Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Kip Grady/Scott Hunter, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Scott Hunter

Characters:

Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Kip Grady

Additional Tags:

Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Trapped In Elevator, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Character Study, Phone Sex, Awkward Conversations, Eventual Sex, Humor, Alpha Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Omega Shane Hollander, Omega Kip Grady, Alpha Ilya Rozanov, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Sexting, Implied/Referenced Mpreg, Pregnancy Kink

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-13 Completed: 2026-02-18 Words: 11,935 Chapters: 8/8

Hugging the Turns

Summary

It's hard to keep a mate a secret. It's even harder to share their heat. Scott Hunter is trying to do both those things while stuck in an elevator with Shane Hollander.

Notes

My first Heated Rivalry fic! I was very interested fresh off of watching the show to give Shane and Scott a chance to interact, since they seem like very similar characters at heart. I also wanted to see how Alpha/Omega amplified the difference in their relationship circumstances. However, note the tags! This is Shane & Scott, not Shane/Scott.
As far as timeline, this fic takes place nebulously after the Allstar game but before Scott comes out. In this Alpha/Omega setting, relationships between men are more accepted in general (assuming they are alpha/omega) but still taboo in professional sports (about equivalent to canon).
I hope you will subscribe and comment!

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

It was a welcome retreat from the heat of a New York summer as Scott stepped into the cool and softly lit lobby of Westchester County’s finest Secondary Gender and Reproductive Health Retreat.

“Good evening, sir. Are you meeting a partner or looking to make a reservation?” 

“I’m here to meet someone.” Scott slid his ID across the polished wood counter at the check in desk. He kept his voice low. “Christopher Grady, room 412.” 

The receptionist didn’t so much as blink as her gaze flicked from Scott’s driver’s license to his well-known face. “Thank you, sir. Just a moment while I confirm your appointment.” 

The receptionist clicked away at her keyboard while Scott shifted uncomfortably in the serene and completely scent neutral environment. This was an expensive place. Kip wasn’t a fan of anything resembling a sugar baby routine, but this he allowed, because expensive meant discreet, and discreetly was the only way that Scott could be there for his mate when he needed him most. 

Kip spent too many heats alone. When their schedules (read: Scott’s schedule) let them be together, money was no object. They’ve been to New Jersey, the far side of Long Island, and now the lower end of Upstate New York to hole up for a few days where Scott is sure he won’t run into any teammates and the clientele is too exclusive to risk any unwanted photos popping up on Instagram. His manager thought Scott was kayaking in the Berkshires. It was a careful web of lies and just as fragile. 

Scott’s phone chirps in his pocket. 

K: ETA? I’m putting the finishing touches on our nest and it's getting warm in here ;)

Scott replied quickly, mouth dry. 

S: I’m in the lobby rn. See you soon, beautiful.

Kip deserved a permanent nest, somewhere warm and safe that they could share every night. This was the best that they could do, for now. 

“Mr. Hunter?” 

Scott slid his phone back into his pocket. “Yes, sorry.”

“Welcome to Cedar Oasis. Your Omega partner is expecting you,” The receptionist continued in the soft tone of someone who has signed many an NDA. She slid a white key card back across the counter along with Scott’s ID. “If you’ll just enter the doors on the left, you can leave any extra luggage with our secure concierge. From there you’ll see the elevators to our private suites.” 

Scott nodded his thanks and slung his duffle bag over his shoulder. He had packed like he’d be hiking and swimming. It was pathetic, really, the paranoid fear that he’d get recognized at a tollbooth or in a gas station parking lot and have to show his swim trunks to prove he wasn’t actually meeting up with the love of his life. 

Leaving the lobby for the baggage check was a weird scent mishmash, but that made sense, since it was where guests left their bags to avoid bringing any unnecessary foreign smells into the heat suites. Being used to an MHL locker room, Scott hardly found it offensive, but it was disorienting enough that it took him a moment to realize one scent was more present than the others, and that it was one he recognized. 

If Scott felt a pit in his gut at the scent of a fellow player, it was nothing compared to the blanch he saw when Shane Hollander turned around. His scent—usually muffled on the ice, as the cold muffled everything—lurched toward tangy anxiety. It was also laced with the burned sugar of pre-heat. That, if anything, was comforting. Scott was the Alpha here, in every sense including the biological. He approached the baggage counter, handing off his bag to the waiting staff member and receiving a tag in return. He offered Shane a short nod. 

“Hollander.” 

Shane had checked a rolling suitcase, but kept a large duffle held close to his body. Nesting materials, probably. He offered a jerky nod in return, eyes anywhere but on Scott. “Hunter.” 

“I hear this place is good.”

“Yeah.” Shane was flushed, his hair damp like he’d just finished a run. He was cutting it close to his cycle. 

“Private,” Scott added pointedly. “Not like some of the Manhattan spots.”

Shane’s shoulders dropped a little from their tight hunch. “Right. Totally.” 

“So,” Scott continued, as they turned the corner, and he pressed the button to call the elevator. “We aren’t going to have a problem here. Right?” 

It wasn’t exactly news that Shane Hollander was an Omega. If he was being secretive about checking in to a SecGen hotel, it was for the same reason Scott was, to meet someone he wasn’t supposed to. Scott had a guess who it was, and he wasn’t touching that with a ten-foot pole. Regardless, this wasn’t a problem. If anything, it was mutually assured destruction.

Shane’s eyes flicked up to his for a penetrating moment. “No. Definitely not,” he said as the elevator doors pinged open. “We’re on the same page.”  

“Great.” Scott stepped onboard. Shane hesitated. 

“I can, uh, get the next one.”  

Scott rolled his eyes. “We’re adults. We’re going to the same place. It’s fine.” 

With the ruddy embarrassment of a man still in his twenties, Shane shuffled onto the elevator with his duffle, and they stood with a crucial twelve inches between them as the doors slid closed. 

Excruciatingly, Scott pressed the button for the fourth floor to no effect. He pressed again, hyperaware of standing in a six foot square steel box with an Omega nearly in heat that he would definitely have to see on the ice in the near future. Five seconds of confusion felt like an eternity before Shane intervened. 

“You have to scan your room card first.” He swiped his own to demonstrate before pushing the same floor that Scott was heading to. “This place is kinda high tech like that. Means less staff near the rooms.” 

“You’ve been here before?” If Scott thought that was a neutral topic of conversation, he was mistaken. 

“Once,” Shane replied stiffly. “Normally I’d be—well. I was in town for a commercial shoot. Kinda last minute.” 

“Right.” Scott was pretty sure that was a lie. It was none of his business, but he’d bet money that Shane Hollander had never had a “last minute” heat in his life. That wasn’t how their lives worked. Scott had been planning this heat leave with Kip for four months. 

The floor numbers pinged by in awkward silence. One to two, two to three…

“Well,” Scott said, waiting for the number four to light up. “Have fun, or whatever.” 

“Yeah.” Shane bounced on his heels. “Same to you and whoever.” 

Ping. The number four lit up. Then flickered. 

A strange electric hum lifted the hair on the back of Scott’s neck before the lights went out and the elevator stalled with a jolt that hit his stomach like the bottom loop of a roller coaster. Only years on skates kept him on his feet. 

In the pitch black, Scott braced a hand against dead metal. He felt for the elevator buttons which clicked hollowly with no result. 

At least for the moment they were stuck. 

With sight no longer his primary sense, Scott was aware of the exact moment Shane’s scent throbbed in the dark and the Omega cursed hotly under his breath. 

“Shit.” 

Chapter End Notes

Title is from "The Distance" by Cake (a great Heated Rivalry song)
Next up: Scott and Shane deal with awkward proximity

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

Thanks for all the lovely kudos and comments! I hope you enjoy the next installment.

