Chapter Text
“Welcome in, Mr. Hollander! I’m Jessica, lovely to meet you.”
“Hi.”
“If you’ll please follow me down this hallway, I’ll show you our current selection.”
Shane Hollander was not a happy man. There was nothing on Earth he abhorred more than the Omegan slave industry. And yet. Here he was. About to purchase a fucking omega.
It’s not as if he wants to participate in the archaic and deeply immoral practice. It’s just, he’ll lose absolutely everything if he doesn’t.
It’s ok. It’s ok. You have a plan. You aren’t evil. You have a plan. Hollanders follow their plans.
Jessica’s heels clacked obnoxiously down the pristine, blindingly-white hallway. Entering a passcode, she had to use all the strength her wiry bird-boned arms could provide to heave the steel door open.
“To the left, we have the women—you are choosing a woman, correct?”
“Uh. Y-Yeah.”
“Well, if you’d like a man, that’s completely fine. They’re to the right, we’ll see them on our way back.”
The corridor was massive; it could’ve easily fit a hockey rink in there. Lining either side were cell doors with miniscule windows at eye-level. Installed for onlookers, rather than the prisoners themselves. Down the center of the corridor were tables with built-in benches. An armed guard strode up and down each balcony above the doors, monitoring.
And that was all.
For a facility housing real human people, Shane was flabbergasted at how barren everything was. He supposed he should’ve known better given the inmates were omegas, punished for the mere crime of their biology.
Looking into the rooms—no, the cells— was one of the most depressing experiences of Shane’s life. The women were mostly curled up, skinny as could be, with a certain listlessness to the way they held their bodies. No one looked up, no one cared to see who was there to take them home and punish them further.
How could he possibly choose? He wanted to take them all home, let them know he’s gay, and all he’s looking to get out of this is a roommate he can spoil and…maybe even a friend. And, well, to get the NHL off his back. Roger Crowell, specifically.
They reached the end of the row and Shane hadn’t said a single word. Not that he ever said more than a few words as it was, but he was afraid if he did speak he might start crying and never stop.
Jessica fixed him with an appraising gaze.
“Shall we walk down the men’s side?”
Was he really that obvious? He sighed and gave her a nod, not trusting his voice yet.
There were significantly less men, all of their cells grouped at the far end of the hallway. He wasn’t surprised by this, omega males were far more rare than females.
They made their way, examining the pitiful prisoners who weren’t any better off than the women had been. They came across the final cell and Shane stopped.
The man in the room was shirtless, showing significant scarring on his chest and back with endless moles sprinkled between the red lines. His hair was matted, presumably curly, and blond. His skin was pale as moonlight. Unlike any of the other residents, he wore a ball gag and an electronic collar. He was chained in an uncomfortable looking position to the middle of the floor, the metal digging into his wrists and ankles. Shane couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped him.
“Yes, rather unfortunate we had to resort to such measures. This one has been returned upwards of ten times at this point, I believe? He’s…feisty. At this point, he’ll be highly discounted, if that interests you at all. Quite a ste-al!”
At the sound of her singsong voice, the omega glared up at them through the window. Shane couldn’t tear his eyes away. Pale eyes met his own with a palpable fury. It took everything in Shane’s power to not let his emotions seep through his words or actions; he became immeasurably grateful he had worn scent patches for the occasion.
“What’s his name?”
Jessica looked at him, more than a little baffled.
“We usually just refer to them as Omega, sir. It’s something Russian, I believe.”
If Shane had to look at this man in chains for a moment longer, he might actually vomit.
“I’ll t-t-take him, p-p-please.”
Get it together, dude.
If this surprised Jessica, she didn’t show it.
“Right away, Mr. Hollander! If you’ll follow me, I have some documents for you to sign and, of course, the payment. We’ll get him ready for transport. You’ll have 90 days to return the omega if your satisfaction is not met, free of charge.”
She said all this rapidly as she stalked down the hall, every step sounding like a slap across the face of humanity as her heels echoed in the hall of misery. Shane held eye contact with the man until it was absolutely necessary for him to move on.
Just wait, friend. You’ll be out of here soon.
~
After Shane outright denied the facility’s grunts the pleasure of shoving the omega in the trunk, he was thrown into Shane’s backseat. Handcuffs, gag, collar and all. Unlike earlier, the man did not make eye contact with Shane, but rather let his body fall sideways so he could lay on the cool leather seats. It was probably the most comfortable thing he’d been able to lay on in awhile.
Shane sped out of the parking lot as fast as he possibly could. To put it mildly, speaking was not his strong suit, but he knew he’d have to do a lot of it that day.
