Work Text:
“You think an omega bitch like Rozanov would want my knot too? You know, since he’s a slut for any alpha’s cock.”
It’s said to his back. Dallas Kent’s voice cuts over the roar of the crowd. The high of defeating Toronto, of defeating the man that almost ruined his mate’s life, comes crashing down in an instant. Heat creeps up the back of Shane’s neck as he turns to look at the other player, at the shit eating grin that’s stretching across his face. He should be celebrating with his team, not glaring at Dallas Kent with all the hatred in the world.
“Keep his name out of your fucking mouth,” Shane is shouting as the gloves come off, hitting the ice.
He doesn’t think about the penalty that’s going to come from this, or even a possible suspension. All he thinks about is the way Kent was just so fucking comfortable calling his mate a slut. The word makes his skin crawl. The implication that what the two of them have together isn’t serious, isn’t special, makes his stomach twist. Ilya is his fucking mate. His.
Shane is swinging before anyone can stop him. His fist connects with Kent’s nose with a sickening crunch. The spray of blood is more satisfying than he would have expected. He’s not a violent player, really he can’t even remember the last time his gloves had come off like this, but hearing Kent say such vile shit about his alpha has him seeing red.
By the time Hayden and JJ are dragging him off of Kent he’s knocked a tooth out and he’s almost certain he’s broken the guy’s nose as well, if the odd angle it sits at is anything to go by. Shane snarls in a way he never has, his teeth bared in a display of dominance that is unlike the usually docile alpha. His knuckles are stained red, as is the ice below their skates. He shouts profanities at Kent as he’s dragged away, no longer sure of what he’s even spewing. All he knows is that he has territory to protect.
By the time he’s made it back to the apartment his rut is in full swing. It had come on quickly, the heat, the aggression, the possession. His teammates had given him a wide berth in the locker room, letting their captain pack his bag and leave. Shane hadn’t even bothered with a shower. All he was focused on was getting home and claiming the man that was waiting for him. He’s breathing hard now, his teeth practically bared. It’s unlike him. He barely recognizes himself.
“Sweetheart?” he hears called from the other room, followed by the man’s footsteps padding his way.
Vanilla and coffee. He can smell Ilya before he can see him. His mate has been off his suppressants for the last few weeks and Shane has been blessed with his natural scent. It won’t last long. Soon he’ll be back on his meds and wearing the artificial pheromones to mask the sweetness that Shane has come to love. There’s not a single part of Ilya he doesn’t love. And right now he wants to drown in his scent.
“What the fuck was that? Since when do you drop gloves?” Ilya is asking as he rounds the corner into the living room, scratching the hair below his belly button. Of course he watched the game, of course he watched him beat the breaks off of Kent. Normally he would be ashamed that he let himself act so aggressively when Ilya was watching. But right now? It only turns him on.
Shane watches as Ilya’s eyes widen, as his nostrils flare. “You are in rut...”
If the manic look in his eyes didn’t give it away, the cinnamon and cedar of his pheromones certainly do. They’re strong, overpowering the sharp sweetness of his usual citrus. The pair had already shared a handful of his ruts together, but they were always scheduled, controlled, subdued. The aggression, the protectiveness he feels now were never present. He feels completely at the mercy of his instincts.
His dark eyes drift down to the scent gland at Ilya’s neck and all he can hear in his head is Kent’s stupid, fucking voice. Slut. Slut. Slut. Slut. The idea of that bastard putting his knot anywhere near his mate has a low growl rumbling in his throat.
“I want to bond.”
Shane is already moving across the living room, closing the gap between them with every step. His hands move to his mate’s body, pulling him in close, burying his nose into the man’s neck.
“I don’t want there to be any doubt who you belong to,” Shane pants against his neck, mouthing at his scent gland. Just one bite. One bite and Ilya would belong to him. Mine. Mine. Mine. My Alpha.
“I did not know there was,” Ilya chuckles softly, fingers sliding through Shane’s dark hair, scratching at his scalp. Shane’s mouth is warm against his throat, and every scrape of his canines against his sensitive gland has him shivering. He’s not used to Shane showing this level of protection, and he hadn’t thought he would like it until he saw it in action. Maybe it’s nice to be protected every now and then.
Ilya’s fingers curl in his mate’s hair, pulling his face away from his neck. Shane’s eyes are unfocused and wild, his lips glistening with spit. Fuck. Rut looks good on Shane. He brings their mouths together, tongue licking inside, tasting the other alpha. He kisses the man slow and deep, both hands moving to hold his face now.
