a joke, flaunting affairs in front of her face while she stayed in their studio apartment alone to care for their screaming pup.
Nothing in Ilya wanted that life for Shane, knowing from the first moment he saw him that he deserved the entire world. Ilya was thunderstruck the first time Shane’s eyes met his on the ice. Every moment since that game, Ilya spent every bit of his time and energy trying to please Shane and prove to him that he was his perfect mate. No other alpha could treat Shane the way he deserved. He should be protected yes, like any alpha would. But more than that, Shane should be worshiped. Ilya wanted to bow at his feet as if he was a fucking king. Wanted to spend every second of every day reminding him that he was fierce and capable and Shane fucking Hollander. That Ilya had hit the fucking lottery when Shane chose him.
“You really scared me tonight, Rozanov.” Ilya’s eyes refocus on Shane, dipping his head further towards his chest in repentance. “I spent my pre-heat worrying something had happened to you. And instead of admitting you were wrong, you whine about it, like a child.”
Ilya stays silent, eyes shutting in shame. Shane’s right after all, he could’ve used someone’s phone to call, he could’ve left well before the night had descended into chaos. He could’ve sat in his car and waited until Shane was ready instead of driving to a bar two hours away from his omega when he was moments away from his heat. He knew that.
“I ought to kick you out until my heat’s finished.”
Ilya whines, pitifully. He’d accept it if that was his omega’s wish, but every cell in his body wants to stay by his side and help Shane through his heat.
“I’m not going to do that. But you are definitely…fuck.” Shane’s eyes blink closed, reaching blindly towards the bedside table. “You’re…definitely going to prove you’re sorry.”
“Shane?” Ilya jolts as a pillow is thrown to the foot of the bed in front of Ilya. Before he can question it, Shane kneels in the center of the bed, his favorite dildo from his hidden drawer in hand, blanket falling aside to reveal Shane’s dripping cunt wrapped in beautiful lilac panties.
“Bozhe moy. Shane.” The panties are see-through at this point, completely sodden with Shane’s slick. He can feel drool gathering behind his fangs, like his body knows he’ll be needing it. Blood flows to his dick so quickly he feels a head rush. “You look so beautiful, my omega. Let me please you, moya lyubov. Let me be good for you.”
A finger hooks at the edge of the panties, pulling them to the side, letting Ilya see what a mess Shane has made of himself while he’s been gone. “No, Ilya.” He says, patiently, as if he were speaking to a misbehaving child. “You aren’t setting foot in my nest until you’ve earned it.” He rubs the matching purple dildo across his vulva, spreading himself apart for Ilya’s gaze. “Want you to see what’s been waiting here for you while you’ve been fucking around with the rest of the team.”
He doesn’t tease any further, choosing to slide down on the dildo all in one motion, stuffing himself full while Ilya can do nothing but watch. Ilya tracks the progress of one perfect bead of slick that drips down his pussy lips and disappears into the crease of his thigh.
They enjoy this, the dynamic between them. Shane is an omega who’s never wanted to submit, and Ilya’s an alpha that would love nothing more than to serve himself to Shane on a silver platter and be used until he’s satisfied. Ever since that first night between them, when Ilya confessed his intentions and Shane put him on his knees, a place no alpha should want to be, but the only place Ilya wanted to be. To all other alphas, the act of submitting is physically painful, debilitating. For Ilya, it was a rush. Like stepping on the ice for the first game of a season, or speeding down the open roads of backwoods Ottawa in one of his sports cars. His body didn’t reject submitting–it craved it.
They’ve had years to perfect this, to the point that Ilya can sense when Shane wants him whinier, wants to put him in his place, or when he wants Ilya to come crawling to him willingly. Tonight though, he’s completely thrown. He knows he legitimately upset Shane, that’s clear. But he also knows he’s never seen Shane this elated, like Ilya’s handed him a golden opportunity and he’s making the most of it.
Ilya focuses on Shane’s fingertips where he’s trailing them across his pretty pussy and gathering the wetness there. He keeps one hand on the dildo, steadily rocking into himself as he moves his opposite hand over his clit in counter motions. He comes just like that, not stopping even when the aftershocks are too much, his heat not allowing him even a moment’s rest. He looks tired already, chest heaving like it does after a full shift on the ice. He grunts, frustrated, the heat settling into him properly now. Without a knot, he’s never going to be satisfied, no matter how many times he comes.
“Babyyy,” Ilya whines. “Please, let me in the nest. You are hurting yourself.”
