Chapter Text
The first time he’d got Hollander to agree to this fun little ritual, he’d tried to say ‘no’ to nearly everything. His cheeks had pinked as he’d refused to suck dick, accept fingers or tongue in his ass, or even get on his hands and knees. But he’d lost their scoring race, so he had to do something. That was the agreement. It had been his idea to start with, and he insisted he wasn’t a chicken.
He’d stood, pants and briefs pushed down only as far as necessary, his thighs tightly closed and muscles tensed to create the tightest possible gap for Ilya to push his lubed cock in between and thrust like he was fucking him.
Ilya wasn’t normally concerned with betas. They bored him. But there was something about Hollander’s arrogance, pretty submissive eyes, and his lofty unobtainability that made Ilya’s cock stir.
The second time wasn’t much different, and the third they barely even spoke. He just pulled down his pants and bent a little, raising his hoodie just enough it wouldn’t get in the way. Ilya appreciated the obedience, but it was in his nature to push. He moved Hollander in front of the mirror, and didn’t even have to tell him he had to watch himself as Ilya used his body. He just did it.
That was when Hollander had started pushing his hips back, releasing his thighs just a little so that Ilya’s cock would run along his balls and perineum as he got off. Ilya had pushed him down a little, made him bend over properly. It gave him a view of Hollander’s asshole, tight and clearly untouched. Hollander had bit down on his hoodie to stop himself making any sounds.
The fourth time … the fourth time was much like the third, except when he’d pushed Hollander to bend over, Ilya could see his asshole had been freshly used and was still a little loose. He was proud of the freaky little beta boy. Maybe soon he could persuade him to let Ilya press against it with the head of his cock, and eventually he might even let him put it inside.
Turn number five, and halfway to orgasm he’d coaxed Hollander’s hoodie up over his head. Hollander wouldn’t let him take it off his arms, instead holding it close to himself in an attempt to hide the flush creeping down his neck and chest. Ilya let him be - he was more naked than normal, and that was a victory.
Never one to be deterred, the sixth time Ilya planned to strip him as much as possible. He wouldn’t force it, just push what boundaries Hollander would allow. Ilya was surprised when Hollander asked if he could do what Ilya had originally asked him to do the first time and just suck his cock. Maybe he’d realised that letting Ilya basically fuck his thighs was more intimate than a dick in his mouth.
Ilya was addicted, however. His taste was more refined, and Hollander getting off on their ritual humiliation fuelled him. It didn’t take much to get Hollander bent over again, and this time, without his hoodie, Ilya could see the depths he had dragged him to. Pink flush, parted lips glistening, dark eyes looking back at him in the mirror and watching Ilya’s cock peek out between his thighs. Hollander’s erection prominent, no hiding it.
How much Hollander enjoyed this was an unspoken secret neither of them acknowledged outside of it. He could refuse Ilya any moment, and yet he kept turning up to the hotel room after every lost scoring race, every lost game. Ilya wondered what Hollander was too embarrassed to ask him for on the plentiful occasions Hollander had bested him. Maybe it was the same thing.
Ilya was sure he wanted sex. He wouldn’t put out easily, but Ilya was sure he wanted it. He had dreams where Hollander would come to him like normal, then bend over to reveal a butt plug Ilya could simply pull out to just fuck him. In other dreams, Ilya just pushed inside as Hollander begged for his knot. Betas typically did not beg for knots, but Dream Hollander did.
The last time they were together, Hollander fully writhing, legs tight together and hands trapped behind his back as he gasped and keened, Ilya told him he wanted to use him for his next rut. Rather than indignantly arguing or being offended at the suggestion, he’d groaned and widened his legs. A beta reduced to omega behaviour.
Hollander had freed a hand from where Ilya had pinned them, reached down, and pressed on Ilya’s cock as it thrust between his legs, forcing it to slide with full, tight and intentional contact. Ilya continued for a few thrusts, then pulled back, lined himself up with Hollander’s asshole and gently applied pressure.
“Mmmmmno!” Hollander gasped, but the way he squirmed forced Ilya inside a little. “Fuck. Fuck. Too big. No!”
“Next time,” promised Ilya, sliding out, then reassembling Hollander so he could put himself back between his thighs.
