Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Crying Shane Hollander, Bottom Shane Hollander, Top Ilya Rozanov, Omega Shane Hollander, Alpha Ilya Rozanov, Service Top Ilya Rozanov, Sub Top Ilya Rozanov, Sub Shane Hollander, Yes its both because they're both Very Desperate, Scenting, Scent Kink, Scent Drunk, Neck Kissing, Cunnilingus, Shane Hollander Has A Vagina, Intersex Shane Hollander, Because my omegas are usually intersex, Multiple Orgasms, Belly Bulge, Anal Sex, Vaginal Sex, Prostate Milking, Knotting, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Come Inflation, Unprotected Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Dacryphilia, I wrote this on corporate time, Scent Marking, Wet & Messy, Crying During Sex

Language:

English

Series:

Part 8 of Crashing out over Hollanov

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-24 Words: 3,812 Chapters: 1/1

Scent Drunk

Summary

Whimpering, Shane looked down between their bodies. Ilya’s other hand dragged slowly down Shane’s chest, over his trembling stomach, and came to rest just below his navel. There, pressed against Ilya’s own abdomen, was a soft, distinct bulge.

“See?” Ilya whispered, his eyes glowing with a feral light. “That’s me. Inside you.”

He pressed down with his fingers, right on the bulge.

Shane screamed.

(or, first day at the cottage gets Ilya scent drunk on his omega)

Tag to be covered: Crying Shane Hollander

Notes

Scent drunk alpha Ilya Rozanov is very precious to me, its like holematized Ilya but make it FERAL

✔︎Ilya Rozanov Has a Thigh Kink
✔︎Shane Hollander Likes To Be Called "Good Boy"
✔︎Shane Hollander Has a Vagina
✔︎Crying Shane Hollander
☐Shane Hollander Has a Strength Kink
☐Shane Hollander Likes Being Manhandled
☐Ilya Rozanov Likes To Bite
☐Shane Hollander Likes It Rough
☐Ilya Rozanov Has a Creampie Kink
☐Shane Hollander Has a Uniform Kink
☐Ilya Rozanov Has a Breeding Kink
☐Ilya Rozanov Is A Panty Sniffer
☐Shane Hollander Has a Thigh Kink
☐Ilya Rozanov Has a Shane Hollander Kink
☐Shane Hollander Walks Ilya Rozanov Like a Dog
☐Ilya Rozanov Has an Oral Fixation
☐Ilya Rozanov On A Leash

Sunlight seeped through the half open blinds, painting the lower half of Shane’s rumpled bed in golden light. Ilya Rozanov blinked, his brain a swamp of thick, pleasant fog. His body felt heavy, sated, but there was a strange, restless itch under his skin. Yesterday… fuck, yesterday had been perfect. A whole day in this cottage with Shane. No cameras, no team, no rules. Just Shane’s mouth on his, Shane’s body moving over his, Shane’s voice breaking on screams he could finally let loose. And the scent. God, the scent.

Ilya had never smelled Shane’s real scent, or at least never felt the full force of it, seeing as they both were always covered in scent patches or neutralizer sprays. But Shane’s recent injuries meant he could not use scent manipulators during recovery and Ilya was glad he hadn’t worn any even now after he was healed. So for the last twenty-four hours Ilya had the bliss of picking apart all the complex notes of it.

It was a beautiful combination: bright and zesty like a peeled orange, but underneath, a warm, bitter tang. 

Orange rind, Shane had mumbled, face flushed, when Ilya had asked, nose buried in the junction of his shoulder. If it’s too bitter, I can– Ilya had cut him off with a bite, a growl vibrating against Shane’s throat. 

No. He loved the bitterness. It made Shane’s scent dangerous. Addictive.

So why did he feel so… off? This wasn’t the peaceful afterglow he’d expected. It was a low-grade fever, a thirst that water couldn’t touch. He grumbled, rolling onto his side, and that’s when he caught it. The scent. Stronger. Fresher. Coming from the ensuite bathroom door which stood ajar.