Scott didn’t consider himself a guy with a deep intellectual tool box. One skillset he did have was the ability to process a set of rapidly changed circumstances and react. The circumstances were these: 

He was trapped in an elevator with the captain of the Montreal Metros, who judging by the spike in scent and flow of expletives had just ticked over into full heat, probably triggered by the jolt. Priority one. 

“Back up as far as you can,” he said to Shane in the dark. “Pick a corner and stay there. Put your bag between you and me.” 

Shane obeyed, sliding into the back corner and sinking to the floor. “Don’t touch me,” he rasped into the three feet of space between them. His ramping anxiety was an acrid combination with the sugar sweet pheromones he was shedding. 

“I won’t be doing that, so no worries.” Scott would sooner lick a subway pole. 

With a Band-Aid on that situation, Scott moved on to priority two: figure out what the fuck was going on. When a call to the front desk of the hotel yielded no results, he reluctantly depressed the emergency intercom button at the base of the panel. A long, old fashioned ring crackled through the speaker. 

“What do you think the odds are that whatever electrician picks this up is a Sabres fan?” 

Shane just groans, whether in answer or from his surging hormones is unclear. The intercom crackled again and a gruff voice came through.

“Hudson Valley Emergency Assist. What’s your situation?” 

“Hi, yeah. There’s two of us here on the elevator at—uh—Cedar Oasis. The lights just went out and we aren’t moving.” 

“Damn, alright. A pretty serious accident up the road just took out a transformer. You’re probably on that grid. Is anyone injured?” 

“Nobody’s hurt. It’s uh—” Scott glanced apologetically at Shane. “It’s a SecGen hotel. The guy in here with me is hitting his cycle and he’s pretty uncomfortable.” 

“Got it. We’ll do our best to get the lights back on.” 

“There’s nobody who can come pry this thing open?” 

“Emergency services are pretty tied up at the scene, and there’s a hospital up the road that takes service priority. You can probably get the door open manually, but when power is restored, the car is going to move, and you don’t want to be halfway in or out when it does.” 

“No squeezing through any gaps. Got it.” 

“Good. Sit tight and call again if anyone needs medical services. It should be a couple of hours at most.” 

That was not an encouraging proclamation. Shane audibly whimpered. Scott butted the back of his head briefly against the brushed metal of the elevator carriage as the intercom cut out, leaving them in a tense silence. The box wasn’t airtight, but it was a close space and neither of them were small guys. It was already getting humid, and a lot of the humidity was coming off of Shane, along with the kind of black hole Omega in danger/Please anyone fuck me pheromones that would put any Alpha’s teeth on edge.  

Scott sank down to a crouch, sweat already wicking into his collar and under his arms. No power meant no AC. In an insulated building they’d probably be alright, but it wasn’t going to be fun.

He needed to call Kip. He probably didn’t have power either. The locks in this place were all electric, so Scott had no idea if his mate was safe, in heat and alone— 

Scott flexed his hands against his bent knees, and either the motion or the swell of protectiveness in his scent had Shane scrambling, a high, fearful sound escaping him. 

“Don’t come near me, asshole.” 

“I’m not.” Scott’s concern for Kip was briefly muffled by the spike of panic in the air. His eyes were adjusting to the dark, enough to see Shane in charcoal and black impressions. He was sweating through a hoodie that was too hot for this weather, let alone heat. He was curled into himself, every muscle tense as he emanated distress enough to make Scott’s eyes water. 

“Fuck me. Fuck me,” Shane cursed, scrubbing his hands over his eyes. “I can’t get mounted in a fucking elevator.” 

“You aren’t going to,” Scott said, at the risk of repeating himself. “Jesus.” The kid was breathing too fast and too shallow. If he started hyperventilating, Scott was going to have to intervene, and he did not want to see the kind of injuries a pair of professional hockey players could inflict on each other in a six foot steel box if one or both of them slipped into a serious threat response. 

Scott reached into his pocket, and Shane flinched back hard. “I’m not moving,” Scott promised. “I’m getting my phone light out so you can see where I am.” 

After a long pause, Shane nodded and Scott pulled up the flashlight on his phone. It flashed uncomfortably over Shane for a moment, throwing his fevered flush and scared eyes into harsh color, before Scott set his phone on down and let the light bounce more softly against the steel walls and ceiling. The space immediately felt smaller, the light cold, but Shane sighed with something close to relief as banal reality overtook the ambiguity of the dark. 

“Okay. Alright.” Scott held up his empty hands, his back pressed to now body-warm metal. “Listen, man. You’re freaking out, and I get why, but I am seriously not going to come after you in here.” 

“You—how? I mean, don’t, but I’m totally unsuppressed.”

“Yeah, and it’s whatever. Seriously. Look at me, and think about it.” 

 You—” Shane’s fever bright gaze sharpened as he seemed to come out of his panic and took in how unaffected Scott was by his scent.

(Okay, he wasn’t unaffected, but his primary response was a deep and likely mutual sense of mortification. That put a damper on any ambient arousal, to put it mildly.)

 “...You aren’t going into rut.” 

“Not even close.” Scott was hoping to be warming up to a rut at some point today, but if he was it sure as fuck wouldn’t be because of Shane Hollander. Shane’s glassy eyes widened. 

“You’re mated. Pheromone locked.” 

“Yes, and you’re now one of about four people who know that, so keep it to yourself.” Scott stretched his legs across the short side of the elevator, ignoring the creak in his knees. “This isn’t exactly comfortable, but I’m not going to touch you, and if anyone asks—which they shouldn’t—as far as you know I just have the most heroic self-control of all time. Okay?”  

“Okay.” Shane slumped against the wall, bag held protectively between his legs. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize. And if I hear anything like ‘thank you,’ I’ll kick your ass.” 

“Wasn’t planning on it.” The hum of anxiety was still present but worst of the fear was draining out of the scent-thick air. “This is so humiliating.” 

“Shit happens.” Scott wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his sleeve before it could sting his eyes. “This place won’t want this getting out. We’ll be out of here soon and it’ll be like we were stuck in traffic for an hour.” 

“Easy for you to say.” The heavy rise and fall of Shane’s chest was conspicuous in the quiet. 

“You have water or anything?” 

Shane nudged a sports bottle in the outer pocket of his duffle, sloshing the contents. That was one problem avoided, at least. 

Scott’s phone chirped on the ground. It might have buzzed earlier. There was kind of a lot going on.

“I should probably—”

“Sure.” Shane fished an iPad out of his bag and turned the brightness on the screen to full so Scott could check his messages without plunging them back into darkness. 

K: Hey the power just went out up here. Are you okay?  

K: Scott? 

K: Getting a little nervous here…

Scott wiped a hand over his face. 

“I need to, um, make a phone call. My mate is here, waiting for me, and—” 

“You should call them.” Shane skated forcefully over that pronoun, the way his gaze determinedly refused to settle anywhere on Scott. “I need to make a call, too. My partner—or, friend, really, who was coming to help me—got stuck in the traffic behind the accident that took the power out.” 

“Freaking out?” Scott guessed. Shane laughed, a thin sound. 

“Not like I just did, but yeah.” He glanced around the tiny space, where voices on the phone would definitely carry. “I have headphones. We can probably both just turn around and—” 

“Right.” Scott fingered the call button, a familiar clench of anxiety in his gut. 

“Hey.” Shane paused fumbling with the tangled knot of headphone wires. “If it helps, you can tell them that it’s me. That you know me, I mean. That it’s weird but we’re on the same page.” 

It was an insane thing to offer. Shane had no idea who Scott was calling, or how trustworthy Kip might be with the kind of gossip that could end both their careers. It was a reciprocal gesture, after what Scott had been forced to reveal. 

It was brave. 

“Thank you.” Scott pushed past the fear to say: “You can do the same. If it helps.” 

Shane’s scent twisted with amusement. “Somehow, I don’t think it would.” 

Scott laughed, and with a little less anxiety shaking his fingers he pressed call.

Chapter End Notes

Next up: Two phone calls...

