Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Shane always operated under the idea of presenting as a Beta. He knew he wasn’t an alpha like his mother; his demeanour didn’t lend itself to those thoughts. If anything, he took after his father. It was a miracle that they were able to conceive. Naturally lending itself to him growing up as an only child. When he received his letter in the mail holding his designation, he opened it without thought. All 16-year-olds take a mandatory test to assign them a designation. Sitting at the island counter after school, he wanted to take a sneak peek before his parents got home. Ripping it open, his eyes scanned past the medical jargon to the designation at the bottom. Designation Beta. Please contact your local physician for a follow-up. Relief washed through him as he realised his shot at the NHL was still on. He could make it as an Omega. There had been only three of them before, but they never lasted long.
Setting down the open letter, he left it for his parents to read as he headed to his room with his snack. He had homework to get done. Shane was almost halfway through his Calculus homework when he overheard their voices. They must have found the letter. Shrugging, he returned to his music and his work. Only stopped when he felt his father's hand on his shoulder.

“Dinner time, kiddo. Made your favourite.” That took him by surprise. How nice. “Thanks, Dad. I don’t think it’s worth celebrating over.” He could see the confusion cross his father's features. “Of course it is. Your future is laid out for you.” Shane couldn’t deny his father that logic. Betas excelled in the sport. Without the instincts that the other designations have, they make them invaluable players.
“You need to start looking at clubs. Scouts will hit the bigger rinks, which is why we need you to start in the smaller ones. The story sells itself. Unsuspecting beta found, diamond in the rough.” His mother, as usual, wasted no time. “Coach Connor will be reaching out to the CJHL. Start making introductions. He knows the HR coordinator with the Kingston Frontenacs, who has an opening for a second-line centre.” Something bubbled up inside of him, a feeling pooling in his gut. His collarbone started to burn. His hand went over his left clavicle out of reflex as his nose scrunched.

“Honey, what is wrong?” His mother's worried pitch tilted his world. He could feel his father's hands on his shoulders. Steading him, as he felt lightning race through his body. “I think he's getting his soul mark love. Just breathe through it, Kiddo. You must have one hell of a mate waiting for you.” Just as quickly as the pain took over, it ebbed out of his system. With a shaking hand, he pulled down the collar of his shirt. He had heard of soul marks, but people usually received them later in life. Not at 16. It is more common for it to trigger at 18. Looking down, all he saw was chicken scratch in a language he didn’t know. Six months later, he figured out what language it was. Before he promptly forgot about it. He had other things to worry about. Like his school, his club, and his girlfriend. He had planned on breaking up with her before camp started in the winter. Now that he had his mark, he knew they were not going to work out. Shane thought she might be the one. But he always carried his doubts. He did really like her. She just wasn’t for him.
A few months later, he got the call asking him to represent Team Canada as the centre forward. Later that year, he would meet someone who would alter the course of his life in ways he never thought possible. Ilya Rozanov and his designation were a pain in the ass, alpha.
“How was he?” His mother pressed. “He was kind of a dick.”

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Ilya Rozanov listened to the pacing foot steps of his father as he sat there in the uncomfortable chairs in his father's office. Fresh from his mother's discovery, he couldn’t understand the words the adults were saying. All he wanted to feel was his father's embrace. The heat, the safety. He was a man now, though. They don’t cry over cowards. His mother wasn’t a coward; deep down, he knew that. His father spoke those words with such clarity. She was a delicate omega whose health deteriorated after his brother was born.
“I shouldn’t have gone with my soul mark. I knew she was too weak. Coward women.” Those words settled somewhere in his chest. Coiling tightly around his fractured heart. Slowly corrupting the stories his mother told him. The idea of his future mate being as physically fragile as his mother terrified him. He could see the devastation his father felt, though he had already met another fated mate. Some were blessed with multiple chances, while others carried the mark of only one.
Losing a mate when they are your only one is a fate worse than death. He has seen it in the streets of Russia. Every day, they were cutting more and more souls down from high places. Or cleaning up messes left behind. The news was rough to listen to, but his father was working his way up, and that meant Ilya got to hear gruesome details. He was fifteen when he made a vow to never be the type of alpha his father was. His second wife was a beta, and she had a good head on her shoulders. She was smart, and yet she fell prey to the soul mark and threw away everything. To be berated by a piece of shit alpha. Though this was commonplace, he wanted to break that cycle.
At 16, he had his blood work done, and his designation assigned. Alpha. His father paraded him around the galla that following month. Introducing him to smart matches and future ambitions. He was 17 and at the gym when he received his soul mark in the middle of his set. He felt like he was being set on fire. Once the wave passed, he saw in looping handwriting something in what looked like French.
“Congratulations hot hotshot. She has pretty handwriting.” His captain clapped him on the shoulder. In looping French was a sentence on his right hip. “I dated a French girl once, and I learned some to try to impress her parents. Want me to give it a go to figure out what it says?” Alex offered. Alexander Kristoff was one of the defensemen for the Russian team and the overall team dad. “It says something about smoking. Hang on. The smoking zone is over there. Damn hotshot, she sounds just right for your chaotic ass.”
Ilya was leaning up against the rundown building, the cold hardly biting against his exposed flesh. Something about today made him feel off. His skin was stretched too thin over his body. His own instincts are going into overdrive. Maybe he was due for his first rut. He would have to get some supplies from the medical officer they had. Footsteps approached just as he felt the burn of his cigarette in his lungs. Ilya knew who Shane was before he introduced himself. He didn’t mean to ignore the hand in front of him. Every alarm bell in his head was going off.

“The smoking zone is over there. I'm Shane Hollander.”
Freckles, and more freckles. Spots on top of spots, Ilya found his eyes searching this stunning creature's face. Desperate to maintain eye contact. He couldn’t speak to him, his English wasn’t legible. If he spoke, he would give himself away. How could his mate be Beta? How could his mate be a male? No. Absolutely not. He couldn’t allow himself to follow this.

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There was something off about this up-and-coming Russian that didn’t sit right under Shane's skin. Watching him play felt like a surreal experience. Despite Ilyas's size, he danced on the ice. He moved with grace and speed. Shane could hazard a guess and say he might be the only person here who could keep up with that. Something about him set his blood to boil; all he wanted to do was be there on that ice with him. How would it feel to play with another player of that calibre? He could almost picture the glare of the lights, the smell of the rink. With the roar of the crowd. Something inside of him wished for that to come true. He wanted to experience that high first-hand. His mother's eyes bored into his head; he could feel it. Shane didn’t want to miss a thing. These guys were the real deal, and they meant business.

“See something you like?” Her voice was sharp. “Yeah, they play really well. I think we can still beat them, though. Our defence is going to have to shape up. They haven’t played against that.” He gestured wildly to the Russian, scoring another shot. “You seem to be watching that one closely. Good. He is your competition. You perform tonight as you have been, and that number one draft pick is yours. Not his.” Glancing over to her, he sat back. Pulling his focus to the far-off look in his mother's eye. Over her shoulder, he saw his father speaking to someone. Their back was turned, but he could see a suit and dark colored hair. He seemed rather important. Maybe an owner of a team? The stranger was dressed nicely, so they couldn’t be an undercover scout. They could be a player.
A strange sensation pulled his gaze to the side. He felt eyes boring into his skull with laser focus. Looking down, he locked eyes with none other than Ilya Rozanov. How did he find him in such a scattered crowd? He would have to make introductions at this point. He had to be cool, right? He looked cool. There was an unreadable look on his face; he was too far to gain any context clues. “This is my son. Shane. The one I told you about. Shane, this is Chance Williams. Co-owner of the Montreal Voyageurs. He was passing through and figured he would stop by and see if there was any fresh talent.”
Shane glanced away as he felt a pang in his chest, and a soft feeling of disappointment raced through him. “Pleasure to meet you, Sir.” He stood to shake this man's hand. Noticing how Chance’s hands engulfed his own. “I have heard a great deal about you. I look forward to seeing what you have to offer. We just might have a spot for you on our roster this next season.” His voice carried with a soft lilt and a timber that resonated. Chance was an alpha, a mated one by the smell of him. “I look forward to showing you what I can do after you draft me.” This confidence he felt was odd. Chance had beautiful green eyes, not that he was taking note. Though the soft laugh that left the older alpha's lips did something to him. He felt happy that he could make this man feel this way.
“I think I will be seeing a lot more of you in the future, Mr Hollander. “ His hand retreated as he watched the other ascend the stars and out of his line of sight. “You made one hell of an impression, Kiddo.” His father's hand slapped him on the back, knocking some wind out of his lungs. “Yeah, I did.” If his parents noticed the shake in his voice, they said nothing. Instead, they decided it was time to return to the hotel. Shane waved them on ahead when he stopped by the side of the arena. “The smoking zone is over there. I’m Shane Hollander.”

A heavy moment passed between them, his hand growing colder by the minute. Shane assumed that he didn’t understand English. Or not well enough to understand what he just said. Maybe he knew French. Ilya’s brows pinched together as his cigarette burned in his hand. There was recognition in those eyes. Shane didn’t receive another response as the other put out their cigarette and walked away muttering something under their breath. Returning to his parents, he tried to shake the disappointment. “He was kind of a dick.”
Even though their first meeting didn’t go as planned, the next time they met, they would be on opposing teams. Ilya wanted to play a game, and Shane would show him. Returning to the hotel, he collapsed into his bed. His parents had a room next door; the conjoining door was unlocked. Though he was grateful they gave him his own space. He had a lot to think about, and truth be told, he didn’t want his parents putting any more ideas into his head. Pulling out his phone, he connected to the shitty internet and pulled up his social media. Checking the notifications, he skimmed through them. His thumb hovered over a new notification of a friend request. IlyaRozanov requests to follow you. Do you accept?
His thumb hovered over the delete button before he thought better of it and accepted. Maybe he was trying to make amends for being such a dick earlier. His Instagram was the usual. A few photos of him with various teams, and other hockey-related items. While Shane's public profile was a careful collection of chosen pieces by his mother, she hardly read his DM’s.

IlyaRozanov: Sorry about earlier. English is bad.
ShaneHollander: It’s cool. I look forward to watching you play!
IlyaRozanov: Just me?

Shane felt the heat rise to his cheeks; he didn’t mean it that way. Did he? No! He was just trying to get into his head before the game.

ShaneHollander: Yeah, you are the competition after all.
IlyaRozanov: I will win and take the draft. I hope you like second place.
ShaneHollander: In your dreams.

Closing out his Instagram, Shane looked out his window, watching the snow drift by. There was a lingering warmth in his body that radiated from the centre of his being. A soft smile pulled at his lips. Shane Hollander was excited to play against Ilya Rozanov in the playoffs. At dinner, his thrill had yet to leave his blood. His mother recommended he go down to do some yoga or take a light run on the treadmill. His parents gave him multiple outlets when he was younger. When they realised how much energy he had. Changing into his workout gear. Heading down to the gym, he caught a faint scent of something spicy and earthy.
The scent lingered in his bones and wrapped itself around him. Whoever they were, they smelt of home and safety. They also smelled delicious. Despite being a Beta, he had an unusual sensitivity to smell. Stepping out of the carpeted elevator, his sneakers squeaked against the linoleum that littered the hallway. The treadmills were clear and calling his name. Swiping his keycard, he stepped into his home away from home. Something about the smell of the rubber and disinfectant always settled his nerves. When he was in the gym, he was in control.
Setting the speed to a light jog, he pulled out his iPod and pulled up his running playlist. Eager to block out the world for a few moments. Nothing completely cleared his thoughts or settled the pull under his skin. Shane didn’t know how long he ran; he ran until his body screamed for him to stop. His vision swam, and his lungs burned. His father believed that stamina was important. Explosive players hardly lasted long in games. Good for power plays, but overall a terrible pick for consistent plays.

