2008 International Prospect Cup
"Ilya Rozanov?" Shane approached the Alpha slowly, cutting wide to make sure he didn't inadvertently startle him. Rozanov already had a reputation as a bruiser, a brawler, the sort of player to get in the other team's face and the sort of Alpha to pop his fangs and get in his own teammates face if he thought they were playing like shit, so Shane didn't want to catch Rozanov feeling snarly.
"Hey. Shane Hollander." he offered a polite half smile when Rozanov turned his way, and held out his hand to shake. "I wanted to introduce myself."
The Alpha froze like Shane had startled him, went stock still just staring for a few seconds and Shane felt a wiggle of that familiar, uncomfortable dread that usually came just before some asshole Alpha started asking invasive, intrusive, questions.
--Shane Hollander, the Asian kid? Shane Hollander, the Omega? Shane Hollander, are you really as good as they say, or are you a minority hire because the league is trying to improve their PR image? Shane Hollander, are you gonna keep it together around all these Alpha hormones, or are you going to get all weepy and weak and Omega about it and–-
Rozanov took his hand. Squeezed it hard in a firm shake. Shane had half expected the bristly Russian to do the chivalrous old fashioned bullshit thing where Alphas put a hand over their heart rather than shake an Omega's hand cos god forbid the 'gentler gender' be treated on an equal playing field, but no.
No, the Alpha kept those crystal blue eyes trained right on Shane's face and shook his hand hard, dropped his gaze to where Shane's hoodie hid most of his neck for a too long to be accidental, then went back to trying to light his cigarette.
"Oh I'm–" Shane's palm felt itchy, his fingertips tingling from the brief contact and hey, that was weird. "I'm not sure you're supposed to smoke here?"
Rozanov got the cigarette lit, took a deep drag and looked Shane over from head to toe, from Shane's beanie down to his sensible shoes and everything in between. The Omega had to fight the urge to fold his arms over his chest defensive beneath the perusal, oh hell Shane had to fight the urge to drop his arms and stand open beneath the perusal, he made himself just stand with a hopefully neutral expression as the Alpha gave him a slow, thorough once over.
Then, "Okay." Rozanov blew the word out along with a plume of smoke, his thick Russian accent cutting the syllable short.
And, "You wear patch." Rozanov motioned towards the side of his own neck, miming where Shane had a scent suppressant patch covering his bonding spot below the neck of his hoodie. "Blocker. Even off ice?"
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I do." Shane started to touch his throat but clenched his fist to stop the instinctive motion. He wasn't about to call any more attention to his scent blockers and bonding spot than the Alpha already unexpectedly had. "But you do it, too. Everyone does. League rules. Blockers and suppressants and a gland patch for all the players so the game stays civil and competitive instead of bloody and competitive."
"Alphas have to wear all the time." Ilya tapped his chest with the same hand holding the cigarette. "No such rules for Omegas. If Alphas are blocked, Omegas are fine. No extra…" he made a vague gesture. "Hormones. To scare you."
"I'm not scared of Alpha hormones." Shane retorted. "On or off the ice."
"So why?" The Alpha flicked a pile of ash away, eyes flitting from the length of Shane's legs back up to his face. "Why patch?"
"I expect to be treated just like all the other players in the league." he maintained stubbornly. "So I follow all the rules. Blockers, suppressants, a gland patch all the time."
"Hm." Rozanov grunted and went back to smoking. Shane let the silence stretch for almost a full minute before it got too uncomfortable and he asked awkwardly, "How uh– how did you know I was an Omega, anyway?"
"Everyone knows." came the short answer along with another cloud of smoke. "Shane Hollander. Superstar. Omega."
Everyone knew Shane Hollander was an Omega, not the first to ever play in the league but the first to be this good. The first to be in the running for first draft pick. The first to cause an international stir because he wasn't just good, he was incredible on the ice, brilliant in his plays, showing up Alphas and Betas left and right with his speed and stick handling and goal count.
