Chapter Text
It was strange to be sharing his space with an omega. The first thing Ilya had noticed about Hollander when he walked up behind him was how delicious he smelled. His scent was unlike anything Ilya had ever encountered—sweet but not overbearing, light but not faint, rich but not heavy. Ilya wasn’t even sure he could pick out what each distinct scent was in the mixture.
Bergamot? Sea salt? Mandarin? Green tea?
Whatever it was, it was now permeating in the apartment and Ilya felt drunk on it. He listened from the kitchen as Hollander got unpacked in the spare bedroom with the ridiculous amount of bags he’d brought. Ilya tried not to read too hard into the haul as his mind spiraled with thoughts of just how long Hollander might be staying with him on this team omega contract.
He sucked in a steadying breath and turned to open the fridge so he could at least do something decent like make lunch for them. Of course, the task of cooking food allowed Ilya’s mind to wander yet again. Instead of thinking about the contract or Hollander’s scent or his father that had called him half a dozen times since the news broke that he’d gotten a team omega, Ilya let his mind wander to Hollander himself.
The omega was beautiful. There was no denying it.
Full black hair, tanned skin, freckles across his cheeks and nose, dark eyes, sculpted lips, and lean body packed with hidden muscle, Shane Hollander had been quite the surprise looks-wise to Ilya. He was absolutely the kind of omega Ilya would try to pick up at a club on one of his alcohol fueled nights out. But, again, nothing was to be done with Hollander except for allowing the omega to chaperone his behavior.
The shuffling going on in the guest bedroom came to an end, then Hollander was walking quietly into the kitchen and making himself comfortable on one of the stools at the island. Ilya did his best to act uninterested as he stirred the frying vegetables in the skillet in front of him.
“So, I thought it might be good if we try to get to know a little bit about each other,” Hollander spoke once a few beats of silence passed between them. Ilya dipped his head in acknowledgment and finally looked over his shoulder to run his gaze over the omega sitting nearby. That damn scent assaulted him almost immediately as soon as his nose was turned in Hollander’s direction and Ilya was quick to turn his head back.
“I know a few things about you just from the internet, but not anything past, like, where you’re from or who your family is or how you got your hockey career,” Hollander continued. Wow, he liked to talk. He was also annoyingly polite. Canadians.
Ilya sniffed and reached over to grab some seasoning for the wilting vegetables he was messing with. He hated cooking. “Okay, what do you want to know?” Ilya asked with his back still turned.
“I don’t know. Maybe what your favorite color is? Favorite animal? What you like to do on a lazy night in? That kind of thing. It would be nice if you worked with me here,” Hollander bit out slightly. Ilya smirked and raised an eyebrow to himself at the slight venom in the omega’s tone and part of him appreciated the fact that Hollander wasn’t the kind of omega to roll over and be pleasant the majority of the time.
Deciding the skillet would be fine for a moment without him watching, Ilya turned around and leaned against the counter while crossing his arms over his chest. He’d seen the way Hollander had been looking at his arms at the airport and felt like playing into that at this moment. “Red, dog, jerk off,” he listed out.
Hollander jerked back with wide eyes like he’d been sprayed with water. Ilya just raised his eyebrows further on his forehead and extended a hand to Hollander in invitation for the omega to reply in his own kind. Hollander gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching slightly as if he was readying for a fight, and glared slightly at Ilya before answering, “Blue, cat, watch movies.”
Ilya tsked at him in mock disapproval and said plainly, “Boring,” before turning around to give his attention back to the vegetables.
Hollander’s sweet scent began to turn burnt in the room, a clear sign he was pissed off, and Ilya felt his own traitorous instincts growling at him to fix it. He’d made the omega unhappy with his own actions and every fibre of his being was yelling at him to make it better. With a twitch of his eye, Ilya sighed and turned back around despite himself.
“I don’t really do much, Hollander. I play hockey, I answer shitty phone calls, I work out at the gym, and I go to clubs for some drinks or sex. I can’t even do the last two things anymore, so forgive me if I’m not super happy about the change or that I’m being watched like a baby,” he explained as cooly as possible to give the impression he wasn't affected by Hollander’s scent reaction.
