Chapter Text
June 2016.
Ilya was lounging on his couch in Boston, simultaneously dreading and procrastinating preparing for his flight to Moscow next week, when his phone rang.
He almost ignored it. The only people who really called him were his brother and his father and he had no interest in speaking to either of them right now. All his brother ever wanted was money. And even with his worsening memory, his father still found ways to berate him from the other side of the world. He didn’t want to hear about how he didn’t win the cup this year. How he wasn’t even nominated for MVP. Both had gone to Shane Hollander.
For the second year in a row.
He decided to take a peek at the caller ID, just in case it was someone else or something actually important. When he did check, he nearly missed the call altogether because it was the last name he ever expected to come across his screen as a call.
Jane.
Ilya froze. Hollander had never called him before. Not once in their entire arrangement. Ilya pressed the “answer” button as soon as what was happening registered with him. If he missed this call, there was no way Hollander would call him a second time.
“Hello?”
“Hey. It’s uh, it’s Shane. Shane Hollander,” Hollander clarified nervously on the other line.
“Yes, Hollander. I have caller ID,” Ilya said, refusing to let how endeared he was by Hollander introducing himself with his first and last name in that charmingly awkward way of his.
“Oh yeah. Duh,” Hollander huffed. “Sorry, my brain is a little scrambled today.”
“So what is this? Butt dial? Did you call to gloat about winning MVP?”
“What? No. I…I called to ask a favor,” Hollander said quietly.
Ilya sat up on his couch, intrigued.
“A favor.”
Hollander paused for a moment before continuing carefully.
“Do you remember, years ago, when you offered to share my heat with me? And when I declined, you said to let you know if I ever changed my mind?” Hollander asked.
“Hmm, I sort of recall,” Ilya said, trying to keep the hopeful excitement out of his voice.
“Please don’t make this harder than it has to be,” Hollander sighed. “I’m asking if you’d be my heat partner this summer. If the offer still stands.”
Ilya could hear the stress simmering beneath the surface in Hollander’s voice, and if he was finally coming to Ilya after years of him offering, he must be pretty desperate.
“Yes, Hollander. Offer still stands,” Ilya said.
Hollander gave a sigh of relief on the other end of the line. He wondered what happened to Hollander’s Montreal heat partner. Maybe something came up. It didn’t matter, that idiot’s loss was Ilya’s gain.
“When will it start?” Ilya asked before Hollander had the chance to say anything else.
“Five days,” Hollander said. “I know it’s short notice -“
“Is fine,” Ilya said. “I’ll be there in four to make sure I can get to you by the evening beforehand so we have time to settle in.”
“I’ll send you all the details - the address and everything. And um, I can pick you up at the airport if you need -“
“I will get rental. I will not make you drive to the airport in preheat,” Ilya cut him off.
“Oh, yeah,” Hollander said. “Probably a good call.”
There was a brief, awkward silence before Ilya cleared his throat.
“Well then. I will see you soon.”
“Yeah. Okay,” Hollander said, sounding like he was nearly in disbelief that Ilya was agreeing to this. Like Ilya would ever say no to the very thing he’d been fantasizing about for years.
“I’ll send you all the details about how to get here in a bit,” Shane continued.
“Okay. I’ll send all my flight info once I book everything.”
“Sounds good,” Shane replied. “And uh, Rozanov?”
Ilya hummed in answer.
“Thank you. Really. I mean it.”
He could hear the sincerity and the relief so clearly in Hollander’s voice.
“Is no problem, Hollander,” he replied softly.
They hung up, and very shortly after, Shane sent his cottage’s address as well as the best airport to fly into. He also sent a reminder of the day his heat was supposed to start. Like Ilya hadn’t already cemented it into his brain.
He all but leaped off the couch, feeling energized and actualized in the way he did when he felt useful and needed. He wasn’t sure if that was an alpha thing or just a him thing. Either way, he was probably more excited than he’d like to admit about the prospect of sharing a heat with Shane Hollander. In the almost six years that they’d been hooking up, they’d never once shared a cycle. Not Hollander’s heat, not Ilya’s rut.
