Archive of Our Own

The poster on the wall of the doctor’s office reads: In Your Own Way, On Your Own Time. The white text, made to look like handwriting, overlays a picture of a couple and their young child. They’re all smiling brightly, sitting together in a sunny meadow, sprawled out on a picnic blanket. They all look utterly thrilled with themselves, blissfully unaware of the legal disclaimer scrawled at the bottom of their photo.

Shane narrows his eyes at the picture of the fake family. The woman–presumbly the omega–sure doesn’t look like him. She’s young and hip, grown enough that she doesn’t have a baby face, but free of wrinkles or sun spots on her skin. She’s not like Shane; an old, unmated omega with a bad back and a stubborn grey thatch of hair at his temples. He’s not sure this face could sell injectable hormones for IVF, even if he wanted it to. 

His staredown is interrupted by a soft knock on the door. His new doctor, Dr. Germain, steps inside, dressed casually in a scrub top and jeans. She’s an older omega, maybe a little younger than his mother. When Shane was researching, her website boasted that she’s spent her whole career in medicine dedicated to the wellbeing of omegas. She started out in obstetrics, like most omegas that pursue medicine, but decided to pivot to fertility later in her life. 

“Shane.” Dr Germain smiles warmly and sticks out her hand. He takes it. “Lovely to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he responds. He’s suddenly nervous–he’s spent his whole life being poked and prodded at, taking mandatory blood tests and getting checked for concussions off the ice. But this appointment feels different. Because it is, he thinks. 

“This is just a consultation. We won’t be making any big moves today,” she explains, taking a seat on the squeaky rolling stool across the room. “Unless you’d like to.” She winks.

“Yeah, uh, that’s fine.”

Surprisingly, Dr. Germain doesn’t turn to the computer or pull out her phone to take AI-recorded notes. She just sits across from Shane. 

“It must have taken a lot of thought to make this appointment, Shane. Can you tell me a little bit about the ‘why?”

“Well…” He’s not sure where to begin. Does she have time for his whole life story? Probably not. “I’ve always loved kids. And I’ve known my whole life I wanted to have them. But with hockey–I, uh, used to play professionally–I never got around to finding a mate.” Because you can’t stomach the smell of any alpha you’ve met. “Now that I’m retired, I realized I’m not getting any younger. And like, why do I need an alpha to raise a child? I have plenty of time and the means to support us. I have a home in a great school district and I’m only two hours away from my parents. There’s no better time. There’s just the whole…getting pregnant part.”

Dr. Germain listens intently throughout his whole story. Shane tries not to make eye contact with her, so he finds himself looking at the poster again.

“Well, you are certainly not alone in feeling this way. Many of my patients are single parents for a lot of the same reasons. The most important things for a child is love and support. Both can be achieved without traditional family dynamics.”

He nods. Her words make him feel a little better, he guesses.

“So,” she continues, wheeling over to the computer monitor and pulling up his chart. “The process can look different depending on your comfort levels and your blood test results. We can either go through artificial insemination, or we can match you with an alpha who can impregnate you during your heat.”

Shane flushes. “I read somewhere that the more…natural way is more effective. Is that true?”

Dr. Germain taps one finger on the desk. 

“We do see higher success rates in our matching program. But, that depends on a lot of things, like whether both partners are in cycle or not, and how chemically compatible you are to your assigned alpha. The difference between the two methods isn’t big enough to suggest one is astronomically more effective than the other.”

“Oh.” Shane chews on the side of his mouth. “I wouldn’t mind trying the match program first.”

The clinic’s website made it very clear that they are not a heat partner service, but Shane hasn’t shared his heat with another alpha in god knows how long. And even if the difference is nominal, it’s still slightly better than the artificial route. Logically, it’s the sound choice. 

Dr. Germain smiles, like she’s thrilled to hear Shane’s choice. 

“You don’t have to decide right now, but it’s good to hear you’re leaning in one direction. How about we start your exam, and then we can regroup after?” 

Shane goes through the standard motions of going to the doctor’s; he gets a pelvic exam, a nurse draws his blood, Dr. Germain listens to his heart. Unlike many moments in his life, there’s none of the usual anxiety heavy in his stomach. There’s no voice in the back of his head trying to get him to second-guess himself. This is the best decision for him; he’s finally going to have a child, and he’s going to get to raise them all on his own. Gone are the days of other people making decisions for him. This is a decision that’s his and his alone. 

Afterwards, Dr. Germain has him fill out a preference sheet. She explains that not all of the categories will be satisfied by his match, but it’s helpful to narrow down the database of possible matches. He marks the important stuff like men only, but most of the sheet he doesn’t have a strong opinion on. His pen falters over the preferred age section; he doesn’t really care either way, but he doesn’t want the doctor to judge him. He scribbles no preference anyways. 

Dr. Germain hands him a stack of informational pamphlets and a branded pen before he leaves the office. After his test results come in and he’s medically cleared to enroll in the program, he’ll receive a curated sampling of scents from possible alpha matches. She insists he can take his time deciding on a match, and that he can request more scent samples as often as he wants. When she says this, he grimaces internally. 

He’s going to need it.

***

The scent booklet arrives two weeks later. 

It comes in a cardboard package labeled FRAGILE in big, red letters. Shane has to cut through layers of thick packing tape just to get the thing open. 

The booklet is simple and sterile. All that’s printed on the front page is his name and patient account number. Shane holds the bound cardstock in his hands, weighing the thick paper. He hesitates to open it–he feels like he needs to make this a thing. He should do this on a day he has nothing planned; sit down, grab some coffee beans to sniff between samples, and take his time going through each one. But part of him feels like it’s all a moot point. He’s genuinely never smelt another alpha, besides his mother, that didn’t make his stomach churn. He’ll probably have to request five new booklets before finding a scent that doesn’t make him want to throw up. 

Shane opens the booklet. Rows of small, peelable stickers line each page, organized by a string of numbers. Patient IDs, probably. A short instruction blurb tells him to peel off each plastic sample and scent it; they can be discarded normally, but he needs to remember to circle any number that he particularly likes. It’s all very simple, and he wonders how any of this is actually legal. 

Curious, he peels back the first sample and brings it up to his nose. 

His face twists as the scent passes through his nostrils. Gross. It smells like unhappiness and a dirty locker room. Sometimes he can’t believe that alphas are allowed to walk around smelling the way they do. He tosses the slip in the trash and moves onto the next one. 

Each sample makes him crinkle his nose. He can barely stand scenting them for more than a few seconds before discarding the slips. He’s worried he might make himself sick, and briefly wonders if he can induce some rejection-based illness just by going through so many scents. Probably not, though. Dr. Germain would have told him that beforehand. 

A pile of plastic slips forms at the bottom of the trashcan. Shane falls into a rhythm of peel, sniff, gag, and throw away. He’s so focused on the process that he doesn’t realize he’s gone through all 35 pages until there’s only one sample left. 

#672.

Halfheartedly, he peels the last bit of plastic off, prepared to toss it in the trash. What he doesn’t expect, though, is to pass the sample under his nose and get hit with the most delicious scent he’s ever smelled. A feeling of pure pleasure washes over his body as he subconsciously opens his mouth, wetting his lips to try and better scent the sample. It smells like cuddling under blankets on a rainy day, like walking into a room where you know no one, but suddenly recognizing a friend in the corner. Like home and safety and relief. 

“Holy shit,” Shane hisses into the empty kitchen, gripping onto the edge of the counter with his free hand. His body is thrumming with energy; he feels alive. He feels like he could run a marathon right now with no preparation. He feels like he did on the ice, fueled by pure determination and desire to win. 

Shane realizes, with slight horror, that he is wet. 

He can feel himself leaking slick in his boxers. A single whiff of this alpha’s scent has his body reverting to its most primal instincts–instincts that he, generally, tries to ignore. He can’t remember the last time the smell of an alpha had him this aroused. Maybe that hookup a few years ago in Mexico? It’s hard to remember. He tries not to go around sniffing alphas who aren’t wearing scent patches. 

Shane stands frozen at the counter for a few moments. Timidly, he scents the sample again. His body floods with the same feelings–not a fluke, then. For a fleeting second, he considers letting the feeling get the best of him and pulling down his sweats so he can jerk off in the kitchen. But Shane Hollander wouldn’t stoop so low; instead, he calmly places the sample back in the booklet, circles the number with a pen, and calls his best friend. 

Rose picks up on the third ring. 

“Hey babe, what’s up?” In the background, there’s the sound of people talking and the clanking of silverware against ceramic. 

“Are you eating right now? I can call back,” Shane replies hastily. 

“Oh my gosh, it’s fine. I’m at a cast lunch. No one cares what I’m doing.”
Shane’s not sure he believes that.

“Well, I got the scent booklet from the doctor–”

“Shut up!” Rose interrupts. He pauses. “Wait, no. Not literally. I’m just excited–this is so exciting!”

“Yeah, I guess. But I went through all the samples and, I mean, you know how I am,” he mutters, thumbing at the corner of the booklet. 

“Aw, I’m sorry hon.” Rose stops and says something about taking a call to whoever’s at the restaurant with her. “I’m sure if you ask for another one, they’ll give you more samples to try.”

