Work Text:
Ilya hadn’t been able to sleep at all last night. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was Shane’s unmoving body on the ice, all he could hear was his high pitched, distressed whine. His scent patches must have not been working very well either since the scent of distressed, hurt omega permeated the rink. Ilya felt like he’d been able to smell it the rest of the game, maybe even the rest of the night as if Shane’s burnt scent lingered on his skin.
Ilya had never said this out loud, at least not fully, but he loved Shane’s scent. Loved the smoky, woodsy sweetness, like roasting marshmallows in the woods. Something in Ilya always settled when he had Shane close and his scent content or extra sweet with pleasure. He’d always felt especially reactive to Shane’s scent changes, his inner alpha disturbed and restless the few times Shane’s scent had soured with anxiety or hurt, making him near desperate to fix whatever was causing his omega (not his omega) to be upset, railing against his ribs when he refused to fix it.
None of those times compared to Shane, still and whining in distress, a pure omegan sound that Ilya had never heard from Shane before. Shane was always so controlled on the ice, refusing to make the many distinctly omegan sounds he used when alone with Ilya, a coiled tension to it. That was the first thing that made Ilya realize that this was serious, that Shane was actually hurt, not just disoriented and taking a moment to get his bearings. Then his scent got stronger, probably a reaction to the injury, his sweetness more a burnt sugar, sticking to Ilya’s skin and scorching it. He’d frozen, his instincts demanding he protect his already injured mate (not his mate), to snarl at the ref and the paramedics, but he couldn’t. Shane wasn’t his mate, so he just stood there, unable to leave, to take his eyes off Shane because what if something happened while Ilya wasn’t looking, what if someone tried to hurt him while he was defenseless, what if his injuries somehow worsened or the paramedics messed up or or or?
The rest of the game passed in a blur. He wasn’t even sure who won. He should probably check since Shane would likely want to know. Afterwards, the night passed in restless fits of sleep, Ilya having too many nightmares of finding Shane cold and still, sometimes on the ice, sometimes in bed with pills next to him, sometimes somewhere nonsensical like the Bears’ locker room or in his car or at the gym. It was enough to leave Ilya feeling unsettled and tired and ready to find somewhere easy to defend and keep the omega safe and cozy and happy with Ilya there to growl at anyone or anything that got too close. It was ridiculous, impossible, but his inner alpha didn’t seem to care.
He woke early and got an Uber to the hospital so he would arrive as soon as visiting hours were said to start on their website. He checked in at the front desk and tried not to run the moment he was told the room number. He got to the room and glanced in through the small window.
Shane laid on the bed, arm in a sling, looking fragile in a way that made something coil and stick uncomfortably in Ilya’s chest. He opened the door and Shane opened his eyes, a sleepy, dopey smile spread across his lips.
“Ilya,” he said dreamily, like he’d been waiting all night for Ilya to show up and was finally being rewarded for his patience.
Something complicated unwound slightly in his chest at seeing Shane awake and sort of coherent.
“I, uh, I just wanted to…” he started but couldn’t quite make his mouth work, the slow release of his fear leaving him shaky. “Are you okay?”
Shane blinked at him and sighed. “Concussion and a fractured collarbone. Out for the playoffs, but…”
“But, could have been worse,” Ilya finished.
“Could have been worse,” Shane echoed, his eyes squinting a bit in the morning sun.
“Marlow feels terrible,” Ilya continued. “He did not mean to hurt you.”
That was one of the few things that he remembered after Shane had been taken off the ice. After the game had finished, Marlow had been quiet, his own alpha scent upset. Ilya, needing the distraction, had prodded him. Marlow had said just that, that he felt terrible, that he hadn’t intended to hurt Shane, that seeing Shane still on the ice and in clear distress was probably gonna keep him up for a long time. He mentioned potentially going and seeing Shane to apologize, and Ilya had said that was a good idea, that he was going as well since he was captain. Marlow had suggested that they go together, which had immediately made Ilya panic, had made the snarling thing lurking in his ribs rear its head at the thought of another alpha anywhere near his injured mate (not his mate), let alone the alpha who had injured him, but he managed suppress that knee-jerk reaction. He convinced Marlow that wasn’t a good idea, that having multiple alphas Shane didn’t know very well in his hospital room might stress him out, that going one at a time with a break in between would probably be better. Marlow had seen the logic and reluctantly agreed.