Shaking his head, he took off and carefully folded his dirty clothes. Setting them aside, Shane watched the warm water slowly fill his tub. One day, he would own a tub with jets. Or rent out hotels with them. One day. He was still broke and a promising nobody. He just needed to get drafted into the NHL, and his life would turn around. A groan forced itself past his lips as the hot water engulfed his sore muscles. It had been a few months since his last hot bath. Since there were only showers at his parents' home. He would rinse off after, but the call of the cocoon of warmth and coconut won.
He saved his special scented soaps for when he was on the road. Despite his scent blockers, he had an internal fear that others would find his scent unattractive. Though his scent was weak at best, Shane still covered it up with other stronger scents. Coconut was his go-to for games. Hid the smell of his sweat the best.

His phone buzzed on the sink next to the tub, a notification of some kind. Probably his parents are wishing him a good night. Leaning back and letting his neck muscles relax, Shane closed his eyes and practised his box breathing. His thoughts wandered back to his interactions with Ilya. He seemed genuine, even if he was a bit standoffish. He was in a foreign country after all. Was he being too harsh? That was his competition after all. But something was captivating about him. Shane remembered how he felt watching him skate for the first time in person. How his blood started to sing when Ilya made his breakaways. He dominated the ice with ease. Something Shane could never do. Jealousy ate at him, but not as encompassing as this heat that was building in his gut.
Much to his own horror, his eyes snapped open to catch his cock starting to swell in real time to the impure thoughts that were racing through his mind. Staring down at his body, feeling betrayed, Shane drained the water and opted for a cooler shower. There was no way he was going to jerk off to the thought of playing Ilya and hearing what sounds he makes. He was shivering by the time his shower was over. Not daring to spoil himself with any more hot water. Crawling into bed, Shane checked his phone one last time. There was a missed message from his parents, wishing him a good night and a new message from Ilya sitting in his inbox.

IlyaRozanov: Have a good rest. I don’t want any excuses for when I win.
ShaneHollander: In your dreams.
IlyaRozanov: You in my dreams? I can live with that.

Heat flared to his cheeks as his thoughts went back to the bathtub. Ilya was going to be the death of him. There was no way Shane could see himself surviving if he lost. He couldn’t lose. Simple. Even if he had to do it himself, he wasn’t going to lose to Ilya Rozanov. This would be his year. It had to be. With his thoughts a mess, he slowly succumbed to sleep. His alarm trilled in the background as he slowly came to consciousness. The first thing Shane noticed was that his cock woke long before he did, and that he could hear his parents knocking on his door.

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Two hours. It took Ilya two hours to calm down from his first real interaction with his soul mate. He felt agitated and let them walk away from his sight. How could he keep them safe? Shane was a hockey player, but he couldn’t keep himself safe. These thoughts raced through his mind on a loop. Switching from him being lifeless on the ice, to what those lips would look like around his cock. Hormones were a bitch, and he was going to get this sorted by the team physician. He couldn’t play like this. Ilya knew better than to ask any of his teammates. Unless he wanted to be sent home and executed, his father would kill him if he found out his soul mate was a man. If he came out, he could never be allowed home. That simply won't do. He left his hotel room and took the elevator down a few floors to the team physicians' room.
Galina Savin is one of the great descendants of the father of ice hockey in the USSR. She was a big deal to the team, and she knew it. Sniffing the air, Ilya checked to make sure that she was alone. Before he knocked. She answered almost immediately, with her hair a mess and her glasses on. Looking like she just woke up from a nap. Looking at her, she most definitely did. “Jet lag?” He prodded with a knowing smirk. She always travelled rough. “Shut the fuck up Rozanov. Why are you here? Is it your shoulder?” Her hands immediately reached for his right shoulder. He pulled it a few weeks ago during a practice match. Sometimes his muscle twinged when he took a hit wrong. Though that wasn’t the reason why he was before her. “No. Move.”
She took a step aside and let him further into her room. Concern is now etched onto her face. “Ilya?” Her voice was quiet in the stillness of the room. Suddenly, he found himself at a loss for words. He could trust her. He knew he could. But his words stopped in his throat. He couldn’t force them past this knot. She now stood in front of him, looking up with worried eyes. “Ilya, honey?” Sucking in a deep breath, he finally looked down into her eyes. “I met my mate.”
Galina went through multiple emotions quite quickly. He always liked that about women. How quickly they process things. Didn’t take ages and arguments. “Congratulations!” Ah, she settled on excitement. How pleasant. “Thank you. Now I need to make these feelings go away.” There was a moment of realisation, when it hit her eyes clouded with sorrow before she returned to normal. “What do you mean? I can’t just make them go away Ilya. I can start you on supplements, but I can’t make it go away. I will need you to go through your first rut, before I can prescribe you your medication.”
With measured steps, she crossed the room, opened up her binder and started flipping through names before she stopped on his profile. “Well, how do you feel? Do you feel like you need to fight everything? Protective?” She pressed as if she didn’t already know. He wouldn’t be here if he felt normal. “Yes.” Galina just needed to hear him say it. “That is good. It means that if we time it correctly, your rut will hit after this game. I will start your paperwork for leave. The boys will understand. Be smart about it, though. You don’t always think straight.” She warned before handing him some painkillers. “For the headache you are going to get.” Ilya looked down at the two tiny pills. He knew what these were; he knew what they did. “No. I suffer. I do not want a muddled mind.” She shrugged. “Take them anyway. Just in case. If not, flush them in the morning. Now get out before you start stinking up the place.” Ilya knew a dismissal when he received one. He should be grateful she was verbal with hers. Nodding his thanks, he headed out and back to his room. His phone buzzed with an update to his calendar. A week from now, he was on Rut leave. By the morning, the whole team would know. He would be a real man in their eyes.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Shane Hollander. How he felt his eyes on him during practice. Ilya didn’t like it when another male walked up to him, and it made his skin crawl that the other was touching what was his. Shane wasn’t his. He just had to ride out these few days and next week. It was just his hormones. This he knew. Fuck. His freckles, his lips, those expressive eyes. Ilya felt like a starving man when those eyes looked away. How could he get him to look at him all the time? Shane always looked down or away. But when he looked at Ilya he looked at Ilya.
A smile pulled at his face, his muscles twitching before he stopped fighting. He was going to watch him play tomorrow. Pulling out his phone, he pulled up Shane's profile. Photos of Canada, hockey, family and a few other things. So carefully curated to match the story they were publishing about him. “Golden boy found in an unknown club.” His English wasn’t good, but he could read it. Ilya felt bad for him in a way. Having loving parents like that, but having no control over his life. Ilya could do what he wanted because no one cared. Who was there to care? Though to have someone care as much like Shanes parents do. Felt suffocating to him.
He sent a request and went to order room service. Ilya was surprised when he got the notification that Shane had accepted his friend request. Chuckling to himself, he pulled up his translator and went to work

IlyaRozanov: Sorry about earlier. English is bad.
ShaneHollander: It’s cool. I look forward to watching you play!
IlyaRozanov: Just me?

Shane was going to watch him. His chest swelled as his blood started to race. He would have to give him a show of a lifetime when they faed off. Excitement burned; they were not slated to face off for a few days. They each had teams to beat first. There was no way he was going to lose before he could face him on the ice. Ilya turned on the tv and settled into relaxing for the evening while his food was being delivered. Once he was done eating and getting ready for tomorrow. Pulling his crucifix into his mouth, he pulled up his phone and, against his better judgment, sent another message.

IlyaRozanov: Have a good rest. I don’t want any excuses for when I win.
ShaneHollander: In your dreams.
IlyaRozanov: You in my dreams? I can live with that.

In all honesty, he could. Who knows how long that face will be burned into his thoughts? Let alone his dreams. As much as he wanted to take some time to himself, he couldn’t start something he couldn’t finish. There was a line that couldn’t be crossed. He says as he continues to stare at the smiling face of Shane on his Instagram. Photos of him shirtless during the summer nearly sent him over the edge. There was a soul mate patch covering Shane's left collarbone. The comments are brutal to read. “Breaking hearts already, Hollander. Fuck.” Turning off his phone and placing it on the charger, he had to rise early tomorrow. How could he sleep now? Knowing that the other had a soul mark too? He couldn’t fuck this up. He couldn’t. Too bad his own cock begged to differ. With a groan, he rolled over, trying to ignore his growing problem. When he was younger, it was never an issue. But no, when he had grown into himself, the issue was slightly too big to ignore.
He took matters into his own hands, with filthy fantasies playing out in his head. At first, he started with the women he had fucked. Soon, all those faces morphed into Shanes, and he had never come so hard in his life. Ilya cleaned himself off and mentally berated himself for being so weak. Sleep did come pretty easily after that, with the liquid molten in his bones satisfied for now. He woke to sharp raps on his door as he threw himself out of bed to blink at his captain. “You're late. I got the calendar notification. Fix yourself and join us at practice. You will run after the match. Punishment for being late.” Ilya nodded his head and quickly got himself around. How could he have overslept? There was fatigue that still lingered in his bones. But he shook it off as he entered the lobby with his teammates. At least he wasn’t late for the bus.
Taking his spot, he pulled out his phone and decided to have fun. Why not? He could imagine what he would look like, embarrassed. How would those spots light up?

IlyaRozanov: Good morning. I will win today in your honor.

He didn’t get a response until fifteen minutes before his match was about to start. They were in the locker room getting ready to rush the ice when his phone pinged.

ShaneHollander: You better. How else can I prove I am the better player?

If Ilya wasn’t ready before, the rush that entered his veins was nothing as he had experienced before. Some of the other players side-eyed him but said nothing. They didn’t care what he did as long as he was locked in to win. Looking over his shoulder, he put his phone away and was grateful for the padding. Rushing onto the ice to the sound of the crowd was a surreal experience. How would it sound when he was playing for the Stanly? A shiver raced down his spine as he felt eyes on him. Looking up, he slowed to a stop and stared back into the wide eyes of Shane Hollander. He winked and blew him a kiss before skating off. A few girls screamed. Like he was aiming for them. No. The flush that rose to his cheeks, Ilya knew that Shane got the message.
Ilya had a team and a goal. When he lined up for the face-off, he knew the moment he took the puck. This game was going to be a shutout. He helped his team win 12 - 2. He had to give credit; their team was good. He was just better. Securing his team's spot in the championship match, he did his lap to say thanks and cool down. Making sure that Shane watched every sinful stretch that he could do. If Shane wasn’t as hard in his pants as he was in his, then something was wrong. But something in his gut told him that he was right on the money with this one. Should he be doing this? No. He was breaking every boundary that he set for himself. But what other time would he be able to do this and get away with it? He had his eyes on him. His blood sang, his team cheered. Ilya looked back at Shane one last time before he left to change. This was getting dangerous, and he liked the feel of the heat.

Chapter Text

Watching Ilya play in a game, not practice, is two different people. In practice, Ilya is calm and serious. Ilya in a game? He demands space, he is aggressive, and he is a serious contender. Suddenly, he didn’t think all the prepwork they had done up to this point would be enough. There was some part of him that wondered if what he said added to this. Watching a few of the players take hits made him feel for the defensemen. Ilya was aggressive, and Shane worried for their goalie. Watching the Russians play, Shane figured out what their main issue is as a team. That would be their way to win.
At the end of the game, when they did the cool down and their stretches, Shane could swear that Ilya was performing for him. Heat raced to his cheeks after the wink; there was no way he meant it for him. The girls in front of him loved it. “Is he taunting you?” His mother asked. Nothing gets past her. “I don’t know, Mom. He might be trying to get me off my game. It won’t work, though.” He couldn’t let it work. His heart fluttered in his chest as a piece of him preened under his gaze. Maybe he could put on a show for him in return. Shaking his head, he left with his parents. Before he would meet back up with his team for practice. His game was later on tonight. If the team wasn’t as fired up as he was, Shane would be disappointed.