“No, that’s not the problem. Surprisingly. I actually found one that’s like…holy shit, Rose. I’ve literally never smelled anything this good in my life.”

“Wait, really?” 

“Yeah.”

Rose squeals; Shane has to move the phone away from his ear, but he still smiles to himself. 

“Shane, that’s great! I told you there had to be one alpha out there that doesn’t smell like shit. Ugh, I wish I could meet whoever it is.”
“Me too,” Shane says softly, his gaze stuck on the circled string of numbers. “Look, I have to reach out to the doctor’s office now that I have a match, and I don’t want to keep you from lunch. Call me later?”
“Of course, Shane. I would say I’d text you beforehand but I know you sit around waiting for me to call these days,” she replies, and Shane can hear the teasing smile on her lips. 

“Please. My life is very interesting.”
“Sure, whatever you see. Talk to you later, babe!”

Shane says goodbye and hangs up the phone. In all his time knowing Rose, she has never once had free time for herself. She never would, but Shane hopes one day soon she can take a break from acting and focus on herself. They could even go on vacation to, like, Ibiza or something.

The scent of the mystery alpha remains on Shane’s mind for the rest of the day. He sends a quick email to Dr. Germain to let her know about the sample he chose, but even afterwards he can’t stop thinking about it. While he cooks his dinner, he lets his mind wander. What does the mystery alpha look like? Is he taller or shorter than Shane? Is he an athlete too, or could he care less about sports? Shane doesn’t really have a type, but he supposes he wouldn’t mind if his alpha was handsome, too. 

It’s really no one’s business if, when he’s laying in bed that night trying to fall asleep, he shoves his hand between his legs and thinks of the delicious scent, imagining being pounded into the mattress by the alpha it belongs to. 

***

Congrats on your match!
To: Shane Hollander <[email protected]>
Hi Shane,

Congratulations on successfully matching with an alpha in our program! We’re excited to help you with the next steps on your fertility journey. You’ll find a brief information sheet attached to this email about your alpha, which includes his contact details. We encourage you to reach out and get to know your match before your heat. If you have any problems contacting him, please let us know.

Your next heat is anticipated to start on: May 24th

Your matched alpha will be provided with rut-inducing medication in case it is not triggered naturally via proximity to you. He will also receive a box of heat supplies, which includes gland protection patches to prevent accidental mating. 

If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to reach out.

Sincerely,
The Team at Mount Royal Medical and Wellness
(514) 369-7999
mountroyalmedical.com

***

MOUNT ROYAL MEDICAL AND WELLNESS MATCH PROGRAM PARTICIPANT SHEET

By signing this form, I certify that I am medically fit to participate in Mount Royal Medical and Wellness’ fertility match program. All information I shared with the leading program physician is correct and true. Per the disclosure letter on file, I waive any right to claim paternity if conception is successful. If I attempt to contact my matched omega after the end of our contracted mating period, I understand that both Mount Royal Medical and Wellness and the omega patient have the right to prosecute me to the fullest extent of the law. 

***

Introduction – Match Partner 
To: [email protected]
Good afternoon Ilya,

My name is Shane and I’m a patient at Mount Royal Medical and Wellness. As they have already informed you, we have been matched as heat partners through their fertility program. 

My next heat isn’t until the end of May, but I would love to connect with you sooner and get to know you a little bit beforehand. If you’re interested, let me know and we can find a time to meet. Looking forward to speaking with you!

Best,
Shane

Re: Introduction – Match Partner
To: Shane Hollander <[email protected]>
hello Shane!! Yes Dr. Germain emailed me about the match and the date of your next heat but I would love to meet you. I live downtown but can meet you wherever, maybe we could get coffee or something))

Ilya

Re: Introduction – Match Partner
To: [email protected]
Hi Ilya,

Great to hear from you. I’m retired, so my schedule these days is mostly free. Do you have a favorite coffee place near you? I’d be happy to make the trip downtown, just let me know. 

Shane

Re: Introduction – Match Partner
To: Shane Hollander <[email protected]>
Hi Shane wow that must be nice. Does Sunday at 10 work or is that too early? I am usually in the office late most days unfortunately so the weekend works better for me. There is this coffee shop called Cafe Olympia that I like, they have pastries and sandwiches too in case you are hungry. 

Ilya 

Re: Introduction – Match Partner
To: [email protected]
Hi Ilya,

Sunday at 10 works great. I’m looking forward to meeting you. I’ve attached a photo of myself so you recognize me and can wave me down on Sunday!

IMG_0709.jpg

Shane

***

Shane doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. 

It’s not like this is a date or anything. Both of them are enrolled in a medical program, their physical and mental health vetted by professionals. They had to get background checks to participate. There’s a whole team of doctors and nurses that are facilitating their coupling, and Shane is protected if he decides that he and the mystery alpha aren’t a good fit. Everything is perfectly organized, and there aren’t any actual feelings involved. It’s a purely professional exchange. 

That’s why Shane doesn’t understand his nerves. He arrived at Café Olympia ten minutes early–because he’s Shane Hollander, and that’s what he does–but now he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn’t want to go in, because what if Ilya is equally early, and is taken aback by how punctual Shane is? He’s already walked up and down the block to try and kill time, and he’s about to do it again, but he thinks about how crazy it might look to the people around him. 

He looks at his watch: 9:53. Shane sighs, glancing at the storefront. He should just go in. He takes a deep, steady breath, and opens the front door.

Inside, the cafe is nice and cozy. Instantly, he smells the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Thank god he won’t have to give that up once he’s pregnant, but he’s not looking forward to cutting down his caffeine consumption. Shane scans the shop; no one seems to recognize him. No Ilya, then. He gives the barista a terse smile and finds a two-person table tucked in the corner. At first, he’s content to just people-watch, until he thinks about how weird that would look to Ilya. It’s much more normal to be glued to his phone, so he pulls it out of his pocket and turns his attention there. 

He’s only scrolling on Instagram for a few minutes before he smells it. Smells him. The mouthwatering scent from the booklet seeps into the room, mixing with the smell of the coffee beans. Shane’s phone almost slips out of his hand as he jolts up with surprise. 

Across the cafe, a young man is waving at him. He’s beaming, smiling so wide and so brightly that Shane wonders if his cheeks hurt. The man clears the room in a few long strides, hands tucked in his jacket pockets, carrying himself with tangible confidence.

Ilya Rozanov is incredibly attractive. Shane comes to this realization as he looks up at the young alpha, who stands in front of the table. His face is all sharp lines and angles, framed by the most precious mop of curls Shane has ever seen. 

“Shane?” He asks, the question tinged with a melodic accent. He sounds hopeful, like he’s waiting for Shane to say no, sorry, wrong guy.

“You must be Ilya.” Shane sticks out his hand; the alpha takes it, shaking it firmly. Up close, Shane can smell the crispness of Ilya’s scent–the scent that has had him completely transfixed for the past week. He glances quickly at the exposed curve of Ilya’s neck, and notices there’s no shiny, clear patch over his scent gland. Typical young alpha behavior, forgoing any scent suppressants because they’re too self-important to realize no omega wants to smell all that. This is the first time it doesn’t bother Shane. He’s grateful that he can subtly inhale Ilya’s full scent, filling his lungs with the spicy musk.

“It is so nice to meet you.” The sentence is rushed, like Ilya is holding back his excitement. “If this was a Tinder date, I would say you look just like your photo.”

That makes Shane laugh. He seems funny, this Ilya.

After getting up to order their drinks–which includes an awkward, half-hearted argument about Shane paying for Ilya–they sit across from each other at the table, cups of coffee cradled in both their hands. 

“So,” Shane begins. “What do you do for work, Ilya?” It’s a lame question, but they have to start somewhere. 

“I am in IT. Boring stuff,” Ilya drawls, taking a sip of his coffee. “You seem a little young to be retired.”

“Oh, I didn’t have a normal job, that’s why.” Shane can feel the tips of his ears warm. He’s not sure he thought he could get around this conversation. “I played hockey. Professionally.”

Ilya raises one eyebrow, curious, but the twitch of a smile gives him away. The kid knows who he is. Shane supposes he can’t be surprised; they are in Montreal, after all. It would probably be weirder if Ilya didn’t know who he is. 

“Shut up,” he teases preemptively. Ilya raises his hands in mock surrender. 

“I did not say anything! I actually have no idea what hockey is. Never heard of it in my life.”

“Please. You were born in Russia and live in Canada,” Shane replies as he hides his laugh with the rim of the coffee cup. 

“Very good observation.” Ilya smiles at him, bright and beaming. Shane is instantly flattered by his boyish charm. The smile, paired with his shiny curls and the mole on his cheek, has him feeling like a teenager again. 

“So,” Shane continues, dragging out the vowel as he rummages in his messenger bag. “I didn’t want to talk business too soon, but I thought it’d be good to discuss some of the details now, then you’ll know what to expect.” He pulls out his notepad, which already has a list of points to bring up, and a pen. 

“You came prepared,” Ilya observes. 

“Always.” It’s a simple fact, but one Ilya should know if he’s going to commit to helping Shane out. 