Hollander was still looking at him with something dark, but he seemed to accept the small handout of conversation as his scent calmed back to a subtle sweetness.
“I used to play hockey,” Hollander said after a minute. Well that was a surprise. Ilya cocked his head to the side, suddenly more interested than he already had been, and replied with syrupy intrigue, “Do tell.”
And, oh. Hollander blushed at that.
Ilya swallowed hard as he watched the omega’s freckled cheeks turn rosy at the slightest bit of attention and Ilya had the sinking realization that he’d suddenly do anything to make Hollander blush like that again. His instincts seemed to be in agreement as his body physically lit up inside with pride at whatever he’d done.
“It was just kind of something you grew up doing in Montreal, you know? I played all the way through juniors, but I just… I don’t know. I liked being the guy that people could come to if they had any issues on or off the ice. I chose this path and I’m happy I did. It’s like I get the best of both worlds,” Hollander explained with a small smile to himself.
Ilya cocked his head to the side and thought of the few team omegas he’d witnessed throughout his life playing with other alphas on his junior teams. They’d always been a steady, calming presence both in and out of the locker room—never distracting or overbearing.
Hollander had said he didn’t want this to feel like being a prisoner when they’d met and everything he’d done so far had suggested he really just wanted to form a relationship that Ilya could depend on for making better decisions. With a slow nod to himself, Ilya sucked in a deep breath, pursed his lips, then slowly walked forward to extend his hand.
“Okay,” he said. “We will do this.”
Hollander eyed the hand warily, but accepted it all the same in a quick shake. Ilya ignored the tingles that ran up his arm at the contact and refused to look away from Hollander’s gaze as they shook on the otherwise unspoken agreement of making their contract work. Ilya didn’t have to like it, but he would make it work. For the team, for Hollander, and maybe even for himself, he would make it work.
*****
Shane watched from the bench two days later as Rozanov participated in the scrimmage that the coaches had put together for practice before the game that night. He tilted his head slightly and watched as Rozanov wove expertly around the defensemen on the opposing side and charged down the ice towards the goal. The ping from the puck hitting the posts before sailing into the open space behind the goalie sent a shiver down Shane’s spine while a small smile tugged at the side of his mouth.
He loved that sound.
It was easy to acknowledge that Ilya was a force to be reckoned with on the ice and it seemed everyone else understood that as well as they shook their heads with grins of disbelief at the third goal Rozanov had gotten.
Coach Hayes stood beside Shane and gently nudged him, his strong alpha presence settling Shane rather than intimidating him. “He’s good on the ice. It’s off the ice we’re worried about. Has he been good so far?” Hayes asked while the scrimmage continued with other coaches on the ice dissecting the play.
Shane nodded slowly. “He’s been okay. No alcohol at home and no going out. He was a little snippy this morning, but nothing I haven’t dealt with before. He’s tried with the conversation as well—the getting to know each other. It’s been okay,” he admitted. Hayes just frowned at that and turned his attention fully to Shane with sharp blue eyes.
“We thank you for doing this. Roz can be a bit reserved in a different kind of way. He’s deflective when people try to get too close and the over the top confident persona he puts on for the media isn’t fooling me, personally. If you can find any way to just…” Hayes trailed off with a sigh and crossed his arms. “It would be nice for him to have a friend.”
Shane understood what Hayes was trying to say and gave a small smile of reassurance. He could be a friend along with being Ilya’s team omega. Or, well, he could try.
The whistle blew on the ice to signal the end of practice, pulling Shane from his thoughts to watch as Rozanov slowly made his way over with other players to exit the ice. He followed behind the long trail of hockey players into the locker room and gently set himself down in Rozanov’s station while the alpha began to tug off his gear beside him. He simply watched as the Russian man methodically pulled off the jersey and the shoulder pads to leave him completely bare from the waist up.
Jesus Christ.
Ilya Rozanov was a far too attractive alpha that Shane couldn’t help but stare at. Sculpted abs, defined chest muscles, devastating v-cut by the hips—he was mouthwatering in every sense of the word. And when he was sweating and hot? His scent practically covered Shane in a cloud of tobacco, rum, agarwood, and cinnamon.
To Shane’s horror, he could feel himself get wet with slick only seconds later. Fuck.
