Chapter Text
“It’s amazing to see how well you actually get along with him.” Hayden says, his voice almost echoing in the empty locker room.
The air still smells like sweat and sharp cologne. Some of the lockers are already abandoned and there are towels draped carelessly over the benches. Today’s practice was long and everyone else had already left for showers and home, leaving only the two of them behind.
“With who?” Shane asks as he packs his stuff into his bag.
“With Rozanov.”
“We’ve known each other since our rookie season, after all.” Shane snorts quietly and reaches for his hoodie.
“That was like… almost ten years ago, right? And you two are still close to this day.” Hayden shrugs as he zips his bag.
“It’s not that weird, isn’t it?” Shane puts on his hoodie. “We may be playing against each other every season, but I see him a lot. Our world’s pretty small.”
“Yeah, I know.” Hayden hums, eyes drifting to one flickering light at the corner of the ceiling that maintenance still hasn’t fixed. “But he’s an alpha.”
Shane pauses. His hand stops momentarily on the zipper of his duffel bag before he pulls it closed. “Is it weird for me to be good friends with an alpha?”
“Oh, no, no.” Hayden immediately waves his hand. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not talking about your sub-gender at all. Shit, I’m sorry, that came out wrong.”
Shane turns to look at Hayden fully now. He knows Hayden well and he knows Hayden has never looked at him less just because he’s an omega. He just doesn’t understand what Hayden is getting at.
“It’s just… rare, I guess? An alpha and an omega being that close like you two.” Hayden rubs the back of his neck, choosing his words carefully. “He never… made a move on you or anything?”
Shane knows why Hayden asks that question. Ilya Rozanov is not only famous on ice, he’s also famous among the omegas. The media not only talks about his goals and records as a hockey player, but also his handsome face and his bad boy charm. Whenever Ilya goes, he’s always surrounded by beautiful omegas who are willing to line up for him, and Ilya is also more than happy to play with them.
So it’s not ridiculous for Hayden to assume that Ilya also treats him like those omegas he plays around with.
“Never.” Shane chuckles and shakes his head. “I’m pretty sure Rozanov doesn’t even see me that way. We’re just good friends.”
“Really? Never at all?” Hayden asks, unconvinced.
“Yeah, never.” Shane scans his locker to make sure he’s not leaving anything. “His type is more like sexy and wild omegas in the club, not a boring guy like me.”
“Aw, you’re not boring. Jackie really likes you. She keeps asking me how you’re doing.” Hayden says reassuringly.
“Give my thanks to her.” Shane smiles appreciatively.
Hayden smiles back, but his smile slowly fades into a look of concern. “Hey, um, how’s your irregular heat cycle? Did the doctors tell you anything?”
Shane doesn’t answer immediately. He looks down at the strap of his bag that he’s holding in his hand.
Hayden is one of the very few people who knows about this, a beta who has been a supportive friend for years now, the one who always stands up for Shane whenever he finds any discrimination or unfairness against the omega. Hayden’s sister is an omega too, dealing with the same problem about her heat cycle, and Shane knows Hayden cares for him like he’s his own brother.
“There’s not much the doctors can do. It’s my hormones. Some omegas are just born unlucky, I guess.” Shane huffs out a dry chuckle.
“You need to be careful.” Hayden presses his lips together.
“Yeah, I know.” Shane nods and glances at the beta. “Thanks.”
“Oh, by the way. I’m also carrying heat suppressants with me, from my sister. If you need one, you have to tell me, okay?” Hayden points a finger up.
“I will.” Shane chuckles lightly. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” Hayden says and then carries his bag on his shoulder. “I’ll head out.”
“See you.” Shane nods at his friend.
Hayden gives him a small wave before heading out, his footsteps echoing faintly down the hallway. Shane slings his bag over his shoulder before turning around to leave. Just as he steps out of the locker room, his phone buzzes in his hand.
Ilya Rozanov: Any nice bar in Toronto?
The corners of Shane’s mouth lift instinctively. He types his reply as he walks.
You: How long will you be in Toronto?
Ilya Rozanov: Flying out Thursday
Ilya Rozanov: I want some drinks
You: I’ll take you there.
Shane slips his phone into his pocket and keeps walking, the smile lingering longer than it should.
He had heard about Ilya long before they actually met face to face, back when he was in high school when names circulated faster than faces. There had been talk about a Russian prodigy who was the captain of the Russian junior team, a young alpha with reckless confidence and raw talent. He was Ilya Rozanov. Talented, brilliant, but a real trouble.
They first met in Saskatchewan during the International Prospect Cup, right before the final match between Canada and Russia. Their introduction somehow turned out to be the beginning of their decade-long rivalry turned friendship.
