Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You’re starting to sound like him.”

Shane blinked down at Hunter from where he was standing,” What did you mean by that?”

Where before there had been the roar of fans and players, now there was muffled noise and a cold sort of terror Shane thought only came with death. He could feel it slithering down his spine and settling into his veins, icing out all the heat that came from a win. How had it fallen apart so fast? Logically he knew there was never the chance for a future between him and the Russian alpha, but he thought they had more time. Maybe not much given what happened in Vegas, but more, nonetheless. Now Scott Hunter was going to take that from them- him. Suddenly his hands felt the cold as his gloves dropped and he was lunging at the older alpha.

He could see the surprise on his face at the attack, fuck, he could hear the surprise in the arena. Everything came rushing in all at once as the cacophony of voices kept climbing, excited shouts from fans at this new side of Shane. An angry, desperate side of Shane. 

His fist barely had time to skim the side of Hunter’s jaw before there were bodies between them, but that didn’t stop his momentum. Trying to buck the hands off of him and get at Hunter, needing to shut him up. He kept yelling as he was dragged off, not sure what was coming out of his mouth but enjoying the way Hunter’s face was twisting up. Good. Shane knew this wasn’t a fight he would win but why would that stop him. He lived for a challenge.

-

As soon as his skates left the ice, his body deflated. All the anger holding him up rushed out and left him standing in the middle of a circle of surely disappointed teammates and coaches. He could faintly hear Pike at his back - What happened? What did he say to you? - but all he could do was look at the piece of snow still stuck to his blades. Moving in any capacity felt impossible.

“Hollander.”

God, he hated it when other people called him that. It was missing a curl around the L’s, how it was said like the goal was to swallow him whole. But his coach was still talking.

“- done. We can finish this without you.”

Ah. Fair enough. He nodded his head and slowly forced his legs forward, pushing his body to move towards the tunnel when all he wanted was to collapse. (A small part of him knew this intense of a reaction was indicative of a likely larger problem, but he ignored it). Making his way through claps on his shoulders that made him want to crawl out of his skin and half-hearted feel better’s, Shane found his way into the dark of the walkway. Out of the view of thousands of eyes, he let his shoulders drop. He’d fucked up. He’d fucked up and he could feel his eyes welling with the thought. It was expected of most hockey players to fight- it was part of why everyone who entered the stadium was required to wear scent patches, to try and keep the tension contained to the game and out of instinct. Though, Shane had never had a problem with instinct. He’d never presented. Not presenting meant he couldn’t smell anyone other than his parents, and even then it was a faint thing. It was probably his closest, (well one of two), secret. He wasn’t an in control, smooth alpha- he was an error, and tonight he’d let himself go over something that was barely his to fight for. There was no way Hunter didn’t know what he and Rozanov were doing now, Shane’s reaction had kind of confirmed it.

The locker room was empty, of course. He stumbled over to his locker and began to strip mechanically, pulling off each pad by muscle memory and no real choice of his own. His phone was lighting up where it sat in his cubby, but there wasn’t a single part of him that wanted to see what was waiting. Mom had probably sent six messages by now- starting with concern over him and quickly devolving into concern over PR, with his dad not far behind. While he wanted there to be a text waiting for him from Lily, the months of silence laughed at him. 

Turning away from the string of unanswered texts, Shane wandered his way into the showers and rinsed off with the same level of autonomy, putting himself through his routine because one more deviation from it today would almost definitely end with him in a breakdown. He was almost there as he was right now, and anything else would push him out of his spiral and into a full-blown free fall. 

An ugly thing clawed at his throat as he redressed, pulling on his hoodie that happened to have been on Rozanov’s floor at one point. Tears had kept gathering on his waterline since he’d left the rink, and now they slipped down his cheeks. A frantic gasp escaped him as he rushed to rub at his eyes, “Come on, man. Get it together.”

His whisper landed dead in the locker room and he sucked in a deep breath. Grabbing his bag and still buzzing phone Shane hurried through the halls of the stadium to the players garage and slid himself into the driver’s seat of his Wrangler. He took another deep breath and held it, waiting for some of the pressure in his chest to release before blowing out and starting the engine with tears still sitting pretty on his lashes. The drive took him longer than it normally did, but everything felt like he was moving through molasses, sticking to his skin and clothes and trying to hold him in place.

