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Photoshoots normally didn’t faze Shane.

He had done enough of them over the years that he was an old hand at it by now, the whole process practically second nature to him. But this photoshoot was a little outside the norm. For starters, this was the first time since they were rookies that he had posed in front of a camera next to Ilya. And second, he was used to product placement, shilling for his sponsors, but this wasn’t about selling a product. This was about selling them, him and Ilya, to the fans.

It seemed like a tall order to Shane. A spread in a magazine, their photos plastered all over social media—that wasn’t going to prove they belonged in the league. Playing hockey, showing everyone who doubted them how much better they were together, was the only thing that would prove that.

This whole thing—standing barefoot in the driveway of some random house in Ottawa, surrounded by these strangers trying to make his relationship with Ilya palatable, as the Commissioner had said, the sneer evident in his tone even over the phone—was ridiculous.

“Is…all this…really necessary?” he asked, not for the first time, waving a hand at himself to indicate his damp clothes, the fabric of his white t-shirt and the denim of his artfully ripped jeans clinging to his skin uncomfortably. Despite spending the past twenty or so minutes being constantly misted with water, he felt too hot, the wet fabric against his skin only making the feeling worse. More oppressive.

Behind the camera, Harris looked up from his phone.

“Sex sells,” he said with a shrug. Shane made a face, and he must have tensed up without realizing it, because suddenly there were fingers gripping his hips and lips brushing the back of his neck.

“Calm down, lyubimyy,” Ilya said. He pressed a kiss beneath Shane’s ear, just a few millimeters from his scent gland. “Is okay.”

The low timbre of his mate’s voice was enough to make Shane relax almost instantly, the tension draining from his shoulders. He didn’t know why he felt so…irritated. Anxious. He had done this a hundred times before.

He leaned back against Ilya, placing his hand over the alpha’s where it came to rest on his bare stomach. The shirt they had him in was cropped short—though not as short as Ilya’s—and Ilya had been slowly raising it higher the entire time he’d been standing behind Shane, trying to be sneaky.

“That’s perfect, Shane,” said the photographer. “Could you lean against him a bit more, and jut your hips out a bit—yes, just like that.”

Shane sighed, letting Ilya help him keep his balance as he did what the photographer wanted, reaching up to wrap his arm around Ilya’s neck, his fingers finding purchase in his mate’s golden curls. It was a self-soothing gesture on his part; he loved running his fingers through Ilya’s hair, his scalp warm beneath Shane’s fingertips.

“I just don’t understand—” he started, trying to speak between clicks of the camera “—why we’re trying to sell s-sex…in the first place.”

He threw a glare over his shoulder at Ilya, who had started nuzzling his neck while he spoke.

Harris sighed, glancing up at the sky as though silently asking for strength. “You and Ilya are the first mated pair ever to play in the league,” he said. “Your story is generating a lot of interest from the public, not just hockey fans. We have an opportunity here, not only to draw in new fans, but to change the stigma surrounding omegas playing in major league sports, period. It would be a shame to waste it.”

His reasoning made sense. Shane hated that it made sense.

Behind him, Ilya hummed, pressing another kiss to Shane’s neck. He seemed to not be paying attention to anything other than Shane. “You smell good.”

“I’m wearing a scent patch,” Shane argued, huffing as Ilya buried his face in the crook of Shane’s neck and inhaled.

“Can still smell you,” he said, his grip on Shane’s hips tightening, pulling Shane’s ass back against his crotch. Through the wet denim, Shane could feel that he was half-hard.

“Uh, perhaps a bit less from you, Ilya,” the photographer said, blushing behind the camera.

“Ilya,” Shane warned, as Ilya’s fingers began tracing a path along his lower abdomen, hand resting just above the button of his low-hanging jeans.

“Sorry.” Ilya pulled back, putting a bit of distance between himself and Shane, though he didn’t let go of his mate, keeping his hold on Shane’s hips. “Sorry, everyone,” he said a bit louder, addressing the crowd around them. “Is hard to concentrate when my mate is so gorgeous.”