Shane hummed, pulling Ilya out of his thoughts. “That’s okay. It’s part of the game. We all get out bell rung eventually,” he said, remarkably calm for being out of the playoffs. Ilya wondered if that was partially the drugs.
Ilya hummed, unhappy that Shane got his bell rung at all. Shane stared at him for a long moment before another slow smile spread across his face.
“Hey,” he said before lifting his hand up and waving it around. “Heeeeyyyyy,” he continued to call when Ilya didn’t immediately move.
Ilya stiffened, worried that a nurse or someone in the hall would hear Shane and come investigate. He walked over, trying to quiet Shane down. When he got to Shane’s bedside, Shane looked up at him expectantly, his big doe eyes looking so hopeful. He held his hand out again, insistent. Ilya, unable to resist, always unable to resist, took his hand, clasping it between both of his.
Shane grinned even wider and said, “Yes, better.” His eyes drooped sleepily, his head tilting to the side, as he gripped Ilya’s hand, seemingly struggling to stay awake.
The stayed quiet for a few moments as whatever had unwound in his chest earlier was starting to rattle around his ribcage, leaving him unsteady. His instincts kept pulling at him, seeing his omega (not his omega) so vulnerable. He wanted to climb on the bed (carefully, he didn’t want to hurt Shane) and shield him from anyone that might walk in, that might see this loopy, sleepy version of Shane and decide to take advantage. It was a ridiculous thought. Shane was perfectly safe here, and he knew that Shane’s parents were nearby, and Yuna Hollander was not an alpha to be messed with, especially when it came to her son. That logic didn’t stop Ilya from glancing at the door, from stepping in front of Shane as much as he could to shield him from it, from suppressing the growl that had wanted to escape since yesterday.
Ilya was pulled out of his thoughts when Shane clumsily pulled Ilya’s hand up to his face and started nuzzling into his hand, his nose brushing against the scent glands there. He hummed contented as he started lightly scent marking himself. Ilya froze a bit, unsure what to do, feeling his heart beating out of his chest. It was so painfully sweet. Shane was so painfully sweet.
Shane opened his eyes and smiled again as soon as he spotted Ilya.
“Ilya,” he said softly, happily, like he couldn’t quite believe that Ilya was actually here. He hummed. “I… I love your scent. It’s so nice and it makes me feel all warm and like I’m wrapped up in a nice blanket and there’s a fire and I have a hot apple cider and you’re there and… we’re cuddling.”
Ilya was not going to survive this encounter. Shane being carefree and adorable was going to take him out and his grave was going to read, “Died as he lived, being so completely down bad for Shane Hollander.”
“Yeah,” he said with a small smile.
Shane smiled and stared up at him for a few moments before his eyes lit up and he gasped. Ilya tensed, paranoid that someone had somehow snuck into the room, but it was still just them.
“Ilya,” Shane said, his tone turning demanding, like he was offended Ilya wasn’t paying attention to him right this second.
He turned back with an indulgent smile. “Yes, Shane.”
Whatever petulant look was on his face melted away as soon as he realized that he had Ilya’s full attention again. His expression turned earnest as he gave Ilya a very serious look. “Do you like my nest?” he asked, like this was the most important question he’d ever asked.
Ilya… hadn’t been expecting that. He wasn’t even really sure where it had come from. He’d never seen Shane’s nest since he’d never been to his apartment or anything. Sometimes, if they were together for a little longer, Shane would unconsciously nest in whatever bed they were fucking in, but those were temporary and honestly, Ilya wasn’t sure Shane was even aware he was nesting.
“Your nest?” he asked, needing clarification.
Shane nodded, his hand leaving Ilya’s grasp and awkwardly reaching across his chest to pat a pillow that was helping to prop up his other arm. And as Ilya actually looked at the bed, he realized that there were a couple extra blankets that were haphazardly spread around in a vague oval around Shane. It was disorganized and could barely count as a nest, but Shane was looking up at him so earnestly, his eyes shining with pride, like he was waiting for Ilya to praise his nest.