The alpha listens intently as Shane goes over his list. He mentions everything that’s remotely relevant; timing, his address, how long his heat usually lasts, which days he experiences the most pain, and his adherence to a strict heat-diet that includes a variety of healthy specialty snacks. Ilya nods, serious, and types notes in Russian on his phone. 

Shane falters when he reaches the last bullet point on his notepad. His neat handwriting reads: ask Ilya to bring laundry?

“And, uh…” He swallows, clicking his pen twice. “It’s a little embarrassing, but would you be able to bring about a week’s worth of laundry with you?” 

“For your nest, yes?” Ilya asks. The abruptness of the question catches Shane off guard; he’s used to speaking about this kind of stuff in hushed tones, whispered under his breath as to not connect Shane Hollander with anything omegan. But Ilya looks so sincere as he asks.

“Yeah. I know it’s weird–”

“Weird?” The space between Ilya’s brows creases. “That is normal. Is no big deal.”

Shane feels the back of his neck heat up. Of course Ilya is okay with it. He’s a well adjusted alpha. Maybe a little young, but perfectly non-judgemental. 

“Anyways, if you could bring that, it would be great.” Shane stares at the wood grain of the table. It’s the second time today where Ilya makes him feel younger than he is, but this time, it’s embarrassing. He’s the adult here, really. He should be able to talk about this with no issue. 

“Shane,” Ilya says softly. “I am here to help. I promise I won’t find anything you do weird.”

Shane nods, scrunching his nose. Ilya’s gentleness is making his stomach feel weird.

“Maybe let’s talk about something else?” Ilya follows up, sensing his discomfort. 

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

Ilya hums and is quiet for a moment as he thinks. Then, his face is split by a teasing grin. 

“So, why do you think the Metros played like absolute shit this season? Was it because  they have never seen a net in their lives, or something else?”

***

Like always, Shane’s pre-heat starts with the incessant need to clean.

He doesn’t want to deep clean; that would erase the scent of him–worn into his furniture and floors from constant use–from his living space. It’s just that, in pre-heat, he notices that so many things are out of placel. Like the pillows on the couch aren’t arranged in the way they should be, or the food in his kitchen cabinet isn’t organized correctly. He wonders, briefly, if it's his inner omega making sure everything is in place for when his heat-addled brain wants to eat or lounge on the couch. Regardless, Shane lets his instinct get the best of him, and he spends an entire day rummaging through the house, making sure everything is dusted and straightened up. A part of him also thinks about Ilya–he doesn’t want his house to look a mess while he has a guest over. Even if that guest is going to see a whole lot worse than an off-centered vase. 

Secondly, Shane puts together his trusty heat survival pack. He retrieves the plastic basket from his storage closet, and begins filling it with everything he could possibly need during his heat. Liquid I.V. packets, his prescription nausea medication, and all the speciality snacks he can find. The basket is filled to the brim with artisan granola bars, ethically sourced energy chews, and dehydrated fruits. It’s all stuff that his heat-addled brain will find appetizing, but is still healthy. He makes a mental note to show it all to Ilya when he arrives. 

The third task is the nest. 

His nest, he corrects in his head. He’s tried to distance himself from his secondary gender so much over the years that he still thinks of nesting as this weird thing that only ever happens when he’s at his lowest: during heat. He’s been working with his therapist on trying to slowly accept some of the traits he suppressed back into his life, now that he’s retired. He hasn’t quite made it to the stage of turning his bed into his permanent nest–he still makes it every day, putting the nine throw pillows in their rightful place–but he’s been trying to get there. 

Shane stands at the end of the bed, frowning. He’s pushed all the pillows to the corner of the room and has swapped his comforter for a plush blanket. He raided his laundry basket and neatly arranged his dirty clothes along the headboard; pants and shirts in the back, sweatpants where his pillow would go, and socks and underwear tucked underneath it all, hidden from view. He likes his nest—it’s set up nicely. He thinks Ilya would like it, too. But there’s still this nagging feeling in his chest that it’s missing something. 

Shane’s not stupid. He knows why his nest feels off, even if he’s too embarrassed to admit it. 

It’s just biology, he tries to remind himself as he walks back downstairs to his office. Tucked in the desk drawer is the scent booklet, which has been purged of all the samples except one. He’s still lucid enough to feel a sliver of embarrassment as he trudges up the steps and back into his bedroom. Carefully, he flips to the last page and removes Ilya’s sample. The scent has waned a bit, but it's still there, enough to settle some of the anxiety in his stomach. Shane climbs onto the bed and tucks the sample in between a pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt. Just barely, his scent mixes with the faintness of Ilya’s. He groans as it hits his nose, no matter how weak it is. They smell so good together–if this is what a brief whiff does to him, he can’t imagine how the real thing will smell.

Despite the part of his brain that cringes at the craving, Shane gives into his urges and rubs his cheek against the rough fabric of his jeans. He whines when he realizes Ilya’s scent is too weak to stick to his own skin. If only he asked for Ilya to drop off his laundry earlier, he could have had his nest finished by now.

“What are you doing, man?” Shane says out loud when he shakes his head from the pre-heat fog. He’s being ridiculous. He never acts like this outside of heat, and even then he can barely remember most of what happens during it. To be stooping this low already is…Shane doesn’t want to think about it. 

He lasts one more day before he texts Ilya.

While waiting for Ilya, Shane paces so much that he thinks he might be wearing down a path in the hardwood flooring. He never imagined he’d ever be so restless during pre-heat. He usually sticks to his routine and comes to terms with spending another heat alone. Maybe that’s the problem; he’s thrown off by the anticipation of letting another alpha into his home. 

The doorbell rings approximately an hour after he sent the text. 

Shane quickly glances at the mirror in the foyer before opening the door, running a hand through his hair and making sure it looks okay. He winces when he sees the strands of grey at his temples. You’re fine, he reminds himself, then turns to open the door. 

Ilya jumps and gives Shane a nervous smile. He’s got an overnight bag slung over one shoulder and a heavy-looking trashbag in his right hand. 

“Ilya. You made it.”

“Hi Shane,” he breathes. Shane watches as Ilya’s wide eyes drag all the way from his face down to his crotch and back up again. Not subtle, kid. Shane tries to stifle the smile that tugs at his lips. 

“Please, come in. I’ll show you where you can put your bags.”

Shane lets Ilya follow him inside, trailing after him like a lost puppy. He feels some satisfaction grow in his chest now that the alpha is in his home. It’s like he’s saying here’s my home, alpha, I keep it nice for you. Do you like it? Did I do a good job?

“I’d like to review some things with you before we’re both out of it,” Shane tells him as he leads him to the kitchen, gesturing for him to drop his bags by the breakfast table. He tries to ignore the longing in his chest as he eyes the black trashbag, which he assumes is full of Ilya’s dirty laundry. 

“That is probably a good idea,” Ilya replies.

On the counter, Shane has arranged his survival basket, a case of Gatorade, and a neat print out of all the information Ilya could possibly need. He hands it to the alpha, and watches as his eyes flit over the blocks of text. 

“Most of it is just emergency contact information. Dr. Germain said we can call her office at any time if there’s a problem.”

“You will stop eating?” Ilya asks as he finishes reading one of the bullet points. His eyebrows are pulled into a look of worry. 

“Oh, it’s not a big deal. Sometimes I lose my appetite and won’t eat my usual snacks.” Shane rummages through the basket and pulls out a box of Ferrero Rocher bonbons. “If that happens, just feed me some of these. It’s hard for me to pass them up.” 

If Ilya’s still worried, he doesn’t show it, just nods

“And my credit card is right here,” Shane continues, tapping at the gold metal card. “If you need to order anything, please use it. You can DoorDash a filet mignon every night if you want, I really don’t care.”

“I promise I’ll take care of you,” Ilya says quickly. He wipes his palms on his jeans. Poor thing. His scent is tinged with anxiety and nervousness, which makes Shane bristle.  

“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching out to give Ilya’s bicep a comforting squeeze. He ignores how firm the muscle is under his hand. “You’re going to do great. I know it seems like a lot, but I’m not actually high maintenance. I just like to be prepared.”

Ilya swallows thickly and nods. 

“How about this,” Shane begins. He needs Ilya to relax a little, or Shane is going to start freaking out. “I’ll draw you a bath in the guest room, and you can take some time to yourself while I finish getting some stuff together. Then we can watch a movie or something.”

Ilya’s shoulders slump as some of the tension he was holding is released. 

“I would like that, I think.”

Shane gives his arm another squeeze. They make small talk as Shane leads him upstairs–he carries his bags for him–and gets the bath ready. He asks Ilya about work, about his hobbies. Ilya tells him about his shitty roommate who leaves food trash in the kitchen for weeks and rambles on about how pissed he is that his apartment doesn’t allow pets. Shane thinks he’d be content to listen to him talk for a while. He likes his accent, likes the way he sometimes drops articles and pauses to parse through his English vocabulary. Ilya tells him it’s his third language–French is his second, that’s why he ended up in Montreal. Shane compliments him on his smarts; that makes Ilya flush a pretty pink. 

“Oh, Shane,” Ilya says as Shane gets ready to head out of the bathroom. The alpha digs through his toiletries bag and pulls out something in sterile packaging. “The patches to protect your mating gland.” Ilya smiles with all his teeth. “I will put mine on after the bath.”

