Chapter Text
"Ilya Rozanov?" Shane watched as the young Russian smacked the lighter one more time, sparking it to life. Shane fought every urge to remind him of the million and one reasons why smoking is the worst thing a to-be pro-athlete could be doing for his body. The urges won. "I don't think you're supposed to be smoking here." The Russian looked far less impressed with the Canadian trying to tell him what to do.
"Okay." He couldn't help the smirk as he heard the thick russian accent. Shane practiced his well-learned Russian, which he felt like he had done a million times. He wanted to come out here and show he could; he really wanted to, but when he opened his mouth, English only came out. "You're an amazing player to watch, really." Shane wanted more from him, and he began to doubt whether Rozanov even had a tangible grasp of English. So far, it wasn't sounding too good. The Russian watched as the player, the one he knew all too much about, one he was told to keep an eye out for, bounced on his feet, bored? confused? frustrated? He didn't know what to say to the Canadian boy; the little English he did have burned in his throat at the sudden attention. He decided to stay quiet, let him say whatever he wanted. The silence made Shane crumble with whatever emotion he was feeling; he didn't even know. He just knew he wanted to lay eyes on the Russian everyone told him to keep an eye on.
"Won't be nice when we beat you." It was like a spark that went off in him; he wanted to snark back bad, deep down, he knew this was his chance to make his impression. "Oh yeah? I'd like to see you try."
Ilya kicked off the wall in an instant. "What the fuck! You speak Russian?" The cigarette butt dropped to the ground, and Shane watched as if it fell, his hands urging him to pick it up. Now Rozanov was standing way too close to him, his hands, his eyes, and the smell of his cigarette breath were all two, maybe even three steps closer than he ever anticipated. "Yes."
"What the fuck? How? Who taught you? Why didn't you start with it? Wow, Hollander, this-this is so unexpected! Wow! This is fucking crazy. I read all about you. There is so little about you in Russian, but you speak it! No one knows? How did you learn Russian? And they call me the Russian spy!" Rosanov's chest was heavy as the words rushed out, making the smell of smoke waft more into Shane. He almost looked manic or giddy, something in between. The Shane Hollander speaks Russian. Ilya is certain that this would only happen in his dreams. Shane took a step back, slightly overwhelmed with the attention, even if he provoked it.
"Public schools in my province in Canada require foreign language classes. I chose Russian; I took it for four years, but I don't know how good it is." Shane removed his hands from his pockets to shield himself from the other boy as he kept stepping closer. "How good? Perfect, your accent is too good, like a real Russian. This is good, very good."
"Good? Why is it good?" Shane could feel himself mimicking Ilya as he shook his head with a wide smile. He indeed felt giddy. "I don't know, just good. This is nice, we can speak Russian together, my English is not good."
"Your English seemed fine to me." Ilya's finger was already wagging in Shane's face, "Oh no, no, no, no, we speak Russian only." The wagging finger turned to a pointed one, tapping exactly three times on Shane's chest. "This Hollander, this is going to be good."
"Good?" The word shaky on his lips.
"Oh, so good."
Shane couldn't resist his impulses as he picked up the cigarette, long slender fingers picking it from his, the tip already being relit before Shane could look him in the eye.
-----
Like a string pulling at Shane, his legs moved before his brain could protest toward Ilya. The blond boy seemed to be in the same trance. "Hey, you." Shane hated how he blushed at the other boy's words. 'You', why would he use such a word? It made him feel as if the Russian had a possession over him. He loved it. He doesn't think he's ever met another person in the world who gave him such a rush. Was it because he was bold? That they could talk in secret? Maybe he was jealous that Ilya seemed to be so at ease with himself within the world. He moved with confidence, of course, he would, he's an alpha. Wikipedia didn't have to tell him that, one look and he knew exactly what he was. It was everything he wanted.
"Hey...you." Shane hated his own hesitation; he could never keep up with the effortlessly cool persona Rosanov oozed. Yet, by the blond's reaction, Ilya didn't seem to care. The smirk on his face seemed to pull the string tight on both ends. Shane's mind was already telling him that they were standing way too close for two people who were gunning for the first draft pick, but he just couldn't help it. He's worried that Ilya may get whatever he wants from him, as long as he asks.
"I had this crazy dream that I met you months ago, and you spoke Russian. Am I still dreaming, or is it true? Break it gently to me, if not." Ilya managed to pull a stiff laugh out of the shy boy. He felt casual and honest; he did, in fact, repeat their first interaction in his head over and over again. Shane was nothing as he expected, not that there was much information about him on Russian news, the little he had access to in English, he couldn't read well. Ilya liked watching his face move; he'd only seen him on a tiny screen, too pixilated to see all the small details that he quickly made note of. How his nose scrunched up, how his freckles moved, his eyes soft. Ilya had to remind himself of how he organized his thoughts. Just because he had no problem with alpha-alpha relations doesn't mean Shane didn't, but he just couldn't help it. Ilya was a romantic at heart; he is Russian after all, and with Shane, he could say anything he wanted, deaf to all other ears. It was thrilling.
"So you dream of me?" They were so close, shoulders brushed as they swayed on their feet, heads tucked toward each other as if they were sharing secrets; to Shane, it kinda felt as if they were.
"And they tell me you're not funny." Ilya's hand brushed past Shane's own on its way to grab a glass of water from the table. Shane tried not think about it.
He felt fucking electric.
"Who is saying I'm not funny? They don't know me." The comment struck a knee-jerk reaction out of the Canadian, maybe even a little louder than what he wouldn't wanted. Shane was weighed down by the thousands of pounds of the thought of what exactly Ilya was hearing or reading about him.
"Shhhh, Russian...remember?" Shane's blush deepened, feeling as if he was being scolded. Giving in to Ilya's demands, Shane did not want to share the knowledge that, after they had met, he had continued his Russian studies, not that it was particularly hard. He had graduated not too long ago, and things were still fresh. The thought crept up on him as soon as he stepped away from the blond for the first time. What if Ilya said something to him, and Shane couldn't understand? He just couldn't let that happen.