Everyone knew Shane Hollander was an Omega, but even if Ilya hadn't known beforehand, he certainly knew the very instant Hollander came sauntering over with his delicate features and easy smile and fucking freckles, the very same second Hollander said his name Ilya Rozanov like he was curling his tongue around the letters tasting it.
Omega. Ilya's whole body was vibrating after holding Hollander's hand even for a brief shake, he couldn't help tilting his head staring at the Omega's mouth, at the flawless skin showing bare between the puffy hoodie and non descript beanie. He smoked so he wouldn't lick his lips and give it all away, smoked so he wouldn't do something stupid like reach out and touch.
No need for Hollander to know Ilya had been downright obsessed with him ever since seeing that one televised interview where the gorgeous, fierce Omega had popped his teeth and full on snarled at some asshole reporter for saying people were taking bets on just how long Hollander would last in the league before getting pupped up by one of his teammates.
Hollander had a reputation for being self contained to the point of being boring, disciplined to the point of being obsessive, controlled to the point of being cold, but Ilya had watched that interview six different times just to see the way the Omega's eyes lit furious and his mouth twisted into a snarl, the way his voice had bottomed out savage telling the reporter to shut the hell up with his hands braced at the table like he just might throw it.
Shane Hollander, boring? Only if someone didn't take the time to look close enough and Ilya couldn't shake that itching, clawing, claiming need to get close enough to look.
"Okay, well." The silence got long again, but Shane had never been good at small talk and the Alpha was giving him nothing by way of conversation, so he cleared his throat and shrugged, started to walk away from where he clearly wasn't welcome. "I just uh– I just wanted to say hi. And good luck."
"You will not be so nice when we beat you."
"What?" Shane turned around too fast. Embarrassingly fast. There was no plausible explanation for just how eager he was to keep the stilted conversation moving with the prickly Alpha. "What was that?"
"You are nice." Ilya brought the cigarette to his lips slowly, inhaling deep without ever taking his eyes off the Omega. "But you will not be so nice. When we beat you."
"Oh no, that's not hap– that's not–"
Whatever benignly teasing, friendly bit of trash talk Shane was going to fire back dried up in his throat when the Alpha smiled at him, first just a tilt of his lips, then a glint of teeth, finally the gleam of fangs.
"Shit." Shane's heart ticked up a notch, a beat, started downright racing as the Alpha bared his fangs in a sharply challenging smile. Wow. "No. That's– that's not happening."
"Hm. Will see." Ilya winked, goading him. "See you at final."
Rozanov went back to smoking. Shane sternly told himself to turn the hell around and leave. He busied himself tugging at his hoodie and zipping up his jacket so he wouldn't stop and think about why the hell he was suddenly so goddamn overheated when it was a frigid thirteen degrees outside. He was sweating, palms clammy and head spinning a little, what the fuck.
"Shane Hollander." Ilya watched the Omega go, the quickly determined steps, the set of his shoulders beneath the bulky clothes, and rubbed his palm down his leg where his skin still buzzed after only a brief touch, murmuring to himself, "You…make me curious."
****
June 2009
"...big day for some young superstars today, Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander securing first and second spots in the draft pick…"
"...look at Rozanov smile, he's on top of the world right now. Welcome to Boston, kiddo, the culture shock is gonna be a bitch!.."
"...can't help but think about Hollander being an Omega and whether or not that played any part in him not being first pick…"
"...I'll admit, I thought he was being over sold as some sorta PR diversity stunt, but the kid is good! Montreal is lucky to have him, but yeah I gotta wonder how the fellas feel about an Omega on their line up."
"...it's not really fair, is it? We've seen it on other teams, the Alpha players take it easy on the Omega players and if they do the same for Hollander, there's no way he'll ever really be accepted as a real player..."
That was enough TV. Shane turned it off with a decisive click of the remote, then in a rare show of frustration, flung the remote right across the hotel room to bounce off the wall.