His tone turned teasing, and Shane let out a yelp as Ilya pinched him.

“I’m sorry about them,” Shane heard Harris say to the photographer.

“It’s alright,” she said with a laugh. “I know how newly bonded mates can be.” Then, addressing Shane and Ilya, she added: “Just a few more minutes, and then you guys can get out of those damp clothes, I promise.”

“Okay,” Ilya said. Shane nodded, and got back into position, leaning back against Ilya in the pose the photographer had liked before.

He tried to smile at the camera, but he knew he wasn’t quite succeeding, too distracted by Ilya’s hands. Ilya usually couldn’t keep his hands to himself where Shane was concerned, and this was no different; he was running his fingers all along Shane’s torso, grabbing him beneath his pec and pressing them into the soft skin of his stomach, and it was doing funny things to Shane’s insides.

“Stop,” he mumbled after a moment, batting Ilya’s hand away.

Behind him, Ilya froze immediately. “Shane, are you alright?” he asked, his tone serious, all trace of playful teasing gone.

“Yeah, I—” Shane’s mouth snapped shut, his eyes closing as the entire world tilted on its axis around him. He wavered on his feet, and only Ilya’s tightening grip on his hips kept him upright.

“Shane.” Ilya’s tone grew even more concerned. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing. I just—”

Shane slapped a hand over his mouth as a wave of nausea suddenly swept over him. His mouth watered; he was going to be sick. Right now.

He turned and ran into the house, heading straight for the bathroom. He barely made it inside, sinking to his knees on the cool tile floor right as he gagged and then emptied his stomach into the toilet bowl.

He didn’t hear Ilya approach over the sound of his own retching, but he caught the familiar, comforting scent of his mate a split-second before fingers found their way beneath the collar of his shirt, rubbing his back soothingly.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Ilya murmured, smoothing the hair back from Shane’s forehead with his other hand. “Why did you not tell me you were sick?”

“I’m not, I—” Shane felt his mouth water again, and he spat into the toilet, his eyes closing as he fought against the urge to vomit again. “It just…hit me, suddenly.”

Ilya continued stroking Shane’s back, his grip firm as he moved up to squeeze the base of Shane’s neck. Even with his scent patch on, Shane could still smell him: that woodsy smoke-and-rain scent that reminded him of days spent lounging outdoors by the water, or by a crackling bonfire. Slow, peaceful moments he had come to associate with Ilya. With home.

“Thanks,” he muttered after a moment, once he realized that Ilya had been manipulating their bond to soothe him.

Ilya hummed, smoothing a hand over Shane’s hair again. “Shoot is over now, yes?” he said. His voice was quiet, but his tone left no room for argument. “Let’s get you home.”

Shane nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he reached up to flush the toilet. Ilya helped him to his feet, running his hand over Shane’s forehead, feeling his temperature. Shane batted his hand away, ignoring the alpha fretting over him as he ducked his head beneath the faucet and washed the taste of vomit out of his mouth.

Normally Shane wasn’t a fan of letting his alpha do everything for him—probably because he had spent so long pretending to be an alpha himself that he had come to value being independent in a way most omegas usually didn’t—but he was more than content to let Ilya take the lead in this situation. As Ilya headed outside to apologize to the camera crew and call their agent to reschedule the shoot for when Shane felt better, Shane stayed inside and changed out of his damp clothes, the dry fabric and familiar scent of his shorts and button-down calming some of the restlessness he felt.

By the time he walked back outside, Ilya had already talked to their agent and had rescheduled the shoot for the following week. Shane was feeling better, but he didn’t object when Ilya insisted on driving them home. That was how he knew Ilya was really worried about him, because he hated driving Shane’s ‘boring’ car and would usually complain loudly about having to do so, but right now, the only thing he was focused on was getting Shane home.

As Ilya navigated the streets of Ottawa—his driving slower and less erratic than usual, Shane noted gratefully—Shane closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the window, letting the cool glass soothe his overheated skin. He was still a bit nauseous, but he didn’t feel like he was going to throw up again. Mostly he just felt…off. He could feel Ilya sneaking worried glances at him, and after a moment, his large hand came to rest on Shane’s thigh, gripping gently, a silent I’m here.