Hollander was so aroused, Ilya could have sworn he even had a scent.
*********
Ilya was waiting. He’d texted Hollander his room number. He knew he’d read it. But still … he was waiting. Just as Ilya was beginning to think Hollander wasn’t going to come, there was a knock at the door.
“Starting to think you chickened out,” Ilya teased.
“I didn’t chicken,” scowled Hollander. “I had to … do stuff.”
“Mmhmm. Okay. Turn around.”
With a sigh, Hollander turned, and he lowered his jeans and briefs without being asked. He leaned on the vanity table to look at himself in the mirror. Ilya lowered his own, stood behind him and slapped his half hard cock on Hollander’s asscheeks.
“Do you have to do that?” Hollander grouched.
“You have a very fuckable ass, Hollander. You know this.”
“You are not fucking my ass.”
“Someone fucked your ass. Was it another boring beta? Did he take all his time to make sure you were happy and comfortable and nothing hurt?”
“Shut up. Nobody fucked my ass.”
“Liar. It used to be so tight it was sealed shut. Last time my cock slipped in because you squirmed wrong.”
Hollander turned and glared at him, face flushed. “Nobody fucked my ass,” he insisted. He turned back, reassuming his position with his hands braced on the vanity. “Just get this done, please.”
“Something fucked your ass.”
With a pained groan, Hollander rolled his eyes. “I … I have a thing.”
“A thing?”
”A … dildo,” he confessed.
Ilya gripped Hollander’s asscheek and squeezed. “What colour?”
“Fuck. Off!”
“Is big?”
Hollander made as if to get away, but Ilya coiled his arms around him. “No, no. Stay. Be good.”
Ilya reached for the lube on the vanity and squeezed out a generous amount. He rubbed it over his cock, then coated the inside of Hollander’s thighs. Hollander shivered at the sensation, and Ilya took a little liberty, moving his hand up higher so that his fingers brushed his balls and coated lube over his perineum.
“Careful,” admonished Hollander.
“Of what?”
“Just … careful.”
“Thighs ready, beta,” Ilya instructed. He saw the muscles tense, and with a hand on the back of Hollander’s neck he pushed him down so he was fully bent. There was that asshole. Hollander had used his dildo recently.
Ignoring it for now, Ilya pushed between slick thighs, feeling the heat and strength of powerful muscles resisting him and squeezing him. Hollander had figured out that rhythmically tensing and relaxing his thighs made Ilya come faster, and he was already trying to find a pattern to match Ilya’s thrusting.
Hollander was leaning so far forward he could rest his forehead on the mirror. His eyes were squeezed shut. Ilya pulled out from his thighs, hooked his hands in the half-down jeans and briefs, then pushed them down to Hollander’s ankles. He crouched as he did it, coming face to face with Hollander’s round, perfect ass.
“Off,” Ilya instructed, and Hollander was doing as he was told, stepping out of his clothes, without consciously even processing the instruction. It wasn’t until he was entirely naked from the waist down he seemed to realise what he’d done. So submissive. “Your ass looks delicious,” Ilya told him, testing the water.
Hollander didn’t reply.
“I could just …stick my tongue out … and …”
There was a sharp intake of breath, but if anything Hollander was pushing his ass out more. Ilya accepted the invite, and tongued the hole in front of him. The noise Hollander made went straight to Ilya’s dick.
“I want this asshole,” Ilya said, standing after a few minutes of tormenting Hollander. “Want you for my summer rut slut.”
Hollander was trembling. “Y-you go to Russia in summer.”
Ilya pushed a finger inside experimentally, and Hollander moaned, low and guttural. “If I win the cup.” He pushed his finger in deep and curled. “You will be my rut slut. Do you want to make a deal?”
“I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m beta. I’m a virgin. I can’t take your rut.”
Ilya withdrew his finger. He would push more on this later. He had something more pressing he needed to take care of. Between muscular thighs, he began chasing his orgasm again, then pushing Hollander’s hoodie up over his head. “All the way off,” he instructed.
Again, Hollander did as he was told, only bothered by his nakedness when he could see how pink and flushed and desperate he looked. Hollander had never come during one of their sessions. Ilya was determined that today was the day.