“Hey. I’m s-s-so sorry ab-bout all this. J-j-j—, fuck, j-just gimme a moment, we’ll p-p-pull over somewhere and I can get that sh-sh-shit off, ok?”
Like they always did when he had to speak more than a word or two, his hands clammed up and his heart rate spiked. He was utterly mortified of his stutter, but compared to what the poor soul in his backseat had been through, he felt ashamed for any lingering self-pity he had because of it. For him, this beaten, broken man, he would push through.
Shane had never driven so fast in his life. As a habitual rule-follower, the idea of going more than 3-5 kph over the speed limit gave him heart palpitations. But this was important. He couldn’t let him suffer for a second longer than absolutely necessary.
He veered off the highway down an abandoned looking exit and quickly peeled into a deserted gas station with little green weeds poking through each of the million cracks in the foundation.
He turned around and saw the omega had sat up and looked absolutely terrified. His eyes were wide and his body was shaking from head to toe, making the chains around his wrists rattle.
“Ok, they gave me the k-k-keys for…all that. I-I’m gonna come around to the backseat and g-get all that off, is that alright?”
The omega nodded, a singular anguished movement.
Shane got out of his seat and came around to the back right passenger door, before cautiously scooting in next to the omega. Shane bent his left leg onto the seat so he could face him properly. He opened a small envelope he had been given and slid three small keys out, conveniently and grotesquely labeled.
Shackles. Voice controls. Gag.
“C-can I see your hands, p-please?”
Shane wasn’t skilled with eye contact on a good day, so forcing himself to meet those tortured pale eyes was really testing all of his innate instincts.
Two scarred hands were shakily held out in front of the man. Shane instantly got to work unlocking the handcuffs and throwing them to the floor in disgust. The omega instantly curled his hands inward and lightly touched his wrists. Shane held up the next key and opted to just point to the gag. The man hesitated and Shane realized he would have to turn away and be completely at his mercy to get it off.
“I-I promise, I’m j-just gonna unlock you. N-n-no hurt coming your w-w-w—fuck, sorry.” He scrunched his eyes and concentrated. “Your…way. No hurt. Sorry.”
Those haunted eyes looked confused more than anything. He gave another solitary nod and turned around, but Shane noted his clenched hands as he did so.
Shane made quick work of the lock before telling the omega he was removing the collar next. He tossed both to the ground as the man took a huge, gulping gasp and raised a tentative hand to his raw skin. Tears strolled down his face immediately as he looked at Shane in awe. And, fuck, if that didn’t make Shane immediately well up with tears right along with him.
Shane had always been an extremely sensitive soul, a point of contention with every other alpha he had ever encountered, save his mother. Despite the nonstop onslaught of jackasses telling him it was a weakness, an unnatural and disgusting trait for an alpha male to have, Shane considered it a gift. He’d rather have that “weakness” than no feelings at all.
He offered the man a wobbly, feeble smile.
“N-nice to get that off, y-yeah?”
Stupid. Of course it is.
An equally wobbly and feeble smile was returned.
“Yes.”
The man’s voice was scratchy and coarse and it sounded painful to speak, but he looked thrilled to be able to speak at all.
“D-do you wanna step outside with me? I have an idea. I d-don’t have water, I’m af-fraid. But we aren’t far from home, so just h-hang in there, ok?”
The omega nodded at everything he said and tumbled out after Shane, who had gathered all the horrific devices in his arms. He promptly walked over to a dumpster and stood in front of it, waiting for the man to catch up.
“W-wanna do the honors?”
Solemnly, the omega stepped up and grabbed the ball gag from his hands. With surprising force, he ripped the straps from the ball, effectively rendering it useless, before slamming it into the empty, metal box. He took the electronic collar next and with a single movement, severed the attachment with prongs straight from the leather, before also disposing of it. The giant, metal shackles were all that was left and he looked a little disappointed at not being able to disable them.
“Ooh! Wait!”
Shane pulled a Swiss pocketknife from his pocket that hangs from his keys and got the miniature screwdriver attachment out. Screws connected the chainlinks to the cuffs and Shane set to work undoing them as fast as possible. Once he was done, he showed his handiwork to the quiet man who had been intently watching. He took the remnants from Shane’s hands and discarded all but the long chain into the trash. Pursing his lips slightly, he motioned with his hands for Shane to scoot back.
Once Shane was safely out of the way, he took to swinging the chain against the dumpster as hard as he could in a state of utter wrath. He began screaming in a way that could only be described as primal anguish. Shane plugged his ears and let him go as long as he needed to, so he could get as much pent-up heartache out as he could. Pausing to pant heavily, he flinched as Shane cautiously laid a hand on his shoulder.
“I don’t want you to h-hurt yourself.”