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

Enjoy ;). All of your comments have been amazing and inspiring.

Kip was curled up in a painstakingly crafted nest in nothing but his slick-damp boxers. He had no power, a mini-fridge full of room temperature water, and several text messages left unanswered by Scott, who should have been here by now. He was sweaty. Lonely. He was in the ugly window where he couldn’t enjoy the anticipation of Scott fucking him six ways to Sunday because he could never be sure his mate was going to be able to show up for his heat until he was physically in the room. 

This was a nice place, with cool blue walls and a big nesting bowl in the floor that Kip had made artistic use of. It wasn’t home, but it would be more than enough if someone could turn the AC back on and he could get Scott curled up with him. 

As if summoned, Kip’s phone started buzzing with Scott’s photoless caller ID. 

“Hey. Are you okay? Are you safe?” Scott sounded a little out of breath, his voice strangely echoey through the speaker. It still sent a shiver down Kip’s spine. He was definitely revving up.

“I’m fine. Somebody came around and told me about the power outage through the door. Where are you? I thought you were just downstairs.” 

Scott paused. “Listen…”

Disappointment clenched behind Kip’s sternum. “You’re not coming.” 

“No! I mean, I am, as soon as I can.” There was an impatient breath. “I’m—god, you’re going to think this is so stupid.” 

“Scott—” 

“I’m stuck in the fucking elevator.” 

Kip curled forward, sitting up. 

“What? …Oh my god, the power went out.” He laughed despite himself, half from the absurdity and half from pure relief. “You poor thing. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah. I’m good. Not thrilled, obviously.” 

“No.” Kip dragged a hand through his hair, almost embarrassed how happy he was that Scott wasn’t flaking on him. He asked: “What should I do? Could I come find you? I’m sure we could try and get the doors open—” 

“Don’t do that.” Scott cut him off. “I mean, stay where you are. If the power is out I don’t know if you’ll be able to get back in your room and I don’t want anyone bothering you.” 

“Okay.” There was a strange tone in Scott’s voice. 

“I’m also…I’m not alone in here. I got stuck with somebody, and I know him. He’s another player in the league.” 

It was stupid given the circumstances, but Kip’s heart sank anyway. “And you don’t want him to see me.” 

“No. That’s, you know, complicated, but it’s not that.”  

Kip waited. Scott eventually continued, sounding deeply uncomfortable. 

“Listen, it’s Shane Hollander. The captain of the Metros?” 

Kip flipped through the limited mental rolodex of MHL players he’d amassed until the penny dropped. “He’s an Omega.” 

“Yeah. He was here to meet someone, I think, and when the elevator jolted it set him off early.” 

Kip had to piece together what Scott was saying. His mate was obviously trying to talk around an awkward topic when the subject was in an elevator with him, but it sounded like: “You’re stuck in a tiny box with Shane Hollander, and he’s in heat.” 

“That about sums it up. …I’m sorry.” 

Kip felt a hard twinge of sympathy. “It’s not your fault. Are you—you know, okay with him in there? If he’s in heat and he’s unmated—” 

“Believe me, he’s not interested. If anything, we had to have a pretty frank discussion about my commitments elsewhere.” Scott lowered his voice, like he didn’t want this Hollander guy to overhear. “To, you know, make it clear he was safe.” 

Kip winced. “That’s bleak, but I get it.”

Scott sighed over the line. “It’s lucky it was me, I guess, since we’re at least friendly, but it’s still pretty rough for him.” 

“Sounds like it’s rough for both of you.” Then: “His cycle. You’re sure it’s not…affecting you?” 

The odds of an outside Omega’s heat triggering rut in a bonded Alpha were slim, but it was possible. 

“You know it’s not.” A warm seriousness anchored Scott’s reply. “And even if it were, you know I would never.”

“I do know.” Kip could say it without a shadow of doubt. He’d made sacrifices to be Scott Hunter’s mate. The one thing Scott had been able to pour out to him in return with no reservations was his fidelity. The reminder was a liquid warmth in Kip’s gut. “But I should stay put.”

“Yeah. If I caught your scent and went into rut—I wouldn’t touch him, but any kind of threat response could be really dangerous. There’s not a lot of extra space in here.” 

“I understand. Is Shane…there?” 

“He’s on the phone too, with the Alpha that’s supposed to come help him. We have a mutual pact not to listen in. And to try to smell each other as little as possible,” Scott added somewhat wryly. “Emergency services said it might be a couple of hours, so we’re trying to pass the time.”

“Damn.” Kip sank back into his nest. “I’m sure it’s weird.”   

“Honestly, I’ve been in worse locker rooms. Maybe not as claustrophobic. Hang on—” There was a short rustle, like Scott was pressing the phone to his shirt. Kip caught the tail end of what sounded like fuck off, Hollander. 

“Everything okay?” 

“Yes,” Scott replied with a laugh. “Just this guy razzing me on the phone with his fuck buddy. Like I couldn’t scruff him with one hand.” 

“Sounds hot.” Kip hummed with the pleasurable disinterest of someone only tangentially related to a hot piece of gossip. “Do you know who this fuck buddy is?”  

“No,” Scott replied, obviously lying. 

Kip grinned, stretching out languidly now that they were just talking like normal. The bedding here was really nice. Scott’s weight holding him down in it would be even better.  “I’ll get it out of you later.” 

“You can try.” Scott’s smile was nearly audible. “Any interrogation techniques coming to mind?”

Kip pretending to think it over. “I might have to skip my usual strategy. As much as I love to fuck you, that’s not what we’re here to do, is it?” 

“Not this time.” There was a pause. “How are you?” 

“I’m excited for you to get here.” Kip wriggled a little deeper into his nesting materials. He put a little pizazz on his next line as he eased the heel of his hand over his half hard dick: “Feeling pretty lonely. Empty, even.” 

Scott paused again, with a weight behind it that made Kip’s cheeks warm. 

“There’s things I want to say right now that I can’t.”

“Sexy things?” Kip guessed. 

“Yes,” came the tight reply, which was hot in its own way. 

“Text it to me.” 

Scott laughed. “It’s kind of the point to talk out loud.”

Kip hummed again. “Text what you can’t say, and I’ll commentate.” 

Kip’s phone pinged in seconds. His mouth went dry, and other parts of him went decidedly not dry as he read the message.   

S: I am gonna fill you up, then lick it out of you for hours

“Too much?” Scott asked out loud.

“No, it’s perfect.” Kip shifted against creamy sheets. The need was settling in between his hips, achy and molten. He put the phone on speaker, and slid his briefs out of the way until they were tangled around his knees. “Baby. I want that so bad.”

“Soon,” Scott promised, his voice a low rumble before he cleared his throat. “As soon as I can be there, I will.”

Then another message:

S: Touch yourself and tell me where. Tell me how it feels

“Fuck, Alpha,” Kip cursed under his breath. 

“It’s okay,” Scott continued out loud, carefully level. “You can tell me anything.” 

“My chest.” Kip squeezed his own pec, rolling a thumb over the nipple until it stiffened. “You know how much I love it when you play with my chest. It’s like—hm—like it’s on a circuit straight to my dick.” 

Scott’s exhale was harsh over the line. “Yeah? And then what?”

“Then I’m getting really wet. I’m—your voice is helping,” Kip sighed. He rubbed his thighs together, enjoying the satiny feel of the slick spreading and the slight catch of skin where Scott’s mark scarred his inner thigh. “I’m thinking about how good it’s going to feel when you get here and mount me.” 

“Mhm.” Even over the crackling phone line, there was a desperation to Scott’s muffled syllable.

“You’re going to slide right in like it’s nothing.” Kip pulled two harsh fingers between his legs. He whimpered under his breath as he caught a fresh wave of slick and brought it to his dick so he could stroke himself. “I’m so ready for you.” 

“Christ.” Kip’s phone pinged and buzzed rapidly in his ear. 