A low sound rumbled in Ilya’s chest, something between a groan and a growl. Before his mind could catch up his body was moving. He was on his feet, stumbling, the world tilting on its axis until the only fixed point was that open door and the citrus-bitter promise wafting from it.

He shoved the door open. Shane stood at the sink, drying his face. He was shirtless, grey sleep pants slung low on his hips, a map of fading bruises and healing scars across his brown skin. He jumped as Ilya stumbled into him. Big arms wrapped around Shane’s torso, and Ilya collapsed against him, his face seeking, finding, burying itself in the warm, damp skin of Shane’s neck.

“Woah, Ilya! Are you okay?” Shane’s voice was muffled, concerned, his body bracing against the sink to hold them both up.

Ilya didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Words were useless. All that mattered was the scent. 

He inhaled, a deep, ragged pull that filled his lungs with Shane. The scent here was concentrated, overwhelming. The bitter orange rind, the underlying warmth of his skin, the unique spice that was just Shane. It flooded Ilya’s senses, making the static in his head roar louder. He nuzzled deeper, his nose scraping over the raised, sensitive skin of Shane’s scent gland, his own subdued dark chocolate scent mixing deliciously with the omega. Shane gasped, his whole body jolting. Ilya made a hungry, desperate noise and licked a broad stripe over the scent gland.

“Ah! Fuck, Ilya–” Shane’s protest dissolved into a sharp, high moan. His body jerked, and Ilya felt it, smelled it–the sudden burst of wetness, the slick, sweet note that joined the citrus. Shane’s pussy was dripping, responding instantly to the rough caress of his alpha’s tongue.

The taste was electric. Salty skin, bitter orange, and underneath, the unmistakable, heady flavor of Shane’s arousal. It wasn’t enough. Ilya needed more. He stumbled, dragging Shane with him, their legs tangling until they were a heap on the cool tile floor. Ilya went down hard, taking Shane with him, cushioning his fall but never letting go of his neck.

“Ilya, stop, you’re–ah!–you’re burning up,” Shane gasped, but his hands came up to tangle in Ilya’s sleep-mussed hair, not pushing him away, holding him closer.

Ilya wasn’t listening. His world had narrowed to the pulse thrumming under Shane’s skin, to the gland swollen and hot under his mouth. He bit down, not a mating bite, but a possessive, hungry clamp of his teeth and then soothed it with his tongue, lapping at the spot, drinking in the scent that poured out stronger, richer, because of the pressure. He wanted to bathe in it. He wanted to crack Shane open and live inside his scent, let it fill his veins until he was nothing but a vessel for it.

A sharp tug at the scruff of his neck. Ilya grumbled, a low, protesting vibration against Shane’s skin, but he went still. If his omega was grabbing him by the scruff, it was serious. Ilya would never disobey his omega. Even if every cell in his body was screaming to sink his teeth in deeper, to lick and suck until there was nothing left.

He allowed himself to be pulled back. His vision swam, unfocused, everything bleary except for Shane’s face floating above him. Shane looked down, his brown eyes soft with confusion and a dawning, amused understanding. He cupped Ilya’s jaw, his thumbs stroking over the rough stubble.

“Oh, you big pup,” Shane murmured, his voice dripping with fondness. “My sweet alpha got scent drunk.”

Ilya blinked. Scent drunk? The phrase filtered slowly through the haze. He made a confused, questioning noise in the back of his throat, but the scent was right there, clouding his thoughts again. With a needy whine, he lunged forward, nuzzling back into Shane’s neck, inhaling like a man coming up for his first breath after nearly drowning.

Shane moaned, a helpless, sweet sound, and giggled even as he squirmed. “Ilya, stop, it tickles–ah! And it’s… fuck, it’s too much.” But his hands were back in Ilya’s hair, his hips giving a shallow, involuntary grind against Ilya’s thigh. “Stop it, you’re gonna rub my skin raw.”