The omega nodded and glanced at the chain, appraising its effectiveness as a weapon, Shane realized. With a little nod of his head and shrug of his shoulders, he held onto it and followed Shane back to the car. If it made the man feel safe, who was he to deny him that security?
The man stopped outside of the car, tense and unsure of where to sit. Shane, remembering the fucking ghouls who tried to shove him into the trunk, skirted around the car and opened up the front passenger door for his guest with a little bow, like he was a valet.
“Monsieur.”
He was met with a look of pure wonderment. Silently, the man slid into the car like it was his first time ever doing so. Maybe it was.
~
“Like I said, we aren’t f-f-far f-from home. Um. I-I’m Shane. Shane Hollander. What’s your n-name?”
Shane was clutching the wheel like he was drowning at sea and it was a stray piece of driftwood.
Just fucking speak normal for once, please. Get a fucking grip.
“Ilya.”
“N-nice to m-m-meet you, Ilya.”
“You too, Shane.”
Shane glanced over and felt the first genuine smile on his face since that godforsaken meeting with his coach and the Metros administration. Ilya didn’t exactly return it, but his eyes softened. Shane could feel his steady gaze as he drove them, significantly slower, to his home. He knew Ilya would be studying him for a long time, trying to tell if he was genuine or not. Shane didn’t mind one bit.
~
“Alriiiight. Welcome in. I usually p-put my shoes here, but if you wanna keep yours on, th-that’s cool.”
Shane inadvertently looked at Ilya’s “shoes”. They were threadbare, practically paper-thin, sandals that had years of grime coating them.
“Or we can throw them away! I bought you a t-ton of clothes. I honestly didn’t know if I’d h-have to, uh, “get” a man or a woman, s-so I bought stuff for b-b-b—“ He took a big sigh. “Both.”
Ilya nodded silently and slipped the shoes off, before promptly throwing them in the trash next to the entrance hall. Shane smiled, happy to see him shedding any remnants of his past. He still carried his chain, not having any pockets.
Shane walked down the entryway hall, but stopped when he realized Ilya wasn’t following. Turning around, he saw him on his knees, hands and forehead pressed to the floor, chain beside him.
“Thank you, Master. Your benevolence is breathtaking. Please let me repay your generosity. Please. My mouth and my hole are yours.”
Shane let out an undignified squeak. He could see Ilya’s head cock oh-so-slightly at the sound, as if he was unable to place exactly what that was.
“Oh! N-n-n-n-no.” Shane felt as if he was actually glitching. Heart racing, he walked over in front of Ilya and slowly lowered himself to his knees. Ilya didn’t move.
“C-c-could you l-l-look at me, p-p-p-p-fuck-please?”
He was pretty certain his whole body was trembling at the display that just occurred, but he hoped it only showed in his hands. Ilya slowly raised his body up and suddenly they were two men on their knees, sitting back on their ankles, staring at each other.
“C-c-can I hold your h-h-hands?”
Shane couldn’t bring himself to look into Ilya’s eyes for the request. Wordlessly, Ilya held his hands out, palms up, and Shane placed his own on top. He was afraid of applying too much pressure, so he kept them feather-light. It was Ilya who wrapped his long thumb and curled the tips of his fingers around Shane’s.
Closing his eyes, Shane steadied himself with a big breath before looking up at his guest. His eye contact didn’t waver as he did his best to get everything out that he needed to say. The skin-to-skin contact helped immensely. He felt a duty to be as direct and sincere as possible, trying his best to remain calm so he could actually say it all.
“I w-will never ask that of you. Y-You are here simply to b-b-be my roommate…if you want to. I’m a professional hockey player for the M-Montreal Metros. Because I don’t have a mate, or a…house omega, my hormones are becoming irregular. Especially b-because I’m on a lot of suppressants. Most hockey players aren’t because they either go to a lot of o-omega brothels or, uh, get regulated enough at home. I don’t. My t-t-team doctor said I was on a dangerous amount of suppressants, so I had to st-top them. It’s why I’m wearing scent patches, because the ph-pheromones and scents are really intense. And it became a problem on the ice when my scent p-patch accidentally came off a f-few times.”
He shuddered slightly at the memory and Ilya gave his hands a friendly squeeze.
“So, the administration told me I’d h-have to buy an omega or I’d be off the t-team on injury recovery. D-demanded it, really. I c-c-c-can’t lose my job, I j-just can’t. I’m so f-fucking sorry I had to buy you, but I want you t-to know that in my home—our home—we’re equals. Just Shane. No ‘M-Master.’ You don’t have to ever do anything for me. Ever. Except f-f-focus on recovery, y-yeah? You have free access to everything. You can even run away right n-now, but I’d c-caution you to be careful, because it can be pretty dangerous for omegas out there. You know that, I g-guess. B-b-but I’ll give you m-money if you’d p-p-prefer that.”