It was a fluke that Ilya even knew that Hollander was an omega. Laws in both Canada and the United States prevented the MLH and other sports leagues from forcing players to disclose their assignations, but it was strongly encouraged if the player was anything other than a beta.
Alphas, and the rare omegas in the league, had to be on both suppressants and scent blockers during the season. Because the league couldn’t legally require its players to disclose if they were following those rules, most teams typically just randomly tested to check for balanced hormone levels, in a similar vein to random drug testing.
Hollander was unlisted, which usually just meant beta. Hell, if Ilya didn’t have such intimate familiarity of Hollander’s body, he never would’ve suspected he was anything else.
How wet he got for Ilya - even on suppressants and outside of heat - and how beautifully he followed directions said otherwise. It only added to their compatibility in the bedroom, too. And Ilya would be lying if he hadn’t thought about what it would be like to share Hollander’s heat. Especially what it would be like to share Hollander’s heat alongside Ilya’s own rut.
The first, and last, time he’d offered to help Hollander through his heat had been at the fateful MLH Awards in 2011. They’d fought on the rooftop, and the next thing Ilya knew, he had Hollander pressed up against the wall, and they were kissing each other with equal desperation.
It was as Hollander was pushing him away, berating him for kissing him in public, that Ilya caught the scent.
“You are an omega,” Ilya whispered.
Hollander’s face had morphed from anger and disbelief to pure terror.
“You can’t tell anyone.”
“I would not do that,” Ilya said, seriously. He meant it. “Why can I smell you?”
“I started to taper off my suppressants this week so that I can time my heat right,” Hollander explained.
Ilya understood that. He always stopped his own suppressants in time to have a quick rut before he went back to Russia for the summer. He felt safer at his place in Boston than he did anywhere else back home.
“Though normally it takes a few days before anyone can smell me,” Hollander continued curiously.
“Hmmm. So you will have heat soon. Need a partner?” Ilya said it with a teasing tone so he could hide how serious he was about his offer.
“Fuck off,” Hollander said.
“Am serious,” Ilya said.
“I’m all set. But thank you.”
Even in the dim light of the rooftop, Ilya could see the flush on Hollander’s cheeks. The implication of Hollander being “all set” stoked a flare of jealousy in him.
Did Hollander have someone else lined up back in Montreal? Or maybe even back home in Ottawa? He tried to douse the jealousy as soon as it arose, though, blaming it on stupid alpha instincts and his own overdue rut. It was none of his business who Shane Hollander spent his heats with.
“Well. If you ever change your mind, or want some heat company, you have my number,” Ilya winked.
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Hollander replied dryly.
He’d left Ilya on the roof alone to mull over the startling amount of new information. Now that Ilya had all the pieces, it made sense to him. It also explained why Hollander had been so hesitant to do anything beyond blowjobs with him. If Ilya were to fuck him, it would be very clear that Hollander was an omega, suppressants or not.
Now, five years later, he was intimately familiar with Hollander’s body. Their sex was already so good, so intense, he knew that sharing a cycle would be very pleasurable for both of them.
He didn’t let himself linger too long on the added intimacy that heat would bring them. The sheer number of lines they were about to cross together that they’d never crossed before. He shoved those thoughts down deep, locking them away with the other Hollander-related thoughts he’d been having for quite some time now.
Like how he’d been checking his phone more than ever in the last few months. Like how excited he got when he saw a text from Jane in his notifications, as sparing as they were. Like how the last time he’d gone out with Svetlana, he’d completely blown off a very beautiful woman who’d made a pass at him and had spent the entire night wondering what Hollander was up to.
He buried all of it, refusing to let himself overthink this or refuse a very pretty, bow-wrapped gift from the universe just because of his worsening…fixation on Hollander.
It was perfect timing. He had been planning to stop taking his own suppressants that night, and he’d already stopped taking his scent blockers once the Raiders were booted from the playoffs. His ruts were very quick and straightforward, following the same pattern every year once he stopped his suppressants. One day in between, and then three days of rut, and he was done for the year.