A throat-clearing cut the string in half. "I see you two have found each other, not every day the NHL gets talent so young." Shane is crippled with the idea that others were watching him and the Russian as his parents and the organizers of the draft watch them part from each other. "Those are kind words, sir, thank you." Shane extended his hand, following the motion he's done so many times since the NHL came sniffing around. As if his mind could connect to Ilya's, he motioned for him to shake the man's hand as well. Ilya has never been more grateful. He knew this man was important, but he felt like a fool for being too caught up in his head and not hearing the English words he'd only been studying for so little time.
"Hollander, I hear you are aiming for Montreal? They must be elated with such talent; they have big plans for you, which of course, you didn't hear from me." Shane felt robotic as everyone played their part with a laugh; his mother, once again, interjecting the reassurance of her love of Montreal.
"They are saying what about you and Montreal? We just heard him say these words. Why is he saying we didn't?" Ilya was in his space again as if he belonged there. He wanted to push him away; people were looking, and people were thinking, and thinking god knows what Shane plagues. But Ilya wasn't teasing him; his close, hushed whisper was quiet and asking for knowledge. Shane believes, too, that he would stay close to the only other person who can understand him. Shane instinctively leaned back into him, "It's an English phrase, like relaying news that is not theirs to share."
"And what about you and Montreal? What is that word they use to describe you?" Ilya nudged his side as if standing closer; he could absorb the words, and somehow, he would just learn. The Russian was desperate for any news of who exactly Shane Hollander was; if it made him look desperate, he didn't care. "Elated? Means to be happy or excited. Apparently, Montreal is foaming at the mouth to have the best player in the draft."
"Oh, now I know you don't speak Russian; those words have never been said before by anyone." Shane pushed the boy out of his space as he chuffed, a slap on his elbow in defense from the blond. A true, honest-to-god smile on Ilya's face. Shane just almost forgot who he was and who was looking at him, just almost. "I'm sorry, boys, but I must be missing something here? You two are good friends?" The draft chairman almost looked uncomfortable watching the exchange, the attention no longer on him. Shane's eyes wandered between his parents and the chairman, all waiting for him to make the next move, but he didn't have to.
"Uh, learning English for fuck what's the word months," Ilya held his hands up to show seven fingers just as Shane opened his mouth, "Seven."
"Yes, Seven only. My English bad, Shane good." The silence between everyone kept the two young boys tripping over their thoughts as if their behavior was waived away with their quiet, obvious explanation. "Russian." Ilya pointed at Shane's chest as if he found the missing piece to everyone's questions. "Oh, Hollander, I did not know you were Russian?" Shane spoke up before things got out of hand, and he already saw his mother's hand rising in the air. "No, no, I am not Russian. I just speak it; it was my elective in high school."
"Oh, honey, I didn't know you kept up with it!" Yuna almost looked delicately between the two boys, "Uh, yes, clearly." Shane couldn't help but look toward Ilya as if he was ready to translate by the drop of the hat, just for him, if he needed it, but Ilya already knew this about him. All he had to do was nod at Shane to convey that.
"Well, tell him that if Boston gets their way, he'd better get studying, gonna be a lot of English around, again, you didn't hear it from me." The chairmen laughed with Shane's parents as they played along, pleasing the higher-ups, sipping expensive drinks. Shane hated the way he spoke to him, tell him, as if Rosanov wasn't standing two feet away from him. Using the same sentence, Ilya had explicitly said he didn't understand. Shane shook his head, trying to separate the English and Russian conversations in his head. The chairman didn't know what they were saying. He knew he looked stupid, fighting within himself in front of everyone. His thoughts burned to tell Ilya what he said, but he didn't want to say such things.
"I will work very hard for you." Ilya's words were slow and deliberate, probably the best English sentence he's crafted, if his villainous accent didn't cloud the words. He knew the man had said something degrading, 'English...English," that word was always thrown at him, right or wrong. He can't stop his mind from wandering about how Shane would never make him feel this way about his lack of English. He had to count himself lucky. He also felt possessive of their shared secret language being known to someone else; he wanted to live in a world where no one knew they spoke the same language. Where he could just talk, and only Shane could listen.
"I bet you will, son, best of luck to both of you." The chairman took time shaking both the boys' hands. Shane patted his legs, trying to prepare a speech to his parents on how exactly he is allowing Ilya to stand way too close to him. "I have to go." Shane was brought out of his thoughts as he felt the other man tap his elbow. Shane quickly glanced at Ilya, who buttoned up his jacket again, preparing himself for someone. Shane followed his eyes to see a very stern-looking man in a military uniform. "Okay." Ilya left without even looking back. At least he didn't have to meet his parents or, even worse, Shane meet Ilya's.
"Shane. Shane?" A hand waving in front of him brought him back to the tragedy of Ilya being gone and now left to deal with his parents. "Oh, sorry what?"
"What? You're saying what? I should be asking you what! You run off in the middle of a conversation, and now you speak Russian and he! That guy, the Russian! Rosanov! The biggest jackass in hockey. Shane, I don't even know what to say! That was not a good look in front of the draft chairmen." Yuna's shoulders were rubbed as Daid tried to calm her down. "Let's all take a deep breath, shall we? It's a big day for everyone, especially Shane." It was as if his words fell onto deaf ears to Yuna. "And-and you speak Russian now?"
"Mom, who cares what I speak?" Shane could feel the sweat starting to gather on the back of his neck in the suffocating suit. "Well, I just feel as if I was left there stupid, not knowing anything about my own son. That Rosanov guy? I've read up about him; he's an awful, dirty player, you know that? Does not have a good repertoire." Shane was overwhelmed to the brim; his mother was rapid-fire shooting information at him, trying to calculate how she even knew this, she had never met him before, still hadn't, in fact. "Here you are," Yuna struggled to find her next words as her hands waved between them as if she could just grab the words between them, "all hush-hush together. Shane, you know you have to be careful, he's still an alpha, you know?" David tried to interject, but he knew there was no stopping Yuna when she got going.