Second. He'd been second draft pick and that was nothing to be mad about, ashamed about, embarrassed about but Jesus Christ every single news outlet and sports personality kept asking if he'd lost out to Rozanov because of his biology. If he'd gotten second because he was an Omega. When first and second pick were both Alphas or Betas or a mix of the two, the question of their biology never came up but Shane Hollander Omega was all anyone could fucking talk about and he was sick of it.
Shane was nauseous over it, actually. But he wasn't gonna throw up. He hadn't thrown up when that reporter made the 'pupped up' comment and half the room had laughed, he sure as hell wasn't going to throw up now.
He was going to train. Again. Always. Because second pick in the draft wasn't something he'd been handed as a PR stunt, he'd worked his ass off every day, multiple times a day for years and he wasn't gonna throw up, he was going to head downstairs to the gym and get to work.
Late night almost midnight found Ilya on his way to the gym too. Every time his father called him lazy, the word dug down deep into his bones and echoed around his head and Ilya hated it. He was not lazy, he was number one draft pick, best in Russia and soon to be best in the States, he was not lazy but the old Alpha's voice was loud loud loud in his head until Ilya had to get out of bed and head downstairs to the gym to drown it out.
Hollander was already there. Ilya's heart jolted in his chest when he saw the Omega already on the stationary bike locked in and focused, music on and arms braced flexed over the handlebars, muscular legs pumping and white shirt clinging sweaty to his chest.
Fuck, he was gorgeous. They'd posed for at least a thousand different photos together earlier, cameras flashing every which way as they held up their jerseys and Ilya had noticed every single time their elbows knocked or feet bumped, each time Hollander's head turned his way. The Omega had worn his blocker patches again, following the rules the way everyone knew Shane Hollander always followed the rules and several times Ilya had had to tear his eyes away from Hollander's throat, from the skin tone patch hiding the bump of his bonding spot, several times Ilya had had to look away and cough so he wouldn't keep staring at the scatter of freckles right below Hollander's dark eyes, so he wouldn't lean in and lick over his fangs and invite the Omega to get in closer.
In front of the cameras, in front of the world wasn't the place for Ilya to do any of that.
But the privacy and quiet of the gym was a different thing all together.
Shane silently congratulated himself for not jumping when Rozanov settled onto the bike directly next to him. There were half a dozen other bikes for the Alpha to use, any number of machines Rozanov could have got on for a late night workout but he chose the one right next to Shane and it felt like a challenge. Felt like a dare.
Shane turned his music up and kept his eyes down, refusing to acknowledge the crackle of awareness through his veins and the weight of the Alpha's presence in his peripherals. But damn it, when Ilya set his bike speed to a higher level than Shane's current pace, the Omega couldn't help but increase his speed to match.
Fast and faster. Ilya turned his speed up and jolted exhilarated when the Omega matched him a second later.
Fast and faster. Shane pushed it another level further and fought against a smile when the Alpha snorted and sped up.
Fast and faster. All the suppressants and blocker patches in the world couldn't mute one hundred percent of an Alpha's scent once they were sweating and working and sprinting, and Ilya increased his speed, increased his speed, huffed a laugh when the Omega matched him cycle for cycle and step for step and Shane–
–fuck, Shane's eyes slammed shut when he dragged in a harsh breath and caught the first hint of amber in the Alpha's scent, darkly sweet sap and a razor's edge of cold, something sharp edged like pine.
Fast and faster. The Omega open mouth panted trying to breathe past the tendril of Alpha scent winding into his nose and growing stronger the longer they raced, scorching into his lungs and settling heavy into his subconscious and blanketing at his ears. Rozanov smelled incredible, even the barest bit of his scent leeching through the suppressants had Shane's head spinning but he ignored it, tried to ignore it, and kept racing.
Fast and faster. Ilya grit his teeth and clenched his fangs and tried not to react to the dozen little looks Hollander kept shooting his way, the droplets of sweat clinging to the Omega's chin and soaking his shirt transparent to his chest, outlining the peak of his nipples, matting between his shorts and the sparse hair on his upper thigh.