Grateful, Shane takes the patch. After that, he leaves Ilya alone. He’s already feeling more content. The arrival of the alpha has stopped the discomfort crawling in his skin, like Shane’s body is realizing he’s finally safe. The relief allows him to drag the bag of Ilya’s laundry into his bedroom with only a little bit of embarrassment. 

What’s more embarrassing, though, is Shane’s reaction when he opens the bag. 

He’s immediately hit with the thick musk of Ilya, of alpha. Shane groans, warbled, his hands shaking where he clutches the shiny black plastic. It’s overwhelming, coating his throat as he takes deep lungfuls of the scent. No meal, no pastry, has ever smelled as good as this. Shane can’t help himself as he hastily starts taking articles of clothing out of the bag; a pair of Adidas trackpants, a workout shirt, boxers and gym socks. He puts it all in his nest, weaving Ilya’s clothes between his own. Their scents mix together, the air of his bedroom heavy with Shane and Ilya. It’s perfect. 

Once the bag is empty, Shane gets settled in his nest as he waits for Ilya. He feels all fuzzy inside, slowly slipping from pre-heat to heat. He noses at one of Ilya’s shirts, trying to get the scent on himself. He grabs a pair of worn grey sweatpants and drags the fabric over his neck and down his chest. He wants to smother himself in Ilya’s clothes, in Ilya’s scent, until it smothers him. 

Eventually, the alpha appears in the doorway. He’s not wearing a shirt; his skin has a pink sheen from the warmth of the bath, and his sweatpants hang low on his hips.

“Ilya,” Shane coos from the bed. “You can come in.”

Timidly, Ilya crosses the threshold into Shane’s bedroom. He’s cautious, like Shane’s a wild animal that he might scare off. One wrong move and he’ll bolt. 

“Hi Shane. Your nest–” Ilya pauses, like he’s trying to figure out the best words to use. “It is nice. It looks very cozy.” 

Shane smiles and tucks his face into the crease of his elbow, bashful. He’s not sure if Ilya actually means it–alphas know to compliment an omega’s nest regardless of what it looks like–but it makes him blush all the same. 

“You can, uh, join me. If you want. I was going to watch Our Planet, the animal documentary.” He knows it’s a lousy attempt at an invitation, but Ilya lights up anyways. The alpha crosses the bedroom and climbs into the nest. Shane hums, content, now that he’s finally here. Ilya rests a hand on Shane’s hip as he gets himself settled, propping up against the headboard and piles of clothing. On instinct, Shane curls into the side of his body, resting his cheek against the hard plane of his stomach. The smell of Ilya is suffocating now that they’re skin to skin. Ilya is virtually a stranger, yet Shane feels like he’s right at home. 

Ilya smooths his hand over the crown of Shane’s head. He pets at his hair with slow strokes, absentmindedly running his fingers through the soft black strands. It feels really good. The pressure is like a little head massage, and Shane can’t help the quiet purr that comes out of his throat. 

He’s purring. Shane doesn’t purr. He doesn’t do that kind of stuff–the primal omega shit. The last time he purred must have been, what, when he was a kid, cuddling with his parents? His vocal chords feel a little sore, like they’re tender from years of dormancy. He exhales, and the next rumble comes out a little louder. The feeling is kind of weird, vibrating his throat, but he can smell how pleased Ilya is. That pushes down the discomfort in his stomach, especially when he catches a faint, similar grumble in Ilya’s chest. 

They barely get ten minutes into the episode before Shane’s eyelids grow heavy and he drifts off to sleep, tucked against Ilya’s body.

***

Ilya wakes up to a very firm and very hot body pressed against his own. 

For a second, he forgets where he is. He blearily rubs at his eyes, and his elbow bumps against the lump under the blanket next to him.

Oh, yeah. Shane. The most handsome omega he’s ever seen in his life is currently cuddling with him, his face smushed in the crease between Ilya’s arm and torso. He’s still fast asleep, breathing through his mouth, but his forehead is creased like he’s experiencing an annoying dream. Ilya can feel the pure warmth radiating off of his body; it comes in waves, enhanced by the sickly sweet scent of omega in heat that’s starting to fill the room.

Ilya’s unsure what to do. Should he wake Shane up? No, probably not, because this might be the only lick of sleep either of them will get for the rest of the week. The omega is really burning up–maybe he can go grab a cool washcloth from the bathroom and drape it over his forehead. A small mercy. 

Ilya has only helped an omega through heat once before. It didn’t trigger his rut, so he had to do the best he could with what he had. She had been mostly satisfied, but there were some points where she was absolutely miserable, crying because of the pain in her stomach and the unrelenting hot flashes. If that’s what heat is like with an alpha partner, he doesn’t want to know how bad it gets for omegas who are alone. 

Shane makes a soft noise in his sleep and snuggles in closer to Ilya. The situation is absurd, really. Ilya’s in the nest of Shane Hollander–three-time Stanley Cup champion, generational hockey talent, first omega player in the NHL to be open about his secondary gender–and it’s his job to help him through his heat. To try and get him pregnant. Ilya thinks about the Metros jersey hanging in his closet right now; when he moved to Montreal, he celebrated by using his first paycheck to get a nosebleed ticket to a Metros game. Hollander would retire two seasons after that, but you would never have guessed by the way he was playing. He looked as young as ever on the ice, speeding down the rink and weaving around d-men like they weren’t even there.

“M’lya,” the omega grumbles, snapping Ilya out of his thoughts. 

“Hey,” Ilya whispers. “How are you feeling?”

“S’hot.” Shane opens his eyes, looking up at Ilya. His hair is mussed from sleep, sticking up in every direction. It makes him look so young. 

“Here,” Ilya replies while he grabs at the blanket and pushes the offending fabric off their bodies and to the end of the bed. 

Now that he’s awake, Shane starts to get a little restless. He blinks the sleep from his eyes and peels his body away from Ilya’s, pulling at the hem of his worn t-shirt. Ilya lets him have his space as he whines and yanks his shirt over his head. Even in retirement, it’s clear Shane hasn’t been slacking in the gym. The muscles of his broad back flex as the fabric slips off his body, and Ilya feels the simmer of arousal in his gut. 

“I’m hot,” Shane whines, lips pursed in a pout as he dramatically fans himself. “Ilya.”

“Okay,” Ilya bleats pathetically. “I will go get you a cool cloth, just give me a second.” He doesn’t want to encroach on Shane’s space.

“No, Ilya, I want you.” Shane surges forward and grabs both of Ilya’s wrists, yanking him forward and forcing his hands to rest on his hips. His bare skin burns against Ilya’s palms. Ilya splays his fingers against his warm flesh, gripping at the dip of his hips. Smoothing his thumb over the waistband of Shane’s boxers, he tucks the digit underneath the fabric. 

“Take them off, alpha,” Shane urges, running his hands up Ilya’s forearms and squeezing at the muscle there. “Please, it’s too hot.”

“Okay, okay,” Ilya repeats, because he’s not sure what else to say. 

As soon as he tugs Shane’s boxers down, the nest is filled with the scent of slick. It’s so thick he almost chokes on it, the sweet scent coating his throat and dousing his lungs. It’s mouthwatering. Ilya doesn’t think he’s ever smelled anything this delicious in his life. 

Shane twists his body and kicks off his boxers, clambering back into Ilya’s arms the second the underwear is thrown off the bed. His cock, long and thick and oh-so-pretty, bobs between his legs as he tries to steady himself on his knees. 

“You’re beautiful.” The words slip out of Ilya’s mouth before he can stop them. Shane whimpers, and if he wasn’t already so flushed, Ilya thinks he would blush at the praise. He moves one hand from Shane’s waist around the swell of his ass–so plump, he wants to bite it–and dips two fingers between his cheeks. He’s already soaked. His fingers come away wet with Shane’s slick, and Ilya barely thinks twice before he’s bringing them up to his lips, tasting the sweetness of the omega. 

“Hurry up,” Shane snaps, pulling at the waistband of Ilya’s sweatpants. He raises an eyebrow. Bossy, then. 

“Okay, let me just–” Ilya scrambles out of the nest, trying to take off his pants as fast as humanly possible. His hands are a little shaky with anticipation, so it takes him a few tries to undo the knot in the strings. He silently curses his past self for deciding to put his sweats on properly, instead of just letting them hang on his hips. 

When he turns back around, all the air leaves his lungs. Shane is presenting for him; he’s on his knees on the bed, chest and face pressed flush to the sheets. His back is arched, his spine a swooping curve that guides Ilya’s eyes from his shoulders to his ass. And his hole–fuck, his hole–is wet with slick, warm and inviting. 

“Shane,” Ilya breathes. His dick throbs, eager to be buried in the tight heat that’s waiting for him. 

“Alpha, come on. Fuck me.”

Ilya almost trips on his own two feet as he climbs back in bed, settling on his knees between Shane’s folded legs. He grabs whatever he can; the sharp bone of his hip, the soft skin of his ass. All he wants to do is touch, spread his fingers and palms over the miles of tanned skin.

“Do you, uh, want fingers first? I do not want to hurt you.” Ilya wants nothing more than to get on with it, but he has no idea how much prep Shane usually needs. 