"What? You think I'll talk to one person who's an alpha that I'll lie on my back for him?" For one split second, Shane forgot that he wasn't speaking Russian and that he'd just said something highly inappropriate to his mother in public; he was sure his blood ran a little cold. He was so stupid for talking to her that way; he knew she was just worried, and maybe even a day like today was considered an even bigger deal to her than it was to Shane. He wanted to curse himself, hit himself, something for his thoughts as they all ran together. Yet, it was always this game with her. It was as if every time Shane befriended anyone, his mother scared them away. He was his own person, and might he add, pretty much a grown adult. If he wanted to make a friend, he could, and he would; he wanted that. He wanted a lot, but he hates that his mind drifts to Ilya. He for sure wanted a lot from him. Fuck why would he say that to his mother? Why would he drag him into this argument? Fuck he'd lie anywhere for Ilya. God, Shane was his own worst enemy; he truly was a victim of his own. He just wanted someone to see him, Shane thinks maybe Ilya does.
Shane watched as his mother's face flashed with a look of horror. He didn't know if it was his words or the thought of him. He felt sick either way. "Forget it, sorry, I shouldn't have said that." He shrugged it off as he straightened out his suit jacket again. Hating how dirty he felt for whatever reason, he chalked it up to. "I'm sorry, honey." Shane didn't mean to shrug her hand off him, but it was too late. "I was just helping him understand what was going on. I didn't mean to seem rude to the chairmen." David patted him on the back. The encouragement made him feel a little better.
"Yes, honey, I understand, but the chairman is right. If he goes to Boston, his English will have to get better; don't you think you'd be better off trying to help him there?" Shane was already shaking his head no, no, he didn't think it would be better. It may be the worst thought that ever wreaked havoc on his brain. He could never take that from Ilya. "Honey, let's be a little sympathetic, our son was doing something nice." Yuna shook out her worry as if she hadn't caused it herself. Shane stood there unwavering. "What? It's true."
Shane looked up to see that Ilya was already watching him from above.
-----
"Don't be mad at me." Shane knew the other was smiling as he spoke; he didn't need to see his face to know that. Ilya came into his space once again, leaning on the ice machine. "I'm not." Maybe he was a little. Or a lot. He wanted to be first pick, needed, but if it had to be anyone else, I guess Rosanov wasn't the worst choice. "I cannot help that I am better." Shane made a show of tightening his water bottle lid with extra drama.
"Things looked a little tense with your family earlier? I know I can be intimidating to meet, and even harder to meet your idol. I wouldn't know, though." Shane hated that he laughed, leaving the Russian standing at the machine. "I don't wanna talk about my family right now."
"Thank god, I don't want you to either." Ilya blew out a dramatic sigh of relief. Shane was already walking towards his room before he processed. Ilya was casually following. "How did you know where I was?" Shane had turned around to face Ilya, and for once, Ilya looked as if he had been caught like a deer in headlights. "Don't you know all Russians can sense each other?" Ilya said it with such matter-of-factness that a younger Shane may have believed him. Ilya couldn't give him an answer either; somehow, in his gut, he had a feeling. He was a man of impulse.
"I'm not Russian."
"I'll make you an honorary one." Ilya laughed as he spoke. He watched as Shane didn't seem to have a reaction. He looked like he was thinking. Ilya already knew Shane was his own worst enemy inside his head. He didn't want him thinking; he wanted him doing. "Would you like to come in?" Okay, maybe thinking was good, as long as it was in his favor.
"Ah, they even put me in a better room; I was destined to win from the start." Shane put extra weight behind setting his bottle down. Shane was thankful enough that Ilya had the decency to sit in the provided guest chair while he leaned back on the headboard. Shane watched as the blond took in the room, not that there was much to see. Shane wondered what Ilya's room looked like. Was it really much better, or was he bluffing? Fuck that didn't matter.
"Why can't I smell you?" It was almost comical the way Shane's mind came to a halt. Ilya wanted to know what he smelled like. “What?” He almost forgot to speak Russian. He could already feel the sweat forming on his body. Shane panicked about how this conversation would head. “I smell nothing from you all night. Even now, I want to know what you smell like.” Ilya seemed almost annoyed that Shane was being so obviously stupid about the matter. “You want to smell me?” Shane's words must have sounded like an invitation to Ilya, his stomach dropping as Ilya came to sit at the end of the bed, nose slightly twitching.
“Do Canadians not share scents with each other? It is quite common in Russia. Or even the standard, if you will.” Shane felt like he might short-circuit. He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he tried to take a sniff of Ilya before. He knew the alpha had to be on some type of blocker; all athletes-to-be were to some extent. The rule of thumb is to keep scent to a minimum of proximity. You should be able to smell someone's scent if you’re in close contact with them, like hugging, and they sure as well haven’t done that.
“I don’t know, this is a hotel, it’s not like I’m making myself at home or anything.” Shane tried to distract himself by drinking his water. God, he wanted to smell Ilya, too. “So it is weird to ask to smell people here?” Shane thought about it for a moment. “I never have, but I see it happen, my teammates form stronger bonds that way.” Shane didn't even know if he could remember his own scent. “I see.”
“Do you want to smell me?” Ilya was already moving his body closer to Shane. He hated how impulsive he could be sometimes. But as Shane said, it was normal for those to create bonds, whatever made it sound better in his head. “Maybe.”
Shane was already moving to meet Ilya halfway. He wanted to jump out of the window about how he was acting right now, crawling toward the middle of the bed like—he didn’t even wanna bring the thought into existence. No one had ever asked him to share scents before, nor has anyone asked what he smelled like. Shane didn’t know he had it in him to touch the side of the Russian's head as he took a deep breath in. It was like cold, fresh air. Fuck Shane loved it. He wanted to be greedy and have it as much as he wanted. Ilya was kinda enough not to mention how many deep breaths Shane took in. It felt natural how they moved around each other. Shane knew Ilya would be disappointed by his lack of smell; he was so pumped full of chemicals to the point that it was not even funny. He felt Ilya’s nose graze his skin, as if getting closer would somehow make the smell appear. “I’m on a pretty heavy dosage, you probably won’t get anything.”
“How do you create bonds then?” Ilya’s voice was too quiet for Shane to handle. Was he actually feeling sorry for him? “I’m a bit of a lone wolf.”
“I hear that the Shane Hollander is not very social. I can see why.” Shane thought this was not the conversation to be had an inch from his ear. Thankfully, Ilya pulled away, only to bring himself back to the other side of his neck. Ilya forgoing personal space as his hand moved Shane’s jaw to see if anything would change with this side of his neck. It didn’t. “There is just something about you, Hollander.” Shane felt like a damn dog desperately wanting to know what would be said next.