Fast and faster. Fast and faster. Fast and–
"Holy shit." By some mutual unspoken agreement to not race until their legs fell right off, both Alpha and Omega finally cut their bikes off and called it quits, and Shane hit the floor hard, legs shaking and chest heaving, laughing a little in disbelief as he crumpled down against the weight rack in front of the mirrors, absolutely spent.
"What a fuckin' day, huh?" Ilya collapsed onto the gym floor across from the Omega, legs outstretched and breathing hard, gulping his water fast trying to ease the burn in his throat. "Everything you dreamed of?"
"Almost." Shane almost said yes, almost said totally, almost played off his disappointment the way he'd played it off in front of his new coach and his parents, but the Alpha was watching him over the top of his water bottle, staring at him in between gulps and Shane thought maybe it would be okay to be honest.
"Almost." he said again with a short nod, and the Alpha's barely decipherable scent brightened with pride and maybe laughter for a half second before Rozanov shrugged and pursed his lips, "Mmm sorry."
The Alpha was decidedly not sorry. Not sorry to have won first pick and not sorry to be watching Hollander watching him. He wondered if the Omega knew he was blatant, if Hollander knew he'd been staring at Ilya's neck, the line of his throat where the blocker patch was starting to lose its potency, the necklace dangling at his chest.
Hollander probably didn't realize he was being obvious. Ilya didn't bother pretending to be oblivious. The Omega looked and Ilya tilted his head and looked right back, tracking the pull of Hollander's shorts up his thighs, the rise and fall of his stomach beneath the tight shirt, the absentminded flex of his fingers, the way Hollander kept turning tilting his head just slightly to the side as if he were unconsciously, subconsciously showing off.
Shane's eyes dropped to his legs, to his crotch and Ilya sat up and leaned forward, waited for the Omega's eyes to travel back up his body to his face before holding out the water bottle. Hollander tried to wave it off, but Ilya persisted partly because clearly Hollander needed a drink and they weren't teammates but they were both players and sharing water was the expected, sportsmanlike thing to do… and partly because he was curious to see if the stubbornly independent Omega would take help and sustenance and care from an Alpha. From him.
Curious and he was all at once infinitely more intrigued when Hollander leaned in to accept the water and didn't shy away from Ilya's purposeful brush of fingers.
Curious and tonguing over his fangs, shifting on the hard floor, trying not to growl when he murmured, "More." and the Omega obeyed.
Shane would have missed the quietly ordered more if he hadn't been obsessively tracking a bead of sweat as it slid down the side of Rozanov's neck, along the beauty marks and moles decorating the Alpha's throat, and soaked into the black tank top where the gold necklace glinted bright.
The Alpha mouthed more and Shane took more, tilting his head back to swallow the cool water even as somewhere beneath the physical and mental and emotional exhaustion of the day, his instincts warned him not to open up his throat to the predator, rival, Alpha sitting across from him.
Shane didn't listen. He tilted his head back to drink and the nearly inaudible rumble from Rozanov, the barely there ripple of approval in the Alpha's heated scent made him shiver.
"We will be seeing a lot of each other." A statement, not a question.
Shane swallowed, nodded, and Rozanov smiled at him again, all sharp fangs and preening posture and the purposeful slip of his tongue along his lips.
And Shane thought– oh he thought for just a single blink, the Alpha's brilliant blue eyes shaded hungry red at him.
But that was insane.
…right?
*****
July 2010
"Hollander." Ilya met him at center ice, bent down to feign a face off. "You look pretty."
"Fuck off Rozanov." Shane scoffed at the Alpha. "You're wearing make up too."
"Yes but." Ilya let his eyes flicker red at him. "I don't look pretty."
"Don't do that. Don't say that." Shane bit the words out vehemently, his top lip curling in the start of a snarl and Ilya blinked at him genuinely thrown by the audible irritation, "Why not?"