“Need it,” Ilya slurred against his skin, his voice thick and gravelly with sleep and desire. “Shane. Moy. Smell so good. Warm. Good.” He was rutting against Shane’s leg now, his own cock hard and leaking in his sleep pants, but that was a secondary concern. The primary, the only mission, was to get more of that scent. He licked and sucked at Shane’s neck, his stubble rubbing the sensitive skin red, his teeth leaving a constellation of faint marks.

Shane was panting, his earlier amusement evaporating under the relentless, worshipful assault. His pants were soaked through, a dark patch of slick visible on the grey fabric. 

“Okay,” Shane breathed, his own control fraying. He slowly released Ilya’s hair, his hands sliding down to Ilya’s shoulders. “Okay, alpha. You want it? Get your fill.”

Permission granted, Ilya surged down and buried his face in Shane’s chest, inhaling deeply against his sternum, licking over a brown nipple, nipping at the soft skin over his ribs. He mapped the constellation of freckles with his tongue, each one a tiny burst of Shane’s flavor. He worshipped the soft stretch marks on his sides, silvery lines that always drove him crazy, tracing them with a reverence that made Shane shiver and whimper.

“Ilya… fuck…”

“You taste so good,” Ilya mumbled against his skin, his hands pulling desperately at the waistband of Shane’s sleep pants. “Every part of you. My pretty omega. My perfect Shane.”

He got the pants and underwear down in one rough push, and the scent that bloomed between them was so potent, so utterly Shane, that Ilya’s eyes rolled back for a second. A faint, instinctive purple flashed in his vision–his alpha responding to the source of an omega’s slick, so potent, so intimate.

Shane’s small cock was flushed and hard against his lower belly. And below it, the glistening, dripping fat pussy Ilya dreamed about about every day. The neat folds were already swollen, slick shining on his inner thighs, that bitter-orange scent mixed now with the unmistakable musk of arousal.

A low, continuous growl started in Ilya’s chest, a sound of pure, unadulterated need. He shoved himself down, burying his face right in the junction of Shane’s thighs. He rubbed his nose through the coarse curls, then against Shane’s slick-soaked pussy.

“Christ, Ilya!” Shane cried out, his back arching off the cold floor.

Ilya rubbed his nose against the soft, slick flesh, groaning as the scent overwhelmed him. It was the same orange rind, but concentrated, raw, mixed with the unmistakable, musky-sweet taste of Shane’s essence. It made Ilya ravenous. He licked a broad, flat stripe from his perineum all the way up to his cock.

Shane’s whole body seized. “Fuck! Oh god, yes, just like that–”

Ilya ate him out like a starved man. There was no finesse, no slow build. It was all greedy, open-mouthed devouring. He sucked on Shane’s pussy lips, he lapped at his entrance, he licked the base of Shane’s cock with the rough flat of his tongue before sucking it hard between his lips. He tasted salt and bitter orange and something uniquely, profoundly Shane–a flavor that went straight to Ilya’s primal brain and short-circuited everything else.

“Your taste,” Ilya growled, pulling back just enough to speak, his chin gleaming with slick. “Fucking perfect. So good. My omega. My beautiful, lovely omega.” He dove back in, spearing his tongue inside Shane’s hole, fucking him with it, drinking the fresh gushes of slick that followed each thrust.

Shane was a writhing, sobbing mess above him. His hands scrabbled at Ilya’s shoulders, his head thrashing side to side. “Ilya, please, I’m gonna–oh god, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop–”

Ilya didn’t stop. He teased, pulling away to blow cool air on Shane’s reddening cock, watching the small length pulse and throb. He traced the stretch marks on Shane’s inner thighs with his tongue, worshipping every part of him. He loved the sparse hair dusted across Shane’s stomach, the way his brown eyes were screwed shut in pleasure, the red flush spreading down his chest.

And then he saw them. The tears.

They welled up in the corners of Shane’s eyes, clinging to his dark lashes before spilling over, tracking clean lines through the blush on his cheeks.