He knew alphas had it far easier, comparatively. Even if they also generally happened annually for those on suppressants, omega's heats typically lasted around a week. And while ruts could easily be ridden out alone, going through a heat alone was a pretty miserable experience. Even borderline dangerous sometimes, depending on how severe the omega’s heat was. It was probably why Hollander was so desperate, then so relieved when Ilya said yes.
Ilya had helped a few omegas through their heats here and there. Not as often as his playboy reputation would have people think, mostly just because full weeks off were few and far between outside the summer in his profession.
Still, he knew what he was doing, and he knew how to make heats good for his partners. He would make this the best heat Hollander ever had. He’d make him forget about whatever other alpha he’d been seeing every summer and have him wondering why he didn’t take Ilya’s offer sooner.
He started compiling a list of things he needed to do in the three short days before his flight. Some of it would have to wait until he was there, things like groceries, but most of it he’d be able to get done prior to leaving.
First, and most importantly, he had a plane ticket to change.
“I think you should really consider taking a partner this heat,” Shane’s doctor said, looking at his chart on her laptop.
She’d been his cycle doctor since his rookie year, when he first moved to Montreal. She was about his mom’s age and had the exact bedside manner Shane needed - direct and no-nonsense, but always with an undercurrent of empathy and understanding. He’d been very lucky to find her.
He had her to thank for how well controlled his heat and scent were during the hockey season, she’d worked with him to find the right scent blockers and suppressants that performed best with the demands of being a pro athlete. He trusted her nearly implicitly.
Which is why he knew she was right.
“I know you prefer to cycle alone,” she continued. “Your last one was very severe and lasted nearly ten days. That’s not normal, Shane. If it worsens again this year, you could wind up hospitalized.”
“I know,” Shane replied quietly.
He’d never particularly enjoyed his heats. They always made him feel vulnerable and out of control. They’d been getting progressively worse as of late, and Shane had grown from feeling inconvenienced by them to dreading them. He typically tried to get them out of the way as soon as possible, spending the week tucked away in his cabin, so that he could enjoy the rest of his summer without an impending heat looming over his head.
“They’ve been getting worse each year. It could be the stress of your job, it could be that your body is confused by the fact that you don’t share a heat with an alpha you sleep with otherwise.”
There was no judgment in her tone, it was simply clinical, like she was trying to solve a puzzle. She knew that Shane had an occasional sexual partner, who just so happened to be an alpha. She obviously didn’t know who, of course, but after he and Rozanov had started sleeping together, he’d needed a dosage change, and so the cat was out of the bag.
“If you’re not interested in having sex with someone else during your heat - which is totally fine and normal and completely your choice - I would suggest at the very least a comfort alpha to ease the symptoms and make sure you’re taken care of. Or intervene if need be before things get as bad as they did last time.”
She used her rolling chair to glide across the room, plucking a pamphlet from the counter against the far wall.
“There are plenty of programs, all protected by the Designation Privacy Act, that all employ trusted and well-vetted alphas. Or even betas and omegas if that’s more your speed, though with your symptoms, an alpha would be best,” she continued, rolling back to hand the pamphlet to Shane. “Unless you have someone in mind. Either way, I’d try to solidify plans by tonight or tomorrow. Judging by your cycle history and your hormone levels, I’d give you about five days, six at the max if you’re lucky.”
Shane sighed heavily and nodded. “Thank you.”
“I know this isn’t easy,” She said gently, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “And it’s not always fair what our bodies demand of us. I’m thankful that we have the medications available so that most people can get away with one cycle a year. I’m hopeful that one day we’ll have medical advances that could make it possible for us to skip heats and ruts all together. Until then we have to do the best with what we’re given, hm?
“The last thing I want is for you to have to be taken to a Cycle Facility, Shane,” she continued, seriously. “And I know you don’t want that either. I can’t force you to do anything but it’s my professional medical opinion that you should not go through this heat alone.”
“I won’t,” Shane promised. “I’m taking this very seriously.”
“I know you are,” she smiled warmly. “Okay, any further questions?”
Shane shook his head.
“Then I’ll see you at your post-heat appointment. In the meantime, feel free to call the office if anything comes up or if you need any help contacting the agencies. And don’t forget that our hotline is 24/7 if you have any questions or pressing matters during your cycle.”