“Ilya,” Shane cries. “I can take it, I promise, just need you inside me. It hurts.”  He rocks backwards, which forces Ilya’s cock to brush against the crease of his ass. He groans at the sudden pleasure, suddenly aware of how hard he is. 

“Fuck,” Ilya curses under his breath. He wraps one hand around himself and slots the head of his cock up against Shane’s hole. He can feel the heat radiating off of him, his body preparing itself to be fucked into the mattress and bred. 

Ilya has to take a deep breath through his nose, then he slips the tip of his cock into Shane. He takes another breath, in and out, to stop himself from coming in two seconds flat. He spreads Shane’s cheeks with his hands, watching the way his rim clenches and twitches around the head. 

“More,” Shane garbles. “More, alpha.”

“Oh, baby,” Ilya purrs, the words a low rumble in his chest when he hears the desperation that tinges Shane’s voice. Slowly, maybe too slowly, he sinks another inch inside. He’s rewarded with a sweet, lilting moan from Shane. Ilya’s chest heaves as he adjusts to the tightness and warmth of Shane–it might be the best feeling in the world. 

“Okay?” Ilya checks in, gently petting at Shane’s outer thigh. 

“Oh my god, yes, just fuck me already.” 

The demand snaps Ilya out of his daze. Shane sounds like he might start crying if Ilya doesn’t start moving soon, and he absolutely cannot have that. Ilya’s first thrusts are shallow and he falters, trying to gain momentum while also focusing on not blowing his load. He can feel Shane leak more slick around him, and the added scent makes his brain go all foggy.  

Ilya is good at fucking. He loves it, loves feeling his partner fall apart beneath him. He rarely gets performance anxiety, but he wants to prove himself to Shane. Prove that he’s a good alpha, that he can give him what he needs. He focuses all his effort on making it perfect for Shane; he presses the omega’s shoulders down, forcing him deeper into the mattress, and fucks into him with sharp precision. 

“Oh my god,” Shane moans as his body rocks forward with each thrust. He’s twisting his hands into the sheets, little pants and whines falling from his lips, and Ilya feels a sense of pride well up in his chest. He’s fucking his omega in their nest. He’s the one who gets to see Shane like this, completely overwhelmed with pleasure. 

“Shit, feel so fuckin’ good around me, omega,” Ilya growls. He grabs onto Shane’s hips and pulls him all the way backwards, forcing his cock all the way inside. He keeps Shane there–Shane, who can barely form a coherent sentence–and grinds against him shallowly. 

A soft ah is all that Shane can respond with. Ilya coos at him, petting his thumbs over the stretch marks that wrap around each cheek. Pretty omega, he thinks. 

“You are all stupid from my cock, hm?” Ilya teases, feeling more confident by the minute. 

“Ah–alpha,” Shane hiccups. “Please.”

He doesn’t want to be too mean to Shane yet, so Ilya resumes his thrusts. Shane’s perfect ass jolts with each snap of his hips, and Ilya can’t drag his eyes away from the sight. Shane is absolutely soaked, and the wet sounds of his length dragging in and out of the omega’s hole fills his ears. 

“If you, oh, if you touch me, m’gonna come,” Shane babbles. Ilya grunts.

“Mm, do you want to come on my knot?” He asks, though he could probably guess the answer. 

Shane sobs and tries to fuck himself harder against Ilya. 

“You did not answer my question,” Ilya laughs. He can feel his knot starting to form, aching to be pushed inside of Shane. Embarrassingly, he’s never been this close to knotting so fast before. It’s just…everything. The tight warmth around his dick. The smell of sex and heat, their scents combining with one another to create something new, something exclusive to them. It’s nauseating and a little overwhelming. 

“Want your knot, alpha, please f–” A garbled moan breaks up Shane’s sentence. “I need it. Ilya, I need you to breed me.”

“Shit,” the alpha huffs, his entire body thrumming with arousal at Shane’s plea. He’ll do it. He’ll do anything for him. He’ll knot him, fuck his cum deep inside of the omega, giving him what he wants. He’ll do it over and over again until it takes, until Shane is round and full of his pups–

Ilya plants one foot on the bed so he can sink deeper into Shane. He’s pounding into him now, his heavy balls slapping against Shane’s ass as he fucks him with reckless abandon. He can feel his knot swelling, each thrust tapping it against Shane’s hole.

“Do you feel it?” Shane gasps and nods weakly. “Gonna knot you, baby. Gonna knot this perfect fucking hole, fuck, gonna get you pregnant, omega.”

Shane wails when Ilya wraps his hand around his stiff cock. He’s even leaking there, his precum slicking up Ilya’s palm. As soon as he feels Shane’s body tense, he gives one more urgent thrust, popping his knot past Shane’s rim.

Ilya comes as soon as he’s locked inside Shane. His vision blurs as his orgasm hits him, curling his body over Shane’s as he moans helplessly. He can feel Shane’s cum coating his hand and can hear him moaning his name. Ilya’s canines throb; he has to resist the urge to sink them into the dip between Shane’s neck and shoulder. Through heavy lids, the patch that covers Shane’s mating gland taunts him.

They both pant as they work each other through their orgasms. Shane cums a lot, like he’s been holding off for days. Silently, Ilya hopes that he doesn’t change the sheets. What a beautiful addition to their nest.  

Gently, Ilya maneuvers Shane to his side, letting him stretch out his limbs and nuzzle into the pillows. 

“It might take a while for my knot to go down,” Ilya murmurs, tucking his chin in the crook of Shane’s neck. He’s gotten comments about it from other partners before; most quick hookups aren’t interested in being tied to him for a whole 45 minutes.

“S’okay,” Shane replies. He clenches down on Ilya, which makes the alpha growl and jerk his hips. “I’m more than happy to stay right here.”

Ilya inhales deeply, taking in a lungful of Shane’s scent. He noses at the spot underneath his ear, where the smell is the strongest. Shane sighs and grabs Ilya’s arm, wrapping it around himself. Suddenly, he feels a little wet kitten lick against his skin.

“You are sweet,” he hums as Shane starts to groom him. He’s never been with an omega who’s done that before. Shane purrs, a gentle little sound that makes him go a bit crazy, and continues to smooth his tongue over the alpha’s sweaty skin. 

Ilya, the helpful alpha he is, gives the skin of Shane’s neck an equally tender lick. That makes the omega giggle and his purrs grow ten times louder. Ilya wants to bottle up the sound and keep it with him forever. 

They drift off to sleep before Ilya can even slip his soft cock out of Shane. 

***

He starts his rut the next day.

The rut induction pills Dr. Germain prescribed him are forgotten thanks to good old biology. Ilya can feel it when he wakes up that morning; his gut stirs, his cock already full and hard against his stomach. He’s still clearheaded enough to take proper care of his omega, but it’s intense enough that he can keep up with Shane’s insatiable sex drive. He wonders how much of it is fueled by the heat and how much is just Shane Hollander being a slut for cock.

Ilya fucks Shane every hour of the day. Most of the time they do it in the nest, Shane writhing against the dirty sheets and clothes as Ilya gives it to him hard and fast. In the moments in between, when Shane is still horny but not in pain, Ilya lays between his legs and eats him out. He finds that it’s his new favorite activity; Shane’s muscular thighs wrapped around his head, the sweetness of his slick on his tongue. He relishes in the sounds that Shane makes. He mixes soft sighs and moans with sharp curses, all while pulling at Ilya’s curls. His feast usually ends with Shane coming untouched, and then flipping over with his ass in the air, begging for Ilya to fuck him. 

Sometimes they end up in the bathroom or the hallway. Usually because Ilya will urge Shane to stretch his legs a little, which comes in the form of short walks around the house. Every time, it doesn’t take long for Shane to start getting needy. Most of the time he ends up on his knees, suckling at Ilya’s cock and begging for his cum. 

Shane is very good at getting what he wants. 

It’s on the second day that Shane lets him go alone to the bathroom so he can piss. When Ilya catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he winces. He looks like a hot mess. His curls are all over the place. His chest and neck are mottled with angry purple love bites; he looks like he’s been mauled. 

“Good God,” he mutters under his breath as he washes his hands. He might need to ask Sveta for some makeup to cover everything up once Shane’s heat is over. He selfishly wishes the marks could stay on his skin forever.

“Alright sweetheart,” Ilya announces when he exits the ensuite. “I think it is time to eat something, hm?”

Shane smiles softly at him from the bed. He’s got one of Ilya’s shirts balled up in his hand, clutching it close to his chest. Ilya tries not to think about that too hard as he grabs a few protein bars out of the food basket. The packaging boasts many perks; no artificial sweeteners, gluten free, zero grams of sugar, 20 grams of protein. Yum.

He sits on the edge of the bed and unwraps one, holding it out to Shane. 

“Here.”

Shane sits up, the shirt falling from his grasp. He sniffs at the protein bar and scrunches up his nose. 

“Yuck,” he spits, turning his face away. “Smells gross.”

“Okay, we can try something else.” Ilya frowns and puts the bar to the side. He’s about to get up again when Shane grabs at his wrist. His grip is strong, a brief reminder of the pure muscles in his arms. 