Ilya’s growl deepened, turning feral. Seeing Shane cry like this–pretty, overwhelmed, completely undone by his alpha’s mouth–it was the most beautiful thing. It drove him insane. He plunged his tongue back inside Shane’s pussy, fucking him with it harder, faster, his nose pressed under Shane’s cock with each thrust.

“Cry for me, solnyshko,” Ilya rasped, his voice wrecked. “Let me see. So pretty. Your pretty pussy is dripping just for me, yeah? Taste like heaven. Smell like my heaven.”

Shane sobbed, a broken, choked sound. His hips stuttered, his thighs clamping around Ilya’s head. “Ilya, I’m–I’m coming, I’m coming, fuck!”

His orgasm hit him, a violent, shuddering wave. His back bowed off the floor, a ragged scream tearing from his throat as he came, slick gushing over Ilya’s chin, his tongue, his nose. Ilya drank it all, lapping and sucking him through it, prolonging the spasms until Shane was limp and whimpering, sensitive and overstimulated.

But Ilya wasn’t done. The scent was still there, still pulling him under. He needed more. He needed it from the source. He pushed two slicked fingers deep inside Shane’s still-fluttering hole until his knuckles were pressed against Shane’s entrance. He curled his fingers, searching, and scooped, gathering the warm, thick slick from deep within.

He pulled his fingers out, bringing them to his own mouth and sucked them clean with a loud, obscene pop. His eyes rolled back in his head. It was even stronger, richer, more addicting.

“Oh, fuck, no, Ilya, I can’t–” Shane whined, his body jerking as Ilya’s fingers disappeared inside him again, repeating the motion.

“Yes, you can,” Ilya growled, his voice possessive, reverent. He was tasting him again, licking his fingers, then plunging them back in to gather more. “You taste so good, Shane. So delicious. My Shane, come on. Give me more. Let me taste you.”

He scissored his fingers, stretching Shane open, and then added a third, tongue pressing between his fingers to taste the slick oozing out of his omega.

“You love this,” Ilya whispered, his own cock straining painfully against his pants. “Love being used by your alpha. Love making me crazy with your smell.” He raised his head again and licked a stripe over Shane’s cock before taking it back in his mouth, sucking in time with the thrust of his fingers.

Shane shattered. If his first orgasm was a wave slamming into him, his second was drowning in a tsunami. It ripped through him with a silent scream, his body seizing, tears streaming down his face in earnest now as he choked on air, his pussy clamping rhythmically around Ilya’s fingers, soaking his wrist and the floor beneath them. Ilya worked him through it, his tongue relentless, his words a constant, filthy, worshipful stream.

“That’s it, take it, so good for me, my beautiful omega, your scent is in my lungs, in my blood, fuck, Shane, moy, moy, moy–”

Shane collapsed boneless onto the tiles, his chest heaving, tears still leaking from his closed eyes, cries dissolved into helpless, hiccupping sobs. Ilya finally, slowly, withdrew his fingers and his mouth. He knelt over Shane, breathing hard, his own need a painful throb between his legs. He looked down at his omega–flushed, tear-streaked, covered in bite marks and his own slick, completely and utterly used.

The scent was still there, clinging to Ilya’s skin, his tongue, drowning his brain. But now, a new pressure was building, a primal response to the omega laid out beneath him–used, crying, his. A deep, rumbling groan started in Ilya’s chest and his own scent, subdued as it may be from all the scent neutralizer sprays, began to pump into the air, a possessive cloud of dark chocolate that mixed violently with Shane’s own citrusy scent. He hastily pulled down his sleep pants, groaning when it was exposed to the cool air.

“Ilya,” Shane whimpered, smelling the change, the aggressive alpha pheromones rolling off him in waves.

Ilya didn’t answer with words. He fell forward, covering Shane’s body with his own, their skin sliding together, slick with sweat and Shane’s release. He crushed their mouths together in a messy, biting kiss, licking inside. His hips jerked, his hard cock dragging through the mess between Shane’s thighs, along the cleft of his ass, frotting against him with a desperate, clumsy friction.