He struggled getting that out in particular, as he now wanted more than anything to help Ilya. Shane had felt such a sense of purpose as soon as he laid eyes on him. It felt like they were…destined to meet. He would support any choice Ilya made, of course, but he wanted him where he knew he would be safe, if possible. He felt another squeeze, drawing his eyes back as they had wandered in trepidation. Ilya’s own eyes were watery and encouraging.
“I j-just wanted to get s-s-someone so the NHL gets off my back and I can tell them I’m getting regulated and just take a smaller suppressant d-dosage or something, I don’t know. But, Ilya. You are free here. I p-promise. You should know, I’ve n-never spoken this much at once in my entire life, so when I say I’m being d-dead fucking serious, I am. I’m s-so s-sorry for what you’ve been through. If you wanna just co-exist and n-never speak to me while you heal, that’s completely fine. If you wanna hang out a lot and be friends, that’s even c-cooler. I just want you to feel safe and g-good here. No expectations. None.”
Ilya had become significantly blurrier by the end, but Shane managed to keep any tears from falling. That was, until he was yanked into a bone-crushing hug. Ilya’s sobs shook both of their bodies as he held onto Shane with strong hands. He spoke Russian rapidly as he anchored Shane to himself.
“Spasibo tebe, mama, za to, chto podarila mne etogo prekrasnogo angela. YA budu tsenit' yego i ne stanu vosprinimat' kak dolzhnoye.”
Thank you mama for sending me this beautiful angel. I will not take him for granted.
~
An alpha got on his knees for Ilya. On his knees. He had never in his life witnessed an alpha do such a thing. Not for a marriage proposal, not for sex, not for helping tie shoelaces, and certainly not for holding hands delicately and claiming they were equal to an omega. He had also never seen an alpha shed tears for any omega. Not once. This alpha, who clearly struggled so much with speaking and hated doing so, made himself speak so tenderly, so sincerely, that he sliced through every hard-fought defense mechanism Ilya clung onto.
Ilya felt stupid for believing him with his crinkled eyes and expansive freckles. Yet…it felt correct doing so.
After Ilya broke the hug and reunited their hands, the alpha wiped his own tears with his shoulders in a funny sort of move so he could keep their hands gently locked together. Ilya copied this new movement.
“Ok. W-wanna ssssee your r-room?”
Shane’s voice was thick with emotion, clearly making each word even more difficult for him to get out. Ilya nodded and smiled slightly at how soft and sweet this strange alpha was to him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had ever smiled.
He grabbed the thick chain that had once bound him. He didn’t exactly suspect Shane would outright attack him, but if he had the chance to get his hands on a weapon to defend himself with, then, by god, he would take it. Shane didn’t even seem to mind that he had it. Every choice his new master had made thus far, every word that he had spoken, baffled Ilya in the best way possible.
They had each kept one hand attached to each other as Shane led him down the entry hall and into a large open space. To the left was the living room. There was a lowered conversational pit with a large, plush black couch that bordered the sunken area. Many pillows and thick blankets adorned it. If Ilya didn’t know better, he’d assume an omega furnished the place. There was a massive TV mounted across from the three-piece sectional with a fireplace beneath it. Ilya was already envisioning working up the courage to sit in front of the fire and feel warmth in his bones for the first time in a decade.
To the right was the kitchen. There was an incredibly long, marbled island parallel to the equally long counter space that was framed by cabinets above and below and bracketed by a fridge to the right and the pantry to the left. Each the island and the counter were equipped with a double-basin sink. It was so spotless, Ilya wasn’t sure if Shane ever even cooked there.
“S-so, I stocked up on a lot of food. I have a very specific d-diet, but I know most people would hate what I eat, so I tried to get n-normal people f-food. Here.”
Shane’s voice had evened out since their little emotional breakthrough and Ilya was glad to see him more in his element and not so nervous. He found the speech impediment quite endearing, but he could see how much it pained Shane whenever he stuttered.
He dropped Ilya’s hold and grabbed a glass from a cabinet, filling it with ice and water. Ilya felt ridiculous, stupid even, for missing the warmth of him. But, it was the first time someone had ever held his hand like that. It was so…nice. Comforting. And he was so, so weak.
The first drink of water brought tears to his eyes for the third time that day. He had to sip it slowly, knowing he’d throw it right back up if he gulped it down like he so desperately wanted to. Shane waited patiently with a sad little half-smile, mouth quirked to the right, while Ilya had a near-religious experience over fucking water. He could only nod slightly at Shane when he was ready to keep going, after he had refilled the glass for Ilya.
