Chapter Text
Shane Hollander is a beta. And he couldn’t be more happy with his designation. It keeps things simple. No stupid alpha territorial bullshit or omega pheromones to disrupt his routine. He has more room to focus on hockey, rather than worry about silly inconvenient things like ruts or heat cycles. While his teammates have to take medical leave a few times a season and wear things like scent blockers or take suppressants, he just gets to play the sport he loves and call it a day.
He could tell his mom had been a little disappointed when he didn’t present as an alpha, like her. His parents had been so sure considering how sensitive he was to scents growing up. But, as his dad always says: that’s just how the cookie crumbles. He was glad, personally, when he got his hormone test back at 16 and his levels showed a big ol’ resounding B for beta. Puberty was already terrible enough without the added conversations that came with presenting as an alpha or omega.
Yes, being a beta kept life simple. And he spent 24 years of his life as a simple, hockey loving beta. Until he suddenly wasn’t. And of course, because fate loved to fuck with him, he finds out in the middle of a game against the Boston fucking Bears.
He thought he might just be coming down with a cold. It was a little late in the season to be getting sick, but it happens sometimes. It wasn’t enough to keep him off the ice, though. It was extremely mild. He didn’t even notice something was off until they were gearing up for the game. He felt a shiver make its way up his spine, despite the waves of heat that settled uncomfortably under his skin. So he was a little warm. No big deal. He’d win this game, pop some cold medicine when he got home, and take it easy. Just in case.
“You smell nice today, Shane. Get a new cologne?” Hayden clapped his back good-naturedly as he came and sat on the bench next to him, pulling on his pads and uniform. Shane just raised an eyebrow at him, quickly shutting his phone off. He’d just sent a confirmation text to Ilya for tonight. Arguably the most complicated part of his life, but he couldn’t lie to himself about his feelings anymore. That was a problem to solve after the game, though. For now, he was focused on winning.
“No. I don’t think I’ve done anything different.” He knows he hasn’t done anything different, but his dad told him he can be a little too blunt sometimes, so he humored the other beta for now.
“Trying to impress someone, Hollander?” JJ quipped in French from his cubby across the room. “Maybe wear a little less next time. I can smell you from here.”
Shane felt his face heating. “Jesus. I’m not wearing cologne. Just get dressed, assholes.” JJ raised his hands in surrender and turned to keep getting dressed, but his smirk made it obvious he didn’t believe Shane. Hayden’s hand landed on his shoulder.
“Leave him alone JJ! Not everyone has the nose of a bloodhound, okay?” Hayden laughed, then winked conspiratorially at Shane. “Don’t worry buddy, you smell fine. Alpha’s and their crazy sense of smell. They’re just too sensitive.” He said in a poor attempt at a whisper, obviously trying to get a rise out of JJ. Which sort of works when the alpha flicks a middle finger their way, not even bothering to look away from his cubby.
Shane’s face stung even hotter with frustration. Hayden’s hand felt heavy on his shoulder, and he wanted to shrug him off in an overwhelming fit of annoyance. Thankfully, his friend moved away to continue putting on his gear before Shane could embarrass himself by acting like an indignant toddler. He wasn’t wearing any fucking cologne. He forced himself to take several deep breaths–until the suffocating frustration left his body–and he relaxed his tense shoulders.
Jesus. They wanted to make fun of him for smelling? The locker room reeked. Too many combinations of sweat and muted scents barely concealed by scent patches. It gave him a headache. In general, beta’s senses of smell were not nearly as sensitive as alphas or omegas, but Shane was still unfortunately a little more receptive than most of his peers. But, since their team didn’t have any omegas, the alphas on the team mostly wore scent patches or blockers as a formality. And often applied them poorly.
The only times they were actually required to wear them was during games, so there’d be no unfair advantages. Alphas that were especially close and scented each other (which happened often in sports like hockey) wouldn’t even need to look to be able to sniff out their teammates on the ice. If they’d played together long enough, some people claimed they’d be able to speak to each other through some kind of platonic bond. That sounded like a load of bullshit to Shane, but he kept that opinion to himself. Some alphas were so touchy about their weird little instincts and rituals.