“Hm, maybe it’s the Russian in me.” Shane felt like an imposter in his own skin. Who was he? Talking like this? Shane had decided that Russian Shane was his favorite; he made things happen. “Honorary.” Ilya’s teeth clicked as he scolded him, slightly pushing his jaw away, and Shane just couldn’t have that. Like someone else taking over the controls, Shane’s lips brushed past his jaw, leading to the boldest thing he’d ever done in his life. He planted one soft kiss on Ilya’s lips. It was soft and sweet and frustratingly quick as if it were just a stop along the way. Ilya would have no such thing.
Ilya couldn’t stop the frown from appearing when Shane lifted his chin, blocking his need. “Have you been with another alpha before?” Ilya was surprised by his own gentleness, not that he didn’t want to be kind; he’d be anything Shane needed him to be, and right now Ilya felt like he could see right through the boy. “I’ve never been with anyone before.”
“Lucky me.”
Shane's jaw was being held lightly in the alpha's long, slender fingers. 'Lucky me,' Shane might as well have melted in his arms. He knew he was treading into dangerous territory; all the long lectures from his mother played in his head. He was doing exactly what she told him not to. Even more so, he was heading in the direction of things he even said he wouldn't do. But Shane from this morning had not yet smelled the alpha's scent, and most importantly, not an inch away from sitting in his lap in his hotel room.
The kiss was just as gentle as Shane's, but it was real, a real kiss, and holy shit, Shane liked kisses. Kisses from Rosanov, to be exact. He hated how he felt insecure about his kissing ability; he was sure Ilya wasn't; he for sure didn't feel like it.Shane was sure alphas were just born knowing how to do anything related to whatever they were doing now. One kiss turned into two, then six, and now Shane was on his back. Fuck, right where he wanted to be. "You're so agreeable. Do you like this?"
Shane didn't think he could speak Russian if he tried right now. He was pretty sure he had read every article about what it means to be an alpha, and he was dedicated to his performance. He hated to admit that many of the standard alpha behaviors were not exactly his dream behavior, yet Ilya was here holding him gently and ever so kindly, waiting for his response. "Yes."
Ilya was back on him as soon as the words left his mouth. Slowly moving him to wrap around the bigger alpha. Maybe he was born with all the knowledge he needed as well. The soft noises coming from Ilya were making him believe so. A kiss on the lips, a kiss on the cheek, a kiss on the jaw, a kiss on the neck. Shane loved the way the other boy's body felt near him, touching him, guiding his hands to the other's chest. Shane didn't know what to do with his hands, and once again, Ilya somehow knew, guiding him. He'd never been touched before, and he felt like he was on fire. It felt good to know that something worked.
Ilya moved Shane's leg out of the way as if his hands slowly pushed up under his shirt, feeling the warm, soft skin hidden underneath. He wanted everything and more from him. He had been with a few other alphas; it was fun, having such a powerful creature in your control was probably doing damage to his developing brain, but he didn't mind. But Shane wasn't like that; he was gentle and unsure. Ilya almost felt gross holding something so delicate; he didn't think he could take care of it enough. He moved his body to lie between Shane's legs, and he felt the wall of muscle freeze below him. "You need to stop, stop." He felt like he just cracked the porcelain. Carefully sitting back on the end of the bed, taking care not touch the other as he moved.
Ilya wished he hadn't looked up at Shane, the person he was looking at was like a cornered animal as he shoved himself up against the headboard. Shirt halfway pushed up his chest, and legs pulled up tight, more hurtfully, a hand extended to block him from coming closer. To Ilya, he might as well be holding a knife there.
"I'm sorry." Ilya wasn't sure what exactly went wrong, but reading the room, it seemed like a good thing to say. He made a show of tucking his hands to the side, Shane looking all too worried that Ilya might reach out again. He watched as Shane lowered his hand. At least he got one thing right.
"No, no, it's okay. I uh, I," Ilya watched as Shane gripped his chest as if he was listening to his heart beat out of his chest. Ilya ached that he was making Shane work even more to speak Russian in the state he was in. "It can be scary being with someone for the first time, even more so with alphas. I know people frown upon that here; they do so back home as well." Shane shook his head yes, so Ilya knew he was going in the right direction. Ilya couldn't decide if Shane was so closed off because of his own choices or because of his lack of scent. He felt sorry for him in a way, even himself had scent bonded with others. He couldn't imagine not having that. But Ilya knew what it was like; it was lonely at the top.
"Yeah."
Ilya desperately wanted Shane to say something else. "I really want to be alone right now, if you don't mind." But Ilya didn't want him to say that. He stood up and straightened his clothing, taking more time than needed. Watching Shane shuffle defensively on the bed more. "Please don't say anything." Shane's voice was soft and quiet. Ilya only nodded.
-----
Shane had known long before the contract ever existed that this is how it would go. He’d known since the first doctor sat his parents down and spoke in careful, flattened tones. Since the first injection. Since the second. Since the way his childhood smelled like antiseptic and citrus suppressants instead of sweat and warmth. Since his body had been treated less like something that belonged to him and more like something that needed managing.
So when the folder landed on the table, heavy with clauses and caution, Shane didn’t flinch. He sat in the Montreal Metros' executive office with his spine straight and his shoulders set, the way he’d learned to hold himself through blood draws and compliance checks and evaluations that never asked how he felt.
His mother, Yuna, sat to his left. She was calm, hands folded, her presence a quiet anchor. Beta. Steady. His father stood behind him, arms crossed, alpha posture unmistakable even when restrained. Protective and watchful.
Across the table: suits, legal counsel, league representatives. A team doctor who already knew Shane’s body better than most people ever would. Yuna reached over and squeezed Shane’s knee under the table. He honestly wanted nothing to do with it. He was still upset with how he left things with his mother and Ilya. Not even signing his multi-million dollar years-long contract with his dream team could fix any of this.
The woman from legal cleared her throat. “As discussed, there are several addenda specific to your… situation.” Shane nodded. He’d heard worse words than that. She slid the contract forward. Shane didn’t rush to take it. He let it sit there, ink and paper outlining a life he’d already been living in practice if not on paper.
“Clause 12.7,” the woman said. “Confidentiality of secondary classification.” Shane didn’t look surprised. He didn’t look like anything at all.