ShaneHollander: Good game. I look forward to winning in the finals.

There was no thought in his head that told him that egging him on was a good idea. Though no one told him no. No one knew that they were even messaging. They were supposed to be rivals after all. If the media were to be believed. Shane didn’t want to hate him. Why? Why couldn’t they be teammates and dominate the sport? There was no response when he checked his phone before their short gym practice.

IlyaRozanov: I told you I would win for you. I win. I don’t lie.

Shane choked on his water as he saw his response. When it came to Ilya he had no idea what to expect. Something twisted inside as he tried to shake off this feeling. Leaving him on read, Shane went back to his set. They were hitting light to warm them up before the game. His phone buzzed against the mat, and again shortly after.

IlyaRozanov: Did I embarrass? I am sorry.
IlyaRozanov: I won my chance to beat you in the draft. Better?
ShaneHollander: I was at the gym. No, you won’t beat me in the draft.
IlyaRozanov: Win your game. See who is better.
ShaneHollander: I will.

Walking into the locker room with their gear sent shivers down his spine. There was no better high than the locker room before the game. Taking it in, Shane could smell the excitement and the nerves. Their goalie was doing something weird in the corner. Rushing to their introductions and to their first face-off. Heat pierced the back of his neck as he raced towards the goal. His breath echoed in his ears as he was blind sided by a defenseman slamming him into the boards. Knocking the wind out of him as he tumbled to the ice.
Someone pulled him up and got him to his feet, sucking in a lungful of cold air. Shane snapped back to reality. Glancing over, he was surprised to see his captain. Signalling he was okay, he joined the rest of them for the face off. They took the win with a few bruises and broken sticks. Shane could feel his bruises with every breath he took. Though he knew he would be alright in a few days. He would be sore with his game against Ilya. But he could still manage. From his research, Ilya wasn’t playing at full strength either. With a still-healing shoulder. He might have eavesdropped on a conversation with overzealous fans.

IlyaRozanov: I know you won’t get. Until after the game. Play well, watch out for 52. Not a good look on him.
IlyaRozanov: Are you broken? Don’t want to win by default.
ShaneHollander: *Middle finger*
IlyaRozanov: Winning makes you feisty.

There was no dignified response, and he put his phone away so his teammates wouldn’t get suspicious. Walking out with the team to their bus, he would go back to the hotel with the team and meet his parents later. Looking around at his team, he wished he could experience this forever. This high that he was slowly coming down from. Shane didn’t check his phone until he was done with his shower and crawling into bed. He saw that Ilya had made a new post. It was an artistic shot of a hockey puck on the ice. The caption read. Let's dance. Or that is what Google Translate said. Cryptic. Or he was trying to antagonize the Canadian team. Either way, he wasn’t going to put any more thought into it. He had two days to rest. They had cemented themselves in the finals. The next few days would decide who hits third.
The following day was filled with notes and match studies. Once they were dismissed and he had a rare off evening from his parents, he decided to head down to the gym again. His body was buzzing, and he needed just to run. Setting himself up with a soft jog, he let his mind wander to how their next game was going to go. Social media was a buzz all day with their face-off. Why was it a big deal with the two of them? He was so lost in thought that he didn’t realize that the person occupying so much of his mind got on the treadmill next to him.
He set off on a higher pace. Jolting him out of his thoughts, and he almost tripped. Before Shane collected himself, he matched his pace for a moment before he increased his speed. Ilya hardly batted an eye as he surpassed him. How could he do that? Ilya smoked. Shane counted calories in every meal. How could he make his lungs burn, and his thighs ache? Every time he increased, the other responded. Shane eventually had to pull the emergency stop. He physically couldn’t do it. Regret set in when he remembered he didn’t have any water. Stumbling his way over to his gear, he gracelessly collapsed. Closing his eyes, he focused on getting air into his lungs.
Sloshing of water pulled him back as he lowered his head to look directly into the eyes of Ilya Rozanov. His heart stuttered before he forced down a swallow. Shane had never responded to an alpha in such a visceral way. Being this close to Ilya made him feel like he was on a wire. He couldn’t put this feeling into words. At first, he was going to deny the water. That was his mistake. He needed to pay the consequences. Shaking his head no, he wanted to wave him off. A soft growl rumbled through the tense air. That was hot. It shouldn’t have been hot. That was supposed to put him on edge. Not spike his heart rate and have Pisces of him suddenly aware of how close they were.
Taking the water and feeling electricity race up his arm with their physical contact. Tossing back his neck in reflex, he tried to hide it behind him, drinking from the bottle. After he took a quick swig of water, he went to hand it back. He couldn’t be greedy. Ilya shook his head and locked eyes with him. Mouthing a single word that held power. He complied immediately without realizing. Ilya wanted him to drink more, so he did. Shane didn’t like how that made him feel, but it wasn’t bad. He didn’t hate it as he expected himself to. Usually, alphas try that on him, and it is met with his indifference. For some reason, he couldn’t shake his words. There was no voice behind it, but he knew what he wanted.
Ilya showed this care, and yet he hasn’t spoken a single word to him. What was he afraid of? He could see intelligence that lingered in his gaze. Words that he wanted to say. Why wasn’t he saying it? What was he so scared of? How could he not want to hear his voice? This was the player who dogged his heels. Who he was compared to. This alpha seemed to do what he wanted and get away with it. Life wasn’t fair, he knew that. How could there be this much injustice? Handing him back his bottle, he shakily got to his feet. He felt like he was walking on stilts, but with what little pride he had left, he nodded his thanks as he slowly limped his way to the elevator. His ribs absolutely burned. His mother would be furious if she found out.
Playing his arm over his ribs, he leaned against the walls and watched the floors change. Shane paused as he processed what had bothered him about that entire interaction. He had smelled Ilya before. The residual scent from the elevator smelled so good. It was Ilya. That was his scent. He shouldn’t have been able to smell him. It was a requirement for all players to have scent patches. Oh. The reality hit him like a defender.
Ilya was close to his rut. Shit. They would have to play against that. Oh no. He would have to be on his game and make sure that he hardly touches the puck. Their goalie wouldn’t survive. Players who had other medical needs had a window between safe to play and taking the week off. Some could argue it would give an unfair advantage to the player. Shane saw it as more of a challenge to overcome. Stepping into the shower, Shane touched his hand where Ilya made contact. How did that feel so good? Why did he bare his neck? To an unmated alpha of all people! He was so stupid! Even as a Beta, he shouldn’t have been doing that. He shouldn’t submit like that.

IlyaRozanov: Good run. See you on the ice.

Shane rolled his eyes as he tossed his phone onto his bed. Changing into his pyjamas, and crawled into bed. Plugging in his phone, he fired off one last message. Feeling ballsy and a bit desperate to take back some control he lost earlier. Chewing his lip, he fired off his message and set down his phone. He wasn’t going to check it until the morning.

ShaneHollander: Let’s dance.

Chapter Text

Hearing the sickening crack of Shane being hit against the boards snapped something in his chest. His physical knee-jerk reaction and the simmering anger that lit a path through his being. There was nothing he could do. Watching him stumble, any hockey player has been there before. Struggling to get air into the deflated lungs while in the game was a task. He had a good Captain. Ilya couldn’t say the same for their team. His main concern, one Shane was okay, was their goalie. How did they move? How did they set up? Does their butterfly have any gaps? Looks like their goalie preferred to stop pucks with his glove. Or they were just feeding him easy shots. A frustrated huff worked its way out of him as he leaned back. Spreading out, he watched the game, chewing on the string of his sweatshirt. He needed a cigarette. But he did say he would try to quit if they made it this far.

IlyaRozanov: I know you won’t get. Until after the game. Play well, watch out for 52. Not a good look on him.
IlyaRozanov: Are you broken? Don’t want to win by default.

Ilya knew that Shane's phone was forgotten in his bag in the locker room. He did feel better sending those messages. Feeling almost like a knot in his chest loosened. Shane wasn’t pulled from the ice. So they would be bruised at worst. Watching Shane play sent Ilya to a realm of existence he didn’t know he could reach. Nothing else mattered. How gracefully he moved, he easly he scored. Things looked like they came naturally to him. Ilya had a feeling deep down that it didn’t. Shane, unfortunately, was in the same trap most players ran into. Being miromanaged with in an inch of their life, and Ilya would hazard an educated guess. Probably has an eating disorder. Most of the professional athletes he interacted with did. Though in their world it was celebrated as discipline and not a side effect of the terrible beast that took his mother. If Shane had his, he would feed him cheesy tuna sandwiches, and he would fatten him up.
After the game had concluded, he headed off to find himself some food with some flavour. None of the pre-planned bland food was forced to be eaten. Finding a small mom-and-pop place nearby, he took a photo and sent it to the physician. Healthy enough, with the right amount of flavour and spice that made his mouth water. He would be scolded, and he would have to work it off. Of course. Why travel the world and not at least taste some of the food? In Russia, food was a huge part of their identity. He assumed that other cultures did the same. How could he know a country if he didn’t try their food?
His phone buzzed with a middle finger emoji in his Dm. A soft chuckle left his lips as he responded. If Shane got this way after a win, he could only imagine what he could do to him. Happy, warm and limber. Before he could lose himself in those thoughts, he headed back to the hotel. Got scolded, and he headed up to his room to mull over how unfair half of these rules were. Ilyas phone rang as his brothers id litup the screen. He didn’t hesitate to pick it up.

“You did well, beat Canada.” His father's tone was brisk as it threw him for a loop. “Where is your phone?” He asked. “Your mother has it.” Ilya paused before he continued. “Put him on the phone.” He waited until his brother's voice crackled through the speaker. “ The diagnosis is in.” Ilya snorted. He knew that already. The doctors called him first. They always do. “We will need more money to keep up with expenses.” There it was. The reason for the phone call. “I don’t have that yet.” He countered. “You will.” His brother dismissed. “When you do, I will watch.” Before he could hang up the phone, Ilya gritted his teeth. “You will be watching because you are gambling again.” Late payments were sent to his email. He knew whent he bills were not getting paid. “You don’t know what it is like back here. Overseas has made you soft.”
Ilyas's blood was red hot as he hung up the phone and decided to fill up his water bottle and work off the extra calories he had just consumed. Not thinking he stormed out and left his scent blockers sitting on the desk. All he could feel was his canines sharpening and his eyes going red. He needed to calm down; he knew that. Sliding his key card, he stopped as his eyes registered Shane. His cute little butt is bouncing with each step on the treadmill. He seemed lost in thought, the way his nose was scrunched up like an angry kitten. Ilya hoped he could see that face more often. Out of all of the ones available, he hopped onto the one right next to him.
He didn’t see any power bars or water. Interesting choice. Though the opportunity presented itself to see how competitive Shane actually was. He was still fuming, but the idea of watching him squirm did something to him. He couldn’t place it, well, he could. He wasn’t going to. Shane wasn’t ready for that. Or he could test the waters. The patch was on Shane's collarbone, and it drove him crazy. Ilya knew that his first words were under there. In his handwriting. Probably in Russian. Fuck that was hot. Shane didn’t even know it, and he was already claimed.
Turning it up, he had to work this off before he popped a boner, and that would have been difficult to explain. Truth being, he had no idea what words were on the soul mark. It could be anything. His teammates' soul mark was two words. Nice Cock. Thats what his now wife said to him after a drunken hook-up. Shane was keeping up with him, and he was impressed. His mate wasn’t any slouch. He wasn’t fragile. He could see that. From the curve of the muscle to how he held himself in games. But there was something else that he saw that he just wanted to dote on him. Make him feel safe and small. Like his father used to do with him growing up. How he saw his father interact with his mother. Before her second child, her health declined and her father's. Pushing himself to his max limit, he was done racing Shane. He had his own demons to run from.
Shane slamming the emergency stop jolted him from his thoughts, as he realized how much of his body was screaming at him to stop. Watching him walk like a baby deer stirred something in him. He caused that. A wolfish grin flashed across his face before ice entered his veins. Shane had injuries, no water, and he pushed himself to compete against him. How could he forget that? He tried to saunter over, despite his jelly legs taking a massive drink of his water. He saw Shane out of the corner of his eye. Watching his throat, watching his eyes dilate. Interesting. Maybe Shane liked men. Or at least found something in front of him that he liked. Handing over his water, he could see the conflict on his face. Before he shook the bottle and raised both of his eyebrows. He wasn’t going to be denied taking care of him. He needed to.
Shane took a drink, a small one. As if that would be enough to appease him. A growl built in his chest, a soft scolding one. He went to voice his thoughts, but he mouthed them instead. ‘More’. Watching him flash his neck sent lightning straight down to his cock. Giving a faint twitch in interest. He pretended he didn’t notice how quickly Shane left after. After witnessing all that, Ilya decided that he might actually be okay losing to Shane after all. Getting to his room with an obvious issue was going to be a hassle. Though at this hour, he could place a safe bet that he would be fine.
Ilya should be praised for his accuracy. Though he hardly made it two steps in, his hand reached for the Scent blockers that should have been on his neck to realize they were still on the desk. Shit. How could he be so careless? Stripping down, he stroked his half-hard cock to life as he wandered into the bathroom to take a shower. Letting his mind wander.