And technically, a bunch of unchecked alpha pheromones could agitate those unfamiliar with their scents and start fights. Or worse. Especially if they were omegas (and the effect was vice versa). He didn’t really know what that meant or was supposed to look like. He also didn’t really care to look into it. Not his problem. But either way, that scenario was mostly hypothetical.
Even though the designation limit–which was really just an omega limit–had been lifted from the league for more than 30 years, it wasn’t until the late 90s that any omegas had actually made it to the league. Even now, in 2016, there were only a small handful of omegas in the MHL. And as much as the league likes to parade them around and celebrate their pride nights as if they were perfectly evolved and accepting, rumors from the actual players told a different story. Most omegas apparently stayed on suppressants during the season. That wasn’t entirely uncommon for omega athletes in any sport, really. From Shane had heard, though, it was an unspoken rule for omegas in hockey. Something about it being such a contact heavy sport.
From the few times he’d played against omegas, he couldn’t tell the difference between their performances versus the alpha’s performances. Maybe their chirps were a little sharper and dug under the player's skin more, but Shane mostly attributed that to a lot of alphas being idiotic knotheads. Some were more talented than others, but if someone had asked him to point out the omegas and the alphas he was playing against, he wouldn’t have been able to. When it came down to hockey, his opponents were all the same to him.
He hadn’t personally seen anything crazy happen from haywire pheromones. He thinks he remembers hearing about an incident once back in the 80s. That might have been where the scent blocker requirements came from. He hadn’t paid much attention to it. He was a beta, so he didn’t have to worry about weird alpha omega bullshit. He just wished the alpha’s would actually bother applying their scent blockers and patches correctly.
He could usually ignore it, but right now, it felt almost overwhelming. His head felt heavy, and if he didn’t get out of there soon, he feared getting a headache.There were so many different scents mixing together that he couldn’t even pick out any individual notes. It was just sweaty alpha, the overeager anticipation of violence, and the stench of an old locker room. Whatever. It didn’t matter. His head would clear once he got on the ice.
—————-
His head did not clear at all on the ice. Well, it did for maybe five minutes into the game. Until his body was hit with another wave of uncomfortable heat that left him feeling sluggish. There was a persistent layer of sweat over his entire body that had nothing to do with the sport he was playing. He tried to push through it, but he could tell he was starting to flag. The more he played, the more his head felt like it was getting stuffed with cotton. His legs started to wobble, and he was occasionally wracked with a full body shiver.
It caused him to nearly lose the puck at one point. He was still able to make the play, scoring an assist, but the mistake was obvious and embarrassing. Rozanov noticed as he skated past, throwing a mocking smirk in Shane’s direction. When their eyes met, Shane could have sworn he saw a flash of worry in Ilya’s expression, but he couldn’t focus on it. He was barely keeping up with the game.
He was feeling incredibly antsy and irritated, his stomach twisting with anxiety. Maybe it was just his poor mood, but he was getting leered at, called “pretty boy”, and smashed into the boards more than usual. In fact, everyone seemed to be roughing each other up more than usual. More than once he found himself seconds away from starting a fight. It was incredibly unlike him. Yes, Boston and Montreal were life-long rivals. But this was starting to feel a little… feral. It got so bad that his coach noticed how off he was playing, yelling words at him that he could only somewhat comprehend.
He thinks he tried to mumble something about maybe coming down with the flu, but he isn’t totally sure. He felt like he was starting to float. The edges of his vision were concerningly blurry.
“Get it together, Hollander! You can be as sick as you want afterwards. We’ve got this in the bag. Just stay focused on the game and get your ass back out there.” Shane blinked and realized he was being pushed on the ice, towards a face off with Rozanov. How the hell was he supposed to stay focused on the game in this state? He can’t remember the last time he felt this sick. He tried to shake it off anyway, and made his way to the center ice, feeling more unsteady than he ever had during any of his years playing hockey.