Slowly and deliberately, Ilya reached round and grasped Hollander’s cock. Hollander didn’t fight him at all. He stood a little straighter, making it easier to see Ilya’s hand stroking him in the mirror, and leaned back into the support Ilya’s body was giving him.
Ilya’s free hand needed something to do, and he was sure Hollander wouldn’t let him put any fingers up his ass, so instead he wrapped it around Hollander’s neck possessively.
“Look at you,” Ilya murmured. “So pliant. Like a fucking omega.”
Something snapped inside Hollander at the word, and he doubled forward with a cry. His whole body shook. Ilya knew he got off on humiliation, but if he’d known calling him ‘omega’ would do this, he’d have done it much earlier. Hollander was coming, barely able to hold himself up. Ilya watched as he leaned forward to catch himself on the vanity, his legs shaking, and how Hollander’s natural instinct was to spread his legs through his orgasm.
Just as Ilya was mocking submissive little Hollander in his mind for being a beta who behaved like an omega, there was a desperate plea of ‘oh god no!’ from the back of Hollander’s throat. He convulsed, held onto his abdomen as if in pain, and suddenly … he squirted.
Ilya had been idly stroking himself as he watched Hollander come, but he stopped in surprise as he was soaked. Something hit him as it escaped Hollander’s body, and then the scent of omega heat overwhelmed every sense he had.
Holy shit.
Boring beta Hollander was … secretly omega?
Ilya had unlocked his true nature, hidden behind suppressants. The orgasm had forced out the silicone cup that Hollander had put up inside his pussy to stop his wetness leaking out while Ilya had used his thighs. Ilya stared where it lay on the ground. He’d read about omegas who did this.
“You’re a fucking trap,” Ilya smoothly said. Hollander was desperate to breathe, waves of his heat and orgasm taking him as he tried in vain to pull himself back together. “Lying to me and saying that you can’t take me because you’re a beta, you’re a virgin. And you are omega!”
Hollander collapsed onto the floor, gasping and sobbing. “I’m sorry. Don’t tell anyone. I’m sorry. Please.” He pushed his hands between his legs, trying to cover himself.
Ilya crouched, caught his wrists, and almost gently extracted his hands. Almost three years of fumbling around together, learning what Hollander liked, driving him crazy. All that time he’d managed to guard the secret he was now failing to conceal behind his hands. His newly spilled scent was fresh and floral, like a rose garden on a summer afternoon.
With both of Hollander’s wrists in one hand, Ilya used his other to push his knees apart. There. He could see it. The coveted extra feature of a male omega: the wet little hole a little way behind the balls, pinking and dribbling wet with arousal.
Ilya’s world blackened at the edges, but the centre of his vision that was focused between Hollander’s legs became sharp and bright. He didn’t just want to fuck. He needed to fuck.
“I will keep your secret, Hollander,” he found himself saying, his voice rumbling even deeper than usual.
“I take so many suppressants. This shouldn’t have happened.”
“You look so tight. So wet.”
“R-Rozanov?”
Ilya could hear the quiver in Hollander’s voice, and he watched another trickle of slick wetness spill from his body. “You want?”
Hollander just breathed, struggling a little at Ilya’s grip. “We shouldn’t.”
With effort, Ilya tore his eyes away from his prize and looked Hollander in the eye. “Do you want?” He repeated.
The silence was only a second, but to Ilya it could have been an age. He throbbed with want. With need. He had to fuck this omega. Ruining him was a necessity.
Hollander breathed, softly. He seemed to register that suddenly he was the one with power. “You want to fuck me?” His legs widened further and he met Ilya’s gaze. Ilya felt it thrumming in his blood. The calm, beautiful summer rose scent, directly opposite to just how wanton and gone Hollander seemed to be. “Fuck me,” he whispered, so quiet Ilya could have imagined it. “Please.”
Ilya released the wrists he’d pinned, then closed his hand around Hollander’s ankle. He dragged him down and close, until he was flat on his back and Ilya could lie between his legs.
“How you want?” he asked. He covered Hollander’s body and pressed him into the floor with his weight. “On your back?” He pressed a kiss to Hollander’s mouth. “On your knees?” He stole another kiss, and Hollander chased his mouth as he pulled it away.