Ilya smiled and said, “Is very good nest. Looks very cozy.”
A purr rumbled out of Shane’s chest. Ilya stilled at the sound. It was rare for him to hear Shane purr, only having heard it on the occasions when he managed to fuck all the inhibitions out of him and he was loose-limbed satisfaction. He’d never heard it in this context, as Shane expressing his sleepy contentment with his alpha (not his alpha).
“I… make really good nests,” Shane declared.
“Oh, you do?” he couldn’t help but tease slightly.
Shane nodded and said, “Mhm, I, I take it very seriously. I’m very organized and I have good materials and I know how to place them and… I make good nests. No, I make the bests nests. If there was a Stanley Cup for nest making, I’d win.”
Ilya couldn’t stop the small laugh because of course Shane Hollander was organized and had good materials and knew what to do with them and made award-worthy nests.
“Yes, you make bests nests,” he agreed.
Shane beamed at him, his purr becoming louder. After a few moments, he said with the same demanding, pouty tone as earlier, “You, you should scent something in my nest. Or me. No, both. You have to scent something in my nest and you have to scent me.”
Ilya’s heart stuttered at that. It’s not like they’d never scented each other, hard not to when they were fucking, but Shane had never really asked to be deliberately scent marked. And he sure as hell never asked for Ilya to scent something for his nest. It was such an intimate thing to be asked, more intimate than anything they’d ever done, and it made him want it so desperately, made him imagine Shane nesting with their combined scents, happy and content and purring and staring up at Ilya with those big doe eyes. It made something inside him choke up.
He cleared his throat, looking away briefly before his eyes were drawn back to Shane. “Ah, I have to, you are making me?” he said with a forced, teasing smile.
Shane didn’t pick up that it was forced, but his lips quirked up and he hummed. “No,” he said after a moment. “Not making you. But… please, alpha.”
God, if Shane ever realized how much power he had over him, Ilya was completely fucked. Shane made him want to do stupid things, like scenting blankets for his nest and holding his hand and cuddling and letting Ilya make him breakfast and begging Shane to let him stay forever.
“I… I can’t,” he said, knowing that this was the responsible thing to do.
Shane frowned and whined. “Why not? Are you made at me?” he asked, his voice wobbling dangerously, eyes shining.
Ilya jolted at the sudden distress. “No, no,” he said. “I am not mad, lyubimy.” He winced a bit at the slip, feeling too cracked open and exposed, but he couldn’t stand the thought of Shane being upset because of him.
“Are you sure?” Shane asked.
“Yes,” Ilya said, his hand coming up to softly cup Shane’s face. Shane tipped his head into his palm.
“Promise?”
“I promise,” Ilya replied, voice choked. Shane fully relaxed into the touch, his eyes closing. Ilya couldn’t stop the insane thought that maybe this was hell, being given everything he could ever ask for and knowing that he would have to tear it back down with his own two hands. He couldn’t have this. He wasn’t allowed to have this sweet omega who trusted him so blindly. He would ruin him. But, Ilya was selfish, too selfish to give this up just yet. He would indulge for a bit longer, make tearing this wonderful fantasy down all the more painful when he was forced to do it.
They stayed like that for several minutes, Ilya holding the most precious person in his life in the palm of his hand while Shane sleepily nuzzled into the touch.
“You scared me,” Ilya admitted in the quiet, unable to stop himself.
Shane blinked up at him, a small frown tugging at his lips. “I’m sorry,” he said as he pulled Ilya’s hand down so they were back to holding hands. “I didn’t text you last night.”
“No, is okay,” he reassured him, his other hand coming up to gently brush across Shane’s freckles once again. Shane hummed and leaned into the touch.
“Y’know, I was excited about last night. I’m mostly mad at Marlow for fucking that up,” he said with a small laugh.
“He feels really bad,” Ilya said again.
“Y’know, I had a whole plan to ask you something,” Shane started.
“Maybe it’s better if you just rest now,” Ilya said, panicking at the idea of the fantasy breaking before he was ready.
“I was gonna ask you—”
“Hollander.”
“— will you come to my cottage this summer? Don’t go to Russia. Come to my house. We’ll have so much fun. It’s so private. No one will know.”