“Hollander, you smell different.” Rozanov said as he approached. If he was more cognizant, he’d have been able to detect the note of concern in the Russian’s voice. Instead, he felt a hot flash of annoyance. He usually enjoyed their teasing chirps back and forth, but he was really not in the mood today. Especially about how he fucking smelled. Why was everyone up his ass about his smell today?
He gave an uncharacteristic snarl. He’d feel bad about it later. “Shut up, Rozy.” God, he felt like complete and total shit. He wanted to jump out of his skin. What the fuck was he coming down with? As he bent to meet Ilya for the face off, it became quickly and horrifyingly clear what was happening to him. It was like a wire pulled taught finally snapped in his body, and he felt something wet rush out of him. So much that he could feel several rivulets running down his legs and into his shin guards. He froze, a terrible gnawing ache setting his entire body ablaze.
For a terrifying hysterical moment, he wondered if he shit himself, and suppressed an incredulous giggle, his brain stuttering and refusing to connect the dots. He would honestly prefer that to reality. But his moment of denial was short-lived when the shocked silence surrounding him was replaced by a chorus of growls from both his teammates and opponents. A scent flooded his nose, his scent. What was usually mild and barely there was suddenly sickly sweet and strong. Candied lemon and ginger. The scent of an omega. Oh god.
Despite every instinct in his body yelling at him to keep his eyes lowered on the ice, he risked a panicked look at Ilya, who was bent over frozen in front of him. All Shane could see was a shocked expression and pupils so dilated that only a thin ring of blue iris was left.
“Holy shit, Shane. You’re a—“ Hayden’s shocked voice rang out from the bench like an alarm breaking a spell, and suddenly punches were being thrown and hell was breaking loose before he could even finish his incredibly unhelpful observation. The alphas on both teams were snarling, recklessly throwing out their own pheromones as they fought to reach Shane, scent patches be damned. Any scent as strong and intense as Shane’s in that moment would elicit a reaction that no scent blocker could override.
Shane should feel terrified. Horrified. Embarrassed. There was an entire crowd of people watching him. But as cramps swirled in his gut and another gush of slick ran down his legs, he felt his mind slipping. The wild spray of alpha scents and pheromones had his mouth watering. He almost felt drunk. He barely registered his teammates holding off the Boston players. And some of the Boston players were tackling his own teammates that were launching themselves in his direction. Snarls, growls, and barks of “He’s ours!” and “You’re not fucking touching him!” filled his ears and created a heady mix that clouded his rational thoughts. He was sending more than half of the alphas around him into a rut. They were fighting over him. It made him feel… powerful. He wanted to preen. It shouldn’t turn him on, but it does.
He heard more shouting, and faintly registered Hayden and the other Voyagers betas trying to reach him, the team medics not far behind. It looked like the audience was quickly being funneled out. He was going to be in so much trouble for this. The thought should scare him more than it did. But as he made eye contact with Ilya, who was suddenly much closer and looked a second away from losing control, he felt nothing but giddy excitement and a wild, gnawing hunger. Especially with the way the alpha was looking at him.
He realized he was looking up at Ilya, instead of straight at him, and looked back down to see he’d fallen to his hands and knees on the ice, his arms shakily locked straight to keep his weight up. His hockey stick had slid a few meters away, forgotten and out of reach. Some little voice in the back of his head told him he can’t lower his head and present for just anyone. He already knew exactly who he did want to do it for, though. He let his knees spread out under him and sat back on his haunches, feeling a smile spread on his face as he looked up at Ilya again. He looked like he was clenching his jaw so hard his teeth might shatter. The Russian cursed under his breath when he saw Shane’s smile. He inhaled and stuttered out a low moan. “Shane.”