Past the adjoined dining room was another hallway that ended in wide double doors that he assumed led to Shane’s bedroom. To the left, the wall was made entirely of floor-length windows overseeing a small grassy knoll that led to a lush, green forest. With the height of the house, Ilya could see overlapping, dark green verdancy for miles. It was breath-taking. To the right were several doors, equally spaced apart. The wall space in between was adorned with abstract paintings that, while minimalist, still had a sense of warmth and movement to them.
“So the front hall has a g-guest bathroom, but each of our rooms has their own. The first door is to my office, but I d-don’t use it much. If you need to use a c-computer before your own arrives, feel free. The passcode is 2424.”
“Before my what?”
“The next door is y-your room!”
Shane either genuinely didn’t hear what Ilya said or was doing a fine job pretending he hadn’t. Leading the way, he opened the door and gestured for Ilya to follow him. He couldn’t help but think it was rather cute how excited Shane was to show him.
Ilya almost dropped his precious cup of water when he stepped into the room. It looked like something out of a dream.
The walls were a soft, light blue and across from the door were two wide-set windows with sheer white drapes swept to the sides. In between the windows sat a simple white desk adorned with a succulent, a stocked paper organizer, and multiple pencil holders that contained regular and colored pencils, pens, and colored markers. A lamp with a light blue base and white shade sat above what appeared to be…adult coloring books?
Against the left wall of the room was a four poster canopy bed with matching sheer white drapes hanging down each side, neatly tied to the posts. It was beautiful and intoxicatingly inviting. To the left of the bed was a door to his own en suite bathroom that Ilya was more than excited to explore.
On the right wall of the room was the opened door to the walk-in closet. Bracketing the door were two matching white shelving units. They were open shelves that started small at the top and ended in a large, wide base. The left one was sparse with little decorations, such as two wooden spotted birds, some plants, and stacked books.
The right, however, contained nesting materials, catching his breath when he realized. Ilya meandered closer and let his hand drift over the fabrics. They seemed to be organized in ascending thickness, with the top shelf having cool, silky fabrics that felt liquidy as they pooled around his exploring fingers. The bottom shelf had two large comforters that would be perfect for building the base of a nest. The colors all complimented each other with heather grey, sage green, cream, and, most of all navy blue—which matched the bedsheets.
Ilya delicately placed his chain on the left shelving unit. He didn’t think there were enough words in the English language to properly convey how he felt. It was all so overwhelming, but for once the overwhelm felt good. He didn’t know where to put the warmth bursting from him.
“Ne znayu, chto i skazat'. YA nikogda ne smogu vam otplatit'. Eto slishkom. Dolzhno byt', ya splyu?”
I don’t know what to say. I can never repay you. This is too much. Surely I am dreaming?
He had tears in his eyes once again, he knew. What was this kindness making him become? Was this all it took to undo him?
Shane gave him a complicated sort of smile as he started explaining all of the many things he had bought in anticipation of his new guest, surely to save Ilya from embarrassing them both. Ilya caught about half of what was said, still wrapped up in his amazement and underlying shame.
How is this alpha real?
~
After Ilya took a moment to compose himself, Shane continued their tour, showing him the basement level that was a massive, completely decked-out gym that he couldn’t wait to use. He had lost so much of the muscle he spent the last half of his youth developing. He wanted to be strong again. He wanted to feel like himself again. If he could even remember who that was.
There was a cozy sunroom, two more guest bedrooms, and finally the garage. Shane waved at the garage lazily before turning around to go, not caring to spend as much time to show it off. It housed a sleek black SUV and a black Jeep. It was absolutely not what Ilya would expect from a professional athlete, but exactly what he had come to expect from Shane.
“What, no sports car for the famous athlete?”
Shane snorted and rolled his eyes.
“As if. No death t-traps for me, no thanks.”
Ilya took a chance, having a feeling Shane wouldn’t mind a little bit of chirping. He knew quite well how hockey players operated.
“Hm. So boring.”
Shane fixed him with an unserious glare. Ilya could see playfulness in his eyes and upturned lips. It helped the hammering of his heart as he waited to gauge Shane’s reaction.
“J-jerk. C’mon. Why don’t you shower, if you want, while I make us some d-dinner?”
He took a little sigh of relief once Shane turned to walk back. His inclination was to trust his new master, surprising himself when he realized how strong it was. However, testing the boundaries of their relationship so soon was still terrifying.
~
After confirming with Shane that, yes, he could actually use hot water, Ilya made his way to his room. His room. What a fucking trip.
