Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

My body is a cage

that keeps me from dancing

with the one I love

but my mind holds the key

***

“Shane?”

Shane didn’t look up from the locker room shower tile between his bare feet. His hands were curled into fists, blunt nails digging into the meat of his damp palms. His team just won. His skin and hair were clean, and so was the fresh white towel wrapped around his waist. He was was flying back to Montreal with the team first thing tomorrow morning. His parents would meet him at the airport and take him straight to their cottage for Christmas. There was nothing wrong, but somehow everything was wrong.

“Hey, buddy, are you ok?”

Hayden. His best friend and one of the only Alphas he trusted. Shane stole a glance at his friend’s worried expression and quickly looked back down at the floor. The persistent buzz of the bright fluorescent lighting and the lingering scent of sweaty, aggressive Alphas was making Shane’s skin crawl.

He desperately wanted to get out of there, but getting out meant passing through a gauntlet of curious and/or hostile American fans waiting to catch a glimpse of the only omega player in the league. A free Canadian omega, who was not bound by the same laws that now required all American omegas to be registered as breeding stock and banned them from appearing in public unless accompanied by an Alpha.

Hayden had agreed to be his Alpha guardian for this last game before the holidays, but there was already talk about benching Shane for all future games in the states. For his own safety, of course. And if he couldn’t play anywhere in the US anymore, what was the point of keeping him on the roster at all?

Shane didn’t respond to Hayden, he just clenched his fists even tighter, digging his nails deeper into the angry red crescents that they had already carved in his skin. He could still feel the strange, hungry, freak-show energy of the rowdy crowd and the thinly-veiled hostility of the Alphas on the opposing team. He had ignored the slurs and jeers and kept his head down, focusing only on executing his game-plan perfectly and leading his team to an easy victory. But he still felt this deep, discordant wrongness vibrating through every cell of his body. He kept trying to tell himself that it was just another game, that what was happening to omegas in the US had nothing to do with him, but in his bones he knew he wasn’t safe here anymore. 

Hayden took a half-step closer and stood silently beside Shane for a moment, then peeled the blocker patch from his wrist.

His best friend’s familiar Alpha scent drifted up to Shane through the lingering bleach and rusty water smell of the arena shower. A gentle, homey scent like fresh cut hay and melted butter and warm, polished wood, shot through with soft ribbons of his omega mate Jackie’s jammy rose and a whisper of milky almond nougat from their pups.

Hayden didn’t move to actively scent Shane, just held his arm out with his palm up until Shane felt grounded and comfortable enough to take the Alpha’s wrist and glide his cheek lightly over the offered scent gland.

Shane gave himself a moment to slow his breathing and focus on his friend’s scent. He had struggled his whole life with an embarrassingly visceral dislike of Alpha scents that made him feel like some kind of biological freak. He never really liked the pastel candy and sugared floral scents of pretty, petite, and hyperfeminine omegas either, though they didn't repulse him like unmated and unblocked Alphas always did. Only bonded Alphas smelled remotely tolerable to him. Even then, the only ones who could scent him and give him the kind of comfort he’d always been told was normal and natural for omegas like him were Hayden and his mom Yuna. 

“Thanks, Hayd,” Shane said, letting the Alpha’s wrist drop and hoping he sounded more normal than he felt. “It’s just weird here now, but I’ll be ok.”

“Good,” Hayden said, smoothing the patch back over his exposed gland. “Let’s go back to the hotel.”

“Don’t you want to go out and celebrate with the rest of the team?” Shane asked.

“Nah,” Hayden replied with a loose, easy grin. “We got an early ass flight tomorrow and besides, I’m a domesticated dad. A family man. All those late nights full of cold beer and hot women and bad decisions are in the rear view mirror now, my friend.”

Normally Hayden would have slapped Shane on the back, fake-punched him in the arm or made some other similar kind of jock-bonding gesture, but that night he didn’t. He just stood there and waited, and even though Shane couldn’t form the right words to say so, he was intensely grateful for his friend’s understanding. His skin still felt buzzy and sensitive and too tight to contain everything he was feeling.

“Ok,” Shane said, more to himself than Hayden.

Shane went back into the locker room to get dressed. Even though he technically didn’t have to have an Alpha escort indoors, Hayden still stayed close by his side, pretending to be preoccupied with his phone.

***

The crowd outside wasn’t as bad as Shane had feared. Just a handful of leering betas and a pair of weird omega women with their hulking, silent Alpha, all holding hand-written signs that seemed to imply that Shane was going to hell for wasting his fertile years playacting like an Alpha instead of serving God by staying home like a good little omega and pumping out pups. He pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt to hide his face and stuck close by Hayden’s side. 

The car Hayden had requested came faster than they expected, so they were able to escape without causing too much excitement.

It was clean and comfortable in the roomy back seat of the black Town Car, heat turned up high against the winter chill outside the tinted windows. Hayden spent most of the ride chatting about the best plays of the game and what his pups wanted for Christmas and other inconsequential things that blended seamlessly with the droning hum of tires on asphalt and washed over Shane like a soothing blanket of white noise. He didn’t realize how rigidly he had been holding his entire body until it started to unclench, just a little. He felt like he might even drift off with his head resting on Hayden’s beefy shoulder until he suddenly noticed that the car had turned down a dark, unfamiliar street leading into an industrial and mostly empty part of town. 

“I think you’re going the wrong way,” Shane said, cutting off Hayden’s monologue about the high price of trendy toys.

“Huh,” the beta driver said, frowning down at his phone. “You might be right. This damn app is the worst but the company makes us use it so they can track us.” He rolled his eyes with a smirk and an exaggerated what-can-you-do shrug. “Let me just pull over for a second and double check.”

Shane unlocked his phone and opened his own map app, pulling up the address of their hotel while Hayden looked at the screen over his shoulder.

“See look,” Shane said. “You should have taken a left back there at…" 

Both back doors of the car were wrenched suddenly open, and the next thing Shane knew there was a large Alpha hand gripping his upper arm, followed by a sharp sting and then a sick, woozy blackness coiling around his senses. He felt deathly cold, paralyzed and leaden, and he thought he heard Hayden yelling and swearing and then the sharp electric crackle of a taser or maybe it was his own synapses frying and dying inside his aching skull.

Then, nothing but silence and measured breath and swift, efficient movement. He thought he could make out the Town Car's red tail lights driving slowly away like nothing significant had happened. He couldn't see his friend anywhere, and when he tried to call Hayden’s name it came out all slurry and distorted. He tried again, but it felt like he was falling away from his own voice as he plunged headfirst into nothingness. 

***

Shane came to on a metal table under sickly greenish light. Was he in some kind of hospital? The gray acoustic tile on the ceiling above him was water-stained and cracked and there was a lingering smell of disinfectant and iodine and old dried blood. There was a single narrow window hidden behind dusty metal blinds. He couldn't tell if it was day or night.

His limbs felt heavy and his head was pounding, the pulse in his dry throat jittery and way too fast. He tried to move one arm, then the other and quickly discovered that he was cuffed to the table with thick leather restraints.

It took a second to realize that his ankles were cuffed too, not to the table but to rickety metal stirrups that held his feet up high and far apart. His clothes were gone, and the thin, diabolically scratchy hospital gown that had replaced them was bunched up around his hips, leaving him spread open and defenseless. He was pretty sure that was cold lube oozing from his exposed hole but he didn't feel sore or stretched. Had he been given some kind of pelvic exam or internal ultrasound while he was out?

That’s when he realized he wasn’t alone in the room.

There were two men with their backs to him. Both Alphas, both wearing scent blockers. One was blond and burly, white coat spread taut across his enormous shoulders, and the other tall and wiry with close-cropped reddish hair. They were having a huddled conversation but Shane could only catch fragments.

“...high levels of suppressant in his blood could take several days to metabolize…”

“... omega hormones currently on the low end of normal but might improve with supplementation…”

 “... reproductive anatomy appears healthy and functional but fertility unproven…” 

Panic filled his chest like a swarm of furious wasps and he felt like he was thrashing as hard as he could against the restraints, but somehow his body only rocked sluggishly from side to side. The rough, scratchy seams on the cheap hospital gown clawed at his skin, making him desperate to rip it off his shuddering body but he couldn’t. He couldn’t.

He tried to scream, but it came out sounding like a cascade of breathless whimpers. His mouth flooded with nauseous metallic drool and he was suddenly terrified that he would puke and choke on it while trapped on his back like this. 

“Look who’s awake,” the red headed Alpha said with a smarmy, condescending tone as he turned towards Shane and flashed a toothy smile that didn’t touch the hard blue eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I know this seems confusing right now, but trust me, it’s for your own good. You’ll be so much happier here with us.”

No one had ever called Shane sweetie in his entire life, not even his parents, and he wanted to knock those glossy white teeth down that motherfucker’s throat so badly. But all he could do was clench his fists and twist his wrists helplessly against the restraints.

“Fuck you,” Shane managed to say, though it came out barely louder than a breath.

The redhead’s smile got even bigger and colder. He nodded to the other Alpha and then the big blond was unbuckling the restraints around Shane’s ankles and wrists and hauling him up to his bare feet on the gritty linoleum. Shane cringed at how filthy that floor probably was, but that thought was swiftly eclipsed by another powerful wave of nausea and dizziness that made his legs go rubbery and useless.

He kind of grayed out for an unknown period of time, during which he was being dragged and wrenched around way too much and force-fed some water that made him feel like he was drowning. The next thing he was completely sure of was that he was sitting in a wheelchair, being pushed down a dim, grungy hallway with exposed brick on one side and rows of numbered metal doors on the other. No windows anywhere he could see, so it was impossible to figure out where he was. Was he still in the city? They couldn’t have taken him that far away from the arena, or could they? How long had he been unconscious?

What about Hayden? Was Hayden ok? Was he being held somewhere in this same building, or somewhere else? Or was he free and working with the RCMP or the Canadian embassy to find Shane and get him the fuck out of this awful country? 

Was Hayden even alive?

Did Shane’s parents know about what had happened to him? Or were they dressed up in their dumb matching Christmas sweaters, waiting at the airport for a plane he wasn’t on? 

His entire being was screaming at him to fight, to run, to do anything but sit like a broken doll in this rickety wheelchair but his body felt completely disconnected, inert and useless. There was cold puke splattered on the front of the hospital gown now, as if it wasn’t enough of a sensory nightmare to begin with, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

There were tears on his face too, but he didn’t remember crying.

Whoever was pushing him had stopped in front of a door marked 1410. There was the harsh jangling cacophony of a large number of keys rattling against each other and then the door was opened.

“Back it up, Rozanov,” a reedy, nasal voice behind him said. “You got a new roomie.”

Chapter Text

“Face the wall,” the voice behind Shane spat. “Diamond on the back!”

Shane was shoved abruptly out of the wheelchair so he tumbled gracelessly to the concrete floor of a tiny room. He had no idea if he was the one being asked to face the wall or what the diamond thing was even supposed to mean, but at that moment he was having trouble facing anything other than the floor.

When he was able to look up without the room spinning, he saw that the cell was already occupied by another male omega, about the same height as Shane with a lean, muscular build and an unruly tumble of dark blond curls. He wore ugly pink sweatpants and a matching t-shirt that was too tight for his broad shoulders and thick biceps but hung loose around his waist. His large feet were bare despite the ominous chill inside the cell. He was standing with his face to the wall on Shane’s left, his hands behind his back with his thumbs and forefingers touching to form a diamond shape at the base of his spine, just above the pronounced curve of his ass. Shane couldn’t see his face.

Shane could see the orderly that had pushed him out of the chair now, though. A burly, pink-faced Alpha with a shaved head and a dark beard. He had a substantial pot belly under his pit-stained blue scrubs and Shane was thankful for the fact that all the Alphas seemed to wear scent blockers here, because that guy looked like he smelled especially rank.

Shane made a valiant attempt to get up and join the other omega facing the wall, but failed spectacularly and wound up crumpled and curled on his side on the cold concrete.

His apparent cellmate said something to the orderly in a language Shane didn’t understand. Something Slavic sounding, Russian maybe? His voice was deep and dripping with caustic sarcasm.

“Learn how to speak American, skank,”  the orderly replied with a dull, glowering frown.

He slammed the metal door and locked it and two things happened simultaneously. Shane realized exactly how small the windowless cell was, barely two meters square with nothing but a stainless steel combo toilet and sink in the far right corner and a ratty-looking magenta yoga mat rolled up in the other. He was also hit with another intense wave of nausea and vertigo and was suddenly terrified that he might throw up all over himself again and have no way to clean it up. There didn’t seem to be any towels anywhere, cloth or paper. No soap either and worse than that, no toilet paper. 

As he struggled up to his knees, his heart rate spiked and his breathing felt constricted, as if he were trying to suck air through a cocktail straw. He found himself clawing at the awful soiled hospital gown, desperate to get it off and away from his skin, but it was as if he’d forgotten how his hands were supposed to work. He fumbled and tugged at the tightly knotted ties in the back but in the end he just tore open the frayed neckline, pulled the gown off over his head and flung it away like it was on fire.

“I know that I am very handsome and sexy,” the other omega’s deeply accented voice said from somewhere to Shane’s left. “But most people wait longer than ten seconds before ripping their clothes off for me.”

Shane barely heard him. He had his eyes squeezed closed and was concentrating all his energy on not throwing up. The room was too small, way too small, and there was no way out. He would never see his parents again. He couldn’t breathe. He was going to die and nobody would ever know what had happened to him.

“Ok,” his cellmate was saying, moving slowly closer. “Is ok.”

Then, suddenly the other omega was kneeling right in front of Shane.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

“I can’t…” Shane said. “I can’t… be here… I can’t…”

“Hollander,” his cellmate said, low voice calm and steady.

Shane looked up, surprised enough to hear his own name that he was able to suck in a slightly deeper breath.

“How…” The other omega’s eyes were an astonishing color, a complex and mesmerizing blue hazel, but Shane couldn’t hold his intense gaze. He looked away. “How do you... know my name?”  

“Is on your wristband, same as mine,” the other omega said, pointing first to a white plastic bracelet Shane hadn’t even noticed on his left wrist and then an identical one on his own. “I am Rozanov.”

“I…” Shane stole another glance at Rozanov’s chiseled and uniquely beautiful face, focusing first on a dark mole on the other omega’s cheek, then dropping his gaze helplessly to the deep Cupid's bow of his lips. Shane's heart was pounding so hard he was sure the other man could hear it. “I’m sorry. I…”

“You are having panic attack, yes?”

Shane swallowed, nodded, and looked down at the floor again, clenching his fists to keep his body from flying apart in a thousand jagged pieces.

“Eyes up here,” Rozanov said, voice strong and steady, like a rope ladder Shane could use to climb out of himself. “Use your words, Hollander.”

Shane looked up again, this time letting himself focus on the irises of Rozanov’s fascinating eyes. It felt good to not have to think about where to look, even if just for a moment.

“Yes,” Shane managed to say between tight, shallow breaths. “I just… sometimes I…”

“Give me your hand,” Rozanov said.

Shane did as he was told without hesitation and Rozanov gripped his wrist, raising Shane’s hand to his chest. He placed Shane’s palm against his left pec, and Shane could feel the other omega’s steady heartbeat through the fabric of that cheap pink t-shirt. Then Rozanov put his own cool palm against Shane’s bare chest.

“Breathe with me,” Rozanov said.

The other omega took a deep breath in, and Shane could feel Rozanov’s chest rise beneath his palm. He tried to match it, but his own breath was still coming too fast and harsh.

“Slower,” Rozanov said. “Come on, breathe in.”

Shane tried again to breathe at the same pace as Rozanov and got a little closer, a little bit slower, but he still felt wildly out of control, his whole body trembling and chest clenched hard, like his teeth.

That’s when he started to notice the other omega’s scent.

It was extremely subtle but teasingly seductive, and Shane might have even missed it if they weren’t so close together in such a tiny room. He found himself swaying forward and had to physically hold himself back from burying his face in Rozanov’s neck.

Rozanov didn’t smell like any other omega Shane had ever met. There was no syrupy sweetness in his scent, no cupcake vanilla or shy, delicate floral notes. He smelled like crushed caraway seeds and bitter black tea with a hint of woodsmoke and beneath it all something sly and richly savory. Something unabashedly sexual, like a warm, cozy bed after a long night of…

By the time Shane realized that he was letting his mind wander down a totally inappropriate road, he noticed that his breathing was getting deeper and less frantic and the crushing weight in his chest had lifted. 

“Better,” Rozanov said. If he could tell what Shane had been thinking, he didn’t let it show. “Slow and easy.”

Shane breathed in when Rozanov breathed in and out when he breathed out. In that moment, everything else seemed to fall away, like they were the only two people left on the planet. Shane could feel his heartbeat slowing to match Rozanov’s and he took another deep breath in, then let it out. In, then out. Breathing in that elusive, secret omega scent and breathing out all the fear and panic that had gripped him since he’d regained consciousness in this horrible place.

“Da, like that,” Rozanov said. “You are being so good for me.”

Shane’s dick twitched and thickened in response to the unexpected praise in Rozanov’s deep, honeyed voice, an unauthorized and completely mortifying reminder that he was naked in front of this beautiful stranger. Of course Rozanov noticed immediately, glancing down and back up with an arched eyebrow.

“You like that,” he said. “Being good.”

It was not a question. Shane didn't bother to deny it.

“I will remember this for later,” Rozanov said, letting go of Shane’s hand and taking his own hand off Shane’s chest. “But right now your body needs rest. Time to recover from whatever drugs they gave you.” Rozanov pulled his pink t-shirt over his head and handed it to Shane. “Here.”

The shirt was warm in Shane’s hands and redolent of the other omega’s intriguing scent. He appreciated the gesture, but if Rozanov thought that revealing his flawless upper body was going to help Shane get rid of his stupid boner, he was sorely mistaken. Shane couldn’t take his eyes off the other omega’s lean, powerful torso. Rozanov's sleek, deeply defined muscles were punctuated all over by a generous scattering of moles. He had full, rounded pecs with large pink nipples that looked sensitive and delicious. His lean, v-shaped waist and sculpted abs were bisected by a happy trail of soft dark hair leading down into the low slung waistband of the pink sweatpants. 

As Shane’s gaze followed that trail, he couldn’t help but notice two new pieces of information that could not be ignored. One, Rozanov was also starting to be affected by whatever was happening between them. Two, he was big. Not just big for an omega like Shane was, but big for anybody. Certainly bigger than anyone Shane had ever seen in real life. A fact that those loose, thin sweatpants did nothing to hide.

Rozanov clocked the direction of Shane’s gaze and the tiniest hint of a smile curved in one corner of those plush, distinctive lips.

“Put on shirt, Hollander,” he said. “I will get you some water.”

Shane pulled Rozanov’s shirt on over his head, breathing in the other omega’s scent as it settled around him. The shirt was a little bit too big for him, but not big enough to cover his annoyingly persistent semi. He tugged at the lower hem, stretching it downward repeatedly but somehow that made him feel even more self conscious. Wearing a shirt but no pants seemed way more awkward than just being naked, but the dank chill inside the little cell was starting to sink into his bones and he was grateful to have something warm against his clammy skin.

Rozanov filled a dented tin cup from the little steel sink above the toilet and handed it to Shane. The cup didn’t seem very clean and the water had a strange odor, like old degraded rubber. He frowned down at the cup, unable to prevent his nose from wrinkling with distaste.

“Sorry, princess,” Rozanov said with a smirk. “We are all out of fancy bottled water.”

Shane put the full cup down on the floor beside him.

“I’m good, thanks.”

Rozanov brought the yoga mat over and started rolling it out on the floor against the wall farthest from the toilet. The room was so small that the mat nearly touched three out of the four walls when fully unrolled.

“Drink, Hollander,” he said, voice stern but gentle. “Your body needs water and this is all we have down here.”

Shane picked the cup back up, took a deep breath and chugged the water in a single gulp. The gross, rubbery flavor lingered on his tongue, dredging the nausea back up his throat for a panicky moment, but Rozanov put his hand on the back of Shane’s neck to steady and calm him. Shane let out a long, shaky breath and leaned into Rozanov’s touch.

“Good boy,” Rozanov said, taking the cup and setting it back on the lip of the sink, letting his praise sink in to Shane for a moment while his back was turned. 

Shane swallowed around a sudden tangle of emotions and looked down while Rozanov retrieved the only other object in the room, a small plastic packet that had been tucked behind the yoga mat. When he opened it up, it was revealed to contain one of those ultra-lightweight Mylar emergency blankets they use for warming up marathon runners and refugees. He shook it out and wrapped it around Shane’s shoulders, then sat down on the yoga mat and pulled Shane over to sit beside him.

“Is this the only blanket?” Shane asked, tugging at the crinkly material.

“Yes,” Rozanov replied. “They like to give new omegas a day or two with no clothes or bedding to break them.”

Shane nodded silently, letting the full horror of his situation sink in for a minute. 

“You are lucky I am nice guy and willing to share,” Rozanov said. “Many here are not.”

Shane nodded. He took a few more seconds to steady himself and then stretched the metallic blanket out as wide as it would go, scootched a little closer and tucked one side of the blanket around the other omega’s broad shoulders.

Rozanov took the offered corner of the blanket and pulled it around himself. He curled a strong arm around Shane’s waist, drawing him even closer so that their sides were pressed tightly together from knees to shoulders. The two of them just sat like that without speaking for several minutes, enjoying the combined human warmth of each other’s bodies in spite of everything.

“I am surprised to see omega like you on this level,” Rozanov said eventually. “You are very pretty.”

Shane wanted to tell the other omega that he was pretty too. Not just pretty, but stunning. Possibly the most gorgeous human being Shane had ever seen.

“I guess I’m too athletic for most Alphas,” Shane said instead. 

He didn’t mention that hockey wasn’t his only motivation to train hard and bulk up as much as possible. Most Alphas were naturally attracted to delicate, petite omegas, so even when he had to put up with their stench, he rarely had to put up with their sexual attention.

“You have big hands,” Rozanov said, gaze dropping to Shane’s fingers and lingering for a moment too long, then back up to his face with a smirk. “Make insecure Alpha’s knot look small. This is probably main reason you are down here in the discount bin.”

Shane huffed out a small, breathless laugh despite himself. 

“Also, you are not white,” Rozanov said with a smirk. “Not good genetic match for Jesus Nazis who want only blond pups.”

“I'm half...” Shane started to say with a frown. “Wait, you're white. And kinda blond-ish too.” 

“I am damaged goods.” Rozanov tilted his head away from Shane and tossed back his wild curls, revealing his mating gland. It was criss-crossed with thick, ugly scarring from what looked like multiple bites. “Used up cum dumpster.”

“Hey,” Shane said, frowning. “Don’t say that kind of thing about yourself! Who taught you that phrase anyway?”

“American Alphas teach me all kinds of useful English words,” Rozanov replied, the bitter sarcasm in his voice barely concealing something harsh and ugly underneath. “Slut. Whore. Fuckpig.” He shrugged. “Very educational.”

“That sucks,” Shane said, unsure of what else to say. “I’m sorry.”

Rozanov hummed, looked away. Shane wished that he were better at knowing the right thing to say. Wished that he knew how to make the other omega feel better the way Rozanov had made him feel better. But he didn’t, so he stayed silent, looking down at his own hands in his lap and remembering the way that Rozanov had looked at them.

“You should sleep now,” Rozanov said eventually.

“Is the light ever going to be turned off?” Shane asked, looking up at the single caged lightbulb on the low, cracked ceiling.

Rozanov shook his head. 

“Welcome to hell,” he said. “Better get used to it.”

Chapter Text

“Would you lay with me?” Hollander asked. “I mean… if you don’t mind. Just because it’s cold. You don’t have to… do anything.”

Ilya couldn’t help cracking a grin at the idea that his new cellmate seemed genuinely worried about forcing him to have sex. As if Ilya hadn’t already been forced to have sex nearly every day of his life since he presented.

“Of course,” he replied.

He was tempted to reach out and brush his thumb across Hollander’s flushed and freckled cheek, but stopped himself. Instead he guided the other omega down onto the mat with his back against Ilya’s chest and pulled him close under the thin silver blanket.

“I’m sorry about before,” Hollander said quietly.

“Sorry for what,” Ilya asked.

“For freaking out like that,” Hollander replied. 

“Is ok,” Ilya said. “This is terrible place. Is natural to freak out on first night.”

Hollander didn’t respond, but Ilya could feel a lingering tension in his body like he had something else he needed to say, so he just held the other omega in silence until Hollander was ready to speak again.

“Also, sorry about…” Hollander paused, holding his breath for a moment. “The other thing that happened.”

“What?” Ilya said, smiling against the soft dark hair on the back of Hollander’s neck. “That you got hard?”

“Yeah,” Hollander said. “That.”

“You do not need to apologize for the way you feel,” Ilya said. “This is also natural. I am very flattered.”

He didn’t mention the fact that Hollander had very clearly noticed the way Ilya felt about the situation too. The way he still felt, if he was honest. In fact, it was taking every ounce of his willpower not to grind the way he felt against Hollander’s firm, muscular ass.

The other omega was clearly on very strong suppressants, because even though he was not currently wearing scent blockers, Ilya could detect almost no scent from Hollander at all. Just clean hair and skin and sporty deodorant with a slight tinge of sharp, vinegary stress and the fading metabolic residue of a brutal cocktail of drugs. He couldn’t help but wonder what Hollander would scent like if Ilya were licking and sucking his smooth, unbroken mating gland, slowly teasing him open until he was drenched with slick and begging to be allowed to cum.

That kind of thinking wasn’t helping the situation at all. 

“Do they have cameras in these rooms,” Hollander asked, that tight thread of anxiety winding through his quiet voice again.

“On high-value level, yes,” Ilya replied. “Down here, no. These people do not worry about what trash omegas do together. Does not count to them if there is no Alpha knot involved.”

“You are not trash,” Hollander said. “You’re beautiful.”

Ilya was used to predatory Alphas telling him how beautiful he was in order to get whatever they wanted, only to call him a worthless whore after they had it. But Hollander just stated it without any ulterior motive whatsoever, the same way that he would have said the sky is blue. Like it was an indisputable fact. 

Ilya had to bite back on his words to stop himself from denying it, from telling Hollander that he was only saying that because the other omega didn’t really know him. 

The truth was, Ilya didn’t want Hollander to know how ruined and ugly he was on the inside. He never wanted this wholesome, awkward and devastatingly handsome boy to be irrevocably contaminated by that secret darkness. Ilya just wanted to bask in the unexpected sunshine of the other omega’s earnest ignorance, even if it was only for one night. 

He wanted to be beautiful for Hollander, and that felt profoundly dangerous. 

“Thank you,” he said instead of everything else he had been thinking, pitching his voice low to keep it from quivering and giving him away.

Another long, loaded moment of silence stretched out between them. Ilya wanted to trace the constellations of dark freckles scattered across Hollander’s broad, tense shoulders with his fingertips. Or his tongue. He just held the other omega and waited. 

“I’m not trash either,” Hollander eventually said. “I’m even kind of a big deal.”

“You are what, sexy pop star?” Ilya was deeply relieved that the conversation had turned away from him.

Hollander let out a soft chuckle. 

“God, no,” he said. “I think people would pay me not to sing. I play hockey.”

“But you are omega,” Ilya said, unconsciously chewing at his lower lip.

“I’m Canadian,” Hollander said. “I play for Montreal."

“Ah, you are Canadian,” Ilya said. “No wonder you are sorry about everything all the time.”

“Fuck off,” Hollander said, surpressing a laugh and pushing his elbow and shoulder back into Ilya in a playful mock-check. "Anyway, we don’t have limits on omegas in sports the way other countries do. I mean, you still have to be big enough and strong enough to be on par with the Alpha and beta players, obviously, but other than that we don’t discriminate based on secondary designations.”

“I play hockey too,” Ilya said. “Before.”

“Really?” Hollander turned his head to look back over his shoulder, dark eyes bright and intensely interested.

“As young boy back in Russia, yes,” Ilya replied. Suddenly it was his turn to look away. “But then I present omega and… well…”

That word, well, was doing some very heavy lifting. Such a small English word yet it somehow managed to contain all of Ilya’s unspeakable trauma and anger and heartbreak. Everything he couldn’t possibly say out loud in any language. 