Hearing his name in Ilya’s deep accented voice sent a thrill straight to his cock. Shane was suddenly hyper aware of his body. He’s rock hard, and there’s slick everywhere. And god he’s so hot. He clumsily threw his gloves to the ice, took off his helmet, and frantically worked to get his jersey off. Ilya was right there grabbing his hands in a strong grip, his own gloves and helmet already off, preventing him from making much progress. Shane squirmed and whined in protest until he caught a whiff of Ilya’s erratic scent. Something like frankincense and smoke that had him struggling not to drool. He breathed in large gulps, as if he could taste the alpha’s scent in the air.
He felt unnaturally irritated, though. The ice was nice and cool against his heat-radiating body, but it was hard and uncomfortable. And so were his uniform and gear. Why the hell wasn’t Ilya letting him take it off? He usually loved it when Shane got undressed. In fact, he was usually the one undressing him. His emotions fluctuated erratically. Did Ilya not want him anymore? Did Shane being an omega complicate things too much for him?
Shane let out another whine at the thought, hot tears springing at the corners of his eyes as he renewed his struggle against Ilya’s grip. A distant part of him was appalled at his very public behavior, but he couldn’t hold onto any rational or fully formulated thought long enough to care.
“Hollander, please.” Ilya tried to admonish him. Shane scoffed and pouted. Oh, so he was Hollander now? Who was Ilya to ask anything of him when he clearly didn’t want him. His heart twisted and the tears were now freely running down his face. He furrowed his brow and, unable to shake Ilya’s hands, threw a bit of a tantrum. He would be horrified by this later, when he was more lucid.
He released another keening whine–louder this time– and leaned away from Ilya, throwing his head back in an attempt to look at the other alphas that clearly did want him. That was probably a bad idea, considering it exposed the entire column of Shane’s throat to Ilya. Dangling an unmarked neck pumping out pheromones in front of an alpha was supposedly torture. Well, served him right.
His eyes catch, a little dazedly considering it’s all upside down, on the clusters of fighting and aggressive alphas behind him. It’s mostly his team trying to hold off Boston. But there are a few of his own teammates that are being tackled to the ice by Bears and Voyagers working together. Teamwork! How nice. He thinks to himself. He’s going crazy. His sound of distress worked them up more than they already were. Some of them were actually getting pretty violent in their attempts to get to him. Another rush of slick pours out of him, and he hears a new chorus of growls and curses, punches flying. It feels like a rush of drugs shot straight into his bloodstream. His nose catches on a scent that’s mildly familiar to him. It’s not the best–nothing like Ilya’s–but it’s comforting.
He looks for the source, and is surprised to see JJ snarling under a pile of bodies clad in both teams’ uniforms. Why is everyone fighting again? Why is JJ being held down? He’s nice. Their gazes meet, and Shane is surprised to see the quick flashes of red in his eyes. He’s not sure what that’s all about, but he’s happy to see his friend. He tries to smile, flashing his teeth so JJ knows it’s one of his real smiles. Not the plastic ones he uses for the press. He needs to tell JJ how much he appreciates him more often.
“JJ! Hiii!” Shane slurred, drawing out the syllables. He heard Ilya curse in front of him, still trying to get him to sit up. Saying hi to JJ was apparently the wrong thing to do. The alpha’s eyes flashed completely red and his struggling against the people holding him down intensified. His head was being shoved against the ice, and his hands were held behind his back. That didn’t seem to deter his friend, though. He growled low and menacing. It makes Shane want to run away and hide.
“Why are you crying, omega?” Shane can barely make out the garbled question around JJ’s growled French. It looks like he’s drooling, except the fluid pouring from his mouth and pooling on the ice shines almost silvery when it catches in the light. For a moment, he didn’t realize JJ was addressing him. He’d only ever called Shane by his name. He’d never been called an omega before.
“What?” He’d been crying? He sniffs, and remembers why he was struggling against Ilya in the first place. Jesus Christ, he’s all over the place. But how could anyone expect anything else from him? His skin is on fire, he’s experiencing cramps in places he’s never felt them before, and he’s so empty.