Shane is getting on his hands and knees before him, wrapping those sinful lips around the tip of his cock. The water was slowly heating as he waited. Pleasure curled at the base of his spine as he slowly squeezed the base of his cock near his balls. He couldn’t cum yet. Stepping into the shower, he hissed past his fangs. Closing his eyes once more, he continued.
Pushing him up against the glass, listening to his moans of pleasure as he took Ilyas cock like he was made for it. Whispering his name like he was a god. Feeling him clamp around him, he thrust frantically into his hand, chasing that feeling. Biting down on his rag, he could feel the fabric tear. He couldn’t control himself in a way that he was used to. Snapping his eyes open, he looked down at his swelling knot. That was new. He expected it to happen when he went into his first Rut, but he didn’t think it could form before then. Interesting. Well, he would have a moment before things calmed down. So he forwent putting on clothes and watched some tv.

IlyaRozanov: Good run. See you on the ice.

It was a simple message, straight ot the point. He wasn’t going to beat around the bush, and he wasn’t going to tell him that he popped his first knot thinking about him folded up like a pretzel. His phone buzzed a few moments later, as he grinned. Maybe fate wasn’t laughing at him after all. He was given the perfect mate. The crashing realization hit later when he had calmed down and was getting ready for bed. He couldn’t be with him. He couldn’t do this. It wasn’t safe for either of them. Ilya was hated; Shane couldn’t have that following him. Russia was as unforgiving as the Hockey teams themselves.
A pit opened up in his chest as he stepped out to the balcony and lit up a cigarette.

“Those will kill you. Don’t do that.” His mother's voice echoed in the silence. “I know.” He muttered. Her face shimmered in his mind's eye, a frown pulling on her red lips. His father smoked, his uncles smoked. Of course, he smoked. “They stain your fingers, you can’t hold a brush and a cigarette. Choose one.” Dousing the cigarette against the railing, he gazed down at the pavement below. Maybe one day. He stepped inside, closed the curtains, and buried himself under his blankets. The world was muffled, and he closed his eyes, imagining his mother's scent and the way her arms felt wrapped around his. Slowly, he drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

After their chance run-in at the gym, Shane avoided the hotel gym like the plague. He couldn’t help it. There was something about that encounter that had unsettled him. Usually, he wasn’t affected by other alphas or their scents. It begged the question of why he was affected by Ilyas. They had a game this evening, and he couldn’t sit still. None of the team could. The whole city was on the edge of its seats. News outlets were calling it a face-off for the NHL's future. Two promising drafts, number one and number two in the nation. No pressure. Double-checking the calorie count of his breakfast, he jotted it down in his personal book. If he kept this up all day, he would get the appropriate amount of carbs and lactic acids needed for peak performance.
There was no practice or gym scheduled for today. All they had to do was show up to warm-ups on time and win. They have never faced a player like Ilya. The defence had changed its approach to compensate, but that might not be enough. Their goalie has been all but catatonic since they met this morning. Shane was wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost missed his parents calling his name. His chair scooted back with a soft groan as he greeted his parents. They were sporting his number proudly and with smiles to match. “ I received a phone call this morning from your agent. Nike has shown interest in a deal. I will email you the details once I have them. Isn’t this exciting? Soon we will have you in magazines.” Shane wrapped his arms around his mother as he pulled her excited chatter into his shoulder.
“Good morning to you, Mom.” He mumbled into her ear. “They have fruit this morning as an option.” Squeezing her once as he turned her towards the buffet. His father caught on and took her hand in his. Leading her further away and taking her excited chatter with her. Usually, his mother's and her excitement wouldn’t bother him. With the pressure of the game today, it was all he wanted to think about. Not five years in the future. If he performed any mark below his usual, he could lose it all. Sitting back down, he decided to forgo the cube of sugar for his tea. By doing so, he could add that boost of sugar during his meal before the game.
The chat with Ilya has been silent. Weirdly silent. Perhaps he felt more unnerved by his lack of attention. That could be his play. No. Ilya was smart; he wasn’t conniving. Closing his book, he watched his parents move along the buffet. How easily they moved around each other. Soft smiles and lingering gazes. His father's hand never left the small of her back, unless he was taking food. Gently guiding her around the throng of people. Softly, he released his breath and looked down at his own plate. Moving his hand away from his soul mark. He's had this for so long, and he's had time to fantasise about who they would be. Though the longer he went without meeting them, he slowly gave up hope. People can go their entire lives without meeting them. The stories always go the same way. One person finally finds their soul mate and cheats or leaves their partner. Divorce wasn’t even a topic for discussion in his family.
Shane was halfway through his breakfast when his parents finally sat back down. He noticed them talking to a few other couples on their way back. There was a game they played as he got older. They would pretend they didn’t know him and pretend to be newlyweds. Just to see how people would react. When he was younger, he would hate it. His parents are doing gross things. Though now? He was jealous. Hockey was his life partner, and he needed to start accepting that. That game would be kind of hard to play with his name all over their shirts. Shrugging it off, he quietly listened to his parents talk. There was something about deals and brands. His dad would fill him in later if he asked, or he could wait until the emails start rolling in. She is lucky he even remembers to check those emails first before signing. She proofreads it all anyway.
“I have to warm up at 4. I will be at the arena by 3. Find parking by 4:45 if you want to beat traffic.” His mother already knew this, though she never says anything. Sometimes he believed she knew his schedule better than he did. “Alright, honey. Do you want to go anywhere special once we get home?” Immediately, he thought of the small shop that his mother would take him to when growing up. Sadly, there wasn’t any food he could get from there that would fall into his diet. “How about you make your homemade rice cakes?” She seemed to accept his answer. “I can make something with those as a side. Of course, sweetie, are you sure you don’t want to go anywhere?” Yeah, he was sure. Unless they went to a place with a salad buffet. “Yeah, I know all this travelling is a lot, and you have been eating on the road. Why not a home-cooked meal?” This seemed to satisfy her worry. Shane pretended that he didn’t see his father's brows pinch with worry.
“Alright, now I want you to head up and finish any of your schoolwork. I don’t want you failing simply because we are on the road. Grades are important too.” He nodded his head like a scolded puppy. If she knew how behind he was. He always turned things in on time, even if that meant getting up super early that morning. His classes were not that difficult. He could thank his mother for that. Stepping into an empty elevator, he pressed his floor and waited for the doors to close. Just before they were going to shut, a hand snuck in, and they slowly opened again. Revealing two massive figures of Ilya and his captain. They all locked eyes before Shane broke the ice and stepped over to make room.
The taller of the two stepped on first, before Ilya stepped in and stood between them. Almost like a warm Russian wall. A knot that had formed in his stomach loosened. Nothing could truly save him from the awkward elevator ride. Having a buffer helped, though. Shane tried not to take offence when they started talking in Russian. Normally, when people spoke in their native tongue around him, it didn’t make him feel this way. Something about their tone didn’t sit right with him. Though it was his first time hearing a native Russian speak Russian.
Wait. This was the first time he ever heard him speak. Ilya was speaking. Did he not know English at all? Why did he sound so good? He was starting to sweat a bit, given that he was in a small box with two furnaces. Sending a quick prayer of thanks when they landed on his floor, he nodded his head and excused himself. The taller of the two was checking something on their phone, and Ilya was looking right at him. Narrowing his eyes, he held up his middle finger and stomped off to the sound of Ilyas's laughter. He would show him.
His schoolwork ate up most of his free time, so naturally, he was prepared when he met his team in the lobby. Stepping out, both teams were ambushed by a sea of flashing lights. With people calling out different names in different languages. It felt a bit much. Their coaches fended off the worst of it as they all boarded their respective buses. They would have split up, and then the game would begin. Swinging past the throngs of people waiting at the stadium and camera flashes at the windows. Thankfully, they were being dropped off where only the staff were allowed. Walking side by side with Team Russia was a humbling experience. They had big players, but they had bigger players. There was absolutely no way there was a single beta on that team. Shane never felt nervous, because like magic, Ilya was always right next to him. While other players jostled each other and hurled early insults, no one touched him. Ilya didn’t even speak to him. Quick reprimands from the Captains as they split ways into the lockers. Reality slammed into him once again as the nerves he fought all day against hammered home. He really was about to do this.
His breaths stuttered in his chest as his world tunnelled. He felt like he was going to throw up. Forcing in a deep breath, he started putting on his gear. Regret pooled in his gut as he kicked himself for not asking the Goalie for any tips on keeping the nerves at bay. Going through his mental checklist, making sure everything was secured and ready to go. They couldn’t be caught sleeping on the puck tonight. There was a speech made, though he didn’t hear any of it. The ringing in his ears hardly stopped until he heard his name announced over the loudspeaker as he was introduced.
The roar of the crowd slammed into his nerves, and like magic, he felt like he belonged. Taking his half lap, he set up for their quick warm-ups. Going through the motions was one thing at practice. Going through them now felt like he was under a microscope. How was he holding his stick? Was he being puck-hungry enough? Was his stance wide enough? Everything mattered. Scouts were here, and totally not the pride of their countries. Lining up for the face-off sent a thrill through him. Keeping his eyes on the puck before locking in, he almost didn’t hear what the other was saying. Something was being said to him by Ilya in Russian. Now was not the time for those games.
“English asshole. If you want an insult to work, your opponent has to understand it.” He hissed through his mouth guard. Not expecting Ilya to listen. There was a split-second pause before he spoke again. In heavily accented English, he spoke. “Shane Hollander, ready to disappoint them?” The puck dropped, and he slapped it away. “No.” Before he sped away. Ilya actually spoke to him. He said a full sentence. Shane shouldn’t be happy about that. Why?
Shane took a few brutal hits on the ice, as did the rest of his team. Ilya dominated the first quarter. Leaving their defence in shambles and their Goalie almost in tears. In the second quarter, Shane and a few others evened the score. By the third, almost half of each team was sitting in penalty boxes. Leaving Shane, Ilya, a few other players, and the goiles left on the ice. He was tired; he was supposed to be swapped out, but his replacement was injured, and their swing was in the penalty. Until he was free, Shane had to keep going. Ilya had rested, though their goalie was doing a pretty good job keeping the points off the board.
Of course, nothing in this life would be an easy win. Playbacks were watched, calls were made. Points given and taken. It was a mess, a high-octane mess. For first and second place, the decision came down to a shootout. Luck really. Everyone was tapped, the goalies had enough, and water had been refilled who knows how many times. After years of training and careful steps, his future came down to a few shots and himself.
Their first shot was stopped, and it came down to Ilya, himself and their goalies. If one of them made a mistake, the other team would win. Shane heard some muttered Russian before he didn’t hear the buzzer. Ilyas shot didn’t land. How did his shot not land? Looking back into the eyes of his goal tender, to see their level of surprise and joy. His heart hammered behind his ribs, and sweat pooled everywhere and all at once; he was on manual breathing mode. He lined up his shot and fired. Holding his breath as it sailed past the goalie's armpit and into the net. Giving Team Canada the win. Tears sprang to his eyes as he took his victory lap, being congratulated by the team. Ilya didn’t mess his shot up on purpose, did he?