“This information will remain sealed. Disclosure is limited to medical personnel, select NHL executives, and ownership."
"And if it gets out,” Shane said, voice even. The GM answered. “Immediate suspension. Investigation. Possible termination.” Yuna’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t interrupt. She’d learned when to let Shane speak for himself, still raw from the other day.
“That’s fine,” Shane said. He turned the page. “I don’t want it out.” That earned him a look. The GM blinked, just slightly. “I’m not here to be a symbol,” Shane continued. “I’m here to play hockey.” He wasn't lying.
The woman moved on. “Clause 14.2: Hormonal regulation compliance. You will remain on league-approved suppressants year-round.” Shane almost smiled. Almost. “I’ve been on them since I was thirteen,” he said. “You’re not asking for anything new.” The doctor shifted uncomfortably. Shane almost didn't know what had taken over him with his attitude. His father's hands on his shoulders confirmed these thoughts as well. People could actually understand him when he spoke English here.
“There will be monitoring.”
“There always is,” Shane replied. Another squeeze to his shoulders. Summer heats were addressed in careful language. Medical leave framed as illness. Required isolation. Team-approved facilities only. Shane noted it all without comment. He’d planned his life around summers anyway. Around closed doors and controlled environments, and getting through it quietly so the rest of the year could belong to him.
“Clause 16.9,” the woman said. “Conduct and presentation.” Shane read it himself this time. Alpha-neutral appearance. No scent-marking. No omega-related advocacy. No visible medical devices. Yuna leaned forward. “You are aware my son is intersex.” Shane hated the word. “Yes,” the woman said. “Which is why—”
“Which is why you’re asking him to disappear,” Yuna said calmly. The room went still. Sometimes Shane wished his mother were different. The GM exhaled. “We’re asking him to stay safe.” Shane finally looked up. “I can do that.” His father’s hand came down on his shoulder, firm but supportive, staying this time. Pride and anger tangled together in the grip. There was a pause before the last section.
“Clause 18.1,” the woman said. “Reproductive contingencies.” Shane read it without blinking. Suspension in the event of pregnancy. Contract tolling. No guarantee of reinstatement. “I understand,” Shane said. His agent opened his mouth. Shane shook his head once. Not now.
“What about the locker room?” Shane asked instead. “Facilities.” The doctor answered. “Private changing accommodations can be arranged quietly.”
“Quietly,” Shane said.
“Yes.”
He pictured it without letting his expression change. The way his body didn’t match the space he was about to occupy. The careful choreography it would take. The towels. The timing. The constant awareness of himself in a room full of men who didn’t know and could never know. He could do that, too. He’d been doing versions of it his entire life. If only he'd been born different.
The pen was offered.
Shane took it. His hands were steady. They’d been trained to be. He signed his name. Yuna exhaled softly, like she’d been holding her breath for years. The woman closed the folder. “Welcome to the Montreal Metros.”
Shane stood. He felt the weight of the contract settle into him, familiar as the suppressants in his bloodstream. Control. Conditions. Silence. But also ice. Speed. A place he’d earned with every quiet sacrifice, Ilya's words linger in his mind. Maybe this moment would mean more if he had people to share it with.
As they left the room, his mother slipped her arm through his. “You okay?” she asked. Shane nodded. It was the first time she had addressed him since his outburst at the draft. “Sure, I'm just happy to have things in writing finally."
-----
"Alright boys listen up! Rosanov is in the house, treat him well, god knows we need him. Show him the ropes." Ilya's knees almost buckled with the weight of his coach's hands shaking his shoulders. Ears buzzing between words and loud voices. He had spent the last two months back in Russia in intensive English courses but the last two days that he has been in America have been extremely overstimulating. He also wanted to laugh at the word 'intensive', a classroom was nothing like the fast-paced English being thrown around him.
The NHL was kind enough to pay for continued English courses until he was fluent, though he hated the idea of school, it was very much needed and he knew today was going to be a shit show, but he wasn't here to talk, he was here to play hockey.
"The Russian is here! Come here and meet your captain." Ilya sent a prayer to himself above thanking himself that he had asked his teacher to drill hockey words into his lessons. Ilya walked over with a heavy bag in hand to see his cubby with his name written on top, right next to the man yelling at him, Marleau.
"Gotta say kid, your skills are amazing, and being the number one pick in the draft? I know that pissed off some people." The tall man laughed as he patted his back. "Cliff Marleau, Captain of the Boston Bears, you got problems? Come to me." Ilya was lucky that the cubbies looked the same in every country as he unpacked, trying to multitask by translating the words. Ilya nodded his head to the man, "Captain."
Marleau looked at him and laughed, shaking his head. "I was expecting more snark from you, given how you play. I'm a little disappointed." Ilya tapped his temple as the words fell to deaf ears. Something about how he plays, he assumeshockey. "My english bad, not know what said." Marleau slowly nodded his head and held up a finger for him to wait. Ilya turned to the man next to him, "disappointed? What mean?" Ilya knew he butchered the word but hoped for the best.
"Dude what?" The guy, whose name Ilya saw, Connors, laughed. Ilya kept his head down as he unpacked his bag into his cubby. Hated the feeling of not knowing what was going on around him, he had thought that he had been studying so much, and he wasn't slacking. He had only been in America once before alone and that time he had Shane and Shane never laughed at him. He went out of his way to tell him everything and answer any questions, sometimes as if he could read his mind. But he didn't have Shane now, it was just him and his stupid fucking non-English brain.
Practice was brutal, he felt good, played well, but working as a team was hell. Random words in multiple languages made everyone fail at everything and Ilya couldn't help but feel as if it was his fault. Even when Marleau handed him a printed sheet of words in bullet-point order. It was hockey words the team used for their plays, which were very bad and Ilya had to put emphasis on how poorly translated the Russian was. He appreciated the effort though, "I learn tonight." He nodded his head multiple times to show his commitment.
"I will learn tonight." Marleau corrected him with a smile as he patted his shoulders. "Yes, yes. Will learn tonight. I will learn tonight." Ilya continued as he looked at the paper. "I show teacher, she teach me." Ilya spoke to the group that stood around him and the team captain. "How long are your classes?" Ilya took a second to hear the words rattle through his brain. "Two hour." The team let out different sounds of aspiration, he felt the same way.