“They don’t allow omegas to play any sports in Russia, huh?” Hollander asked, his brows drawn together in a thoughtful frown.

“Nope,” Ilya said, like that was all there was to it. “They do not.”

“So how did you end up here?” Hollander asked. “Were you kidnapped like I was?”

Ilya pulled in a deep breath before saying “Enough questions, Hollander. You should be resting now.”

“How am I supposed to sleep with that annoying light on?” Hollander asked, shifting his weight uncomfortably on the thin foam mat.

“Do you want to be good for me or don’t you?” Ilya replied, leaning in to speak close to the other omega’s ear. 

He was fully aware of the fact that he was using what he knew best to deflect attention from an uncomfortable topic. It was obviously working too because Hollander went completely still against Ilya’s body, suddenly radiating heat like a furnace. 

“I do,” Hollander said, his voice almost too soft to hear.

“Then you should rest,” Ilya said.

Ilya’s gaze dropped from the other omega’s ear to his mating gland. It was symmetrical and pristine, still unmarked beneath the softest tan skin. He could not resist brushing his lips lightly against it, causing it to flush and release just a teasing hint of mysterious sweetness mixed with a homey and familiar black tea note not unlike Ilya’s own scent. 

Hollander tried to contain a small breathless moan behind clenched teeth and the sound sent a hot rush of blood straight to Ilya’s cock.

“Jesus Christ.” Hollander said, shuddering and thrusting his ass back hard against Ilya. “That is not helping me rest.”

“You are not helping either,” he said, gripping Hollander’s hips to keep them from grinding against him. It was clearly a battle Ilya didn’t really want to win, but he was enjoying making the other omega wait for what was becoming increasingly inevitable between them. 

Hollander settled and stilled again under Ilya’s confident grip and allowed himself to be manhandled and turned around until they were pressed together face to face on the mat. The other omega’s thick, dripping cock slid against Ilya’s own through the fabric of his sweatpants, drawing a low, involuntary purr from deep inside Ilya’s chest.

“Tell me what you need, Hollander,” Ilya said, gazing into those hungry, vulnerable brown eyes and knowing he was already in way too deep.

“I think…” The other omega bravely held his gaze for a moment, then looked down at Ilya’s mouth. “I’d like to kiss you.” He looked back up into Ilya’s eyes again. “If that’s ok..?”

For several heartbeats, Ilya was too stunned to respond. His sophisticated plan for taking control and taking Hollander apart collapsed under the weight of that sweet, guileless request and his whole body tensed as he squinted at the other omega, waiting for the cruel punchline to be revealed. 

Because people didn’t kiss whores like Ilya. They bit him, choked him, used him and threw him away.

Hollander frowned, gaze dropping away and shoulders creeping up to his ears.

“I mean,” he sputtered. “We don’t have to kiss, obviously, if you don’t want to. We can do something else… or nothing. I’m sorry, I just… I thought…”

Ilya kissed him.

It was not a skillful, calculating kiss. It was painfully real, ravenous and unguarded and Hollander gasped and shivered and responded in kind, his soft, pink mouth opening for Ilya without hesitation. Ilya gripped Hollander's face hard between his greedy hands and shoved his thigh between Hollander’s thick, powerful legs, pulling the other omega closer as they rutted artlessly against each other, panting into each other’s mouths.

Hollander’s scent was finally starting to bloom, slowly seeping through the bland neutrality of his suppressants. That black tea note grew richer and almost nutty, more like barley tea with a base of hot malted milk and oh, now there was another deeper, deliciously seductive layer to his scent. A lush, honeyed musk, still faint, but undeniable. Ilya suddenly needed that scent like he needed oxygen, like he’d never needed anything so badly in his entire fucking life. 

He was so hard, he felt light headed, like he was falling. Slick was dripping freely down his thighs and soaking through the fabric of his sweatpants, but he could not have cared less. He had never been this helplessly, desperately turned on outside of a heat before and he had no idea how to feel about that. He just groaned into Hollander’s mouth, still dry-humping frantically against the other omega like the lovedrunk teenager he had never been allowed to be. 

Ilya never had a chance to fumble around and figure things out with a secondary school crush like a normal kid. He got told what to do and swiftly learned what happened when he got it wrong. He lost his gag reflex before most people lost their virginity. He learned how to control every inch of his body with an iron fist, providing whatever was required of him and withholding anything that was unwanted, because it was the only way to survive.

But now he felt utterly raw and wild and out of control. He was seconds away from cumming in his only pants and there was nothing he could do to stop himself. 

“Ah, ah, fuck,” Hollander panted breathlessly against Ilya’s parted lips. “I’m gonna… Can I…?”  

“You can cum,” Ilya growled, gripping the other omega’s ass and rutting even harder against him. “Cum for me, Hollander.”

Hollander cried out and Ilya swallowed the sound in another messy car-crash of a kiss as the other omega’s whole body clenched and his hips jerked and his cock pulsed between them, releasing a hot volley of spunk across the front of Ilya’s sweatpants and up into the grooves between his abs. 

"So good," Ilya whispered. "So fucking good for me."

Hollander was still gasping and shuddering with aftershocks when Ilya let go of his last remaining shred of self-control. He lost his facility for coherent language, gritting out fragments of Russian gutter poetry interspersed with English words like need and fuck and Hollander's name as his own ferocious orgasm hit hard and fast like a summer storm, washing away everything that wasn’t this moment. This feeling. This boy.

His boy.

Ilya knew he had no right to feel so possessive over someone he just met, especially under circumstances like these, but Hollander scented like home in his arms, like everything he ever wanted and didn't believe he could have and he couldn't stand the thought of anyone else having this.

He didn't want to examine that feeling too closely, so he just pressed his face into Hollander's warm, fragrant neck and held him way too tightly.

“Now your pants are all dirty,” Hollander said.

Ilya looked up at the other omega’s flushed, sweaty face and shy smile and a genuine, incredulous laugh bubbled up out of him. Hollander’s grin widened and he was laughing too and shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what was happening. Ilya couldn’t believe it either.

“Was worth it,” he said, pulling off the ruined sweatpants and using the few remaining clean spots to mop up the rest of the sticky aftermath before tossing them aside. “I will clean them in the sink tomorrow.” 

He wrapped his arms back around the other omega and cupped the back of his head, drawing him down until his cheek rested on Ilya’s chest. 

“Sleep now,” Ilya said, running his fingers gently through the other omega’s sweaty, chaotic hair and then pulling the discarded blanket back over them both. “Please, Hollander, I am tired too.”

Ilya wasn’t tired. He was terrified. He knew damn well that he wasn’t going to be allowed to have something like this.

Hollander sighed and nuzzled sleepily against Ilya’s pec, slinging an arm across his waist and snuggling up along his side like nothing bad had ever happened. This big, sweet omega had skated right through Ilya’s defenses without even trying. He slipped in like a knife between ribs, piercing deep into the heart Ilya had almost forgotten was still beating under all that scar tissue.

Ilya looked up at the ceiling, eyes following the pattern of familiar tributaries along the cracked plaster. The light bulb continued to give off the same perpetually sallow glow in its dusty wire cage, but beneath it he was not the same. How could he be?

He needed to get his shit together. He needed to armor back up, because it wasn’t just his own survival at stake anymore. He couldn’t let himself be soft for Hollander and protect him at the same time. And he deserved to be protected, not just from the dehumanizing grind of this awful place but from everything Ilya had to become to survive it. 

It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

Ilya kept trying to get up from the mat, but every time he did Hollander would cling tighter to him and make the cutest little negative noises. The other omega was obviously still woozy from the drugs he’d been given, skin slicked with cold sweat despite the chill and not fully asleep but not really awake either. 

Ilya needed to rinse out his sweatpants and Hollander’s hospital gown soon so they had time to dry as much as possible before cell inspection. If they were not both wearing the correct clothing when that happened, everything they had would be confiscated and they would both be left naked with no bedding for as long as their captors decided was needed to learn their lesson. And, as much as he enjoyed looking at Hollander’s strapping athletic body, fucking on the cold concrete was nobody’s idea of a good time. 

Not only that, Ilya really needed to have something else to think about instead of what this place was going to do to somebody like Hollander. Or what caring about somebody like Hollander would do to him.

“Hollander,” he said eventually. “I promise to come right back to you, but you need to let me up for one minute, ok?”

“Fine, ok,” Hollander finally conceded in a soft, slightly blurry voice. “But just one minute.”

“Good boy,” Ilya said, planting a kiss on the other omega’s freckled cheek that came out a lot softer and more tender than he’d intended.

Once Ilya got up, Hollander rolled over on his side with his head cushioned on the girthy biceps of his right arm, fully awake now and watching him with bright, curious eyes.

“Is it weird that I like it when you call me a good boy,” Hollander asked. “Even though we’re probably around the same age?” 

Ilya felt closer to a hundred years old most days, but they did seem to have been alive for approximately the same number of years. Very different years in very different worlds, but still. He shook his head.

“Is not weird,” he said, picking up the crumpled sweatpants and carrying them over to the sink. “Many people like this kind of play. I have Alpha owner back in Russia who wanted to be called naughty pup. Loved being told what to do by strong young omega. Was fun, but only allowed in bedroom. When we were out together in public, I was the good boy.”

“Oh,” Hollander said, sitting up and drawing his knees to his chest with the silver blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “So you like sex with Alphas?”

“Sometimes,” Ilya said with a shrug, scrubbing the fabric of the sweatpants against itself under the flow of icy water in the sink. “Though I have had many more bad than good. You do not?”

Hollander shook his head. 

“I mean, I’ve never tried it but… I really hate the way they smell. I hate how they treat me on the ice, like I don’t really deserve to be there even though I’m smarter and faster and better than they’ll ever be. I hate how they think they already know everything about me or what I need just because of my designation.” 

Ilya hated the idea that Alphas would treat Hollander that way. He hated the idea of Alphas being anywhere near Hollander. The idea of anyone who wasn't him being near Hollander, really. He didn’t have anywhere to put those feelings, so he just scrubbed harder at the stained sweatpants. 

“If an Alpha ever tried to talk to me like you did,” Hollander continued. “I’d probably kick them in the junk. But when you do it, I feel… I don’t know… like you really see me. I feel safe, I guess. That’s crazy isn’t it? This is probably the least safe place I’ve ever been, but you… your scent…I don’t know.”

Ilya had no idea how to respond to that. 

Actually, that was a lie. He knew exactly how to respond to that, by taking Hollander into his arms and kissing him deeply, drinking in his scent and telling him that he knew, of course he knew, because he felt the same way. 

Ilya was so fucked.

“You have been with other omegas, yes?” Ilya made himself ask, trying to stay focused on squeezing as much water as he could from the sodden sweatpants.

“A few times,” Hollander replied. “Just kind of fooling around when I was younger, you know. Now I only hook up with betas.”

“Men and women?” Ilya asked as he rang the sweatpants out one last time and hung them over the edge of the sink before going to work on the hospital gown.

“Just men these days,” Hollander said, looking shyly down at his hands. “From the apps, mostly. Always discrete, never more than once with the same guy. Nothing serious. You?”

“Men, women, and others. All designations,” Ilya said, wringing out the hospital gown and hanging it on the other side of the sink. “Not that I am allowed to choose most of the time.”

“But if you could choose?” Hollander asked.

“I would choose based on the person,” Ilya said.

You, he wanted to say. I would choose you. He was not stupid enough to say it out loud. 

He shook the water from his cold hands and went back over to the mat, wrapping his arms around Hollander and guiding him down with his head on Ilya’s chest again. This was only the second time the two of them had been in this position together, but he found it difficult to remember a time when he had laid down any other way.

“So listen,” Hollander asked, looking up at him. “What’s the plan?”

“What do you mean plan?”

“I mean, how are we going to get the hell out of here?” Hollander said. “We can’t just stay locked in a miserable fucking toilet stall for the rest of our lives.”

We. Not just him. Ilya couldn’t even make eye contact, he just sniffed and looked up at the cracked ceiling. 

“The first thing we need to do,” Hollander continued. “Figure out how to get word to my parents about where I am. Once they realize I’m not on that plane, my mom will probably create a major international incident trying to find me. These people really don’t know who they’re fucking with. I’m her only son and even I wouldn’t dare go up against her when she goes to war.”

Ilya couldn’t think of anything to say to that. He’d lost his own mother years ago and didn’t have a single person left who would care what happened to him, let alone go to war for him.

“Do you know where we are?” Hollander asked. “Like what state? Is there anything else you can tell me about our location? The layout? Any cell service or internet here? Maybe a computer we could get access to?”

“Hollander,” Ilya said softly.

“And I’ll also need any information you have about yourself and why you’re being detained,” Hollander said, bulldozing right over Ilya’s quiet voice. “Because I’m not gonna leave you behind. No way. We’re in this together and I know my mom will want to help you too, once she knows about how you helped me. I mean, not the sex part, obviously but you know…”

“Hollander,” Ilya repeated, firmer this time.

“What?”

“Stop, please,” Ilya said. “We can plan your great escape in the morning, ok?”

Of course there would be no escape, great or otherwise, but Ilya didn’t want to kill that spark of hope in the other omega’s beautiful dark eyes. Not any sooner than was absolutely necessary, anyway.

***

Ilya was awakened by the familiar sound of the morning religious music being pumped through tinny speakers and echoing down the hallway, followed by the rusty lament of the stiff floor-level shutter in the metal door being wrenched open. Their breakfast tray was shoved through the narrow gap, and then the shutter slammed without a word from the other side.

He went over to the door and retrieved the flimsy cardboard tray, the kind of thing offered by chain coffee shops to help customers carry multiple cups at once. There were two protein bars in the compartments of the tray instead of one this time, along with two juice boxes and two little paper cups holding the usual colorful assortment of mystery pills. 

“What are those pills,” Hollander asked, awake too now and peering at the tray, raking his messy hair back off his forehead.

Ilya dumped all the pills into the toilet and flushed, then put the empty paper cups back on the tray.

“Dr. Sturgeon says healthy omega vitamins,” Ilya said, carrying the tray over to the mat. “But I have been given too many bad pills to believe him.” He sat down next to Hollander. “Nobody checks to make sure we take them down here anyway.”

“Is Dr. Sturgeon a tall, thin Alpha with short reddish hair and glasses?” Hollander asked.

“Did he call you sweetie?” Ilya asked.

“Yup,” Hollander replied.

“That’s him,” Ilya said. “Be careful around him, ok? He is very bad.”

Hollander nodded, dark brows pulled together into a slight frown, then unwrapped his protein bar and took a bite. 

“This is so gross,” he said, looking down at the sticky brown log like it had personally offended him. “It tastes like chocolate spackle.”

“I’m sorry to say it,” Ilya said, quickly wolfing down his own bar and stabbing the little straw into his juice box. “But this is best meal of the day.” 

“What flavor is this drink supposed to be?” Hollander asked, turning the box over and squinting at the nutritional information. “It’s not even real juice.”

“Red flavor,” Ilya said. “Is better than yellow flavor.”

Hollander put the unopened juice box back down on the tray.

“You should drink,” Ilya said. “You will need the calories.”

“Do they have a gym here?” Hollander asked, taking another dainty bite of the bar like making it last longer wasn’t just prolonging his own suffering.

Ilya huffed out a scornful half-laugh. 

“Ah, no,” he said. “Good omegas are soft and gentle. Must ask Alpha to open jar.” He rolled his eyes. “Is God’s plan.”  

“But you’re in great shape,” Hollander said. Not flirty, just stating facts again. “Do you do mostly old school bodyweight workouts? Like calisthenics? Burpees and push ups and stuff like that?”

“Yes, but I also have excellent genetics. For Alpha, of course, not for Godly omega. If there is a God, I think maybe he has a sense of humor. That or he is asshole.”

“We can do some stuff together later if you want,” Hollander said, seemingly uninterested in theological debate. “Make it like a contest, even.”

“Stuff,” Ilya said. “Hmmm.”

“Not that!” Hollander said with a sweet little smile. “Or maybe that too, I just meant that I have a pretty solid variable HIIT routine I developed for when I have to stay in hotels where there’s no gym. Or, you know, if it’s too crowded or doesn’t seem clean. I could show you, if you wanted.”

“Or,” Ilya said with an arched brow, pausing to suck down the remainder of his juice. “I can make you sit on your hands while I do squats until failure on that nice fat cock. I must warn you though, I have excellent stamina.”

“Fuck,” Hollander said, blushing deeply and swallowing hard around the last of the protein bar. “Wow, um…”

“Maybe, if you’re very good,” Ilya said, leaning in close to Hollander’s hot pink ear. “I let you cum inside me.”

“I, uh…” Hollander said, suddenly stiff and awkward and looking everywhere in the tiny room except at Ilya. “I’ve never… I mean I don’t usually…”

Thick, tarry shame welled up in the back of Ilya’s throat as he crushed the juice box in his suddenly trembling hand. What the fuck had be been thinking?

“Of course, I understand,” Ilya said, pulling back and turning his body away from Hollander, tossing the crumpled juice box back onto the tray. “Is not safe with dirty whore like me, and we have no condoms here so…” 

He shrugged like it didn’t really matter and wrapped his arms tightly around himself.

“No no, Rozanov,” Hollander said. “That’s not what I meant at all! I was just trying to tell you I’ve never done that… to anybody before.” 

He was holding his big hands up in a placating gesture but Ilya wouldn’t meet his gaze. He couldn’t.

“I’ve only had…” Hollander stammered on. “...that kind of sex twice and, well, both times it was the other way around. You know, with me… on the receiving end. I mean, safe sex is important of course, I don’t want you to think I’m not safe normally. I did use condoms those two times and I get tested regularly too, I just… ” He paused. “I’m making it worse, aren’t I?”

“Forget it,” Ilya said, getting up to stand alone against the opposite wall. "Is not important." 

“I’m sorry,” Hollander said. “I…”

“Finish your juice,” Ilya said. “You will not get more food until evening.”

Silence between them. Hollander didn’t finish the juice, he just stared at the box like there was some crucially important information to be found in the fine print on the back. 

Ilya had been an idiot to think a man like Hollander, a nice, normal hockey star from a strong, loving family, would ever want to be with somebody like him. For fun, sure. For one night, why not? But not for real. Never for real.

Honestly, it was better this way. Better for both of them, because Ilya knew what happened when you let yourself care about anyone. Especially yourself.

That’s when Ilya heard the jarring clang of the guard’s baton against all the metal doors along their row, one after the other.

“LINE UP!” the deep, masculine voice called out. Kenner.

Ilya swore in Russian, grabbing the hospital gown off the edge of the sink and tossing it to Hollander.

“Take off my shirt and wear this. Quickly!”

Hollander yanked the shirt off over his head and handed it to Ilya, but hesitated with the gown.

“This is not game, Hollander,” Ilya said, stepping into the still damp sweatpants and putting on the shirt. “You need to put that on right now, before door opens.”

“What’s happening?” Hollander asked, giving in and shoving his arms into the tattered sleeves of the gown, his whole body flinching like it was physically painful.

“Is line up,” Ilya said out of the corner of his mouth, turning to stand against the wall and pulling Hollander over to stand next to him.

“I don’t understand…?”

There was no time to explain because the door banged wide open and Kenner appeared.

He was a big bruiser of an Alpha, both tall and fat but strong as a bull elephant, with thick brown wavy hair and a graying beard. He looked like the kind of guy who would powerlift or pull trucks with his teeth in his spare time. Even with blockers, he smelled like one of the nasty, stained mattresses in the attic of a shitty little house where Ilya had been forced to turn tricks during a long dark winter in Tbilisi. Ilya could imagine how much Hollander must have hated him.

“I don’t see diamonds,” Kenner said, smacking Hollander in the small of his back with the baton. “You need to do a better job showing the new fish the ropes, Rozanov, instead of playing fucking pattycake all night.”

Hollander swallowed an angry grunt and put his hands into the required diamond shape.

“Better,” Kenner said. “Now fall out.”

Ilya turned to exit the cell and Hollander tried to follow close behind.

“Not you, Hollander,” Kenner said, blocking the other omega with his baton.

“But…” Hollander looked at Ilya with barely contained panic in his eyes.

“Is ok,” Ilya said, trying on a cocky smirk that didn’t quite fit over his own gnawing anxiety. “You can stay here and have privacy for first shit in cell. This is rare privilege, so enjoy.”

“But there’s no toilet paper!” Hollander said, his voice strained and pitched too high.

“You can clean up in sink after,” Ilya said. “Like fancy European bidet. Is cold, but very refreshing.”

“Enough,” Kenner said. “Let’s go, Rozanov.” 

What else could Ilya do? He went.

***

Ilya stood in a line with fourteen other male omegas from the low-value floor. They were mostly foreign and undocumented, some with no English at all. Primarily Latino and Southeast Asian, along with one guy from Afghanistan. There was only one American, a skinny, pale and painfully young kid with scars laddering up and down both forearms. Ilya didn’t know his name or his story, but he knew the flat, dead look in his big blue eyes all too well. That kid had been there for three months and had never said a word to anyone unless directly ordered to do so.

One of the omegas Ilya did know pretty well, a small sturdy older man from Belize named Luna who knew a few words in Russian as well as fluent Portuguese, French, Spanish and his native Mayan, was gone. No explanation. Ilya knew better than to wonder what had happened to him.

The omegas were being marched one by one up the narrow stairs, down the hall and through the double doors that lead into the buyers’ room. As they reached the threshold, they were each handed one of the familiar laminated and numbered ID cards they were required to wear. Ilya turned the card over and over in his hands, delaying as long as possible before putting the braided pink lanyard around his neck.

His name was printed on one side. On the other side, the side that was required to face outward during line ups, there was only a single black digit. A number one, printed large enough to read from across the room. 

One healthy, full-term pregnancy.

Not a baby. Not Ilya’s son. Just a pregnancy.

A stat, like his height and weight, his recent hormone and STD test results and his lengthy rap sheet for soliciting, illegal entry into the US, assaulting a peace officer and assorted other criminal violations. 

That number was really the only thing he had going for him in the eyes of potential owners, but Ilya couldn’t even look at it. He had to pretend it was just a black shape, a decoration without meaning. Because if he let himself think about it, he would start remembering. 

He would remember that fleeting glimpse of wet dark hair like seal fur sticking out of a soft blue bundle that had been whisked away before Ilya even had a chance to hold his little boy. He would remember how he screamed and screamed until his throat was raw and his voice was ground down to nothing but a dry, impotent hiss. How that scream never really went away, it just got trapped under his ribcage and made a home inside him forever, echoing endlessly down into the hollow black emptiness that his stolen baby left behind.

Ilya bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, the familiar taste of blood flooding his mouth as the fresh, bright burst of pain pulled him back into now. 

He walked into the buyers’ room.

The room was large and airy with no furniture and big unbarred windows along the far wall. It was cloudy and drizzling outside, but the muted daylight was still painfully bright to Ilya’s eyes, making him feel horribly exposed and half-blind, like a naked mole rat. It had been nearly a month since the last line up.

Dr. Sturgeon was waiting for them on the other side of the room, standing in front of a tryptic of framed posters featuring soft-focus photos of glowing pregnant omegas and their cherubic babies.

“Look sharp, sluts,” Kenner said, punctuating his words with jabs of his baton into their backs and bellies as they passed him.

“In numerical order, please,” Dr Sturgeon said. “Low to high, diamonds on the back and I want to see nice smiles on every one of you. You hear me, Rozanov?”

Ilya flashed him a fake, toothy grin.

“The only real smile you will ever see on my face,” he said in Russian between clenched teeth. “Will be the day I kill you.”

“Much better, sweetie,” Dr. Sturgeon said with a patronizing nod. “Pure thoughts and sweet smiles always, and remember how lucky you are to have this opportunity to be chosen to serve God in the manner for which He created you.” 

The clients entered through the opposite door then, a female Alpha with her meek beta husband in tow.

He was probably around thirty five, average height and a little bit soft in the middle beneath a forgettable navy blue suit. His coarse, sandy hairline was starting to recede on his high pale forehead and he wore a deliberately mild and blank expression like a corporate middle manager who was hoping he wouldn’t be singled out to speak during a meeting with the big boss.

She was older, with extensive cosmetic work on her tight, thickly bronzed face. Huge red lips and dramatically sculpted cheekbones and mean little dark eyes behind thick false lashes. Her brown and blond striped, middle-parted hair was meticulously coiffed into stiff waves and her body was tightly girdled and shoehorned into a shiny red skirt suit. Her big red pumps clicked loudly on the faded tile as she walked along the line, sizing them all up. She didn’t even bother with any of the zeros on the left and quickly homed right in on Ilya.

“Are you sure this one is an omega?” she asked. She stuck her hand down the front of Ilya’s pants, groping the length of his soft cock with a nasty grin on her face. “Not that I’d complain, but my husband would probably be more comfortable with a conventional omega body type. Right, honey?”

The beta did not look up from his perfectly shined shoes.

“Whatever you think is best, Linda,” he said.

She leaned in closer to Ilya, so close that he couldn’t help catching a subtle whiff of her meaty Alpha scent through her blockers. He didn’t blink, didn’t flinch from her invasive touch, just stared straight ahead, chewing at the torn spot inside his cheek and dissociating like he always did.

“What’s up with his scent?” she asked, snuffling at his neck like a dog. “I can’t smell anything on him at all.”

“Extensive damage to the mating gland at an early age,” Dr Sturgeon replied, tapping at his tablet. “But I assure you, it has no effect on his long term fertility.”

She poked at the scars on Ilya’s mating gland with a sharp red fingernail. He still did not react.

“Ugh,” she said, trying for a frown, but with all that Botox she was barely able to crease the bridge of her button nose with a few stray bunny lines. “That’s disgusting.”

“To be honest, I wouldn’t recommend that one. There have been…” Dr Sturgeon lowered his voice. “Behavioral issues. Naturally you’re not going to be getting top quality at this price point but, if I were you, I’d go with a two or a three. More bang for your buck, so to speak.”

The woman moved away from Ilya, down to the far right of the line up where an omega named Ruiz stood alone, the only one with a number three hanging from his lanyard. 

She and Sturgeon were discussing various stats and test results and other options, but Ilya wasn’t listening. He wasn’t wondering how Hollander was doing alone in their cell. He wasn’t thinking about the little blue bundle with the wet dark hair.

He wasn’t anything. 

Chapter Text

After the guard took Rozanov away and slammed the cell door, Shane came very close to another full-blown panic attack. 

His mind wouldn't stop racing, going over and over every single thing he could remember about what had happened to him between being dragged out of the Town Car and being thrown into this cell, but the details felt slippery, elusive and unreliable. The horrible, scratchy hospital gown was still damp against his skin, but he was afraid to take it off. Even though he had more room to move around the cell now that he was alone, it somehow felt more oppressive and claustrophobic without Rozanov next to him.

It made no sense that Shane had only just met the beautiful Russian omega yet he felt like a vital part of himself was missing now that Rozanov was gone. Worse, Shane had no idea when, or even if the other omega was ever coming back.

What if Shane was all alone here now? What if he’d been given this inexplicable opportunity to experience the way that Rozanov’s praise and scent and touch had made him feel, only to have it taken away?

He could feel his dry throat constricting, his heart and his breath racing so he closed his eyes and tried to imagine Rozanov’s hand on his chest. To imagine that deeply accented voice telling him to breathe slow and easy. Telling him that he was good. Making him feel safe.

But the persistent, intrusive thought that he would never see Rozanov again would not leave him alone. 

Unable to come up with any other clever ideas, he decided to work out. To pull focus from his treacherous brain down into his reliable, obedient muscles.

He carefully folded up the silver blanket and slid it back into its plastic pouch, then took the juice box he didn't drink out of the cardboard tray and set the two things together against the wall, near the foot of the yoga mat. He put the tray with Rozanov’s crumpled juice box, the protein bar wrappers and empty paper cups next to the shutter at the base of the door. 

There wasn't anything he could do about the feel of the shitty hospital gown fabric, but he also didn’t want his dick swinging around like the clapper on a church bell or smacking against the rough concrete during a high impact workout like the one he had planned. He took the gown off, folded it over and over again on the diagonal until he had a long, approximately rectangular shape similar to a scarf, then wound it around his waist, pulled it between his legs to form a snug pouch for his junk and tied it off, sort of like the world’s least comfortable fundoshi. He figured technically, this would still count as wearing the hospital gown if anyone showed up to check.