Chapter Text

Sleep before a big game hardly came easily to him. His sheets were a story of a restless night he had. Moving over to his door to stop the incessant pounding. Looking at his captain with thinly veiled disdain. “Morning. Food is ready, let's go.” Slamming the door in his face was satisfying. To his disappointment, he was still standing there when he was presentable. Once the elevator doors closed, this larger alpha looked at him. “You stink. Still good to play?” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes.” The other continued to search his face for any tell. “First, Ruts are not fun.” He appreciates the concern, though it was probably more related to their chance of winning over his concern with his well-being. Why would someone care about that?
Ilya wasn’t prepared for the sheer number of people flocking to the breakfast. Wondering around, he saw flashes of Shane's number. Scanning the tables, he saw him writing something down in a small book. Following his lingering gaze to a couple that must have been his parents. He has seen them around him in the stands. Watching them interact and Shane's facial expressions. He didn’t know him well enough to gauge the meaning behind them. Ilya saw that look. He knew that far-off gaze. Watching him hug his mother sent a lance through his heart.
Grabbing various things that looked appetizing, he found a small corner to sit and eat his food. The volume was different this morning from the previous mornings. No teams left early; they all wanted to watch the face-off tonight. There was a low fire that settled in his bones, that made him feel almost feverish. His appetite seemed to be endless. After his second plate, he decided to call it quits. Walking towards the elevator, he caught a glance at his captain heading that way as well. The door had almost closed when he stuck his hand. Of course, Shane would be there. This was their first time in general proximity since their moment in the gym.
Ilya didn’t like how close his captain got to him. This was a small elevator, but he didn’t want this Playboy anywhere near him. Shane was his pretty boy. Standing between them stilled this possessive urge that lingered in his skin. “I wasn’t going to touch the pretty boy.” Ilya had to stamp down his irritation. “Seriously?” He shot back. “I would jostle him a bit. Rile him up before the game.” Shooting him a glance and a raised eyebrow. “Don’t touch him. No one touches him. We win on skill. Not dirty tricks.” Watching him leave, his eyes lingered on his assets and those thighs. Getting flipped off brought a smile to his face as he tilted his head back in laughter.
“He is a feisty one.” Ilya nodded his head in agreement. He definitely was. His soul mate mark throbbed with the lack of proximity to his soul mate. Bidding him farewell, he headed to his room to try to sleep this off. He felt sluggish, like his limbs didn’t obey his commands. Collapsing into bed, he didn’t wake until his stomach told him to. Blinking around, he realized that he had missed lunch. Running out to the corner cafe, he grabbed as many carbs as he could consume.
Ilya made it back in time to change and get down to the lobby. Scanning the tops of heads, he recognized the tense hunch of his shoulders. Lining up next to him under the guise of good photo ops. He gently pressed his arm against Shane's. Pretending not to see the way his shoulders relaxed. The media was hungry, and their fans? Hungrier. The whole ride was littered with people showing their support for their teams. He saw a lot of Shane's number on signs. How nice. Looking back at the ego extrodainares and sighed. Walking in and listening to the jeers, the contact he bared his fangs at his defensemen and took his spot next to him.
The locker room was tense, and his body felt heavier than this morning. His gear made it feel like he was entering an oven. He had his blockers on and his captain's emergency suppressant. He would fly back separately with the trainer once his rut was over. This sucked, and that was no excuse. Shaking his head, he put on his helmet and ignored the worried glances from his captain and coach. Looking over his shoulder, he hopped onto the ice and raced around the corner.
Pulling up to the highly anticipated face off, got ready and glanced back at those freckles, and he just couldn’t contain himself. “You are beautiful. I wish I could make you mine.”
He whispered it like a prayer. “English asshole. If you want an insult to work, your opponent has to understand it.” His lip twitched in amusement, his eyes lingering on his furrowed brows. His moist lips, the faint scent of coconut. Losing the face off, he could live with; the sassy no, he could handle. What he couldn’t handle was the rush of desire that almost made him stumble. He had to strike while he could. By the end of the game, he couldn’t imagine how he would be. They pulled ahead in the first quarter, they evened it up, and he groaned as he sat on the bench, drenched in sweat. Chugging water like he was going to die. He did feel more focused, but by the time he got back in, they brought it back to an explosive tie. They went into overtime.
His legs could hardly support him, his vision swam, and he felt like he was on fire. Burning up from the inside out. She did say that he shouldn’t be playing anymore, and dismissed. But he was too important. So he played. Coach said to play. He plays. Simple. Lining up his shot, he blinked and shook his head. He lost sight of the puck. “Fuck me.” He mumbled as he saw the puck and just tried to salvage it. Of course, he missed. The loss was a blow. Watching Shane celebrate with his team made it suck less. Going back to his cubby, he sat down with a stiff groan.
Ilya felt hands on him, and he heard her voice, but she sounded underwater. Forcing his eyes open, he saw a big bucket of ice water being dumped on him. Shocking him awake, he growled before he registered what happened. “Now that you are awake, there will be a separate car that will take you to a rut center. You will go, and we will see you in a week.” She waved him off and his soaking clothes. Tossing it all into a bag, he waited for his ride and to vanish from society for the next few days. His only regret? Not messaging Shane. This week was going to suck. Ilya didn’t know where he was going but the trainer kept translating what he was being told. He followed, put things in his designated locker, showered, and changed into some clothes they had available.
His room was nice, and the curtains were heavy. Walking around the space, he saw the chair, bathroom, and bed. In the drawers were a few items at his disposal; he didn’t know if he would use any at the moment. The door unlocked as two betas gave him some food, which didn’t last long. Before they came back and took the tray. Before the door was locked, and he was by himself. There was a button to press when he needed food or help. A TV and controller. He had his phone and his imagination. Which didn’t take all that long to supply an image of Shane on the ice. How he moved, and how Ilya wanted to take him on the ice. How his moans would sound in the empty rink. His own cock throbbed as he wandered back over to the dresser.
Pulling out a toy that had two holes, he decided he could make that work. He lubed up both holes and stripped himself out of his clothes. Setting himself up, he breathed in a faint scent. They must be using pharamones. Dimming the lights, he closed his eyes and slowly sank in. He was used to this feeling. Before his thoughts could take hold of the warmth of his most recent conquest, he stilled. Something changed; the body was no longer petite, it was muscled and firm. His breath caught in his throat. Looking over a bared shoulder was Shane's flushed face. His mark pulsed as he pulled himself out and lined up for a different experience.

Pushing himself in slowly, he watched in awe as Shane took him. Once his balls sat firmly against the swell of his ass, he allowed himself a moment. He desperately wanted to know what he sounded like when he was being taken apart. Slowly pulling back out with a squelch, he pushed himself back in with more force. The chill of the rink settled around him as his hips continued to snap against Shane. The sound of slapping skin echoed as did his own muffled curses. His heart hammered, and his cock wept. He could feel himself getting close. He couldn’t spill just yet. Changing the position, he kept going before he exploded.
Ilya had no idea how much time had passed or what meals he had eaten. Once it fully took over, he just let it happen. He didn’t know what control was. All he knew was one thing, and he couldn’t have it. Always seated under his skin was the feeling that this was wrong. He should be with his mate and not fucking some toy. He wanted to have him and whatever his real scent was. Once he was free and on the car ride to the airport, checked his phone.

IlyaRozanov: See you for the draft.

There was no response; he wasn’t executing it. By the time he was back in Russia, he was a bit hurt that there was still no response. Getting out at the steps of his father's house, he didn’t recognize some of the cars, but that was normal. His brother was sitting on the steps talking to a girl. He ignored them and continued to find his father. He had hardly been in his own apartment for an hour before his father called asking for him. Walking up to his study, he glanced around the room. There was a female that he remembered from Childhood. She was half American, half Russian. Svetlana. Was her name.
“You are a man now.” His father started. “You lost gold. Russia lost. We ignore that, you marry her when you are 20. She will be your new wife. Congratulations. Now go.” Ilya had hardly any time to blink before she interlocked her arms with his and dragged him out. Confused, he dumbly followed her. This had to be a dream. “Your dad is a dick. My dad at least told me what was going on.” Her Russian wasn’t perfect, but it was understandable. Looking at her and blinking again, he opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water.
“I have a mate.” That was all he could say as he processed what was going on. She stopped. He walked into her. He stepped back and took his arm back. “I have met my mate.” He whispered. “I know this sucks. I want you to be with them. If shes nice, and your father likes her, I will bow out, and everyone is happy. If not, I will look the other way and continue with my life.” Ilya took the time to actually look at her. They had hooked up a few times, but he didn’t want to marry her. He couldn’t introduce his mate; she would look the other way. He slumped in defeat. “Fine, I'll marry.” Surprise rocked across her face. “When you find yours, I look the other way, too. We got divorced after five years.” That was the closest to happiness he could get. His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Water Boy: Heard you were back in town. Want to come over? Dad's gone for the night.
Ilya: Be there by 10.

Chapter Text

They won. They fucking won. Holy crap, they won! He couldn’t believe it. Shane would pinch himself to make sure he was dreaming if his body didn’t hurt with every step. They played an aggressive game. Speaking of, Ilya didn’t look good when they lined up at the end. Thinking back on it, the idea didn’t sit right with him. Why did they make him play? He was obviously close to his rut. The suppressants didn’t last that long. People commented on it to the coaches. They were too young to be forced to do that. That they were not seasoned enough to be forced to play pre-rut, thinking on it, they all were young. In the grand scheme of things, why were they expecting children to perform as adults? He was sure there was some study done last year about that. Affecting the body and how it reacts, or something like that. His mother would know.
The bus ride back to the hotel was different; while the media was frantic, everyone else had simmered down to a quiet reflection. Things they could have done better, things they noticed. Playing against aggressive teams will make people think. His parents threw themselves at him the moment the lobby doors closed. Tears welled up in his eyes again, before he finally let them fall. He did it. This year would be his year. It had to be. Once he was back in his room packing up his things, against his better judgement pulled out his phone. No message. What was he expecting? They were on different teams. If the roles were reversed, would he feel like messaging him? Why was he still hung up on him? What is done is done. Now he had to wait for the Draft. He would have the next few months to forget him. Maybe he should get a girlfriend again? No, he was too busy. Unless she was already interested in hockey. No. That would be a coach's daughter, and that would be a media storm.
Maybe an actress. They were just as busy. That was a thought. Or, well, a dream actually. Slamming his suitcase shut and stripping the bed, he left a tip for the cleaning ladies and headed back to the real world. With assignments, dances, and pretending he didn’t just make a career win. Being homeschooled had its perks, but it was surreal to hang out with other teenagers. Some of his friends know nothing about Hockey at all. They worry about smaller things like getting part-time jobs to pay for their new girlfriend. Growing up, his parents still wanted him to have normal friends. Once he started showing promise, he was pulled from normal school.
He was allowed to keep his friends he made while in public school. His mother really wanted the homegrown look for him. PR managers should take notes. Laughing to himself, he was caught waiting in line past the Russian team getting on the bus for their flight. Ilya was missing. He probably went on first, not feeling well and all. The bus pulled away with a few middle fingers, and Russian swear words were sent his way. He climbed into the family car and prepared for a long drive home.