S: Make yourself come

S: Don’t be quiet

S: Please

S: When I get there I am going knot you until you come dry but until then you have to make yourself come for me

Kip clenched hard on nothing as he read that final text, a needy whine caught in his throat.

“Kip. Talk to me.”

“I’m close already.” Kip’s cheeks warmed as he squeezed his dick, not used to offering color commentary. “You, uh, you know how it is for me right now. On a hair trigger.” 

“Yeah, I do.” 

“Any little thing can tip me over the edge.” Kip pressed the phone awkwardly against this shoulder with his cheek so he could work his left hand back between his legs, circling his wet rim with a clumsy touch. 

“I love you. I’ll be there soon.” 

The ragged edge of Scott’s voice coincides with Kip curling two fingers in deep and tight, and that was all it took. He came with his mate’s name in his mouth, locking down on his own fingers and wringing a puddle of come out of his dick until his stomach was painted with it. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, chest heaving and his phone sticking with sweat to his face. It buzzed again, and he realized Scott had ended the call and was texting him. 

S: You’re incredible

S: Amazing

S: There’s somebody here from the hotel trying to talk to us through the door so I had to hang up but I heard everything 

S: I am gonna be there to take care of you. So soon. 

K: It’s okay. I love you, too <3

Kip collapsed against his sheets, sweat practically steaming off his skin. The arousal drained away in a slow, delicious bleed, leaving him sated and sleepy. For now. 

He drained half a bottle of water and curled up for a nap. 

When he woke up, he hoped it would be to Scott joining him.

Chapter End Notes

Next up: Ilya is in hell

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

Enjoy the update. Shane and Ilya are in a different relationship place than Scott and Skip, but hopefully this is still a fun and spicy interlude ;)

Ilya was in hell. There was a hell for sinners, and this was it, sitting in a rented car in dead stop traffic in the middle of fucking nowhere Upstate New York while Shane Hollander was in heat and going unknotted in an elevator twenty minutes away. 

Lily: I am in hell, Hollander

Jane: Go fuck yourself, how do you think I feel

Lily: You are feeling like you need strong virile alpha to come fuck you

Lily: And I cannot do this and so I am in hell

Ilya’s phone lit up with a call and he almost dropped it in the footwell. Traffic chose that moment to budge by an inch, and he had to scramble for his Bluetooth earpiece so he could keep one foot tapping the brake pedal when he finally picked up.

“Tell me you are alone now and can finger yourself for me.” 

“Oh my god, you are such an asshole.” 

“That is a no, then.” 

“Yeah, it’s a no. The power is still out. Are you still on the road?” 

Ilya crept forward another yard in his boring rented Volvo. “Yes. I am stuck between a stupid eighteen-wheeler and a stupider truck which is probably owned by American alpha with small dick.” Speaking of: “This Alpha you are stuck with. He is not bothering you?” 

“It’s fine. He’s uh…I know him, actually. Friend of a friend kind of thing. It sucks but it could be worse.” 

Ilya narrowed his eyes. “And he is young and hot? Please say no.” 

“No.” Shane’s laugh was raspy over the line. “He’s ancient. Probably here because they do wellness checks on elderly pairs—“ His voice cut away briefly, like he was covering the speaker with his hand. Ilya could just barely hear the muffled you heard me and fuck you too followed by a name he couldn’t quite make out. “—but uh, he’s here to meet his mate. Honestly, I think my scent is kind of grossing him out.” 

“Then he has no taste.” Ilya had a tickle at the back of his mind regarding this friend of friend but decided for the sake of his blood pressure to leave the clues unsorted. “But good. You are safe, yes?” 

“Yeah, other than it being really fucking awkward, we’re good.” 

“Okay. If he turns out to be a dick, I will kill him.” 

“He’s not going to. And I don’t need an Alpha to kill anyone for me.” 

“Of course,” Ilya replied. “You kill him instead. This is also fine. I will help with the hiding of the body.” 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”  

Ilya gives a shrug and a sound to match. “You are hockey player, not this damsel in distress. Is why it is so hot to fuck you.” 

“Um, yeah.” Shane’s breath shuddered across the line. “Same. About you, I mean.” 

“Obviously.” Ilya was alone in the middle of fuck-off New York, so he could smile about that in his car. “So this other Alpha. He is listening to our call like pervert?” 

Shane laughed again, which had been Ilya’s goal. “No. I have headphones, and he’s on the phone with his mate. He’s—” Shane paused, and Ilya could imagine the embarrassed blush on his already heat flushed cheeks. “--I think he’s, you know, trying to talk them through it without making me feel too uncomfortable.” 

“Ah, so his mate gets to finger himself but you do not. You ask me, I say this is not fair.”

“Tell me about it.” There was a soft thump over the line, like Shane had slumped his head against the wall. “I, uh, can’t wait to see you.” 

Ilya cleared his throat to catch a rumble in his chest. Ten years. Their hookups were finally climbing into the double digits, but Shane had spent every heat in Ottawa. Alone. 

This time Ilya was going to have him. It had been a long drive, because Ilya kept thinking about what was to come and risking a ten-car pile up so he could adjust himself. He shifted in his seat now, heat pooling in his groin. Something about his breathing must have given him away, because Shane sighed, unimpressed.  

“Tell me you aren’t jerking off in your car.”

Ilya was being very safe. One hand firmly on the wheel. The other hand could be rubbing a little on his half hard dick and it was no one’s business. “Would it make you feel better if I were?” 

“No, it fucking wouldn’t,” Shane said sourly.

“Then I am not doing that.” 

“Jesus, you are.”

“A little bit,” Ilya admitted. Just the weight and heat of his hand was a relief, when he was so impatient. “I am thinking about how tight you will squeeze my knot when I get there and we fuck on the floor like animals.” 

Shane hummed and it was very close to a sexy little whimper. Ilya wanted to hear many more of those sounds. He licked his dry lips, thinking about how clear they would be when he could have them hot and damp from Shane’s mouth while he fucked him.

“Maybe you will get pregnant.” 

“Don’t even joke about that,” Shane replied breathlessly. 

“Is just talk,” Ilya promised, squeezing his dick through his basketball shorts. “It’s what Omegas like to hear during heat, yes?”

“No.”

“Liar.” Ilya swallowed around a grin. “It would be very hot, for you to be filled up and to touch you there. Palm of my hand where I could feel a kick one day.” 

“You have to stop.” The order was shaky. 

“You do not like?” 

“I like it, and everybody within ten meters of this elevator knows how much I like it, including the guy I’m stuck in here with, so shut the fuck up.” 

God, what a voice. His Omega’s growl traveled from Ilya’s ear down his spine in tingles and sparks. He rolled his head against the seat back and his dick hard into the heel of his hand. 

“Okay,” Ilya replied when he could speak without any humiliating whine in his voice. “I will save for later.” 

“Thank you. Also, if you get arrested for having your dick out in your car I am never fucking you again.” 

One more flex of his palm and Ilya pulled his hand away. “Police will not be involved, unless I murder this truck driver for blocking the passing lane.” 

“It’ll pass once the emergency vehicles clear the accident. I might be in here for another hour, anyway, so don’t do anything stupid.” 

Ilya sighed. “I will try.” 

“...There might be more people around than we thought. Because of the power outage. People who might recognize you.” Ilya held very still as Shane let out a breath. “If you need to leave—” 

“No. I will not be leaving.” Ilya pressed his thumbs hard into the steering wheel. “I said I would come. I am coming and we will be together and there will be no press. I will handle it.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” The happiness radiated through the line. If he was not careful Ilya was going to become dependent on it, like he depended on nicotine and aspartame. 

“I am Alpha today, yes? I will take care of you. You only look pretty and take knot.” 

“You’re the fucking worst,” Shane said tenderly. 

“Best you ever had,” Ilya quips back, letting the conversation slip back into something light and playful until he could have Shane in a room with a lock and show him just how serious he was about taking care of him.