“However you want it,” he breathed. “However you want to. Alpha.”
Ah. Shit.
Hollander had deferred to Ilya’s designation. There was no hope for him now.
Ilya knelt up straight, spreading his knees wide to get himself lower. He pushed Hollander’s legs up and back, and pressed the head of his cock to that little wet hole. They both moaned as they felt it; that point of no return.
It was tight. Not just at the entrance, but the whole way in. Hot, tight, slick. Ilya felt like Hollander’s pussy was holding him in, making each outward pull harder and harder. He lowered himself back down so he could kiss Hollander’s mouth, neck, face - whatever he could reach - and use gravity to help him get as deep as possible.
There had been a little resistance on that first push inside; Hollander still had a hymen, and Ilya was sure he felt it give around him as he stretched and formed that pussy to his cock’s own liking.
Roses. The scent of beautiful, sweet roses. Ilya was floating in it.
He became vaguely aware that the force of him had moved their bodies, and Hollander’s head was now at an awkward angle against the wall. Without thinking, he pulled out and instantly regretted the loss of heat and friction. He pulled Hollander away from the wall with a drag.
It must be hurting him. Lying on the floor must be hurting him. The bed? Should he put him on the bed?
Ilya hauled Hollander up, but Hollander could hardly support his own weight. He flopped onto the bed, and tried to right himself. It was a sight any alpha would love to see: a virginal omega, shaking with want, murmuring and keening about how he felt empty and needed more.
With strong hands, Ilya moved him by the hips, digging fingers in hard enough to bruise. He wanted to take him from behind, if only for a few moments. He needed to know what this tighter angle would feel like. He needed to see how deep he could go.
Hollander’s body was like a teammate, moving, swaying, pushing and pulling and squeezing just how Ilya needed it to. Hollander was desperately trying not to come, like he wanted to prolong this as long as possible. He seemed genuinely angry when Ilya pulled out, and the glare he shot back over his shoulder was like food for Ilya’s soul.
On his back, the omega was in his element. He all but dragged Ilya back on top of him. Any other alpha would have punished him for it, but Ilya lived to serve.
Finally inside him again, Ilya gave himself over to his want and need and inner animal. He had never felt a pussy come like Hollander’s pussy came, a vice like rhythm, so fast, so strong. Ripples of reflex pulling Ilya deeper and tipping him over, milking the cum as it spurted from Ilya’s cock and filled him.
Ilya found enough brainpower to kneel up, keeping his cock deep as his seed flowed, and looked at Hollander’s flat abdomen, searching to see if it would soften and move even a little between the hip bones with the volume shot straight up into his womb. With satisfaction, he was sure he saw it. He pressed a thumb to it, feeling the firm softness. Hollander groaned, confirming the ache of his first time full.
The knot was nearly full, and Hollander was complaining about it. “It’s too big!” he whined. “I can’t. It’s too big.”
“It won’t come out now, Hollander,” Ilya said, settling down on top of him. He could see the mating gland raised and ready for him. “You are made to take a knot. It will not be so bad soon.”
Hollander’s eyes were squeezed shut. He seemed to be evening out a little, but the flush across his skin was still prominent. He shifted a little, and Ilya winced. “Careful, omega,” he complained. “You are stuck on it. It will hurt us both to try and get off.”
“I can’t believe I let you do this,” admitted Hollander.
“Let me?” smiled Ilya. “You begged me.”
“You … really won’t tell anyone?”
“Mmm. No, Hollander. I won’t tell anyone.”
“You promise?”
“I promise. On one condition…”
Hollander visibly swallowed. “You want to fuck my ass?”
Ilya felt his mouth drop open. “Ah … not what I was going to say. But yes one day I will fuck your ass. That is not my condition.”
“Oh.” Hollander looked disappointed.
Ilya grinned. “I still need a rut slut this summer.”
The ‘no’ wasn’t immediate. Ilya watched Hollander bite his lip, calculating in his head the losses and gains of agreeing to be used for an alpha’s rut. He nodded, a short sharp gesture of agreement.