“Need you,” Ilya slurred against his mouth. “Need you on me. Now.”

In one fluid motion, he gathered Shane up, ignoring his weak protests and stood, carrying him from the bathroom floor back to the rumpled bed. He didn’t lay Shane down. Instead, he sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled Shane into his lap, onto his thighs, facing him. Then he fell back, dragging Shane down on top of him so Shane’s full weight was pressed against his chest, his stomach.

“So perfect,” Ilya groaned, his arms locking like steel bands around Shane’s back. “Fuck, your scent… my perfect omega and his perfect scent, need all over me.” He turned his face, burying it in Shane’s neck again, inhaling with a desperate, shuddery sound.

Shane squirmed, his own neglected cock trapped between their stomachs. The heavy concoction of scents was making him dizzy, making his pussy clench around nothing. “Ilya… please. Need your cock–ah–inside me.”

With a guttural sound of approval, Ilya reached between them. He guided his thick, leaking cock not to Shane’s dripping pussy but lower, to his winking, hungry hole. He pressed the blunt head against it, and with Shane’s weight settling onto him, he pushed up, sheathing himself in Shane’s ass in one slow, inexorable thrust.

“Oh God!” Shane cried out, his back arching. It was a stretch, a burn, and it was full, so impossibly full. And Ilya’s cock was seated perfectly, the swollen head nudging right against his prostate.

Then Ilya stopped. He didn’t thrust. He just held Shane there, impaled, and rolled his hips in a lazy, shallow circle.

“Ilya… move,” Shane begged, fresh tears springing to his eyes.

“No,” Ilya murmured, his voice muffled against Shane’s neck. He kept up that slow, grinding rotation, the ridge of his cockhead massaging Shane’s prostate with every tiny shift. “Perfect. You’re perfect. Just stay.”

The more Ilya rolled his hips, the more his cock pressed against his prostate. And the more it pressed, the more Shane felt a strange tide rising below his navel.

He sobbed, confused and overwhelmed. It wasn’t an orgasm. It was something else, something slower, stickier, persistent. A deep, unrelenting pressure that made his cock jerk and weep a steady, clear stream of pre-come. It pooled on Ilya’s stomach, warm and slick. He felt dizzy, like every fluid in his body was being drawn to the point where they were joined.

“Look at you,” Ilya cooed drunkenly, licking a stripe up Shane’s tear-wet cheek. “Dripping from every hole. Your pretty cock is crying. Your ass is holding me so tight. Can feel your pussy leaking on my stomach. So wet for me. All for me.”

The words, the relentless, gentle grinding against his prostate, broke Shane. He cried in earnest, his body trembling, his cock leaking so steadily now that it dripped off Ilya’s sides onto the sheets below. He tried to push up, to get off this sweet, maddening torture.

A strong hand splayed on his back, holding him down. “Look,” Ilya commanded, his voice rough.

Whimpering, Shane looked down between their bodies. Ilya’s other hand dragged slowly down Shane’s chest, over his trembling stomach, and came to rest just below his navel. There, pressed against Ilya’s own abdomen, was a soft, distinct bulge.

“See?” Ilya whispered, his eyes glowing with a feral light. “That’s me. Inside you.”

He pressed down with his fingers, right on the bulge.

Shane screamed. The pressure was electric, shooting straight from his prostate to the tip of his cock, which spurted another weak stream of clear fluid. Ilya kept pressing, massaging the bulge, using it to grind his cock even more firmly against Shane’s sweet spot.

“There it is,” Ilya growled, losing control, his own hips starting to piston in short, aborted thrusts. “Fuck, Shane. Gonna knot you right here. Gonna fill your ass so full you’ll feel it for days. Breed this hole too. Make every part of you mine.”