Shane was pulled away again for a moment, muffled voices in the background of the call before he came back. “Looks like the front desk staff finally realized we were in here. They’re going to try and get the doors open so we can get some fresh air. I’ll text you, okay?” 

Ilya nodded. “You will text me. You will see me. Soon.” 

“Great.” 

The end of the call beeped in his ear. Traffic eased forward another half meter. 

Ilya pressed his brow hard to the steering wheel and let out a long groan of frustration. This was hell.

Chapter End Notes

Next up: Scott and Shane talk around some things and about some things

Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

Another chapter today!!! I am in a groove lol. So be sure you haven't missed chapter 4 (Ilya POV ;)) and I hope you enjoy!

Predictably, the elevator had stalled out exactly between the third and fourth floor. There was an eight inch gap at the top and bottom of the door that let in some much needed fresh air but wouldn’t be letting either of them out of this situation without the power coming back on. Still, the staff knew they were there now, and they were able to pass them a couple of pillows and a battery operated emergency light through the small space. 

There was also an in-house nurse practitioner to do a wellness check on Shane, who as a regular suppressant user was considered at-risk for certain heat related co-morbidities (which, oof). Scott borrowed Shane’s headphones so the kid could at least pretend to have some privacy while the nurse checked his temperature and dehydration level and found eight different ways to ask whether he thought he was in danger of getting sexually assaulted. There was a lot of language around liability that Scott found pretty fucking grim, but Shane seemed used to it, which was grim on another level. 

“I think I’m getting a picture of how much worse this could have sucked for you,” Scott observed once they were left relatively alone again with some fresh water bottles. On medical advice Shane had shed his hoodie, and in only a faded charity tee he was putting out more scent. The staff had been able to give them a couple of filtering masks, and Scott was holding one over his nose and mouth every other breath or so. It was too hot to really strap it on, but it significantly lessened his risk of breakthrough rut as pheromones saturated the air. 

Shane poured an electrolyte packet into his water and shook it. “It already sucks pretty bad. No offense.” 

“I meant—” 

“I know what you meant,” Shane replied shortly, draining a third of the water in long pulls. He wiped his mouth on his arm and continued. “Believe it or not, there aren’t a lot of alphas out there with the muscle to make me do shit I don’t want to do. Hockey is good for that.” 

With the distinct feeling of having crossed the blue line ahead of the puck, Scott backed off. “I bet. What do you bench?”

Eyeing him carefully, Shane accepted the segue. “Two ninety-five at the start of the season. Single lift. It’s obviously not what I train at.”

“Makes sense. Gotta stay fast.” 

Shane nodded. “What about you? Back when you were in your prime, I mean.” 

“Go to hell,” Scott said without any real heat. His ego could take the hit, given the circumstances.  

“Ugh,” Shane groaned, slumping against the wall. “If our names show up on some local news channel, no one is going to believe that we didn’t fuck in here.” 

Scott rolls his eyes. “No one is going to find out.”

“You don’t know that.” 

“If it helps, I’m already pretty public about the fact that I don’t want to have sex with you.” 

“I know.” Shane’s jaw set as he breathed through what looked like a pretty bad cramp before he continued: “Standard post-game interview question, at this point.” 

Scott doesn’t deny it. If you lost to Montreal, it was because your focus was scrambled by pheromones. If you beat Montreal, you were showing off for the Omega on the ice. It wasn’t fair, but at least one asshole always popped up with the question during the press scrum.

“Yeah, well. Fuck that.” Scott adjusted the pillow he’d crushed between his lumbar and the wall, trying to keep his back from murdering him before he could go have forty-eight hours of athletic sex. “You know, and I know, and that’s what publicists are for. If I’d gotten stuck in here with Dallas Kent we would have torn each other’s throats out in ten minutes, so I think we’re doing okay.” 

That got a snort out of Shane. “That guy’s such a dick.”

“God, I know.”  

“Like, we get it, man. You’re allergic to gay shit.” 

“Right? You should hear some of the shit he’s said to me. He has no fucking idea.” 

They laughed but fell into another awkward silence after, having edged a little too close and clumsily toward saying out loud the thing that had brought them both here. Scott scrolled his phone, knowing Kit was probably asleep after their call. Shane finally stretched out with a few pillows, pulling a light sweater out of his bag that gave off a faint and friendly Omega scent. Probably a platonic nesting gift from a friend, since it obviously drove Shane’s scent toward something a little more calm. There had been some, uh, eau de sex when they had both gotten off the phone, but now it was kind of like being stuck with a teammate who had the flu, except Scott still felt the distant urge to protect this guy from jungle predators and maybe bring him fruit. 

He thought Shane might have fallen asleep when he finally sighed, pulling the sweater away from his nose. “I should be in fucking Ottawa.”

Scott stretched out his shoulders. “I’m guessing you came here for a reason.” 

“It was a stupid risk,” Shane muttered, eyes bleary. 

“It’s always a risk.” Scott said, with certainty. “It isn’t stupid.” 

Shane shuddered through another long wave of discomfort. His hair stuck to his face with sweat like he’d just finished a hard third period push. Scott turned his face away, to try and give him some illusion of privacy, so he wasn’t expecting the question when it came in a hoarse voice.

“How long have you been with your mate?” 

Scott cast a nervous eye at the sliver of hallway visible through the gap in the elevator doors. It was fine. They were alone. “A little over three years.” 

“Do you have kids?” 

“Not yet,” he answered softly. 

“But you want to.” Scott felt the weight of Shane’s gaze on the side of his face.

Kip wanted kids. More than anything, Kip wanted kids one day and more than anything Scott wanted Kip to have all the things that Scott was too scared to even let himself imagine. “Yeah.”  

“Any idea how you’re going to make that work?” 

Scott swallowed. “Nope. You?” 

Shane shook his head sluggishly. “Kind of an abstract question for me, at this point.” 

Scott looked at him pointedly. “Is it?” 

For a minute Shane’s bright eyes caught on Scott’s and he looked tremendously young. “I don’t know.” 

Scott could only nod. 

“A linemate of mine in Montreal,” Shane continued after a moment. “He’s like, a year older than me? His wife just had their fourth pup.” 

Jealousy was an ugly thing. It was a stupid number of kids to have before you turned thirty. 

And yet. 

“Wow.”

“It’s like, that’s normal, somehow.” Shane pushed his hands through his hair. He laughed, and it was a flat, bitter sound. “It’s not like that for us, is it?” 

“No,” Scott agreed. “Not right now.”

He didn’t see how it ever would be for Shane Hollander, which he obviously didn’t volunteer. Scott was in the closet because he was a coward. He could grow a set, install Kip among the WAGs and start popping out pups and barely have to step off the ice. There would be consequences, but at the end of the day Scott was an Alpha, Kip was an Omega with a Humanities degree, and it all kind of fit the mold except in one key way that had Scott waking up in a cold sweat every other night. The fear was real—maybe the realest thing in his life, but it was a fear of perception. Scott could have a family one day and it wouldn’t be a change to his body, only how other people saw him. 

Scott didn’t know what would happen to the Omega in the locker room who showed up with a rival captain’s mark on his throat. 

He didn’t know if a player could leave the rink for nine months and expect to come back. 

Shane was too old to change course, too good to give it up, and too young to retire and be some other guy’s mate. 

Scott didn’t say that. He didn’t have too. Shane blinked hard, nodding shakily, and Scott hated the hopeless tang to his scent. 

“What do I know?” Scott was sick of it. “Maybe we’re just dumb jocks. My mate, he’s—” 

Shane gave a short, sharp exhale, and Scott swallowed hard, realizing he’d just confirmed a pronoun they’d been talking around since the lights went out. 

Fuck it. 

“He’s an art historian,” Scott continued after a moment. “And he looks at things—paintings, you know—that I could never figure out. He sees a dozen ways to understand them and it’s never the same way twice.”