Dane: Congrats, man. We just got word!
Grace: You Rock! See you at Jebs when you're free!
Chance: Grace told me to tell you congrats. I don’t know what for. You win something? Just kidding. Super proud of you. I need my spotter back. So hurry up.

Smiling to himself, he started responding. Thanking them for not messaging him during these last few days. Asking about anything he missed. He didn’t realize how much he missed them until now. He really didn’t deserve them. Once he was back home, he asked if they wanted to head to Jebs later in the week. They made plans for Friday evening. He had two days to recover before beating his friends at arcade games. Chance could beat him in Street Fighter, though.

Shane: Thanks for helping me fix my squats. I noticed a difference on the ice.
Chance: No problem! What good is my dad owning a gym if I can’t help you figure it out?

Shane: Did Chance and Brittney break up?
Grace: Oh yeah. She was sleeping with Brian the whole time.
Shane: Whoa.
Grace: Walked in and everything. He’s past the angry stage. I'll kick my brother out to the gym. Go harass him if you want more details. I'm not an owl.
Shane: Yes. I am your humble servant.
Grace: Fuck off, Shane. <3

Pocketing his phone, he walked past his parents' room to head down to the kitchen. He left his waterbottle down there, and he didn’t want to have to get it in the middle of the night. His socks padded soundlessly down the stairs and past his father in the living room. Already watching the highlights. Shaking his head, he paused while he watched portions of the game. That wasn’t how he remembered it going. It was funny how limited the information he had was about the rest of the team. It was like he and Ilya were in their own world the whole time they shared ice. “You did a great job shutting him down, kiddo. If you hadn’t done that, I think he would have given you a run. He will be dangerous when he's older.”
Swallowing down any response that would sound like a dismissal. “I did what I had to do for my team and for the win.” His mother's PR training was starting to pay off. “Yeah, yeah, you must be beat. I'll see you in the morning.” Grabbing his waterbottle, he headed back the way he came. His bed beckoned him, and he hardly remembered to charge his phone before he was out.
There was wind rushing by his ear as he was skating. He was on a frozen lake. Shane knew this lake; it was off the cabin his grandparents owned. He's racing someone across the ice, and his opponent is hot on his heels. Sprinting off, he grabs the puck and goes to score. He swings his stick, and the buzzer sounds. He's in the stadium now. No, he's in the lockerroom. They lost? No, they won gold. How did he disappoint them? No. He performed the best he could. He wasn’t a disaster.
Suddenly, he was back at the lake. He was crying. Why? Warm arms wrapped themselves around him. Pulling him close. Calming him down. He turned to say thank you when he woke to the sound of his alarm. He forgot to turn it off. Clutching his chest, he turned it off and decided that he should get up. His parents were not up yet, and the sun hardly was. Waiting for his water to boil for his oatmeal, he turned on the tv. Checking the news. It was hard to see his name in headlines still. The last one caught his attention. There was a photo of Ilya checking into a rut center. Apparently, it has made international news about the health and well-being of the players. They continued to talk in the background as he ate his breakfast. His mother woke up about an hour later and went for her coffee. His completed homework sat on the island, and his eyes were back to the tv. Watching the highlights of the game.
Shane's father would be down shortly, and he would get around for work. They would move on with their lives. Until he would fly out to LA for the draft. He would fly up ahead of them, and they would’t only stay for the day. Before, they would have to fly back. Her surgery was scheduled shortly after. They passed the day in relative ease, as he headed out for a run to the gym. Chance wouldn’t be here; this was the week the twins were with their mom. He cracked out a quick set and sat down to tie his shoes. Flashing back to that night in the gym. Sucking in his breath, his body stilled. A sharp pang lanced through him as he realized why he felt off. He missed him.
Loading his gear back up, he was about to leave when some kids from the local club stopped him and asked for pictures. Two quick photos later, and he was back on time for dinner. Friday came and went, he hung out with his friends at the arcade, and he made it home in time for him to fit in a workout and a salad. The days bleed into a week. A week turned into a month.

IlyaRozanov: I will see you in LA. Play a pick-up match? One - One.
ShaneHollander: Looking for a reamach?
IlyaRozanov: No. Will have time to do that later. I need to blow off steam after landing. Beating you? I will be the first draft.
ShaneHollander: There is a smaller rink about thirty minutes from the hotel. You can’t miss it. Message me when you land, and I'll work out the details.
IlyaRozanov: You know how to make a girl feel special.

Resisting the urge to throw his phone against the wall, he turned back to his book and went about his day. Feeling more excited than before. He wanted to know what it would be like to play against him. No teams, no score. That was exciting. Really exciting. Maybe if he did well, he could hear Ilya say something nice about him. Or give him that lopsided smile when he found something amusing. Glancing at his calendar, he would land three days before the draft, and he would stay two days after. Maybe he could get Ilyas' phone number eventually in that time. Realizing that he wasn’t going to get any more reading done, he grabbed his keys and headed to the rink. Coach would be there, and he could use a spot to blow off his nerves.
He couldn’t slouch now, not with a win under his belt. Shane had to keep this momentum going. Coach wasn’t here yet, but Shane had the spare key and let himself in. The ice was pristine; they must have cleaned it the night before. Strapping on his skates, he grabbed his stick and practice cones and went to work. The sound of his skates on ice echoed in the silence. Slowly drowning out his thoughts and settling into his body. Taking a quick lap around the rink to work on his quick shots, he was oblivious to the figure standing by the gate. Nearly giving himself a heart attack as he slowed down to see the coach.
“I tried calling out to you, son. But you were gone. What demons are you trying to run from?” Coach Halsy hasn’t been his coach in a very long time. But he still felt safest to come here when life got too rough. He was always here with advice and some extra practice.
“I think.” Shane paused. “I think I was trying to run from myself, coach.”

Chapter Text

Canada had been a wonderful experience, up until this point, he hardly left Russia. He had plans with Shane when he got the LA. The downside of all of this? That was months away. Running a hand through his hair, he braced himself to face another meal with his family. The stillness of the air as he took his place on the right side of his father. His mother's chair was now occupied by his stepmother, followed by his stepbrother. Alexi looked up from his plate.
“How is your future wife?” Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he chose to look down at his poached eggs. “I would assume well.” He hasn’t said a word to her since she left that night. “I would be told otherwise.” There was a pause before his father nodded. “Good man. Let your wife do what they wish, keeps them happy. Keeps you happy.” Ilya watched his stepmother's face contort before settling back into careful neutrality. His heart did bleed for her. He moved his foot, the gentle touch of his foot against hers under the table as he grabbed some toast. “The food is good.” He commented as he sat back down. Soft murmurs of agreement faded into the klinking for cutlery against plates. Ilya ate in silence as he cleared his plate and took it into the kitchen. Washing his plate, he bid them a farewell before he grabbed his jacket, keys, and he wouldn’t be back until nightfall.
There were bars and clubs he could hit up for a few interested people. Looking down at his friend's number. Water Boy was calling; he was also receiving a message from Violet. Answering the phone, he made plans later tonight to hit up one of the underground clubs. Before he answered the message.

Violet: Are you ignoring me now?
Ilya: No. Busy.
Violet: I have been waiting for you.
Ilya: Your loss of time.
Violet: Why are you so mean? Come by. I can make anything better.
Ilya: Fine.

Pocketing his phone, he headed to his car and headed towards his new plans. Get laid, go club and maybe get laid again. Could be a worse day. Parking down in an alleyway, he headed into the back and slipped in. There was soft music playing as he ascended the stairs. Watching the smaller man dance around the small kitchen. Watching him, he realised that his cock gave a half-interested twitch, didn’t rise like he was expecting. Not as he was used to. He didn’t get him as hard as Shane did. Though it had been a while since he had a partner. He could close his eyes and pretend. They both had dark hair, and he was smaller than Shane. Softer.
Walking up and wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close. Breathing in his scent as the other giggled. Before hoisting him onto the counter, moving some dishes aside. Kissing him deeply and feeling the other go pliant in his arms, he moved them to the bedroom.
“How do you want me?” They asked. “On your knees, facing the headboard.” The other pouted but ultimately followed his request. Slowly stripping, he spread the other's cheeks and got to work. The sounds that the other made were sinful. Ilya was interested when he tricked his brain into fantasising about Shane. Pulling back, he pulled out a condom and slowly sank into his heat. Setting a brutal pace, Ilya reached around to start pulling on the other. With this pace, he wouldn’t last long. The other was already a mess. Ilya didn’t realise that the other had cum already, must have been before he entered. Pacing himself with a few more thrusts, he moved the other to hang onto the headboard as he entered deeper. They never could completely take him, so he uses his hand to squeeze his base before he hits deeper. His own climax reached, he growled as he pressed his face against the other's neck.
Pulling out, he cleaned himself off and put on his clothes while the other lounged in the nude. “You didn’t want to see my face. Who were you pretending to fuck?” Ilya locked up, and his jaw tensed. “My mate.” He forced out. The news landed like a punch. “Ah. I suppose you have plans.” Ilya nodded as he headed for the door. “Going to the underground with Victor.” Closing the door behind him, he headed off to find something to do until it was time to meet up. He always wound up at the rink. Walking in and taking it in as he strapped on his skates. His mother’s voice echoes around him.
Memories of her out on the ice with him, teaching him how to skate. “One more step.” She coaxed her hands wide open. He had one tiny skate on the ice, and the other still firmly on the rubber. “One more step.” He echoed as he put his other foot on the ice. She took his hands and slowly dragged him around. Before he started making bigger steps. He shared his mother's love for skating. She was a prominent figure skater before she met his father and fell pregnant with him. She loved him, but she missed her skating. Her freedom, as she called it. He took a few laps and dried his tears. Going into a light pattern of what little figure-skating moves he remembers.
Smaller kids started to show up for a free skate as he slowly got off the ice. Before something stopped him. A tiny bundled figure clinging to the edge. When he looked at him, he saw himself. Skating up to him, he stopped and crouched down. “One step towards me. Can you do that?” The boy's eyes went wide as he hastily pointed to his Rozanov jersey. In his haste, he fell onto the ice hard. Ilya picked him up and took his hands.
“Turn your foot to the side. To the outside edge. Push. Do the same with your other.” He held his hands, slowly skating backwards and watching this child get his legs under him. Was this how his mother felt? “You got this. I will let go, you skate to me. If you can do that, I will teach you how to shoot a goal.” Before he was braced, a small figure charged into him, wrapping his small arms around his legs.
He spent the next hour teaching young skaters how to shoot hockey pucks and score goals. Even putting himself in a position to act as a goalie. He wasn’t used ot the crease. He wasn’t used to catching stray pucks on the shoulders. He eventually left the tired children with their grateful parents. Nodding his head in acknowledgement before he met up with his friend at the club. He took a quick shower and made a few new partners for the night; his friend didn’t even bat an eye. He was too busy with his tongue down someone's throat. Ilya woke a few hours later to the carnage of a hotel. Two partners in his arms as he detangled himself to head home. He never stayed.
Leaving while they were sound asleep, and he made his way down the quiet streets, he sat down at a bench and looked at the grainy photos he took of Shane during his practice. Before closing his phone, heading into the house. As usual it was silent outside of the various tvs that were playing through the house. Tossing down his bag, he dragged himself under his covers and finally passed out. Being woken rudely by his father a few hours later. “Get around, we have a party to attend.” He thought about telling him to shove off, but he didn’t want to get hit. “Give me a moment to shower.” He groused as he all but kicked him out.
Ilya dared to take as long as he could without testing his father's patience. Before he joined him in the entryway. While his stepmother and brother look on. Ilya had a feeling that it was true russian business. Where he would be paraded around to diplomats and other members of the Russian elite. “You need connections, Ilya. That is how Russia works. What will happen if you get injured and can’t play? In Russia without names, you are nothing.” Leaning his head against the cool window, he watched the world go by. Either there was an actual party, or he was having one of his moments. He was surprised that there was a party and that Svetlana was there.
“Who is this for?” He asked as he stood by her side. “It is for Captain Kuznetsov.” Oh, he didn’t know that. “Why?” He could see surprise filter through her. “Your father is a dick. This is his promotional party. He just made Captain. Your dad has a special interest in keeping nice. He wants to make him commissioner.” Oh. “I knew I could talk to you.” He glanced over at her and went off to get them drinks. “I saw you at the Underground.” She comments. “Be careful who you bed.” As she points to a very familiar face of his male partner of the night. He didn’t get a name. Here he was wearing a formal outfit next to the captain. Fuck. “Why didn’t you stop me?” He hissed. “Why? Its more fun now watching you squirm.” Glaring at her, he spent the rest of his time dodging any conversation with him.
By the time he was done, he was ready for bed. He couldn’t really keep his eyes open. Could be the alcohol. Ilya stirred when he felt himself being carried. Before he could smell his room. Before he fell back asleep, there was soft Russian music, and he mumbled something before passing out. Ilya woke the next morning rested and hungover. Changing and showering, he stumbled down stairs to the left over breakfast. Coming back up, he noticed that his music box was open. That was his mother's. He never played it, not since she died.
His heart squeezed as he closed the lid. He could hear other conversations. He tuned them out. He had to bide his time until he was signed. Then he will be free. Now he just needed to keep him safe. Somehow.. Time flew, and he pressed his luck with Shane a few times. He was never told no. He just needed this one time ot get him out of his system, and he can walk away satisfied. He could live with that. He had to live with that.
Landing in LA with some sharpened English skills, courtesy of Svetlana. Pulling out his phone, he grinned. He had a promise to keep up. Though he was going to the hotel first. He didn’t want to take all of it with him when he practised with Shane. This room was large. Bigger than his house. Sitting down in a chair, he pulled out his phone.