"You wouldn't tell an Alpha they were pretty." Shane kept his voice low so the commercial director wouldn't overhear, but let his tone run vicious. "So don't say it to me, either.
"Wrong." Ilya deflected blandly, but he leaned in further watching the Omega closely, tracking the frustrated flush filling in behind Hollander's freckles. "I would tell an Alpha they were pretty. Is rude and sexist to only save compliments for Omegas. Alphas deserve to be called pretty too, you are rude and sexist to say such a thing."
"Oh gimme a fucking break." A laugh startled out of Shane before he could stop it, caught off guard by the Alpha's hilariously, calmly faux offended response. "So what, you want me to call you pretty?"
"Mm no." Ilya shook his head. "We have been over this, you do not listen. I am not pretty. You are. So."
"Alright guys, lets focus!" the director called. "Bring it in to the center again, skate up fast, get in close, lots of intensity, let's feel that rivalry up close and personal!"
"Rivalry." Ilya started talking again the minute he and the Omega were face to face at the circle. "They are trying to make us rivals. Canadian and Russian. Boston and Montreal. Alpha and Omega."
"Yeah." Shane risked a glance up at Rozanov, checking the Alpha's expression for irritation, humor, anything. Rozanov had the disconcerting ability to give exactly nothing away with his facial expressions and flat speech and Shane didn't know if the other player was amused by the media orchestrated rivalry or into it or annoyed by it or anything. "Makes sense, I guess?"
"Focus boys! Lots of intensity!"
"I think if you keep losing to me, the rivalry will not be as interesting." Ilya decided and predictably, Shane snapped, "Oh fuck you, we haven't even played anything yet and by the way, my stats are—!"
He shut up when the Alpha smiled smug and self satisfied at his taking the proverbial bait.
"You are a full asshole, Rozanov." Shane bent back down into the face off, schooling his features and trying to concentrate so the director would quit harping at them. "Fuck right off."
"Is predictable Omega behavior, trying to impress an Alpha." Ilya didn't let up, too busy enjoying the interaction with the Omega to give a fuck what the commercial director wanted. Not for the first or second or even tenth time that day, he couldn't help glancing down at Hollanders neck, checking for the ever present patch all players wore over their scent and bonding glands, the ever present patch Hollander wore on and off the ice and even through interviews and press events.
The Omega was blank to him, not a hint of scent escaping the suppressants and blockers, very little emotion making it past the perpetually blase expression on the Omega's face. Smiles were rare, that little bit of of laughter had been a damn miracle, if it weren't for the heat sparking in Hollander's expressive eyes or the tilt to his gorgeous mouth every time Ilya teased him, the Alpha would think Hollander was a goddamn machine.
But.
"I don't have to prove anything to you." Shane grit out and to his utter chagrin, to his entire annoyance, to his flustered pleasure, the Alpha didn't so much smile as he did smirk slow and knowing before digging his tongue into the tip of one of his fangs and crooning under his breath, "No you don't. But you want to. Come play, Hollander."
"Fuck." Shane's grip on his stick tightened and he knocked it hard against Rozanov's. Ilya's eyes sparked red at the challenge and he knocked Shane's stick right back, clicking and clacking at one another over the puck as the director's annoying voice in the background chastised and begged and demanded that they keep it together for just a few minutes longer until he got the shot he needed.
No such luck. Ilya laughed out loud not cos the moment was funny but because the zing of elation under his skin was electric and addicting and Hollander was fighting against a smile, lips twisted and nose scrunched trying to keep from breaking and the Alpha laughed for it, for the simple pleasure of challenging and being met by the most unorthodox Omega he'd ever met.
Shane laughed too, after a minute. Not because anything about Rozanov challenging him like it was a proposition was funny, but because the media was trying to concoct some sort of legendary rivalry between he and the Alpha when all Shane wanted to do was play hockey and all Rozanov wanted to do was– was–
"When did they tell you we were doing this together?" Rozanov asked and Shane shrugged, "I dunno. Two days ago? When did they tell you?"
