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Listen.
Shane didn’t even remember that male omegas existed before the health class he took in grade ten. Which, even then, they glossed over, acting as if the information were unimportant.
So waking up at sixteen, sweating and confused, was shocking. His parents didn’t think it was a possibility, and he spent his first heat in the hospital. They sent him home with multiple pamphlets about omegas and told him there were custom pamphlets for male omegas.
Yes, hospitals don’t carry pamphlets for male omegas because of how rare they are. And here he was, an omega.
A male omega.
That’s already only in the low 3% of the human race.
Three. Percent.
The lucky thing about male omegas is that he looks genetically male as long as nobody’s spreading his legs.
That lucky thing means that he can be in the locker room showers with no question.
The lucky thing is that all designation documents within the hockey world are sworn to secrecy. Secrecy of the medical field. Not even the teams themselves know, not the coaches, not team members, not even Roger fuckin’ Crowell.
Designation safety in sports and jobs in general is under the ABO Protection Act, signed way before Shane was born. Before his parents were born. Before their parents were born.
Needless to say, nobody knows his designation.
Ilya Rozanov might know.
He’s not sure with the way their first experience went; it honestly seemed like he had no idea. But now he’s overthinking it. Especially considering the fact that he’s waiting outside of his hotel room.
The hotel room that’s right next to another hotel room.
The other hotel room that is currently housing Scott fucking Hunter.
The door opens, and upon seeing Ilya’s stupid fucking face, he shoves his way in and closes the door shut as quietly as possible, whilst being fast.
A surge of annoyance travels through him as he slowly turns toward the other.
“Is someone chasing you?” Ilya says, his eyebrow raised. He doesn’t even give Ilya a chance to breathe before he’s speaking.
“I’m standing outside like an idiot.” Shane says, “Scott Hunter is right next door.”
And he watches as Ilya’s expression turns amused as he ducks his head and chuckles. Shane considers denying Ilya what he wants, but upon seeing him lean against the wall, one hand on his hip, bite his lower lip with a grin, and lift his head, revealing dark eyes with an undertone of lust, that train of thought stops immediately.
“Fuck.” He says, under his breath, and rushes forward. Their lips meet in a messy kiss. His fingers dig into Ilya’s curls, and Ilya’s hands are quick to rest on the curve of his waist. He feels Ilya lift his arm to wrap it around his shoulders.
They break apart, and as Shane attempts to kiss him again, he tilts his chin down to avoid his lips, “Get on your knees.”
Non-horny Shane would pull back and tell Ilya to fuck off.
But non-horny Shane doesn’t exist right now.
He drops to his knees within a second and begins unzipping Ilya’s pants, taking him into his mouth immediately after. He reaches up to grope Ilya’s chest, enjoying each noise he pulls from him. When he glances up, he sees Ilya pulling off his shirt and almost grins.
“Okay,” Ilya mutters under his breath, and suddenly, Shane is being pulled by the hood of his hoodie to connect their lips again. With his hands in his hair, Shane pulls Ilya close, and their lips stay connected as he hoists him up. He’s quick to wrap his legs around his waist as Ilya carries him to the bed.
He rips off his hoodie and the shirt underneath with fervor, and Ilya pauses his efforts of removing his pants, leaving his fly open.
“Gospodi,” Ilya mutters, “your waist is like Omega’s.”
Shane stiffens at the broken English Ilya speaks, clearly meant to stay a thought.
That answers that question.
No, Ilya does not know he’s an omega.
The current impression Ilya has is that he’s a beta, much like the rest of the world.
He goes back to removing his pants and boxers at the same time, and Shane keeps his legs together the whole time. Ilya traps them between his arms as he comes back up his body and swallows him down. Shane covers his face with his arms as he moans, looking from the ceiling to Ilya repeatedly.
“Oh my fucking god-” Shane moans as he rests his arms behind his head, “fuck, Rozanov.” Arching his back and closing his eyes, the warmth surrounding him leaves. Ilya kisses up his torso before pressing a, still messy, but fast kiss to Shane’s lips.
“Get on your stomach,” Ilya instructs, and Shane breathes for a moment, but Ilya just repeats himself, “on your stomach.” Shane does.