He started doing some basic stretches to shake the lingering chill from his stressed and knotted muscles. He didn’t have a timer or heart rate monitor, but he’d done this so often that he’d gotten pretty accurate at guesstimating by feel and counting down seconds in his head. Once he started to feel a little more loose and limber, he went ahead and dove right into the most strenuous variation of his hotel routine. 

Skipping without a rope to warm up, then right into jump squats, burpees, high knees, push ups and wall sits. 40 on 20 off, in neatly regimented multiples of five. Again and again and again. 15 minutes, then 30, then 45, pushing it hard, harder. No music, only his own rhythmic breath, nice and even now as his heart settled into its familiar work, speeding and slowing, speeding and slowing just like normal. Like he was going to jump in a hot shower afterwards, refuel with a perfectly calibrated, pre-prepped meal and then head down to the arena to get in a little ice time before the game. 

He was just under 30 seconds into his last wall sit when the cell door banged open again. It wasn’t the big bearded Alpha this time, it was a beta. A leaner man with close cropped black hair and a pockmarked olive complexion, clean shaven but already showing a dark shadow of future stubble along the lines of his strong, square jaw. 

Shane put one hand up in the guard’s direction without even thinking, exclusively focused on his breathing and counting down the final seconds with his quads on fire. Because he couldn’t just stop now, leaving the workout incomplete. Because those missing ten seconds would torture him, grinding under his skin like a splinter and he would have to do the whole workout over again from the beginning.

“What, are you fucking kidding me?” the beta asked, regarding Shane with a bemused grin.

There were just three seconds left to go when the guard smashed Shane full force in the knee with his baton.

Shane swore and lost his balance, crumpling to the concrete. It hurt like hell, but all not that much worse than the kind of hit he might have taken on the ice. He was far more angry about his ruined workout.    

“Get up Hollander, and for Christ sake put your clothes on normal, willya?” the guard said. “Time for orientation.”  

***

Shane wasn’t given any shoes, he just got marched barefoot down the hallway with his hands in the diamond formation and no further explanation offered. He walked ahead of the guard, feeling the hot and swiftly swelling knot beneath his right knee pulsing and throbbing with every step as they moved past the other numbered metal doors, up two flights of grimy stairs and down another wider, more brightly lit hallway and into what looked like a small, neglected classroom. 

A dusty green chalkboard was the only decoration. The two windows were covered by heavy gage wire mesh that nearly obscured a dreary view of the rough concrete block flank of some other building. There were a half a dozen small, splintery wooden chairs paired with child-sized desks. Only one of the chairs was already occupied by another male omega, a good-looking Latino guy around Shane’s age with a bulky bandage taped over one eye. He was also wearing a hospital gown and didn’t look up from his lap when Shane walked in. He had his own guard, a surly blond beta standing silently behind him.

The dark haired guard poked Shane in the side with his baton and indicated the empty seat with his stubbled chin. 

Shane sat, and even though his legs were not particularly long for his height, they were still far too long and thick to fit under the kiddie desk. He wound up having to spread his knees wide around the sides of the desk, tugging the hem of the hospital gown down between his thighs in the futile hope that he wasn’t giving anybody a free show. 

He was still very sweaty from his aborted workout, and the hospital gown was pretty much soaked through with pungent crotch sweat from being worn like a loincloth, causing it to cling to his sticky skin in a way that made him want to scream. He didn’t even want to think about what he might be willing to do in that moment in exchange for a shower. Even a single wet wipe.

His thoughts were starting to spiral out of control again when a new male omega walked into the room.

This was clearly not a fellow detainee. He was slender and fine-boned with a sharp, triangular face, tiny rosebud lips and wide-set green eyes. His glossy, honey blond hair tumbled in soft waves to his narrow shoulders and he wore a supple, cognac-colored leather collar around his long graceful neck. He also wore an expensive and flawlessly tailored suit cut from rich teal gaberdine with a contrasting salmon pink shirt, open at the throat to reveal the large gold cross hanging from the matching leash ring on the front of his collar.

“Welcome to New America, gentleman,” he said, his voice soft and faintly southern. “My name is O-Perry.” He turned and spelled out the name on the squeaky chalkboard and then underlined the O. “My Alpha is Senator Justine Perry.” He wrote Justine Perry on the board above of his own name, underlining the Alpha’s last name. “Under the newly enacted secondary gender laws, mated omegas must take their Alpha’s name. It's a tremendous honor, which I have been just so blessed to receive.”

Everything about this omega reminded Shane of one of those supposed ex-gays who claim to have been cured of their evil ways in order to make a cushy living scamming parents into letting him fix their queer kids. 

“Sadly,” O-Perry continued. “This is not your chosen path. High value omegas awaiting placement here at the Northeast ORDC may be chosen as mates, but your duty lies elsewhere. You see...” He pointed at Shane and then at the other man with a stubby piece of chalk. “God has called you to serve as a surrogate for married couples who are unable to conceive. Isn’t that just beautiful?”

Shane couldn’t think of very many things that were less beautiful than being forced to give up his hard won hockey career and rented out as a walking uterus for a bunch of religious nutjobs. He’d always thought he might want kids someday, after he retired of course, but it was frankly the farthest thing from his mind at this current phase of his life.

He looked over at the other omega sitting next to him, hoping to catch his good eye and maybe feel some kind of solidarity against this madness, but the man never looked up. Not once.

“There is nothing more important to the future of our country than the genetic legacy of our people,” O-Perry continued. “As I’m sure you are aware, the birthrate around the world has dropped dramatically. There has not been a successful full term beta pregnancy in the US the past decade.”

He took a small portable projector out of his suit pocket and set it on Shane’s little desk. Using a thumb-sized remote, he powered it up and clicked a few times until it projected a chart with population growth stats in various countries with African, Central and South American countries being the highest and the US being the lowest. Shane had always been drawn to charts and stats like catnip, and he couldn’t help but notice right away that this chart was massaging the data at best and maliciously inaccurate at worst. Before he could fully absorb all the details, it had been clicked away.

“Homosexuality, unnatural secondary gender roles, selfish individualism and rampant promiscuity have led us down this dark and ungodly path,” O-Perry was saying as he clicked the remote again.

The next image projected on the chalkboard was a photo with a caption in scary red letters that read: Sinful Gender Agenda. It showed what looked like a gay pride parade, featuring a cheerful, dancing crowd of multicultural Alphas in leather harnesses and omegas in rainbow glitter pasties and thongs and dogs wearing sparkly sunglasses, though Shane failed to see how that part was supposed to be sinful. Maybe because the dogs couldn’t really consent to wearing sunglasses? 

O-Perry clicked the remote again, and the next image showed angry omega protesters clashing with cops, the scene dramatically underlit by the hellish glow of a burning car in the background. The caption beneath this one read: Omega Liberation Terrorists.

“These are unprecedented and dangerous times, omega brethren,” O-Perry crowed like a hopped up snake-handling preacher, green eyes shining with disturbing zeal. “Only faith and obedience to the will of God can save us now!”

Shane tried to focus on the throbbing pain in his bruised knee to prevent himself from scoffing out loud. He knew that he had some complicated issues with his own sexuality that he was still working on, or maybe avoiding altogether if he were being completely honest, but this? This had to be the dumbest load of crap Shane had ever been subjected to. If he’d been watching this in one of those creepy cult documentaries his mom loved so much, he wouldn't have bother to finish. Because none of it made even the slightest bit of sense if you actually thought about it for more than a minute. Not that he had anything against religious people. He wasn’t really into that kind of thing, but lots of his Québécois friends and teammates were Catholic and others were more low key type of Christians, like Hayden and Jackie. There were also plenty of guys in the league, both religious and not, who had issues with Shane being an omega, but he was willing to bet none of them would ever dream of going along with something like this.  

And yet the laughable stupidity of his captors’ fanatical worldview didn’t seem to mitigate the danger that he and all the other omegas were clearly in. In a way, that was the scariest thing about them. 

O-Perry clicked the remote again, this time revealing another chart, anatomical in nature and showing a cut away diagram of male omega organs from head to mid-thigh.

“And now,” he said. “Dr. Sturgeon is going to talk to you about your beautiful, sacred bodies and help you understand how they were designed by God for this, the most important role in the rebuilding of New America.”

Dr. Sturgeon walked into the room, and all of a sudden nothing was funny anymore.

“The rectum of the male omega,” he said, passing way too close to Shane and drawing in a deep, unsubtle sniff as he unfolded a thin, telescoping pointer. “...is structured very much like the cloaca in bird and reptile species.”

He flashed that chilly, dreadful smile directly at Shane and smacked the end of the pointer against the chalkboard, indicating a small flap of tissue above the prostate on the omega pictured on the chart.

“The epihystis, or Angel Gate as it is colloquially known, becomes active during your heat and functions similarly to the epiglottis in your throat.”

“When this uniquely dense nerve cluster…” He traced a slightly lower spot on the image in slow, lingering and disturbingly erotic circles without breaking eye contact with Shane. “...located between the prostate and the epihystis, is stimulated by a rutting Alpha’s knot, then your heat-engorged Angel Gate seals off access to the intestines and opens the hidden canal that leads to your uterus, right here. That’s where you will carry and nurture your Alpha’s pups.”

It was as if Shane were alone in the room, the silent wounded omega in the other chair didn’t seem to register to Dr Sturgeon at all.

“Think of the Angel Gate as kind of like a railway switch that directs a train from one track to another.” The icy smile was back. “A switch that only works when you obey the natural laws that govern your biologically immutable secondary gender. It’s all part of God’s perfect plan for you, sweetie.”

O-Perry clicked the remote again, revealing a new chart showing diagrams of male and female Alpha genitalia.

“Contrary to popular belief, the Angel Gate and its associated nerve bundle are located approximately three inches inside the rectal cavity of normal male omegas.” Dr. Sturgeon tapped the diagram of the female Alpha. “Although the semen produced by the female Alpha’s interior gonads tends to have a lower sperm count than that of the male, the average length of the female Alpha penis, located here above the vaginal opening where the clitoris would be on a beta or omega woman, is five to seven inches. More than adequate to reach the Angel Gate and lead to successful pregnancy. As you are well aware, of course.”

Shane really didn’t want to think about his mom’s intimate anatomy or his parents having sex. In fact, he really didn’t want to think about any of this at all, but that didn’t stop Dr. Sturgeon.

“Male omegas like you are very rare,” he continued. “Representing less than ten percent of the population. Female Alphas are even rarer. The ideal, biblically correct pairing is that of a man and a woman, regardless of secondary gender, but in these trying times exceptions can be made for male/male pairings. Provided of course that they are enacted for procreation only, not for deviant and indulgent sexual pleasures.”

Shane couldn’t shake the feeling that Dr. Sturgeon was in fact very interested in indulging deviant sexual pleasures with him. 

“Well, that’s all for today, gentlemen,” O-Perry said crisply, turning off the little projector and slipping it back into his pocket. “Never forget how lucky you are to be chosen.” 

“Tony,” Dr. Sturgeon said to the dark haired guard. “Take Hollander to the showers, let him clean up and use the toilet and give him some nice clean clothes.” He leaned in way too close, his hot breath against Shane’s neck making his skin crawl, but at least the Alpha's scent was completely obscured by his blockers. “Won’t that feel good?”

Shane wanted to believe that he would choose to roll around in a dumpster every day for the rest of his life rather than accepting any favors from a guy like that, but at the same time he also desperately wanted that shower. He didn’t respond, just watched the other omega be led away to an unknown fate.

“You’re very special Shane,” Dr Sturgeon said, lingering for a moment longer before turning to leave. “Never forget that.”

***

The dim, mildewy shower room was long and narrow and smelled like a clogged drain. Shane and the beta guard were the only ones there. Six cheap, rusty shower heads lined each of the two longer walls and there was a single fully-exposed toilet at the far end.

The guard took a gallon-sized ziploc bag out of his pocket.

“Undress,” he said. “And put the hospital gown in this bag.”

Shane took the bag, noting that it had his name printed on it in small, neat, handwritten letters. He wondered if that was Dr. Sturgeon’s handwriting. He stripped off the rank, sweaty gown, folded it up and slipped it into the bag, handing it to the guard. 

The guard sealed the bag carefully and then stepped back to stand in the doorway.

“You got ten minutes, Hollander,” he said. 

Shane didn’t waste any time. He used the toilet as quickly as possibe, then turned on one of the showers as high and hot as it would go, which turned out to be a sad, tepid trickle. There was only one kind of soap, a sludgy pink liquid in a wall mounted dispenser and he didn't even want to think about how harsh and drying it would be on his sensitive skin and hair, but the alternative was to stay gross and filthy. He had no choice but to use it.

The liquid soap’s meager lather had a harsh artificial strawberry bubblegum fragrance that smelled like something a child might choose, but it did the trick. Shane had to admit he felt infinitely better now that he was clean.

“Can I get a towel or something?” Shane asked, turning off the shower and trying to shake the water from his hair.

“Through here,” the guard replied.

He led Shane into a sort of locker room, but with small open cubbies instead of lockers with doors. The cubbies were all empty except for one, which contained a neatly folded pair of pink sweatpants and a pink t-shirt just like Rozanov had, along with a thin, faded pink towel. Shane was getting pretty sick of things that were pink, but he was thrilled to have something to wear that actually covered his body and didn’t feel like sandpaper against his skin.

He dried off and got dressed.

“Can I keep this towel?” he asked.

“No,” the guard replied, pointing to a large canvas hamper. “Put it in there. There'll be another sleep mat and personal blanket waiting for you back in your cell.”

“What about shoes?” Shane asked.

The guard replied with a scornful huff.

“Let’s go, Hollander,” he said. “I haven’t got all day.”

*** 

Shane had only been back in the cell for about five minutes when the door opened again and Rozanov was shoved through the doorway by the big bearded guard.

“Oh my God I’m so glad you’re back,” Shane said, wanting to throw his arms around the other omega, but pulling at the neckline of his own pink t-shirt instead. “Look, I got some real clothes, finally, and a shower too.” He paused, frowning. “Hey, are you ok?”

Rozanov didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at Shane. He just laid down on the mat that was still unrolled from the night before, face turned to the wall.

“Rozanov?”

No response. 

Shane knelt down beside the other omega on his one good knee.

“Hey…” He reached out to caress Rozanov's hunched shoulder but the other omega flinched away.

“Don’t,” Rozanov said.

Shane had no idea what to say or do. He thought nothing could be worse than Rozanov never coming back, but this was so much worse. What could have possibly happened to the other omega to leave him like this?

Time slowed to a spiteful molasses trickle, like it was deliberately trying to prolong Shane’s agony as he stood there waiting, terrified about doing the wrong thing but also afraid to do nothing. He watched the slow rise and fall of Rozanov’s broad back beneath the pink t shirt, just to convince himself that the other omega was still alive. Rozanov was so still, so closed off, so utterly lost to him, and Shane desperately needed to figure out how to get him back.

Because seeing what this place was doing to Rozanov made Shane more determined than ever to get them both out of there. Shane was nothing if not intensely driven and competitive as fuck, so all he needed to do was look at this situation like a game he needed to win. Because he didn’t have any other choice.

After what felt like an eternity, Shane had an idea. A small thing really, but he was willing to try anything he could think of to help Rozanov.

He thought of Hayden, offering his wrist in the arena shower, back in another lifetime where the worst thing that could happen to Shane would be a mean comment or two. 

He knew that his suppressants were still damping down his scent, but he also knew that if he concentrated really hard, he might be able to dial up the intensity of the non-sexual components just enough to offer a subtle calming scent to Rozanov. Not that he would try to actively scent the other omega without permission, because he knew that he wouldn’t want that from anyone either. He would just offer his wrist like Hayden did and see if Rozanov would accept it.

Shane had never tried to actively control or offer his scent before, but he thought maybe if he focused only on the black tea element that they seemed to have in common, that might do the trick. Kind of like meditation, but more specific and directed.

Shane rubbed his wrists together to warm the skin over the scent glands and then sat against the wall next to the other omega’s head. He didn’t touch Rozanov, just laid his wrist down on the little slice of mat above those messy curls and closed his eyes.

In his mind, he pictured his favorite cup. A simple, pleasingly smooth and perfectly weighted Japanese style cup with no handle that had come in a set of two, a housewarming gift from his mother when the construction of his cottage had been completed. In the cup, he imagined his father’s favorite loose leaf Assam tea, strong and hot and smelling like home. He pictured breathing in the steam rising from the cup like the early morning fog on the lake outside the rain-streaked living room windows. He pictured offering the other cup to Rozanov and just sitting comfortably together on the low sectional, cozy and safe and listening to the rain.

He felt a tentative brush of skin against his wrist and when he opened his eyes, he saw that Rozanov had reached up and pressed his own wrist gland to Shane’s. The other omega hadn’t moved any other part of his body, just his arm. 

“You’re safe now, Rozanov,” Shane said softly, because he couldn’t think of anything more insightful or clever to say. “I’m here. We’re together.”

Shane was unable to perceive even the slightest hint of Rozanov’s scent, not even a thread of sadness or distress, just nothingness.

“You’re safe,” he repeated. “I’m here. We’re together.” 

Offering his scent had been a good idea, but it obviously wasn’t magic. It didn’t transform Rozanov back to the way he’d been last night, but he didn’t pull his wrist away either. It must have helped a little, or at least it didn’t hurt. 

Shane was willing to sit like that for as long as Rozanov needed.

Chapter Text

Time was tricky and increasingly unreliable in this place. There was no clock, no window, nothing but the same four walls and the same unchanging light from that single miserable, dusty bulb. Shane had no idea how long he’d been sitting with his wrist pressed to Rozanov’s. Whenever he felt his mind starting to gallop away down various anxious and obsessive paths, he tried to focus on his breathing as if Rozanov’s hand was still on his chest and pull his unruly thoughts back to the simple task of picturing the tea cup.

Eventually, Rozanov removed his wrist from Shane’s, but instead of moving away he wrapped both his arms around Shane’s waist and crawled forward until he was laying half in Shane’s lap, face pressed against his stomach. Shane just sat there for a moment, unsure of where to put his hands. It was as if a stray cat had climbed into his lap and he was afraid to scare it away. It was also disconcertingly and unhelpfully hot, having Rozanov’s mouth so close to his crotch and feeling the other omega’s warm breath on his lower belly through the fabric of his t-shirt. He had to speak sternly to his dick and explain that now was really not the time for it to get involved.

After a few minutes, Shane put a tentative hand on Rozanov’s head. When that seemed to be allowed, he started to pet the other omega’s wild curls, combing gently through them and twisting them around his fingers.

“Is this ok?” he asked.

Rozanov nodded and pressed his face harder into Shane’s abs.

Time continued to creep along at an interminable pace. Shane’s legs were starting to fall asleep under Rozanov’s partial weight and he desperately needed to get up and stretch. Shane’s bruised knee was no longer actively throbbing but he did need to feel it out and evaluate the damage. Never mind the fact that he also really needed to redo his interrupted workout at some point soon, before that little splinter in his brain got inflamed and started causing more serious problems.  

But, in that moment, nothing was more important than being there for Rozanov.

After another endless and unknowable stretch of time, Rozanov pulled back and sat up. A dozen heartbeats passed and neither of them said anything. They just sat together.

“I tried to save the extra juice box from breakfast for you,” Shane eventually said. “But after I got back from orientation, it was gone. I guess you’re not allowed to save anything here, huh? Can I get you some water instead?”

“Ok,” Rozanov said.

Shane got up and grabbed the tin cup from the sink, rinsed it out a few times and then filled it and carried it over to Rozanov.

The other omega looked up at Shane out of the corner of his eye and then swiftly looked away. He took the cup, drained it.

“Thank you,” he said. “For water and also for scent.”

“Did it help?” Shane asked. “The scent, I mean.”

“Yes,” Rozanov said.

“Good,” Shane said. “I’m gonna do a workout now, if that’s ok.”

“Ok.”

Shane took off his shirt, folding it carefully and setting it on the mat next to Rozanov, then started stretching and bouncing from one foot to the other, feeling out his body and testing his right knee. It was still pretty painful but he could tell that it was just a deep, nasty bruise not a more serious injury to the underlying bone or cartilage. He’d played on much worse, so he went ahead and got started.

Privacy was basically impossible in that tiny space, but Shane let himself get completely wrapped up in working and pushing his muscles, in counting the seconds and the speed of his heartrate, giving Rozanov some unobserved time to recover on his own, to get himself together and pull his armor back on as best he could.

When Shane was finished, he drank several deep gulps of the rubbery-tasting water directly from the faucet and then splashed his sweaty face and hair. Still breathing hard, he sat down beside Rozanov on the unrolled mat, unfolded his t-shirt and used it to mop up the sweat from his neck and chest.

“So,” Shane said eventually. “Do you want to talk about what happened now?” He twisted the fabric of the t-shirt in his fists and pressed his lips together tightly, wondering if maybe he shouldn’t have said that. “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just…”

“Nothing happened,” Rozanov said, without making eye contact. “I am just like this sometimes. My father said I am too much like my mother. Look like her. Sad inside like her. Omega like her.”

“Are your parents back in Russia?" Shane asked. "Do they know you’re here?”

“My father and my brother, they are both Alpha. They do not know or care about what happened to little faggot omega.” Rozanov paused. “My mother, she is gone. Dead.”

“I’m so sorry,” Shane said.

“I was young,” Rozanov said, like that somehow made it not so bad. 

Another long silence.

Rozanov definitely seemed to be doing better, a little bit more like himself, but still kind of sensitive maybe. Shane thought for a few minutes about what topics might be neutral and safe to talk about. He didn’t want to default to talking about hockey, normally his go-to for any awkward gaps in conversations, because he was pretty sure that Rozanov didn’t want to talk about why he had to stop playing. 

Shane tried asking about some other things that people usually talked about casually, like music, movies and shows, but he quickly discovered that Rozanov had almost completely missed out on any kind of pop culture for the past decade. 

“Was busy,” was the other omega’s only reply. He did not elaborate.

Shane was starting to feel like he couldn’t say anything right when Rozanov seemed to take pity on him and said:

“I like Splash.”

“Splash?” Shane didn’t mean to laugh, but a little bemused huff snuck out anyway. “You mean the mermaid movie from the 80s?”

“Yes,” Rozanov said. “Nice man falls in love with beautiful mermaid even though she can’t speak same language or understand culture. In the end he accepts her true self and joins her in ocean paradise. Is very nice movie. Helped me learn English.”

“I mean, sure I guess it’s pretty good,” Shane said, trying to recall anything about it other than the mermaid’s hair. He had seen the film once when he was a kid and not since.

“When I was owned by naughty pup Alpha,” Rozanov said. “He had this movie on DVD and I was allowed to watch as often as I wanted. When I was not working, anyway.”

“Your Alpha made you work?”

“That one did, yes. In sex club in Moscow,” Rozanov said. “How do you say… BDSM?”

“So that’s why you’re so good at taking charge, huh?”

“I learned a lot there,” Rozanov said. “Was much better than regular dates for pimp or forced heat gang bangs with first Alpha owner.”

“Jesus,” Shane said, amazed at how pretty much any topic he tried to talk about with Rozanov eventually led back to something ugly. “That’s awful.”

“I was sad to leave that club,” Rozanov said. “But naughty pup owed money to Bratva, so he sold me. Traffickers bring me to America, and I am picked up by ICE with five other Russian omegas. Now, I am here.”

“What happened to the others?”

“Three were taken to southeastern facility. A girl I liked very much, Svetlana, she was brought here with me but kept separate in low value female section.”

“A girl you liked?” Shane frowned, feeling a totally unwarranted pang of thorny jealousy coiling in his belly. “You mean like a girlfriend?” 

“Sometimes we fuck, yes," Rozanov said. "But not like girlfriend. We were just homesick and lonely and she was my only friend, girl or boy. She prefers Alphas.”

“But you like omegas,” Shane said, irrational jealousy growing and flexing inside him, creeping up the back of his throat. “Would you have wanted to be with her, if she was into it?”

“You are jealous.” Rozanov smirked, like he wasn't entirely unhappy about that fact.

“I’m not,” Shane said, knowing perfectly well that he was a terrible liar. “I just…”

“I have not seen Sveta in three years,” Rozanov said. “Last I hear she is live-in surrogate for couple in New American Conclave. Where am I? I am here, stuck with you.”

“Stuck with me?”

“Yes, stuck with you,” Rozanov said. “And I like it very much, but I am also scared that I will not survive a second night. You will murder me. Crush me with those thick hockey thighs, probably.”

Shane laughed and shook his head.

“Or you will kill me with your workout scent,” Rozanov said. “Make me want you so bad that I die from desire.”

“Talking about sex makes you feel better faster than talking about movies,” Shane said. “More in control. I’ll remember that for next time you feel sad.”

“Fuck, Hollander,” Rozanov replied, shoving a tumble of curls back off his forehead with a crooked, self-deprecating grin. “You can’t just say a thing like that. You see too much. Let me keep maybe a little bit of mystery.” 

“We’re locked in a tiny cell together, pretty much 24/7 and for who knows how long," Shane replied. "I don’t think it’s gonna be possible to be mysterious.”

“So," Rozanov said. "Does this mean you will let me sniff your armpits?” 

“Oh my God,” Shane said, blushing thickly. “You don’t really want to do that, do you?”

“I do.” Rozanov leaned in close to Shane’s ear. “And when I have had enough, I want to sniff and lick your asshole.”

Shane shivered, a ripple of goosebumps racing across his sweaty skin and a rush of hot blood pulsing through his lower belly and down into his dick.

Rozanov looked down at Shane’s obvious reaction under his sweatpants and raised his eyebrows.

“I think you want this too,” he said.

Shane could feel himself turning even darker red, torn between feeling embarrassed about being so sweaty and being ferociously turned on thinking about how Rozanov’s tongue would feel in that most private place. Nobody had ever done that to him before.

That’s when the tinny religious music that had been playing that morning started up again out in the hallway.

“Is it lunchtime?” Shane asked.

“No,” Rozanov said, moving away and adjusting himself under his own sweatpants. “Is church time.”

Chapter Text

Ilya sat on the far end of the back row of folding chairs in the little makeshift chapel down the hall from the orientation room. It was nothing like the beautiful old churches back home with their colorful onion domes and ornate, gilded interiors. This was just another dull, gray room with a low acoustic tile ceiling, chipped paint and geriatric fluorescent lighting. The only notable feature was the peeling plastic film that covered the single large window to make it look sort of like stained glass. That window seemed to get shabbier and more faded every day. Ilya could relate.

Hollander sat beside him, and the pale young omega with the scarred wrists sat in the next seat down. The first row of seats was reserved for the seven high-value male omegas, all dressed in clean pink polo shirts with the NEORDC logo on the right breast, crisply ironed tan pants and slip-on natural canvas sneakers. Every one of these potential New American mates was white, all clean-shaven and sporting identical 1950s dad haircuts. Mostly various shades of blond, with one medium brown and one slightly darker brown, but not too dark. Never too dark. 

They were prisoners too, just like Ilya was, but it was hard to feel too sorry for them, considering all the privileges they were allowed. After they received the Word of the Lord, they would be taken to their private cafeteria and given fresh, organic and vitamin-packed meals to promote reproductive health and overall physical vigor. The low-value omegas would get taken back to their cells with nothing. These fire and brimstone services were what they got every afternoon instead of food.

A pair of armed guards stood watch over their little flock while their dapper, godly omega shepherd O-Perry gathered his notes on the podium, prepping the can of Jesus Whupass he was about to open up on them.

Ilya couldn’t have cared less about all that. He had lost the last scrap of faith left in his tattered soul the day he lost his mother’s gold cross, torn from his neck by a particularly enthusiastic Alpha trick who threw him out of a moving car without it and never looked back.

But that loss was an old familiar ache, and he was full of so many fresher and more confusing emotions now, all jumbled together inside him and leaving him feeling shaken like a terrier’s squeaky toy, wrenched from high to low to high and back again. He was barely hanging on by his fingernails.

He’d been feeling so vulnerable, so raw and exposed after Hollander had instinctively and patiently coaxed him back from the bleak place. Ilya was ashamed of being so openly needy but he had been unable to help himself, curling up half in and half out of the other omega’s lap and clinging to his sleek waist like Hollander was the only life preserver in a tsunami. 