“I’m too hot. It hurts. And Ilya doesn’t want me. I need–” He doesn’t even know what he needs. He felt his lip wobbling and his face heated at the very public display of weakness in front of a bunch of alphas that were not comforting him, which made his face prickle with tears even more. More curses and growls filled the arena.
“Fucking do somethin Rozanov! We can’t hold ‘em forever! Make him, like, not upset for the love of god.” One of the bodies holding down JJ yelled. One of Boston’s mated alphas. He seemed to be a lot more lucid than everybody else. That was probably a good thing. Shane can’t remember why, though.
“Shit.” Ilya cursed. He’d been lightly tugging on Shane’s arms to get him to sit back upright, but Shane was being stubborn and going limp to let his body weight drag against Ilya’s efforts. Shane guesses he finally gave up on being gentle, which he’ll admit sends a thrill through his body.
Especially when Ilya’s calloused hand wraps around his throat and forces him back up to face him. He can’t help his eyes rolling back and the low moan as he’s forced upright, catching a glimpse of JJ and the other alphas losing their shit when they hear him. But he doesn’t actually want them. He meets Ilya’s eyes from under wet lashes and sees the same flickers of red flashing across his iris’, just like JJ. It looked pretty. But Ilya’s face looked panicked. Shane didn’t like that.
He leaned forward, trying to get closer to Ilya to comfort him. He doesn’t really know how he plans to do so. Something–some kind of instinct–is telling him to rub against Ilya’s neck. His scent glands. Yes! That should work. He’ll feel better with Shane’s scent on him, for sure. He reaches his hands out towards Ilya, but the alpha captures his wrists in his strong hands to stop him. Why was Ilya being so difficult? Usually, Shane had to beat him off with a stick. He was so obsessed with fucking Shane. Why can’t he fuck him right now? Why can’t he claim him in front of all these other alphas? So they know Shane belongs to Ilya, and Ilya belongs to Shane. The thought of it had a heady static filling Shane’s brain, more slick covering his pants and a sweet tasting liquid filling his mouth.
He was such a mess right now. He felt like he should be way more grossed out by this. But all he could focus on is the pulse fluttering under Ilya’s scent glands, and eyed the other man’s neck hungrily. He wanted to take a bite out of him. Suddenly, he was being shaken.
“Shane, I know you’re still in there somewhere. You can’t let go yet. We need to get you off the ice.” Ilya’s strained voice sent more shivers down his spine. Shane liked Ilya’s voice a lot. He wanted to hear it more. He flashed another toothy grin at the man. He tried to say his name. He loved that name. Ilya. He wanted to moan his name. He opened his mouth to tell him as much, but all that came out was a breathy, desperate “Alpha.”
————-
Ilya Rozanov felt like he was going to die. Or maybe he already did and he was in hell. Or heaven. It’s hard to tell. Either way, it sounded more plausible than what was happening in front of him right now. He looked down at the source of his agony. The man he’d been desperately trying to deny his feelings for, but was unable to stay away from.
Shane Hollander just presented as an omega and was going into fucking heat. Right in the middle of a game. On center ice. He should care a lot more about the absolute clusterfuck this is causing around them, but how could he when Shane was sprawled in front of him like a god damn dessert, looking like trouble incarnate? He was looking up at Ilya through his lashes with glassy eyes and a dreamy smile on his face. His lower half was absolutely soaked in slick. His freckled cheeks were dusted with an adorable blush that spread down under his collar, but Ilya forced himself to keep his eyes on Shane’s. He was very close to losing control and just rutting him right here on the ice. And he nearly did when Shane’s smile sharpened and he flashed his tiny fangs. Even worse, the telltale silvery sheen of mating venom dripped from his mouth and down his chin. Then he had the audacity to moan out a soft, pleading “Alpha.”