"If only one of us spoke Russian," Marleau laughed, "anybody got any secret they wanna share that they secretly speak it? Now's the time to say it." The team laughed as they finished their packing for the evening.
Ilya sat on the bench and scrolled through his phone, painstakingly trying to find Shane's Instagram account, he was a little worried that he didn't have one. Pulling the phone closer to see the profesional looking photo of Shane in his Montreal gear. He quickly pulled up a private message and sent his phone number. Ilya said the message was delivered and looked at the clock, disappointed that Shane didn't instantly text him as he intended. He would be lying if he didn't think there may be a chance that he would never text him, after they last left things a month ago. Ilya thought he was kind,he didn't think he'd given Shane a reason to hate him.
Unknown number: Rosanov?
Ilya: About fucking time, I waited so long.
Ilya looked at the clock; it's been two minutes. Still, he deemed it not quick enough for his standards.
Ilya: Is it the first day of practice for Montreal?
Shane: It was yesterday, just got back from practice today though. First day for you?
Ilya: Yes, it was awful. Need to learn stupid English language.
Shane: Are you studying? Or enrolled in classes?
Ilya: Don't talk to me about stupid class.
Ilya watched the text bubble appear and disappear multiple times.
Ilya: I have class tonight for a couple of hours. League is paying for tutor, it is shit but needed. How long did it take for you to be this good at Russian?
Shane: Four years.
Ilya: I hate you. Mister perfect Russian and English.
Shane: And French.
Ilya: I hope someone skates over your fingers.
Ilya didn't try to hide the frown he gave as Shane had no response.
-----
"So when did they tell you that you would be doing a commercial with me?" Ilya scratched the back of his neck as he spoke, Shane following the movement. CCM had called him a couple of days before asking him to shoot a commercial, the shoot was taking place in Toronto so it wasn't that big of a deal, just a booked weekend. They had told him yesterday that it would be shared with Ilya Rosanov.
A million and one questions flooded Shane's brain at the new information. Not that it was bad, he and Ilya had texted almost non-stop since he first reached out but this would be the first time he saw him face to face since the hotel room andShane couldn't help but eat himself alive at the thought. Yet Ilya was just all laughs and smiles as they tried to be professional for the camera, Shane eased into it. Shane just thought Ilya was being polite and made the kiss something of the past.
"Oh, a couple of days ago, but it's no issue right?" Ilya shook his head. "Would you feel different about it if I told you it was my idea. They told me they wanted to work with the Shane Hollander and I said make it both of us. Two for one deal."
"I guess that would just make you very considerate of everyone's time." Shane smiled at him as he spoke, as if he knew the words would piss off the Russian. "Don't ever speak to me like that again." Shane wasn't too sure what sass sounded like in Russian, but he thinks he just heard it. "I forgot your new nickname is the Dirty Russian, gotta keep that up right?"
Shane thinks he could be everyone's favorite if he spoke English as he did in Russian. He'd be more carefree and funny, and his teammates wouldn't think he was so stiff. At the same time, Shane kinda liked having an alter ego. He wondered if Ilya had a different personality when he spoke English.
"So you do keep up with me?" Ilya smirked at him. Shane felt the blush spread across his cheeks, cursing himself with the ability that never seemed to fail him. "We're the best rookies the NHL has seen, I think every time you breathe there is a news channel talking about it." Shane couldn't look him in the eye as he spoke, resting his chin on the tip of his hockey stick. Ilya's low chuckle made him lean into the stick more, the thrill Ilya gave him was such a rush.
"Oh, please do stay humble." Shane gasped at his words, "Me?" Ilya's laugh was interrupted by something, and Shane turned around to see what. Yuna Hollander. "Sorry to interrupt. Shane, one of my friends from work, is asking to meet up for dinner tonight, so I will be out. Will you be okay?" Ilya took note how she never glanced in his direction, taking a distraction in squirting water into his mouth. "Oh yeah sure, the hotel is just down the street, so I'm good." Yuna nodded as she touched Shane's elbow, "Okay, sorry about that, hun, just don't see her often. I don't know how late we'll be talking, so let's plan to meet in the lobby tomorrow morning at 8? Does that work?" Shane only nodded, glancing at Ilya, slightly embarrassed about talking to his mother in front of him.
"Hello, Mr. Rosanov, how are things with you? How's Boston?" Yuna cleared her throat as she spoke, and Shane wanted to die a little inside. Shane was very aware of his mother's feelings about the other boy. He's heard every comment and glance at him when she invenblity looks over his shoulder to see the cyrillic script. Always making a small comment about how Rosanov will have to learn English one way or another. Shane thinks she's just annoyed that she cannot snoop as she does. Part of him finds joy in that once he shoves away the guilt.
"I like Boston, Boston like me." Shane wanted to shut the whole thing down as he watched Ilya's face make a weird smirk that his mother had no business seeing. He was nervous his mother would bring up his English because there was always an alternative motive with her. "I can see that, you've been playing like, oh you know." Yuna struggled to find the right word, knowing she'd hit a hard spot with her son if she said something rude, but she hadn't forgotten her son's last outburst.
"Dirty Russian." Shane couldn't control how the words came out as a whisper, but watching Ilya's face light up as he laughed, both boys laughed as they subconsciously leaned closer together. Ilya's laugh was loud as it echoed off the ice of the empty arena; it made Shane's blush deepen, feeling it down his neck. "Okay, well, I will pretend that I wasn't just made fun of. Nice to see you again Mr. Rosanov." Yuna had that tight lip on her that Shane always saw when she was annoyed. "No, it was fine. I didn't say anything mean. Have a good night with your friend. I will see you tomorrow morning." Yuna eyed both of them as they were still cooling down after their laughing fit. Shane knew the pause his mother was giving him was for him to translate what he said to her, but recently Shane had taken a stand not do that; he still wasn't over what had happened at the draft. Yuna did not seem to care much about catering to Rosanov's English level when she spoke to him, so why should Shane take care of her Russian level? He almost hated this side of him.
"Okay, honey, I will see you tomorrow. Make sure you get enough sleep, big day Monday remember?" Shane nodded his head, her hand once again rubbing his padded elbow. "I love you, Shane. Remember what I said." She pointed her finger at him as she walked away toward the tunnel. "Yes, love you too." Shane felt a little awkward with the exchange; it wasn't that he didn't love his mother, he just felt like he was five, and now he had an audience watching him look like he was five, especially when that someone was Ilya Rozanov.