Ilya Rozanov was a typical alpha, Shane had thought at that time. He was confident to the point of arrogance and his presence was strong, almost domineering. Ilya played like he owned the rink, like the world would simply move aside if he skated through. He was loud, blunt, and unapologetic, but there was something captivating about seeing him on the ice.
He lost to Ilya that day, but once they were both drafted for the league and playing for opposite teams, their rivalry continued. He won on some nights with his quick strategy and controlled movements that shot Boston Raiders down. Other nights, Ilya tore through Montreal Metros’ defenses like he was born for chaos.
Somewhere between all of that, between post-game handshakes and press conferences, between trash talk and grudging respect, their rivalry softened at the edges. They started talking about the game and other players at first, and then they started talking about their travels, injuries, interviews, and everything else.
Years passed like that. Their losses stung, yet their wins never felt final. Their rivalry never changed through the years, but when both of them were out of the ice arena, they were friends.
Shane steps out into the evening air and clenches his teeth slightly when the cold wind blows over him. He thinks about the nice bars in Toronto where he can watch Ilya drinking with a pleased smile on his face, where they can talk as much as they want about everything, where they can laugh together as if they’re not about to shove each other again the next time they’re on ice.
People often ask him how he can stand being friends with such an overbearing and brash alpha like Ilya.
But these people only ever see Ilya Rozanov from the outside, from his interviews and highlight reels, from his cocky grin and his sharp tongue, from the way he acts like the world was built to accommodate him. They only see the arrogant, self-centered, and unapologetic alpha.
They don’t see what’s underneath.
They don’t see the Ilya who carries his home and his family on his back, who sends his money to his brother without complaint, who never talks about the weight he’s carrying but always bears it. They don’t know the way Ilya’s voice softens when he talks about his late mother, the way Ilya says I love you to his teammates at the end of the match, the way Ilya shows his care and empathy beneath his sarcastic words.
They don’t know the Ilya who listens to him. They don’t know the Ilya who lets him ramble about the rabbit hole he falls into while watching YouTube, about the scenes that loop endlessly in his head, about the routines he does to ground himself when the world gets too noisy and overwhelming. They don’t know the Ilya who never mocks him, never makes a joke about his weird fixation and anxiety, never rolls his eyes, and never calls him strange. Ilya only calls him boring to tease him.
They don’t see the Ilya who sees him as a person first instead of an omega.
Growing up as an omega in the sports world, Shane has heard enough snide remarks through the years. They said omegas aren’t built for this kind of sport. They said omegas should just stay home, be good wives, and bear children for their husbands. They said omegas should just smile and sit prettily instead of playing hockey.
Honestly, he doesn’t hate the idea of settling down and having a family, but not now. Not when he isn’t given any choice, not when he still has a dream to chase, not when his passion for hockey is still burning brightly, not when Ilya Rozanov is still waiting for him on the ice.
When people told him that he’s wasting his time and that he wouldn’t go far as an athlete, he trained longer and harder. He proved them wrong one game at a time, one season at a time, until his name belonged on the ice as much as any other alpha players, until he was called one of the best hockey players in his generation.
And through all of it, Ilya never treated him differently.
From the very start, Ilya treated him like another man, another player, and another rival who deserved everything he had to give. There was no condescension or assumption, only respect and fair competition. Ilya sees him for who he is.
Sometimes, Shane wishes that other people could see that side of Ilya too.
When Shane climbs into his car, he feels his phone buzzing in his pocket.
Ilya Rozanov: You drink with me. Not only ginger ale.
Shane chuckles lightly. He can somehow hear Ilya’s accented voice in his ears and picture the alpha’s judging face just from reading the message.
You: Maybe.
He puts his phone on the passenger seat and starts the car before driving it out onto the road.
“So you’re flying to Toronto tomorrow?” Rose asks while stirring her sangria.
“Yeah.” Shane reaches for his glass of water.
Rose had texted him earlier in the afternoon, saying that she’s in Montreal for work and asking if he has free time to grab a quick dinner together. They’re sitting at a small restaurant near the corner of a street, one of Shane’s hidden gems. Their dinner has been cleared away, leaving them with their drinks and conversations.
“You going to meet with Rozanov there?”
“Of course. We’re playing against each other.” Shane chuckles lightly.
“No, I mean after the game. You going to meet him outside?”
“Probably.” Shane nods, but the smile remains on his face.
Rose doesn’t reply right away. She just watches him, her lips quirking upward into a knowing smile.
Shane notices the look. “What?”
“You know, I’ve been thinking…” Rose smiles and stirs her sangria again. “When are you going to tell that Russian guy that you’re in love with him?”