Shane hardly remembered the drive home. He left for his cottage first thing in the morning, so he knew he needed to solidify his plans by tonight if he didn’t want to spend the entirety of the drive the next day in an anxiety spiral.
He sat at his kitchen island, going through the pamphlets the doctor had given him. A comfort alpha didn’t sound awful, but it also wasn’t his ideal solution. He knew what his, and his body’s, ideal solution was.
His thumb hovered over the call button on “Lily’s” contact.
It was going to feel a bit like a humiliation ritual, admitting to Rozanov that he needed help, but for all his teasing, Rozanov had never been cruel to him about anything regarding sex. And he’d never, ever made Shane feel lesser than because of his designation. Plus, Shane already knew how compatible they were in the bedroom. And even if they didn’t always get along, he’d always been able to trust Rozanov enough to let go whenever they were together.
To Shane, heats were a burden. Something to suffer through. Something he felt a lot of shame around. The premise of actually enjoying a heat was equal parts new, exciting, and terrifying.
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t spent every heat since 2010 imagining that Rozanov was there with him. Shane chalked it up to the fact that it was because he was the only alpha he’d ever had sex with. That’s what he told himself at least so that he wouldn’t so that he didn’t have to read too far into his own heat-induced fantasies.
He steeled a breath, knowing his decision had already been made for him. He made himself a deal. If he called and Rozanov didn’t answer, he’d hire a companion alpha, and that would be that.
Before he could chicken out, he pressed call, tapping his fingers against the granite countertops as the line rang. When get got to four unanswered rings, Shane had resigned himself to his fate and was almost about to hang up. But the fifth ring cut off mid tone, and a deep, familiar voice answered.
“Hello?”
Shane had been pacing around his cottage for probably around the last hour. He’d already cleaned the entire place spotless - something he always did while in preheat, even when he knew he’d be spending his heat alone - and now had nothing else to do to keep himself distracted.
Rozanov had told Shane he’d be getting to the cottage around five and it was nearly fifteen til. He put ESPN on the TV on a low volume, just for some background noise. He wasn’t sure if it was five minutes or five hours later that there was a knock on the front door.
When he opened it, Rozanov was there, on his doorstep, carrying at least three bags of groceries in each hand and looking just as irritatingly handsome as he always did.
“Hi,” Shane said.
“Hi,” Rozanov parroted
Shane still couldn’t believe that Rozanov was here. That he’d flown and driven all this way just to be here for Shane’s heat. The reality of it hadn’t exactly sunken in yet.
After a brief, only slightly awkward pause, Rozanov raised a brow and inclined his head toward the door.
“Oh yeah, sorry,” Shane said, taking a step back and opening the door wider. “Come on in.”
As Rozanov passed him, Shane got a whiff of the other man’s unblocked scent for the first time. It was dizzying. And it was exactly how Shane had always imagined Rozanov would smell. Deep, rich, masculine, with a little hint of spice.
Rozanov either didn’t notice or was trying not to humiliate Shane by acknowledging his reaction and simply found his way to the kitchen, placing all six bags on the counter with ease. The sight and smell of him in Shane’s house, unpacking groceries that he purchased without Shane even asking so that he could take care of him during his heat was sending his instincts fucking haywire.
“You bought groceries,” Shane said.
“Yes,” Rozanov replied. “I told you, I am good heat partner.”
“I, uh, already got some stuff,” Shane admitted. Because he had, though certainly nothing to the extent of what Rozanov had gotten.
“This would maybe sustain you if you were alone,” Rozanov said, after opening the door to the fridge to survey its contents. “You will need much more food with the amount of energy we will be exerting together.”
He didn’t even say it in a flirty or taunting way, just matter-of-factly. The fridge contained mostly meal replacement protein shakes that were formulated for heats, waters, and sports drinks. Shane never had the wherewithal to be able to consume much else by the time he was in the throes of heat.
“What, the other alphas you’ve spent your heats with let you get away with drinking only this shit?” Rozanov asked as he moved to start putting the groceries in the fridge. “They were not very good alphas then.”
“Here, I’ll do that,” Shane interrupted, partially to distract Rozanov from his question but mostly because he was particular about his fridge, especially in heat. “I have a…method. I like my fridge a certain way.”