IlyaRozanov: My room is large. Big enough for two people. See you when you land.

Chapter Text

Shane has received offers from people before, male and female. Though he has hardly entertained any of those ideas. With Ilya? Something was different. The way he actually thought about them. He needed to end whatever they had started before this got out of hand. Some of them he locked away in his own brain before deleting. No one could find out.
He wasn’t going to tell him how it obviously affected him. Shane was boarding on a connecting flight when he received the notification that Ilya had landed. Good. He was safe. Direct flights were an option, with a higher cost. He insisted on paying for this one himself. The hotel was free, and the flight from his connecting port was free. He still had to get into the United States. He headed to his gate and waited for boarding.

ShaneHollander: How's the hotel?
IlyaRozanov: Big. Like me.

Shane rolled his eyes as he responded. Ilya had to be joking about his size. He was taller, and Shane had a feeling that he was referencing other things. Glancing around, he bit his lip to hide a smile. Over the last few months, he has done some research. He knows how it works with women; now he kind of knows how it works with men. For research. Not for use. Definitely not for use. Blush hit his cheeks as he cleared his throat.

ShaneHollander: Sure thing. I'd have to see it to believe it.
IlyaRozanov: I can show you. In LA. Just ask.
ShaneHollander: I doubt I will.

They called his flight before he checked to see if there was any response. The flight was mild with some turbulence. Thrilled to finally be in LA, and to a change of scenery. He still missed Ilya on occasions. Heading towards his taxi, he pulled out his phone and checked his messages.

IlyaRozanov: You land safely?
ShaneHallander: I did. Headed to the hotel. I'll meet you at the rink in an hour.
IlyaRozanov: Okay. Bossy.

Ilya was right, the hotel was really nice. His room was spacious, and there was a good-sized tub. That was a bonus. He didn’t mind showers, but while he was playing, he enjoyed a good bath. He took a mirror selfie and changed into some athletic gear. There was a pickup game he had to win. Heading out, he called a taxi and sent Ilya the address. He wanted to arrive early to get things set up. His cousin was aware that he was going to be borrowing the rink while he was in town. It was on the seeder side of things. No one would question. It was the perfect spot.
The lights flickered on, and the wave of antiseptic hit his nose. There was a handwritten note congratulating him on the draft. Notifying him of what had been done previously, and how he could lock up when he was done. He slowly got into his gear before he headed to the rink to see the ice. Setting up the goals and taking a warm-up lap. He was lost in thought that he missed Ilya entering the ring, and he was surprised when his puck was stolen. A grin fit his face as he raced off after him and took it back. Making a goal attempt when he got checked, and he fell. Laughter peeling out of him as he lay there catching his breath. Snow fell over his chest as a gloved hand offered him up. Taking it, he was staring into the smiling face of Ilya. At first, he was stunned at how handsome he was.
“You are too soft.” He muttered. “Your English is getting better.” Shane noticed. “Better to communicate with pretty boys, no?” Ilya winked as he skated off. “Do we do face off, or is it a free for all.” He looked over to him, thinking about it. “We face off; the winner of that can take a shot on goal. Miss or goes in, the other player gets to take a shot on goal.” Ilya paused as he thought it over. “We stop on 10 shots on goal.” He skated over to the small stand and grabbed the manual counter. “Winner gets to tell the other what they want when they win. Deal?” Shane scrunched his nose as he paused. “Depends on the ask.” Ilya raised an eyebrow, and Shane felt challenged. “You're on.”
Ilya tossed up the puck into the air, and they both took the stance before Ilya took it. He took off while Shane chased after. Ilya moved with such grace that he couldn’t watch him during their match. Other hockey players moved across the ice while Ilya flew. Dodging in front of him, he did his best to stop the goal. He failed. “Did you take figure skating lessons?” He asked between breaths. He noted how Ilya stilled before he seemed to mull something over. “My mother was.” Shane noticed the was and nodded his head. “So shes retired?” Ilya pinned him with a side glance. “Shes dead.”
If this rink could split open and swallow him whole. He really stepped into it. Continuing to stare down at his shoes, chewing on his lip. His head was forced up to look at him. “I'm sorry. I didn’t know.” Ilya smiled softly and bumped their helmets together. “You didn’t know. Let's play. It is your shot.” Jerking his head out of his glove, he went to the puck and circled and got the game started again. Just like in his dream, he was racing down the ice with this warm being chasing him. A thrill raced up his spine as he took his shot and hit the net. Laughing, he circled and took his defensive stance. “I only commented because your skating is beautiful.”
This seemed to take Ilya off guard as he stilled before the puck. “Thank you.” If Shane hadn’t been close, he wouldn’t have heard it. So his mom was a touchy subject. Noted. “I mean it. It's really wonderful to watch.” Ilya didn’t respond before the game started again. They went back and forth, tying it up before Shane lost his lead. Fatigue pulled at him as he raced down the ice to keep up. He had a feeling that he got lucky during the face-off. Or he was off his game. Ilya did win by one, and Shane had to admit defeat. Meeting him back towards the middle, he looked up at him. “You win. What is your request?” A wolfish grin graced the other as he pretended to think about it. “You will know. I will message you my request.” Shane groaned. “Fine.” They headed off to the showers.
Stripping out of his gear, he suddenly felt self-conscious. He would just hit the showers first, and he would not look. Grabbing his towel, he headed off and turned on the shower head. Before he turned his back on Ilya and got to work. Hearing the other step into the shower, he couldn’t help but look. Watching the water drip down his back was sinful. The swell of that ass was insane. As if Ilya knew he was looking, he turned around and looked at him with a knowing smile. “Like what you see?” Shane panicked as he quickly glanced away. “No. Just looking at the competition.” Ilya snorted. “That isn’t what your body is telling me.” Shit. Looking back over to shoot him a death glare, only to choke on his spit. Ilya was big. He had a monster. How did he not put people in the hospital?
Shane watched as Ilya continued to lazily stroke himself before he quickly turned his back and continued his shower. Wrapping himself up after the shower, he rushed past him. His embarrassment lingered on his features. Before he started to change. Ilya came by later with is towel sinfully low. The trail of hair, jealousy ate at him. He was hairless except for the hair on top of his head. “Don’t worry, pretty boy. I won’t do anything you don’t like.” Shane shook his head as he looked up at him again. Before his own face flushed again. “I know you won't.” Before he stood. “Finish getting ready, I have to lock up.” Standing up, he was suddenly pressed against the lockers by Ilya. His eyes flicker to his lips. “ You can run,” Ilya growled. “ I know what you want. I am willing to give it if you will allow yourself to want it.”
Ilya backed away and let Shane leave. He hid in his cousin's office until Ilya left. Painfully hard and terrified of himself. The conversation he had with his old coach echoed in his head. “Kiddo, you will spend your whole life doing that. You just have to decide if it is worth shutting out all opportunities that could come if you stood and faced it.” Now was not the time to reflect. Hiding from another person, let alone hiding from himself.
He spent so much time avoiding Ilya that before he knew it, it was time for the draft. He was sitting there with every other hopeful competing for a select few spots available. The announcer walked on stage and started announcing. “ The first draft pick goes to Ilya Rozanov by the Boston Bears!” Shane was thrilled for him, of course, but the disappointment was thick in his mouth. He was slotted for the first pick. “Second draft goes to Shane Hollander! With the Montreal Voyagers!” They were not his first pick, but they are a good team. Standing up on the podium and holding up a number two sucked.
Shane wanted to win; he felt like he hadn’t truly won anything since he took gold for Canada. He posed for all the photos and photos with his parents. He was getting ready to head up and relax. Maybe cry. Before Ilya leaned close and mumbled softly in his ear. “Room 804.” His moist breath on his ear sent liquid desire through his bones. “What did he want?” His mother asks. “Oh, he was congratulating me.” He wasn’t going to elaborate on anything else. Taking the long way back to his hotel room just to let himself think. Does he actually want this? He kind of did. The suite was a pain to get out of, but he felt more comfortable in a t-shirt and sweats. With shaking hands, he pressed the floor number he needed. Stilling himself, he raised his hand and knocked on the foreboding door. Ilya opened the door with a wide smile, which changed to desire. He had half a glass of what looked like water. Didn’t smell like water.
Shane didn’t have a chance to fully get out of his shoes before Ilyas's lips were on his. He was warm and tasted like vodka. Cigarettes and sin. If that even was a flavour profile. Taking off his shoes, he pushed Ilya back against the wall. “Get on your knees.” Shane didn’t even question. Without thinking, he sank to his knees and nuzzled the growing distraction in Ilyas pants. “I haven’t…” He started before Ilyas' hand was in his hair. “I'll walk you through it.” He promised.