“Let me fuck you... Make you feel better... Then we talk about bonding, yes?” Ilya suggests against his lips, already walking Shane back towards the bedroom. His mate nods, hands gripping at his waist, fingernails scraping at his skin. It’s a welcome sting and all Ilya can do is grin. He is so in love it makes his stomach hurt... Or maybe that’s his own heat starting.
Within five minutes he’s inside his mate. Usually, he would take more time opening Shane up, but with the way he had been growling for him to stick it in, he was more than a bit worried the other alpha might bite it off if he didn’t. So he had used his slick to shove all nine inches inside his mate.
Ilya has his mate on his knees, ass up and presented to him, hole glistening with his slick, rim stretched around him. His feet remain planted on the mattress, squatting behind Shane as he pounds into him. It’s the perfect position to watch himself go in and out, Shane’s greedy hole sucking him back in over and over. When he tears his eyes away from the glorious sight they travel up to where Shane has his face buried in a pair of his boxers, face twisted in pained pleasure. He’s beautiful like this, so lost in the pleasure, in his rut. As if he knows he’s being watched, his eyes open, pupils blown as he looks back at him. A manic grin stretches across Shane’s face.
“Harder. Fuck me harder,” Shane all but snarls, which earns him bared teeth and a growl in return. Their cycles have never synced up like this before, one triggered by the other, and the pheromones in the room are thick, making his head spin. If Shane wants it harder then he’ll give it to him harder.
“Is what you want?” Ilya asks, one knee dropping to the bed to get better leverage. He can fuck Shane harder like this, faster. His hand slides up the damp skin of Shane’s back to his neck, shoving it down against the bed, pinning him there. His fingers graze his scent gland, pressing against it. “Is hard enough?”
Shane shakes his head, which earns him a growl and a jerk of Ilya’s hand against his neck, pressing his face harder into the mattress. This only seems to encourage Shane, who’s now desperately thumping his ass back to meet every one of his thrusts.
“Right there- fuck fuck fuck,” Shane is sobbing into the nest, his body jerking with each grind against his swollen prostate. “Harder. Please, alpha. Harder. I-I can take it.”
Ilya growls, pounding into his mate, trying his best to satisfy the man’s rut despite his own heat beginning to take over. It’s not as intense as before, thanks to the lack of suppressant. The lack of a muzzle is also a nice change, because he so desperately wants to kiss his mate right now.
Ilya pulls out with a groan, his cock leaving Shane’s body with an obscenely wet pop. He takes a moment to admire his mate’s winking hole, his thumb stretching it to the side. This earns him a very exasperated growl from his mate.
“What the fuc-” Shane is snarling before he’s flipped over, his knees quickly shoved all the way back to his ears. Ilya has him pinned down tight, bent in half like a lawn chair. His dick is painfully hard against his stomach, leaking profusely, knot half inflated. He feels so fucking pathetic, knotting the air, and he fucking loves it. But he needs more, he needs Ilya in his fucking guts right now. He grits his teeth before he even knows he’s doing it.
“Stop baring your fucking teeth at me,” Ilya chuckles in fond exasperation, baring his own right back. Shane may be in rut, but he’s still the one in fucking charge here. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Shane this worked up, and he almost wants to thank Kent for whatever he said on the ice. Almost. Selfishly, he loves that Shane is now stuck with him for the next few days, but he knows it’s not how his mate expected to start the season.
Ilya leans down to press their mouths together, blindly guiding himself back inside of his mate. He swallows down Shane’s whimper as he buries himself in that tight, gripping heat. He’ll never get enough of him, no matter how many times he sinks his cock into the alpha.
Being able to kiss Shane during his heat is everything. It’s messy, teeth clashing, tongues warring for dominance in their mouths. They’re both getting desperate, Shane’s fingers clawing at his back as he pounds the man into the nest. The sounds they make are ungodly, muffled by each other’s lips, necks, shoulders. They kiss where they can, biting at damp, hot flesh. Ilya’s teeth graze Shane’s scent gland, earning him a clench around his cock.
“Bond me,” Shane is begging. His watery eyes look up at Ilya, his mate’s face bracketed by his calves that rest on his shoulders. He looks angelic, Shane thinks, and he can’t help but lift a trembling hand to his cheek. Ilya turns his face to kiss it, dragging his hot tongue up his palm. He’s sure that Ilya will do anything that’s asked of him at this moment, including sinking his teeth into the delicate skin of his scent gland and bonding them together. “Please.”