The filthy promise, the constant pressure on the bulge making his prostate sing, was too much. Shane moaned, a broken sound, and with a final burst of overwhelmed energy, he sat up fully, pulling Ilya’s cock from his ass with a wet pop.

Ilya snarled, a sound of pure loss.

But Shane was already reaching between them, his hand shaking. He grabbed Ilya’s slick, hard cock and guided it lower, to his waiting, soaked pussy. He sank down onto it in one smooth movement.

The moan that tore from both of them was raw, guttural. This was different. This was new, a shocking level of intimacy they hadn’t let themselves feel yet, both because it made everything feel too real and because Shane couldn’t afford to be knocked up. Not that either of them cared much right now

Shane whined as Ilya sank deeper, feeling every vein of the alpha’s cock rub against his sensitive, virgin walls. No condom. Just skin on skin, Ilya’s cock plunging into Shane’s pussy bare for the first time.

“Fuck, yes,” Ilya chanted, his hands flying to Shane’s hips, helping him move. “This. This is where I belong. Your pussy… fucking heaven. So tight. So mine.”

He thrust up into Shane’s wet heat, his knot already beginning to swell at the base, catching on Shane’s entrance with every stroke. Shane rode him frantically, sobbing, his hands braced on Ilya’s chest.

“Ilya… knot… please…”

“Gonna,” Ilya promised, his voice a ragged growl. He pulled Shane down hard as he thrust up, and with a final, powerful surge, his knot pushed past the tight ring of muscle and locked them together inside Shane’s pussy.

Shane wailed. The feeling of being stretched wide open, filled to bursting, was overwhelming. He looked down again. The bulge below his navel was bigger now, much bigger, a firm, rounded swell distorting his stomach where Ilya’s knot was lodged deep inside him.

Trembling, Shane pressed his own hand against it.

The cry that left him was shattered. It sent another shockwave through his system, his cock leaking a final, weak pulse of come onto Ilya’s stomach as his pussy clenched and fluttered around the invading knot. He was coming again, a dry, drawn-out spasm that had tears streaming down his face.

“I can’t… I can’t stop cumming,” Shane wept, his body shaking uncontrollably.

“It’s okay, kotik,” Ilya cooed, his own orgasm ripping through him, pumping hot jets of cum deep into Shane’s womb. He kept grinding up into him, milking his own release. “I know. I broke your sweet pussy. I’m sorry. But look how good you take it. Look how pretty you cry for me. Taking my knot. Taking my cum. Gonna breed you so good.”

Shane collapsed forward onto Ilya’s chest, sobbing weakly as the waves of sensation slowly, slowly began to ebb. Ilya held him through it, nuzzling his hair, whispering in Russian and English, still gently rolling his hips to work his knot inside Shane’s oversensitive channel until they both drifted into an exhausted doze.

Shane woke to a slow, wet heat between his legs. His pussy felt swollen, used, achingly sensitive. He blinked open gritty eyes and looked down.

Ilya was between his thighs, his head lowered, lapping gently at Shane’s pussy. He was licking up his own spend, cleaning Shane with slow, tender strokes of his tongue. He looked up, meeting Shane’s gaze.

His eyes were clearer now. The wild drunk haze was gone, replaced by a soft, sated look tinged with sheepishness.

“Hey,” Ilya said quietly, his voice hoarse.

“Hey,” Shane whispered back, a faint smile touching his lips.

Ilya moved then, crawling up Shane’s body to gather him into a tight hug, burying his face in Shane’s hair. They lay like that for a long moment.

Shane chuckled weakly, stroking Ilya’s back. “I won’t tell anyone,” he murmured. “That the great Ilya Rozanov gets drunk on his omega’s scent like a pup.”

Ilya nipped at his neck, not hard, but possessive. “You should tell everyone,” he muttered, his voice a warm rumble against Shane’s skin. “Tell them how mean my Shane is. Making his scent so good it makes me crazy. Getting me addicted.” He squeezed him tighter. “It is your fault.”

Shane just smiled, holding his crazy, ridiculous alpha close.