Closing the door, he was struck once again by Shane’s unending grace. The door locked. From the inside. Instantly, his curiosity got the better of him as he threw the lock shut. Heart pounding, he rested his hands against the door, prepared for slamming and yelling at his disobedience. Silence. Willing his heart to shut the fuck up for a moment, he pressed his ear to the wood.
Cabinets opening and closing. Soft footsteps. Humming. A sweet little melody.
He blew a shaky breath out and turned to take in his room. He wouldn’t let himself get in bed yet, not when he was this filthy. Plus, he didn’t think he’d be able to stand again for dinner if he did.
He journeyed to the bathroom and couldn’t help a gasp from escaping. It was massive. White marble tiles blanketed the space with fluffy light grey mats outside of the shower and under each sink. There was a standalone, iron clawfoot bathtub that Ilya wanted to sink into and never escape. The shower itself had glass doors and a recessed rainfall shower head affixed to the ceiling that could even change colors.
Good god, Hollander.
Built into the wall outside of the shower were shelves that held washcloths, towels, and multiple kinds of soaps. Ilya opted for an unscented body wash and shampoo and conditioners simply labeled “fresh and clean”.
Stripping his clothes, Ilya refused to look at his scarred body in the giant mirror. The shower was the closest thing to salvation he had ever felt. He took his time, scrubbing each and every inch of his body free of the filth caked onto his skin. He rubbed himself raw. He cleansed himself into freedom. He felt born anew. Reauthored.
When he finally emerged from the shower, steam was flowing from his pink skin. He wrapped a towel around his bony waist and walked across his bedroom to the walk-in closet. On either side of the space were two racks of clothes, shirts on top and pants hanging below. He let his fingers brush over the fabrics, lightly scenting them as he went along. There were a plethora of sizes and colors, yet all the pieces had something in common. They were soft. No matter the style, not a single one had a tag or itchy fabric, something omegas tended to be particularly sensitive to.
Ilya could see there were clothes meant for men and women, but he was excited to try all of them, regardless.
Oh, Hollander. Thank you.
~
Shane was so, so relieved that Ilya seemed to like his room. He knew he had gone overboard, slightly, but he wanted to be as accommodating as humanly possible, so whoever he brought home would immediately know they were safe. He didn’t expect trust in return, that wouldn’t happen for awhile, but if he could provide a sense of security, that might be enough.
The tomato soup was bubbling softly as he laid another piece of buttered toast on a sizzling pan. He added a little garlic salt and flipped it over. He was so lost in his thoughts over Ilya, that he didn’t even hear him enter the room. He smelled him, though. Just over the hearty aroma of soup and cheese, a whiff of pine and chilling winter's frost hit his nose, causing him to trace it through the air like a bloodhound. He had chills running down his arms from the scent alone.
Turning, he saw Ilya standing there, looking so…soft. Shane wouldn’t ever tell him, but he had actually grabbed one of the women’s long-sleeved shirts. It was maroon, half-sleeved, and cut down the chest, just a little, while hugging his frame slightly tighter than the men’s clothing would. Shane had been extremely annoyed that almost all of the women’s options he found while shopping had some sort of dip at the collar, but he was able to find a few that were modest enough. He just never anticipated those shirts to look so good on a man. Ilya’s cheeks were rosy from the shower and his hair, while already to his shoulders, was longer from being wet and tucked behind his ears. He had grey sweatpants on and had selected a pair of thick and fuzzy teal socks.
Shane wanted to hug him again. Shane also realized, a second too late, that he was staring at Ilya with a big dopey grin, stirring spoon in hand, soup completely forgotten. He was just so thrilled to see him looking human.
He resumed stirring.
“Have a g-good shower? Was the water pressure ok? Also, I only got regular sh-shampoo and conditioner, I can get some for c-curly hair, if you’d like.”
“I haven’t been able to shower in years, Shane. It was perfect. Thank you. There are enough clothes in the closet to warm small army. A small army, I mean. Sorry, mast--Shane. I-I apologize.”
Ilya had started speaking quickly and was anxiously wringing his hands. Shane cocked his head, confused at the sudden change.
“W-why sorry?”
Ilya looked up in shock.
“I misspoke. My masters insisted I speak perfect English. Otherwise…”
Shane gawked, finding English difficult himself, at the moment.
“I dropped an article, Russian is very different to English, so sometimes I forget rules. I am sorry.”
He bowed his head and seemed to be fighting his body to not kneel to the ground. Shane felt a little sick to his stomach. Who the fuck cared if he "dropped articles?" Monsters, that’s who. He lowered the temperature to a simmer before walking over to Ilya, careful to keep a respectable distance.