“M’not hungry,” Shane whines, spreading his legs to draw Ilya’s attention down to his half-hard cock. “Need you again, alpha.”

“Okay, yeah,” Ilya replies, letting himself be pulled further into the nest. His thoughts of food and protein bars become less important when Shane guides his hand down between his legs, forcing his fingers to graze across his wet hole. 

They’re most certainly forgotten as Shane rides him, bracing himself against the headboard and fucking himself down onto Ilya’s cock with so much force that the bed shakes. 

***

The food doesn’t become a problem until day three.

“You need to eat, omega,” Ilya insists, an untouched bag of protein cookies in his hand. The nest is filled with snacks that have been hastily ripped open and promptly tossed aside. Thinking he was being smart, Ilya had started trying to feed Shane after knotting his loose hole and making him come twice. Logically, Shane should have been satisfied enough to turn his attention to eating. But every single snack elicited the same reaction; Shane would sniff at it, scrunch up his face, and complain about the smell. 

“No,” Shane huffs, making a little blegh sound when he looks at the cookies. “I don’t want to.”

“Please, Shane.” Ilya’s starting to get a little desperate. “You really need to eat.” Shane needs something inside of him, or he’s going to pass out from exertion. 

Ilya remembers one of the bullet points on the paper downstairs: I may refuse to eat during my heat. If you keep insisting I usually will agree and eat a protein bar or cookie. If I’m being really stubborn, chocolate will do the trick. 

Shane sighs and lies back, dragging his hand up the length of his dick. He’s not even hard. He’s just touching to touch.

“Okay, I think it’s chocolate time,” Ilya announces. The survival basket has already been picked through, save for the Ferrero Rocher box at the bottom. Any hungry omega would be crazy to pass them up. 

Ilya holds up one of the bonbons. Like always, Shane gives it a quick sniff. He considers it for a moment, some mysterious mental math happening behind those big brown eyes. But as soon as Ilya gets his hopes up, Shane frowns and turns his head away. 

Ilya feels the corners of his eyes prick with tears. Deep breaths. Shane said this would happen. Maybe not to this extent, but it wasn’t unexpected. So why does Ilya feel so upset? He wants to tuck his metaphorical tail between his legs and cower. What kind of alpha lets their omega starve? 

“You’re upset,” Shane notes, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“No, omega. I am not upset,” Ilya lies.

Shane hums and bends forward so his face is in Ilya’s crotch. He drags his cheek against the skin of Ilya’s inner thigh, pressing his nose to the base of his soft dick. He tilts his head so that the scent gland on his neck rubs over the top of Ilya’s thigh. The alpha feels his eyelids grow heavy with desire as he watches Shane scent him. 

“Don’t want you to be upset,” he breathes. He makes his way back up Ilya’s body, stopping every so often to press kisses to his flushed skin. Eventually, his lips find Ilya’s, and he trills happily when Ilya slips his tongue into his mouth. 

They kiss lazily, slow and sticky, time passing by like syrup. As much as he wishes Shane would listen to him, he doesn’t mind this part of his heat, when the need has depleted to a low simmer and all he wants to do is kiss Ilya. They spend a while like that, kissing and rubbing up on each other, until Shane complains that he’s getting tired.

Later, when he’s fast asleep and tucked into Ilya’s side, the alpha pulls out his phone.

What to do if omega wont eat

omega not eating during heat

Should i be worried if my omega wont eat during heat

is omega not eating medical emergency 

How to get omega to eat reddit 

The people on Reddit are wholly unhelpful. All the suggestions are things Ilya has already done; try and feed your omega after knotting them, give them their favorite foods, scent them while feeding them by hand. If Ilya was a little less mature, he’d make an account just to yell at all these people for pointing out the obvious. 

Ilya opens the DoorDash app. At this hour, he’s going to have to add a hefty tip. Well, it’ll be off of Shane’s card, so whatever poor driver picks up the order will have the omega to thank. He searches through the Whole Foods page, adding anything he thinks Shane will like to his cart. Roasted seaweed, dried mango, grass fed beef jerky, salted cashews. Even though he’s not sure any of it will be appealing, he’s trying to respect Shane’s dietary restrictions.

On a whim, Ilya also adds a Big Mac Meal from McDonald’s. 

The obscene total gets put on Shane’s credit card. Ilya stares at the order confirmation screen, the light from his phone burning his tired eyes. He hopes that something will work. 

“Ilya?” Shane’s voice is rough with sleep. “What are y’doing?”

“Just getting something to eat.” It’s technically true. He kisses the top of Shane’s head, breathing in the scent of him. 

“Mm. Make sure you use my card.”

Ilya laughs softly at his seriousness. 

It takes about an hour for the food to be delivered. Shane whines when Ilya pulls himself out of bed, hastily throwing on a pair of boxers that might not even be his. Like a man on a mission, he runs downstairs in the eerily quiet house, throwing open the front door and scooping up the handful of bags off the porch. He triple checks the lock on the door before heading back upstairs.

Ilya almost drops all the bags when he steps back into the bedroom. Shane is sprawled out on the bed, legs spread, his arm twisted around his thigh as he lazily fucks two fingers inside of his hole. 

“Omega,” Ilya breathes. 

“Hurts,” Shane whimpers. “Want your cock.”

“Shane,” he begins, trying to keep his voice steady. “I need you to eat something before I can give it to you, okay?”

The omega’s bottom lip trembles. “Am I…do you not want me?” He lets his fingers slip out of his hole, his own pleasure forgotten. He looks heartbroken.

Ilya shushes him, spreading the bags out on the bedroom’s ottoman before climbing back into bed. He opens up his arms and lets Shane fall into them. 

“I want you so much,” he hums, “but it would make me very happy if you could try and eat.”

“It would?”

“Yes,” he says seriously. “C’mere. Let me take care of you.”

Shane sits patiently at the edge of the nest while Ilya rummages through the grocery bags. They go through the same motions as before; Ilya unwraps one of the organic snacks and holds it out for Shane to sniff, and Shane makes a disgruntled face before turning his head away. Ilya feels a rising panic in his stomach as each bag is emptied, the freshly purchased food forgotten after each attempt. 

Shane turns his nose up at a banana chip, and with that, they’ve tried everything.

“Are you sure you can’t eat any of it?” Ilya asks, voice shaky. “Can you try a little piece of jerky? For me?”

Shane’s not listening to him. He’s staring intently at the McDonald’s bag, which is already stained with grease. 

“You are not going to want this,” Ilya explains, shoving his hand in the paper bag and pulling out one of the hamburgers. “It is gross and unhealthy. Full of GMOs.”

He unwraps the burger. His stomach growls as the smell of fast food hits his nose; he didn’t realize how hungry he was. Shane’s organic protein bars aren’t the most filling meals. 

Just to try, Ilya holds out the burger. Shane sniffs it, his nose twitching as he considers the offering. 

The omega leans forward and takes a massive bite. 

“You are kidding,” Ilya says, breathless. Shane chews, swallows, and hums happily. “This whole time, you could have been eating a BigMac?”

Shane doesn’t respond, just waits patiently for Ilya to make the next move. The alpha rips off a piece of the burger, the meat squishing between his fingers, and holds it up to Shane’s lips. He takes it, tongue brushing against Ilya’s fingers as he swallows the food.

Ilya laughs in disbelief. He sits on the bed across from Shane, continuing to feed him by hand, taking little pieces of the burger and fries and pressing them to his lips. Maybe it’s a trick of the mind, but he swears he can see some color returning to the omega’s cheeks. 

“Alpha,” Shane whines once most of the meal has been eaten. His lips are shiny with grease from the food. He adjusts so he’s straddling Ilya, grasping onto his shoulders to steady himself. He humps his hips forward, dragging the length of his fully erect cock against the muscle of Ilya’s thigh. 

“‘Mega,” Ilya rumbles before leaning in and pressing his lips to Shane’s. 

They kiss lazily as Ilya wraps his hand around both of their cocks. It starts unhurried, the two of them rubbing up against each other, until Shane starts panting into Ilya’s open mouth. 

“Please,” Shane whines pathetically. Ilya twists his wrist on each upstroke, dragging his thumb over the leaking heads of their cocks. He tucks his face in the crook of Shane’s neck and smears his lips over his skin. He tastes like salt and sweat, like the perfect omega, and Ilya can’t help but pull the skin between his teeth. 

Shane comes the second Ilya finishes sucking a bruise into his neck. 

He cries Ilya’s name, grasping at his shoulders as he paints his stomach with cum. Ilya swipes his tongue over the bruise and inhales Shane’s scent. His nose digs into the soft spot underneath the sharp line of Shane’s jaw, and the proximity is what has him toppling over the edge. 

Shane brushes his fingers over the swell of Ilya’s knot as he works himself through his orgasm. He presses his face harder against his neck, wishing he could melt into the omega’s flesh. 

After, he gently lowers Shane down on the mattress. He smiles, crow’s feet deepening as the corners of his pretty mouth turn upwards. He gazes up at Ilya with what looks like sparkling adoration. It’s just the heat, Ilya reminds himself. He’s practically a stranger in the omega’s nest. 

