Chapter Text
Rivalry was easy.
It gave Shane somewhere to put the heat under his skin, the constant edge of irritation that flared every time Ilya Rozanov looked at him like he already knew how Shane would move before he did it. Rivalry makes sense. It’s sharp and loud and simple.
What doesn’t make sense is the way Shane’s omega instincts have been going quiet lately— turning inward, focused on something warm and fragile he can’t quite name.
Or the way Ilya’s presence feels less like an intrusion and more like gravity.
It starts the night they’re both too tired to keep pretending they don’t orbit each other.
They argue, of course. Voices low, too close, words sharper than necessary. Ilya’s scent curls into Shane’s space without permission, rich and grounding, and Shane snaps back out of habit more than anger.
“You’re overthinking again,” Ilya says, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Didn’t think you’d be the one panicking about… what, exactly?”
Shane glares. “You think you get to say that? You’re the one smiling like you know all my moves.”
“Because I do,” Ilya says, calm. “And you like that.”
Shane growls, the words sharper than he intends, but the heat under his skin feels alive, real. Something shifts.
The bond doesn’t slam into place. It settles.
Neither of them talks about it then. There are things that happen between them—charged silences, hands brushing and lingering, doors closing behind them that don’t open again for a long time. What matters is that when Shane leaves, his instincts are humming, satisfied in a way that scares him.
The symptoms come later.
Subtle at first. Fatigue that doesn’t lift. Sensitivity that has him snapping at teammates and then immediately regretting it. His scent changes despite everything, turning sweet and protective.
Shane knows what it means before he’s ready to admit it.
The test confirms it anyway.
He sits there longer than necessary, staring at it, heart racing. Hockey is the one constant he’s never doubted. His body is his career— his speed, his control, his edge. The thought of losing any of that tightens something panicked in his chest.
There is no version of this where he doesn’t tell Ilya. His omega won’t allow it.
Ilya answers the door.
“You are carrying,” he says quietly, the moment Shane steps inside.
Shane lets out a brittle laugh. “You could at least pretend to be surprised.”
Ilya doesn’t smile. He studies Shane’s face, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands tremble.
“You are afraid,” Ilya says.
“Yeah,” Shane snaps, then exhales. “Yeah. I am. I can’t… this can’t end my career. I’m the captain… I can’t be benched. I can’t be treated like I’m fragile.”
“Come here,” Ilya says—not a command. An offer.
Shane hesitates. Then closes the distance.
Ilya’s hands are warm and steady at his back and hip, grounding him. His scent floods the room, calm and solid, wrapping around Shane’s spiraling instincts until his breath evens out.
“You are still you,” Ilya says quietly. “You are still Shane Hollander. This does not take hockey from you.”
Shane swallows. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Ilya says. “Because I will not let you carry this alone.”
“Our pup,” he adds softly, reverent.
Shane presses his forehead to Ilya’s chest, jaw tight. “You’re not allowed to be this calm.”
“I am calm because this is right,” Ilya says. “And because you are mine.”
Ilya holds him anyway.
Eventually, he guides Shane toward the bedroom, movements unhurried and careful.
The door closes.
There’s something about this moment, the soft and intimate make out turns passionate immediately. Shane hopes like hell that Ilya is leaving a hickey on his chest right now. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt like this before. An urgency rumbles under his skin, growing thicker and thicker with each moan Ilya pulls from his lips and swallows back up as he reclaims his mouth in a possessive kiss.
Shane wants and NEEDS Ilya all over his body. He digs his nails deep into Ilya’s back, he unapologetically drags the droplets of blood down Ilya’s spine until he reaches the globes of his ass forcing his dick harder against him. The growl that Ilya lets out shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Shane starts thrusting his hips up until he realizes with a start that he is going to come.
Ilya’s urges are strong, he wants Shane more than he ever has before. “I’m taking you to the shower” Ilya whispers in Shane's ear as he drags his hands below Shane's ass and walks them to the shower.
Ilya turns the shower on, water immediately raining down on them, Ilya’s hands settle at Shane's hips, holding him firmly in place. Shane doesn’t even bother trying to steady his breathing, Ilya’s dark eyes never leaving him as he drops to his knees on the porcelain floor.
Ilya lightly kisses Shane's dick while reaching back to grab his ass. As his hole is exposed to the air, Shane's mouth becomes dry, twitching and clenching around nothing. “Mine,” Ilya says softly. “Yours,” Shane gasps as Ilya quickly takes him into his mouth.
Things escalated quickly as you could imagine…
“I love you Shane,” Ilya says softly as he plants a small kiss on Shane's forehead. “I love you too Ilya,” Shane looks up to connect their lips for one last kiss before they drift to sleep.
In the morning, Shane wakes wrapped in warmth.
Ilya is still there, one hand resting gently over Shane’s stomach.
Shane doesn’t pull away.
For now, that’s enough.