Shane twists his wrist, fucking the dildo in deeper, gasping when it nails his g-spot dead on. “Fuck you, Rozanov. I had,” He grunts and rolls his hips, trying to get that same angle but deeper. “Plans! I was going to…do a whole. Thing.”
“You can still do your plans, Shane. Use me. Not the dildo. I hate it. I wish you would throw it away. You don’t need it. Not when I’m here.”
Shane’s eyes cut to him, furious. “You weren’t here, Ilya. Do you know how that feels? To spend the night restless and hurting, knowing you can’t have the one thing you need most?” His hand picks up the pace, flying across his clit, hips jerking brokenly at the feeling. “Fuck the pillow.”
Ilya looks down at the pillow between his knees, confused. “Shane, you want me to—?”
“Fuck. The pillow.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “Take your big stupid cock out and fuck that pillow like you wish you were fucking me.”
Shame simmers through him like the hot flash of an oncoming rut. “Shane–”
The omega moans high in his throat, head thrown back, thighs spreading further as he arches into the feeling. “You’re not…shit. Touching me. Until you show me how sorry you are.” He fucks the dildo in faster, slick leaking down his wrist and onto the bed. “Now. Fuck the pillow, Ilyusha.”
Ilya’s eyes fall closed, lip bitten to hold back a whine. Shane only breaks that name out when he means business. If Ilya refuses, forget helping Shane through this heat, he’d never let Ilya touch him again. He reluctantly picks up the pillow, giving a curious sniff. It’s been scented, the thrilling mix of Shane’s slick and Ilya’s own warm cedar scent. It’s something wild, feral. It unlocks something deep inside him that wants to prove itself, wants to show off for his mate.
He shimmies his shorts down as best he can while on his knees, eyes cutting to Shane and back down when he finds the harsh glare leveled at him. He’s still hard–of course he is. Realistically, he’s been hard since he first caught whiff of Shane’s slick and righteous outrage.
Shane’s continued without care for him, hands working furiously to bring himself to the edge of another climax, mouth hung open in ecstasy. Ilya squeezes his eyes shut at the feeling of Shane’s open indifference towards him. His cock is throbbing, tip drooling with a line of precum just from having the privilege of watching Shane get himself off. He hasn’t even touched himself yet. His hands clench in the pillow, hesitantly dragging the cool silk fabric against the weight of his cock.
He bites off a swear in Russian, shivers wracking through him. It’s one of Shane’s pillows, high-quality silk that’s supposed to be good for their skin and Ilya’s curls. But around his dick, it’s amazing–his hips jerk forward unconsciously, his body chasing the feeling.
“Good puppy.”
Ilya’s head snaps up to find Shane already watching him, hips circling against the dildo, leaning forward onto his elbows so he can better watch him.
“C’mon baby, show me how you want to fuck me.”
A wave of molten amber clouds his senses even further, Shane watching from half-lidded eyes as he releases even more heat pheromones into the air, goading him.
“Omega.” Ilya loses all traces of hesitance, humping into the pillow. He plants his fists on the soft carpet beneath him, rabbiting his hips forward and allowing his body to take over.
Ilya’s instincts are screaming at him to please Shane. To bite, and to fuck, and above all else to submit. He pants open-mouthed, lifting his chin to bare his throat to his omega. “Please, Shane.” He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for. Shane’s approval maybe, for his pity, probably.
Shane groans through another orgasm, hips stilling against the dildo shoved deep inside him. “Fuck, baby. That’s it. On your knees, showing your throat. God, you look like such a slut, alpha.”
Ilya whines, face crumpling as his hips continue to fuck forward into the pillow. “Want your bite, omega. Want to show you how good of a mate I can be for you. You’re so perfect, Shane. I love you so much.”
Shane pulls out the dildo, letting the strap of his panties snap back into place. He grins at Ilya, elated, letting out a few soft, breathy chuffs in approval. “That’s my good puppy. Baring your throat for me like a good alpha. Does it feel good baby? You don’t have to use that pretty head of yours, don’t need you to do anything. Just need you to be my good pup and fuck and bite and let me have you.”
“Yours, omega.” His hips are still moving, cock heavy and leaking at the tip just as much as Shane is leaking into his little panties. He can feel the distant ache of his knot wanting to swell, but it won’t without an omega to bury himself into. Without Shane, he’ll be just as unsatisfied and wanting.