Oh, he’s definitely going to die. Can people die from painfully intense erections? Probably. He gently squeezes the scent glands on Shane’s wrists to get his focused attention. It works a little too well, and the omega pants as his eyes bore into Ilya’s. Unfortunately, it makes more of his scent leak out and the other alphas notice, too, their aggression and snarling just getting worse, if that’s even possible. It’s getting bloody out there. Shane’s dumb friend Hayden and the medical team are trying to get through to reach them, but are having an understandably hard time. It looks like everyone else in the arena is being evacuated to try and contain the damage.
Shane’s scent is potent. Ilya wouldn’t be surprised if it reached some of the audience down by the ice. He has no idea how he hasn’t completely surrendered to a rut yet, considering the unmated alphas only ten feet further away were completely lost. Although, his concern for Shane’s safety was pretty overpowering at the moment. So, he clung to that and tried to focus on getting the man he was in love with out of here.
“Come on Hollander, I need you to stand up.” He tries. He expects Shane to obey immediately. If there’s one thing he’s learned about Shane over the years, it’s that he loves to do what Ilya tells him to. Except that’s not at all what happens. Shane’s brow furrows and his lips form a pout. In any other circumstance, Ilya would take a photo and celebrate, because Shane fucking Hollander was pouting at him. Then he bares his teeth at Ilya again. Shane needed to be careful showing off his teeth like that. If he did it to anyone with less control than Ilya, he’d either end up in a fight or fucked. It was already taking everything Ilya had not to throw caution to the wind and bend Shane over right now, fuck everyone else.
“Fuck you. Ice feels good. So hot.” Shane whined, wiggling out of Ilya’s loosened grip and haphazardly shoving his skates off with impressive speed. Ilya felt completely out of his depth. Despite his reputation, he’d never actually been with an omega during their heat. He’d certainly been offered, but he always said no. That felt way too intimate. He took a step back to try and reel himself in. He’d be no help to Shane if he enters a rut right now.
A shout rose above the chaos, clear and steady. “Rozanov! If he’s being stubborn try to coax him with things he wants. Mention nesting or something. Sometimes they get that way. Being with someone familiar should help. Hayden’s on his way. We need him off the ice ASAP!” He looks over to the Voyager’s lead medic. Sure enough, Hayden is slowly making his way over to them, careful to avoid the scuffling alphas. It seemed like the betas and mated alphas had managed to wrangle most of the rutting alphas, but it seems very touch-and-go.
Thank god for mated alphas. Their ruts only reacted to their mates. But Shane’s pheromones were strong, and a distressed omega is a distressed omega, whether you’re a mated alpha or not. Ilya could see the clenched jaws and tensed shoulders of the alphas trying to keep themselves and everyone else in check. The smell of Shane’s displeasure was grating on their nerves. All of their instincts were yelling to go to Shane and make everything better, no matter what that looked like.
Ilya hears himself growl at Hayden’s approaching form. If Shane needs anyone familiar, it’s him, not the annoying best friend. He focuses back on the medic’s advice. Sometimes they get that way. He’d read somewhere about the different ways omegas can react to their heats. Sometimes they’re immediately pliant and begging, sometimes it’s more painful than anything else, and for some, they get… intense. Territorial. A little reckless and violent. Of course his normally neurotic, uptight, boring, goody two-shoes, sinfully submissive Shane would be difficult in heat. He looks back down to Shane, thinking of ways to lure him off the ice willingly. What the fuck kind of nesting shit would he coax him with? He knows fuck all about omega nesting. Maybe he can bribe him with soft blankets?
It seems Shane had a reaction to Ilya’s possessive growling. Gone is his petulant pout or bared teeth. Instead, he’s letting out a throaty moan, his expression darkening with desire and heavy-lidded. He somehow managed to get his jersey and shoulder pads off, only his compression shirt left sticking to his sweat drenched torso. He’s back on his hands and knees, which can’t feel comfortable on the cold ice, crawling towards Ilya. His back is arched and languid. Slick is dripping from his soaked pants.
“Want you.” He hisses out. Ilya swallows thickly, biting the side of his cheek so hard he draws blood. It’s fine. He can get Shane off the ice without going into a rut. At least now he knows how to lure him. He slowly skates backwards towards the exit, making sure he’s still close enough to protect him in case anyone tries something stupid.