Shane freezes. He opens his mouth and then closes it again, feeling the heat creeping up his neck and ears.
“I-I’m not— I mean—” Shane stutters, flustered, and then looks at Rose who’s waiting patiently at him with that smile on her face. “…Is it that obvious?”
“Not really.” Rose hums. “But we’re both omegas, so we notice more things compared to those oblivious and self-centered alphas.”
Shane drops his gaze to the table, feeling the blush lingering across his cheeks. He has only known Rose for a short while, but she has become one of his closest friends. She’s the type who’s sensible and quietly supportive, the type of person who never pushes, but always sees and notices things.
“How long have you been in love with him?” Rose asks gently.
“I don’t know.” Shane says honestly. “When I first met him, I thought he was just another typical alpha. The kind that takes up all the space in the room and expects everyone else to accommodate him.”
Rose smiles, encouraging him to continue.
“But the more I got to know him… The more I realized there’s more underneath his bravado.” Shane’s face softens when he thinks about Ilya. “He has his gentle side, he’s loyal to his friends and team, he remembers the things I say, and he cares about others more than what he shows to the world.”
Rose’s smile grows wider as she listens to Shane blabbering about the man he’s in love with.
“I didn’t notice when it started, but by the time I realized it, I was… already in love with him.” Shane swallows after the last words.
Rose nods, absorbing every word. “And you’re not planning to tell him?”
“No. Definitely not.” Shane shakes his head quickly and huffs out a chuckle as if it’s a ridiculous idea.
“Why not?” Rose tilts her head.
“It’s just… He doesn’t even see me as an omega. He treats me like a friend and I treasure that friendship.” He shrugs, a little helpless. “People tell me he’s an asshole, and he is, sometimes. But I still treasure what we have. I don’t want to ruin it by wanting something he’s never offered.”
“But are you satisfied with just being a friend?” Rose asks bluntly.
Shane stills for a while, like he’s really thinking about the question, and then he huffs out a humorless chuckle. “I’ll take whatever I can have.”
Rose’s expression softens with sympathy. She slowly reaches across the table and places her hand over his. Shane looks up and smiles faintly as he squeezes her hand back.
Rose’s gaze drifts down to Shane’s throat, and then she blinks. “You’re not wearing a collar?”
Shane’s hand comes up instinctively to touch his bare neck.
Unmated omegas usually wear collars when they’re out in public places. There’s no written rule about it, but it’s sort of a social norm. Nape is a very important body part for omegas, perhaps the most vulnerable spot. It’s where an alpha would place their mark by sinking their teeth into the skin, deep enough to leave a permanent scar called claiming mark.
Claiming mark is a bond that’s meant to last a lifetime. It’s romantic in love stories, but can be terrifying in reality. A bond formed with the wrong alpha could even be the end of an omega’s life. Although modern medicine offers surgeries to remove the scar and break the bonds, most omegas would rather not test those options to begin with. Shane once read an article about how this surgery might even shorten an omega’s lifespan as a side effect. Scientists and doctors are still developing it, after all.
Rose wears her collars whenever she’s not shooting. She even has a collection of collars that match her outfits like the fashionista she is.
But Shane rarely wears it.
He has been set as an athlete since he was young. He knew how to suppress his pheromones and how to keep his omega traits hidden, especially on the ice where he’s expected to stand on the same ground as the betas and alphas who are skating beside him, shoving him against the board, and knocking him down. He knows how to keep himself safe. He knows how to protect himself.
Besides, wearing a collar is the most obvious giveaway of someone being an omega and he doesn’t enjoy being pointed at for his sub-gender. When he doesn’t wear his collar, he looks just like another beta male on the street and he prefers it that way.
“I wear scent-blocker patches all the time. No one will even smell my pheromones.” Shane taps lightly at the little square patch on his nape.
“There’s no harm in wearing a collar though.” Rose sighs.
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.” Shane smiles fondly.
Rose smiles back at him, but the concern remains in her eyes.
The bar is filled with the sound of people chattering, bartender shaking drinks, glasses clinking, and upbeat music playing in the background.
Shane and Ilya are sitting next to each other at the bar counter. Shane with his ginger ale and Ilya with a glass of vodka on ice.
“I don’t even shoot very hard. Your defenders are fools.” Ilya grins as he gloats over his win today.
“Stop bragging, asshole.” Shane gives the alpha a look.
“Is not brag if it’s true.” Ilya says smugly.
Ilya keeps going, talking about the timing and the score at the last second, how the crowd went quiet for a beat and then erupted into cheers. Shane rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t interrupt and just lets Ilya gloat.