There’s a pause and for a moment the two of them just look at one another, through the haze of their pheromones and desperation.
“Okay,” Ilya responds, and Shane is sure it’s the only word the man can get out in that moment.
“Okay.”
Shane braces himself, his legs wrapping tight around Ilya’s waist, his arms wrapping around his neck as the alpha buries his face in his. Even with his mouth muffled Shane can still make out the three Russian words that make his heart sing when he hears them. Ya tebya lyublyu. He hears it once, twice before Ilya’s teeth are in his neck and all he can hear is his own cry of pain. It’s sharp and sudden. His nails dig into his mate’s back, clinging to him as Ilya fucks him through the pain, distracting him until it’s dulled to an ache. Before he can stop himself he’s coming, knotting the air as he shoots his load across his chest. He’s on the verge of passing out, breaths coming in gasps, nails raking down Ilya’s back, leaving red lines in their wake.
Slowly, Ilya withdraws his teeth, dragging his tongue along the wound, licking up the blood like an animal. A deep moan rumbles out of the alpha as he swallows down his mate’s essence.
“Pretty,” Ilya mumbles when he pulls back enough to look at his handywork. He can’t help the stupid smile that stretches across his face as he looks at it, at the mark that bonds them together, that will have their scents mixing, that will show anyone who cares to look that Shane Hollander belongs to him. “You are okay, yes?” Ilya asks, his hips still moving slowly. He hasn’t come yet, but with Shane lying there, bonded and beautiful, it’s the last thing on his heat-addled mind.
Shane nods, blinking back tears. His throat is tight, his lower lip quivering. It’s overwhelming, the love he feels for his mate, for his alpha. For so long this life seemed just out of reach, a life with a mate and a future. A real one, not the farce he might have lived with an omega. Ilya is everything he never knew he needed. Ilya is everything.
“Sh-should I... Do I?” Shanne begins to ask, and he’s not sure why he can’t get the words out. Maybe he thinks he doesn’t deserve it, that he’s not alpha enough to get this. But Ilya is nodding, taking his jaw in his hand to force their eyes to meet.
“Yes, you should,” Ilya assures him, baring his neck to the other alpha.
It’s all the permission he needs. Shane rolls them over, pinning the Russian beneath him. The action earns him a surprised chuckle and a buck upwards of Ilya’s hips, driving his cock deeper inside of him. Fuck. His head spins, his spent cock letting out another pathetic spurt onto Ilya’s stomach. But he has a job to do, he has a mate to bond with.
When Shane looks down at Ilya the man is grinning, ear to ear. Ilya is the sun and he shines on him in that moment. Any fear, any doubt is gone as Shane laces their fingers together, pressing Ilya’s hands back into the pillows.
“Mine,” Shane growls softly, returning Ilya’s grin. They bare their teeth at one another in a way that can only be described as fondness. “Mine,” he says again before he’s sinking his teeth into Ilya’s neck. There’s a strangled sound that leaves his mate’s throat, somewhere between a moan and a sob. The sharp tang of iron floods his mouth, coating his tongue. He’s swallowed plenty of his own blood in his hockey career, but never had it tasted this sweet. Shane’s lips are red as he pulls back, doing the same as Ilya did. He runs his tongue over the wound, cleaning it.
“D-did you?” Shane asks breathlessly, looking down at Ilya who’s looking quite dazed, as he usually does when he comes down from his heat. Slowly he lets go of Ilya’s hands, no longer pinning his mate down. His thumb brushes over Ilya’s cheek, trying to get the man to come back to him.
“Come?” Ilya asks, his eyes focusing enough to look up at his mate. His bonded mate. He smiles lazily, nodding. “Yes.”
Shane grins, still panting softly, heart still racing. All they can do is smile at each other, their instincts at bay for now. It’ll come back, his rut and Ilya’s heat, but for right now they have this moment of clarity together.
“I love you... so much,” Shane murmurs softly, sinking down into Ilya’s arms, slackening in his embrace.
“I love you too,” Ilya returns, kissing the top of Shane’s head, one hand brushing through his hair, the other rubbing his back. The dull ache on his scent gland is a welcome feeling, one that makes him feel warm all over. He’s safe here. He’s safe and accepted and no one can ever take this from him. Of course he can’t help the little smile that spreads over his lips as his hand trails down the man’s back to his side, squeezing a yelp out of Shane. “You’ve got quite the bite, Hollander.”
Shane just shakes his head, a sleepy grin on his lips. “Shut up... It made you come, asshole...”