Ilya rests on top of Shane, his weight partially on him and partially on his left arm, holding him up so he doesn’t end up crushing him. His right hand focuses on moving up and down Shane’s body as he speaks into his ear.
“Have you ever?” Ilya asks. It’s an ambiguous question, but from the position they’re in, Shane can guess what he’s asking.
He shakes his head.
“Do you want to?” Ilya adds to his last question, pressing a kiss to Shane’s shoulder. Shane ducks his head slightly, “You’re scared.”
“I’m not scared.” Shane immediately defends himself.
“No, is okay–”
“I’m not scared.” Shane huffs, attempting to look behind him.
Ilya rolls onto his side and slowly trails his fingers between Shane’s ass, “Do you ever touch yourself here?”
“Jesus Christ,” Shane says, rolling his eyes whilst pushing back against him ever so slightly.
“What?” Ilya teases, “Does touching your ass make you gay?”
“Rozanov.”
“‘Cause you know what else makes you gay is sucking my-” Ilya’s voice suddenly cuts off as he moves his fingers lower. Shane winces, not out of pain but from anticipation of Ilya’s reaction after he felt the slick that’s been pooling between his thighs.
“Hollander.” He says.
Shane doesn’t respond.
“Hollander.” Ilya repeats.
Shane rolls onto his back, expecting to see a face full of repulsion, but is met with wide eyes and an open mouth.
“Are you–” Ilya begins, but he can’t even finish his sentence.
“An omega?” Shane finishes his sentence for him, and Ilya just nods, “Yeah.”
Ilya’s jaw drops further as he stares at Shane, eyes wide and astonished. Shane glances away.
“But… but–so rare?” Ilya says, and Shane nods.
“3% of the world,” Shane murmurs, looking down. Ilya’s eyes follow along, “is that… okay?”
Ilya’s head snaps back up, his expression incredulous.
“Hollander, I am bisexual alpha. You think I would not like this?”
Shane feels kind of embarrassed now that he thinks about it.
“So… have you ever…” Ilya begins, and Shane’s jaw clenches as Ilya goes back to that stupid fucking teasing tone.
“Shut up. Fuck!” He barks at him, “I was going to say I have a… thing, ok?”
Ilya blinks.
“A thing?”
Shane looks to the side.
“A dildo.”
Quiet.
“What… color?”
“Fuck you!”
“Is big?”
“I’m leaving,” Shane says as he rolls onto his stomach. Ilya wraps his arms around him and presses him onto the bed, stomach down.
“No, no– Hollander, I want to fuck you.” He whines.
Shane rolls his body again, his eyes are bright as he stares up at the other man. He only sees attraction in his eyes.
“You’re sure? Me being an omega doesn’t…” Shane trails off, and Ilya raises an eyebrow.
“Hollander, I know how to fuck. Men and women. I think I can fuck you. ” Shane’s face burns. “Plus, best of both places. Both at same time. Is like a prize.”
Shane swallows and corrects him, “Best of both worlds.”
“Yes, yes.” Ilya rolls his eyes.
“Not here.” His voice is quiet as he trails eyes across Ilya’s features, “Not with fucking– Scott Hunter next door.”
Ilya looks up at the wall, considering their position.
“He is hot.” He comments and leans closer, “We should let him listen like mating call.”
Shane huffs, an amused expression taking over his face. He closes his eyes as Ilya pecks his lips, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Ilya hums, and Shane opens his eyes in time to see Ilya glance down at his still hard cock, “You probably would too.”
Shane swallows again.
“Ok.” Ilya says, sure, “So next time.”
He ducks down to kiss Shane again, but he moves his face out of the way, “Next time?”
Ilya looks at him like he’s crazy, “Yeah, we’re playing Montreal in two weeks.”
“Yeah, but um–” Shane’s voice cracks, “Where would we…”
“Where would we what?”
“Meet?” He says it like it’s obvious.
“You are homeless?”
Shane’s face is burning again.
“No.”
“Then we meet at your house–”
“It’s an apartment.” Shane corrects him, his tone flat and nervous. Ilya does a once-over of his expression and pulls back.