The sight of his front door gave him a burst of energy and he moved the fastest he had since he was playing to get inside. Slamming the door behind him and dropping to the ground with his back against the door. Head between his knees, he stayed there breathing shallowly with unfocused eyes for an unknowable amount of time, mind shut off behind tired doors.

When Shane lifted his head a loud pop rang through his empty apartment, neck cracking after being bent for so long. He unfurled himself from his ball on the floor and reached for his bag, dragging himself to his bedroom to put his things away. In the bottom left drawer of his cabinet was a set of pajamas that he’d bought on a whim, that were soft and perfect and necessary for when his eyes were seeing too much and he could feel every inch of his skin pulled taut on his body. Fuck, I haven’t felt this bad in a while, not since-

A whine interrupted his train of thought. He glanced around the room, searching for where the continuous trill could be coming and froze when he felt the vibration in his throat producing the sound. Never had he made a sound like that before. Panic began clawing at him again, closely accompanied by confusion. Trying to snap out of it, he pulled on the new shirt and pants and curled up with his pile of pillows. To get comfortable he kneaded at them, pushing them around until he was in the middle of the pile and pulled heavy blankets over him, sinking into the firm hold of the mattress. He could feel as his eyes fluttered closed and the noise he’d been making slowly trailed off, falling off into an uneasy sleep with it.

-

Shane woke up to sweat pooling under him and a vicious heat clinging to his bones. Getting out from his little fortress of pillows, he stumbled to the kitchen to get water, downing three cups before he slowed enough to notice a new ache at his neck and a new smell drifting through his apartment. The distant scent of sweet citrus, sea salt, and a heady warmth shocked him still. He’d read about this in school, everyone read about this in the mandatory classes on presentations and sex ed. When children presented, the first thing to change would be their vocal chords, slowly shifting to produce the sounds associated with their designation- purrs for omegas then growls for alphas, while betas were left blissfully unchanged. Then the first cycle would hit, either a heat or a rut. It would be the longest one of their life, normally lasting up to a week, but Shane had presented almost impossibly late that there was no telling how long he’d be stuck like this. 

He felt like he was drowning and every part of him ached. Needing a kind touch to soothe whatever parts of him felt too raw to even exist. The panic from last night quickly reared its head.

Being unpresented was fine, was preferred even. He didn’t have to combat the same instincts that his peers did. Being an Omega was a little less fine. There wasn’t much discrimination left in the league at this point, but it would certainly earn him some side eyes, and questions on the legitimacy to his rise to stardom, (which would make no sense because everyone could see the way he played, the way he shined). But he couldn’t afford to be ostracized anymore, he already fell behind with his teammates socially- with his weird habits, strange diet, and an inability to not follow a nightly routine of staying in, being an Omega on a team full of Betas and Alphas would nail that coffin shut. 

Shane spun around, spying his phone where he’d left it on the counter yesterday. He shakily typed out his password and found the number for the team doctor, hitting the button to voice record because his hands had only started shaking harder the longer he stood there.

“Hey- um, I’m not sure what triggered it but I think I’m presenting? I woke up feverish and, uh,” he bit his lip, fighting against the embarrassment clawing at his cheeks,” achy?”

Hitting send, he checked the time and saw it was nine in the morning, meaning he’d be getting a response within 15 minutes. Still anxiously chewing at his lip, he almost threw his phone when the chime sounded, a new message from the doctor popping up. There was a link to a survey that detailed heat symptoms and asked for a scaled response then a final tally, thankfully letting him show what was happening to him without having to explain it out loud, I think I’d rather die like this, he mused to himself. Sending off the final score, he waited less than a minute more before the next response came.

“You have the next two weeks off. No exception, do not come to practice. Will tell the media it’s time off for fighting.”

A breath of equal parts relief and fear escaped Shane. For one, he didn’t have to worry about anyone finding out yet, but now he had to deal with a heat at his ripe age with only one dildo and no food prep. Fuck. 

He was feeling hotter by the second, his normally perfect pajamas now too much on his slick skin. Filling a large water bottle and pocketing his phone, he made a trip to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. If I have to do this I can at least go into it clean. His routine was falling apart around him but he was more focused on getting back to his pillows as soon as possible. Taking every towel he could find, he made his way back to his bed- or what he supposed was now his nest. He laid the towels on top of the covers, then stripped down to nothing and got back onto the bed. Exhaustion from the morning and previous day filtered back into his brain, letting him slip back into sleep before the heat truly began.