“I want you too, sweetheart. But you have to be good for me first. Can you do that for me? Come here.” He tries his best to sound reassuring, but it mostly comes out rough and jagged. It works though, and Shane continues to crawl towards him, his brown eyes wide bottomless pits, following Ilya’s every move.
“Good boy. Keep coming.” He murmurs, absolutely mesmerized by the picture Shane is making for him. The omega shivers at Ilya’s praise and licks his lips, his eyes darting down towards Ilya’s painfully obvious erection.
“Damn, Hollander. Who knew you were such a freak.” One of the nearby Voyagers alphas being held down by two of Boston’s alphas flashes his fangs at Shane before he gets smacked upside the head and told to shut up. Shane heard him, though, and let out a distressed whine, his scent souring ever so slightly. Another wave of growls rise, even from the mated alphas, at the change in scent. Absolutely not. Ilya thinks, driven by an instinctual need to make his omega feel better.
He needs that sweet scent filling his lungs again. He fixes the offending alpha with a territorial growl and stares him down until he finally yields, looking away with a grumble and showing his neck in submission. Ilya feels a moment of immense satisfaction at his victorious show of dominance. It’s all incredibly juvenile.
He may have gone overboard, though. Shane’s scent immediately sweetens again, but this time to such a degree it smells syrupy and thickens the air. Shane is looking at Ilya with so much adoration it feels like a physical blow. Everyone is back to fighting with renewed energy as the wave of fresh pheromones sends them into another frenzy, and Ilya sees the edges of his vision flickering red. He’ll never make it at this point. He feels someone come up behind him and it takes everything in him not to immediately start fighting him. Only because he knows Shane would be mad at him for it.
“Oh god, what a mess. Don’t worry Shaney, we'll get you outta here and somewhere safe.” Hayden takes a wide berth around Ilya, eyeing him warily. He crouches down next to Shane, arms held out to help him up. Ilya doesn’t realize he’s been growling and baring his teeth at Hayden until he’s jolted out of it by Shane scrambling and crashing into him, nearly knocking them both over onto the ice. Shane is hissing at his best friend. What a fucking day.
“No! Mine.” He spits angrily at Hayden, as if the beta was trying to steal Ilya out from under him. The thought was laughable. Ilya feels another wave of satisfaction at Shane’s possessive words. This was going to be a hard one to explain away once all is said and done. Hayden puts his hands up and backs away, shaking his head.
“This shit is so weird. Fucking alpha omega bullshit.” There’s no real venom in the beta’s voice. He mostly sounds concerned. Ilya can’t blame him. “Well, at least you can carry him off now,” He gestures at Shane, whose arms were wrapped tightly around Ilya’s neck and was still hissing. “Since he seems pretty set on climbing you like a tree.” Hayden cringed at his own words. “Ew.” Ilya just rolled his eyes, past the point of being able to use words, and followed the beta towards the medics waiting off the ice. Thankfully, their path was mostly clear by that point.
Shane clung onto Ilya’s neck, his legs wrapped around his hips as best as he could manage with half his gear still on and grinding their erections together, desperate for some kind of relief. It’s a miracle Ilya managed to stay upright. Hayden pointedly avoided looking over at them, and Ilya couldn’t help feeling a little grateful for that. At least for Shane’s sake. He growled at every alpha they passed that wasn’t as respectful, making sure they looked away.
Shane buried his face in the crook of Ilya’s neck, breathing in his scent like it’s life support. Ilya’s heart constricts, and he can’t help placing a gentle kiss on Shane’s temple. He should probably stop the omega from scenting him, so they don’t end up smelling like each other for days on end, but he can’t find it in himself to care about consequences right now.
He felt Shane growl against the useless scent patch still stuck on the side of his neck. Shane peeled it off with his teeth, spitting it out on the ice like it was something offensive. Then he was licking a stripe up his neck, over his scent gland. Ilya almost gave in right there, but they were so close to the exit, and maybe he wanted to be a little selfish and enjoy the omega’s single-minded attention for a little longer.