His face immediately heated and he tried to make himself small in Rozanov’s stall, reminding himself harshly in his head that he was supposed to be professional. He’d never never gotten wet for an alpha he had a contract with. To add to his mortification, he lifted his gaze slowly and found that Rozanov had stopped in his actions and was staring back at him with dark eyes.
Rozanov’s nostrils flared and Shane knew he was caught.
Shane stood immediately and quickly exited the room before anyone else could catch on to what had happened between them. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This was bad. This was so bad. This wasn’t why he was here and what had just happened had been so unprofessional. Shane hurried through the hallways of the practice facility with shame spoiling his scent and covering his face.
If anyone had caught wind of what had happened, he’d be let go immediately. If Rozanov told anyone either…
Shane pushed his way into one of the private changing rooms in a stray hallway and pressed his hands against his face in humiliation. When he managed to drop his hands a few minutes later and suck in steadying breath, Shane decided he’d have to have a conversation with Rozanov in private at the apartment about what happened and vehemently apologize.
The opportunity seemed to come even sooner, however, when the door to the changing room slammed open and Rozanov himself stalked inside with wild eyes. He was dressed in tight compression leggings, a long sleeve athletic shirt, and white socks pulled up to his ankles with slides haphazardly shoved onto his feet. His blonde curls were a mess on his head and his skin glistened with sweat that remained from practice.
“You were wet for me,” Rozanov called out bluntly.
Shane’s eyes went wide and he couldn’t help but take a nervous step back to press himself against the wall. “I’m so sorry. That was so inappropriate and wrong. It won’t happen again, I swear,” he promised anxiously. Rozanov stalked forward, like an animal hunting its prey, until he was directly in front of Shane with the same dark gaze and heavy scent Shane had encountered earlier.
Oh, fuck.
As if to prove that what had happened earlier was true, slick pooled in Shane’s briefs beneath his joggers and permeated the air with arousal in his scent. Rozanov shuddered when it reached his nose and he all but collapsed around Shane, locking him against the wall as he pressed his hands on either side of Shane’s head and leaned in. His nose brushed against the scent gland on the right side of Shane’s neck before he took in a deep breath. The growl that slipped past his lips made Shane whimper in response. This was bad. This was really bad.
“We shouldn’t… We shouldn’t be doing this,” he panted into Rozanov’s chest.
“You want me to stop?” Rozanov breathed out huskily.
Amazingly, Shane couldn’t find the words to reject whatever was about to happen. There was this undeniable pull he had to the alpha in front of him—a reaction that he’d never had to another alpha in his entire life or hockey career. “We…” he whispered weakly. Rozanov was leaning closer, sliding his hand down from the wall to gently grasp Shane’s jaw instead.
Slowly, so slowly, Rozanov parted his lips and pressed his open mouth against Shane’s. Shane was helpless to do anything other than kiss the alpha back as his shaking hands slid up over Rozanov’s chest to settle over the same pectoral muscles that had gotten him wet with slick in the first place.
The kiss was slow and tentative at first with Rozanov pulling back just to change the angle for the next time he went in with his open mouth. Then his hands were all over Shane—circling the base of his throat, grabbing his chin, cupping the side of his face, pulling the omega in by the curve of his waist—while his hot tongue slid into Shane’s mouth to claim him there too. Shane melted into the alpha and eagerly accepted each heavy clash of their mouths while his body lit up.
The sound of their trembling breaths, wet lips, and sloppy tongues finding one another in the empty changing room echoed in the open space, ringing back in Shane’s ears with a scandalous reverberation. He could feel Rozanov growing hard against him, the alpha’s cock pressing into his own evident arousal, and Shane knew that if they didn’t stop now, he was going to do something dumb like drop to his knees and let stupid instincts take over.
Shane pressed gently against Rozanov’s chest once a brief moment of clarity washed over him and was surprised to find that the Russian alpha stepped back with ease, parting from Shane’s mouth without being asked twice despite his swollen lips and expression of deep want.
“Not—not here,” Shane stuttered out through trembling lips before he could stop himself.
“Apartment?” Rozanov asked with his lips still parted and shiny from the spit they had swapped between one another. Shane shook his head and lifted his hands to drag them down his face as he desperately tried to regain control of the situation.