Then Ilya stops when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Shane can’t help but to glance over as Ilya pulls his phone out, catching the name on the screen.
Alexei.
Ilya swipes to decline the call and slips his phone back into his pocket as if nothing happened. He lifts his vodka and takes a long drink of it. Shane watches the alpha for a moment, noticing the instant shift in his mood.
“Everything okay at home?” He asks carefully.
“Yeah.” Ilya says flatly.
He knows that look. He knows how Ilya’s mood always shifts so fast whenever he thinks about his home in Russia – or if he can actually call that place home. He knows about the pressure and expectation from Ilya’s family. It took a few years of banter and drinks before Ilya opened up about his late mother he loved dearly, the strict father he couldn’t hate, and an older brother who hated him to the bones. Ilya talked about it all like it’s normal because he was taught to bury his grief and keep moving after his mother’s death.
It's the side of Ilya that people don’t know, and it’s the side of Ilya that breaks Shane’s heart a little every time he sees it.
Shane presses his lips and carefully places his hand on Ilya’s shoulder. “You can always talk to me about anything.”
Ilya looks at him for a moment, his eyes sharp yet unreadable, and Shane slowly drops his hand from the alpha’s shoulder. Then Ilya’s gaze drops to the ginger ale in front of him.
“You said you drink with me.” Ilya says, still staring at the ginger ale.
“I said maybe.”
“Drink.” Ilya says.
“Alright, alright.” Shane raises his hand and signals the bartender. “One beer, please.”
Ilya waits until Shane gets his beer before lifting his vodka and clinking his glass lightly against Shane’s bottle.
They drink in companionable silence for a while after that with the noise of the bar surrounding them. Shane glances over at Ilya once in a while, studying the alpha’s expression and trying to read his mood. He can see Ilya taking a look at his phone and slipping it back into his pocket, probably declining another call from his brother.
Shane shifts his gaze to his bottle of beer before turning to Ilya again. “I need to go to the restroom for a second.”
Ilya nods and watches as Shane steps off his stool to weave his way through the crowd. Ilya’s gaze follows the omega until he disappears down the narrow hallway near the back, and then he turns to the bar.
“Vodka, please.” He says to a bartender as he pushes his empty glass forward.
The bartender takes the glass and refills it with vodka and ice before placing it back in front of Ilya. The bartender then glances in the direction where Shane left.
“People always say you and Shane Hollander hate each other, but look at you two.” The bartender says casually.
Ilya hums, neither agreeing nor denying it, and takes a sip of his vodka.
The bartender doesn’t seem discouraged by the lack of response though. He leans an elbow on the counter and then smirks. “I was surprised when I first heard that he’s an omega. But then again, with a face and body like that, guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He has this sexy aura about him, you know.”
Ilya freezes, the rim of the glass still pressed between his lips.
“A pretty omega like him gotta be popular among sportsmen, is he not? Not everybody likes the typical delicate and soft omegas.” The bartender lowers his voice like he’s sharing a secret with Ilya. “Like me. I actually prefer omegas like him. Pretty face, lean body, and must have damn good stamina for other stuff.”
Ilya slams his glass down on the bar hard enough that the clear liquid sloshes over the rim. A few heads turn at the noise and the bartender flinches in surprise.
Ilya leans forward slightly, his pheromones scent oozes out of him, sharp and thick with displeasure.
“You say one more word about him, I will break your face.” He says, his voice low and dangerous, almost filled with murderous intent.
The bartender looks visibly terrified. He quickly walks away, putting as much distance from Ilya as possible. Ilya’s glare follows after the bartender, and then he lifts his glass again and takes a long drink like he’s forcing his anger back down.
A minute later, Shane returns and slips back onto the stool beside Ilya. When he looks at the alpha, however, he notices the tension on Ilya’s face.
“You okay?” He asks.
“Yeah.”
Shane’s gaze flicks to the glass in Ilya’s hand. “Did you get another refill?”
“I did.”
“You shouldn’t drink too much.” Shane shakes his head with a chuckle.
“You worry too much.” Ilya snorts softly.
They drink again.
Shane tries to finish his beer while Ilya asks for another vodka refill. Shane watches the alpha with mild disbelief. He has heard the jokes about Russians not being able to get drunk no matter how much they drink, and seeing Ilya drink like this, he’s starting to think that the joke might be a fact.
Well, they’re staying in the same hotel tonight. If Ilya does get drunk, he can get the alpha back to his room without much trouble.
Unlike Ilya, he doesn’t handle alcohol well. His tolerance is probably the lowest compared to his teammates. There’s a reason why he prefers ginger ale, or maybe a bottle of beer when he’s feeling like it.