“Hollander, you are having panic attack.” Ilya says, and Shane rolls his eyes, laughing as he looks to the side and then back to Ilya, “It’s just a plan to fuck.”
Shane licks his lips before doing an efficient nod. Ilya nods back and goes in for another kiss. The first one is fast, but the second one turns filthy within a moment. Ilya moves his jaw in a way that drives Shane insane as their tongues brush against each other. Shane’s hands go from gripping Ilya’s shoulders to his hair once again.
They don’t get to kiss for long because Ilya trails kisses down, he pecks twice on his cheek and jawline, and leaves a trail of kisses down Shane’s neck until he gets to one of his nipples, quickly nipping at it. Shane can feel Ilya smile in response to Shane’s loud yelp as he kisses down his stomach.
When he reaches his destination, he sits up, stepping off the bed from his kneeling position. Shane looks at him in confusion.
“What are-” Shane lets out a rather embarrassing squeak as Ilya pulls him forward by his ankles until he’s resting on the edge of the bed. Shane pushes himself onto his elbows and gasps as Ilya bends his legs and spreads them roughly. Shane holds his breath, watching Ilya’s eyes move across his entire body.
“You are so…” Ilya trails off, “I do not know enough English to compliment you fully.”
Shane huffs and rolls his eyes, “Wow, do you use that line on everyone?”
Ilya tsks as he rubs Shane’s inner thighs, getting closer to his crotch, “Mmm, I don’t find many people who can make me want to pick up a… word book.”
“Dictionary.” Shane provides the word for him, and Ilya glances up with a grateful smirk.
“A dictionary.” And Ilya leans back over Shane, smacking a quick kiss onto his lips, “Do you trust me?”
Shane rolls his eyes, “You know I do.”
“Can I eat you out?”
Shane’s breath hitches, but he nods, “Sure.”
Ilya’s lips quirk up and Shane watches him move downward again from his position on his elbows. He lets out a soft moan that gradually increases in volume as Ilya kisses the tip of his cock before slowly swallowing it down to the base.
“Fuck.” He hisses out.
Ilya bobs his head, relishing in the curses that fall from Shane’s lips. He pulls himself off, grinning at the way Shane’s hips thrust up to follow him. He leaves soft, wet kisses on the underside of his dick, strings of spit connecting him to his past work.
When his tongue licks a stripe up the entrance of his cunt, Shane’s jaw falls open with a high-pitched moan, and his eyes roll back into his head. Arms slipping out from underneath him, his back arches off the bed, hands fisting into the sheets.
“Oh, fuck.” Shane pants as Ilya dips his tongue inside, “Holy shit, Rozanov.”
Encouraged by his reaction, Ilya begins to fuck him with his tongue. Shane’s right arm comes up, his forearm covering his eyes as he tries to grind upward, but Ilya holds his hips down. He whines at the lack of movement. Ilya pulls back.
“You’re being a brat, Hollander.” He murmurs.
Removing his arm, Shane pushes himself off the bed slightly, “Yeah, well-”
He’s cut off when the air punches out of his lungs. Ilya begins a fast rhythm, lapping at his cunt like a starved man. Shane can’t take it anymore. If he’s unable to thrust his hips, he needs something to control. He digs his hands into Ilya’s hair and tugs him closer.
Ilya moans against him, the sharp pain shooting a wave of pleasure throughout his body. The vibrations make Shane shiver. He can feel himself getting closer to his peak with every scoop Ilya’s tongue does. He whines loudly as Ilya pulls away and petulantly tugs at his hair.
“Do not act like baby, I’ll make you finish.” Ilya mutters and presses a kiss to the tip of his cock.
“Fuck you.” Shane bites. Ilya swallows him again, the pace faster. Every time the tip of his cock hits the back of Ilya’s throat, he moans. He pulls off with a pop and a fast gulp of air before lowering his body and diving back into Shane’s cunt.
His tongue and lips are sloppy and wet, a mix of slick and spit.
“Fuck,” Shane breathes out, and then Ilya wraps his hand around his dick, pumping him in tandem with each thrust of his tongue, “Oh fuck– oh fuck.”