“No, no, we—we can’t. This is against the contract and what I’m supposed to be doing here. This was a moment of weakness and we can’t,” Shane tried to argue weakly. His legs still felt like jell-o from the makeout while his cock protested with a slight jerk in his pants at the implication of not being attended to. Rozanov just tilted his head to the side and let his large palms curve around Shane’s sides to keep them close, relentless in ensuring that Shane was very much aware of what had happened between them.
“Can’t or shouldn’t?” Rozanov asked as his heavily lidded eyes trailed over Shane’s face.
Shane glared at the alpha as best as he could, but made no move to step away or escape from the alpha’s grasp. He could admit that the kiss they’d shared had been hot and that Rozanov being turned on by him was a major boost to his ego. However, it had to be a one time thing or else this entire contract-based relationship would be jeopardized.
“I’m supposed to be here to stop you from making bad choices, not joining in on them.”
Rozanov hummed raspily. “Mm, but bad decisions feel so good, don’t they?”
Shane swallowed down the lump in his throat at the words dripping with pure sex appeal. He had to get out of here. If he didn’t put space between them, he was going to fall for whatever trap Rozanov was obviously trying to lay with his provocative language. “I’m going to go back to the apartment and we can talk about this later, but not here. You need to go change and we can’t let anyone know what happened. Okay?” he tried to reason.
Rozanov dropped his hands from Shane’s sides and slowly nodded, though his eyes never fell from watching Shane as he fiddled against the wall.
“Okay. No one will know,” he eventually agreed. Shane nodded jerkily, then slid out from against the wall to pass Rozanov and escape the room. He knew his scent was probably soaked with arousal, but getting out of the facility and into fresh air would help erase the trace of it. He didn’t really care what Rozanov did about his own heated scent. He just needed to get out. So he tore through the back hallways, located an exit door that no one else was around, and entered the cool spring air while his thoughts raced.
Back in the changing room, Ilya stared at the empty wall in front of him where Hollander had been. His cock was throbbing inside of his compression leggings and he could feel the slight knot that had started to build at the base of it, desperate to grow and lock itself inside of something hot and tight.
As soon as Ilya had caught the scent of Hollander, wet and aroused and horny, his instincts had flared to life in a way they had never done before. He’d never lost control like that—tearing off his gear and shucking on clothes haphazardly to hunt down an omega that had fled from him. When he had found Hollander alone in one of the spare changing rooms for visitors at the facility, his rational thoughts had gone out the window.
All he could do was sit back in his own body and watch as his instincts took over, pressing Hollander into the wall and kissing the breath out of the omega. He’d been so pliant, so open and welcoming to the invasion, and had made the softest little sounds of pleasure that went straight to Ilya’s cock.
Thinking about them made Ilya step forward and close his eyes as he pressed his forehead against the wall. He didn’t care that people were probably wondering what happened to him and Hollander. If anything, they probably thought he just needed a moment to be focused and calmed down from the heater he’d been on during the scrimmage, so Ilya didn’t mind taking a little more time to himself in the empty room.
With a growl of equal parts frustration and desire, Ilya shoved the compression leggings down far enough to pull out his length and spit on his hand. He jerked himself roughly with fast strokes, thankful that the foreskin around the head of his cock had enough give to cope with the brutal motions he was giving to himself.
This was a means to an end, nothing else.
His knot swelled at the base of his cock further, desperate for release, and Ilya knew he wasn’t going to last long. The scent of Hollander was still heavy in the air, so Ilya allowed himself to get lost in it as well as the imagination of the omega still being here and participating. The thought of Hollander alone just watching as he jerked off was enough for Ilya to grunt and squeeze his knot with his other hand as it popped with relief.
Hot spurts of cum pooled on the tile floor beneath him, feeling nearly endless as Ilya breathed roughly through the orgasm and massaged his knot to get every last drop out. He finally opened his eyes a solid few minutes later and looked at the mess he’d made of the practice room floor that some poor soul was going to find and have to clean up later.
Maybe Hollander had been right. Maybe they couldn’t do this again, because if Ilya got his hands on Hollander like this just one more time, he feared he’d want the omega for a whole lot of other reasons than just to calm him and his bad decisions down. Maybe he already did.
Fuck.