“Of course you do,” Rozanov said, “Go ahead. I will grab the rest of my stuff from the car.”
Shane got to work unpacking the food. It was a rather thoughtful assortment. Pre-cut fruits, deli meats, and cheeses as well as some pre-made meals, eggs, bacon, and other efficient snacks . Realistically, most of it would all be easy and quick to consume in between rounds of sex. Still, Shane was really never hungry while in heat. He only ever drank the meal replacement shakes when he was clear-headed enough to know that he needed to.
He supposed that was the point of having a heat partner, especially an alpha. They not only helped ease the symptoms but their ruts were different than heats. Even if their ruts gave them the strong urge to fuck and knot, any alpha worth their salt would still have caring for their omega partner as their top priority. Beyond sexual gratification, it also included making sure they were fed and cared for. And didn’t end up like Shane almost had the previous summer.
Shane was mostly done putting the food away by the time Rozanov came back, this time with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a large suitcase rolling behind him.
“You moving in or something?” Shane asked, eyeing the full-sized suitcase.
“This is mine,” Rozanov said, tugging at the strap of the duffel. “The suitcase is mostly for you. Where is the bedroom?”
Shane gave him directions to the primary suite, wondering what the hell Rozanov meant when he said the suitcase was for him. He hoped it wasn’t full of like…sex toys and stuff. Shane had no idea what else it could be, so he continued to unpack the groceries to keep his hands and mind busy.
He was glad that Rozanov wasn’t around when he got to the end of the very last bag of groceries. Sitting at the bottom were two six-packs of ginger ale. Shane’s favorite brand. How Rozanov knew of his preference for the beverage in general was beyond him. Choosing the brand Shane preferred had to have been a stroke of luck.
He knew that Rozanov could be analytical and observant. It made him an incredible hockey player. Shane just had never expected Rozanov’s perceptions to be aimed at him. He also knew, under the cocky veneer, that Rozanov could be thoughtful. Caring. But every time that care was aimed in Shane’s direction it disarmed him, unmoored him. Made him feel off-kilter.
To prevent himself from overthinking or reading too far into it, Shane convinced himself it was just a fluke. Maybe liking ginger ale was some sort of omega thing. Or maybe it was good during heats?
By the time Rozanov was back in the kitchen, Shane had successfully staved off an overthinking spiral but was now faced with the awkward reality of having the other man in his space.
“So. We should probably talk before things…get going,” Shane said.
“Yes,” Rozanov confirmed. “But I will make dinner first. Then we will talk.”
“You want to make me dinner?” Shane asked, unable to keep the cautious disbelief from his voice.
“Is an…alpha thing,” Rozanov said. “I can sense your heat coming, and I want to take care of you. Seriously, what kind of other alphas were you sharing your heat with that they did not make you dinner before your heat? Or buy you groceries?”
And it being an alpha thing made far more sense to Shane than Rozanov wanting to cook for him simply just because.
“Do you need any help?” Shane deflected instead of answering the real question.
“No. Go sit, relax,” Rozanov shooed him out of the kitchen. “I’ve got this.”
“I’m gonna go change while you cook,” Shane said.
Rozanov simply nodded, flicking his hand in a shooing motion once again. Shane fixated on the fact that Rozanov was an asshole for kicking him out of his own kitchen so that he didn’t think to hard about how Rozanov was in his kitchen. Cooking him dinner.
He really did need to change out of his jeans and into something more comfortable - the fabric was starting to irritate his skin - but he also wanted to snoop a little and see what was in the suitcase that Rozanov had apparently brought for him.
Rozanov’s duffle was perched on Shane’s dresser, but the suitcase was placed neatly on the floor. The room already had an undercurrent of Rozanov’s scent. It was trace, but it was there and Shane knew it would only intensify as the week went on.
He knelt on the ground next to the suitcase, unzipping it and flipping the top of it up cautiously, truly unsure of what he would find.
“Oh,” he said.