“Ilya. I don’t m-mind you speaking however you want to speak. Whatever is more c-comfortable for you, is fine. I think it’s ridiculous people tried to change that, like, it doesn’t even make sense to me? W-what the fuck? Who cares if you speak b-“
The phrase ‘broken English’ suddenly seemed a bit offensive to Shane.
“Who cares if you don’t speak p-perfect English? I mean, I can b-barely s-speak anything at all. Learning another language is a feat in itself. W-wait, is that why you keep using all those big words? What was it you said…b-benevolence?”
That got Ilya to huff slightly, bowed lips smirking almost imperceptibly.
“Speaking eloquently reflected well on my masters when they would…share me with their friends. It was a way to protect myself, I guess.”
Shane nodded, the heaviness of the statement settling over the room. Unsure of how to reply to that, he returned to his ministrations.
“I’m making s-soup. Does that sound g-good?”
He decided that the smile he got from Ilya right then was the sweetest thing he had ever seen in his life.
~
“I like to p-put avocado on my grilled cheese, are you interested in that, t-too? Rose also likes to put a f-f-few drops of barbecue sauce on hers, she kinda got me hooked on that, not g-gonna lie, heh.”
Ilya scrunched his nose and he told himself it was only at the food suggestion. Barbecue sauce? …Rose?
“I will try one sandwich monstrosity and one regular, please.” Shane giggled at his lame joke, fueling Ilya’s bravery. “Is Rose your girlfriend?”
Shane jolted mid-stir, flicking tomato soup over his outfit and the counter. He was such a jumpy thing, his new master. Shane didn’t seem to like the title of master, but Ilya found it hard to not refer and defer to him as such—at least for now, still. Shane quickly grabbed some paper towels and dabbed the mess up, looking eager to have something to protect himself from direct eye contact.
“Ah, n-no. Just a f-friend.”
Ilya needed to know exactly what he was getting into. Shane seemed…lovely, yes. But an alpha being this sweet? Telling him he would never want his hole or mouth? Not even visiting omega brothels like his teammates did? It was completely unknown territory for Ilya.
“You do not have mate, but do you have girlfriend? Or…boyfriend?”
Shane turned so red, he nearly matched the soup he had returned to stirring. Ilya didn’t think it needed that much attention, but Shane clearly liked having something to do with his hands.
“No. No b-b-b…”
He sighed and rested his hands on the counter with his eyes closed. Ilya hadn’t meant to stress him out and felt a small pang of guilt for doing so.
“No…boyfriend.”
An exhale of relief at having gotten the words out flowed from the man. Ilya’s suspicions about his preferences were confirmed, and he didn’t know how he felt about that. On one hand, Shane had vowed to never take advantage of him and him being gay would certainly have no effect on his moral standings. On the other hand, an attraction could grow, from either of them, if Ilya was honest. (He had eyes.) Who knew how that would affect an alpha?
Ilya concentrated on his own scent and pushed calming and comforting pheromones out, making sure to not overflood the room with them. He hadn’t properly scented someone up-close on his own volition before and wondered vaguely if he’d ever get the chance to with Shane. He thought he just might like to. At the very least, he knew how to scent a room.
His actions had the desired effect, as he watched Shane’s shoulders lower and his eyes close, taking it in. Actually, his entire body deflated and Ilya almost worried he was going to pass out.
“W-wow. Your scent…”
“Sorry. Too much? I should have asked, I just—“
“NO! Uh, n-no. It’s nice. It’s r-really lovely actually. Reminds me of our old f-family cottage when we would go there for Christmas. It’s like…I can see it so clearly? It’s k-kind of amazing.”
Shane’s face was so blissful looking before he seemed to remember he had been in the middle of a task. As he returned to what he was doing, he shot Ilya a hesitant glance.
“S-s-ssso you d-don’t mind?”
Ilya tilted his head, genuinely confused.
“Mind what?”
“That I’m. Uh. Gay?”
Shane’s voice wobbled as he offered up his response like a question.
“Are you certain of this? You don’t seem positive.”
“Oh my god, shut up. Y-yes, I’m sure.”
The tension was broken and they both had little smiles on as Shane plated their sandwiches and dished out the soup.
“No. I do not mind. Would be, ah, hypocritical? Da?”
“Y-y-you?”
“I have no preference.”
His host simply nodded and led them to the table. On pure instinct, Ilya kneeled on the hardwood floor and awaited the plate. It was unusual for an alpha to be the one serving, but nothing Shane had done was usual thus far.
“I-Ilya?”
He froze.
Fuck. He fucked up. Master had told him they were equals and he continued to genuflect like the weakling fucking omega he was. Maybe Shane would take away his bed before he even got to use it, it would be apt punishment. Maybe he—
Shane sat across from him on the ground, cross-legged.