"Was my idea." the Alpha informed him, casual and indifferent and dismissive. The director called for him and he skated off without another word, leaving Shane standing there with eyes wide and throat closing up uncertain.
All Shane wanted to do was play hockey…but what the hell did Rozanov want?
"Shane, are you listening to me?" At some point after Rozanov offhandedly announced that he had orchestrated their commercial together, that it had been his idea for Alpha and Omega to meet on the ice for the sole purpose of baiting Shane into some sort of interaction, Shane ended up upstairs in the walkways above the rink talking to his mom.
Or rather, halfway listening to his mom because he couldn't seem to look away from the ice and the brutal, beautiful Alpha skating aggressive drills, firing off fancy shots and all together showing off for the camera.
"Shane!" Yuna threw her hands exasperated, and Shane jerked his head around to look at her, "Sorry Mom, I'm here."
"Are you?" Yuna folded her thin arms and settled him with a mom-level look. "Because it seems to me like you're staring at that Alpha down there."
"The guy who showed me up in the draft and got picked first? My rival? The one I'm stuck doing this stupid promotional material with?" Shane shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket so she wouldn't catch the slight tremor to his fingers. "I'm just watching. Trying to figure out his moves."
"Shane." Yuna sighed and Shane sighed louder, "Mom."
"I'm sorry, alright." the Omega clicked her tongue soothingly at him, patting his arm. "I'm sorry, but this is important. If you aren't in your skates, you have to be wearing–"
"I am always in my skates."
"But when you aren't–!"
"I get it, okay?" The reminder of pressure, of expectations, the weight of his gender and ethnicity and all the little kids who were counting on him to be great so one day they could be great too made Shane's shoulders slump. "Gotta do the commercials, gotta wear the brands, gotta have my press answers ready. Can't dilly dally, can't get lazy, can't get distracted by any Alphas. I get it. Don't worry."
"Okay well, I didn't say anything about getting distracted by Alphas." Yuna frowned at him. "And honey, I'm not saying you can't have any fun or make any time for romance, I'm just saying–"
"I was kidding." He moved past his slip up quickly. Didn't look at Rozanov on the ice. Didn't look at his mom. He knotted his fingers together in his hoodie and swallowed, "I was kidding about the Alpha thing. Obviously I'm not looking for romance. That's crazy. I was joking."
"I can't tell if you're being funny or not when you're all blocked like this." Yuna's smile was understanding but sad as she brushed the tips of her fingers at the suppressant patch on his neck. "I know it's necessary for the practices and games, but I wish you'd take them off sometimes. You come home to visit and it's like you're standing behind a wall."
"It's easier to wear them all the time, then to deal with the whiplash of being blocked, then open, then blocked again a few hours later." the Omega shrugged like it didn't bother him to be muffled to his friends and family's scents, like he didn't feel insulated and isolated and locked down all the time because he was already socially awkward, already not great with expressing himself and with his scent and hormones muted, his chances at connecting with anyone on any meaningful level had gone from slim to basically none.
"No, I know. And I understand." Yuna smoothed his hair back from his eyes with a quiet sigh. "I'm serious though. That video of you snarling at that jerk reporter for the pupped up comment is all over the place but I hope you know when you do find love, no one will think any less of you as a hockey player for it."
"Yeah they will." Yeah they would. The whole world would think of Shane different, look at him different, treat him different the very second he gave them any reason to think of him as an Omega. He knew it and Yuna knew it, but she was a good Mom with the sort of heart that never gave up hoping so he managed a smile when she murmured, "Shane sweetie, when you find the right girl and fall in love, your new team and all your friends and us, your family, will be so so happy for you."
"...Sure."
"Just don't get so busy being Shane Hollander super star, you forget to be Shane Hollander the human being with a sweet heart and enough sass to frustrate the Pope." she reminded him. "Don't lose that part of you under all this."