Shane feels the heat in his belly peak, and his eyes roll back, his jaw dropping in a silent moan that eventually becomes audible. Hips jerking against Ilya’s mouth, he licks him through the orgasm. He writhes against the sweat-drenched sheets, one hand digging into the blanket and the other yanking at Ilya’s curls.
Eventually, the pleasure falls, and Shane whimpers in overstimulation, pushing Ilya’s head away. His legs feel like jelly as he gulps in air, his chest rising and falling dangerously fast. Blinking quickly, his eyes catch Ilya slowly standing and wincing as his knees audibly pop. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Taste good,” Ilya says, a smirk crossing his face.
“Fuck you,” Shane says, catching his breath. He closes his legs, “Shit, that was amazing.”
“Yes, I know.” The cocky tone is clear. Shane scoffs. He slides off the bed, falling immediately to his knees. Looking up, Ilya takes his own cock into his hand and feeds it to Shane. Shane bobs his head roughly, making up for whatever he can’t take with his hand. Ilya removes his hand, pulls it up, spits on it, and lets it go.
Shane, now with less resistance, strokes him again. The noises coming from his mouth are foul. It’s wet and messy. His eyes are closed, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
“Look at me.” Ilya commands, and Shane does. His eyes are wide as he tries to focus, “I’m going to fuck your face now.”
Shane moans around him. He takes that as a signal of ‘Okay’ and grips the back of Shane’s head, pulling him closer. Shane removes his hand and stops bobbing his head, letting himself be used. Every now and then, his throat constricts, and he chokes for just a moment, but he wills himself to calm down, relaxing his throat further. Ilya tugs him down further than he ever has before, and tears come to Shane’s eyes as he gags, his eyebrows squeezing lightly.
“Fuck.” Ilya says, dragging the word out into a moan, “Hollander.”
Ilya tugs him roughly, faster than before, and suddenly he pulls Shane off. Shane gasps for some air as Ilya jerks himself off. Moans and grunts come from him as he watches Shane control his breathing. With the telling sign of his orgasm (His moans become cut off), Shane prepares himself by closing his eyes and flinches lightly when he feels Ilya’s cum spurting across his face. It lands on his brow bone, cheek, and lips. Shane opens his eyes when Ilya cups his cheek.
“Moment,” Ilya says, “I will grab towel.”
Ilya gestures toward the bed as he walks away. Shane nods, then Ilya notices Shane standing on shaky legs, about to sit on the edge. He dampens a washcloth and brings it back. He starts with Shane’s face, gently rubbing away the remnants of his own orgasm.
“Lay back.” Ilya moves his hand with the words, demonstrating the motion. Shane does, lying partially down but holding himself on his elbows. Ilya wipes his stomach down, swiping away the cum that’s already begun to dry. The washcloth is wet enough to scrape it away. Ilya pulls away.
“I’m going to shower now. Sit as long as you need,” Ilya’s lips quirk as he glances down to Shane’s still trembling legs, “you need it. Probably.”
Shane flushes.
He smacks his arm.
Twenty minutes later, Ilya is sitting up in bed as Shane tugs his shirt back on, legs now operable. He turns, ignoring the jolt of arousal when he sees Ilya in all of his shirtless and wet glory.
“Uh, I know we talked about Montreal in two weeks, but…” He sways back and forth with his hands in his pockets in an attempt to say… something. Ilya sighs.
“Oh my god, Hollander, you are so boring,” Ilya says and slides off the bed, sticking out his hand as he makes his way towards him. “Give me your phone.”
Shane just turns with Ilya’s movement, following as he stops in front of him.
“You have phone.” Ilya states, Shane tilts his head in a silent answer, and Ilya shoves his hand toward him, “Give.”
Shane caves immediately, handing over his phone. After watching Ilya concentrate and type on his phone for a few seconds, he hands it back. Shane opens his phone and laughs when he sees a new contact.
Lily.
Ilya, having picked up his own phone, types.
“So, what’s my name gonna be?” Shane asks, and a notification sounds on his phone.
“Jane.” Ilya says.