A wave of Rozanov’s scent washed over him. With the exception of what looked like a toiletry bag, the suitcase was filled with neatly folded clothes and blankets. Shane took a sweatshirt from the top, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply. It smelled like it had been recently cleaned but was still saturated in Rozanov’s scent.
He successfully resisted the urge to do something stupid, like bury his entire face in the pile of Rozanov-scented fabric, and instead took two of the blankets to add to his bed. He knew once his heat really set in he’d probably throw them right back off, but right now it made his bed feel complete.
He yanked his jeans off, breathing a sigh of relief to finally be free of them. He went ahead and stripped out of his underwear too, throwing both in the hamper and changing into a pair of soft, cotton jersey shorts that he knew showed off his thighs.
Not that he was trying to show off to Rozanov or anything. He just wanted to feel good. That was it.
He lingered a little longer than was probably necessary in his room as he double checked to make sure everything was in order before his heat inevitably hit. Based on his previous experiences, he’d be out of his mind for the next few days. He wondered idly how much of a difference having an alpha around would really make.
Before leaving the bedroom, and before he could think better of it, he also changed out of his t-shirt and into one of Rozanov’s sweatshirts. He allowed himself one more moment of indulgence, bringing the collar of the sweatshirt up so that he could inhale the rich, spicy scent that was so uniquely Rozanov. Of course, he smelled just as incredible as he looked.
It was worth it, for the way Rozanov’s eyes tracked him as Shane made his way back into the kitchen, like a predator to prey. Once Shane was close enough, his eyes traced all the way down his body, pausing on his bared thighs, then back up so that their gazes met. Shane could see the way Rozanov’s chest rose, then fell while he took a deep, measured breath.
“Dinner is almost finished,” he said, eyes never leaving Shane’s. “Go sit. I will bring you a plate.”
Soon enough, Rozanov was walking to the table, two plates and some cutlery in hand.
“Spaghetti, red sauce, ground turkey meatballs,” Rozanov said, placing a rather full plate in front of Shane. He placed his own in the seat caddy-corner to Shane’s.
“Think you gave me a big enough portion?”
“Carb loading,” Rozanov said as he sat. “Like for marathon. This will probably be the last full meal you will eat for some time.”
Shane took a few bites of his food to start. It was good. Simple, but good.
“Is good?” Rozanov asked.
Shane nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”
They ate in a mostly companionable silence. Shane hadn’t realized how hungry he was before he’d started eating, but by the time he was done his plate was nearly cleared.
He looked up to see Rozanov watching him intently.
“So,” Shane started. “We should probably have that talk now.”
Rozanov nodded.
“Anything I should know?” He asked. “Any boundaries?”
“Well, obviously no mating bites,” Shane said. Even if it was obvious, he felt the need to say it.
“Obviously,” Rozanov repeated.
“Everything else is fine. Um. Biting, marking, all that is good because I won’t have to hide it from anyone, like when we normally see each other,” Shane said.
“And you are okay if I knot you?” Rozanov asked casually.
Shane’s cheeks burned. It was something they’d never done before, obviously. They didn’t exactly have time for it, and it was also far too intimate an act for two people in an arrangement such as theirs. Besides, most alphas could only knot during their own rut or if their partner was in heat, so it hadn’t really been a pressing issue before.
“Yes,” Shane replied.
“Still okay with no protection?”
Rozanov’s results had come through the night before - Shane always got his done at his annual appointment - and they were in the clear. Condoms designed specifically for knotting were a thing, and usually, Shane didn’t like the mess, but heats were different.
“Still okay,” Shane confirmed. “And I got my, uh, birth control shot at my last appointment, so you’re in no danger of getting me pregnant.”
“I can still try,” Rozanov said with a wink.
Even if he had no interest in getting pregnant any time soon - he had way too many years of hockey left in him - the idea of Rozanov trying to get him pregnant was way hotter than it had any right to be.
“Will I send you into rut?” Shane asked, instead of further dwelling on the idea of Rozanov knocking him up.
“Yes,” Rozanov said resolutely. “But I did bring my suppressants, if you prefer I do not rut. I tend to stay very lucid in my ruts, and they are short. I will not hurt you, Hollander.”
“I trust you,” Shane said. “And besides, you should get something out of this, too.”