"I won't." That time, Shane's smile was a little more sincere. But right now all I care about right now is hockey. I'll do the commercial, meet with that guy from CCM if that ever manages to happen and you know, I'm–" the Omega blew out a deep breath. "I'm still really focused on being a good role model. Breaking barriers as an Omega and all that so other kids like me get a chance. I am."
"You sound like a commercial for an after school program when you say it like that." she scolded playfully, and when he rolled his eyes, Yuna trilled at him in gentle comfort and patted at his chest, "You promise you're okay?"
"Yeah, I'm okay." Down on the ice, the producer called it quits for the day and Rozanov shouted something that made the whole staff laugh loud enough to echo up into the stands. Shane clenched his hands inside his hoodie and didn't let himself react. "I'm fine. It's all gonna be fine, Mom."
*****
…it wasn't all fine. It was all quite suddenly insane.
"Do you…want to sit?" Shane couldn't help touching, reaching for Ilya's arm as the Alpha came through the door and circled him in the small entryway of the hotel room. "Or. Um. Talk?"
"Mmm no." Ilya flexed his arm in Shane's hold, then set his hand at the Omega's side, backing him into the closest wall. "No, I do not want to talk and I do not think you gave me your room number so we could talk."
"No, I– I guess not." Shane's feet hit the wall and stopped, but Rozanov didn't, coming closer and closer with his hand set distractingly, almost possessively at his waist. "So–"
"So." Ilya ducked his head to catch the Omega's eyes, held the contact checking in as he set his fingertips over the wide blocker patch covering Shane's scent glands. "This. Let me scent you?"
"No." Shane turned away from the press of fingers at his neck, over his bonding spot. "The patch stays on. It has to stay on. Um. Sorry."
"No, is okay." Ilya was wearing a blocker patch too, his own scent all but erased behind the neutralizing hormones. He'd almost taken his off, but had thought maybe the Omega was gun shy enough to freak out at the influx of scent, he'd thought maybe Hollander would be turned off repulsed by the too obvious reminder of their genders, their biologies, by the blatant proof that they were breaking rules and taking risks.
He was right. The Alpha would have stripped his off in a split second if Hollander had nodded yes, but instead the Omega turned away, dark eyes shading wary and shoulders tensing and Ilya didn't want that, no.
"Is okay." He said again, and only once Hollander's expression lightened relieved did Ilya lean in again, closer and closer again until he could fit the width of his hand around the Omega's neck and rumble directly into his ear, "I want you anyway. And I know," Ilya closed his fangs just barely at the tip of Hollander's ear lobe, "you want me too. Do not need to scent you to tell that."
"Fuck." Shane had turned away from the ask about his blocker patch, but he melted into the strong hand at his neck, the pressure over his throat and the heat of the Alphas palm. "Fuck, that's—" his eyes started to fall closed, his knees going weak, but he heard the Alpha huff a laugh and immediately stiffened again.
"Don't." Shane warned, and Ilya went very still, easing the pressure at the Omega's throat and even shifting his weight backwards just in case, "Don't what?"
"Don't laugh." Shane bit out. "Don't laugh like me letting you put your hand on my neck is predictable submissive Omega behavior and you think it's funny."
"That is not why I was laughing." Ilya countered immediately, holding himself away in case the mercurial Omega changed his mind and wanted him out. "Was not a mean laugh."
"Then what the hell was it?"
"I thought you would fight it." Ilya squeezed Shane's throat lightly, his thumb pressing in over the Omega's bonding spot. "Fight me to submit."
Shane swallowed hard, and the Alpha traced the motion with his fingertips. "You fight and challenge everything else. But you submit here. Is…" he hummed a moment, thinking. "Pretty."
"Pretty enough to laugh at?" All the ire was gone from Shane's voice, the rush of irritation and defensiveness extinguished just as quickly as it had flared. "Cos that sucks. That's a shitty thing to say right now."