After a few minutes Shane lifted his head. They were coming up on a corner store.

“Stop here,” he said, pointing as Ilya pulled over.

“Do you need me to get you something?” he asked.

“No, I can do it,” Shane insisted. Ilya fixed him with a look he knew all too well, that special brand of are you kidding that only Ilya seemed to be able to pull off.

“Shane, I do not know if I want you going into store like…” Ilya trailed off, his nostrils flaring as he breathed in. “You smell…like omega.”

Shane snorted. “I am an omega,” he pointed out, but he knew what Ilya meant. The scent patch he had slapped onto his neck earlier didn’t seem to be working, or maybe his scent gland was just working overtime, because he could smell himself, only—his scent was different than usual. Sweeter, maybe.

He turned to Ilya, pleading with his eyes. “Please, Ilya,” he said. “I’ll only be a minute.”

For a moment, Ilya didn’t speak. Shane could see his warring emotions playing out on his face, his instinct to protect his omega, his mate, and his desire not to encroach on Shane’s independence, something he had promised him he would not do.

“Fine,” he finally said, though he seemed unhappy about it. “If you are not back in five minutes, I come in after you.”

“Deal,” Shane said, and hopped out of the car before Ilya could change his mind.

Inside the store, he went straight to the drink cooler and found himself some ginger ale. They had some at home, of course, but he wanted something to sip on for the rest of the drive. Maybe that would help settle his stomach. He also got a pack of highly processed chocolate chip cookies for Ilya.

Then, looking around to make sure no one was watching, he ventured towards the back of the store, away from the snacks and towards the toiletries.

He stopped at the aisle labeled ‘omega hygiene,’ eyes glazing over as he studied all the products offered, until they landed on what he was looking for:

Pregnancy tests.

This is stupid, he thought, staring at the different tests on the shelf. There was no way he was…pregnant. He and Ilya were careful. They’d been careful, for years. Except…they hadn’t been careful the night they’d had their mating ceremony, he remembered. Because they had been drunk, and in love, and so fucking happy to not have to hide that fact anymore. Because they had spent years hiding in the shadows, scrubbing their scents off each other’s skin after every hookup. Because it had taken years before they felt safe enough for Ilya to even knot Shane, even though they had both wanted it, because it only made their risk of discovery that much greater.

The moment all that weight had been lifted from their shoulders, though, they had thrown caution to the wind. Just because they could.

And now…Shane might be pregnant.

Looking around again to make sure he was still alone, Shane reached into his pocket with trembling fingers and pulled out his phone, scrolling through his message threads until he found the name he wanted.

Shane: hey Jackie, do you have a minute?

The reply was almost instantaneous.

Jackie: For you? Always. What’s up?

Despite the dread currently clawing its way up his throat, Shane smiled.

Shane: I need to ask you something, but you can’t tell Hayden.

Not yet, anyway.

Jackie: Sound serious. Are you okay?

Shane: I’m fine. Please, Jackie.

Jackie: Okay, I won’t tell him. What do you need?

Shane took a deep breath. He had no doubt that Jackie would keep her word and not tell Hayden until he was ready, but he still had to work up the nerve to actually ask for her help.

Shane: So. You’ve had four kids, right?

Jackie: Shane…you are the godfather to all my children.

Shane: Yeah, I know. I just…

Shane: How do you know

Shane: I mean

Shane: Fuck

Shane: I’ve never bought a pregnancy test before

For a moment, there was no response. Shane could see the bubbles appear and disappear as Jackie started typing, stopped, and then started again. He could feel himself getting nauseous again as he waited.

Jackie: Oh

Jackie: Oh my god

Jackie: SHANE

Jackie: Does Ilya know?

Jackie: Oh my god!!

Shane cringed.

Shane: No!! No one knows. I don’t even know.

I just…need to be sure.