Afterwards, Hollander had correctly, and more than a little embarrassingly, pointed out that Ilya defaulted to flirting and sex to feel a sense of control. Sex was Ilya’s native language, fluent and expressive as Russian, but always pointed outward, aimed at others and away from himself. A familiar survival mechanism, a reliable distraction, a hard-earned and mastered skill that allowed him to feel in control in small ways when everything else in his life was utterly out of his control. 

But something else was happening now. Hollander was happening.

This man he just met, a man who saw right through him but didn’t judge. Who saw his damage and his darkness and wanted him anyway. Who wanted to submit to him and take care of him and fight for him. Who made him feel an unprecedented and incendiary desire that he could barely contain, even here, in what passed for a church in this awful place. Who scented him gently and unconditionally, demanding nothing in return, like no one else ever had. Not since his mother died. 

Ilya would never admit it out loud, but he knew that he was falling hopelessly, stupidly in love with Hollander. Speed-running the kind of normal relationship milestones he’d heard about but never experienced and barreling headlong towards inevitable heartbreak like a car with no breaks, aimed towards the edge of a crumbling cliff. 

He had absolutely no idea what to do about that.

Because love was weakness. Love could be taken away, or used against you. Ilya had loved his mother and it hadn’t been enough to make her stay. Ilya had loved his big brother, but Alexei took his father’s side in everything after he presented as Alpha and didn’t want anything to do with the silly, childish things they’d enjoyed together as kids. Ilya had tried to love his cold Alpha father, but the elder Rozanov was always profoundly disappointed in his youngest son no matter how hard Ilya tried to please him. And in the end Grigori had betrayed Ilya’s dogged, hungry love in a manner that was impossible to forgive.

Ilya knew that he really ought to push Hollander away and seal up the dangerous rift in his armor. He had lost count of the number of times he’d told himself exactly that in the past twelve hours, or had it been twelve years? 

Because nothing good could possibly come of this. And yet…

Hollander kept looking over at him with tiny, barely perceivable smirks anytime O-Perry said something really over the top about demonic gender traitors or inviting Christ into your mating nest. Every now and then, Hollander would slide his bare foot closer to Ilya’s, brushing their chilly toes together for a fleeting second. Ilya found himself involuntarily circling his thumb on the dented metal seat of his folding chair, using every drop of his swiftly diminishing willpower to stop himself from taking Hollander’s big hand in both of his and never letting it go.

Hollander’s suppressed scent was still not as strong as some of the other omegas in the room, but after scenting Ilya earlier it had grown a bit more potent. Or maybe Ilya was just keyed in to it more intimately now, but either way the combination of comforting black tea and rich, malty sweetness with the lingering and unapologetically masculine sweat and salt aroma of Hollander’s warm skin was driving him out of his mind.

Ilya wanted to whisper filthy things in Hollander’s ear and watch the pretty pink blush spread across his freckled cheeks. He wanted to tease Hollander’s girthy, deliciously responsive cock through the fabric of his pants, to make him squirm in his uncomfortable metal seat and struggle to stay quiet while all the other omegas said amen. He wanted to show everyone in the room who Hollander belonged to, to prove that this strong, perfect, good boy was his. 

He wished he could have met Hollander when he was still working at the BDSM club Citadel, back when he was just nineteen and at the top of his game. An exclusive and highly sought after Dom, cocky and brash in tight leather pants with kohl-ringed eyes and long, bleached blond hair. Shirtless and showing off his pierced and diamond studded nipples, dog-walking some naked oligarch across the dance floor on a Gucci leash. 

Ilya had already been deeply damaged at that point, of course, but still young and foolish enough to believe the worst of it was in the past. To imagine that, with a rich, lenient Alpha and three nights a week to drink and fuck and prowl the glittering labyrinth of the club like an exotic pet on display, he had something that almost looked like freedom if you squinted. 

Hollander would have been an ambitious rookie back then, a top prospect with his whole hockey career ahead of him and an insatiable hunger for what only Ilya could give him. 

It was a compelling fantasy, and infinitely more entertaining than O-Perry’s campy sermon. But Ilya knew that version of him was dead and buried back in Russia, just like his mother. 

The cracked and hollow shadow version of Ilya that remained was the only version he had left to offer Hollander now, but for some reason the other omega still seemed to want him. And Ilya was ashamed by how badly he needed to be wanted.

***

The long-winded sermon ended eventually, and they were all marched efficiently back to their rightful places in the facility. Ilya’s stomach had given up growling long ago, but he barely noticed the familiar afternoon hunger because all he wanted in that moment was some extended privacy with Hollander.

After four years of barely surviving in this regimented and inescapable nightmare, Ilya had never imagined he would actually be excited to return to his cell.

The door had been closed for less than a minute when Hollander stunned Ilya by swearing softly and pulling him into a rough, ravenous kiss, gripping fistfuls of his hair and backing him up hard against the wall. Hollander’s effortless strength and the raw power vibrating in every muscle of his tightly-coiled athletic body took Ilya’s breath away as he kissed the other omega back with everything he had.

Then he pulled away, just a few crucial centimeters so he could look into Hollander’s dark, shining eyes.

“Such a strong boy,” Ilya said. “So good. So perfect for me.”

Hollander melted against him, everything but his erect cock going soft and pliable with a breathy purr as he nuzzled into Ilya’s neck.

“I wanna be good for you,” Hollander said, his breath hot against Ilya’s throat. “I need to be your good boy.”

“You are,” Ilya said before slipping helplessly into Russian. “You are mine and I am yours, until I die if you will have me. I am yours even if you do not want me, but please want me. Please. I would kill for you. Die for you. Do you have any idea what you do to me, Hollander?”

“Mmmmm, I like when you speak Russian to me,” Hollander said with a dreamy little smile. “Maybe you can teach me some useful phrases while we’re stuck in here.”

Ilya was glad the other omega hadn’t asked for a direct translation, so he jumped at the chance to change the subject.

“I promise to teach you anything you want to learn,” Ilya said. “But right now I want to use my tongue for something else.”

“Right,” Hollander said. The blush was back. “Yeah, um…” 

“And listen,” Ilya said. “I don’t want you to worry, ok?”

“Worry about what?” Hollander asked.

“We get test for disease once a week in this place,” Ilya replied. “New American Conclave citizens pay good money for access to healthy baby makers and cannot be exposed to germs from dirty sluts in the process.”

“Oh,” Hollander said in a quiet voice. “Of course.”

“Test day was yesterday,” Ilya said “Before you arrive. After tests, I am alone here in cell with no special visits from guards all day, so I am definitely negative. You are tested too when you are brought in, and you are here instead of medical ward, so you are also negative.” 

Ilya rubbed at his nose and sniffed, looking away and hating the way talking about this kind of thing made him feel. Like he would always be dirty no matter what, like he was permanently stained and sullied to his core. He really wanted to go back to talking about eating out Hollander’s ass. 

“Wait,” Hollander said, looking suddenly horrified. “What do you mean special visits from guards? Like sex visits?”

“Yes, of course,” Ilya said with a shrug. It was nothing new for him. “Pay is very low for guards here, but perks are worth it.”

“How is that allowed?” Hollander asked, more angry now. “They can’t just do that to people, can they? Can’t we like, fight them or something?”

Ilya never wanted Hollander to find out what happened if you fought back here. To know that there was, in fact, nothing any of them could do about the special visits, or anything else that was done to them in this place. 

“Hollander,” Ilya said, capturing Hollander’s chin and looking into his eyes. “I do not want to talk about these kinds of things right now. I want to kiss you again. Please let me have that. Ok?”

“Ok,” Hollander said, nodding and letting out a long slow breath but Ilya could see that it was still bothering him, knowing Ilya had been subjected to that kind of treatment. Not because getting fucked by guards made Ilya dirty, but because Hollander clearly cared about what happened to him and wanted to protect him.

Hollander wasn’t just a good boy, he was a good person. Too good for Ilya, and he knew it. It made his heart hurt.

He traced the line of Hollander’s lightly stubbled jaw, wrapped his hand around the back of the other omega’s neck and kissed him.

Ilya kissed Hollander slow and deep this time, taking firm control of Hollander’s mouth and body with deliberate intention. Pressing the hard length of his cock against Hollander’s belly, letting the other omega feel what he was causing. Ilya ran his fingers up under Hollander’s shirt and along the groove in the center of his broad back, then down over the twin dimples just above his firm, rounded ass. He could feel Hollander’s body reconnecting with his, slotting together with him like they had always been this way. Coming fully back to him, back to this moment. Ilya never wanted to lose that feeling.

“Tell me what you need,” Ilya said.

“I need you to…” Hollander said. “Take control?” He met Ilya’s gaze for a fleeting moment, his dark eyes hungry, dilated and achingly beautiful. “Make me forget everything that isn’t you.” 

Ilya wanted to forget too.

“Take off your shirt,” Ilya said. “And put your hands on the back of your neck.”

Hollander did what he was told, and Ilya watched him with a helplessly fond smile as he carefully folded his t-shirt and bent down to set it on the end of the mat, squaring it so that it sat perfectly lined up along the foam edge.

But then the other omega stood back up, pausing nervously in front of Ilya with his eyes cast down and his pink sweatpants comically tented by his eager erection, a tiny droplet of precum seeping through and darkening the fabric where it was stretched thin over the fiercely straining head. 

Every sculpted centimeter of Hollander’s torso was on display for Ilya. He couldn’t tear his gaze away as Hollander linked his fingers behind his neck, raising his thick, powerful arms to reveal the sweaty, untamed tufts of black hair nestled in the deep hollows of his armpits. The robust and assertive scent of Hollander’s recent exertion washed over Ilya and every other thought in his head evaporated. 

He gripped Hollander’s waist and buried his face in the other omega’s left armpit.

The scent Ilya found there was potent and thick, exquisite. Any trace of last night’s deodorant was gone now, leaving just the slightest hint of cheap pink soap. The rest was sweat and hot skin and pure, uncut Hollander.

It was impossible to believe, but this big, sweet, strapping boy seemed to have absolutely no idea how stunning he was, tucking his chin in all bashful and crunching his abs tight like he was just a little bit ticklish but trying not to show it. If there were a Venn diagram of arousal and cute aggression, Ilya was currently living right in the center of that overlap.

He closed his eyes and filled his lungs with Hollander’s scent like he was preparing for a deep dive, licking the sharp salt from his skin. Ilya let one hand stray up over the other omega’s taut belly and chest, teasing his small, erect brown nipple with the pad of his thumb. 

Hollander’s head dropped back with a soft groan when Ilya replaced the thumb with his mouth, suckling and flicking his tongue while squeezing the opposite pec. Then he started working his way down.

Ilya dropped to his knees and yanked Hollander’s pants down until his cock sprang free.

Hefting and cradling Hollander’s heavy balls in one hand, he brushed his lips lightly against the base of his cock, licking slowly up the length and then flicking his tongue just under the flushed, circumcised head. Hollander’s unique and subtle scent was getting fuller and stronger now, blossoming for Ilya despite the valiant effort of the suppressants. Rich earthy musk and syrupy malt notes were coming into to play under that warm tea scent, along with an elusive and deeply sexual element of heady fuck-sweat and sweet omega semen.

Ilya knew that he could bring Hollander to a knee-shaking orgasm in under a minute if he took that thick, tempting cock all the way down his throat right now. But it was far more fun to make the other omega wait. 

“Down on the mat,” Ilya said. “Hands and knees.”

Hollander did what he was told.

Ilya pushed Hollander’s head down until his cheek was pressed to the mat, ass raised up high like he was presenting for an Alpha.

“Wait wait,” Hollander said, body suddenly stiff and anxious.

Ilya instantly took his palm off the back of Hollander’s head and helped him gently back up to his hands and knees.

“Is bad position for you?” Ilya asked.

“No,” Hollander said. “I actually kind of like it when you make me do it.”

“Then what?” 

“I just wanted to tell you,” Hollander said. “Well… the suppressants I’m on are very strong. Not pills like most other omegas use. I get an injection once a month from the team doctor, an extremely powerful scent inhibitor and heat suppressant along with birth control. It’s really the best way for me to manage my secondary characteristics and maintain peak performance during the season, considering the potential hormonal impact of being around so many knothead Alphas all the time.”

Ilya couldn’t help but grin at this sudden, impromptu lecture on omega suppressants in the middle of sexytime. 

“Oh my god Hollander, you are so boring,” he joked with an exaggerated eyeroll. “Are you going to tell me why you needed to stop me from worshiping your perfect ass or are you going to keep making educational video about omega biology?”

“Fuck off,” Hollander said with unsucessfully stiffled laugh. “I’m trying to tell you something important.”

“Tell me then,” Ilya said. “But hurry, my cock is falling asleep from your boring lecture. Maybe if you had some glasses like strict, sexy teacher, he would be more interested.”

“Oh my God, shut up!” Hollander said. “I just wanted you to know that I don’t… I mean I can’t really… get wet. My suppressants interfere with slick production and I didn’t want you to think it’s because I’m not turned on or because I don’t want you. I do. So much, probably more than I’ve ever wanted anybody in my life, I just…”

“Don’t worry, Hollander,” Ilya said. He was genuinely touched by Hollander’s little speech, even if he didn’t completely understand all the big English words, but he was still desperate to steer back into safer, sexier waters. “If you let me put my tongue in your ass, I will make enough slick for both of us. I am working on it right now.”

“Holy shit,” Hollander said, looking away and blushing again. “Ok.”

“But first,” Ilya said. “I want you to listen to me. Sorry we did not talk about very important thing before, but I am out of practice maybe, and also very turned on right now so not thinking carefully.” Ilya reached down and gently turned Hollander’s face back to look at him again. “I want you to give me safeword, ok? You know this kind of word? A word you say to tell me you need to stop what is happening. Something you would not say during sex. Can you do that?”

“Sure, ok, of course,” Hollander said. “How about… Zamboni?”

Ilya snickered, covered his mouth and shook his head.

“I don’t know, Hollander,” he said. “Professional hockey star might have kinky fantasies about ice rink equipment. Maybe want blowjob while driving Zamboni?”

“I don’t see how that would work,” Hollander replied without a hint of humor, as if that had actually been a serious suggestion. “The seat is way too small.”

“Hollander,” Ilya said, swallowing hard around a sudden swell of soft and terrifying love filling his aching chest as he pitched his voice deep and steady. “Put your fucking ass in the air for me right now.”

Hollander did as he was told, pressing his pinked-up frecked cheek to the mat and letting out a breathless whimper.

“There is my good boy,” Ilya purred, reaching out to caress Hollander’s thick, brawny ass cheeks and letting his fingers slip teasingly between them. “You will say Zamboni if you need to stop, ok?”

“Ok,” Hollander replied.

“Use your words, Hollander. I need you to tell me what you will say.”

“Yes,” Hollander said. “I’ll say Zamboni if I need to stop.”

“Good, now hold yourself open for me,” Ilya said. “I want to see everything.”

Hollander reached back with both his hands, gripping each cheek and pulling them apart. His exposed asshole was surrounded by a delicate swirl of fine black hair, the smooth, taut skin shading from soft brown to a deep pink center. Dry except for a light sheen of lingering sweat, as Hollander had said it would be. But not for long.

Ilya leaned forward and spat on Hollander’s hole, causing the other omega to shiver and whimper, louder this time. Hollander’s cock twitched and leaked between his thick thighs, clearly resentful at being ignored like this.

“Fuck,” Ilya said, watching his spit glisten and drip. “You are so beautiful like this, Hollander. So good for me.”

Hollander’s scent was getting much more intense now, even muskier and more intoxicating. Ilya couldn’t wait another second to taste him.

He pressed his face into the other omega’s perfectly presented ass, using a wide, flat tongue to lick from the back of his balls to his tailbone. Hollander’s asshole clenched as Ilya’s tongue passed over it and Hollander let out a shaky, muffled groan against the mat.

This beautiful boy tasted so fucking good, like sea salt and sweet malt, tangy sweat and a deep, unique flavor that was purely himself, and Ilya had to lick him from stem to stern again, gorging on that exquisite and addictive flavor.

Ilya forced himself to pause, just for a moment, drunk on Hollander’s taste and scent and letting his warm breath tease that softly twitching hole. Then he flicked the very tip of his tongue lightly across its sensitive pink center.

Hollander moaned louder and made tiny thrusting circles with his hips, chasing Ilya’s tongue as his flushed and throbbing cock bounced gracelessly between his legs. A delicate strand of precum dripped from its fat, dusky head as Ilya watched, connecting it like a spider’s web to the surface of the mat below. Ilya couldn’t resist capturing the strand with his middle finger and smearing it around the rim of Hollander’s asshole, then licking it off and savoring the way that sharp, alkaline taste mingled with the other elements of his essential omega flavor. 

Ilya slid one hand down under his own waistband and squeezed his aching cock, giving it a few firm strokes while he used soft, gentle licks to tease Hollander a little bit longer. Then Ilya made his tongue into a firm point and pressed it in slow, as deep as he could reach. 

Hollander reacted as if he’d been shocked, letting go of his ass cheeks and gripping the mat next to his head instead, hips bucking against Ilya’s mouth and crying out shamelessly. Ilya had to take his hand off his own cock and use both hands to hold Hollander still as he worked his tongue in and out of that tight, delicious hole. 

Ilya tongue-fucked Hollander for a good long minute at a time and then pulled away and paused to cool him down, over and over again, letting the other omega whimper and squirm and wordlessly plead for more. Then Ilya switched up the deeper tongue thrusts for more hot, flat licks and soft teasing circles and he was pretty sure Hollander was crying at that point, fists clenching and unclenching, swearing and sobbing Ilya’s last name. 

Ilya could have made out with Hollander’s ass for hours, but Hollander’s cock was not the only one that was getting desperate for more. Then, just as Ilya was about to pull away, an enticing new taste flooded Ilya’s senses. 

Slick. Hollander’s slick.

And fuck it was even more mouthwateringly luscious than Ilya could have ever imagined, the taste and smell of it sending a throbbing surge of molten pleasure through his entire body and into his painfully hard and suddenly unbearably sensitive cock. So sensitive, in fact that he probably could have cum just from the slightest whisper of friction against the fabric of his pants.

He was about to start begging Hollander to let him bury his cock in that sweet, fragrant ass, when the other omega beat him to the punch.

“Fuck, Rozanov, please, I need you,” Hollander gritted out. “I want to be good for you, I do, but I need your cock inside me so fucking bad right now I can’t… I need… please fuck me. Please…”

“You will have my cock,” Ilya said. “But first I need to open you up for me. Will you let me do that?”

“Yes,” Hollander breathed. “Fuck, yes. Please.”

“Relax, and breathe for me now,” Ilya said, sliding one finger in a slow wet circle around his rim.

Hollander pulled in a shaky breath and let it out, but despite Ilya’s lavish oral ministrations, his pretty little hole was still so incredibly tight. That miraculous trickle of slick looked and smelled so sexy, glossing Ilya’s fingers and webbing them together as he stretched them apart, but Ilya knew it wouldn’t be enough to let him slide in his full length without hurting the other omega.

Ilya had not been lying when he said he had enough slick for both of them.

He shoved his own pants down and slid one hand into the crack of his ass, gathering up the wetness Hollander had caused to collect there and slicking first his fingers and then the length of his cock. Then he went to work opening Hollander up, slowly working in one finger, then two.

Ilya took his time, twisting and spreading his fingers, gently stretching and teasing Hollander until the other omega started thrusting his hips back hungrily against Ilya's hand. Ilya stroked Hollander’s prostate with the pads of his crooked fingers, and then pushed in deeper to find the soft and subtle indentation of his o-spot. 

When he found it, Hollander reacted with a high-pitched, sobbing gasp and another impossible flush of slick and Ilya was overcome with a wave of fierce, possessive arousal, knowing that no Alpha had ever been anywhere near that precious, hidden nerve bundle. That the clueless betas Hollander hooked up with had probably never bothered to find it, if they even knew about it in the first place. It was as if that secret part of Hollander belonged to Ilya alone and he needed to claim it with his cock immediately, to thrust up against it until Hollander screamed his name and came apart for him.

“You are mine,” Ilya said, pulling his fingers out slowly. “Tell me.”

“I’m yours... fuck...” Hollander said. “Only you.”

Ilya slicked his cock again with his own wetness, adding even more until it slipped smooth and frictionless in his fist and then lined the shining wet head up against Hollander’s quivering hole.

“Tell me you want me,” Ilya said, unable to help himself before quickly course-correcting. “Tell me you want my cock.”

“I want you, Rozanov,” Hollander said, answering the question that mattered without hesitation. “Please I need you.”

Ilya couldn’t hold back another second. 

Sliding raw into Hollander was a fucking revelation. He was so tight and so strong, all hot, slick muscle embracing and milking Ilya’s length like the coils of a constrictor as he thrust in deeper and deeper still. When he was finally able to bury his cock all the way to the hilt, he had to pause for a moment to get a grip on himself, to hold back from cumming way too soon. Hollander wasn’t helping at all, rocking his hips and involuntarily squeezing Ilya so deliciously as he panted and gasped and whimpered.

“Be still Hollander,” Ilya gritted out. “Take what I give you.”

Hollander was obviously trying to obey, but his whole body was vibrating with fierce arousal now and he couldn’t seem to control the shuddering pulses rippling inside his hole 

“Ah, fuck, Rozanov,” he was crying out. “I’m gonna cum. I can’t stop.”

Ilya pulled his cock almost all the way out.

“Then cum for me, Hollander,” he growled. “And I will fuck you through it.”

Ilya may not have had a knot like an Alpha, but he knew how to utilize his size for maximum effect. When he thrust his cock back in with a sharp downward angle that he knew would grind against Hollander’s o-spot perfectly, the other omega let out something close to a feral howl, voice strained and cracking as he came untouched, cock pulsing and twitching between his thighs as it discharged multiple rounds across the mat below him. 

Ilya made good on his word, just barely holding back his own orgasm behind tightly clenched teeth while railing Hollander into the mat with deep, unrelenting thrusts. He could feel another hot surge of Hollander’s fragrant slick coating his pistoning length and dripping down his balls and it was too good, too fucking much, but he kept at it until the other omega’s spent cock started to miraculously thicken again.

“You have more for me?” Ilya asked, sliding a hand under Hollander’s cum-smeared belly to grip the other omega’s hardening cock.

“I can’t…” Hollander whimpered. “Fuck. It’s too much, Rozanov. Too much!” 

“You can,” Ilya said, stroking Hollander’s cock in time with his thrusts. “I know you want to be good for me. Give me more. Cum again for me.”

Even though it was his first language, Hollander seemed to have lost his ability to speak English at that point, devolving into ragged, meaningless vowel sounds and affirmative grunts and wild, breathless laments. 

Ilya loved seeing his beautiful boy undone like this.

His boy.

Ilya was going to lose it soon and he desperately wanted to take Hollander over the edge with him. Wanted to prove that he was still good at this, that he wasn't completely broken. That he still had the prowess and the skills to take care of an omega like Hollander. That he could still be everything Hollander needed. He reached back to coat his hand with his own freely flowing slick again and wrapped his slippery fingers back around Hollander’s now fully hard and throbbing cock.

It was a race to see who would crack first, Hollander fucking into Ilya’s slick fist while Ilya fucked deep into him, both of them dancing along the razors edge.

It was Hollander who broke first.

“Fuck, I’m cumming…” he cried.

“Oh my God, Hollander!”

Hollander’s cock pulsed as his second release oozed between Ilya’s fingers. Ilya lost all control then, his own volcanic orgasm overtaking him as he emptied himself, body and soul, into Hollander’s hot, spasming depths, filling him up until he was overflowing. Ilya couldn’t stop thrusting, didn’t ever want to stop, as wave after wave of delirious pleasure coursed through him, eradicating all other thought. Nothing else existed in the universe except for Hollander. It was too much, too good, and Ilya never wanted it to end.

Hollander was sobbing and shaking from over-stimulation when Ilya finally let go of his spent cock and flattened him against the sticky mat without pulling out, kissing the fat, salty tears from Hollander’s freckled cheek.

They just lay together like that for what felt like forever, belly to back with Ilya’s cock slowly softening inside Hollander and his face buried in the crook of the other omega's sweet-smelling neck.

When Ilya finally slipped out and pulled away, Hollander made a soft, wordless sound of protest at the loss.

“I cannot stay inside you forever, Hollander,” he said. “As much as I want to.”

“Why not?” Hollander asked with a small dreamy smile.

Fuck, this boy was going to be the death of him.

“I need to take care of you now,” Ilya said. “Let me clean you.”

Ilya took off his t-shirt and used it to mop up as much of their mutual mess as possible, then extended a hand to help Hollander to his shaky feet.

Hollander wobbled like a newborn deer as Ilya hooked a supportive arm around his waist and reached for one of the two pouches containing their metallic blankets. Hollander leaned into Ilya as he shook the blanket out and wrapped it around the other omega’s shoulders.

“Let me get you some water,” Ilya said. “Can you stand on your own for a moment?”

Hollander nodded, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. Ilya filled the tin cup at the sink, handed it to him, and then grabbed the new mat that had been left for Hollander in the opposite corner of the cell and unrolled it on top of the dirty one.

Ilya gathered up their discarded clothing, including his cum and slick stained t-shirt, and without allowing himself to think too deeply about it, quickly arranged it all on the mat with Hollander’s neatly folded shirt at the head.

When Hollander had finished drinking the water, Ilya took the empty cup and put it back on the lip of the sink, then removed the second blanket from its packet.

“How do you feel?” Ilya asked, taking the other omega into his arms.

“Mmmmm, really good,” Hollander replied, resting his head against Ilya's shoulder. “Kind of… floaty, maybe? Like I’m a little bit drunk.”

Ilya pulled Hollander down onto the double decker mat, arranging their bodies into what had become their default position, Ilya on his back and Hollander curled against his side with his cheek on Ilya’s chest. Then he covered them both with the second blanket.

Once they were settled, Ilya reached up and tucked Hollander’s sweaty, fragrant shirt underneath his head. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend they were sharing a safe, cozy nest.

After several warm, oxytocin-saturated minutes had passed, Hollander slid his hand slowly up over Ilya’s pec, clavicle, and eventually his throat. He brushed the tips of his long, curious fingers over the scars on Ilya’s damaged mating gland and then paused.

“Is it ok to touch you here,” Hollander asked, dark eyes searching his face for clues Ilya was afraid to give. 

Ilya sniffed and chewed on his lower lip with an anxious frown.

“You want to?” he asked, unable to hold Hollander’s gaze. “Is not disgusting?”

“Of course not,” Hollander replied. “I mean, it looks like whatever happened must have really hurt, but…” His dark brows drew together. “I can’t stop thinking about your scent, how special it is and how it makes me feel. And I want more of it. I need it.”

Ilya nodded.

"Ok," he said.

Hollander thoughtfully traced the uneven hump of Ilya’s gland with the pad of his index finger and then brushed his thumb gently across the center. Ilya could barely feel his touch through all the nerve damage and heavy scarring but he felt it in his heart and it was almost more than he could bear.

“I was wondering what would happen if I put my lips on you there next time,” Hollander continued. “Or even.. my teeth? Not hard, and only if you wanted me to, of course. And if you did want me to, and I did it, I was wondering if your gland might… wake back up somehow and start releasing your full sexual scent again. Kind of like you made me wet for you even with my suppressants. Because… well… maybe your body would know it was me doing it, not someone who would hurt you.”

What could Ilya possibly say to that? Even if he could think of something sexy and funny and distracting to say, he could not have said it in any language because he was too busy trying to hold back tears.

“You could do it to me too, if you wanted,” Hollander said. “And then we could scent each other for real next time one of us was scared or sad. Almost like mates… kind of, I guess. I don’t know. It was just an idea.” 

“Fuck, Hollander, you are going to ruin me for anyone else,” Ilya said instead of I love you.

“Good,” Hollander said. He was not joking.

Silence spooled out between them for several minutes. This was so dangerous, so terrifying, but so fucking beautiful. Ilya could hardly breathe.

“I do wear glasses, by the way,” Hollander said. “For reading. I’ll wear them for you when we get out of this place.”

“I would love that,” Ilya replied softly, letting himself believe in that future, just for now, for a few fragile moments, knowing perfectly well it would never happen. 