Shane nods. “I don’t really get art,” he said with a half smile. “My mom picked out all the paintings in my apartment.” 

Scott laughed in spite of himself. “Tell me about it.” 

“But I bet your mate picked yours out.” 

The laugh died in Scott’s chest. “Some of them, yeah.”  

Shane frowned. “You don’t live together.” Something in Scott’s expression made him wince. “I—sorry. That’s none of my business.” 

“You’re right. It’s not.” Scott scrubbed his hands over his face. “I was trying to make a point. I don’t exactly remember—” 

“Art History,” Shane prompted. 

“Right, yeah. I don’t know, man.” Scott blew out a long breath. “I just think sometimes I’ve been cutting the same tracks in the ice for so long that I can’t see past it anymore.” He stared at the brushed steel his sneakers were pressed against. At the abstracted streaks of his own reflection in the low light. “Somebody, at some point, is going to have to think differently. Otherwise neither of us are having kids until we’re forty.” 

Shane’s eyes were bright, and damp, but when he opened his mouth he said, like the fucking pup he was: “Well, you’re already forty, so—” 

The smile hurt Scott’s mouth as he said with only a slight edge of hysteria: “Oh my god, Hollander. Literally go fuck yourself—” 

The lights flickered back on. 

Scott scrambled to his feet, backing away from the cracked elevator doors as the button console lit up with the bright number four and the carriage jolted to life. 

“Fuck, finally,” Shane groaned from somewhere near Scott’s knees. He shoved his stuff back into his bag as they ascended the scant six feet needed to reach their floor and after a heartstopping pause the elevator doors slid open with a frankly condescending ding.

Scott stepped out first, moving aside to give Shane the space he probably wanted. A staff member spotted them from down the hall. Scott waved to show they were alright and turned to Shane. 

It was amazing the difference between three feet and six feet. It was like there was a gulf between them, one Scott wasn’t sure how to speak over. 

After a second Shane pulled out his white keycard and nodded behind him. “I’m this way. I’m sure that nurse is going to want to check me out again.” 

Scott found his own key in his pocket. “Yeah. Kip’s down the hall waiting for me. So.” 

“It’s been super weird. But, maybe good. Right?” 

“Definitely weird.” Scott agreed readily. “But okay.” 

Shane nodded again, taking a step backward with his bag over his shoulder again. 

“Next time you’re in New York,” Scott said. “We can get a beer or something. We’ll talk about literally anything but this.” 

Shane’s smile was bright against the dark flush on his cheeks. “Sounds good.” He nodded towards the end of the hall where Kip was waiting. “Have fun, or whatever.” 

“Yeah. Same to you and whoever.” 

Shane flipped him off as he walked away. Scott waited just long enough to see him successfully key the electronic lock to his room before he turned and went in search of his mate.

Chapter End Notes

Next up: Kip has been waiting very patiently...

Chapter 6

Chapter Notes

Not my longest update, but definitely the juiciest. This chapter is seasoned lovingly with angst, but don't forget it only takes place a few weeks before the Admirals win the cup ;)

Please enjoy, and thanks again for all the lovely comments!

The lock flashed green as Scott keyed his way into Kip’s suite and it was like the first dose of Percocet after a broken bone. Knocking back the pills wasn’t instant relief, but the knowledge that it was coming, that soon the world would all be bright colors and soft edges was a high all its own, and it was pretty close to what Scott was feeling as he left his sneakers in the little scent neutral antechamber inside the door. He peeled off his shirt and his jeans, leaving behind as much of Hollander’s clinging heat as he could before he stepped quietly into the dim, cool space where Kip was waiting for him.

The temperature increased by degrees as Scott padded softly across the thick carpet. The warmth was centered on his mate who at this point was visible only as a tuft of glossy dark hair poking out of the nest Kip had made for them in the wide padded divot in the floor. Scott circled the nesting bowl and Kip came more clearly into view, his face flushed and dewy with sweat where it was half hidden against the swell of his own bicep. He looked small, curled up under the wealth of cotton and linen, but he wasn’t really, and Scott knew that with the two of them they filled up a nest just right. 

Scott knelt at the edge of the nest, and with a slow but steady hand he reached out to pet the silky hair at Kip’s temple. He touched him softly, brushing the back of his knuckles against the glow of heat in Kip’s cheek and the fine line of his eyebrows, until Kip’s eyes fluttered open.  

“Hi, gorgeous.” Scott touched him under the chin. “Can I come in?”

“Scott.” His name was paired with the beautiful smile Scott loved so much. Kip reached for him, and Scott could only pull his wrist to his face, sliding his nose and mouth against the gland there and getting the first pure lungful of his mate’s scent. 

It was almost terrifying, in retrospect, how immediately and relentlessly Kip affected him. Scott was pulled into the nest by his mate’s eager hands and by the headrush of pheromones zipping into place, replacing his low resting heartrate with the reckless drumbeat of fuck, mate, breed. Being near Hollander had been like the wrong end of two magnets pushed together, repellent incompatibility held tense and ugly in his shoulders and across his back. The force of attraction now was a sudden lurch, toppling Scott into Kip’s arms with dizzying intensity.

“Fuck.” Scott rolled them into the center of the nest, pinning his Omega under his weight until Kip trilled helplessly. 

“You smell like him.” Kip growled, hot and possessive as Scott ground down where they were both hard and needy.

“Not for long,” Scott rumbled back, grinding his face against the grain of Kip’s stubble and into the oil slick skin of his throat. He got his mouth over the tender gland under his jaw and sucked hard until Kip moaned and Scott was practically blind with the overwhelm of scent coating all his senses. All there was left was touch: the swell of Kip’s ribs, the rapid rise and fall of his belly against Scott’s hands, the hot wet clench between his legs that said here here fuck me here. 

Scott touched him the way he loved to, his desire raw and on display in the only place it was allowed to be. He pushed Kip’s sweaty hair back from his brow and kissed him there, too, before pressing their faces together to match the eager, instinctual cling of their bodies. “You’re perfect.” 

Kip clasped both sides of Scott’s face, eyes heavy and fever bright and so happy. “You’re here.”

And that was enough, for right now. It was everything they needed as Scott peeled off his boxers, already damp with slick from their eager rutting, and steered by sweet instinct they found where they fit best together and Scott pushed inside. 

“Yes.” Kip’s voice broke over his need as Scott bottomed out. “Give it to me, Alpha.” 

Scott fucked him with everything he had and as always Kip pulled him in with his unexpected strength, his heavy thighs locking Scott into a sweet hard fuck and his blunt nails biting into the skin of Scott’s back as they kissed their way to the harsh tenderness of mutual beard burn. It almost hurt to pull out but it was everything to fuck back in where Kip was so tight and slick. Scott hadn’t had Kip’s heat in almost a year and now they were pouring everything they had into the bottomless pit of voracious instinctual lack.

It was like the first meal after a dangerous calorie deficit, low blood sugar soaring to an almost manic euphoria. They were both constantly on the edge of starving, and it wasn’t fair. Scott wanted Kip to be full. He wanted him to have a nest Scott could guard. 

He wanted to give him fucking children. 

It was heaven. It ached and it stung. 

“Say it,” Kip pleaded as they rocked together. “We’re here. You can say it. Please.” 

It was disgusting that Kip ever had to beg for it, after Scott had been so selfish with him. After Kip had tugged Scott’s mouth to the scent gland in his groin after three weeks and begged him to do it, please. I can feel it, I belong to you, and Scott had bitten down, too weak to think of anything but how badly he needed never to be alone again now that he had tasted what it was to be whole. 

“You’re mine.” Scott carved the words out of his ragged heart and pressed them into Kip’s hair, his flushed face, then his mouth. “Mine, sweetheart. No one can take you from me.”

Kip’s breath throbbed against Scott’s skin, too close to a sob. “Show me.”