“Is it more comfortable for you d-down here? I can j-join you. My dad had sciatica and would just literally lay d-down on the hardwood floor after work s-sometimes, hah.”
Ilya’s hands were still shaking as he burst into disbelieving laughter.
“More comfortable? Hollander, this is where I must eat. I am omega, you remember this, yes?”
Shane looked utterly mortified.
“F-f-f-fuck, I—oh n-n-n-no. S-s-sorry, I—“
“Is ok. Are you saying I…can sit at table?”
The disjointed English flowed from him far more naturally, his mind already relishing not having to concentrate so fucking hard on every word he spoke.
Through big fat tears threatening to fall from honeybrown eyes, Shane nodded emphatically. Ilya tried not to get lost in their shine.
“P-please.”
Things were awkward for a few minutes as they ate quietly, each consumed by regret for a faux pas that the other wasn’t remotely offended by.
“What the fuck. The barbecue and avocado shit is delicious.”
Shane laughed breathily as Ilya ripped a giant chunk off and dipped it.
“Doesn’t make sense, but I love it. What are you Canadians up to?”
“Who-who knows.”
~
“Is there anything in p-particular you want for breakfast? I tend to g-get up pretty early, but I’ll make us something whenever you w-wake. P-Please, sleep as long as you want.”
After they had finished dinner, Ilya hadn’t been able to suppress multiple yawns while Shane cleaned up. Ilya had, of course, offered many, many times to help. Shane insisted he relax, instead.
“Mmm. Is there McDonald’s close by? I have dreamed of eating a McGriddle every morning for the past 7 years.”
“We’ll get you all-all the McGriddles they h-have to offer. How’s that sound?”
At this point, they were standing outside of Ilya’s room, Ilya leaning against his door and Shane leaning against the opposing window. Ilya was certain he looked goofy with how wide his grin was, but he didn’t really care. Not when he was this lucky.
“Shane. I, ah, have a request. If you do not want to, that is completely fine. But, I was wondering if I could maybe ask something of you?”
Shane looked far too eager to accommodate whatever Ilya was about to ask for.
“Anything, Ilya.”
“Can you…maybenotwearpatchesoveryourscentglands?”
“Huh?”
“Your patches. Can you not wear them? I am so, so sorry. I just, I cannot tell how you are feeling and it would help me feel…at ease.”
Ilya turned his gaze to his feet, ashamed of asking for a favor that was so personal, so demanding.
“Oh! S-sure! I just didn’t wanna overwhelm you, l-like I said, it’s kinda…strong. Or so I’ve been t-told.”
“I can handle it.”
Shane nodded, reassuring himself more than anything, as he reached up and slowly peeled off his patch on his neck, followed by each wrist. Ilya was grateful he was leaning against something as Shane’s pheromones hit his system like a freight train.
Fresh linen, blowing in the breeze. Sunlight on newly cut grass. The woods and the trees on a midday hike. Bonfire smoke as the stars shine above. Flowing, gentle river water. A hint of citrus, maybe cold lemonade.
Never before had an alpha’s scent brought a kaleidoscope of images and sensations to his inner omega like this before. He could feel his own scent seeping out, stronger than it had ever been since he presented, in waves of pleasure and contentment.
Opening his eyes, he could see Shane was similarly affected by Ilya’s own wintery scent. The tendrils of their biology wrapped around each other in the hallway that felt smaller and smaller with every passing second. Ilya could almost see how their scents warped and greeted each other, mixing into something powerful and not yet identifiable to either of them. What the fuck would happen when they properly scented one another? Ilya couldn’t begin to imagine.
“Охренеть!” Holy shit!
“Y-yeah.”
Ilya felt drunk, which only caused his exhaustion to reintroduce itself.
“I should…”
“Of course! S-sleep well, Ilya. Th-thank you for being here. I h-hope…Well, I hope for a lot of things for you. B-but I hope you have a comfortable night’s sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow for M-McGriddles, yeah?”
“Yes. Thank you, Shane. For…everything. I…do not have the words. But, thank you. Good night.”
They smiled warmly at each other, still blanketed by the comforting, enigmatic aroma they had crafted together, before going to their respective rooms.
Ilya left the door unlocked.
~
Later that night as Ilya lay in bed, belly so full of warm soup he could almost see a difference in his stomach if he squinted, he prayed and prayed to his mother that he would be back in this beautiful room belonging to that beautiful man a few doors down when he awoke. Tomorrow, he would make a nest, if he was still there. Tomorrow, he would be in charge of himself for the first time in his life. Tomorrow, he would wake from the warmth of actual sunlight instead of the center’s red lights and blaring alarm. Tomorrow, he might just still be free. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.