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The rage clear on Shane’s face was also seeping out of his pores as the team clamored back into the visitors locker room in Scotiabank Arena. The usual warm cream and light orange blossom, faint sweetness of his scent was tinged with something darker, smokey and copper. And everyone was giving him a wide berth rather than be caught in the line of fire of the angry Omega.
The Guardians had lived up to their reputation as the homophobic, racist, sexist pieces of shit they always were. And it had been a challenging game, not skill-wise, of course, the game had ended in a shutout 6-0. Hayes was a brick wall against his former team and Troy played with vengeance. No, it had been a tough game of slamming into the boards while having every slur known to man hurled at them. The refs barely batted an eye. Until, of course, one of the Centaurs had broken under the onslaught of vile behavior.
“kotenok,” Ilya whispered as Shane ripped off his gear and slammed it into the stall.
“No,” he bit out.
But Ilya wasn’t deterred, took a step closer. “You cannot be angry with him for…”
“I said fucking no, Ilya. Not right now. Stop fucking managing me,” he replied storming past the rest of the players into the showers.
Shane turned the heat up as high as it would go and took a deep breath. He didn’t notice the men filing in and out around him, lost track of time counting his breaths, trying to stop the fear and anger warring inside him. When he exited to the locker room, only two were left. Ilya, turned toward his stall, slowly putting his shoes on as if stalling for time, and Luca sat at the end of the bench, fully dressed, hair still wet, bruises blooming under his eye. The younger player had his head turned downward, clearly ready to be chastised.
“You saw medical?” Shane asked curtly walking past.
“Yes,” Luca replied. Then, after the silence hung too long, added, “I will need an x-ray when we are back but it is not bad.” Shane moved towards him, boxers on, skin still damp and reddened from the shower. He reached over to lift Luca’s chin and caught his scent, soured and muted, held so tightly he had to be within an inch of the man to scent him. All the anger drained out of Shane at the sight of him.
“You should not have done that,” Shane muttered, moving around him to see the lacerations at his neck, where his jersey had been pulled tight around his throat by the Toronto player in the scrum. The angry red line was just above his scent gland, and Shane was struck with the terrifying urge to trace his fingers over the sensitive area. He dropped his hands and stepped away, quickly returning to dressing.
“I am sorry, I know—,” Luca began.
Shane cut him off, turning to Ilya. “And you egging him on! What is the matter with you?!”
Ilya shrugged nonchalantly, his eyes growing soft as they fell on Luca, who was still curling in on himself.
“No,” Luca said. “It’s not his fault. I know I shouldn’t fight.” Shane whipped his head around to stare at the younger man. He couldn’t possibly think this was about a simple fight.
“You think I’m mad about a fight?” Shane said, voice eerily low. “We’re fucking hockey players. This one,” he continued, gesturing to his husband. “Gets in a fight every other night.”
“Uh…”
“I care that I watched you ignore taunt after taunt all night. Alpha sneers that would’ve had me running from the ice at your age,” Shane explained. “They called you… I won’t repeat it. But I heard it. And you did nothing.”
“Shane,” Ilya began.
“And the one fucking time—,” Shane continued.
“It wasn’t one time.”
“Who cares. You don’t take a fucking punch for me,” Shane growled. “You don’t defend me. You don’t… fuck. You don’t put yourself in danger for me, EVER.” He bared his teeth, seething at the other man. Shane tried to quiet the howling between his ears. Keep, nest, hide, save, save, save.
“No,” Luca said, and both sets of eyes snapped to him. The briefest hint of a smile playing on Ilya’s face. “You can be mad at me for fighting, or even for defending you. I know you can defend yourself.”
“Luca,” Shane rasped in warning. Keep, nest, hide, keep, save, save, save.
“I should’ve killed him,” Luca whispered. “You would’ve killed him if you heard—,” Luca trailed off looking to Ilya for support.
Ilya shrugged. He probably would’ve killed the man for threatening Shane, yes. But he might’ve done it off the ice, quietly. Sveta knows a guy for this kind of thing, wetwork. In fact, he may still give him a call. But Ilya knows better than to try his Alpha shit where Shane might see. He probably should’ve told Luca. Omega instincts to protect pack were stronger even than his. And as many times as Shane wanted to argue it, to tell him why it was impossible and irresponsible and unprofessional, well, Luca was becoming pack.