Scott wished he could. He did what he could right now, which was to hold Kip down with all the strength he had and work his knot inside until his mate cried out with relief. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Scott murmured as Kip trembled and came, safe in his arms where he belonged. He locked down hard on Scott’s knot until he was gasping through his own climax, pouring everything he had into his sweet man. Filling him up. “You take what you need. Anything you want.”  

Kip shook, and clung, and he found Scott’s hand and worked it between the puzzle pieces of their bodies until Scott’s palm was flush against their mating mark. Scott traced the shape of his own bite scarred forever into Kip’s inner thigh. It was private, but it was theirs, and it was real. 

“I’m yours too,” Scott promised, breathing his gratitude and pleasure into the scent rich stretch of his mate’s neck. “I’m here, and I’m yours.” 

Scott was a little, uh, pent up, to say the least, so his knot lasted. They stayed tied, and Scott made Kip come again, and they took the time they didn’t always get, trading the little wordless chuffs and trills of a mated pair who had nowhere to be but here, in the primal space where desire didn’t need language. 

“I love you, so much,” Kip said eventually, languid and sleepy. Scott kissed him, nuzzling into his mouth, and held on as tight as he could. He was still hungry. He still wanted more. He wanted this every day. Every night.

He didn’t want Kip to spend any more heats alone. 

Something was going to have to give, because Scott didn’t know how many more times he was going to be able to give this up.

Chapter End Notes

Next up: We finally hear from Shane.

Chapter 7

Chapter Notes

It's been a lot of fun to write these two scenes back to back, and get into the nuances of alpha/omega dynamics at different relationship stages. I hope you enjoy Shane getting what he needs ;) and let me know what parts speak to you!

Shane spent a half-hour in the shower, because he could. Because he was alone, and he wanted to smell alone, with none of the mortifyingly conflicted feelings over having Scott Hunter’s I’m slightly aroused against my will because of the literal medical effect of pheromones scent still clinging to him. 

Scott had been nice. Shane could recognize that, objectively, once he got past the spine-chilling embarrassment. He’d treated him like what he was, a fellow player, but with a kind of edge of protectiveness that Shane—whose list of trusted Alphas included immediate family and Ilya Rozanov—didn’t have any framework to understand. Like a veteran treated a rookie, maybe, but the hour they’d spend in that elevator hadn’t felt like it had anything to do with hockey.

(Shane scrubbed away the two percent of himself that—now that any actual threat was passed—smarted over the fact that he’d been in heat and a strong, older Alpha had rejected him. It only went to show how bullshit hormones were.)

The shame and anxiety washed down the drain. Shane breathed in steam and let anticipation bleed back into the feeling of flushed skin and aching need between his legs. 

He was toweling off when the lock across the room beeped and clicked. Shane bit his lip and slung a towel around his hips. He stepped into the bedroom and let the bathroom door click shut behind him, trapping the damp. 

Shane wanted to smell Ilya before he could see him. He closed his eyes, leaning back against the door while Ilya shuffled in, dropping a bag in the alcove with a muffled thud. 

They weren’t pheromone locked, but Shane knew Ilya’s scent. He’d picked it out of locker rooms  and crowded clubs. He had learned the twists of arousal, frustration. Grief. 

Now Ilya was impatient. Excited. They weren’t pheromone locked, but Ilya was here and Shane’s body responded like he never would to anyone else.  

Shane kept his eyes closed, so that when Ilya’s footsteps finally crossed the room he jumped at little at the touch of a hand to his face. 

“There you are.” Knuckles pet his cheek and along his jaw. “You are okay? Ordeal is over?” 

Shane found the pad of Ilya’s index finger and put his mouth on it. “Yeah. I—uh…it’s fine, I mean. Let’s not talk about it.”

Shane finally opened his eyes to find Ilya staring intently back. His eyes were dark. His tongue darted out over his full bottom lip. He loomed over Shane with one arm braced against the doorframe. He looked strong and protective and so fuckable. 

“Wow.” Ilya’s eyes dragged over him. Slow, but with that little bit of a smirk. As always. Dick. “You really need to get laid.” 

Shane nuzzled into Ilya’s cheek. “Shut up.”

“Mm mm. No.” Ilya shook his head, dragging the tip of his nose against Shane’s cheekbone. He pressed a little kiss there, and Shane felt his face heat. “Rules first.” 

Shane raised his eyebrows, half laughing and half nervous. “You have rules?” 

Ilya nodded. “Serious rules.” 

“Okay.”

Ilya set his hand at the base of Shane’s throat, just brushing the edge of the scent glands on either side of his neck. “I am not going to be knothead about this, yes? I keep my teeth to myself.” His jaw set, briefly. “When we leave here, we will go back to normal. Play hockey. Fuck around. Nothing will change.” 

“Right. Yeah.” The part of Shane’s brain which kept track playbooks and sponsorship contracts filed that away under “healthy boundaries and communication.” The much louder part of him which was working up enough slick to make his towel cling to his thighs slipped his hands under Ilya’s shirt so he could feel his ribs move when he breathed. “Thanks, I guess. But…?”

Ilya tipped Shane’s chin up with his curled index finger. “But here—today—you are mine.” He touched Shane’s chin with the pad of this thumb. “Mine for now.” He kissed him. “And today I take care of what is mine.” 

Shane felt…drunk. Good drunk. He wanted…that. He was allowed, right? His season was over. He could be somebody’s Omega. Just for right now. 

Ilya could take care of him just for right now. 

Ilya’s brow furrowed, probably because Shane was just staring at him like an idiot, slackjawed with need. 

“Is okay?” 

Shane had to close his mouth with a click. Ilya’s thumb was still smoothing over his chin. “I—yeah. Yeah. Very okay.”

“Good.” Ilya kissed him again. He smelled so good. “Now, you will show me how you want to be fucked.” 

Shane had thoughts about that. He wanted to make out in the nest, and feel Ilya’s weight press him into the curve of the mattress. He wanted Ilya out of the shorts and top that still kind of smelled like stale car air and gasoline. He wanted to roll on his front, hands and knees, and sink down until it couldn’t possibly be mistaken what he was offering.

Shane rested his head on his crossed forearms, sighing into the stretch through his back and thighs. He’d been so tense. Now he just felt liquid. In, uh, multiple senses. “Mm,” he sighed, glancing back at Ilya, knowing how he looked presenting to a potential mate. “Like this.” 

“Yes, good.” Ilya gripped his hips, his big hands warm and solid. “You say what feels good, and you get it.” He tugged Shane back a little, so he could feel how hard he was. “My knot.” He smoothed a palm heavy and slow up and down Shane’s spine. “My hands.” Shane’s eyes fluttered closed at the press of lips to the base of his spine. “My mouth. Anything you like, moya ribka.” 

Shane’s temperature was rising, his face hot and joints achy. “Mm, what are you calling me?” 

“‘Little fish.’” Ilya kept one hand heavy on the back of Shane’s neck, holding him down so he could thumb over his hole with the other, petting where Shane was so, so slick. “Because you are wet and slippery, and I have caught you.” 

“Mm. Okay.” Shane shivered through the peaking heat inside. This time, he wouldn’t have to hurt through it. He rocked back into the solid presence of Ilya’s body and the hot line of his cock. “Fuck me. Need you.” 

Ilya did, and it was like a joint popping back into place. It was—Shane knew it was just stupid instincts but he’d been in the wrong place with the wrong Alpha and now it was right because he was on his belly getting fucked and everything was slick and full and all he could smell was how determined Ilya was to fucking breed him. 

It had hurt, and now it didn’t. He’d been afraid, and now he wasn’t. Shane didn’t know how to feel any better than that. His heats spent alone had made him feel disjointed and empty, his head swimmy and floaty. Like he didn’t exist except as a series of confusing and ugly feelings. Now Ilya held him down. Held him inside his body, and it anchored him in what felt good as they fucked until even eight hundred count sheets threatened friction burn. 