"Must be hard to be weaned off so suddenly like that. Have you ever spent the night alone before?" Shane knew Ilya had that asshole smirk on his face without even looking. He took his time to shake his shoulders out and shift his weight between his feet before he built up the nerve to turn around.
“Rozanov, let's do another round of solo shots, yeah?" Shane watched as they beckoned the other boy over, "You're up."Ilya nodded as he stepped back onto the ice, "Wait for me, let's do something with your one night of freedom, yeah?" Ilya smirked at him as he skated backwards towards the crew, the blond added a wink for extra measure.
Shane took this time to get cleaning up out of the way while he had the privacy. He had gotten here before Ilya did, so he didn't have to worry about it when he arrived. He couldn't help but chuckle to see that Ilya had placed his stuff down right next to his; he probably would've done the same thing. He quickly got his gear off, putting each piece into its rightful place. CCM had told him to leave the borrowed gear in the lockeroom, and it would be collected, so he held it neatly on the bench to make it easy for the staff.
The water was warm right out of the spout, and Shane was forever grateful for that. Shane went through his normal routine of washing himself in the painstakingly rigorous way he always did, but it was nice to have a locker room to himself for once. Not having to worry about people looking, he was thankful that his team seemed to follow a routine, and people didn't ask. Of course, he heard the jokes from his team the first couple of weeks about how Hollander must be shy, but he can accept that.
Rozanov wanted to do something with him later, Shane assumed dinner, since they had not eaten yet. He didn't really know of any good places that would fit his diet in Toronto, could he even be seen out with Rozanov? He knew the media was playing into their alleged rivalry, the two best rookies in NHL history wanting to be the best. But they weren't like that. Or at least he didn't feel that way. Of course, he wanted to be the best, but he couldn't be that without Ilya pushing him to be; he suspected the Russian felt the same. Package deal, if you will.
What if Ilya wanted to do something more than just dinner or dinner and more? Shane hit his head with his palm; he for sure needed to calm down. They were friends, and sometimes Shane thinks the only reason they don’t hate each other is that he speaks Russian. If he didn’t, he’s sure Rozanov wouldn’t want anything to do with him. But he kisses him, no, Shane got it confused in his head, he had kissed Rozanov first, and then Rozanov was just being polite and returning the favor. And Ilya’s scent still wafting in his thoughts was nothing, nothing worthy of noting.
“Jesus Hollander, don’t waterboard yourself. I can hear you thinking from here.” Shane's body instantly jerked with such ferocity that he felt a small ache of a cramp in his thigh; of course, Rozanov would pick the shower next to him. "Go fucking shower over there." Shane had barked out the harsh word, tilting his body to the side away from the other man, pointing at the other wall. Ilya chuckled lightly as he nodded his head and made his way over to the other side of the room. "Worried I can't keep my hands to myself, huh? You know I'll behave." Shane wasn't in any mood to banter. He wanted out, but now, Ilya was showering by the door to get out. He could practically see his NHL contract getting ripped to shreds right in front of his face, not even two games into the season. He wanted to think better of Ilya, but he didn't know him like that; he didn't know if he'd run his mouth or who he'd run his mouth to. God, he was so fucked.
"Hollander, calm down. Are you okay? Did something happen? You will pass out if you keep breathing like that." He jerked again once he felt a firm hand on his shoulder, his feet getting dizzy as he turned toward the alpha, exposing himself. There was silence as Shane shoved the hand off him and curled toward the wall. He couldn't help the sob that left him.
"You are a bitch?"
Thunder roared within Shane's chest as he flung himself from the wall, ready to scream. "Do not call me that!" Shane's heart instantly hurt at the words from the Russian's mouth. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I do not know the English word for you." Shane looked at the boy to see that he was already looking at him; the look Ilya was giving him was the same kind you'd give to calm down a wounded animal; he kind of felt like it. Regret instantly filled Shane with how sorry the Russian actually looked. Shane knew that was what they called omegas in Russian; it was not Ilya's fault he said it, didn't mean itdidn't hurt, though.
Shane panciked as he watched Ilya step closer into his space, hands bracing his shoulders. "Shhh, no need to cry. I'm sorry, I did not mean to hurt you. I am just surprised." Shane didn't even know if Ilya could see between his tears and the water. Shane hiccupped on his words, "No one can know, the NHL will kick me out if people know I am an omega."
"Omega," Ilya repeated the word with his heavy accent. "Omega, not bitch." Shane reminded him, and Ilya nodded his head so hard his eyes shook, his hands still on the other's shoulders. "I'm sorry." Shane nodded his head as he turned back into the water. "Why don't we get out of the water and talk?"
Shane appreciated how gentle Ilya was being with him, but he just couldn't push his mother's words out of his head. All it took was for Ilya to open his mouth, and everything he's ever worked for would be gone. All it took was one alpha with a power trip.
Ilya watched as Shane walked with shaky legs towards the towel rack, wrapping it around himself quickly. He allowed Shane to get out of the shower room before he attempted to exit, peeking his head around the corner to see him slowly dressing with shaky hands. He could tell he was crying; besides the quiet sobs he let out, Shane's whole body looked scared. Ilya hated it. He felt like he was to blame. Once he saw that Shane had clothes on, he quietly walked into the room, grabbed his bag, and moved to the other side of the room.
“Do you hate me?” Shane hated his brain. He was scared beyond belief that his secret was out, but it was Ilya, and he knew Shane, right? They were something right? Ilya at least liked him? All Shane's brain was worried about was Ilya running his mouth, and now he was even more upset that Ilya moved away from him. He was probably disgusted by him.
“No, why would you think that?” Shane couldn’t turn around to look at Ilya as he spoke. “I do not hate you, Hollander, over something like this; that is ridiculous. I was just shocked.” Shane heard him zip up his bag.
Why did you move away from me then?
It was like Ilya could read his mind, “I just wanted to give you space.” Shane nodded, still facing away from him. Ilya had been nice like that, giving him space when he asked. Shane had to remind himself that if anybody was going to learn his secret, Ilya wasn’t the worst person. He didn’t run his mouth about him kissing him. He could keep his mouth shut about this.