“Always so good for me, Shane,” Ilya hums, trying not to dwell on it. He smears his fingers through the cum on Shane’s stomach and starts to rub it into his skin. Shane hums and closes his eyes, letting Ilya do as he pleases. He gathers some more on his fingertips and spreads it over the tender skin of Shane’s inner thighs, where his scent is strongest. Deep down, he wants the omega to smell like him for as long as possible. Even if it’s for just a few days until Shane’s heat breaks and begs for a shower. 

For now, though, Shane seems to be content to let Ilya’s hands roam over his body, chirping and purring until he drifts off to sleep. 

***

“Harder, Ilya, oh god–”

Ilya can feel the sweat beading on his upper lip. His abs are starting to get sore because of how hard his fucking Shane. Shane–who is currently on his back, legs wrapped tightly around Ilya’s waist–is crying. The red apples of his cheeks are slick with tears; Ilya has to reach down and swipe his thumb over the moisture in between thrusts. 

“Fuck, Shane,” he groans. The wet heat around him is just as delicious as the other thirty or so times they’ve done this. He can’t get enough of it. “Beautiful omega.”

“Harder,” Shane begs. He desperately grabs at Ilya’s shoulders, pulling the alpha down so he can smear his lips over his jaw. Ilya tries his best, he really does, but he’s already going as fast as he can. He might be in rut, but he’s not a miracle worker. 

If Shane still wants it harder, Ilya can’t tell, because he’s coming soon after his request. His back arches off the mattress as his cock jerks in Ilya’s hand. Some of his cum gets on a necktie that’s been forgotten in the laundry pile that is Shane’s nest. Ilya hopes it wasn’t expensive. 

It doesn’t take long for Ilya’s knot to slip past Shane’s rim. Ilya is becoming addicted to the sensation of knotting Shane; it feels like the omega was made to take his knot, to let him lock them together. An inseparable tie. He relishes in the way that Shane has to stretch to take all of it. Ilya’s hips stutter as he empties another load into Shane. 

One more closer to getting him pregnant, if he isn’t already. 

“Alpha,” Shane breathes as Ilya takes him into his arms. The omega is shivering, his hands shaking against the curves of Ilya’s torso. 

“Shane? Are you cold?” The air conditioning has been running the whole time, since the heat from their bodies is enough to keep the nest warm.

Shane whimpers and tucks his face into Ilya’s neck, keeping it there for a while. The hard muscles of his body twitch underneath Ilya’s hands as his knot slowly deflates. The shaking worsens when Ilya’s soft cock slips out of Shane.

“Omega,” Ilya whispers as Shane starts to cry. His pretty brown eyes well up with uncontrollable tears and he tries to reach down and put Ilya’s flaccid length back inside of him.

“It hurts,” he whines, his breathing becoming erratic as panic seeps into his words. “It hurts, I’m so cold–Ilya, help me.”

Ilya shushes him, smoothing his sweaty bangs off of his forehead. He pulls away from Shane and shuffles to the end of the bed so he can grab one of the many blankets off of the storage bench. Shane wails, the sound tearing through Ilya’s heart like a bullet.

“I’m right here, baby, it’s okay.” Ilya drapes the knit blanket over Shane’s body, bundling him up in the fabric. As he pulls the blanket up to the omega’s chin, he is briefly reminded of a swaddled newborn. 

Once Shane is sufficiently covered, Ilya smothers him with his entire bodyweight.

Shane grunts as Ilya lays on top of him, his surprise interrupting his hysterics. Ilya lets himself go limp and he rests his head on Shane’s chest, his curls tickling the omega’s chin. With one big breath, he lets out a loud purr. He can feel Shane immediately go slack underneath him; Ilya keeps the sound going for as long as possible, trying to convince Shane’s heat-mussed brain that he’s safe and taken care of. 

Vaguely, Ilya remembers an article he read about the toll being unmated can have on an omega’s body. Frequent attempts to work oneself through a heat alone can literally cause each mating cycle to become longer and more painful. Something about the body weakening with each traumatic heat. He didn’t really believe it, but feeling Shane’s shaking form under his has Ilya reconsidering it. He wonders how many heats Shane went through alone; he doesn’t seem like the type of guy to go through an agency to get a heat partner, no matter how discreet. This whole arrangement seems different to that, though. 

Ilya shakes himself out of thoughts, and gives Shane four kisses. One on his forehead, his cheeks, and finally on his lips. 

***

Shane’s heat breaks on day six.

“Ilya,” he announces that morning. “I’m sore. And I’m covered in cum.” 

The heat is over, then, Ilya thinks. 

“Ah, but you look very sexy,” he hums, pinching the taut muscle of Shane’s thigh. The omega elbows him halfheartedly. 

“Oh, please.” Shane squirms out of Ilya’s arms. There’s a stray pair of underwear by his head, and he holds up the garment to his face and sniffs it. “Woof. And I asked you to bring this here?” He tosses it somewhere on the floor. 

“Trust me, you were not complaining when I shoved your face into them while I fucked you.”

Shane’s freckled cheeks go pink. 

“Go make yourself useful and run the bath. I stink,” he orders, ducking his face to the side so Ilya can’t see the way he’s blushing. The red tips of his ears give him away, though. 

Despite the teasing, Ilya follows Shane’s orders. His omega must be exhausted—fuck, he’s exhausted. But he doesn’t want Shane to have to lift a finger until he’s fully rested and recovered.

The en-suite bathroom has a tub that’s entirely separate from the shower. It even has jets. Shane has a selection of high end bath products organized neatly on a wall shelf; Ilya picks a golden liquid that claims it smooths skin and maintains moisture, whatever that means. It smells like honey and vanilla—like Shane—so Ilya finds he doesn’t care about the specifics of the product. 

Once the bath is full of decadent, foaming bubbles, he calls Shane in. 

“It is all ready for you,” Ilya says when he hears the soft thumb of footsteps behind him. “I’ll give you some privacy. I may use the shower in the guest bathroom, if you don’t mind.” 

“What?”

Ilya stands up and turns around. There’s that little crease between Shane’s eyebrows, the one that’s made an appearance a few times over the past week. Ilya raises his eyebrows, waiting for any elaboration. 

“Um.” Shane chews on his bottom lip. “Do you mind getting in with me?” 

This Shane is such a far cry from heat-Shane. He wonders if the two are even related. Just yesterday Shane was near tears, begging for his cock, a plea for his alpha heavy on his tongue. 

“Of course,” Ilya replies quietly. “Here, let me help you in.”

Shane most certainly can get in the tub himself, but his legs are still shaking a little, and Ilya would hate himself forever if Shane slipped and fell. He holds out his arm and the omega grabs onto it for balance before gingerly lowering himself into the bubbly water. 

“Oh my god,” Shane groans, tilting his head back against the tiled wall. “My ass is so sore.” 

“My bad,” Ilya jokes, which makes Shane huff out a laugh. 

Ilya climbs into the bath, sinking down on the opposite side of the tub. It’s ostentatiously big, too big for one person, but it’s still a tight fit for two grown men. Ilya’s legs overlap Shane’s and the water sloshes as he tries to get settled. 

Absentmindedly, Ilya massages Shane’s calf under the water. He digs his thumbs into the hard muscle, kneading away the tension he knows is there. Shane grunts but lets Ilya continue. 

Ilya grabs the bar of soap and a washcloth from the lip of the tub. He takes his time getting it soapy, working it back and forth until it froths. Gently, as to not hurt Shane, he drags the cloth down the tops of his thighs, over the crease of his ass, and around his soft cock. He falls into a rhythm of re-soaping the cloth and turning his attention back to Shane’s body. 

“My shampoo is in the black bottle over there,” Shane hums. An order disguised as a statement, one that Ilya’s happy to obey. 

The shampoo smells sharp and masculine. Ilya makes a mental note of the brand so he can look it up later. Shane turns around, maneuvering himself so his back is pressed to Ilya’s chest. Ilya presses a gentle kiss to the side of Shane’s neck before smoothing the soap into his dark hair. 

Shane sighs, relaxing back into Ilya’s touch. He massages near his temples, his scalp, the back of his head. The suds drip down his neck. Ilya follows them with his fingers, passing over the tight muscles in Shane’s shoulders. 

They spend a while in the bath together. Neither of them can get hard again—Ilya will need a week to recover, at least—but they still take their time grooming one another. He runs his hands up and down Shane’s body; eventually, he’s not even cleaning him, he just wants the excuse to touch him some more. Not-so-subtly, Ilya swipes his wrists over the scent glands in Shane’s neck. 

“You’re such an alpha,” He huffs, but lets Ilya continue anyways. 

Once they get out of the bath, Shane enters cleanup mode. Ilya asks if there’s anything he can do to help, but Shane just shushes him and orders him to sit on the ottoman. Ilya watches as the omega rifles through his nest, picking out each article of clothing that belongs to Ilya, folding them, and putting them back in the trash bag they came in. Ilya feels a dull ache in his chest while he watches this; he knows he’s being ridiculous, that this whole thing was temporary from the beginning, but seeing Shane dismantle his own nest has him a little nauseous. 

Shane then shoves all of his own clothes into his laundry basket and strips his entire bed of all the sheets and blankets. 

“Ilya, can you take this down to the laundry room for me? You’ll have to go all the way down to the basement,” he asks, gesturing to the full laundry basket. 