“You’re drinking vodka like it’s water.” He comments.
Ilya chuckles and opens his mouth to reply, but then he stiffens. He suddely furrows his brows and brings a hand to block his nose.
“What’s wrong?” Shane blinks.
“I smell pheromones.” Ilya says. “Omega.”
Shane’s head snaps up immediately. He scans the bar quickly until he sees a table not too far away from them. There’s a group of women crowding around one of their friends. The woman in the middle looks flushed and jittery, almost like she’s having a panic attack, but Shane knows that’s not it.
She’s getting into heat.
Alphas like Ilya have sharper senses when it comes to omegas. They’re usually the first to notice when an omega’s pheromones spike. Shane watches as the other women dig through their purses in panic. When he glances around, he sees some people in the bar turning their heads and sniffing the air, trying to smell the pheromones.
Shane quickly steps off his stool and walks over to the group of women. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two blistered pills before handing it to the female omega.
“They’re pretty strong, but they’ll help quickly.” He says quietly.
The woman looks at him and quickly takes the pills from his hand. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
The other women also thank him quickly, one even calling him a savior. Shane waits long enough until the woman swallows both pills. He glances over his shoulder every second, making sure that there are no weirdos who want to bother these ladies. His eyes then linger on Ilya who’s watching the entire exchange.
When the women start gathering their things and help their friend to leave the bar together. Shane excuses himself with a smile and makes his way back to Ilya. Once he slides back onto the stool beside Ilya, the alpha finally lowers his hand from his nose.
“You alright? Want to get some fresh air?” Shane asks, knowing how alphas can get restless after smelling the pheromones of an omega in heat.
Instead of answering the question, Ilya asks. “You always carry that wherever you go?”
“Carry what? Heat suppressants?” Shane blinks.
“Yes. Heat suppressants.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s a habit.” Shane says.
Ilya seems confused. He studies the omega with an assessing look as if he’s trying to understand more of it. “You really need to carry them everywhere?”
Shane looks at Ilya, a bit surprised.
In all the years they’ve known each other, this might be the first time Ilya has ever asked him something related to his identity as an omega. Ilya has never touched this topic before, not even jokingly or seriously. There are even moments where Shane wonders if Ilya is actually aware of him being an omega.
His heart starts to pound a little harder and his pulse quickens, but then Ilya speaks again.
“Svetlana only carries suppressants when it’s close to her heat.”
Shane’s chest twinges at the name.
He knows who Svetlana is. He has heard Ilya mention her many times, about his childhood friend, his best friend, the one who understands him the most, the one who shares his bed when they both feel like it, and the one who calls him to satiate her heat sometimes. He has even seen Svetlana’s pictures before and he has to admit that she’s a very beautiful omega, perhaps a perfect match for an alpha like Ilya.
Ilya is, after all, a popular alpha. Shane knows Ilya’s reputation and he knows how omegas will happily line up to sleep with him. He has learned how to pretend not to notice the hickeys on Ilya’s neck or the sweet pheromones that seem to linger on the alpha. He has learned how to swallow his pain and jealousy every time.
Shane takes a gulp of his beer before answering. “My heat cycle is irregular, so yeah, I carry them all the time just in case.”
Ilya’s brow furrows immediately. “Irregular how?”
“It just… doesn’t follow the 28-day pattern. Sometimes it comes early. Sometimes late. Sometimes it doesn’t come at all for an entire month.” Shane tries to explain.
Ilya’s frown deepens as he listens, confusion and concern stirring in his eyes. “You go to doctor?”
“Yeah, but there’s not much they can do.” Shane says. “Irregular heat cycles aren’t that rare. There are other omegas like me too. We just have to be more cautious and careful.”
Ilya doesn’t look reassured at all. He’s quiet for a moment, like he’s processing the words, and then he asks. “It never happens during match, right?”
Shane hesitates, suddenly feeling like he’s being examined under a light. He has no idea why Ilya suddenly cares so much about his omega routine, but there’s something genuine in the alpha’s expression. Maybe it’s concern, or maybe it’s just curiosity.
“I make sure it doesn’t happen during a match.” Shane explains carefully. “I start taking suppressants three days before a match and I keep taking them through game day.”
“So you have schedule.” Ilya hums.
“I do.”
Ilya nods slowly and lifts his glass to take a sip of his vodka. He places the glass back down and then turns to Shane. “We will be on the same team for NHL All-Star match. You know that?”
Shane blinks, taken aback by the abrupt change of topic. One second Ilya was interrogating him about heat suppressants and now, the alpha suddenly talks about hockey again.
“Yeah. I heard.” Shane forces out a chuckle, trying to look casual. “Must be exciting, huh?”