There was only so long they could both ignore the itching beneath their skin, the allure of his scent, the way their mating bond activated when close to him. Not cub, not mate, but something. Two omegas. Ilya laughed to himself, imagining the posts and memes it would spawn. This was, in fact, the greed they talked about in the Bible.
But it was also biblical stubbornness. Two omegas. And now Ilya was watching the aftermath of an omega standoff, an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object.
“Prosto potseluytes' i pomirites',” Ilya muttered. Just kiss and make up. And he didn’t flinch when Shane’s glare locked on him. They stood there for a beat as Shane seethed. This was not the time for quick jokes. They should’ve left the locker room already. The team was waiting for them to make their way back to the hotel and surely there were going to be whispers about Shane, the sole adult in the room, lecturing the others. He had to be the adult, no matter how his skin burned for something else, no matter how his chest ached with the restraint, no matter how Ilya thought you’d never know until you tried. Shane knew better. And yet, his mind still raced. Keep, nest, hide, take, save, save…mine.
Shane shook his head at Ilya and bent to put on his shoes. They should just leave. He could finish this elsewhere. The silence wasn’t as charged as it had been, but it still weighed down on them. Ilya pressed his hand to the small of Shane’s back, and he let him, let him press a kiss to the corner of his jaw. He exhaled deeply before grabbing his bag and turning to Luca.
“Come on,” he said quietly.
“That’s it?” Luca asked, moving with them toward the door. Shane paused turning back.
“I don’t know what else to say,” he replied honestly. “You can’t do that again. He could’ve really hurt you—.”
“He wanted to hurt you,” Luca growled. “I can not—.”
“And scent patches don’t work against trauma,” Shane continued. “You could’ve gotten hurt, and you could’ve triggered everyone on the ice, and you could’ve…” he trailed off, lifting a hand to pinch at his eyelashes and will away the tears clouding his vision. But he couldn’t stop his mind from supplying him with an image of Luca splayed on the ice, breathing shallow, head bleeding, and the rest of the ice in a melee of Alphas reacting to the Omega in distress. How could he save him then? Keep, nest, hide, take, save, save, save.
“Shane is right. Leave the fighting to the others. You score sexy goals, da? Just do that.”
“Non, je suis désolé,” Luca replied, slipping into the French he and Shane shared. No, I’m sorry. His arms were crossed over his chest, bag hanging from his shoulder. Immovable. He shook his head. “…mais, tu ne peux pas me demander de faire ça.” ... but, you can’t ask me to do that.
“Luca,” Shane breathed out. “I’m not worth—,” but the rest of the sentence was silenced by Luca crashing his lips into Shane’s.
For a brief moment, shock won out, and then Shane was pressing back, hands winding around Luca’s waist, pulling him closer. And for a breath the chanting in his head quieted. Everything quieted. The locker room, the game, the blood-bright fear still crawling under his skin, all the rational reasons not to do this.
Everything narrowed to this one moment and the way Luca’s scent melted to taste, the way his lips slotted perfectly between Shane’s, the way Luca’s tongue pressed into his mouth confidently and unbidden, like it had already made a home. Then something shifted beside him and he could feel the warmth coming from his left where Ilya had pressed closer. Ilya. Fuck.
Shane broke the kiss, panting into the air between them, his hand searching out his husband even before he could pull his eyes away from Luca. Ilya wrapped Shane’s hand in his own and lifted it to his lips, pressing his smile into Shane’s knuckles. Luca froze, cheeks red, eyes wide, staring between the two.
“Is fine, this is… uh certain to happen.”
“Inevitable,” Luca whispered as he’d heard Shane do millions of times, offering Ilya the words he couldn’t find and no longer asked for.
“Da, inevitable,” Ilya said with a smile, physically turning Shane toward the door. “But we should talk, yes, at hotel. Bood texted. They are sending search party if we do not leave now.”
“I’m sorry, I—,” Luca mumbled as they hit the asphalt.
Ilya waved his hand against the words. “No, no apology. You were right.”
“Ilya,” Shane growled.
“Both of you,” Ilya rephrased. “You were both right, and you are both worth everything.”