He waited for Jackie’s reply, aware that he was running out of time. Ilya might walk into the store any minute, and Shane absolutely could not let Ilya see him standing in front of the pregnancy tests. He didn’t want to get Ilya’s hopes up, only for him to be crushed if the test came back negative.

No, better to take the test in secret, he thought. That way, if it was negative, no one would be disappointed but him.

Jackie: Okay, so this is my favorite brand—

She sent along a picture of a white and green box, the words fast results and 99% accurate catching Shane’s eye. He scoured the shelf until he found a similar box by the same brand, this one boasting that the tests inside were specifically designed for use by male omegas. With another quick glance around, he added the box to his basket along with his ginger ale and Ilya’s cookies.

Shane: Thanks, Jackie. I really appreciate this.

Jackie: Of course! We love you, Shane.

I hope you get whatever news is best for you.

She signed off with a heart emoji, and Shane’s own heart swelled just a bit. No matter what, he knew he and Ilya were surrounded by good people, people who loved them. His parents, Hayden and Jackie, the Centaurs. No matter what the test said, they would be alright.

He kept his eyes downcast as he paid for his items, too afraid of the cashier potentially recognizing him to make eye contact with her, and as soon as he had paid—telling her to keep the change—he was outside, heading straight for the car where it remained parked at the curb.

“I thought I was going to have to send in search party,” Ilya said as soon as Shane slid into the passenger seat and shut the door.

Wordlessly, Shane handed him the package of cookies.

“Okay, you are forgiven,” Ilya said, the turn signal clicking as he eased them back out into traffic.

Shane opened his ginger ale and took a sip, letting the familiar taste soothe his anxious stomach. If Ilya noticed that there was something else in the bag, he didn’t say anything. Shane kept the box of pregnancy tests between his feet, both anxious and ready to get home, to see the results and know for sure whether this nervous fluttering, this itchy, crawling-out-of-his-skin feeling was just him coming down with something…

…or if everything was about to change.

At home, Ilya was all over Shane, checking his temperature, trying to get him into bed so he could dope him with medication and make him sleep. Shane had to peel himself away from the concerned alpha, laughing a bit at how clingy Ilya was being, as though he was the sick one.

“Can I go to the bathroom first?” he asked, still clutching the plastic bag from the store in his hand as Ilya herded him toward the bedroom.

“Yes, bathroom first,” Ilya said, already going to turn down the covers on their bed. “Then medicine, and rest.”

Shane nodded, and disappeared into the ensuite, shutting the door behind him.

Finally, he was alone. Just him, and his thoughts.

Shane glanced at himself in the mirror. His skin did look a little pale, a little clammy. His eyes looked tired. Maybe it was just a cold after all, he reasoned. Still, he turned to the side, lifting his shirt to look at his stomach. Flat for now, but he tried to imagine it swelling as something that he and Ilya had made together grew inside him. He pressed his fingers to his skin and pressed in gently, as though he could feel something there. But all he felt was muscle, trained and conditioned. Definition he would lose if he was pregnant.

The thought scared him a little. What if he did have a baby, and his body never bounced back? He was a professional athlete. He would have to sit out the season if he was pregnant, and then what if he never came back? What if he ended up being benched permanently? Forced to retire? Would he be okay sitting on the sidelines while Ilya continued to play, or would he come to resent his mate for having a career while he played stay-at-home omega?

No, he thought, shaking his head. That wouldn’t happen. He was in the prime of his career. Even if he was pregnant, even if he had to take a year off from playing, he could come back. Other players sat out seasons with concussions, injuries. What made him any different?

With a newfound sense of determination and a bravery he didn’t quite feel, Shane opened the box and pulled out one of the tests. The instructions were simple enough: pee on the strip, wait ten minutes. One line for no, two lines for yes. Simple.

Terrifying.

Shane went through the motions almost on autopilot, and then set the timer on his phone. Ten minutes until he knew for sure.

He’d been so wrapped up in his own head that he had forgotten about Ilya waiting for him in the bedroom until he heard a knock on the door, and Ilya’s voice, full of concern.

“Shane? Are you okay? I am coming in.”