“I am about to spend an entire week fucking a very pretty omega over and over and over,” Rozanov said, raising a brow. “I will get something out of this either way.”
Shane flushed. “Well, Jesus. When you put it that way.”
“Do not stress so much, Hollander. I know alphas have it easier with their ruts, but heats should be enjoyable. I know you are like…allergic to fun, but when you are with right partner cycles do not have to be so bad.”
“I don’t know. Heats have never been particularly fun for me,” Shane muttered.
He recognized the admission was a mistake by the way Rozanov stiffened.
“Hollander, what do you mean by that?” Rozanov asked, growing very serious. “I know I have teased you about bad alphas, but did your previous partner hurt you?”
“No, no! It’s not like that,” Shane said.
“Then what is it like?”
Well. They needed to have this discussion anyway. Might as well do it now.
“There is no previous partner,” Shane explained. “I’ve never actually shared my heat with anyone.”
Rozanov looked at him like he’d grown an extra head.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve always just…gone through my heats alone. Ever since I presented as a teenager,” Shane explained. “They’ve been getting progressively worse over the last few years. Last year was…pretty brutal. Ten days. By the end of it I was almost cent to a Cycle Facility, but then the heat broke, and everything was fine.”
“You were almost hospitalized?” Rozanov asked.
“God, that’s what you got from all of that?”
“Hollander, that is serious.”
“I know,” Shane huffed. “That’s why I asked you here. I can’t go through that again. It was…it was really bad. I know there’s, like, programs or whatever for comfort alphas but I just can’t do that. And you’re the only one I trust enough to ask.”
“Well,” Ilya said, taking Shane’s plate and stacking it on top of his own. “Is good thing I am here to take care of you this time, then, hm?”
Shane rolled his eyes.
“Am serious,” Rozanov continued. “I am glad that you trust me. And I will take very good care of you this week. I will make it good for you, Hollander.”
He stood, but instead of immediately moving away, he bent down to peck Shane lightly on the lips.
“I am happy you called me,” he said seriously before taking the plates toward the kitchen.
Shane was so shocked by the kiss that it took him a moment to catch up.
“Wait!” He called, following after Rozanov.
“What? You are particular about how your dishes are cleaned, too?” Rozanov asked, setting the dirty dishes on the counter and giving Shane an amused grin.
“Just the dishwasher,” Shane muttered. “I have a system.”
“I would expect nothing less,” Rozanov said. “Can I clean the pots and pans, or is there a ‘system’ for those too?”
“Those are fine,” Shane said. Then added in a halfhearted “asshole” as a follow-up for good measure.
After everything was cleaned and the counters and table were wiped down, Shane was starting to feel antsy again. Rozanov picked up on it, of course, and leveled Shane with a serious look.
“Let us make a deal here, hm? I do not want you to feel like you must hide anything or hold back because of our professional lives. This week, in the safety of this cottage, we are just an alpha and an omega cycle sharing. Who we are to each other in the outside world does not matter. Here, we are not rivals. Is just us. Just two people.”
“Yeah,” Shane nodded and breathing a sigh of relief. “I’d like that.”
“Good,” Rozanov murmured. “What do you need from me right now? Some omegas want to be fucked before the heat hits, others don’t want to be touched at all. Some fall right in between.”
Shane grasped for what his body wanted. He was always some undercurrent of turned on when Rozanov was around, but the thought of having sex right now wasn’t appealing. He normally didn’t feel the urge to get himself off for days before his heat. It seemed that it carried over even when he had his insanely hot alpha fuckbuddy in the same room as him
He did feel a little untethered, though. Unsure. He was, he realized, craving connection. But even with the agreement they just made, he didn’t know how to ask Rozanov for anything that wasn’t sex. They didn’t…do that under normal circumstances. And while these clearly weren’t normal circumstances, Shane was still a little hesitant.
“Hollander. What do you need from me right now?” Rozanov repeated at Shane’s silence.
“I think I need to be anchored. To be held,” Shane admitted quietly.
“Then we will go to the couch and watch TV. And I will hold you,” Rozanov said, simply.