Chapter Text

Shane hadn’t even realized that he had drifted off in Rozanov’s arms when he found himself being drawn back to reality by the most tantalizing scent, equal parts soothing and arousing. When he opened his eyes he quickly realized that he was hard again and sleepily grinding against Rozanov’s muscular, golden-furred thigh. Also, at some point while he’d been snoozing, Shane must have grabbed the dirtiest piece of clothing on the mat, Rozanov’s cum and slick saturated t-shirt, and bunched it up under his cheek like a child’s security blanket. 

Worse, Rozanov was not sleeping. He was wide awake, looking down at Shane cuddled up with the filthy shirt while clinging to his waist and humping him like a horny koala. The other omega was smiling softly, as if it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. Shane was mortified. He turned his hips away and put a little space between them, cleared his throat and quickly set the t-shirt back in its original spot on the perimeter of the mat. 

What the hell was wrong with him anyway? Shane would never normally want anything so gross touching his face! But it felt right somehow. Just like the little pseudo-nest Rozanov had created for them felt right. 

Just like Rozanov’s body felt right against his.

It was as if, after all these years of trying to feel the way he thought he was supposed to feel about sex, he had accidentally stumbled upon the way he really felt. The way that girls were supposed to make him feel. The way Alphas were supposed to make him feel. 

It wasn’t just omegas in general, either. It was this omega. 

Shane never believed in the concept of chemical compatibility, the kind of magical, instantaneous love at first sniff in all those corny old omega romance movies that his father loved so much. David Hollander always insisted that it had been that way for him with Shane’s mother Yuna, that he’d known she was The One before he’d even gotten up the nerve to talk to her. 

Now, in the worst place Shane had ever been, under the worst possible circumstances, he was pretty sure he’d found The One for him. Even though he’d known Rozanov for less than a full day. Even though it wasn’t supposed to be possible for two omegas to be biologically compatible. 

It made him more determined than ever to figure out how to get the two of them out of this fucked up place and back home to Canada where he could take care of Rozanov and make him feel safe forever.

He figured he should probably tell Rozanov how he felt and find out if the other omega was feeling the same way, but he had no idea how to even start a conversation like that. 

“Are you asking for more already, Hollander?” Rozanov asked, obviously interested in a completely different conversation.

He raised an eyebrow at Shane’s dick, which was stubbornly refusing to go down despite the fact that he was no longer rubbing it up against the other omega.

“You can call me Shane if you want to,” Shane said, unable to stifle a little half-smile. “I have a policy that I should be on a first name basis with anybody who had their tongue in my ass. Since you’re the only one, well…” 

“This is very good policy,” Rozanov said with a serious nod. “So, can I suck your cock now, Shane?”

“Oh my God,” Shane said. “I mean fuck… absolutely, yes. Please.”

“Good,” Rozanov said, planting soft kisses along Shane’s jawline towards his ear. “And when I make you cum down my throat, you can call me Ilya.”

“Ilya,” Shane repeated. He loved the way that sounded, how saying it felt inside his mouth. 

Ilya took his time working his way down Shane’s neck and chest. Every place he stopped to lavish slow, wet kisses seemed to pulse with shimmering heat in his wake, making Shane’s whole skin feel intensely alive, tingly and almost unbearably hypersensitive. When Ilya took one of Shane’s nipples into his mouth, sucking and teasing with his teeth, Shane felt his cock jump and hips shudder, desperately seeking friction against any available part of Ilya’s body without asking for permission from his brain. Shane could feel Ilya’s plush, slick lips curving into a smile against his pec as he gripped Shane’s hipbone and held him firmly down against the mat, denying any contact that wasn’t Ilya’s mouth. Shane couldn’t hold back a thin needy whine as his head dropped back, eyes closed in helpless surrender.   

By the time Ilya's lips reached the fine hair below Shane’s navel, Shane was so hard it hurt. His belly was wet with precum and Ilya lazily lapped up every drop before moving slowly down so that his mouth was poised an excruciating hair’s breadth away from where Shane needed it most. 

“Please, Ilya,” he begged, opening his eyes and looking down at the other omega. “Please.”

“Please what?” Ilya asked, looking back at him with those luminous, mesmerizing eyes. “You need something?”

“Oh my God fuck Ilya,” Shane’s words tumbled out in a desperate rush. “I need it so fucking bad please please fucking please!”

“It?” Ilya said. “Mmmmm. I do not know this it. Tell me exactly what you need, Shane, or you get nothing.”

“I need you to suck my dick,” Shane said. “Please, Ilya, you said you would and I need to cum so bad right now. Please let me cum again for you, Ilya, please!”

“Did I say that?” Ilya asked, running teasing fingers up and down the sides of Shane’s shaft and making him shiver and gasp through his clenched teeth. “Oh, I did, didn’t I? Do you want to know what I think?”

“Yes,” Shane breathed.

“I think you are very greedy boy,” Ilya told him. 

“Yes,” Shane repeated. “I am, yes.” 

“But is ok,” Ilya said. “Because you make me greedy too.”

Without another word, Ilya opened his mouth wide and swallowed Shane’s cock, slowly and completely, all the way down to the root. 

Shane let out a rough, inelegant and wrecked sound that he didn’t even recognize as his own voice, fists clenching and unclenching in the air before his hands eventually settled on the back of Ilya’s head. 

For a moment, Ilya just stayed like that, breathing deep and slow with his nose buried in Shane’s bush. It felt amazing, but Shane was starting to worry about him, thinking he couldn’t possibly get enough air like that. That thought was swiftly eclipsed by a rush of brain-melting pleasure as Ilya worked his lips up the length of Shane’s cock, pausing to tease the head with his tongue and then slowly, deliberately sliding back down again, deft fingers gently stroking and tugging Shane’s swiftly tightening balls. 

Ilya started speeding up then, working his hot, drooling mouth in short, brutal strokes so that the head of Shane’s cock plunged in and out of his deliciously tight throat and it was so good. So fucking good.

Shuddering pulses of intense sensation were already racing through Shane’s whole body, pulling him towards inevitable orgasm like an inescapable undertow when Ilya did something that felt so incredible that for a second Shane couldn’t even think straight to figure out what was actually happening. 

Ilya went still with Shane’s cock all the way down, as deep as it would go, and he must have started swallowing around it somehow, the muscles of his throat squeezing and milking Shane’s length in strong, rippling waves and there was nothing Shane could do but let himself be pulled under, gripping Ilya’s curls in both fists, grunting and thrusting and spilling down the other omega’s greedy throat again and again.

“Ilya,” he cried, shoulders lifting off the mat as his body crunched into an involuntary c-shape around Ilya’s head. “Fuck, Ilya.”

Ilya let Shane’s dick slip out of his mouth with a soft pop and looked up at him with eyes that had shifted darker, more green now than blue. Shane was becoming completely obsessed with those eyes. With every part of Ilya, if he was honest.

“Holy shit, Ilya,” Shane said. “That was incredible.”

“I know,” Ilya replied, sitting back on his knees with a devilish grin.

“C’mere,” Shane said, reaching for him.

Ilya let himself be drawn into Shane’s arms, scenting warm and content despite the chill of the cell. 

“Do you want me to…” Shane reached down to brush his fingers over the length of Ilya hard cock where it slotted perfectly against his hip like it had always belonged right there. “Can I…?”

“Mmmmm,” Ilya said. “I will have you again later, beautiful boy.” He brushed his thumb across Shane’s lower lip. “Just let me hold you right now.”

Ilya turned Shane over and pulled him down down to rest against Ilya's pec again, stroking his hair and occasionally stopping to press his nose against Shane’s scalp and breathe in his scent. Shane sighed and hooked one leg over Ilya’s thigh, snuggling closer as Ilya pulled one of the space blankets back over them both.

“Thanks for making this nest for us,” Shane said. “It feels nice.”

“Really?” Ilya said, suddenly sounding more than a little bit vulnerable. “You like it?” 

“I love it,” Shane replied.

A few minutes of contented silence passed before Ilya spoke again.

“High value omegas get many blankets for nest.” Ilya said, pinching and twisting the corner of the Mylar blanket. “We get only blankets like this, because they do not hold scent. Mat holds scent maybe a little, but is not so comforting and can only be flat. Is small bad thing next to many other bad things, but feels very cruel when you are alone.” 

Ilya reached up and absently rubbed his own earlobe between his thumb and forefinger. Shane hated to think of him being all alone in a place like this. If Shane had his way, Ilya would never feel alone again.

He reached up and kissed Ilya, tasting himself as the other omega deftly licked his mouth open, sucking and nipping at Shane’s lips and tongue. The way their scents and flavors mingled and harmonized so perfectly as they lazily made out felt as if it was rewriting Shane’s brain chemistry in some subtle, irreversible way. He thought of their first ravenous kiss just last night, how intense and life-changing it felt to him then and how he wanted to keep kissing this omega forever, every day for the rest of his life. 

When the kiss ended, Shane rested his cheek against Ilya’s chest again, just breathing in their combined scents and enjoying the now familiar smell of their little nest. He found himself imagining how it would feel to invite Ilya into his own private nest at home. To scent him there and add his fragrant clothing to the meticulous arrangement of carefully selected pillows and cozy blankets.

“If they don’t give anybody material to make nests down here,” Shane eventually asked. “Then what do the omegas on this floor do during their heats? Do you get any other supplies or… well, you know… equipment?"

“If no plan for babymaking with New American clients during that cycle,” Ilya replied, fingers stilling ominously in Shane’s hair. His cock had gone completely soft now against Shane’s hip. “Dr Sturgeon takes care of it. With rubber gloves on and heavy duty rut condom over his big scientific doctor knot. Not for his own pleasure, of course, only professional reasons. Medical Heat Management, he calls it.”

“Has he done that to you?” Shane asked, cold hard anger coiling like a pissed off rattlesnake inside his belly. He wrapped his arm tighter around the other omega’s waist like that would protect him somehow.

Shane already wanted to kill that motherfucker just for calling him sweetie, but if Dr. Sturgeon had done something like that to Ilya, Shane didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from trying to rip the Alpha’s throat out with his teeth the next time he saw that smug, smiling face.

“Mmm no,” Ilya said. “I do not have natural heat anymore.”

“Wait…” Shane said. “What?”

“Too many forced heats at too young age,” Ilya said. “My body cannot produce correct hormones without help. Must be induced.”

For a moment, Ilya’s beautiful eyes got that flat, far away look again and his scent faded into nothingness. Shane wished he knew what the other omega was thinking, so that maybe he could help somehow. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he just reached up and tucked a stray curl behind Ilya’s ear, then traced the curve of his ear down to his lobe, stroking it gently with his thumb like the other omega had done earlier. The faintest thread of Ilya’s fragile, smoky tea scent reappeared again as he leaned into Shane’s touch with a breathy little sound so soft Shane wondered if he had imagined it. 

“I time my yearly heats for summer, during the off season,” Shane said, just to say something. “That way I can spend them at my cottage, in private.”

“In private?” Ilya said. “You mean alone?”

“I mean, yeah,” Shane replied. “I can’t stand being around most Alphas even when I’m not in heat and I’ve never had anyone I wanted to spend a heat with, so… I just deal with them on my own.”

“I have never spent heat alone,” Ilya said. “But I have also never had anyone I wanted to spend a heat with.” 

Thinking about that, about everything Ilya had been through, made Shane’s heart feel like someone was squeezing it in a hot fist, like he could barely breathe. Not from the usual familiar anxiety or panic, but from something else. Something new. Something he didn’t have a name for.

He knew then that he wanted to spend his next heat with Ilya. He couldn’t possibly say that out loud, but it was what he wanted. More than anything. He also wanted to take care of Ilya during the other omega’s heats, to protect him and scent him, to worship every inch of his body and make him cum as many times as he needed. He wanted them to share their heats together forever, and just thinking about it was making his perpetually embarrassing and needy dick start to get hard again. How was that even possible? He’d already cum three times today and it wasn’t even dinnertime yet.

Then a horrible thought popped into his head and it felt like being hit with a bucket of ice water, filling him with dread and swiftly poisoning his nascent erection. 

“Without my next dose of suppressants,” Shane said. “I won’t be able to stop myself from going into heat during my next cycle.”

For a moment, he and Ilya just looked at each other, letting the full implications of that thought sink in.

Medical Heat Management.

“Fuck,” Ilya said.

“And it’s totally not your fault at all,” Shane said. “But with the way you make me feel, I’m afraid it’ll happen sooner rather than later.” 

Ilya’s eyes went wide and Shane could see a swirling school of contradictory emotions swimming through their blue-green depths.

“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane said. “We have to get the hell out of here before that happens.”

“Ok, ok,” Ilya said, pushing his curls back from his forehead to reveal his widow’s peak and an anxious frown. “I am listening.”

“Like I said before, we need a plan,” Shane said. “More than one, probably, just to account for all possible variables that may come into play.”

Their situation was so dire and the stakes were impossibly high, but this was what Shane was good at. What made him an elite player. A good captain. A multiple cup winner. He could do this, for himself and more importantly, for Ilya.

“Let’s start by going over the schedule,” he continued. “Is it the same every day?”

Ilya nodded.

“Most of the time, yes,” he said. “Although tomorrow is Sunday, which means very long church time, but also cookies after. Is our only treat, reward for being good, godly omegas.”

“Ok,” Shane said. “But what about that line up thing from earlier?”

“That is… like you say… variable. Means different every time, yes?”

“Yeah,” Shane replied. “So it’s not always Saturdays then?”

“No,” Ilya shook his head. “Can happen any day and will cancel any other things at that same time.”

“Can you tell me what the line up actually is?” Shane asked. “It’s important for me to know so we can factor that in, in case it happens again.”

“Is fine,” Ilya said, obviously trying to make it seem like nothing. “When clients come here to shop for babymaker, we stand in line, they choose.” He shrugged. “Line up.”

“God, ok,” Shane said. He didn’t even want to think about what would have happened if Ilya had been chosen. “That’s horrible, but good to know. Does it happen often?”

“Not so often,” Ilya replied. “Because nearest New American Enclave is not full of citizens yet. But they are building more houses for more families, so may be more soon.”

“What’s this Enclave like?” Shane asked.

“I am not really sure, because I am never chosen for live-in surrogate.” Ilya’s eyes seemed to go flat again for a fleeting moment. “From what others tell me, is like… many houses together where everyone has same beliefs.” 

“Ok, we’ll come back to that later,” Shane said. “Meanwhile, what are the things in the daily schedule that don’t change?”

“Well,” Ilya said. “Breakfast same time every day. Then normally after that, cell check. Then outside time.”

“Tell me about outside time,” Shane said.

“Thirty minutes in low-value yard, all year, all weather,” Ilya replied. “You can see it yourself tomorrow.”

“Right,” Shane said. “That might potentially be a place where we could find some sort of security weakness or opportunity. Are there guards?” 

“Yes,” Ilya replied. “Only one, in tower with rifle. He will use it, I have seen this. Not to kill us or to hurt babymaking parts, of course, just shoot legs for fun. We all know better than to try anything there.”

“Jesus,” Shane said. So much for that idea.

“No,” Ilya said. “Jesus is later, at church time. After outside time on Sunday is hygiene time.”

“Hygiene, like showers?” 

“Yes, and shaving. Guards must watch us very carefully during shaving time.”

He didn't say why, but Shane didn’t have to ask.

“They only let us shower once a week?” Shane asked, horrified. His skin was already feeling grotty and sticky after just a few hours.

“Is ok for me,” Ilya said with a fake casual shrug. “Gives me six whole days to enjoy your armpit scent.”

“That is so gross,” Shane said, wanting to sound annoyed but unable to stop himself from smiling.

“No, is not,” Ilya insisted, rolling Shane onto his back, yanking his right arm up over his head and snuffling dramatically into his exposed pit. “Your armpits are like fine wine for me.”

“Fuck off!” Shane said, giving Ilya a playful shove and putting his arm back down. “I’m trying to concentrate on saving our asses here!”

“I am concentrating on your ass,” Ilya said, propping himself up on his elbows and grinning. “It will also smell very good to me after six days of taking my cock with no shower. It will smell like mine.” 

“Ilya!” Shane said. “You’re impossible!”

“You like it,” Ilya said.

Shane did. He liked it so much that it scared him.

He had no idea what to say next, but it turned out he didn’t have to say anything else because the low shutter on the door slid open and another flimsy cardboard tray was shoved through the slot.

“Dinner,” Ilya said. “That is next thing on schedule.”

***

They both stood up from the makeshift nest and pulled on their respective sweatpants, then Ilya retrieved the dinner tray, carrying it over to Shane. 

It held two chicken legs and two slices of white bread. No plates, no utensils, no plastic wrap, everything just sitting there loose in the cardboard compartments.

The chicken was pale and looked like it had been boiled, the thick, rubbery skin still on. There were gobs of sickly yellow fat and a smattering of sharp white pin feathers still stuck to the skin around the end where the knobby gray bone was sticking out. It smelled as if it had been cooked in dirty mop water and the congealing grease it had been secreting for who knew how long was starting to soak through the cardboard in shiny patches.

Shane stood up and backed as far away as he could get in the tiny cell, his entire body recoiling and acidic nausea bubbling up the back of his throat. He felt the cold clench of panic twisting in his uneasy guts, making his heart race.

He had to turn away and hold his breath to keep himself from puking while Ilya grabbed a leg and stripped every scrap of flesh off the bone with his teeth like a starving animal and then stuffed a whole piece of bread in after it.

“Eat, Shane,” Ilya said around the huge mouthful of food. “You need it for strength.”

Shane turned back to look at the tray in Ilya’s hand again. One leg remained next to the discarded bone and the other piece of bread sat in another compartment as far away as it could get from the chicken, like it was as grossed out as Shane was and trying to keep its distance. He gagged helplessly, and turned away, fists clenching.

Suddenly, Shane was five years old again, confronted with his first kindergarten snack time and a bunch of viscerally upsetting textures and weird, unfamiliar smells that didn’t seem to bother anyone but him. His parents had struggled to find things he would eat all through his early childhood, but once he got older and seriously into hockey he was able to work with a therapist to help him cope with his anxiety and be a little bit braver about trying new foods. He also worked with a nutritionist to help him plan a simple, palatable diet that felt safe without compromising athletic performance. 

Smelly, room temperature, possibly undercooked chicken legs prepared and served using questionable food safety practices were definitely NOT on that diet. 

Neither were white carbs, especially not cheap, spongy white bread like that, but the disgusting chicken felt radioactive to Shane in that moment. Almost as if it were emitting some kind of toxic cloud that would literally peel the flesh off Shane’s skull if it got too close. 

He felt himself gagging again, wet with cold sweat now. 

“Shane,” Ilya said, gentle concern in his face. “Shane, what is wrong?”

“I…” Shane could barely speak. He felt like his throat was closing up. “I can’t eat that.”

“The food is very bad here, yes,” Ilya said. “But you will not survive if you don’t eat. Please, Shane…”

“I can’t… That chicken… I just can’t.”

“Shane,” Ilya pleaded. “You must not starve yourself. This is all there is, please...”

“No.” Shane shook his head. His hands were shaking now, heart pounding. He gagged, swallowed. “Mm-mm. No.”

Ilya took a step closer, holding the tray out and it felt like he was pointing a loaded gun at Shane.

“Here look, maybe you can just eat a little bit of this bread,” Ilya said. “This piece did not even touch the chicken.”

Shane smacked the cardboard tray out of Ilya’s hands, sending it crashing into the far wall.

“I said no!” Shane snapped, way louder and sharper than he meant to. “Fuck!” 

Ilya’s whole body flinched, eyes immediately down like he was waiting for Shane to hit him, and Shane felt like the worst kind of monster that ever lived.

“Sorry,” Ilya said, almost too soft to hear.

“Oh my God, Ilya,” Shane said, still horribly nauseous and rubbing the back of a shaking hand over his mouth. “Fuck no, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, I would never…” 

He desperately wanted to tell Ilya that he didn’t mean to scare him, that he would never hit him, never hurt him, but he realized that would sound exactly like the kind of thing a person who would hurt somebody would say. The kind of thing that Ilya had probably heard a hundred times before from people who did hurt him. 

Convinced that Ilya must hate him now, Shane could feel hot tears welling up in his eyes and bitter shame churning with the acid already boiling in his guts and creeping steadily up the back of his throat. His heart was still racing and this fucking cell was so small, too small, and he didn’t know what to do.

He didn’t know what the fuck to do.

He wanted Ilya to hold him so badly, to put his comforting hand on Shane’s chest and help him breathe more slowly, but he probably fucked that up for good now, didn’t he? 

He needed to do something about this situation right away. He had to figure out how to fix this, because Ilya was everything to him now and he couldn’t stand the thought of hurting the other omega. Ever. Even without meaning to. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing The One over a goddamn chicken leg.  

“Shit,” Shane finally said, when he was able to speak. “Ok listen, I’m gonna sit over there on the mat.” He moved away from Ilya, his heart still pounding like it was demanding to be let out of his chest. “And you can sit next to me if you want, or stay where you are. Whatever is more comfortable for you, ok?”

“Ok,” Ilya said, not moving from where he stood. His gaze was still locked on the floor between his feet.

Shane sank slowly down to the mat, back against the wall and knees drawn up to his chest. He ran his fingers over the bruise on his right knee, pressing into it hard like he deserved that pain. He didn’t say anything for an endless minute, his anxious brain scrambling for some kind of plan to fix this. He had to fix this!

“For starters,” Shane began, then paused for a moment, struggling to find the correct words. “I was wrong to yell at you like that, even though I was freaking out really bad on the inside.” Another pause, and Shane glanced over at where the cardboard tray had fallen by the toilet, as if the dreaded chicken leg might try to crawl out from under it and go for his throat. “I still am, kind of, but the fact that I have these stupid… issues about certain foods… well, food in general really… that’s not a fair excuse to make you feel bad or scared. Ever.”

Ilya was looking at him now, but still silent and not making any move to come closer.

“Second of all,” Shane continued. “Nothing about what I just did is your fault. I need you to know that, Ilya. I’m the one who is fucked up inside, not you.” 

“Maybe both?” Ilya said, just a hint of a smile in one corner of his lips.

“Maybe, yeah,” Shane said, letting out a little huff of a laugh. 

Shane could see Ilya’s body starting to relax, shoulders loosening and hands unclenching.

“I think so, probably,” Ilya said.

“There are lots of things about me,” Shane said. “That aren’t… you know… like how regular people are supposed to be.”

“I am sorry to tell you this, Shane.” Ilya came over and sat down on the mat beside Shane. “But you cannot win fucked-up contest against me. Just like I have bigger cock, I also have much bigger bad things inside.”

“Oh, so you want to bring that into it, huh?” Shane said, feeling a shaky rush of relief washing over him and unable to stop himself from grinning like a goofball. “Anyway mine’s thicker, and everybody knows the circumference matters more than the length.”

“Cir-cum-ference?” Ilya repeated. “You can try to hide behind your big words like this, but I did not hear any complaints about my circumference when I made you cum hands free.” 

Shane reached over and put his arm around Ilya, pulling him close.

“Fuck, Ilya,” he said, burrowing his face into Ilya’s neck. “I’m so sorry I freaked out like that. This place, everything, it’s really getting to me. But you?” He pulled back and looked up at Ilya. “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. The best thing.”

“You are my best thing too,” Ilya said.

Shane offered his wrist. Instead of pressing his own wrist against it the way Ilya had done before, the other omega took Shane’s wrist in both of his hands and rubbed his cheek against it. Not the quick, friendly glide that Shane usually exchanged with Hayden or his parents, but a slow and sensual grind, like a cat claiming and marking territory. Ilya’s eyes never left his as he scented his other cheek and then pressed his lips against Shane’s wrist gland. Shane could smell Ilya’s faint, thready caraway and tea scent strengthening and mixing with his own as it drifted gently between them.

For a moment, Shane was filled to overflowing with a kind of warm, melty feeling inside and wanted nothing more than to kiss Ilya again, but didn’t. Instead, he felt that warmth drain away and found himself suddenly plagued by an unrelenting and intrusive thought that Ilya might still be upset or scared and just trying not to show it.

“I need you to promise me something, Ilya,” Shane said.

“What?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Shane said. “I love it when you flirt and talk dirty and make me laugh. All of that. I really do!” Shane gently cupped Ilya’s strong chin and made himself hold eye contact with the other omega. “But sometimes I miss important things if people don’t say them clearly. So I need you to promise me that you’ll always tell me exactly how you’re feeling. Especially if I ever make you feel bad again. Even just a little bit, so I can understand what I did wrong and apologize and make sure not to do it again. That way, I can fix it, ok?”

“I want very much to tell you how I feel, Shane,” Ilya said. “But sometimes… my English… is hard for me. And I learn not to say how I feel very young, even in Russian. But for you, I promise I will try.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Shane said. “And if you still felt bad about me freaking out and knocking over the tray, you would tell me right?”

“I don’t feel bad about you, Shane,” Ilya said. “It’s just that... sometimes my old ways of feeling come back.”

Shane just held Ilya for a moment, letting the other omega’s words sink in.

“You know what?” Shane said. “Me, too. Maybe not as bad, but kinda similar? I know you were just trying to help, but the food stuff, it’s complicated and it always comes back much worse whenever I’m stressed out.”

Ilya pulled Shane close and laid the two of them back down together on the mat in their default position. 

“I want to say a feeling now,” Ilya said.

“Ok,” Shane said. 

“I feel happy that you want to fix me, Shane,” Ilya said. “Nobody ever wants this for me, they just want to break me their way. But…” He paused. “I don’t think I can be fixed.”

“Don’t say that,” Shane started to say. “Anyway what I actually meant was…”

“Wait,” Ilya said, strong hand on the back of Shane’s neck and voice deepening deliciously. “Be a good boy, Shane, and let me finish.”

That wasn’t playing fair at all, but Shane could not have cared less. He instantly shut the fuck up. His body was responding to the other omega’s firm and honeyed tone without asking permission from his brain, eager and still, every muscle thrumming and expectant and waiting to be told what to do, like he was waiting for the puck to drop. 

Ilya didn’t say anything sexy. What he said instead made Shane realize that he would do absolutely anything for Ilya. Anything.

“I want to say that…” Ilya looked up like the English words he needed might be found on the cracked ceiling above them. “Maybe we can be broken together. You have your food stuff and your panic attacks and I have my scars and bad memories, but we can be together, if you still want.” He looked back down, into Shane’s eyes. “Maybe that can be enough?”

“Fuck, Ilya, I want that so bad,” Shane said. “I want you so bad, everything about you.”

“Please kiss me again, Shane,” Ilya said. “Before I say any more feelings.”

Shane did what he was told.

Chapter Text

It had been a strange and scary and wonderful night, nothing like Ilya had expected. After the Evil Leg of Baba Yaga’s Chicken House and the tray that held the rest of that ill-fated meal had been banished through the slot in the door, Ilya had big plans to make Shane, and himself, forget the whole disastrous dinner. He wanted to make the other omega hold his hands behind his neck, sit in Ilya’s lap and ride his cock so that Ilya could cum with his face buried in one of Shane’s addictively delicious armpits. But somehow they wound up talking almost all night instead. Talking about everything and nothing. 

Ilya had not experienced anything like this kind of fast-forward foxhole intimacy since the endless, alternately boring and terrifying days he and Sveta spent together as their little group of skinny, ragtag omegas was being trafficked across Eastern Europe and into the United States. But as close as he had felt back then with his best and only friend, she never made him feel the way that Shane did.  

Shane told Ilya about his parents Yuna and David and the place where he grew up and the cottage that he had built to his precise specifications. About his career and his training regimen and his teammates. About being the only omega in the league, how Shane always struggled to fit in and how lonely that made him feel sometimes.

He told Ilya about his abduction after that last game, and how worried he was about his friend Hayden. How he was wondering if Hayden’s wife and kids were ok, and about how badly Shane wanted to find out even the flimsiest scraps of information about what may or may not have happened to his Alpha teammate.

Ilya told Shane about working as a Dom at Citadel. About how he had always wanted a dog when he was a boy but was never allowed to have any pets. About how much he had loved playing hockey before it had been taken away from him. About winning his first hockey fight, and how it was the only time his father had ever seemed proud of him. 