Chapter Text

If heaven were real, he felt like he was there. Here he was playing against Shane. Just them and their love of hockey. When he first arrived, he was buzzing with nerves. With his growing English, he was able to navigate around and get a taxi. The building was run down, there were potholes in the parking lot, and trash on the sidewalk. Ilya had to applaud Shane for finding an out-of-the-way place that a cousin of his owns. His father's words echoed in his head. ‘Without contacts, you are nothing.’ Ilya couldn’t fathom the idea of having these connections to use at a moment's notice. He wasn’t like his father, and he couldn’t be Shane. Paying the fare, his sneakers hit the pavement, and he headed towards the door. There was a brick placed in front of it, and he moved it back behind the door once it closed.
The flickering fluorescents hurt his eyes as he squinted until they adjusted. Doubling back, he made sure the door was shut, and he lugged his gear towards the men's locker room. Faintly from the bench, he could hear someone in the rink already. A smirk played across his face as his heart warmed at the thought. He was predictable. Ilya liked that about him. He didn’t have to jump through hoops to predict his next move.
Shane had left most of his items on the bench, including his phone. Shaking his head, he tucked the phone into the side pocket of his bag. Shane might have trusted the world, but Ilya knew that people would always take an opportunity when it was presented. Pausing, he thought about just giving him his number before he thought better of it. He went to zip the bag shut when he saw the neatly folded clothes tucked underneath. Laughter filled the space. Shane had always found a way to make him laugh. It was almost foreign to his ears. He put on each piece of gear, and for once, it didn’t feel like armour.
Geared up, Ilya made his way towards the rink. Following the echoing sound of skates. Stepping onto the rubber before the rink, he took the time to watch. Shane had a faraway look in his eyes. This was a different side of him that he felt privileged to see. Maybe he wasn’t the only one not wearing any armour today. Stepping out onto the ice, he skated up near him, trying to gain his attention. Nothing. Cool. Ilya took a half step in and extended his stick. Stealing the puck. Racing off, his heart hammered with adrenaline. This was a completely different high. Hearing Shane struggle to catch up, he decided to end his misery and took a shot on goal.
Settling the terms of the deal, Ilya made a promise to himself that he would win. For a while, it was a struggle, though Ilya had a feeling the Jet lag was starting to hit him. Ilya was surprised when Shane wanted to play so soon after his flight. Was it an unfair deal? Yes. Did he capitalize on that? Also yes. Shame that. When they finished, Shane seemed to tense. Was he self-conscious of his undoubtedly beautiful body? Shame. His body should be worshipped.
Ilya specifically hung back to give him time to settle. Shane reminded him of a scared deer. One wrong move and it would bolt. Once Shane was headed towards the showers, he finished getting out of his gear and headed towards the showers himself. It took Shane all of two minutes. Before he caught him looking. So that is why he was skittish. Turning around, he looked at him. “Like what you see?” The panic lit up the other's face before the freckles glowed with embarrassment. Should have been captured on film. He felt like he would never see that gain. “No. Just looking at the competition.” Could have fooled me. He thought. Before he looked down. “That isn’t what your body is telling me.” Since he was already in, he might as well make good on his promise. He told him he would show him how big he was. Usually, he would ask about these things. But from his physical responses, he knew he was close to the mark. He never told him enough in their messages.
The death glare was cute. The narrowed eyes, scrunched nose. Like an angry kitten. Ilya could physically see in real time when Shane registered number one. What he was doing. And a split second later realized how big he was. Watching him choke did nothing to dismiss his arousal. He had enough toying with him for now. Ilya could see he was approaching danger territory. This chase was the most delectable one he's experienced. He was slightly disappointed that both chose to keep their patches over their soul marks. It was probably for the best. Ilya couldn’t even fathom how much control he would have seeing his words on Shane's body. Shane might actually kill him at this rate. Walking back to the benches, Shane was almost dressed. Impressive. He should let sleeping animals lie, but he was greedy. He was selfish to want to see these emotions play across his beautiful face.
“Don’t worry, pretty boy. I won’t do anything you don’t like.” Heat raced to his face once more, if his angel could get any redder. “I know you won't.” He died. This was heaven. He never made it to LA. Ilya must have died in a horrible plane crash. What? Shit. He was hard again. Well harder. Once Shane stood up, his instincts took over. Bracing his arm against his chest, pinning him to the lockers like they were the boards in the rink. “ You can run,” He growled. “ I know what you want. I am willing to give it if you will allow yourself to want it.” Stepping away, he watched him scramble towards the coach's office. Getting dressed, he called a taxi and headed out. He will come back. Shane had a taste of something forbidden. If he reads him right, he will be back for more.
He didn’t take it personally when Shane ignored his existence until the grand ceremony of the draft. Seated in their assigned seats, Shane sat with his parents while Ilya sat next to a stranger. He had entertained the idea of inviting Svetlana; she would figure it out. Too risky. There are a handful of occasions in which Ilya was ever truly shocked. “The first draft pick goes to Ilya Rozanov by the Boston Bears!” Was right up there. Shane was the slotted first pick. Or that is what the news outlets had been saying. “Second draft goes to Shane Hollander! With the Montreal Voyagers!” Oh, that wasn’t a surprise. He had seen them talking at the Junior Cup.
Maybe that is why the Bears went for him. His basic knowledge told him that they faced each other a lot. He would have to ask Svetlana for help. He didn’t know anything about Boston. He would have to, in about a week. He would have to look over his contract and see how they set up his accommodations. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see the devastation in his angel's eyes. It hurt him. He would need a distraction from the pain. Ilya could help with that. Standing on the podium and taking photos upon photos, he thought about flipping off the cameras once. He didn’t. Too messy. People will hate him enough; he doesn’t need to help that along. Catching him before he left proved to be quite difficult. Leaning in close, he whispered. “Room 804.” Before he decided to vanish. Headed to his room, Ilya saw the contract sitting on his table. He would read that in the morning.
Shane didn’t make him wait that long at all. For a moment, he entertained the idea that he would never see him. From the way the other eyes changed, he knew that wasn’t likely. He hasn’t used any alpha persuasion at all. Shane was compliant with him. It made him feel better about what he was about to do to him. The knocking on his door brought him a smile. Shaking off the nerves, he took a sip of his Vodka and he opened the door. Shane was standing there, flushed and already half hard in his sweats. Ilya tried to wait. He really did. He had one shoe off before his control snapped. Setting down his drink, he pulled him up for a kiss.
Shane wasn’t a very good kisser, really, quite naive. He would change that. It did please him that he was still naive. It turned him on. Being pushed back by him also turned him on. Perhaps there was nothing about Shane that wouldn’t turn him on. “Get on your knees.” Ilya didn’t plan on starting this way, but this was where they were going. Apparently, the universe was set on surprising him twice in one day. Shane got on his knees before him. “Wow.” He mouthed. “I haven’t…” Shane started before Ilya placed his hand in his soft hair. “I'll walk you through it,” Ilya promised. He looked down at this sight and steeled himself. He had to last long enough for Shane to get the idea of what he needed to do. “I am going to pull my pants down. Lean back so I don’t hit you.” Confusion played on Shane's face, but he followed his instructions. There was sweet relief when his cock sprang free.
Ilya saw the realization and panic cross Shane's face. Good boy. He thought. He didn’t have to explain why he needed him to move back. Ilya didn’t know if Shane was into that yet. “I need you to practice some deep breaths and soften your mouth. Relax your tongue and just breathe for a bit. Take that pace now, breathe only through your nose.” Shane tried, but he seemed to have an issue understanding what he meant. “Put your lips around my tip, relax your tongue, and jaw. No teeth. I will show you what I mean.” With no hesitation, he used his hand to guide Shane's mouth to where he wanted him to be. Ilyas's eyes closed in bliss as warm heat enveloped his tip. For months, he had fantasized about this. This was better. Oh god, this was better. Looking down, he slowly inserted himself further into his mouth until he hit the back of his throat. Shane gagged and pulled back. Breathing hard, he wiped his mouth. Before he went back with heat.
Ilya didn’t teach him how to do that, but he seemed to get the core concept of the blow job now. He wasn’t good, but the idea of him doing it was enough to have him fighting for control. Ilya lasted only a few more minutes before he came. Fuck! Shanes never…. Snapping his eyes open, he looked down to watch Shane do his best to drink it all down. His eyes were glossy, and his cheeks were red. It looked like Shane wasn’t even here. Slowly pulling out Ilya grabbed his discarded shirt and cleaned Shane up and himself. “Can you stand for me, Kotenok? Nod your head yes if you can.”
There was a slow head nod. Guiding him to his feet, he held him close to his chest, regulating his breathing. Letting Shane come back to himself when he was ready. He wouldn’t continue until he had his consent. If this was too much, Shane could leave. He noticed the wet spot in the front of Shanes sweats and felt a pang of pride. He was such a good boy. Getting wet for him just by giving him a blow job. “Fuck Rozanov.” Shane's voice was absolutely wrecked.
“Do you want me to blow you?” Ilya would wait for a lifetime if Shane wasn’t ready. “Yes. Fuck. I want that so badly.” Ilya slowly moved him to the bed and lay him down. “Lie there, and I will do the rest.” Ilya lowered Shane's bottoms to find that he went commando. “Someone is a little naughty.” He teased, watching Shane bury his face into his hands. Throwing the pants over his shoulder, Ilya moved Shane's right leg over his left shoulder. Slowly bending him while he took him into his mouth. He looked up at his blissed out face. Shane wasn’t going to last long. Not under an experienced tongue. Once he finished, Ilya cleaned them both up and watched Shane leave. Ilya felt bothered, tense. Like a cord strung too tight. He paced around his hotel, not bothering to put on any clothes. He usually got somewhat irritated after hook-ups. This time he feels wrung out.
Walking over to the counter, he picked up his glass and took the bottle out to the balcony. Lighting up a cigarett,e he put both his feet on the balcony. Before he had enough decency to put on some boxers. Clean boxers. Resuming his previous position, he fished the glass and slowly smoked while he moved to the bottle. Ilya didn’t know how long he was out there. Thinking of nothing and everything. Hearing the chair next to him scrape, he looked over to see no one. Probably the wind. But maybe it was his mother visiting him. Closing his eyes, he leaned back and spoke to her softly.
“I am angry with you. Why did you leave me? Was I not enough?” He knew that it didn’t work like that. But it should. “ We could have left. I am big now. We could have left for Boston. Started over.” Shaking his head, he wiped away his tears. “You would have liked him. He complimented your skating. He is sweet.” His eyes opened as his head lulled to his right shoulder. “He is mine. I am his. But he can’t ever be mine. Mama, how is that fair? Every time I hold to love. It leaves. Am I not good enough?” Shaking, now he pulled himself up and headed inside. Throwing the door closed and curled up under his blankets. If no one saw him cry, it is as if it never happened.
The next morning, he felt hollow. In fact, he didn’t even leave his room. He ordered whatever he wanted on the menu and ate. It wasn’t until the afternoon that he got around to reading the contract. Glancing at his phone, he saw he had a few missed calls. One from his brother and two from Svetlana. He decided to call her first as he started to read. They thankfully printed it in Russian. She answered on the third ring. He felt bad knowing the time difference. “Shit, you finally called.” He hummed over the line. “Your brother is on my ass to talk to you about your contrcat is.” There it was. “I am reading it now. Call me when you wake back up, and I will elaborate.” He hung up on her mid-sentence. She would be mad but grateful to get more sleep later.
He knew little about her, but her love of beauty sleep is one of them. Moving through the paper,s, he saw reasonable things. More than what he was hoping for in reality. Americans were rich. A few more hours went by before she called again. He let her ring twice before answering. “First of all fuck you, and second of all, Congratulations. That is amazing.” Ilya nodded his head, listening to her. He answered a few of her questions, and he dodged how much they would be paying him. “A very handsome amount.” He answered finally. “You can live comfortably in Boston. If you wish. Or LA. You stay in LA, correct?” She laughed. “I can move to Boston. New York is close by. I'll get an apartment there.” Ilya is confused. “New York is not close to Boston.” She laughed harder. “It is a very short plane ride, dummy.” Oh, he didn’t think about that. They continued to talk some more before she hung up. Staring at his reflection in the screen, he dialled his brother's number. It went to voicemail, and he didn’t bother leaving a message.
Signing the contract and dropping off the English copy with the representative, he started making the arrangements to move across the sea to America. Getting his temporary visa was top of the list. The Bears were already on that, and he had his first interview tomorrow. He didn’t know how it worked. But they assured him it would be easy. He chose to fly home and pack up what was most important to him. He wasn’t going to pay for all his things to be shipped. Here was his ticket out. Now he couldn’t lose it over some doe-eyed beta who still haunts his dreams.