“Hollander, you know we can’t do that,” Ilya said, a bit more convinced that this was, in fact, hell. There was no other explanation for why he was being offered this. Surely, the universe couldn’t be so cruel as to tease him with everything he daydreamed about, of being invited into a place that Shane considered safe and private and his. Ilya wasn’t allowed to want to invade that space. Shane shouldn’t want him in that space.
Shane just groaned a bit, like he was grumpy but undeterred by the reminder of reality. He continued, “We could have a week or even two. We’ll be completely alone. Together.”
Ilya needed to say no.
“Maybe. Maybe,” Ilya said, unable to say no to this sleepy, relaxed Shane. Unable to say no to any version of Shane.
Shane hummed again before he perked up. “Oh, you can see my nest,” he declared with a bright smile. “You’ll see how good it is. It’s the best. I made extra sure that, that it would be… really, really good. You’ll be so impressed. It’s better than any nest ever.”
Maybe Ilya had been the one who’d gotten his bell rung in yesterday’s game.
“What about your nest in your apartment? Is that not best nest, too?” he asked, unable to even touch the thought of being invited into Shane’s actual nest in what he considered a safe, private space, feeling like he’d be wrapping his hand around molten metal.
Shane frowned a bit at the question. “No, I only have one nest. Just at the cottage.”
Ilya stilled at that admission. That seemed odd. Shane clearly liked nesting, felt a need to do it, even in random hotels and here at the hospital, so why wouldn’t he have one in his own apartment?
“Why only one? Why not have lots of Stanley Cup worthy nests?” he asked.
“I used to have one here, but… but it got ruined, so now the cottage is the only place where I can nest,” Shane admitted, far too honest.
The growl that had settled and dissipated over the last few minutes came back to choke him with such intensity, he had to clear his throat to not let it out and scare Shane. What did he mean that it got ruined? It must have been bad if he didn’t feel like he could nest in his apartment. Did someone do something to it?
“Ruined it?” the words slipped out.
Shane whined, bringing Ilya’s hand up and lightly scenting himself again. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” he muttered.
He wanted to ask, the question burning his tongue, but he stopped himself. It didn’t feel right to ask when Shane’s inhibitions were clearly lowered. “Okay, we will not talk about it anymore,” he said, his other hand brushing through Shane’s hair.
Shane relaxed and they stayed like that for a few more moments. A small smile made its way onto Shane’s lips, a soft purr starting up again. Well, Ilya was probably damned anyway, so he answered Shane’s purr with a soft rumble of his own. Shane’s smile widened as he kissed Ilya’s palm.
The door behind them opened, their purring coming to an abrupt halt at the interruption. Ilya had to physically stop himself from turning around with a snarl, that alpha part of his brain screaming that there was a threat to his mate. He stopped himself, barely. He slowly pulled away, not wanting to upset Shane, wishing this fantasy could last just a second longer, but he had to be the responsible one so no suspicion would arise from this. Shane looked up at him with a pout before his attention went to the nurse walking in.
“Oh no,” he muttered, a little grumpy.
“Oh, you’re not gonna smother him with a pillow, are you, Mr. Rozanov?” the nurse joked as she looked up from the clipboard in her hands.
“No, no,” he replied with a strained smile, clearing his throat and tucking his hands into his jacket, “but, uh, good thinking. But, no, I was just leaving.”
Shane whined a bit at that, something small and distressed that made Ilya want to throw away all his caution and restraint and go back to holding Shane, to reassuring him and making sure he felt safe and comfortable in a place that was unfamiliar. Before his resolve could break, though, Shane took a deep breath and said, in a small, sad voice, “Okay, bye-bye.”
Ilya was not going to cry. It was fine. He was fine. He cleared his throat and whispered, “Goodbye.”
Shane blinked hard and looked like he was trying to focus. “See you next season,” he said with a serious gravitas that was so clearly forced.
“Get well soon, Hollander,” he replied.
“Thank you,” Shane said, some of that floatiness coming back into his voice. “I appreciate it.”
Ilya left and as the door closed, he could hear Shane greet the nurse, saying hello in a Russian accent, making his heart stutter with a rush of fondness.
Yes, he decided, Ilya had absolutely been damned to hell. Behind him, the door clicked shut.