-

Ilya had had a knot in his chest since yesterday. Watching Hollander play had always been enjoyable, he was a good player- had to be to be mentioned in the same breath as Ilya. The game yesterday hadn’t left him with that same satisfaction as it usually would have, not after watching Shane’s first fight happen against fucking Scott Hunter. A nasty feeling was finding a home in his chest the longer he thought about it. Fire and hunger had been drawn all over Hollander’s pretty face during the fight, a look that had never been directed at him. A look that should have only ever been directed at him- his alpha had been agitated since. It felt like there was tension coiled under his skin, like the alpha would only need a little nudge to go over the edge. Then the Voyager’s released the press statement- Due to the events that occurred yesterday, Shane Hollander will be serving an in-team suspension for the following week. What.

Hollander didn’t even land a real punch and he was suspended. So many little rules followed that man around that he couldn’t even get into a barely-fight without suspension? Stupid Canadians, suspending their best player, he scoffed.

His phone sat on the couch next to him, the string of unanswered texts haunting the back of his mind but he put them off for now. Opening the chat with Jane, he scrolled past the read messages with guilt before starting his own, for the first time in months. Hollander’s worry for him was cute as it was off-putting, pushing Ilya into a corner he didn’t know how to get out of without blowing up.

Little hit and you are out?

So silly, Jane. Was not even real fight

The last message sent and he exhaled. Now he just had to wait for his Hollander to bite. Patience is a virtue.

– 

Shane jolted out of his bed for the second time that day, but this time he was on fire. Hot, burning desire sat behind his teeth and in his stomach, begging for anything. Thick thighs were soaked and slipping where they pressed together, his new scent covering everything in the room and suffocating him. 

Another long, high whine left his throat as an aching flush covered his body. In his bedside drawer was his only dildo, and he rolled onto his side to yank it out of its spot. It was a small seven inches and not as thick compared to what he wanted, but beggars can’t be choosers. Shane dropped it next to him and slid onto his stomach, pressing his sore chest down into the towels with a moan. His nipples rubbed against the scratchy fabric and his mouth dropped, drool starting to pool under his tongue. As heat kept building Shane let his hips arch in the air and knees slip wide, back bowing to keep his chest pressed into the bed. He squirmed to rub his nipples harder against the bed, a wandering hand sliding down his side and ghosting a touch against an aching cock. Oh God. If he gathered all the fluid dripping off his tip someone would think it came from a pussy with how wet he was. The sheer amount of liquid would have been enough on its own to act as lube. Shane moaned again, high and desperate for a touch that he couldn’t have. 

The hand by his cock twitched, nudging the rigid length and sparking shivers up his back. Tentatively, he grasped his cock in his hand. A loud gasp echoed and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to fight off the orgasm sneaking through his body. Slowly moving his hand, he kept his shaking hand loose and gentle, painfully aware of how keyed up he was. In time with his strokes, Shane’s other hand also followed a path down his body, ghosting fingernails over raw nipples and yelping at the feeling. Continuing down, his other hand found its way to his hole, hesitantly prodding at where he was swollen and- 

Ding.

The alert from his phone snapped him out of the haze he’d drifted into. Forcing himself to let go of his cock, Shane moved toward where his phone rested on the ground, expecting a follow-up text from the doctor. Carefully maneuvering so he didn’t accidentally cum with a light brush, he reached out to the floor and grabbed his phone. He flopped backwards with his phone in his hands, shivering as sweat began cooling on his body. Shaky fingers tapped in his passcode and the name he saw at the top of his messages almost threw him off a cliff. Lily - 2 new messages. 

A whine escaped him, loud through the silent room and reverbing with the need now seeping out of his pores. His scent spiked and thickened to the point of a smog on his senses, barely able to function past the thought of his alph- Rozanov. Swiping open the chat all he could see was that accent in his head, smoky and deep- heavy on the consonants and light over vowels, dragging against his brain like a balm. Fuck. Shane’s cock could have been crying for how wet it was, and he kept leaking more and more slick. The messages seemed normal for them but it’s not like Shane could read right now. He doubted he could speak if he wanted to. Another whine trickled out, lower and needy, like he was calling for someone in the same room as him. His fingers were moving but he’s not sure what typed by the time he hit send. All he knew now was the ocean of want he’d been dropped into.