“I had a surprise planned for you, tonight.” Shane sits up on the bed, letting his legs dangle off the edge near Ilya. “Was gonna’ give you a reward for how great you played in the playoffs. Helped me get a cup for my last season. Such a good boy.”
“Shane–”
“Ah-ah, puppy.” Shane snaps at him, cruelly, when his hips start to slow. “You keep fucking until I say you can stop.”
Ilya nods, a broken sob escaping. His thighs are burning from sitting on his haunches and his cock feels like a slight breeze could make him come on the spot.
“Wanted to tell you what I had planned. Was gonna’ bite you, let you bite me. Finally be your mate. Do you want that, Ilya?”
His legs are shaking, breath coming out in short, exhausted pants, but he nods his head ‘yes’ because he’s a good boy and his omega asked him a question.
“Fuck, Shane. Yes! I want it, I’m sorry. Please forgive me, omega. Want to mate you, want to knot you.”
Shane clicks his tongue, patting his thigh. “I know you do, baby. C’mere. Come see your omega. See what you do to me.”
Ilya happily tosses the pillow across the room, shuffling forward the last few inches until he’s kneeling at Shane’s feet. His head drops to Shane’s lap, mouth watering at the sight of Shane’s wet cunt behind the lilac panties.
Shane follows his gaze, laughing. “Take em’ off for me, Alpha.”
Ilya has never been so quick to do something in his entire life. He pulls the delicate fabric over Shane’s knees and down his legs, stopping to place a sweet kiss on one of his ankles.
“Thank you.” Shane parts his legs, “now come here, Ilyusha. Let me use your mouth.”
Shane grabs him by the curls, pulling his mouth towards his dripping cunt faster than Ilya can dive in himself. He inhales deeply, pleased growl rumbling in his chest as he cleans the excess slick dripping from Shane’s hole, licking up his puffy lips.
"That's right, clean me up baby. It's all for you, your mess. Good alphas clean up their messes, don't they?" Shane uses his hold by the back of his neck to grind against his mouth. His thighs have already started shaking, overwhelmed after two orgasms.
“You want me so bad, don’t you, puppy?” Shane giggles around a moan, heat-drunk on Ilya’s pheromones and the smell of his own need. “You look so stupid. Just a dumb pup who can’t think of anything else, huh?”
Ilya doesn’t waste time nodding or answering, just moans into Shane’s pussy, sucking around his heavy clit.
“Oh, that feels so good, Ilya. Fuck. I wanted to stay mad at you, but I can’t. You’re so sweet like this.” He drags a hand down to the nape of Ilya’s neck, thumbing across his swollen scent gland. “God, I want to bite you so bad, show everyone that you’re mine. That you’ve been mine. Ever since your rookie season, right baby?”
Ilya dives in deeper, reaching up to pull Shane’s lips apart so he can wiggle his tongue inside of him. “Earlier. Saw your games on TV, thought you were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.”
Shane throws his head back, falling back onto his elbows. “Fuck, Ilya. You never told me that. You’ve wanted me for that long, baby?”
“Had your trading card taped in my–my stall. Back in Russia,” Ilya says, keeping his fingers busy and fucking inside Shane’s hole while he gasps for air. “Would look at it after every game and jerk off in the showers. Thinking of you. How strong you looked. How–mmph–how sexy.”
“Oh, fuck. C’mere, Ilya.” Shane leans forward, pulling him by his curls into a wet kiss. Ilya plants his hands on either side of Shane's thighs, dick rubbing hard and needy against his calf.
Shane pulls away with a bite to his lower lip, falling back onto the bed. He grabs Ilya by the back of his head, bringing his face back to his cunt. "Make me come, baby. Just like that." Ilya's lips close around his clit, sucking harshly. He brings his fingers up and fucks three into Shane, just so he can have something inside him, curling upwards towards his g-spot.
"Holy shit, Ilya." Shane's mouth drops open, stunned with pleasure. Ilya will never get tired of the way he looks when Ilya's fucking him—like it's new every time, like he's surprised by how good it feels. He flicks his tongue in a steady rhythm over his clit, fingers fucking into him even faster. Shane's Adam's Apple bobs as he swallows dryly, groaning low in his throat.
He's close, Ilya can tell. This far into his heat though, he needs something more.
Ilya sits up on his haunches, still fucking his fingers in deep. "Omega, please. Want to fuck you. Want you to use me. Use my knot."
Shane moans, face scrunching in pleasure. "Ilya, fuck. Want it. Want you."
He curls his fingers, pressing expertly into Shane's g-spot. "Come for me, one more time. Then you can have my knot, however many times you need. It's yours. It's all for you. My mate."