He also told Shane about his mother, how beautiful and funny she was, and how sad. How she had been a champion figure skater but Ilya had never seen her on the ice in real life, only in old photos. How his father had treated her like a piece of property that hadn’t been worth the price he’d paid. How she would always sneak little treats his father didn’t approve of and share them with Ilya in their sunny yellow kitchen, whispering that it was their special secret and that he was her special boy. How she would sometimes disappear into her bedroom for weeks at a time and his father would ignore her absence and come home late and pass out on the sofa in his study with his shirt buttoned wrong, stinking of vodka and some other omega.

He told Shane how he’d just turned twelve years old when found his mother on the floor next to her disheveled nest with an empty pill bottle in her cold, unmoving hand. How he didn’t cry, not then, not at her funeral and not since. How he’d wanted to, but he couldn’t.

He wanted to tell Shane so much more, things he’d never told anyone before, but every nuanced and complex feeling he tried to express felt as if it were being scraped against the slow, torturous cheesegrater of English translation and reduced down to meager, simplistic slivers. In a way, he was almost grateful for that delay between his thoughts and his tongue, because he was sure that if he ever let the other omega see even a glimpse of the ugliest, most shameful things Ilya kept hidden inside, Shane wouldn’t want him anymore. And Ilya wouldn’t blame him for that.

Things like the fact that Ilya still got hard thinking about the forced-heat gangbangs he’d been subjected to by his first Alpha, how he always thought about them when he was feeling especially numb and lonely and having trouble making himself cum. Like the way the special visits from the guards made him feel wanted, even if just for a few minutes. Like all the terrible, illegal and immoral things he had done to survive on the Moscow streets, and here in America too, before he and Sveta had been swept up in that ICE raid.

Like the fact that he had done nothing to stop them from taking his son away. 

How he didn’t fight tooth and nail to get to his baby, how he didn’t spend every waking moment since then trying to escape from this place and dedicate the rest of his life to finding him. 

How, after his voice gave out from anguished screaming, Ilya had just given up. How he’d let himself sink back into the hollow darkness alone, because it was easy and familiar.

And how terrified he was of the hope that Shane was making him feel now.

He couldn’t say any of those things, so Ilya carefully sealed them all back up in their concrete coffins and reburied them in the dangerously overpopulated graveyard of his head. 

He talked instead about silly, inconsequential nonsense. A pair of sexy studded boots he had loved and inexplicably lost during a blurry, drunken fistfight. How much fun he had driving his naughty pup Alpha’s expensive sports cars, even though he was never allowed to do so on his own. How he once tore the crotch of his pants completely open while climbing over a barbed wire fence and had to run from the police with his cock swinging free in the icy winter wind.

And he listened to Shane, brushing his fingertips over the other omega’s sleek, tan throat and prominent Adam’s apple, feeling the soothing vibrations of his vocal chords. He listened to Shane’s spontaneous mini-lectures about various complex hyperfixations, only understanding about half the words but loving the gentle sound of Shane’s voice and marveling at how intelligent and deeply thoughtful the other omega was. He listened to Shane’s halting, strangely specific compliments about things like the moles Ilya had inherited from his mother or the sea-glass speckles in the irises of his eyes or his blunt, slightly crooked little fangs or the interplay of complex notes that had been slowly coming forward in his scent the longer they lay pressed against each other.

Before Ilya knew it, it had gotten very late and he always struggled the most with English when he was tired. As much as he had wanted to fuck Shane again, in the end they just made out as they jacked each other off, long, slow and deliciously lazy, eventually falling asleep in each other’s arms without bothering to clean up. 

When Ilya woke a few hours later, he knew that his sweet, fastidious boy would be annoyed when he woke up and felt the dried up mess all over his chest and belly. Even though it broke Ilya’s heart a little to do it, he collected their dirty clothes from the mat, including Shane’s favorite stained t-shirt. If it were up to him, Ilya would not bother to wash anything and would be happy to walk around smelling like Shane all day. But it wasn’t just Shane’s desire to be as clean as possible that was motivating him. He knew it was not safe to be around so many Alpha guards while smelling like slick.

He thought for a moment that he was going to lose the fight to take that strongest smelling shirt away from the soundly sleeping omega, who was clinging to it like it was his favorite stuffed animal. Eventually Ilya won, and was able to rinse it and use it to wipe Shane and himself relatively clean before rinsing it out again. 

“Mmm… cold,” Shane muttered sleepily. “Need you, Ilya. Need your scent.” 

Ilya rinsed out the rest of the clothes as quickly as he could and hung them up to dry before cell check the next morning, and then hurried back to the mat and slid back under the flimsy blankets with Shane. 

“I am here, beautiful boy,” he said softly.

Shane slotted himself back into their usual position, radiating that warm, contented tea scent that was so much like Ilya’s own.

“Better,” Shane said, cuddling against Ilya’s side.

Ilya wrapped his arms tightly around Shane and drifted back to sleep almost immediately, but not before he felt Shane grab hold of his wrist and press it against his warm cheek, where the dirty shirt used to be. 

***

The next morning, Ilya woke to the sound of Shane pissing. He got up, stretched and padded over to stand next to the other omega, pressing his naked hip against Shane’s and joining him pissing into the dented steel toilet. Their streams crossed as Ilya leaned over to kiss Shane on the cheek.

“Good morning,” Ilya said.

“Morning,” Shane replied, shaking off the last drops before rinsing his hands in the little sink and then quickly downing several cups of water in a row, making a cute little yuck face. He refilled the tin cup and handed it to Ilya. Ilya drank, then rinsed the cup and his hands.

It felt so good just to be with Shane like this, almost as if Ilya had fallen through a tear in the bleak and deeply abnormal fabric of his fucked up life and into the kind of safe, pleasently boring world that normal people took for granted. Ilya couldn’t help feeling like he was waiting for a metaphorical meteor to fall out of the sky and crush them both.

Then the music started up and their breakfast tray arrived. Ilya felt like he should make an attempt to convince Shane to eat both of the protein bars, but he was wary of drawing any more attention to the other omega’s so-called food stuff.

“I am not so hungry today,” Ilya said, toying with the foil wrapper on one of the protein bars. “You can have this if you want.”

‘I’m not taking your food,” Shane said, unwrapping the other bar and taking a small bite. “That wouldn’t be fair.”

“Well, what if I take both juice boxes?” Ilya suggested. “They are yellow flavor this time, but I am nice guy and willing to do this for you. Maybe in trade for blowjob?”

“No way,” Shane said. “Those juice boxes are what? 90 calories each? 100 max. Even together, that’s less than one of these bars, plus there’s like, barely any nutrients in them at all. It’s basically just sugar water.”

“So, what,” Ilya said. “No blowjob then?”

“Shut up and eat already,” Shane said. “We have to get back to work on our plan.”

“You cannot give blowjob and plan great escape at the same time?”

“Oh my God,” Shane said, shaking his head but failing to look genuinely mad about it. “You’re incorrigible!”

“Incorrigable?” Ilya repeated. “Is another one of your big dick words, like circumference?”

“It means you’re being a big dick,” Shane said, bumping Ilya playfully with a muscular shoulder. “Anyway you’re doing that thing again.”

Ilya stuck the straw into one of the juice boxes and sucked down a nasty, sour mouthful. He really hated the yellow flavor. It tasted like weak tea made from the kind of tree-shaped, allegedly “tropical” scented air-freshener that some stingy American trick would hang from the rearview mirror of his elderly Mazda.

“What thing?” Ilya asked, even though he knew perfectly well what Shane meant.

“Talking about sex to distract from other things,” Shane said. “I’m ok with this breakfast, really. I promise. Protein bars are one of my safe foods, even cheap ones that taste like shit, and I’m fine with just one. I mean, it obviously wouldn’t be anywhere near enough to support my usual training but I was already planning a deload week for the days leading up to Christmas. The 24th and 25th are always cheat days, of course, but…”

He trailed off and took another bite, chewing thoughtfully for a moment.

“That’s fucked up, isn’t it?” Shane asked.

“What is fucked up?” Ilya asked back. 

“That we might be stuck here for the holidays,” Shane replied. “Fuck, I’ve never missed a holiday with my parents. I mean, I haven’t missed it yet, but… they must be freaking out so bad. I wish I could figure out a way to get in touch with them. That’ll be the first thing I need to do when we get out of here.”

It was so hard to keep believing in Shane’s big plans, but Ilya had no choice. Because, as scared as he was to even think about trying to escape, the thought of anything bad happening to Shane was so much worse. More than that, the thought of his beautiful boy going into heat for him made him feel so irrationally, violently possessive he could barely breathe and he couldn’t stand the thought of having Shane taken away to be fucked and claimed by someone else. Especially not Dr. Fucking Sturgeon.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love my mom,” Shane said, completely oblivious to Ilya’s sudden surge of possessiveness. “She’s amazing, so strong and smart and so supportive of my career. She really pushes me to be my best in every way. But my dad…” He paused, looked down at the bar but didn’t take another bite. “He’s such a softie. He cries during the sappiest movies and even those commercials with the sad dogs that need help. Me and him have always been super close, ever since I was little. He was the only one who could get me to stop crying when I was a baby. The one who could get me to eat when nobody else could. You know how it is with your omega parent, that bond.” Another pause. “It must be killing him not knowing where I am.”

That glimpse of wet dark hair. That tiny blue bundle being rushed away. Blood between Ilya’s legs and the scream that never ended. 

“Ilya…?”

The smell of blood and antiseptic. The feeling of being torn open inside. The tiny blue bundle. The blood. The scream. The bundle. The dark hair. Gone. His son was gone.

“Oh my God, Ilya,” Shane was saying, though Ilya barely heard him. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said something like that when you already told me you lost your omega mom when you were a kid.”

You did nothing. They took your baby and you did nothing.

Ilya didn’t know how long it took him to notice Shane’s outstretched wrist, his safe calming scent, and the soft cadence of his voice.

“You’re safe,” Shane was saying. “I’m here. We’re together.”

Ilya pressed his wrist to Shane’s, letting the other omega’s soothing tea scent enfold him and feeling his own scent responding in kind. That dynamic, intertwining braid of complementary notes was like an invisible lifeline, pulling him up out of the cold inner sea and back to warm reality

“Thank you,” Ilya said, meaning so much more.

“No problem,” Shane said. “Can I hug you? Would you like that?”

Ilya nodded, and Shane pulled him close.

“I like you,” Ilya said, hands sliding up over the broad muscles of Shane’s back and shoulders, his lips pressed into the crook of Shane’s throat.

“I like you too,” Shane replied, fingers toying with the curls on the back of Ilya’s neck.

Once again, the blunt, square building blocks of the English language felt painfully inadequate to hold everything Ilya was feeling. 

“Ok ok, enough of this,” Ilya said, trying not to show how hard he was struggling to pull the tattered scraps of armor closed around his soft naked heart. “I am fine, Shane. We finish breakfast now, ok?”

“Ok,” Shane said, reaching for his unfinished bar.

Ilya was profoundly grateful that Shane didn’t push him to talk about it or call him on his transparently obvious emotional cover up. He just let Ilya pull himself together as best he could, without comment. Ilya shook out his arms and hands to release the lingering tension and then grabbed his juice box and finished it off. 

“Do they even celebrate Christmas in this place?” Shane asked, taking another one of his delicate little bites out of his bar.

Ilya had not had anyone to celebrate any holidays with since he had been separated from Sveta, but didn’t bother to mention that.

“If even longer than regular Sunday church time is celebration,” Ilya said instead. “Then yes. On New Year's Eve, nothing. But you will not be alone, Shane, you will have me.”

He reached out and took Shane’s big, calloused hand in his own, weaving their fingers together.

“This is like the worst Hallmark movie concept ever,” Shane said, squeezing Ilya’s hand. “Uterus Cult Prison For the Holidays.”

Ilya was unable to keep himself from letting out a surprised laugh.

“Uterus Cult Prison?” Ilya said. “That is worst name for movie ever.”

“Accurate, though,” Shane said with that now familiar little smile of his that made Ilya's stomach do an embarrassing kind of smitten flutter. 

“Maybe we make porno movie instead?” Ilya suggested, reaching over and brushing a knuckle over Shane’s nipple before giving his pec a firm squeeze. “In Shane Hollander’s Ass For the Holidays?”

“Ilya,” Shane said, turning his body away and finishing off the last bite of his bar. “You’re doing it again.”

“I know I know, I am doing it,” Ilya said. “Fuck, I wish we were doing it instead of talking, but yes fine, we talk more about plans.” He picked up the second bar and unwrapped it. “Also, we need to put on clothes. Cell check is very soon.”

“Ok, so to review,” Shane said, reaching for a pair of sweatpants. “Today is… What day is it today? We can’t let ourselves lose track. The game was on December 18th, so that makes today the 20th, right? Sunday.” 

“Right,” Ilya said, making short work of the bar and grabbing the other sweatpants. Still a little damp, but not bad.

“So, we have cell check, outside, hygiene, church, dinner,” Shane listed out, pulling a shirt over his head. Even though both shirts were relatively clean now, it didn’t seem like an accident that he still chose the one he had been sleeping with the night before. “That’s it for today, right.”

“You forget after-church cookies,” Ilya said, putting on the other shirt. “Most important time of the week.”

“We don’t have access to anything we could use for writing or drawing, do we?” Shane asked, clearly uninterested in cookies. 

“No,” Ilya said. 

“Well, I have excellent spatial memory,” Shane replied. “So I’ll go ahead and start mapping out the areas we can see in my head and keep an eye out for any potential weak spots in the security. I wasn’t really able to get a sense of things the first night because of whatever drugs they gave me but I’m pretty confident about this floor now, and the floor above us with the church room and the classroom where they did my orientation. Can you tell me what’s behind any of the other doors on that floor?”

“I don’t… ah… no,” Ilya said, but he was having trouble concentrating on what Shane was saying.

Because a little voice in his head had started whispering to him. Whispering the most awful things.

What if you do manage to escape, but then Shane doesn’t want you anymore?

In here you are the experienced one, the one who knows everything. You are the one who can teach and top Shane. Settle him and protect him. Out there, you know nothing. You have nothing. You are nothing. What will you have to offer him then?

What if he only wants you now because there is no one else to choose from and as soon as he has other options, he won’t want you anymore?

No, Ilya silently told himself. Shane cares about me. He wants to fix me, scent me and comfort me, even when he sees that I am weak and damaged. 

But what if you are so weak and damaged that you can’t make it out there? What if you fall apart so badly that you are too much trouble to put back together?

What if you are like a pathetic neglected zoo bear who won’t leave his tiny cage even after the door is open because that’s all he’s ever known?

I have to try, Ilya told himself. For Shane. I have no other choice.

What if you get Shane killed because you aren’t strong enough to do this with him and you just give up, like you always do?

Shane had stopped talking and was clearly waiting for Ilya to answer some question, but Ilya had no idea what he was asking.

The guard picked that moment to unlock their door for cell check.

“Jesus H. Christ!” It was Kenner, the big bearded Alpha with the strong scent. “Smells like a fucking whorehouse in here.” He reached down and squeezed his cock through his uniform pants. “Diamonds on the backs, sluts, and show me those hot little asses.”

Ilya quickly stood against the wall in the required position and Shane stood beside him, as far away from the Alpha as he could get in the tiny cell.

“How about you two nymphos try keeping your faces out of each other’s pussies for five minutes and maybe save some of that action for me?” Kenner said, reaching out to cup Ilya’s ass and shove his fat fingers deep into the cleft between his cheeks. “Maybe put on a little private show for me later tonight, what do you say?”

Ilya looked over at Shane with wide, pleading eyes and a tiny shake of his head, silently begging him to keep his cool. Shane met his gaze with those dark eyes blazing, looking like he was either about to burst into flames or do something really stupid. Possibly both.

Kenner moved away from Ilya and pulled out his pen-sized flashlight, using it to check around the edges of the sink and up under the rim of the toilet, then up into the light fixture. Shane was still vibrating and radiating thermonuclear fury, but his gaze was down now and Ilya hoped he could at least hold it together until Kenner left.

Behind them, Kenner was flinging their blankets and mats around, kicking at them with his booted feet and knocking over the breakfast tray.

“I’ll go easy on you for now, Rozanov,” Kenner said, shoving the crumpled mats out of his way. “Because I like that thick, juicy bubble butt of yours. But if I come in here tomorrow morning and this bedding isn’t squared the fuck away like should be, I’m gonna have you two separated and put your new girlfriend in with Mendoza.”

He walked out the door and then turned back with a wink.

“See you later,” he said, closing and locking the door.

As soon as he was gone, Ilya started silently gathering up the scattered trash from breakfast with trembling hands and setting it over by the slot in the door. He’d just barely set it down when Shane crashed into his arms, holding on to him as hard as he’d clung to the stained t-shirt.

“Ilya,” he said. “Fuck, Ilya, I’m so sorry. I wanted to break that fucking guy’s fingers for touching you like that, I really did, but I was scared and I… I can’t be separated from you. I can’t.”

“Beautiful boy,” Ilya replied, stroking the other omega’s disheveled hair. “You cannot stop any of the things that happen here, but I love that you want to.”

“Yesterday you made me say that I was yours,” Shane said. “And I meant it. I am. Only yours.” He looked urgently into Ilya’s eyes. “But you’re mine too. No matter what happens. We’re in this together. You know that, right?”

It was like Shane was somehow picking up on and answering all those awful, unspoken questions playing on a loop in the back of Ilya’s head in the simplest, most straightforward possible way.

“I know that,” Ilya replied, wishing he really did. He held Shane’s face gently, running his thumb over the freckles on the other omega’s cheek. “And I am scared sometimes, too.”

Shane’s eyes closed, his plump lips parting as he leaned in, pressing his whole length against Ilya’s, and Ilya could not resist his gravitational pull. 

Ilya kissed Shane, letting the other omega’s warm inviting mouth draw his tongue in. Shane tasted like chocolate and cheap protein and lingering morning breath and Ilya couldn’t get enough of him. The other omega’s strong, powerful body was so deliciously responsive against him, every muscle taut and humming with urgent desire, his thick, weighty cock waking up as it slid against Ilya’s thigh. 

“I want very much to make you mine again right now,” Ilya said, twisting his hips to put some safe distance between their swiftly stiffening cocks. “But we must put bedding away and outside time is very soon.”

Shane made a soft little whine of wordless protest.

“I promise you that I will give you everything you need after church time, ok?” Ilya said. “Will be even better than cookies.”

“Ok,” Shane said.

“But listen,” Ilya continued, a firm hand on Shane’s shoulder. “Once we leave here, we will not be brought back to cell until after church time. This means no privacy between now and hygiene time. Do you understand what I am saying?” He took Shane’s chin in between his thumb and forefinger. “I love how much you want me, Shane, but you must not get hard in showers. Do you hear me? Not in front of guards. Is not safe.”

“Right, no,” Shane said. “Of course.”

“So we will take showers far apart,” Ilya said. “Dress far apart. Keep eyes down. Tell me.”

Shane nodded.

“Shower far apart,” he repeated. “Dress far apart. Keep my eyes down. Got it.”

“So help put away mats and blankets now,” Ilya said. “And shit quickly if you need to. Outside guard will be here soon.”

“Ok,” Shane said.

***

Ilya and Shane stood outside in the yard. It was as long as a standard professional ice rink, but a little bit wider, maybe around 61 by 28 meters. It was bordered by the cement block walls of the L shaped building on two sides and chain link on the other two, woven through with diagonal black strips of plastic to obscure the view from the ground. Above their heads was a tightly stretched cover of reflective mesh netting to prevent drone cameras from capturing any glimpse of the omegas below, incidentally also preventing them from getting anything that felt like real sunshine. At the far end, in the center of the shorter of the two chain link borders, was the guard tower. Between the scrawny metal legs of the tower, a heavily locked and chained gate that had never been opened in the four years that Ilya had been here. The Alpha guard was leaning on the rails of the catwalk around the top of the tower, smoking a cigarette with his rifle slung over one shoulder. Ilya hadn’t had a cigarette in nearly a year, but he still craved them with his whole body every time he saw one.

Ilya had never really looked at the yard that closely before, but he could see the calculations running non-stop in Shane’s eyes as he sized up every dimension, every angle. Memorizing, scoping out the smallest detail, scanning for exploitable weakness.

Ilya stomped his feet and blew into his cold hands. There was no pretty white holiday snow here, just a smattering of chunky grey slush around the edges. The thin winter light did nothing to warm them.

All of the low-value male omegas were wearing the bulky olive green rubber boots reserved for outside time in winter, but without socks, causing their icy cold feet to squeak when they milled aimlessly around the featureless yard. Their quilted, water resistant, hip-length gray jackets had no pockets and smelled like they’d been bought in bulk after they became too ragged and stained for their original use on the refrigerated floor of a meat packing plant. But at least they were warm.

“I was going to suggest that we run a few laps while we’re out here,” Shane said. “You know, keep warm and get in some light cardio while we check out the perimeter. But these boots are the absolute worst. I’m pretty sure I’m getting blisters just standing here.”

That’s when Ilya noticed that the young omega with the scarred wrists wasn’t outside with them. Another one gone, without explanation. He didn’t mention it to Shane, didn’t want to think about the possibility of Shane being gone some day too.

“Tell you what,” Shane was saying. “Let’s just walk.” He took a few steps and motioned for Ilya to follow. “Come on. We can make a slow circle and you can tell me everything you know about this yard, ok?”

“Ok, but I cannot promise everything I know is true,” Ilya said. “I only know what I hear from guards and others who are here for more time than me.”

“Fine, sure,” Shane said, picking up the pace a little. “I’ll take whatever I can get.”

“There are three buildings here,” Ilya said. “One for men, one for women, one for Dr. Sturgeon.”

They followed along the chainlink side, down towards the guard tower.

“They keep bad teens here after World War Two,” Ilya said. “Before that, bad crazy people.”

“Like an insane asylum?”

“I think so, yes,” Ilya said. “Asylum was burned in fire long time ago. Only parts left of the original that are still here is our discount bin cells and Dr. Sturgeon’s medical building.”

Ilya pointed over the chainlink, past their building and over to the only edifice of the facility that had any sort of character at all. Dark brick with narrow arched windows, a sharply pointed roofline and the bare bones of dormant ivy clinging to its grim facade. The other two newer buildings were like ugly sisters, metal and cement block rectangles with steel mesh over most of the windows. Dull, forgettable, and seemingly impossible to escape from.

“Well, that medical building looks like it might be a little bit weaker, securitywise,” Shane said. “But I don’t exactly want to go back there to find out.”

“Dr Sturgeon does not need bars on windows,” Ilya said. “He uses drugs instead, like bars on your mind. Except in the maternity ward. That is in medical building basement, very secure.”

“Well,” Shane said as they passed the guard tower, trying not to obviously stare at the padlocked gate below but clearly memorizing everything about it. “We’re gonna get the fuck out of here before either one of us has to find out what that basement is like, I promise.”

Ilya wanted to tell Shane that he was already intimately familiar with that basement, but he didn’t. Couldn’t.

“What’s on the other side of the chainlink here?” Shane asked, lowering his voice. “And on that other side, over there?”

“What is word for little street without name,” Ilya replied. “Like between buildings?” 

“An alley?” Shane reached down and yanked at the back of his left boot to relieve the relentless chafing as they made the turn to head back towards the door they came out through.

“I think so, yes,” Ilya said. His feet were hurting too now, but he didn’t mention it. “And there is outside yard for low value female omegas.”

“Like your friend Svetlana?” A flicker of angry kitten face traveled across Shane’s wind-chafed features. He remembered Sveta’s name and pronounced it perfectly, because had apparently been thinking about it a lot and was clearly still very jealous of her.

Ilya wanted to kiss him, but knew better.

“Yes,” Ilya said with a smirk. “My friend.” He pointed to a ripple in the fence, close to where the chainlink met the wall of their building. “We used to talk there, where the the fence is bent a little bit. She is gone now, but I still sit there by myself sometimes. I mean, I used to, before…”

He looked around quickly to see if anyone was paying attention to them and then let his pinky brush against Shane’s, just for a fleeting second. Just to have the smallest fragment of the connection he craved to drive away that reminder of that cold, endless loneliness. 

“Lockdown,” A loud male voice called out, echoing across the narrow yard. "NOW!"

Fucking Kenner. What the hell was he doing out here? He never managed outside time and didn’t even call them sluts or whores or anything.

Kenner and an armed beta guard Ilya didn’t know had burst out through the door to their building and were rounding everybody up to hustle them back inside like some kind of reverse fire drill. The guard in the tower had gone around to the other side of the catwalk, facing away from the yard and towards some kind of noisy commotion on the left that Ilya couldn’t see from his own low vantage point.

“What’s happening,” Shane asked, speaking low out of the corner of his mouth.

“No idea,” Ilya said. “Is first time like this.”

“This is private property ma’am,” the guard in the tower was saying. “I’m gonna have to ask you and your friends to turn off your cameras and leave.”

“Where is Shane Hollander?” a powerfully projected, vaguely familiar-sounding female voice called out. “The people have a right to know!”

“Where is Shane Hollander?” a chorus of other voices echoed. “Where is Shane Hollander?” 

Shane’s head snapped around and Ilya’s quickly followed. It was almost impossible to see through the woven plastic strips obscuring the view between the chain links, but he thought he caught a quick glimpse of honey blonde hair and multiple camera lights on the other side of the door at the base of the tower.

“Holy shit,” Shane said, as they were being shoved through the door and back into the building. “That’s Rose Landry!”

***

“Are we not gonna get showers?” Shane asked as the omegas were being stripped of their jackets and boots and marched down the hall in the direction of the stairs.

“I don’t know what is happening,” Ilya said. “Who is Rose Landry?” 

“She’s a famous actress,” Shane said. “We went to school together. She’s Canadian, but moved to the US when she started landing bigger parts.” He leaned in closer to Ilya. “We dated casually for about two months back before either one of us presented.”

“Mmmm,” Ilya said. “Casually.”

“I kinda already knew I wasn’t really into girls,” Shane continued as the line of omegas turned the corner and headed down the stairs. “But she was so funny and smart and we got along really well, so I thought maybe I could… change. Be normal. Then she presented Alpha and I … well, you know. My parents were so excited, thinking we were going to be this perfect normal couple just like them. Obviously that didn’t happen.”

“You fucked?” Ilya asked, keeping his face forward. “You and this Rose Landry?”

“No,” Shane shook his head. “I mean we fooled around a little before, but once she presented… that unmated Alpha scent… I just couldn’t.”

Ilya hummed, non-committal and trying to act like it was nothing.

“And this girlfriend you did not fuck has come to save you now because, why?” He sniffed, rubbed his cold nose. “Because you got along really well?”

“Oh my God,” Shane said with his sweet little smile. “You’re jealous too!”

“I am not,” Ilya said, meaning exactly the opposite and so much more.

Because, yes, he felt jealous of anyone touching his boy, but also because Shane seemed to have so many people willing to go to war for him. Good people, even famous people. What did he need Ilya for anyway?

“Ilya,” Shane whispered. Ilya could feel the other omega’s warm breath against his ear, a tiny thread of Shane’s musky secret scent drifting up from him like cigarette smoke. “I’m yours. Only yours.”

This fucking boy. His boy.

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya replied, pulling away. “You cannot scent like this for me while we are out here.” 

“No talking in the line, sluts,” Kenner said, jamming his baton into Ilya’s ribs. 

At least that bright burst of pain helped Ilya stop himself from getting hard. For now, anyway.

Kenner unlocked their cell and hurried them inside, slamming the door without making a single disgusting comment. Ilya could tell something serious must be happening out there.

Meanwhile, the stress of waiting and not knowing what was going on was starting to get to Shane. 

“Does Rose really know I’m here?” Shane asked, shifting his weight anxiously from his heels to his toes and back again. “Or is she just guessing? Does she have cops with her, or government agents or something?” He started pacing frantically in the tiny space, circling Ilya and making him dizzy. “Is my mom here too, do you think? Maybe they’re here to get me out! Can they do that?”

“I don’t know,” Ilya said, trying to keep a handle on the impending sense of doom spiraling in the pit of his belly.

All Ilya knew for sure was that nothing good ever came from changes in routine in this place. Shane’s anxiety was infectious.

“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane said, stopping abruptly and then pressing his forehead against the wall. "I can’t…”

“What do you need from me right now?” Ilya asked, trying to stay focused on Shane. Help Shane and worry about himself later. Or never.