Later that night, Shane stumbles down the hallway with Ilya draped against his side with an arm over the omega’s shoulders.
“Alright, alright. We’re here.” Shane groans as he stops in front of a door and then turns to Ilya who’s leaning against him. “Where’s your key?”
Ilya pulls out a card key from his pocket and then waves it vaguely in front of Shane’s face.
Shane snatches it, presses it against the lock, and then pushes the door open once it’s unlocked. They stumble inside together before he drags Ilya toward the bed and finally dumps the alpha down onto the mattress. Ilya lands sitting, bouncing slightly on the edge of the bed.
“You are so fucking heavy.” Shane finally straightens his back.
“You are weak.” Ilya hums as he rubs the bridge of his nose between his fingers.
“Oh, fuck off.” Shane rolls his eyes. He studies the alpha quietly before speaking again. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen you drunk.”
“I am not drunk.” Ilya says.
“Sure.” Shane hums sarcastically.
Ilya drops his hand from his nose, but doesn’t say anything back. His gaze is fixed on the carpeted floor like he’s lost in thoughts. Shane watches the alpha for a moment, a bit confused, but he doesn’t press. Now that Ilya has arrived safely in his room, it’s time for him to call the night.
“I’m gonna head back to my room now.” Shane says and makes a move to turn around.
“Wait.”
He stops and turns back to the alpha. “What?”
“Why you never wear collar?” Ilya looks up at him, his eyes seem sharper than a second ago.
Shane is caught off guard by the unexpected question. He opens and closes his mouth before answering. “I don’t really need it.”
“Unmated omegas need collars.” Ilya says as if he’s stating a fact.
“I know, but I wear scent-blocker patches all the time and I always have suppressants with me.” Shane says, a little defensive.
“You cannot even predict your own heat, not wearing collar is dangerous.” Ilya’s voice suddenly drops lower.
Shane feels the sudden change of mood. He doesn’t know why Ilya seems upset, but he can feel it in the air.
“Alphas have sharp nose. They smell omega’s scent easily. Some alphas get very aggressive toward omegas.” Ilya pauses for a second and then looks at Shane right in the eyes. “Omegas like you.”
Shane’s breath hitches. For a split second, he thinks Ilya might have growled those last words.
When he takes a breath, he catches a faint scent in the air. It smells a bit like winter air, sharp and clean, but there’s also something warm beneath it. He has caught this scent a few times before, mostly during an intense match when Ilya pushed him against the board or checked him. The rink always smells like a bunch of alphas’ pheromones mixed together, yet he always recognizes Ilya’s scent from all of them.
He has smelled this scent before, but not this sharp. This is almost like a warning sign.
Shane’s omega instinct reacts instantly, telling him to get away.
“I’ll keep your advice in mind. Thanks.” He says quickly and turns around.
“Wait.” Ilya says, almost like a command.
Shane finds himself obeying the words instinctively. He turns back and sees Ilya standing up. His posture is straight and his shoulders are squared, his presence suddenly feels too much for the hotel room.
When Ilya takes a step toward him, he steps back without thinking.
His heart is beating so hard against his ribcage as he keeps his eyes on Ilya, like a prey watching his predator coming closer. When he takes another step backward, his back hits the wall behind him.
Ilya immediately cages him against it. His one arm is braced against the wall beside Shane’s head while his other hand is grabbing the omega’s shoulder, pinning him in place.
“You’re definitely drunk, Rozanov.” Shane tries to crack a joke, but his voice comes out breathless.
Ilya doesn’t respond. The alpha leans closer, so much closer that Shane’s lungs stop working momentarily.
What the hell is happening?
Ilya stops just before their noses touch and then lowers his head, pressing his nose against the curve of Shane’s neck. And then he inhales, slow and deep, like he’s trying to suck the air straight out of Shane’s body.
A shudder runs down Shane’s spine as a gasp leaves his throat.
Ilya is scenting him.
That shouldn’t be possible. He’s wearing his scent-blocker patch and he’s not going into heat. His pheromones shouldn’t be noticeable at all. But Ilya presses in harder until his face is buried against Shane’s neck, his lips pressing against the skin.
When Ilya takes another deep breath, Shane lets out another gasp. He can feel his body reacting to Ilya, warmth pooling low in his belly and spreading down to his loins.
Then Ilya pulls back, just enough for their eyes to meet.
Shane’s heart is pounding so hard he’s sure Ilya can hear it too. Ilya’s gaze is dark with hunger, intent, and something else Shane doesn’t dare to name. He slowly lifts his hand and brushes his fingers over Ilya’s cheek, touching the alpha so carefully.