Belatedly, Shane realized that he hadn’t locked the door, because why would he? He had no reason to, usually, but right now the thought of Ilya walking in and seeing what he was up to sent a spike of panic through him, because—what if Ilya didn’t want kids? They hadn’t ever talked about it, really, beyond some vague conversations about the future. But this was now. What if Ilya got mad? What if he blamed Shane?

Could Shane raise a child with someone who resented him for getting pregnant and ruining their lives?

He didn’t hear the door open, didn’t notice Ilya come into the room, because he was too busy hyperventilating, his vision going black at the edges, his breath coming in short, painful bursts.

“Shane? Shane!”

Suddenly Ilya was there, his hands cupping Shane’s face, his comforting, familiar scent filling the room. He curled his fingers around the back of Shane’s neck and squeezed, the tension melting out of Shane almost immediately. He gripped onto Ilya’s arms, fingers digging in so hard he would probably leave bruises.

“What is it, lyubimyy?” Ilya whispered. He stroked Shane’s arms, his chest, felt Shane’s frantic heartbeat beneath his fingertips. “What has got you so—?”

He looked around the bathroom, and Shane could see the exact moment that Ilya saw the box, the test lying on the counter, and put two and two together.

Ilya froze. His hands were still on Shane.

“Shane,” he said, his voice strangled. Quiet. “You are…?”

“I don’t know,” Shane said. “The timer hasn’t gone off yet.”

He could look at the test now, if he wanted; logically he knew that, but he needed these last few minutes of normalcy. Ilya seemed to understand that, nodding as he continued to stroke his hands along Shane’s arms soothingly.

“Okay,” he said. “We wait, then.”

We. That single word did more to calm Shane than anything else. He and Ilya were a team. They were partners. Mates. They had weathered far worse than this together.

“Can you…” Shane swallowed the fear and anxiety that still bubbled beneath the surface. “Can you hold me until then?”

Ilya’s expression softened into something so tender it made Shane ache.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he said, pulling Shane to him.

And that was how they ended up on the bathroom floor, Ilya with his back against the sink and a lapful of Shane. Shane wrapped his arms around Ilya’s neck and rested his cheek against the top of his head, his fingers combing absently through Ilya’s curls, while Ilya’s arms were strong and solid around Shane’s middle, keeping him grounded, his hand rubbing comforting circles on Shane’s lower back.

After what seemed like the longest ten minutes of Shane’s life, his phone buzzed. He reached up and turned the timer off, but he couldn’t make himself grab the test.

“I can’t look,” he told Ilya. “You do it. I can’t.”

Ilya nodded and reached for the test, holding it so that Shane could not see the result as he studied it. For a moment, he said nothing. He didn’t move. Shane’s heart was hammering in his chest. He didn’t know what he wanted Ilya to say. He thought he knew, deep down, what result he was hoping for, but he wouldn’t dare say it out loud.

“Ilya?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Ilya’s hazel eyes snapped up to meet his. They were wide and bright. He looked like he was about to cry.

“We are going to have baby,” he said.

Shane blinked. Made a noise surprise in the back of his throat. “What?”

Watching the smile that broke out over Ilya’s face was like watching the sun come up.

“We are going to have baby!” he repeated, squeezing Shane, practically dislodging him from his lap in his excitement. He hugged him tightly around the middle, lifting him up slightly so he could press kisses to his stomach through his shirt, and then lifting the fabric so he could kiss his bare skin, muttering against his stomach.

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” he said, repeating the words over and over. “Shane. Ya tebya lyublyu.”

“I love you, too,” Shane said, holding onto him just as tightly. And then, because he had to know for sure: “You’re happy, right?” he asked, pulling back just enough to see Ilya’s face. “You want this?”

Ilya’s brows furrowed. “Yes, of course,” he said, meeting Shane’s look with one of concern. He reached up and cupped Shane’s face, thumb stroking softly over the freckles on his cheek. “You want?”

Just like that, all of Shane’s doubts and fears seemed to melt away, and for the first time, he allowed himself to feel the joy he had spent the afternoon tamping down, letting it spread through him. Ilya wanted this. Ilya wanted a baby. Ilya loved him, and they were going to get through this just like they did everything else.