"Shit, shit, shit! Ilya!" Shane's hole tenses around his fingers as he comes with a wet gasp, overwhelmed tears falling down his cheeks. He's leaking so much, slick dripping from his swollen pussy and pooling on the nest. "Fuck, enough. C'mere. Need you in me." He bats Ilya's hands away, whole body jerking in response when he pulls out his fingers.
Ilya rests his forehead against the nest, catching his breath. His knees hurt. His cock is so hard he's pretty sure he doesn't have blood left anywhere else in his body. But he's going to do this right.
"Omega," He waits until Shane is able to look him in the eyes, head lolling to the side. "Invite me into your nest."
Shane smiles, weakly, raw affection for his boyfriend—for his mate!—in his eyes. "Ilya. Alpha. Please come into my nest and fuck me through my heat. Want you to bite me, and mate me," his voice drops to a sultry whisper. "Want you to breed me."
Ilya's mouth snaps shut, dumbly. "Shane, what? Are you—?"
"Surpriiiiise." Shane's officially entered the 'fucked dumb' stage of his heat. "Told you I had this heat planned out. Went off my suppressants and my birth control. I'm 100% fertile and ready. Doctor said there was nothing wrong with my fertility even after being on them so long. Other than it being a 'geriatric pregnancy' if we get pregnant, which made me feel great but otherwise, yeah." He smiles, so soft and so perfect. "You wanna' make a baby with me, Rozanov?"
Ilya doesn't think he can speak, Shane's broken him.
"Shane." He whispers, choked up. He doesn't know why he's so shocked. Ilya knew theoretically that with Shane off the ice, they could mate and start a family. They had discussed it, Shane quietly researching the likelihood of getting pregnant as an older omega, of the best schools in their area, the best ways to raise children, all while he thought Ilya wasn't looking. He knew all of this, yes. But for it to really be happening, at the possibility of actually seeing Shane pregnant with his child—with their pup.
He was speechless.
"Ilyusha?" Shane asks, timidly, when Ilya doesn't respond, smile faltering.
Ilya refuses to allow Shane to think he wouldn't want this for even a millisecond. He grabs him by the waist, depositing him in the center of the bed, climbing into the nest on his knees. He grabs the sides of his face and kisses him everywhere he can reach, the tip of his nose, his freckles, the edge of his elated smile.
"Rozanov—hey! Alright," Shane's laughing now, pushing back on Ilya's chest until he settles between his spread thighs. "God, okay. I'll take that as a yes. Will you get over here and fuck me now, please?"
Ilya kisses him, mapping out Shane's mouth, sharing the taste of his own slick on his tongue. He rests his forehead on Shane's and pulls back with a smile. "Anything for you, omega."
Ilya reaches down and blindly gives his cock a stroke, swearing lowly at the feeling after being left hard and wanting for so long. He rubs the head of his dick through Shane's folds, getting him wet with his omega's slick.
"Were you on your knees for so long, you forgot how to fuck me, baby?" Shane teases, meanly, earlier sentimentality forgotten as they settle back into their dynamic. "You need me to tell you where to put it?"
"Shane," He whines, needy.
"Do you need me to use you baby? To lay you out and ride your cock like a toy?" Shane rolls his eyes, theatrically. "Figures. I spend the whole night taking care of myself and when I finally decide you deserve to fuck me—"
"I'm sorry," His beautiful blue eyes widening. "I can fuck you good, Omega. Please. Let me show you."
Shane sits up against the headboard, chin tilted up, leveling him with an unimpressed look. "I don't know if I can trust you to fuck me how I need, baby. You'd have to breed me so good it takes. Not sure you can do that when all you're thinking about is your big dumb cock."
"No, no, no." Ilya scoops up Shane's lower half, winding his arms around his thighs and bearing Shane's full weight. "I can do it, Shanya. Will get you pregnant on the first try, make you come over and over on my knot. Please, let me prove it to you."
Shane stretches his arms over his head, scent pouring out satisfied and languid. "Okay, puppy. I'll give you a chance. But if you can't do it right," he clicks his tongue, "I'll have to do it myself."
"Can do it, Omega. I promise. Will breed you so good. You'll be stuck on my knot for hours."
Shane spreads his thighs as wide as he can, reaching down to hold himself open for Ilya's cock. "Okay, baby. Show me. Come breed your omega."
Ilya drinks in the view with a moan, making sure his grip around Shane's hips is secure before lining himself up and pushing into his omega's willing body.