But Ilya jerks back like he’s been burned.
Shane freezes, his hand suspended in midair as he watches Ilya pinching his own nose as if trying to block out a scent.
“Leave.” Ilya turns away.
“W-What?” Shane blinks, still slightly disoriented.
“Leave. Now.” Ilya grits his teeth.
Something in Ilya’s strained voice snaps Shane back to reality. He swallows thickly before quickly making his way to the door.
“Good night.” He mutters quickly before slipping out of the room.
Ilya stares at the closed door for a few seconds before finally dropping his hand from his nose. His chest rises and falls heavily as he drags a hand through his curls, his fingers trembling slightly from how much he was restraining himself.
“Fuck.” He mutters to the empty room.
Meanwhile, Shane slams the door shut as soon as he gets into his hotel room. His heart is still pounding erratically and his chest is still heaving, though he isn’t sure if it’s from walking too fast down the hallway or from what just happened in Ilya’s room. Probably both.
“What the fuck was that?” He whispers to himself.
His hand slowly moves to the side of his neck. The spot where Ilya had pressed his face earlier is still tingling, as if the alpha is still here with him. When his fingers brush over it, a shiver runs down his spine.
He remembers the way Ilya caged him against the wall and pinned him there. He remembers the feeling of that large hand on his shoulder. He remembers the feeling of Ilya’s hot lips pressing against his neck. He remembers the way Ilya stared at him with those eyes, dark and burning with something close to desire.
Ilya was intimidating, dominant, overwhelming, and so fucking hot.
Shane groans quietly to himself. He shouldn’t be thinking like this, he shouldn’t be replaying the scene, but he can’t help it.
He remembers Ilya’s scent too, how it seemed to surround him when Ilya leaned in. He remembers the smell of cold winter air, layered with something smoky and earthy, but also something slightly warm and sweet, like pine needles and a bit of cinnamon. It’s so Ilya.
He takes a deep breath to calm himself, but then freezes.
Ilya’s scent is still here. It’s faint, but it’s unmistakable.
Confused, he sniffs the air before looking down at the T-shirt he’s wearing. Slowly, he pulls the collar up to his nose and takes a careful breath.
There it is. Ilya’s scent is lingering on his shirt. Perhaps from the time he stumbled down the hallway with Ilya draped against him.
“Oh, fuck.” Shane whispers to himself, yet can’t help but to take a longer breath.
Still with his chest heaving, he drags his feet toward the bed and climbs onto it. He lays down on his back and stares at the ceiling, but his body feels too warm and his nerves are tingling. It’s impossible to stay still, not with all the thoughts about Ilya running in his head.
His hand slowly moves on its own as it slides down his torso. There’s a small fire burning inside him right now, the one that he always tries to ignore and bury away whenever he thinks about Ilya.
As if he’s moving on autopilot, he pulls his shirt over his head and pulls his pants down, stripping himself naked on the hotel bed. He then presses the shirt to his face and takes a deep breath, inhaling the faint trace of Ilya’s scent.
“Ilya…” He whispers quietly as he moves his hand lower. He curls his fist around his hardened length and tugs it to full hardness, and then he starts stroking himself.
He imagines the way Ilya loomed over him in his hotel room earlier, how his eyes were dark like a predator ready to pounce, how Ilya pressed his face against his neck and inhaled like the alpha needed his scent to breathe. He imagines what could have happened if Ilya didn’t pull back. He imagines Ilya murmuring his name in that deep and accented voice of his. He imagines Ilya’s hand tracing the lines of his body and grabbing possessively.
Shane moans at the images, his mouth dropping open as soft pants leave his lips. His grip around his cock tightens with every stroke while his other hand moves up to his chest. With a sharp breath, he brings his fingers to play with his nipples, finding them already perked from arousal.
Precome is leaking from the tip of his cock and his stomach begins to stir, but it’s not enough.
He flips his body on all fours, his knees spread wide and his hips pointed up. His nose is still pressing into his shirt, inhaling Ilya’s scent with every breath. He removes his hand from his chest and reaches behind, finding his hole unsurprisingly wet already.
Shane sucks in a quick breath before pushing his finger in, feeling it sliding past his rim. He chokes out a moan and pushes the finger knuckle deep, reaching as deep as he can. He curls his finger a few times to open himself up before pulling and pushing it back into himself. He shuts his eyes and bites onto the shirt as he repeats the movement over and over again.
When he thinks he is loose enough for another finger, he holds his breath and pushes three fingers into himself.
“Fuck… Ilya…” He gasps out and starts thrusting his fingers, trying to reach as deep as he can. His hand around his cock is still moving steadily. His precome is dripping all over the bed and he knows he has to think about a way to clean it up later, but right now, he can’t think of anything but Ilya.