“I don’t know…” Shane said, body trembling while his hands clenched next to his ears. “I don’t know… I…”

Shane whipped around abruptly to face Ilya, panic stricken.

“I won’t leave without you, Ilya. I can’t… I…fuck…”

“Shane,” Ilya said, taking in a deep breath. “Is ok. Listen…”

“What?” Shane was looking at him with tears brimming in his beautiful, anguished brown eyes, Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to swallow back a half-formed sob. “I’m just supposed to abandon you? Let those piece of shit Alpha guards do whatever they want to you. Let Dr Sturgeon auction you off like a fucking farm animal for some religious weirdos to use for breeding stock. Mm-mm. That’s not happening. No. I won’t leave you here. I can’t.”

“Shane,” Ilya repeated, forcing his voice to stay steady. “You can.”

“How can you even say that?” Shane asked, voice trembling. 

The tears had escaped now, sliding slowly down over Shane’s beautiful freckles and Ilya wanted so badly to kiss them away, to hold on to his boy and never let him go.

But he couldn’t do that to Shane. Ilya knew in his heart that he was not worth the sacrifice.

“Listen to me,” Ilya said. “If you get out first, you and strong Alpha mom and famous Alpha girlfriend can go to war for me, ok? Make your great plans to help me from out there, in Canada, where you are safe. You are so smart, Shane, and I believe in your plans. I do. But you cannot stay here because of me if you have a chance to be free. You must…”

“I love you,” Shane blurted out, swiping tears away on the back of his hand. “There, I fucking said it, ok? I’m in love with you, Ilya, and I get that we haven’t known each other very long, but that’s how I feel. And I’ve been… writing this script in my head, trying to come up with the best way to tell you, but then this happened and I… fuck, this is not how I meant to tell you… it’s not, I just…”

For an endless moment, Ilya’s ability to speak in any language failed him completely. He felt gutshot, like he was bleeding out, vision going dim around the edges. He clenched his fists, squeezing his burning eyes closed to try and hold back his own tears, and turned away. His whole body was shaking now. 

“You cannot love me,” Ilya said.

“You don’t love me back?” Shane’s voice sounded so shattered and raw, it was physically painful to hear. “Ok, well, that’s fine, too. I understand. I mean I kinda thought… maybe… but I get things wrong a lot so…”

Ilya swore in Russian and spun around, gripping Shane by the shoulders and pushing him back against the wall.

He kissed Shane like the first time, rough and hard and messy, crushing every inch of their bodies together and tasting the salt of other omega’s tears mixing with his own. Shane let out a tiny sob into Ilya’s mouth as the other omega went heavy and pliant, melting into Ilya’s arms.

“I do love you back, Shane,” Ilya said. His own tears were running freely down his face, not cute and pretty like Shane’s but full of bitter anguish. “I never love anyone in my life like I love you. I do not have enough words for all the love I have inside, but I do not... I am not…”

He could feel his English crumbling under the weight of all his intense and contradictory emotions and he swore in Russian again, jagged frustration like broken glass in his throat.

“Hey,” Shane said, cradling Ilya’s wet face in both of his big hands. “Hey, it’s ok. Take your time, Ilya. I’m listening.”

“I think…” Ilya said. He swallowed hard, tried again. “I think maybe I am not good.”

Those simple, utterly inadequate words hung in the air between them for a long, aching moment while the shame behind them piled up like a smoking train wreck inside Ilya’s head.

“Do you need me to tell you you’re a good boy?” Shane asked, that sweet little smile shining through his tears.

Ilya let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh.

“Fuck,” he said, his laughter stretching the little word into multiple syllables. “I don’t know, maybe?”

“I could talk about blowjobs to change the subject,” Shane said. “How about that?”

“You are stealing my trick now?” Ilya sniffed and swiped at his dripping nose. 

“Or I could steal your other trick,” Shane said. “I could give you a blowjob and make you forget whatever bullshit you were about to tell me about how you aren’t good enough for my love. Because you are, you know.”

“I cannot say no to blowjob from you, but… is not bullshit, Shane, and… fuck. English is too hard right now.”

“Ok hold on,” Shane said, grabbing one of their mats and unrolling it, sitting down crosslegged and patting the space next to him. “Sit with me for a little while ok?”

“Ok.” Ilya sat.

For a long string of minutes, they just sat together, almost touching but not.

“I have an idea,” Shane said eventually.

“What idea?”

“Why don’t you tell me everything you’re feeling right now, but in Russian?” Shane suggested. “I won’t understand, but maybe it will help?” 

“Ok,” Ilya said, nodding.

He drew in another deep breath, steeling himself. He could not look at Shane’s eyes, so he took Shane’s hand in both of his and focused on it while he spoke

“I am so terribly afraid,” Ilya continued in Russian. “I am scared of losing you, like I lose everything, always. I want to trust you, to share myself with you completely, but I am afraid that my darkness will poison you, that I will drag you down with me and drown you and destroy your beautiful light.

“I want so badly to be the man that I see reflected in your eyes. I want to deserve your pure, honest love. I want to believe you when you say that I am good and beautiful. I want to be free with you, to walk together with you in the sunshine, out there in the world, and feel like you are proud to be with me. I want all that and more, but I have been taught all my life that I can never have what I want.

“But I still want it with my whole heart, so desperately. I still want you, Shane. I love you so much that I could die from it and I don’t know what to do about that.”

Ilya looked at Shane’s face and saw that the other omega’s eyes were closed, dark brows furrowed and listening intently. When he realized Ilya was no longer speaking, he opened his eyes and turned to meet Ilya’s gaze

“Feel better?” Shane asked.

“Yes,” Ilya said. “Thank you.”

Shane squeezed Ilya’s fingers.

“Do you want to hear the little script I was going to use to tell you that I love you?” Shane asked. “It was pretty good, I thought, and I hate to let it go to waste.”

“Of course,” Ilya said. “I want to hear your love script.”

“Ok,” Shane said, squaring his big shoulders and focusing his gaze on the opposite wall. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about you and me, and what you said last night about trying to be broken together. And I really want that, to be together even though neither one of us is perfect. I don’t have a lot of experience with relationships, but I want to try with you because I love you.” He turned back to Ilya. “I’m so in love with you, Ilya, and I think we should be boyfriends, if that’s something you would want too.”

“Boyfriends?” Ilya felt like he must have misunderstood. “With me?”

“If you want to,” Shane replied.

“I have never been a boyfriend,” Ilya said, stinging tears back again despite his best effort to hold them in. “Only property, to rent, own or steal. But I think… I want to be boyfriend for you, Shane, if you really want me.”

“I do want you,” Shane said. “I love you so fucking much, Ilya.” 

“Yes, I love you, too,” Ilya said. “So fucking much.”

Ilya kissed Shane again, softer and slower this time, and then pressed his face against the other omega’s throat, feeling Shane’s already hard cock pulsing and straining against Ilya’s hip where it slotted so perfectly next to his own.

“I really want to give you that blowjob now,” Shane said. “If that’s ok.” 

“That is very ok,” Ilya replied.

“I need to be good for you, Ilya,” Shane said. “Please let me take care of you.”

Shane pushed Ilya’s shoulders down on the mat and roughly shoved his t-shirt up, pressing kisses across Ilya’s chest and then pressing a tentative one to his right nipple.

Ilya closed his eyes and let his head drop back, gripping Shane’s hair and unable to hold back a groan of pleasure. Encouraged, Shane flicked his tongue over the stiffening bud and then sucked it in between his teeth.

“Mmmm, fuck, feels so good,” Ilya said, cock fully hard now too and hips grinding against Shane’s firm abs. “Yes, suck like that.”

Shane sucked harder while rolling the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger, then switched and took the left one into his mouth. Ilya felt like he was going to levitate right off the mat, hot shocks of delicious sensation sizzling between his nipples and his cock.

When Shane took his mouth away, Ilya felt a little disappointed sound burbling up the back of his throat but it was quickly overtaken by a hum of expectation as Shane started moving that mouth down over his belly and along the wing of his hip bone until he was kneeling between Ilya’s legs.

Shane gripped the waistband of Ilya’s pants and Ilya lifted his hips while the other omega tugged them down, allowing his eager cock to spring free.

For a long moment, Shane just stared at Ilya’s cock, fascinated, like he was trying to memorize everything about it. Like there would be a test later and he was determined to get the highest possible score. He gripped it firmly in his strong hand, sliding Ilya’s foreskin forward and then back, exposing the sensitive head and taking it into his soft, wet mouth. Ilya let out a deep groan and let his hand drop to the back of Shane’s head as a flush of heat thrummed through his length. 

Ilya ran his fingers through Shane’s hair and the other omega looked up at him with hazy, hungry eyes and flattened his tongue to slide deeper down Ilya’s shaft without breaking eye contact.

“You are so fucking beautiful like this,” Ilya said, breath hitching over a shaky inhaled gasp  “Such a good boy for me.”

Shane moaned around Ilya’s cock and then closed his eyes and started to move his hand and mouth together, testing how much pressure to use with each, exploring with his tongue and mixing up his grip. Shane was clearly not very experienced, but Ilya had never in his life felt such intense attention being paid to his every breath, every sound, every shudder or twitch. It was the first time Ilya felt like his body really mattered. Like he mattered. Like he was worth understanding. Like he was a person worthy of receiving pleasure, not just a cumdumpster, an object to be used to fulfill someone else’s needs.

Like he was loved.

Every time Shane found a combination that made Ilya moan louder, he doubled down on it until Ilya’s thighs were shaking, driving him closer and closer to the edge. 

Shane wrapped his hands around Ilya’s ass and slid his mouth down Ilya’s shaft, taking in as much as he could. When the head of Ilya’s cock breached the opening of Shane’s throat, the other omega gagged but didn’t pull away. The way his throat clenched hard around the tip of Ilya’s cock made Ilya let out an involuntary sound that was halfway between a gasp and a growl.

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya breathed as the other omega coughed and sputtered around him, plunging deeper before pulling back and off.

Ilya’s cock popped out from between Shane’s slippery, swollen lips.

“I’m sorry,” Shane said. “I guess I’m not very good at this yet, but I really want to make you feel good. I need you to teach me what you like and show me how to do it. I want to learn. I need to be good for you, Ilya.”

“My beautiful boy,” Ilya said. “Knowing how much you want to please me makes me feel good.” He traced the spit-slick angle of Shane’s stubbled chin with his thumb. “Seeing you looking so pretty with my cock in your mouth, seeing how good you are for me, seeing the way you look up at me like I am everything. You make me feel good, Shane.”

“It’s all I want,” Shane whispered.

“Give me your hand,” Ilya said.

Shane put his right hand in Ilya’s outstretched left.

“Good boy,” Ilya said, bringing Shane’s hand up to his lips, kissing each of the four stiff oval callouses along the top of his palm from years of gripping hockey sticks and weight bars. “I love your hands.”

Then he took the other omega’s index and middle fingers deep into his mouth.

Shane’s eyes went wide and dark, nearly all pupil now with just the thinnest ring of brown. His cock twitched against Ilya’s thigh.

Ilya drew Shane’s fingers slowly out of his mouth, maintaining eye contact the whole time.

“Ever since the first time I saw these long, thick fingers,” Ilya said. “I wanted them inside me.”

He pulled Shane’s hand down between his legs, guiding his fingers down below his tight, aching balls, letting his thighs fall wider apart and bending his knees.

“Oh,” Shane said, letting his fingers slide between the slick-drenched cheeks of Ilya’s ass. “Oh, fuck. You’re so wet.”

“Make me feel good, Shane,” Ilya said. “You know what I like already, because we are same. Give me what you like.”

Shane nodded and used those two wet fingers to circle and tease the rim of Ilya’s hole. He slid the tip of his middle finger in first, and when that found no resistance, he pushed forward until it was buried to the third knuckle, eyes constantly looking back up at Ilya’s face, checking in before his gaze was pulled back down to watch, mesmerized, as his slick-glazed finger slid in and out. It felt good, but it was not enough.

“More,” Ilya breathed.

Shane added another, and Ilya could feel the broad tips of his fingers questing and probing, sliding over Ilya’s sensitive prostate, searching with intense focus like he was trying to crack a safe, until…

When Shane found Ilya’s o-spot, Ilya let out a barely coherent string of Russian curses and delirious declarations of eternal love as well as a helpless and extravagant gush of slick, dripping down Shane’s thick wrist and soaking the mat beneath them. Pulses of ferocious, soul-deep pleasure rolled through Ilya like thunder, multiplying and echoing through every cell in his body, coiling tight inside his lower belly and down into his aching balls. 

“Yes, yes, fuck!” Ilya cried, hips pumping and grinding against Shane’s broad palm. “So good. So good. Please, touch my cock. Please, I need… fuck…”

“You smell amazing,” Shane breathed, gripping Ilya’s steely, aching cock just below the deeply flushed and dripping head. “Fuck Ilya, your scent. I love it so much. I love you.”

“I am close, Shane,” Ilya gritted out. “Fuck, so close.”

To his surprise, rather than pushing in deeper, Shane suddenly let go of Ilya’s cock and pulled his fingers out, leaving Ilya feeling hollow and empty, cock pulsing against nothing. Ilya made a needy little sound that he definitely didn’t mean to let slip while he struggled to keep his hips from thrusting uncontrollably upward, chasing Shane’s fingers.

“Fuck, you are edging me now?” Ilya said with a disbelieving smirk. “I take back what I said about you being a good boy.” 

“I think…” Shane was not laughing. He was looking at Ilya with such raw and undisguised desire in his eyes that it made Ilya feel seconds away from an involuntary handsfree orgasm. “I want to do… what you said yesterday.”

“What?” Ilya asked, barely able to think clearly enough to form a response, let alone remember something that happened that long ago.

“I mean,” Shane said. “I want to do it… the other way around.”

Ilya’s eyes went wide, his neglected cock jumping and leaking against his belly.

“You want to fuck me, Shane?”

Shane swallowed, nodded.

“Can I?” Shane asked. “Do you want that?”

“Did you not feel how wet I am for you?” Ilya replied. “That is my answer.”

“Holy shit,” Shane said. “Ok.”

Ilya started to turn over and present his ass, but Shane stopped him.

“Wait no,” Shane said. “Not like that. Come here.”

Shane pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it away, then guided Ilya up and kissed him, sat up, shifted around and pulled Ilya into his lap.

“I still want you to be… in control,” Shane said, looking up at Ilya like he was the only man in the entire world. “And I need you to talk to me and kiss me while we do it, ok?”

“Fuck, yes, ok,” Ilya said, peeling off his own shirt while moving his hips so that Shane’s cock slid back and forth between the cheeks of his ass. “I am very ready for you now, Shane.”

“I’m ready too,” Shane said. “Please, take what you need. Use my cock, Ilya. It’s yours, just like I’m yours.”

This fucking boy. So perfect for him in every way. The way he intuitively offered his unconditional submission when Ilya needed it most, giving him the gift of consensual control when he had been feeling weak and unworthy. Ilya was so infatuated, so utterly gone, he wasn’t sure he would be able to survive what was about to happen. But he was also sure that he couldn’t live without it.

Ilya gripped Shane’s cock and lined up the fat, blunt head with his slick-wet hole. 

“So hard for me,” Ilya whispered. “So eager.”

“Yes,” Shane breathed. “Yes, please.”

Ilya slid slowly down, thighs tense and trembling as he took in just the head and paused, breathing deeply and trying to hold back his desperate hunger to have all of Shane inside him right fucking now.

Shane let out a wrecked and breathless groan and Ilya could feel the blood pumping through the length of Shane’s cock.

“You need more?” Ilya asked. “Tell me.”

“Yes please,” Shane replied. “Please, I need to be all the way inside you.”

Ilya had been planning to take it slow, but he couldn’t wait. He needed Shane to be all the way inside him too. He let himself slide down the length of Shane’s cock, feeling the burn and stretch as his body opened itself up to welcome that wide, unyielding girth. So thick, making Ilya feel deliciously full as he took Shane in deeper, all the way down to the base.

“Oh my God,” Shane gasped. “That feels… amazing. Fuck… I feel you, Ilya. I feel… so close to you.”

“You are being so good for me, beautiful boy,” Ilya said, spanning Shane’s hips with his hands and gripping him tight. “Giving me everything. Filling me up like this.”

Ilya leaned down to take control of Shane’s panting mouth, kissing him deeply as he pulled up and almost completely off Shane’s cock and then sank back down again.

Shane groaned into Ilya’s mouth, kissing him back but then quickly losing track of what he was supposed to be doing with his tongue when Ilya started riding him hard, flexing and grinding his hips on every thrust. Taking what he needed, what Shane was so freely giving.

“Your cock feels so good inside me,” Ilya was saying, sliding his hands up and across Shane’s back and pulling him closer, pressing his lips to Shane’s throat. “You are being so good, so perfect. You are mine, Shane, always.”

“I’m yours,” Shane panted. “Yours. Yes. Yes.”  

Shane was scenting so sweetly now, and it made Ilya feel like he was falling. Before he fully realized what he was doing, he was sliding his parted lips over Shane’s mating gland, flicking his tongue across the smooth ovoid shape beneath his skin and then sucking it gently between his teeth.

And, oh, there was Shane’s full, unfettered scent now, finally flowing freely over Ilya’s tongue and filling his senses with sweet, honeyed musk and syrupy malt and hot, masculine sweat and there, deep in the secret heart of it all, something new. Something juicy and lush like crushed red fruits and cream, paired with a deep savory richness that was exquisitely and flagrantly sexual.

Ilya stilled his hips with Shane buried deep inside him and sucked harder, pulling blood up under the other omega’s soft skin, intensely focused on the feel of Shane’s gland between his teeth. Shane was scenting his now, Ilya’s own familiar caraway and smoky tea notes blending in with Shane’s and refracting back to him and it smelled so right that Ilya could hardly stand it.

“Oh my God, Ilya,” Shane whispered, scenting even stronger now as his cock throbbed like a second heartbeat inside of Ilya. “That feels so fucking good. Fuck, feels like I’m gonna cum just from this.”

This was madness. Ilya knew he wasn’t an Alpha, that his fangs were small and blunt, totally inadequate. He had no right to claim Shane like this, but fuck, he wanted to, so badly. To bite. To make Shane his mate. Even more than that, he wanted Shane to bite him. 

He needed it, needed Shane’s bite and his scent and his love to overwrite every other cruel and undeserving person who had ever claimed Ilya without his consent.

And Shane, his beautiful, perfect boy, had specifically asked for this. He had asked to touch Ilya there. Shane wanted his scent, wanted him. Because Shane loved him. 

He pulled his mouth off Shane’s neck for a moment and the other omega whimpered breathlessly at the loss. Ilya looked down into Shane’s love-drunk and lust-blown eyes for a moment, then tilted his own neck to present his throat to the other omega.

“I need it, Shane,” Ilya said, his voice needy and wrecked. “Your bite. Please, I love you so much. I need…”  

For a few heartbeats, Shane didn’t reply. He just stayed perfectly still, panting against Ilya, his thick cock still pulsing inside Ilya’s ass.

He doesn’t want to, whispered the voice in Ilya’s head. You are disgusting.

Shane surged forward then and made that awful voice a liar, wrapping his big hand around the back of Ilya’s neck and his hungry lips around Ilya’s gland. He suckled at it for a few breathless seconds, then bit down, deep and hard.

Ilya’s vision whited out completely as bright sparking arcs of sharp, almost unbearable pleasure and hot, luscious pain surged through him. Somehow his own lips and teeth found Shane’s gland again and it was as if a fierce, primal circuit had closed between them, linking them together in an unbreakable infinity loop so pure and true that it was as if it had always been there. 

Shane was cumming inside Ilya then, fucking up into him with short, stuttering thrusts and filling him with release after hot, endless release. He was working Ilya’s cock relentlessly in his calloused fist when suddenly, the tough scar on Ilya’s damaged gland finally surrendered to Shane’s teeth. Ilya could feel something rupture deep inside the heart of the gland, releasing a dizzying rush of intoxicating hormones into his bloodstream and a decade of trapped and built up scent into the air around them. 

Ilya came hard and deep, grinding his o-spot against the head of Shane’s cock with tears on his face and a wild, primitive cry wrenched up from a place inside of him that he had thought was long dead. 

Once the powerful aftershocks finally quieted, Ilya finally let Shane’s sweet, throbbing gland slip from between his teeth and nuzzled into the crook of the other omega’s throat.

“I love you,” he said in Russian. “I love you.” He switched back to English to say. “Fuck, Shane, I love you.” 

“I love you so much, Ilya,” Shane replied, wrapping his arms around Ilya and licking tenderly at the blood oozing from Ilya’s scarred and broken skin. “So much.”

Ilya knew that they should get up, that he should let Shane slip out of him and maybe clean them both up a bit, but he couldn’t make himself do it. It felt too good to be held in his boy’s strong arms like this, feeling Shane going slowly soft inside him with their deep, fresh bond still thrumming between them.

“Your scent is incredible,” Shane said, breathing deep against Ilya’s skin. “I’ve never smelled anyone like you, but it’s like I recognized it right away somehow. Is that crazy?”

“Mmm, no,” Ilya said. “My body knows you too, Shane. I do not care how or why.”

“Are we mates now?” Shane asked, gazing up into Ilya’s eyes, still looking a little hazy, fucked-out and sweetly submissive.

“I feel we are, yes,” Ilya said.

“I kinda felt like we already were, but this is a nice bonus,” Shane replied. “I still want to be boyfriends, though. Boyfriends choose each other. I feel like the whole idea of bonded mates is for knothead Alphas who just want to mark their territory.”

Ilya smiled fondly, brushing his knuckles across the freckles on Shane’s hot pink cheek. Only his brillant, beautiful boy would want to have a detailed conversation about relationship terms right after fucking and claiming Ilya and making him cum so hard that he finally understood the point of church.

“Alphas do like to own everything,” Ilya agreed. “But they do not own the idea of mates. Feeling of mates. Maybe we can be both, boyfriends and mates?”

“Ok,” Shane said, tucking in close and resting his head against Ilya’s shoulder. “I don’t care what you call it as long as you choose me.”

“I will choose you every day if you let me, Shane,” Ilya replied. “But please choose me back, even if I am maybe not best choice.” 

“You are,” Shane said. “And I will. Every day.”

Shane’s wet, soft cock was very close to slipping out now, but Ilya wanted to hold on to this moment just a little bit longer. He just stayed still and held Shane, listening to his breath and feeling his steady heartbeat.

“Does it hurt?” Shane asked, tracing the hot, swollen bulge of Ilya’s bleeding gland.

“Not anymore,” Ilya said.

Because for him, all the hurt and violation and shame and history that he’d been carrying around underneath those crooked scars for so many years had been lanced and drained away, replaced with a freely chosen bond. A bond with the only person who ever mattered. His boy, Shane. 

And he wanted to spend the rest of his life proving to Shane that he had made the right choice.

That’s when they heard the key in the cell door lock.

“Shit,” Shane said, pulling out and scrambling to his feet, yanking up his pants.

Ilya did the same and the two of them took their usual positions against the wall, knowing there wouldn’t be enough time to put on shirts.

It was Kenner, but he wasn’t alone this time. He had two medical aides with him. One was the man with the pot belly who brought Shane in the wheelchair that first night. The other guy was a big blond Alpha that Ilya remembered from the maternity ward and wished he didn’t.

“Let’s go, Hollander,” Kenner said. “The doctor will see you now.”

“What, no…” Shane was saying. “Ilya?”

Kenner grabbed Shane by the back of his neck and suddenly the tiny cell was filled with a shrieking car alarm of a scent, acrid and almost unbearable, like ammonia and burning hair. Shane’s distress scent. Ilya’s mate’s distress scent.

Ilya had launched himself at Kenner instinctively before he even realized what he was doing. It was crazy, irrational, suicidal even, but Ilya’s mate was in pain and scared and Ilya needed to hurt whoever was causing that fear. He needed to kill that person.

Ilya bit deeply into Kenner’s hairy forearm, causing him to bellow and let go of Shane. 

Seeing red now, unable to focus on anything but Shane’s distress, Ilya started swinging wildly, pummeling Kenner’s doughy midsection with a flurry of punches, driving the heel of his hand up hard into the Alpha’s bearded throat and throwing vicious knees into the Alpha’s thighs and crotch. 

“You gotta be fucking kidding me!” Kenner said, shoving Ilya so hard that he tumbled backward to the floor. Kenner shook out the arm Ilya had bitten, seeming otherwise unphased. “Am I working in a fucking zoo now or what?” 

“Ilya!” Shane cried out, ripping both arms free from the two medical aides and lunging towards Kenner. The other omega threw a quick combo of hard, snapping punches at the big Alpha’s shaggy head and neck. Two were glancing blows but he did land a solid cross that split the big Alpha’s lip and sent him rocking back on his heels.  

“Christ,” Kenner said, shaking his head and flushing nearly magenta with fury. He lunged in low and slugged Shane in the stomach, causing the other omega to double over and stagger back. “Get him outta here, will ya? I’ll deal with this one.”

Before Ilya could scramble back to his feet, Kenner grabbed him by the throat, hauled him up and slammed him back against the wall. Ilya strained to see what was happening to Shane, but Kenner moved to block his view with his massive body. 

Ilya couldn’t get free. Couldn’t get to Shane. Couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t do anything.

“You spent so much time nailing your new celebrity girlfriend that you think you're an Alpha now? Is that it?” Kenner leaned in so close to Ilya’s face that he could smell the big Alpha’s rancid breath, even over the olfactory siren of Shane’s terror and distress. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back later to remind your bitch-ass what you really are.” Kenner squeezed Ilya’s throat harder, until spots of red started to eclipse his vision. “Nothing but a sluttly little omega hole for me to use.”

Kenner let go of Ilya and wiped the blood from Ilya’s freshly bitten gland on the leg of his pants like he had touched something disgusting. Ilya slid down the wall and onto the concrete floor.

Ilya curled into a fetal ball, arms crossed over his face and sinking silently into the cold, familiar ocean of empty darkness while they took his boy away.

***

Chapter Text

Shane was sitting in an unpadded metal chair in a mostly featureless white room, facing a large mirror that he was willing to bet was two way glass. His hands and feet were buckled into the same kind of heavy leather restraints he’d been in that first night, hands linked behind his back and ankles locked to the legs of the chair. The chair was bolted to the white-washed concrete floor and there was a large rusty drain between his feet.

Whatever drug they had given him this time, it was definitely something different than the night of his abduction. There had been no dizzy tumble into blackness, just an abrupt jump cut from fighting the two burly Alphas from the medical building with every ounce of his strength, desperate to return to his anguished mate, to being here in this bare, blank room alone. He didn’t even remember the needle, though he could feel a painful, lingering heat in his right delt where it must have gone in.

Shane yanked and twisted at the restraints, panic sharpening its claws inside his chest. He had to get out of here, to get back to Ilya. 

Ilya, The One. His mate. 

He couldn’t get the scent of Ilya’s fear and pain out of his nostrils, like the toxic smoke from a chemical fire, choking him and amping up his heart rate and his tortured breathing to the point where he was sure he was going to stroke out any minute now. He let out a furious, frustrated shriek through his clenched teeth, eyes stinging with angry tears.

Nothing he did had any effect, other than making his joints sizzle and pop with sharp, shooting pain and the skin under the restraints chafe and burn. He couldn’t get free, he couldn’t do anything to help Ilya and nothing was happening here. Nothing.

Time passed and his acute anxiety eventually bled away into misery and dread.

Shane thought that their cell had been cold, but it was so cold here that his teeth were chattering, his whole body wracked with painful shivers. It felt like he was trapped inside a walk-in freezer, but he hadn’t noticed any condensation in his panicked breath. His bare chest was also slick with clammy sweat, so it couldn’t be that cold. 

Ilya. He needed Ilya.

Shane felt like he would never be warm again until he could hold his mate in his arms and scent him and know that he was safe. He felt like he’d been sliced open without anesthesia, had everything that mattered inside him ripped out and replaced with ice and broken glass and rotten milk. He would have said that he’d die without Ilya before and thought he really meant it, but now it felt like it was literally happening.

For all his talk about boyfriends and choice, it was clear that he and Ilya had also formed a very real, very strong chemical bond and it was making every cell in his body scream for his mate.