-

Ilya’s phone chimed. Glancing down half-heartedly, he moved much quicker when he saw the name next to the message- Jane. A smirk made its way onto his face as he opened the phone, only to pause again when he was met by a two messages-

5687 Maple St.

pelaes

Ilya’s mouth dropped. Hollander hadn’t initiated a hook up at this point, and he’d certainly never fucked up spelling please that bad before. A mix of dread and satisfaction curled in his stomach, his alpha inexplicably pleased that Shane had texted him back so fast, with an address and an unspoken invitation to fuck him until his eyes rolled back in his pretty little head. But something was also wrong, and Ilya wasn’t one to turn down a request like this. Throwing on a hoodie and grabbing his car keys, he got in his Aston Martin and started the drive to Hollander. The whole way Hollander’s place was filled with anxious tapping- Ilya was concerned but also curious. Shane Hollander was a man with a plan for everything, living and dying by his rulebook, endearingly boring in his life. So where had all of his plans gone awry? Ilya would not delude himself into thinking this was one of Hollander’s many plans, but he wasn’t opposed to being a potential emergency option. You are safe for him, his instincts sing in his head. 

Pulling into the driveway felt like walking up to a portal, unsure of what state his boy would be in when he got inside. The closer Ilya got to the door he could smell the scent of a heat. A warm, salty-sweet citrus slamming into him- genuinely knocking him back a step. Was there an omega inside with Shane- is that why he’d sent his address in a clear panic? To help him? Anger replaced the previous anxiety and he pushed closer to the source of the heady scent. Holding on to the thought of Hollander with someone else kept his disgust at the forefront and everything else slipped away, no thought was given to the owner of this scent other than rage. How dare someone else touch what’s his?

Ilya slammed his palm against the door twice, rattling it where it was locked into its hinges. He could hear the echo inside from where he stood, and a sort of scattered tapping- like someone was falling over their feet. Small clicks could be heard as the door unlatched, and Ilya thinks the sounds of those clicks were the opening of heaven’s gates. What was previously a nice scent in passing was now everything he could have ever wanted, pouring from the man in the doorway. Pure, sweet summer rolled off Shane’s skin and coiled around Ilya’s lungs, trapping him where he stood.

Fuck, he would dose that scent if he could- lick it off of Shane’s lips and neck like good Russian vodka. 

It was clear that there was only one person in the house now, and it was his omega. A low growl rumbled through his chest as he eyed Hollander. His skin was shining with sweat, dripping down and disappearing beneath the towel haphazardly wrapped around his waist. The normally clear, deep brown eyes were now staring up at him, glazed over and low with want, tears sitting on his waterline that only added to the allure of his gaze. Ilya was captured by the pink tongue that darted out to wet full lips, drawing attention to their fullness, and then letting his eyes wander down Shane’s body. He looked like every dream Ilya had ever had.

A small noise broke through the haze in his head - a whine. Shane was whining for him. Ilya’s eyes snapped back up to the omega’s face, finding tears now tracking down his face and a precious pout on his lips, peaking at him through wet strands of inky hair. A bright blush sat high on cheeks, pushing his freckles into the limelight and fuck he had to have this boy underneath him.” My English improves, yours does worse, da?”

Shane blinked up at him adorably, pout twisting into a little frown. “What?”

Ilya inched closer to where he stood, slowly moving them both further into the house. He shut the door behind him with a click. “Cannot send easy text. Spelled like you were dead.”

The jest flew right over his head and he nodded dumbly,” Yeah, feels like I’m dying.”

Tears were still steadily marking his face, gleaming over the perfect stars on his face and Ilya was gone.

He shut the distance between them in one large stride. Grasping the omega’s delicious waist in his hands he buried his face in his neck, taking a deep breath right against Shane’s new and swollen scent gland. 

Loud moans sounded above him as Ilya pushed deeper into his skin, running teeth and tongue gently over irritated skin. If he never smoked again Shane’s scent could fill that addiction. His hands squeezed against his waist, leaving imprints of his fingertips in the skin as Shane’s hands made a home in his curls to pull him further in. ” Why does this happen now, Omega?”

Shane’s head fell back at the word. Baring his throat in submission with a breathy gasp, Ilya (regrettably) let go of his waist to grab his chin in one hand and rest the palm of his hand against his throat with the other. “Answer. Now.”

Neck pushing further into Ilya’s hold, Shane let out a hum,” Hunter-”

He was cut off by the tightening of the hand at his throat, and all the rage Ilya had let go of came flooding back in, harder and heavier than before. What. “What.”

Chapter Text

hi i promise to finish this in the next week but i have finals and need to lock in

genuinely i'm like 2500 words deep in the next chapter and it's taking up too much of my time rn