His back arches he imagines what Ilya would see if the alpha somehow walked into his room right now, how Ilya would see him on all fours with his hips up, jerking himself off and fingering himself desperately like this. The thought sends a shudder down his spine.
Shane can hear the dirty squelching sound every time he plunges his fingers into himself, can feel the slick trickling down his thighs, can feel his stomach coiling with approaching orgasm.
Soon, his pace becomes frantic as he feels himself getting closer to the edge. He can feel it in the pit of his stomach, can see the lights flashing before his eyes, can feel his body trembling like it’s losing strength. His hips buck forward into his hand and then push back against the three fingers that are now stretching him.
“Yes—ah…! Fuck me, Ilya…!” Shane chokes out between his moans. His body is burning and his eyes are rolling to the back of his head.
It takes another few seconds before his hips spasm and his body tenses up. He calls out the alpha’s name as he spills his release onto the bed. His walls tighten around his fingers as he squirts all over his hand, clear slick dripping down his knuckles and inner thighs.
He collapses onto the bed a few seconds later, still panting and trembling at the force of his orgasm. His mind is blank for a few seconds as he slowly rolls onto his back, his skin sheening with sweat and his chest heaving.
He stares at the ceiling again, his shirt still clutched in his hand, and then lets out a heavy sigh.
“Fuck.” He murmurs.
Truthfully, this isn’t the first time he touches himself while thinking about Ilya.
Sometimes, he didn’t even start with Ilya in mind. Sometimes, he was under heat suppressants but wanted a quick release to ease the discomfort. Sometimes, he was reading something steamy in a book and wanted to touch himself. Sometimes, he just felt like doing it after a stressful day or an intense match.
But somehow, whenever he started pleasuring himself, Ilya would always slip into his mind. Sometimes it’s Ilya’s voice in his ear, sometimes it’s the feeling of Ilya’s large hands touching his body, sometimes it’s those sharp eyes of his, and sometimes it’s Ilya’s alpha scent. By the time he reached orgasm, his mind was already filled with nothing but Ilya.
There’s always the feeling of guilt afterwards. He has to rehearse himself before he sees Ilya again. He has to pretend that he never imagined Ilya fucking him or knotting him. He has to pretend that he wants nothing more than the friendship they already have.
Because he knows that’s what Ilya wants.
Because if Ilya truly wants something more from him, the alpha wouldn’t hesitate to take it, just like how Ilya takes those omegas around him.
But the more time he spends with Ilya, the harder it is to keep his feelings to himself. For him, it’s a decade of rivalry-turned-friendship and years of yearning for the alpha he never dares to touch.
“Fuck.” Shane whispers again.
He brings his hand up to cover his eyes and presses his palm there as if he can hold himself together by force. His throat tightens, but he forces himself to swallow the knot down.
There’s always a line between them and all this time, he has always been standing safely at the side.
But tonight, it feels like he’s standing too close to the line.
Ilya stops replying to his texts after that night.
It shouldn’t mean anything. Ilya has always been an erratic texter to begin with. Sometimes, Ilya sends him a text at three in the morning about the most random topic that came out of nowhere and sometimes, Ilya disappears for weeks like he has thrown his phone into the Charles River or something.
Shane knows this. He has known Ilya for many years now.
But this silence feels different than usual.
He’s sitting on the couch in his living room with his phone in his hand. The TV is playing some news channel on the screen, but he keeps glancing at his phone and unlocking it just to see if there’s any new notification on the screen.
He blows out a sigh and tilts his head back against the backrest. He shouldn’t overthink this, he knows it, but his mind keeps coming back to that night in Ilya’s hotel room. He can’t help but wonder if they’ve crossed a line that night.
They’ll definitely see each other again in three months for the NHL All-Star Game in Tampa Bay. They will be playing for the same team for the first time in their lives. People are so excited about this, hockey fans have been talking about this all over social media, and Shane is excited too. Of course he is.
He has imagined this since the first time he saw Ilya skate all those years ago, with his reckless confidence and pure talent. He has wondered how it would feel like to move in the same direction, to anticipate a pass instead of blocking shots, and to trust Ilya instead of challenge him.
He wonders if Ilya also thinks the same. He wonders if Ilya is excited about them playing in the same team for the first time.
Shane lifts his phone, his thumb hovers over Ilya’s name for a moment, but in the end, he puts his hand down. He locks the screen and places the phone face-down on the table before getting up from the couch.
Perhaps it’s better to give Ilya some space, because Shane knows he also needs to compose himself before he sees the alpha again in three months.