Shane's eyes roll back in his head, finally full of his mate's cock after so long without it. "Oh fuck, puppy. You feel so good. That's it. Fuck your mate, baby. Let me feel it."
The grip around Shane's lower half is near bruising, Ilya focusing every ounce of willpower in his body on not knotting the second he gets all the way inside. He fucks his hips forward in a smooth slide, exhaling a breath of relief when his heavy balls come to rest against Shane's ass. He pauses for a moment to let them both get used to the feeling, Shane making impatient grunts of disapproval underneath him.
"C'mon, Rozanov. Fuck me, already."
Ilya does what he was born to do—he gives his mate what he wants.
He fucks his hips into Shane fast and deep, pulling out almost all the way and snapping forward into the warm wet heat of his omega. Shane's a complete wreck underneath him, head thrown back in pleasure, hands trailing up and down Ilya's body and hanging on to whatever he can. Shane's mouth is dropped open, loud shocked moans being fucked out of him without any conscious thought of releasing them. Ilya can feel the fever ripping through Shane from the inside out, the tight squeeze around his cock warm and wet and so good.
Ilya can feel his knot starting to form, catching on Shane's hole each time he pulls out. He reaches a hand down and plays with Shane's clit, hips never stilling their relentless thrusting.
"Oh, that's it, baby. Make me come. Oh, shit, Ilya. Yes, yes!" Shane's nails dig in Ilya's muscular back, keening. "Fuck, I'm coming!" Ilya keeps his pace on Shane's clit, waiting until the omega is squirming from oversensitivity before stopping. "Good boy, Ilya. Shit." Ilya hasn't stopped thrusting, waiting until his omega is ready before forcing his knot all the way in. "Okay, okay. Give it to me, puppy. C'mon. Breed me."
Ilya whimpers low in his chest, hips stuttering in pleasure. He lets everything go, pounding into Shane's fucked-open pussy, the dripping warmth bringing him closer and closer to his own climax. The bedroom stinks of Shane's heat and his own sharper frustration. But Shane's finally letting him come, wants him to knot, wants Ilya to breed him. Get him pregnant with his pup. Ilya's done well—he can smell Shane's satisfaction leaking out of him in a slow, languid pull.
"Shane—" Ilya gasps brokenly as Shane digs his nails into Ilya's ass, physically pulling him in fully, knot pushing through the initial resistance and settling inside where it belongs. Ilya's face creases like he's been shot, breath forced out of his lungs and leaving his body in an embarrassing whimper.
"Good puppy, Ilya." Shane pets down Ilya's side, scent calming and placating him like he's a pup. "That's it, baby. Feels so good, doesn't it?" Ilya's coming so hard he's trembling, a truly ridiculous amount of come pulsing into the omega beneath him. "You did just what I needed didn't you? Bred me like a good alpha. Going to make it take on the first try, aren't you?"
Shane grabs Ilya's hands and moves them to his stomach, letting his legs fall to the bed. "You feel that? Feel how full I am of you, Alpha?"
Ilya pushes down against the swelling in Shane's lower abdomen, swearing lowly when the pressure pushes back against his cock. "Shane, fuck. Can I—"
Shane drags him up until he can take his mouth in a hot, passionate kiss, tongue fucking into Ilya's mouth, licking across the point of a fang. "Bite me, Ilya. Want you to be mine."
"Fuck, Shane. Yours." Ilya noses against the scent gland in his neck and bites down, moaning at the colors that explode behind his closed eyelids. Everything locks into place—this is his omega, his true mate. This is the man who will carry his pups, who will grow old with him, who will love him and hold him steady. Shane's tense beneath him, clenching around his knot, overstimulated with Ilya inside him and above him and all around him.
Ilya releases him with a gasp, hips kicking forward as another pulse of come fills Shane's hole. He licks over the bite, soothing it with his tongue and quickly tilts his own head to the side. "Shane, want your bite, too."
Shane hesitates, unsure. Generally, omegas didn't give alphas their own bite—it was something only alphas did to them. A way to stake their claim, to prove an omega was theirs by rights. But Ilya was not a typical alpha, and they were not a typical pair. Nothing would complete Ilya more, would soothe his restless Alpha, than by having his omega's mark seared into his skin.
Ilya attempts to convey this with his scent, calm assurance wrapped in his own warm cedar scent. He tilts his head to the side again, baring his throat for his mate.
Shane gives a shy smile, and bites down.