They managed to get off the ice and were met with the medics rushing them down the tunnel, speaking so quickly that Ilya could barely register what they were saying. He vaguely recognized his and Shane’s coaches in the throng making panicked phone calls. To whom, he had no idea, but Ilya decided he didn't care. Now that they were mostly away from the other alpha’s prying eyes, Ilya could focus only on the man in his arms. A man that was being tugged away while clinging so hard to him that he might have been drawing blood, even through his uniform.
“Shit! Such a late presentation, and his heat is setting in way too fast. He’s way too far gone. We need to get him sedated and checked in at a heat center so we can monitor his levels.” Ilya distantly heard the lead medic say. Everything was becoming fuzzier, all he could understand was the distressed sounds coming from Shane. He realized he was snarling at the medics and Hayden that were trying to pull Shane off of him. His grip tightened and his fangs were flashing.
“Sedate him? But his heat is already so far advanced. Won’t that make the side effects worse?” A different voice piped up, sounding anxious and uncertain.
“Do you have a better fucking idea right now? He’s about to send Roz into a fucking rut!”
Ilya wasn’t sure Shane comprehended what they were saying. Hell, he barely comprehended it. English felt way too complicated and stupid at the moment. All he knew was that it sounded bad and he didn’t like how sour Shane’s scent had gotten again. He was about to start snapping his jaw at the next pair of hands that tried to grab for his Shane, but the omega beat him to it. Sort of.
He heard a menacingly growled “Mine.” before he was suddenly flooded with such an intense mix of pain and euphoria that he almost came right then and there. It was all stemming from his throat, where his mating gland was getting thoroughly bit through and claimed by Shane. He could feel the mating venom cooling his blood as it entered through his neck, then his entire body was set on fire. His mouth flooded with venom and he growled loudly. Or yelled. He couldn’t keep track. He couldn’t focus on anything but the man that was claiming him very publicly. Now he really saw red.
He’s not sure if he blacked out or just blinked, but the next moment his eyes were open, he had Shane pinned to the wall, growling into the omega’s neck where he was biting down hard enough on his mating gland to draw blood. His venom floods into Shane’s mating gland, and there’s so much that it overflows and drips down his neck. Ilya’s hands were shaking with how good it felt. He couldn’t help grinding Shane into the wall as he bit and licked his new mating bite. Shane shuddered and jerked, fingers clawing at Ilya’s back and pulling at his hair. He’s pretty sure Shane just came, but it was hard to tell with how wet everything was down there.
Something at the back of his mind was desperately trying to get his attention. This isn’t how it was supposed to happen. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, it flits away, lost to the rut taking over.
Shane moaned loudly, and then both of them were crushing their mouths together in a wild, searing kiss, teeth clashing and tasting like iron. When Ilya pulled away for air, Shane’s mouth and chin were stained red and silver. It was possibly the hottest thing he’d ever seen. They started desperately pawing at what was left of their uniforms, ignoring the panicked shouting and cursing around them. He was going to fuck his omega. Right now. Fuck everyone else. Nothing else could possibly matter more.
All that Ilya could focus on was the bond that snapped into place between them. He was immediately overcome with a deep aching want that he realized was Shane. He was feeling Shane through the bond. His mate was hungry and needy. His mate needed him. His mate needed to be fucked onto his knot until he was stuffed full of his cum and bred. There wasn’t any drug that could come close to this feeling. Devotion. Love. Lust. My mate. Mine. How could he possibly deny Shane anything?
Hands tried to grab at them and pull them away from each other, but both of them snapped and growled at the intruders, easily shaking them off. They were both professional athletes, and had the strength to back that up on a normal day. But during a claiming? While in heat and a rut? No one was going to be able to pull them apart.
He didn’t account for modern medicine, though. The last thing he hears before losing consciousness is Shane moaning his name and the medics yelling something about more sedatives.