Satisfied, Ilya dipped his head into Hollander’s neck, seeking the scent suppressants could no longer hide. He felt Hollander flinch, so he pulled back a little. He supposed he’d be nervous, too, if he was a knotted omega with an alpha’s mouth by his mating gland.
It would be … interesting … to claim Hollander. To completely rewrite his life. To mate him, own him, collar him and rut him. Their children would make world-class hockey players.
Ilya pressed his mouth carefully closed, feeling the sharpness of his canines itching to bite. Maybe not bite? What about a nibble? A little taste.
“Your scent is sweet, Hollander,” Ilya said, distracting himself. They could not detect their own scents, only have it described to them.
“Yours is like a woodland,” Hollander replied. “Walking through evergreens on a rainy day.”
“You are a rose garden in summer.”
“I hate it,” Hollander confessed. “It doesn’t suit me.”
“It does.”
“Tell that to all the kids at school who gave me hell for being a boy who smelled like a girl. And also every guy in every locker room who ever picked up on it.”
“Alphas are assholes. You are perfect.”
Hollander didn’t quite know how to reply, and Ilya thought maybe he’d said something way too wrong. He thought a kiss might break the tension, and Hollander was so pliant to his tongue.
He felt Hollander’s arms circle around him and hold him steady as they made out.
“Would you let me play hockey?” Hollander asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Ilya searched his face. “Let you … ?”
“If … y’know … If?”
“Hockey wouldn’t be worth playing if I couldn’t beat you.”
“I’d only play for a few more years.”
“Hollander.”
“Maybe retire after I win a cup.”
“Hollander.”
“If our scents are compatible that must mean something,” Hollander insisted.
“This is fairy stories for baby omegas.”
“Oh.”
“We like to fuck. Doesn’t mean we have to mate.”
“You knotted me,” Hollander reminded him, quietly. He squeezed his pussy to make a point, and Ilya gasped at the pressure.
“You are so full of suppressants. It won’t do anything.”
“You don’t feel like you want to just .. bite? I don’t know any omega who wasn’t bitten on a knot.”
“I feel I want to, but I won’t. It’s just hormones and instinct. We are better than that. Once you’re off the knot your head will return to you. You’ll thank me.”
“Our kids would be amazing hockey players,” Hollander joked.
Ilya laughed. “Mm. Yes. They will get it from my side of the family.”
They were quiet for a moment, and Ilya felt his knot begin to loosen. Hollander could probably feel it, too, but he was no longer in a rush to move. “I wasn’t raised this way,” Hollander eventually said, like he was ashamed of himself.
“Raised what way?”
“To just … do this. Casually. I really was a virgin.”
“Yes. I could feel it. Now every cock you take you will compare to me.”
Hollander flinched. “You make it sound like I’m going to go and sleep with a hundred alphas.”
“Maybe you will, now you know how good we feel.”
“How good you feel. Alphas are dicks.”
“So I felt so good, did I?” Ilya teased.
“Fuck off, Rozanov,” groaned Hollander. “You know it felt good.”
“Did you get the orgasm? When I came inside you?”
It was one of the few benefits to being an omega: the mating orgasm. It sounded divine. The body recognising that alpha cum had been put inside, and rewarding with an orgasm that was more an ethereal glow than fireworks.
“Mmmyeah,” Hollander smiled, closing his eyes as he remembered it. “Was something else.”
“When I win the cup and take you for my rut, you will have that feeling three times a day.”
“Mm-Rozanov.” Hollander grunted his name. Ilya felt a little wetness slide around his cock, still buried deep inside.
“You want to go again, Hollander?” he asked. “Shall I not bother to take it out?”
“Fuck.”
Ilya rolled his hips a little, moving his softening cock to make a point. He laughed. “Don’t worry, Hollander. I am not so cruel as to shoot two loads into a virgin womb. You might pop.” He pulled himself out, even though Hollander’s hips rose instinctively to try and keep him inside.
They lay beside each other, comfy on the bed. Ilya could fall asleep, sated and satisfied, the gentle rose garden scent enveloping him with the intoxicating smell of a freshly fucked omega. He reached an arm out and draped it over Hollander’s body almost possessively. “I will protect you,” he murmured sleepily.
If Hollander replied he didn’t hear it. Peacefully, Ilya drifted off to sleep