"No. You know this word… awe." Ilya tried to say. "Like surprised."
"Awestruck." Shane supplied, then blinked, "You're awestruck about– about me? By me?"
Ilya fit himself back into Shane's space slowly, inch by inch slowly until they were pressed together from feet to shoulders, millimeter by millimeter slowly increasing the pressure at Hollander's throat again until the Omega's lips parted over a shaky gasp and his eyes went hooded, lashes fluttering.
Awestruck, yes. It was a good word. Ilya knew more words in Russians, better things to say about just how perfect the Omega was pinned to the wall, pinned in place, willingly pinned under Ilya's weight but for now, awestruck.
And then, starving. Ilya bent careful and slow to cover Hollander's mouth in a kiss and immediately he was starving. A single kiss wasn't enough and neither was a second. He needed his hands in the Omega's hair and groping over the Omega's chest, a third kiss sucking at the Omega's tongue and moaning ragged when Hollander kissed him back licking over his fangs and dragging blunt teeth at his bottom lip then yanking at his clothes, at his shirt and then at his pants and the noise the Omega made when he reached down into Ilya's pants to grab him left Ilya reeling as the moment crashed quickly towards out of control.
"Fuck Hollander." he growled and it was Shane's turn to laugh, he wanted to laugh just a little bit delirious at how that kiss had been the best kiss of his life and how the Alpha's big hands in his hair and grabbing at his body had him sweating after only a minute. Shane wanted to laugh but more than that he wanted to get down on his knees. The Alpha took his shirt off and Shane's legs almost gave out, he couldn't stop running his hands over Rozanov's chest, down his stomach, dragging his nails through the trail of hair leading into Rozanov's pants, he didn't realize he was open mouth panting until the Alpha cupped his cheek and fed his thumb between his lips, He didn't realize he was all but collapsing until Rozanov caught him, "Settle settle, Omega." and eased him down so he didn't just fall onto his knees scrabbling at the Alpha's pants to get the heavy cock out and into his mouth.
…it wasn't fine. It was insane.
And afterwards, when Shane's jaw was sore and his scalp tingling from the Alpha pulling at his hair and fucking his mouth, when every muscle in his body felt heavy, sated, useless and he was still trying to get his breath back, pressing gingerly at the scrapes on his throat where the Alpha had almost bit when kissing wasn't enough and the threat of fangs registered as pleasure sharp enough to make him scream–
Afterwards when the Alpha rolled away to put his clothes on, Shane came back to himself enough to think, fuck.
It wasn't fine. It was crazy and reckless and dangerous and Shane was risking everything for a fucking blow job, fuck.
No way they could do this again. No way. One and done. They'd pretend it never happened, everything would go back to normal and then everything really would be fine.
Out in the hall, Ilya took off away from Shane's door immediately, hurrying down the walkway and taking the stairs so if anyone happened to see him he could shrug about being on the roof, about taking a phone call away, about just running the steps as a workout.
Once he was far enough away and down enough flights of stairs for no one to suspect a thing, the Alpha braced his hands at the nearest window sill and pushed his forehead into the cold glass, screwed his eyes shut tight and let himself growl vibrating up through his chest and out from behind his fangs.
He knew his eyes were burning red, he could feel the pressure and heat in his head as the wild in his chest ramped up greedy all over again demanding he go right back to the room, right back to Hollander and right back to the bed so he could get his face buried between the Omega's legs and Hollander's cock back down his throat.
How he could be so hard up, hard pressed, hardly breathing for an Omega who blocked their scent and called him an asshole in between kisses was a helluva fucking mystery but Ilya growled and grinned and shook with satisfaction over it anyway.
He already couldn't wait for their first game together.
Come and play, Omega.
*****
Chapter Notes:
This was supposed to be a one shot. It's not anymore. if you're a long time reader of my fics, you know I've never been able to stick to a planned word count or chapter count to save my life and if you're a new reader… welcome to the party, we're all in this tog