Together.

“So much,” he answered finally, resting his forehead against Ilya’s. “I want this so fucking much, Ilya.”

Ilya’s answering grin was blinding. He pressed kisses to Shane’s face—his lips, his cheek, the underside of his jaw—and Shane kissed him back. He tasted salt on his lips; whether they were his tears, or Ilya’s, he couldn’t tell. It didn’t really matter.

All that mattered now was their family, the tiny life growing inside Shane, and the future he could already see unfolding before them.

Once they had pulled themselves together, Shane and Ilya crawled into bed together. Ilya wouldn’t stop touching him, his hands and lips constantly on Shane, snuggling up behind him and burying his face into Shane’s neck as his fingers stroked Shane’s stomach.

“We’re going to have to figure out when we’re going to tell people,” Shane said, stroking Ilya’s arm where it was thrown over his waist. “Our friends. The team. Management. My…” His mouth went dry. “Oh, god. My parents.”

Ilya pressed a kiss beneath his ear, right on his scent gland. “Or we tell everyone at same time,” he suggested, as though it were the simplest thing in the world. “Get it over with quick.”

Frowning, Shane shifted onto his back so he could look up at Ilya. “What do you mean?”

Ilya shrugged. “Would be simple, yes?” he said. “We make one announcement. Everyone finds out at same time.”

It was a terrible idea, and yet there was a part of Shane that couldn’t help but wonder, why not? So much had been taken from them. They’d hidden their feelings for each other for so many years. They hadn’t been able to come out on their own terms. Now even their relationship was treated like a commodity by the league, something to sell, something to market. Was it really so bad to want one thing that was theirs? That they got to control?

“How?” he asked, and he regretted it immediately as Ilya’s eyes lit up with a look that Shane recognized meant he was about to cause absolute chaos.

Ilya grabbed his phone and immediately started typing. Shane eyed him warily.

“What are you doing?”

“I am texting Harris,” Ilya said without looking up. “Do not worry, lyubmiyy. I have all this under control.”

Shane doubted that very much, but he remained quiet and let Ilya work. After a few minutes, Ilya let out a triumphant sound and showed Shane his phone screen.

It took Shane a moment to realize what he was looking at. Ilya had, somehow, gotten a candid shot of them from today’s photoshoot—probably from Harris, Shane realized—when they had been wearing those ridiculous white t-shirts and practically groping each other in front of the camera. Only this shot looked…nice. Sweet, even, he conceded, studying it. Shane was leaning back against Ilya, one arm around his neck, while Ilya hugged him from behind, his hands on Shane’s stomach. He was grinning into Shane’s neck, and Shane…Shane was looking down with the softest smile on his face.

He couldn’t help but marvel. Before they’d even known about the baby, they’d looked like…that. So tender, and so very much in love.

As distracted as he was by the picture itself, he almost didn’t notice Ilya’s caption.

rozanov81: Спасибо тебе за всё, моя любовь. i cannot wait to meet our little one 🏒 🍼

Shane blinked. His eyes were suddenly wet again.

“You’re going to post this?” he asked, looking at Ilya.

“Harris said is okay,” Ilya said, but the look on his face was clear: he wouldn’t post it unless Shane said it was okay.

Luckily, it did not take Shane long to come to a decision.

“Do it,” he nodded, his eyes sparkling as he looked up at Ilya. “I want everyone to know.”

Ilya’s answering smile was soft, and tender, and for Shane alone.

He laid back, holding out his arm so Shane could snuggle against his side, and together they watched as Ilya hit ‘post,’ and the picture appeared a moment later on his Instagram feed. Almost immediately, his phone began to vibrate. He switched it to do not disturb and tossed it towards the foot of the bed, turning to curl into Shane, the two of them breathing each other in as the gravity of what they had just done settled over them, and Ilya’s phone, and then Shane’s, continued to light up with a constant stream of calls and messages.

But they would deal with all that later. This moment, right now, was for them.

For Shane, and the love of his life, and the life they had made together.