They didn’t talk because they didn’t need to. Ilya held him together with sound and scent and the hard fuck of his dick until it became the hard swell of his knot and Shane bore down with a cry like an animal until he was fucking full. 

“There you go.” Sound returned to Shane’s ears like he was coming up from underwater. Ilya stroked his cock and kissed his neck, his chest stuck to Shane’s back like it was glued there with sweat. “Very good. First time is hardest, and you had to wait so long. You can rest now.” 

Shane opened his mouth to say something stupid like don’t tell me what to do, but he was asleep before the words left his mouth. Ilya was right, and Shane’s body knew it.    

He dozed a little, and his dream was nothing like the ugly fevered things of his previous heats. It was barely a dream at all, just more comfort. More of Ilya’s arms around him and his lovely deep voice speaking to him in murmured Russian. Ilya pet his thumb over the scent gland in Shane’s neck over and over, so gentle and it felt so good. The Russian washed over him, but in Ilya’s touch Shane almost imagined he could understand the easy rolling syllables. 

I would bite you here. 

I would make you mine. 

I would take care of you.

It was just a dream, but it was good. Shane had been exhausted and afraid, and now he didn’t have to be. He could sleep and his Alpha (for now) would guard his nest. 

Shane sank deeper into sleep and Ilya’s voice faded.

He blinked awake a few hours later with a curious trill. He heard and felt a soft answering rumble and when he sat up Ilya was beaming at him, mischief in his eyes. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” Ilya said, still smiling. “I have never heard you make this sound before.” 

Shane butted his head against Ilya’s shoulder. “I’m in heat, asshole. The instinct stuff slips out.” 

Ilya slung an arm under Shane’s shoulders, curling around his ribs. “I am not making fun.” He kissed the tip of Shane’s nose, clearly making a little bit of fun. “It is precious. You chirp like little fox.” 

Shane growled playfully, thinking of maybe starting another round, but Ilya dodged his attempt to find his mouth. 

“No, do not attempt to seduce me.” Ilya clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Now I show that I am good provider. Fluids and calories for you.” 

“I’m not hungry.” Shane’s stomach rumbled audibly, and with a triumphant ha! Ilya stole away to the minifridge to forage for Gatorade and fruit cups. 

Ilya’s scent was, uh, confusing. He smelled amazing, obviously, giving off the musk of sympathetic rut. It was just that right now, lounging around with some snacks in the nest he almost smelled better than when they had fucked. It was happy. Erotic. Protective. It was like feeding Shane orange slices was somehow as satisfying to Ilya as getting his knot wet had been. 

He also kept touching Shane’s stomach. It was nice—sexy, even. It reminded Shane of what Ilya had murmured to him hotly over the phone. It also reminded him of the look on Scott Hunter’s face when Shane had asked if it was possible for guys like them to have kids. 

Shane caught Ilya’s hand, pressing it a little more firmly below his navel. Ilya smirked, but his eyes were warm. 

“We’re still, um. Everything is still just talking, right?” Shane checked. “Heat stuff?” 

Ilya flicked his eyebrows. Go on. 

“Would I be a good mom?” Shane looked down. He found a corner of the sheets to work between his fingers so he didn’t have to focus on the tensing of Ilya’s hand. “Not—I mean, could I even do that? Like, ever?”

Ilya hummed thoughtfully. “You could strap baby to your chest in a little papoose on the ice. No one will want to check you, so you will finally be able to score more goals than me.” 

Shane pouted. He was in heat so it was allowed. “I’m serious.”

Ilya sighed, and tossed his empty sports drink out of the nest. He stretched out closer and put his hand back on Shane’s stomach. “I would like to see you holding pup.” He bent, kissing a stretch of skin just below Shane’s navel beside his hand. “Itty bitty little one with pretty brown eyes.” He smoothed his hand up over Shane’s chest, teasing a little as he kept his head resting on Shane’s stomach. 

“Yeah?” 

Ilya nodded. “Mhm.” He turned, resting his chin on Shane’s hip, mouth pursed consideringly. “I would also like to see you holding third League Cup.” He sat up with a sigh. “Both would be very sexy.” Ilya smoothed the sweaty hair off of Shane’s forehead. “Is up to you.”  

“Yeah.” Shane also thought both sounded pretty sexy. He just didn’t know if both were possible. “It’s hockey right now.” He didn’t know if he was asking Ilya some kind of question, or if this was really just heat talk. “I think…for a long time, it’s gonna hockey for me.” 

“Good. Because as far as I know you have IUD, so there will be no babies this year. Right?” Ilya confirmed with mock alarm. 

Shane laughed and shoved Ilya’s face away. “Shut up. Of course.” His hand settled naturally on the back of Ilya’s neck, and he stroked his thumb against the fine silky hair there. 

“Mkay.” Ilya snuck back into the circle of Shane’s arms like it was a great trick and not exactly where Shane wanted him. “Now I eat you out until you are begging for my knot.”

Ilya kissed him into their nest, and then he kissed him everywhere. Shane rocked back into Ilya’s mouth, drunk on scent and relief and the rare pleasure of being taken care of. 

Shane didn’t have to decide anything right then, except what felt good. 

He had time, and at least for now, he had Ilya.

Chapter End Notes

Just a little epilogue to follow: Kip and Ilya check out

Chapter 8

Chapter Summary

Three days later...

Chapter Notes

Here it is, just a little cooldown conclusion after a wild ride. Thank you all for reading my first HR fic and I hope you will let me know what you enjoyed in this chapter or any other! Love and kisses ;)

Lily: I wish you had stayed an extra day. Come back for one more round 😢

Jane: I’m already half-way to JFK. Next time <3

Lily: 🍑🍌🫦💦💦💦

Jane: i dont know what that means lol

Lily: 🦊🦊🦊

Ilya was smiling down at his phone when he stepped off the elevator and almost collided with someone coming out the first floor stairwell.

“Oh, sorry.” 

Ilya bent down to grab the textbook the guy had dropped off a small stack. “No problem. My fault.” 

“Thank you,” the guy said with a polite smile, accepting the book back. He was a very good-looking Omega. Dark hair, good set of shoulders. Not that Ilya was looking, and clearly neither was the other guy, covered as he was in an Alpha’s scent and looking pretty cheerful about it. The scent was actually a little familiar. Ilya couldn’t put his finger on it. Nobody from his locker room, that was for sure.

“That was brave of you.” 

Ilya was pulled from his musings. “Hm?” 

“Oh, sorry, nothing. Just—the elevator.” The Omega nodded behind Ilya. “I heard a couple of guys got stuck in there the other day.” 

Ilya hummed again. “Sounds crazy.”  

The Omega shifted, adjusting the strap of his backpack over a faded Admirals hoodie. “Yeah. Well…anyway.” 

Ilya gestured down the hall. “After you.”

“Thanks.” 

Ilya slipped on his sunglasses to check out and a two-hundred-dollar tip across the receptionist’s desk to ensure there was no whispering going on about Shane Hollander or any of his guests. The Omega he’d run into took a seat in the lobby, stuck next to a very affectionate couple while he waited for the shuttle to the Amtrak station. He spotted Ilya looking and pointedly rolled his eyes, tipping his head toward the meathead and his skinny little Omega girlfriend looking to make it to second base in public. Ilya laughed under his breath, nodding in acknowledgement before handing over his key to the receptionist. 

He got one more faint whiff of that scent as he passed the waiting area and headed out to the parking lot. He still couldn’t place it. 

Ah well. It would come to him eventually. 

K: I’m pretty sure i just ran into the captain of the Boston Raiders checking out?

K: How many hockey players denned down in this place over the weekend lol 

S: classified league information i’m afraid 🤐

K: Booo 😭

K: Next time I see you I am getting deets

S: Cant wait to see you try

S: ❤️❤️❤️

Chapter End Notes

Mwah!