Obediently, Ilya agrees and grabs it. Shane’s house is peacefully silent as he walks down to the basement. It’s been converted into an impressively large home gym. He’s even got the same squat rack that’s at Ilya’s gym. 

As he places the basket in front of the washer, he has a thought. An embarrassing thought, a ridiculous thought. But it’s a thought nonetheless, and Ilya is not known for his impulse control. One of Shane’s white socks sits on the top of the laundry pile, like an offering. A gift, even. 

It’s only natural that Ilya snatches it and shoves it into the pocket of his sweats. 

Once all the dirty laundry is transported down to the basement, it’s clear Shane is eager to have Ilya go. He keeps pacing, trying to look for something to clean up. But he’s already thrown out all the wrappers from the food and vacuumed the carpet. 

“Shane,” Ilya interrupts once he’s finished packing his duffel bag. Shane stops what he’s doing, which is picking lint off of one of his pillowcases. “I think I am going to head home. I want to give you some space.”

“Oh.” Shane blinks. “Okay, uh, yeah. Of course. Let me walk you out.”

When they reach the front door, Shane doesn’t open it right away. 

“Ilya,” he starts, taking a deep breath. “Thank you so much for everything. I know the actual point of this wasn’t to spend my heat together, but I really enjoyed it.” 

“Me too,” Ilya replies. He quickly tries to think of something else to say, because as soon as the conversation is over, he is going to have to leave. “I hope it works.”

Shane gives him a soft smile.

“If it doesn’t, I’ll give you a call.” He leans forward and brushes his lips against Ilya’s cheek. The kiss is gentle and chaste, missing any of the heat that their previous kisses had. Ilya wants to turn his head and chase Shane’s lips, but the omega pulls away. 

And with that, Shane is opening the door, and they say their goodbyes. 

***

November

Ilya’s life is going pretty well, all things considered. 

He has a well paying job and a nice apartment in a cool part of the city. He has friends, like Svetlana and his gym buddy Cliff. He goes out on the weekends and picks up cute girls and hot guys. His sex life is healthy; his message history is filled with texts like had fun last night and when can I see you again? 

So he’s not sure why he feels like something’s missing. 

Well, he knows why. He’s known since he went through the contracts he signed, searching for any possible loophole that would allow him to contact Shane again. But unless he’s missing something in the English legal jargon, he’s expressly forbidden from trying to reach him via phone, email, or handwritten letter. He knows what he signed up for, he’s not that stupid. He just wishes that, maybe, they would have been a match different from all the rest, one that got to break the rules and stay together.

He’s not even sure if Shane would have wanted that, though. Heat can make omegas and alphas do and say silly things. Even if Shane was whining and crying on his cock, he might actually want nothing to do with him.

That doesn’t stop Ilya from going to Café Olympia nearly everyday, however. 

To be fair, it is his favorite coffee shop. He was already a frequent customer; it just so happens that his visits have increased in the past couple of months. Sveta said it’s unhealthy and obsessive, but Ilya thinks her word choice is a tad too intense for the situation. Besides, it’s not like a coincidental in-person meeting is outlawed in the contract. If he so happens to bump into Shane at the coffee shop he introduced him to, what’s the harm in that?

It’s a chilly Sunday morning when it happens.

Ilya is in his usual spot at the café, tucked into the corner and facing the door. He’s already finished his latte, but he doesn’t feel like heading back out into the cold just yet, so he aimlessly scrolls on his phone. He has a text from Cliff about hitting legs on Tuesday and a flirty message from a girl he’s been sort-of seeing. 

He’s about to type out a half-hearted response when he smells it. 

Him. Shane. It’s a scent he would never be able to forget. Even though his own clothes have since been washed and the stolen sock has lost its scent, Ilya can still faintly taste Shane on his tongue when he daydreams about him. What he’s smelling is most definitely Shane, but now there’s a sweet, milky note to it that wasn’t there before. 

Ilya looks up. Standing at the register is Shane Hollander; he’s smiling at the barista, his cheeks flushed and wind-bitten from the cold. He’s been growing out his hair it seems, with the way the strands tickle the nape of his neck and stick out from the bottom of his beanie. He looks so pretty.

Ilya’s heart stops when he looks down. 

Underneath the thick knit fabric of his yellow sweater, Shane’s belly is swollen. He rests one hand on the gentle curve of his stomach, comfortable as he orders his coffee.

Fuck. Fuck. Ilya got Shane pregnant. He did it on the first try. He fucked his omega so good during his heat that he’s now heavy with Ilya’s pup. Pups, plural, if he’s lucky. Ilya is overcome with an emotion so strong that he can feel a rumble start to build in his chest. He has to cough to get rid of it; purring in public is unbecoming. 

Ilya’s been waiting for this moment since the end of Shane’s heat, but now that it’s here, he has no idea what to do. He’s frozen in his seat, glued to the chair as he watches Shane dig into his wallet and pull out his credit card. Should he jump up, shout, and wave his arms? Look, omega, it’s me! Or should he just remember the contract, and let the opportunity pass him by?

Shane makes the decision for him, because his nose twitches as he breathes in, and he turns to scan the room.

Ilya’s breath catches in his throat when Shane makes eye contact with him. The omega’s eyebrows raise, and he looks as equally frozen as Ilya. His irises flit back and forth as he scans Ilya’s face.

Ilya smiles–which might look more like a grimace–and gives a little wave.

Shane beams at him. His smile makes Ilya go all mushy inside. 

“Ilya!” He greets, walking over to where the alpha is sitting. For whatever reason, Ilya stands up, but realizes he’s not sure what’s the appropriate way to say hello. 

Some higher power must be looking out for him, because Shane opens his arms and pulls him in for a hug.

The scent of Shane, pregnant and pleased, fills his lungs. It’s somehow even better than before, like the pregnancy has made it richer and deeper. Ilya feels drunk off it, dizzy. 

Don’t scent him. Don’t do it, Ilya. 

“Do you mind if I sit here? I know the whole contract thing says you can’t contact me, but…” Shane smirks. “I promise I won’t press charges.”

“Uh.” Ilya can’t form words. The past minute has been the most overwhelming moment of his life. Shane raises an eyebrow, waiting for an answer. “Yeah. Yes! Of course, you should sit.”

Ilya nearly falls to the ground with how fast he sits back down. Shane sits considerably slower, using the edge of the table to steady himself as he lowers himself into the chair. 

“Congratulations,” Ilya blurts, unable to help himself. “You are…yeah. Congratulations. That’s amazing.”

Shane blushes, smoothing the fabric of his sweater down, his hand following the arc of his belly. 

“I should be thanking you,” he murmurs. “You were one half of the equation.”

“Is it–is everything going okay? No problems?” Ilya would be distraught if he knew Shane was struggling partly because of him, despite how irrational the thought is.

“Other than bad morning sickness at the beginning, not really. Baby is healthy,” he explains. “I don’t know the gender yet, but I don’t think I want to know until the baby is born. My mom thinks it’ll be a girl, though.” 

A girl. Shane might be having a sweet baby girl–he would be such a good girl dad. 

“I’m so glad,” he tries to say, but his throat is dry. 

“How have you been? I’m surprised I didn’t run into you sooner, though I guess Montreal is a big city.” He laughs at himself.
Shane can never find out how often Ilya has been sitting at this coffee shop and waiting for him. It would make him seem like a freaky stalker. He would literally never want to speak with him ever again.

 “Eh, I have been okay. Work is boring but they pay me to do nothing,” he explains, because it’s more appropriate than I think about you every single day and wish we met other different circumstances so I could be with you without the threat of legal action. 

“Your life can’t be that boring,” Shane insists. “You’re young! Don’t you go out and stuff?”

“And stuff,” Ilya repeats, unable to help the upwards tilt of a smile. Shane is so cute; he kind of wants to bite him, or something. 

“Forget it. I know I’m a lame old man.”

“You’re not old.” Ilya nudges his foot against Shane’s shin under the table. “You are mature.”

“Oh great. I’m mature,” The omega complains, knocking their knees together. 

Ilya wishes they could stay in this cafe forever. Because the second Shane gets up and leaves, this will probably be the last time they see each other.

“I have a question,” Shane says slowly. “I know we both signed all those contracts, and you technically aren’t supposed to be talking to me right now, but…” he trails off, his cheeks flushing. “I had a really good time with you. And if you’re interested, I’d like to, maybe, see you again? For a real date?”

A higher power must really be looking out for him. Ilya wonders what he did in a past life to deserve this. Rescue a bunch of kittens? Save a child from drowning? Whatever it was, it must have been damn selfless.

“As long as you don’t sue me,” Ilya jokes, because he can’t think of anything else appropriate to say.

“I think technically you are the one who’s not supposed to contact me. I, on the other hand, have free will.”

That makes Ilya laugh. He finds Shane quite funny, actually. Over the years, there has been plenty of chatter about the retired captain’s flat affect. But he sure was expressive in bed, when his face was shoved into Ilya’s boxers…

He shakes the image from his head. He doesn’t want to stink up the place. 

“I would really like that, Shane.” 

From across the table, under the soft music playing over the speakers, comes a gentle purr.