He placed his hands on Shane’s hips, steering him toward the living room. He grabbed the remote off the coffee table on their way to the couch, then settled himself against the mound of throw pillows resting on one of the plush couch arms. He spread his legs, patting his thighs in invitation.
Shane settled in between his legs, only somewhat awkwardly, his front to Rozanov. Shane’s head settled against his chest, just under Rozanov’s chin, and Rozanov wound one arm around him while he used the other to flip through channels, stopping at a sports channel showing a baseball game.
“Baseball is so boring,” Rozanov murmured into his hair. “They can’t even fight.”
He placed the remote somewhere, and his other arm also came to wrap across Shane’s back so that he was completely enveloped.
He was practically engulfed in Rozanov - by his body, by his scent. He could faintly hear the steady, comforting thud of Rozanov’s heart from where his ear pressed against the other man’s chest. For the first time since he’d stopped taking his suppressants earlier that week, he no longer felt like he wanted to crawl out of his skin. And for the first time in his life, Shane was cautiously excited for his heat. Rozanov was here. Rozanov would take care of him. Would make him feel good.
He had no idea how long he lay there in the alpha’s arms, feeling more peaceful than he had in a very long time. He must have fallen asleep at some point because suddenly there was gentle jostling under him, and when he opened his eyes, the TV was no longer on.
“We should get to bed,” Rozanov urged, gently. “You will need all the rest you can get before it kicks in.
They untangled themselves from each other and the couch, walking side-by-side to the bedroom.
“I will shower, okay?” Rozanov said as they entered the bedroom together, heading for the en suite.
Shane nodded, only following him into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth once he heard the shower running. Doing his nightly routine while Rozanov showered was a lot more comforting than Shane would’ve expected. It felt like they had done this a hundred times before.
Still, he finished quicker than he normally would, mostly so he didn’t have to deal with the potential awkwardness of standing side-by-side at his double sink with Rozanov, getting ready for bed together like a married couple or something.
The shower cut off shortly after Shane settled into bed. Rozanov popped out of the bathroom just long enough to grab some things from his duffel, then headed back. Shane watched him, shirtless, dripping wet and in only a towel (a sight he’d seen plenty of times before) and stared unabashedly. Even if Shane wasn’t feeling particularly horny thanks to his stupid preheat, it didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the view.
Eventually, Rozanov came back out, still shirtless but this time wearing simple black briefs.
“Want me to close the curtains?” Rozanov asked, pointing at the giant floor-to-ceiling windows in the bedroom.
“No, it’s okay. Leave them,” Shane said.
“Ooooh, exhibitionist,” Rozanov teased with his trademark shit-eating grin.
“No, you asshole,” Shane could feel himself blushing. “I just like to wake up with the sun.”
“Of course you do,” Rozanov said, mirroring his response to Shane’s peculiarity over his fridge. But this time he said it even softer. He sounded…fond.
“My heats typically kick in mid-day, but with you here and based on how I’m feeling right now…I’ll be lucky to make it til morning,” Shane admitted sheepishly as Rozanov settled into bed beside him.
Shane was thankful Rozanov had the decency not to give him shit for the little nest he’d made with the blankets. He knew it was why Rozanov brought them, and he knew it was instinct, but sometimes even the smallest things about his nature made him a little insecure.
“Good thing I made you carb load then, huh?” Rozanov waggled his brows.
“Shut up,” Shane rolled his eyes.
It was strangely…domestic. All of it. Every moment since Rozanov had walked through his door had been domestic.
Normally, they hardly made it three minutes before tearing at each other's clothes. He realized this was the longest they’d ever spent together at once. Shane was honestly most shocked about how weird it wasn’t. It felt strangely natural. Easy. He didn’t always feel this relaxed around other people, especially for extended periods of time. But something about Rozanov had always made him feel like he could just be himself.
Shane started to drift again. A combination of the sheer amount of food he’d eaten for dinner and the strangely comforting presence of Rozanov. He felt safe. He felt cared for. And for the first time, probably ever, he wasn’t a bundle of anxiety the night before his heat.
The last thing he was cognizant of was a murmured “Goodnight, Hollander,” and the click of his bedside lamp before he sank into a dreamless sleep.