Ilya took the lead, “Would you like to get dinner and talk?” Shane was already shaking his head no, still trying to shove his body into the empty cubby more. “I think it is important that you eat something, we can call some take-out to your hotel.”
“What are you, my mother now?” The hair on Shane’s neck stood up as he spoke so harshly; he didn’t know why he was saying such mean things to someone who was being so understanding. “No, I am not. I want you to eat; you will wear yourself out.” Shane slowly turned around to sit in his cubby. He finally looked at Ilya to see him sitting on the bench across from him.
“Let’s find something that fits your diet and eat. C’mon.” Ilya ushers him to stand up, aiming to grab his and Shane’s bags. Shane wanted to protest, but he wasn’t even sure if he could walk, given how dizzy he felt.
Shane doesn't remember walking down the street, his arm being gently guided through the few people who were out on the cold evening. He looked up to see the same hotel as his, guessing that Ilya was put in the same one by the company. Shane looked like a shellshocked soldier when he stole glances toward him. Ilya couldn't even begin to understand.
"How about my room?" Shane couldn't think of anything better. The only thing that would make it better would be to bathe himself in Ilya's scent, he wondered, among the other things his head was running around, if that was because he would always be an omega deep down. He was made to want that. "Please." Ilya worked on getting them up the elevator and to the room that looked exactly like his own, but with a slight scent of a cold winter night.
Ilya's moves were careful as he placed their bags on the floor. He felt so natural taking care of Shane; he wondered if it was because of the nature of his second gender. He's sure he would've done the same if Shane were a true alpha. He wonders how even Shane handles situations like this without a scent; how would anyone know anything was wrong if they weren't looking. He wants to share his scent so badly.
"I really don't want to eat anything, I mean it, it will only make me puke." Ilya takes a minute to weigh his words. Shane did need to eat, but Ilya believed him when he said he'd puke. "If you don't eat, you at least need to calm down before your body eats itself alive." Shane's head nodded as he wiped his tear-stained cheeks. Ilya handed him a bottle of water from the fridge. The blond took a seat in the chair across from him, blowing out a long breath.
"So you are the first omega in NHL history, but they will not let you tell anyone?" Shane nodded his head. "They changed the rule for me; they will allow me in legally, but they don't want that information out there. To the public, I will be a stud." Ilya raised his eyebrows at Shane's use of the Russian word. Ilya wants to push out the thought of how grateful he is to have someone know his language so well; he felt guilty that he couldn't comfort Shane in his mother tongue as he should be able to. Ilya was sure that if it were the other way around, he would be screaming Russian violently, but Shane was a better man than he.
"Must be a heavy weight to carry." Ilya can picture what Shane looked like at the draft as he watched him from above, the weight of everyone bearing him down. It must have been a dramatic high to finally achieve the NHL, only for Ilya to scare the living shit out of him. The Russian had a million and one questions to ask him, but he knew better. He felt a mix of guilt and shame that he wanted to tell Shane that this was probably the best news he's ever heard. An alpha-male omega relationship was better to swallow than an alpha-alpha; Ilya felt like he was getting ahead of himself. He took Shane sitting next to him as a good sign.
Ilya didn't know he'd become too in his head, broken out of its chains as he watched Shane fold into himself in the chair, head pulled down tight by his hair between his knees. He needed to do something. "Can I scent you?"
Shane had never been scented a day in his life, but he did know that if it was going to be done, he wanted it done by Ilya. He took his time working up the courage to grab the blonde's hand that was offered to him, leading him to the bed. "We can just lie down." Ilya waited for Shane to make the next move, he half expected him to lie stiff as a board on the bed buthe was surprised to see him pull off his hoodie and climb into the bed as if it were his own. Ilya knew he had a job to do.
Ilya noted to himself that Shane held his discarded hoodie close to him, must be a comfort thing. Ilya had never scentsomeone out of comfort before, of course, he had shared scents with his close friends out of bonding but never in a time of need. He felt shocked that his body somehow just knew each step to take to comfort the other right in front of him. Must be his DNA.
He slowly took his shirt off and gently tossed it in the direction of Shane’s clenched hands around his hoodie. It seemed to Ilya that Shane was moving out of instinct too, grabbing the shirt and mingling it with his own. “I have never comforted someone before, but I will try my best.” Shane didn’t respond but Ilya wasn’t expecting him to, he just didn’t want to set the bar too high.
He pulled the covers back just as Shane did and gently put himself next to the other. Ilya wasn’t too sure exactly what he should do and Shane did not look like he wanted to be touched. He remembers how his mother would hold him when he was young and scared, he’d try to be like her. He wiggled his arm under Shane’s neck, encouraging him to lay his head down on his shoulder.
Shane moved closer to Ilya, it felt weird and safe. It was just new to him. His mother is a beta and scenting wasn’t something they didn’t do, his father is an alpha. He finds comfort in his family home with his scent but it is nothing in comparison to what he was smelling with Ilya at this moment.
Ilya was warm and somehow soft under all those muscles. Shane didn’t believe him when he said he didn’t know what he was doing. Even with the bunched-up clothing between them, Shane understands how lonely he used to be. He didn’t know how it all worked, how exactly Ilya could just lie next to him and slowly rub his shoulder and somehow things just felt better. “Are you feeling better?”
Shane was worried that if he said he did in fact feel better, Ilya would tell him to get out the door and that he extended his welcome. But Shane didn’t answer and Ilya more importantly didn’t kick him out. Ilya gently shuffled the fabric between them until they were lying complexly flush, Ilya noted how the other's body coiled as he did last time. He felt Shane’s breath quickly rise and finally slow down as he loosened his muscles to follow. “This feels nice.”
Shane felt Ilya lift his chin, thinking that this was truly the moment he would get kicked out. Why would he? What exactly was Ilya getting out of this exchange? Shane has no scent to reciprocate and even if he did he was sure that it would be all over the place, probably sending them both into an anxiety-filled state. “Good.”
“How long are you supposed to do this?” Shane quietly asked after what felt like an hour. He could feel the vibration in Ilya’s chest before the words came out. “I do not know, as long as we want. Do you want to stop?” Shane stayed quiet for another few minutes before he spoke, “No, not really,”