Where was Ilya now? Was Kenner with him? Hurting him? Fucking him? 

Shane’s stomach churned, roiling with nausea and searing, anxious acid. His mating gland was swollen and throbbing like a toothache in time with his desperate heart as he twisted his shoulders and yanked at the restraints around his wrists again and again.

Nothing happened. He couldn’t get free. No one came. Nothing.

Shane was convinced that that smiling fucker was just standing there, watching him suffer from behind the mirror.

“Dr. Sturgeon!” Shane shouted. “I know you’re there, fucking say something!”

Silence. More nothing. 

Shane was shivering so hard now that it was making his bones hurt and he really didn’t want to throw up, but he felt like he was going to lose that battle. He also had to piss and that was going to get very unpleasant very soon, one way or another.

Ilya. Where is Ilya?

“FUCK!” Tears were back, and his nose was running too, but he couldn’t wipe it.

Ilya!

Time was starting to get strange, and Shane had no idea if he’d been in this white void for five minutes or five hours. Staring at his own sweaty, panicked reflection for so long was making him feel crazy, like nothing was real, like he wasn’t real, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw Kenner slamming Ilya into the wall by the throat. 

Panic came and went and came again, but the dread lingered. 

He forced himself to focus, to break down every single element of his predicament and turn everything over and over in his head, but he felt so sick and so cold and he kept coming up all zeros. Nothing but time and blank white walls and that taunting rectangle of mirrored glass.

Then, the door behind him opened, and Dr Sturgeon walked into the room. 

“You don’t seem to be feeling very well, sweetie,” he said.

Shane could see the doctor standing behind him, reflected in the mirror. His white coat was clean and bright, just like the teeth in his big, predatory smile.

“Fuck you,” Shane said. “Where’s Ilya?”

“We’ll get to that in a minute,” Dr. Sturgeon said, taking a step closer. “But first, I want to talk about you.”

Shane didn’t bother to respond, just grunted between his teeth and twisted his wrists against the restraints.

“Remember how I told you that you were special?” Dr. Sturgeon continued, that condescending and sleazy tone in his voice like what Mr. Rodgers might sound like if he had been a sex pest. “Well, you are, Shane. Very special. Very high value.”

He circled slowly around Shane, like a curious shark investigating potential prey before going in for a bite.

“You see, we initially decided to keep you down with the low value stock for security reasons,” Dr Sturgeon continued. “Temporarily, until other arrangements could be made to accommodate someone as… special as you. Keep you away from prying eyes, so to speak, especially in light of all this inconvenient international media interest.”

Nausea was surging in Shane’s throat, filling his mouth with saliva and he swallowed desperately against it.

“I see now that was an error in judgement on my part. I certainly would have chosen to house you with a different cellmate, not outsourced your placement to those incompetent idiots running the discount bin. Honestly, the very idea of a genetically superior omega like you being thrown in with that… Russian.”

The way he said Russian with so much contempt and disgust made it sound way worse than any of Kenner’s trashy insults. 

Shane threw up then, sobbing and gagging at the same time. He did his best to lean as far forward as he could to avoid getting too much on himself, but didn’t entirely succeed. Dr. Sturgeon stepped gracefully back from the ensuing puddle around the drain, perfectly shined shoes remaining immaculate like his sharp, white teeth.

“See now you must know that you have brought this on yourself, Shane,” Dr. Sturgeon said, shaking his head and tutting softly like a disappointed teacher. “With your own irresponsible and ungodly choices. The reason why you feel so sick right now is because you have indulged in an unnatural, biologically incompatible and biblically incorrect pseudo-bond.”

Dr. Sturgeon strolled casually over to the left of the chair and reached out with questing fingers to tip Shane’s chin up, frowning disapprovingly at his bruised and swollen mating gland. Shane flinched away, as far as he could stretch and spat at the leering Alpha, the taste of cheap chocolate and stomach acid lingering in his mouth.

Dr. Sturgeon took off his glasses, wiping Shane’s saliva away on a corner of his white coat

“I’d be happy to give you a little something to lessen the severity of your current symptoms, sweetie,” Dr. Sturgeon, putting his clean glasses back on. “But the only real cure for your sinful indulgence is a true mating bond, with an Alpha, like God intended.”

“Go fuck yourself, Sturgeon,” Shane hissed. “If you touch me again I’ll fucking kill you, you hear me?”

“Well, that is one option,” Dr Sturgeon replied, nodding like he was giving serious consideration to Shane’s offer. “But I believe, if we put our thinking caps on, we might be able to come to a more reasonable and… mutually beneficial agreement.”

The mirror lit up from behind, turning it transparent and revealing the burly blond Alpha standing on the other side.

“I’m sure you’d like to get cleaned up and use the washroom,” Dr Sturgeon said, leaning in close to Shane and lowering his voice. “I’d like that, too.” He straightened up and gestured at the other Alpha behind the glass. “But first, I’d like to share a little visual entertainment with you.”

The blond Alpha pushed a monitor on a little rolling cart over to face the glass and started typing on a chunky beige keyboard.

An image came up on the monitor. It was live feed of the inside of a pitch black, closet sized cell. The night vision camera was mounted in the center of the ceiling, pointing down at a huddled, naked figure hugging his knees to his chest and shuddering violently.

A small green label in the lower right corner of the screen read: ROZANOV.

“Ilya!” Shane lunged as far forward as the restraints would allow. “What are you doing to him, you fucking monster?”

“Oh, nothing yet, sweetie,” Dr Sturgeon said. “Just giving him a little time out to help him calm down after your… shenanigans.”

“Yet?” Shane frowned, unable to look away from the pale, ghostly night vision image of Ilya alone in the dark.

His mate was rocking back and forth now, shaking his head and reaching up to grip a fistful of his own sweat-damp curls in his trembling hand. Shane felt like he was going to puke again, like he would die if he couldn’t get to Ilya NOW.

“Well, you see,” Dr Sturgeon said. “Your… friend Rozanov has been a problem here for some time. Difficult, disrespectful. Acting out sexually. Other… behavioral issues.” He paused, looking from the screen to Shane and back again. “Measures are being considered.”

“Measures?” Shane looked back up at Dr Sturgeon. “What kind of measures?”

“You seem like a very smart boy, Shane,” Dr Sturgeon replied.

“I’m not your fucking boy!” Shane spat, hating that he couldn’t stop the furious tears flowing down his hot face as his eyes were drawn helplessly back to the image of his devastated, sobbing mate.

Dr. Sturgeon’s ghoulish grin widened.

“What I’m trying to tell you,” he continued, as if Shane hadn’t spoken. “Is that the external genitalia of male omegas is not necessary for reproduction. Do you understand?”

Shane didn’t say anything, but the horror in his eyes must have given him away.

“Come now, don’t look so shocked, sweetie,” Dr Sturgeon said. “This is common scientific knowledge available to anyone who can read a book. Which you clearly can.” He patted Shane on the shoulder like a kindergarten teacher encouraging a reluctant student to try harder. “You see, I find that oftentimes, in a case like Rozanov’s, it’s really the most practical option to curb sexually inappropriate behavior.”

Shane was unable to hold in a rush of hot, strangled sobs as he wrenched his hands against the leather cuffs and wrenched them again and he still couldn’t get free. 

Ilya was in unspeakable danger. Ilya needed him, and Shane couldn’t get free.

He couldn’t get free.

“However,” Dr. Sturgeon continued, ignoring Shane’s tortured outburst. “I am willing to discuss other options.”

“What…” Shane swallowed around the awful taste in his mouth, struggling to catch his breath. “What other options?”

“Well,” Dr Sturgeon said, pushing Shane’s sweat damp hair back off his forehead. “I think that you would be much better off in a home environment where you can get the kind of one-on-one attention that a special omega like you needs.”

Shane flinched from the doctor’s touch, eyes back on the screen.

Ilya had both hands up over his head now, forehead pressed to his bruised knees. Shane’s whole body was screaming for his mate, to hold him and scent him. To save him.

“You would be out of the public eye,” Dr Sturgeon continued. “Away from this media firestorm and able to bond with a real Alpha mate in the manner for which you were created. And then…” he gestured at the screen. “Once you were no longer available to distract Rozanov from his God-given duty to provide healthy pups for New American families, he would be less of a problem in this facility and no surgical intervention would be required. A win-win situation for all involved.”

Shane doubled over, dry-heaving helplessly, a long stringer of spit hanging from his lower lip. His face was a mess of snot and tears and there was nothing he could do about it. His puke had mostly oozed away down the drain in the floor, but the stench lingered.

“I’ll tell you what, sweetie,” Dr Sturgeon said, backing slowly away. “Why don’t you take a little time to think about it. I’ll keep that feed running for you so that you’ll have something to watch while you’re… thinking.”

He walked over to the door and then paused with his hand on the knob. 

“You just let me know when you’ve reached your decision,” he said, that awful smile back now, all razor blades and poison sugar. “I trust you’ll do the right thing, Shane.”

***

Shane knew he had no other choice.

On the monitor, Ilya had also been puking for an unbearable stretch of brutally slow time, but now he was just lying on the floor of the tiny cell, curled up in his own filth and unmoving. No signs of life.

Shane couldn’t get to Ilya, couldn't be with him, but he could make them let Ilya out of that dark vertical coffin and stop him from being irrevocably, surgically mutilated.

Shane was willing to endure absolutely anything to protect Ilya. Anything. Even his own worst nightmare.

“I’m ready to talk,” Shane said. “Hello? I’m fucking ready!”

The blond Alpha behind the glass looked up at him, nodded and started typing on his keyboard. The feed on the monitor switched off, and as much as it hurt Shane’s heart to watch Ilya suffer, it was almost worse not to see him at all.

A few minutes later, Dr. Sturgeon returned, smug and satisfied and Shane wanted to knock his fucking teeth down his throat, but couldn’t, even if he wasn’t cuffed. He just clenched his restrained fists and held himself as still as possible.

The blond alpha came in behind the doctor, holding a piece of paper and a burner phone.

“So,” Dr. Sturgeon said. “I trust you made the right decision.”

“Yes,” Shane said, shoulders round and defeated, hating everything about this but utterly out of options. “I’ll go with you, do anything you want. Just please don’t hurt Ilya.”

“See how easy that was?” Dr Sturgeon asked, motioning for the blond Alpha to come forward. “There’s just one other little piece of business we need to take care of and then you can get cleaned up and come see your new home. How does that sound, sweetie?”

“What do I have to do?” Shane asked, crushing down another wave of shuddering nausea.

The blond Alpha held up the piece of paper, showing a short script printed in bold, san serif lettering and handed the phone to Dr Sturgeon.

“First we’re going to make a little phone call to your mother,” Dr Sturgeon said. “Just to let her know how happy you are here in New America and how your family and friends don’t need to worry about you anymore.”

He walked around behind Shane and leaned in so that his thin lips brushed Shane’s ear, breath hot against Shane’s aching mating gland.

“And remember,” Dr Sturgeon said. “If you say anything off-script or try to signal her in any way, I’ll be forced to revert to my original plan for dealing with Rozanov. Do we understand each other, sweetie?”

Shane nodded, too furious to speak.

“Are you ready?” Dr Sturgeon asked, holding up the phone. 

Shane nodded again, hoping he would be able to find his voice to read that fucking script and terrified of what would happen if he couldn’t.

Dr Sturgeon held up the phone, pulled up the only stored number and pressed the call button.

“This is Yuna.” His mom’s voice, all business. 

Shane bit back hard on another wave of tears and read the script.

“Hello mom, it’s me Shane.”

“Shane?” she replied. “Oh my god, where are you? Your father and I…”

Shane cut her off.

“I have found God and found my sacred omega calling here in New America,” he read. “I have found my one true mate…” Shane choked up on that line, swallowed and forced himself to continue. “I’m so happy here…”

“What?” He could hear his mom’s instant disbelief and skepticism through the phone. “Shane, what is this? We’ve been worried sick. Your dad has been inconsolable. I’m putting you on speaker.”

“Shane?” His father’s voice, trembling with emotion. “Hey, Bug, are you ok? Are you…?”

Shane was so close to losing it and dissolving into a puddle of tortured, helpless sobs. His dad hadn’t called him Shanebug since he was a little kid. Shane missed him with such visceral intensity in that moment and hated to think how scared and worried he and his mom must be. But Shane had to keep reading no matter what. For Ilya.

“I’m so happy here and very well taken care of,” Shane continued, struggling to keep his voice flat and unemotional. “I don’t want any of my friends and family to worry about me or look for me. I’m where I belong now. Goodbye and God bless.” 

Dr. Sturgeon nodded and ended the call.

Shane felt his entire body collapse, slouching in his bonds with his head down in humiliating and hopeless surrender. 

Ilya. I love you so much, Ilya. I would die for you.

But Shane didn’t die, he just kept on living. Kept on hurting. Kept on longing for his one true mate.

***

Chapter Text

When Ilya got out of the hole, the hole stayed in him.

It wasn't his first stretch in solitary confinement. Dr. Sturgeon called it the Prayer Box but the guards just called it the hole, and that felt more appropriate now than ever.

Ilya usually felt little or nothing physical during these bleak stretches of inner darkness, but something else was happening to him at the same time that wouldn’t let him disappear and dissociate like he usually did. This time he also felt deathly ill, frostbitten and nauseated and wracked with grinding pain. Needing Shane like he needed oxygen and slowly suffocating without him. Vomiting and wailing and tearing at his sweaty hair. 

He was dying without his mate.

When Ilya had been unceremoniously dumped into the gutter like garbage by his first Alpha, his young body had been so confused by having been claimed over and over by dozens of strangers night after night that he hadn’t really gone through anything resembling normal mate rejection sickness. Then, after being sold by Fyodor, his second Alpha, he’d felt a little bit more of a physical loss, something equivalent to a bad hangover and lasting about as long.

But Shane was the first and only mate he’d ever really loved. The only one he’d chosen. The only one that ever mattered or would ever matter again. And the pain of having him taken away while their bond was still fresh and bleeding felt like ongoing vivisection, like losing the best parts of himself one gut wrenching dry-heave at a time.

They took his beautiful boy, his mate. They took Shane just like they took his baby and he couldn’t stop them. He didn’t stop them.

The voice in Ilya’s head snuggled up to him in the dark like an abusive partner welcoming him back into their terrible, familiar embrace.

Of course you didn’t stop them. You never do. You just gave up again, because you are weak and pathetic and don’t deserve a mate like Shane. 

Ilya hit himself in the temple with the side of his fist repeatedly, begging the voice to shut the fuck up over and over in whispered, desperate Russian. 

Just like you didn’t deserve to hold your baby. Because you are poison, contagious, disgusting. You drag down and destroy everything you touch, everyone you try to love, starting with your own mother. 

If he hadn’t let Shane love him, if he hadn’t bitten and claimed Shane, then his boy wouldn’t have been taken away by Dr. Sturgeon. He and Shane would have still been safe together in their cell. But Ilya had tried to have something he knew he couldn’t have and this was the consequence.

Shane is better off without you, just like your son.

Curled up in the pitch black bottom of the well that the hole had become to him after countless isolated hours, Ilya found that he was no longer able to distinguish between the loss of his son and the loss of his mate. The memory of Shane’s shiny black hair slipping through his fingers bled into the memory of his baby’s dark hair. The bright blue of that tiny bundle smeared together with the stained pink of Shane’s favorite t-shirt. The scream was back, feeding on itself in a warped loop of endless grief and howling anguish, but no one came. No one cared. 

Everyone who cared was gone, taken away because of him. 

The only thing left to do was to be gone himself.

It’s not that he hadn’t tried before. He learned fairly quickly that the thin Mylar blankets they were given were not strong enough to hold his weight. He’d had better luck with the torn up fabric of his t-shirt but was quickly discovered and resuscitated and had to spend three miserable winter months with no clothing as punishment. 

He still had an ace, though. A secret idea that he kept hidden deep in the back of his mind, only rarely dredging it up to soothe himself in the darkest depths of his despair. 

He could bite his tongue and bleed to death.

When he had been living in Fyodor’s enormous, ostentatious penthouse, there was a piece of Japanese art in one of the guest bathrooms, a small print the size of a paperback book. It featured a beautiful woman in a torn kimono with blood dripping from her lips while armed men looked on. Ilya thought maybe she was some kind of cool vampire, but Fedya told him it was based on a Japanese legend about warriors biting their tongues off and bleeding to death to avoid the disgrace of capture. He also said it was probably a bullshit story and that he just bought the print because he thought the woman looked sexy.

Ilya had never worked up the courage to try it, even in the tortured, sleepless, soul-crushing months after he’d given birth, when his body had been aching for his lost baby every second of every day. But now, without Shane, with nothing but lonely emptiness to look forward to, along with the looming possibility of being bred again only to lose another child, and another…

“I love you, Shane,” Ilya whispered in Russian, then switched to English to say. “You were my best thing.”

He slid his tongue out between his teeth, the little blunt fangs that Shane had said were beautiful. The fangs that had claimed his boy while they made love. The fangs that felt like the only hope he had left.

He squeezed his eyes shut, even though it didn’t change his perception of the darkness, inside and out. Bright colored patterns danced briefly under his eyelids, then faded away.

He bit down hard, white-hot pain shooting through the root of his tongue, but the blood in his mouth was just a sluggish, nauseating trickle. He needed to bite again, even harder and keep on biting. It was the only way out.

He couldn’t do it.

It hurt too much and he was afraid and he needed Shane. He needed Shane. Hot shame poured out of him like his blood should have and he put his cheek back down on the wet, foul concrete. He didn’t cry. He couldn’t.

Coward. You even give up on death.

The voice was not wrong, but that wasn’t the only reason. 

Because, even though his mind was despairing and lost in the dark, his mating gland still pulsed in time with his heart, just like Shane’s. His body would not give up on their bond. Every cell inside him knew that his mate was still out there somewhere, and would never stop reaching for him, scenting for him, longing for him.

Time passed and the darkness remained unchanged and Ilya remained alive and alone.

Finally, the safe icy blankness of dissociation settled over him like snow, smothering the nausea and pain. Turning off every switch inside him one by one, like he was an empty store being closed down for the night.

All but one tiny pinprick of light. A single distant star to navigate through the darkness.

His midnight sun. His boy. Shane.

That’s when the door opened.

“Let’s go, Rozanov,” Kenner said.

***

Ilya marched silently and obediently from the hole to the showers. He surrendered his vomit stained pants, scrubbed down as instructed and received a new set of clothes that smelled like nothing but cheap industrial detergent. He was not allowed to shave. 

When he was returned to his cell, the walls and floor had been hosed down with some harsh, scent-obliterating cleaning product. The mats and blankets he’d shared with Shane were gone, replaced by a newer, brighter pink mat and a sealed packet containing a brand new blanket. 

Ilya felt nothing.

He felt nothing when dinner came, only a single chicken leg this time with a single piece of bread. He chewed and swallowed mechanically, tasting nothing. Thinking of nothing.

He felt nothing when Kenner came back later that night, as promised. He felt nothing when Kenner slapped him around for being a “fucking dead fish” and finished on his face. 

He felt nothing when he unrolled the mat, pulled the new blanket tight around himself and curled up facing the wall.

He felt nothing until breakfast came. 

He thought he was safe and numb in his own private hole, disconnected and floating in the cold nothingness, until he picked up the single protein bar and suddenly his shattered heart was breaking all over again.

Ilya could vividly recall how kissing Shane had tasted, like chocolate and cheap protein and his lingering morning breath, like everything Ilya ever wanted. He could almost see Shane taking a delicate, thoughtful bite, looking at Ilya with his sweet little smile. His beautiful boy.

Ilya flung the bar away, whole body shaking with wrenching, ugly sobs. He kicked at the clean mat and the untouched juice box. He punched the metal door as hard as he could, again and again until his knuckles split and bled, then slid down the wall to cover his face.

When Kenner came in for cell check, he seemed almost concerned when he saw the state Ilya was in. Ilya knew he must have really looked like shit for Kenner to notice or care.

“What is this now?” Kenner asked, picking up the smashed and discarded bar and frowning at the smears of blood on the back of the door. “A fucking hunger strike?”

Ilya didn’t respond.

“Right, ok,” Kenner said. “Doc’s busy right now, but I’ll get someone else from med staff to come deal with…” 

He waved his hand at the mess that Ilya had made of the cell and himself, but backed out and closed the cell door without finishing his sentence.

***

It was the big blond Alpha in the white coat who eventually came to deal with Ilya. Jarvis, Ilya remembered his name was. The Alpha didn’t speak to Ilya the whole time, just cleaned and bandaged his hands and sprayed some kind of awful tasting antiseptic on his swollen tongue.

“Is Shane…” Ilya asked, dreading the answer. “Is he… ok?”

Jarvis pulled a vial and syringe out of his medical bag and started to draw up a hefty dose.

“You have no idea how lucky you are,” the Alpha said, sticking the syringe between his teeth to wipe the crook of Ilya’s arm with an alcohol swab. “Don’t mention his name again.”

Jarvis slid the needle into Ilya’s vein and pushed the plunger. 

That was the end of that discussion.

***

Ilya slept through the majority of the next few days, getting up off the mat only briefly to piss and drink a little water. He was not forced to eat or go outside or attend church. His untouched meals were dropped off and taken away without comment. He was left completely alone to drift, cold and weightless, though the neverending hours.

He sometimes dreamed. Sometimes remembered. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference.

He dreamed of fucking Shane through his heat, his boy’s scent more vivid and real than his own.

He dreamed of his mother’s cold white hand holding the empty pill bottle, her greasy, unwashed hair covering her lifeless eyes. 

He dreamed of the hole, of falling endlessly through black nothingness.

He dreamed of being bent over and strapped into the mating bench in the maternity ward, his baby’s Alpha father rutting into him endlessly while his mousy beta wife sat at the head of the bench, her arms crossed over her breasts, looking anywhere but at Ilya.

He dreamed of the dreary hospital room in Moscow where he’d spent a week recovering from the beating he’d received when his father smelled Ilya’s first heat through the locked bathroom door.

He dreamed of Shane holding his son, a toddler now with freckles just like Shane’s, beckoning to him from the other side of a twisted and frozen river.

He dreamed of Svetlana, a half-squashed, shoplifted chocolate chip muffin with a crooked birthday candle in her hand, singing happy birthday to him in English by the dented metal door of a gas station bathroom.

He dreamed of his father, shaking his first Alpha’s hand and pushing fifteen-year-old Ilya forward, speaking low out of the corner of his mouth and warning Ilya not to embarrass the family.

He dreamed of Shane.

He dreamed of Shane.

He knew he shouldn’t, but he still did anyway.

Chapter Text

Shane looked down at his platter of luxurious, artfully prepared sushi and felt nothing.

It was Christmas Eve, so he must have been living with Dr. Sturgeon for four days now, but the daily injections he had been receiving made time into a warped guessing game, excruciatingly slow and bafflingly fast at the same time.

Dr. Sturgeon’s cavernous dining room could have easily seated a dozen or more, but it was just the two of them. The doctor sat at the head of the table with Shane next to him on the right. The other empty seats were still elaborately set with festive red and gold tableware and gold origami folded napkins and hand tied bundles of red berries. There were Waterford crystal champagne flutes at each place setting, but only Shane’s and the doctor’s were full.

There was a large, lit fireplace on the left, the white marble mantel decorated with swags of pine and starry white lights. Across it, a grouping of framed family photos featuring five different children, all but the two oldest looking like they had a different birth parent. None of those other parents were visible in any of the photos. 

There was one photo in particular that always drew Shane’s eye, an image of Dr Sturgeon smiling with a young boy on his lap, a shy, half-Asian boy around nine years old, way too old to be sitting on his father’s lap like that. That boy looked a lot like Shane at that age, a fact made even more obvious by the surreal addition of the framed photo next to it, a professional shot of Shane from a magazine spread he’d done for Rolex about a year ago.

“Sweetie,” Dr Sturgeon said, pointing to Shane’s plate with lacquered gold chopsticks. “This is a special holiday meal prepared just for you, so I want to see you eat a minimum of five pieces.”

The doctor used his chopsticks to pick up a piece of ikura from his own plate and held it up to inspect it, lurid reddish-orange salmon eggs like little eyeballs, glistening in the firelight.

“Of course, if that’s too difficult for you to manage,” Dr. Sturgeon continued. “I understand and I’m always willing to help you get the nutrition you’ll need to support our pups by inserting a nasogastric tube…”

Shane shuddered and shook his head. Getting fucked by a smelly, rutting Alpha was definitely his worst nightmare, but having a feeding tube inserted against his will was probably second on that list.

Normally, Shane’s body and brain would have launched into full blown panic mode by now but everything felt muffled and unreal, like it was happening to someone else.

Dr Sturgeon slipped the sushi in between his sharp white teeth, chewing and swallowing without breaking eye contact with Shane.  

“You only have three days left before our scheduled mating,” the doctor said. “Maybe two, depending on how quickly my rut reaches peak virility.”

The doctor’s unblocked scent wafted over to Shane like the smell of feeding time at the zoo, all raw, bloody meat and dirty fur and frustrated wild things chewing at their rusty metal bars. Shane’s stomach did a slow, queasy roll as he looked back down at his plate, trying to decide which items in front of him would be the least upsetting.

The fish eggs, the cat-food-smelling mackerel and the weird, mushy yellow uni were out of the question. Normally if Shane were at a sushi restaurant, he would have ordered sashimi, just the safe kinds of fish like salmon and tuna. The small amount of white rice he’d have to eat with each piece here was not ideal for his diet, obviously, but he could manage if he had to.

Obviously, he had to.

Shane tried not to think about the fact that he hadn’t been allowed to work out at all since he’d been in this strange, silent house. There was even a camera in the shower, so he wasn’t able to sneak in some squats or wall sits under the hot spray.

Never mind the fucking chain.

The day Shane had arrived here, he had been fitted with a heavy beige rubber collar with a thick steel ring in the front that looked like some kind of creepy old fashioned medical device. The ring was attached to a two meter long chain leash that went everywhere with him, even into the shower. His personal attendant, guard, babysitter or whatever, was a stone-faced Southeast Asian beta guy who silently clipped Shane’s leash to a ring in the shower, or next to the toilet, to his bed or, like tonight, to a dining room chair. 

That snug collar made Shane very conscious of swallowing as he forced down a fat, oily wad of otoro.

“Good,” Dr. Sturgeon said. “Now, four more.”

Shane was glad that Dr Sturgeon didn’t say good boy, because all the pacifying drugs in the world would not have been able to stop him from jamming one of the fancy gold chopsticks into the doctor’s eye.

Ilya. Where was Ilya?

Was he safe? Was he sad or scared? Did he still long for Shane the way Shane’s entire body longed for him?

The drugs Dr Sturgeon gave him turned down the volume a little bit on the thrumming, endlessly want of Shane’s mate bond for a few hours in the mornings. But as the day progressed into the night, it came back in slow, aching waves, like the tide. 

Late at night, in the lonely nest he’d made for himself in his new bed, Shane couldn’t stop himself from humping desperately into his plush pillows with his fist jammed against his mouth to keep Ilya’s name from spilling out. He could still smell Ilya’s unique, addictive scent, still taste his hungry kisses and the tang of his cock sliding against Shane’s tongue. Still hear his deep honeyed voice telling Shane he was good, telling him what to do, whispering to him in lyrical, passionate Russian. 

He could still feel Ilya’s strong, guiding hands, putting Shane exactly where he wanted him. He could still feel Ilya’s clever fingers working him open, finding that secret place deep inside him that no one but him had ever touched. 

Shane could still feel Ilya’s love. 

His bite. 

Ilya. Where are you, Ilya?

Despite the stinging ointment and thick bandages Dr Sturgeon applied to Shane’s mating gland every day, it still throbbed under the rubber collar. Still burned for Ilya. His mate. The One.

Ilya was why Shane had to keep Dr. Sturgeon believing that he was tame and compliant no matter what.

Shane would do anything to protect Ilya. Anything. 

At least, until Shane could figure a way out. For both of them.

Shane picked up a piece of salmon sushi, put it obediently into his mouth, all the while fantasizing about how he might get access to a weapon, a knife or something heavy he could use to smash the doctor’s condescending smile right off his smug face and run.

Because even though the drugs made him feel slow and stupid, they couldn’t kill his love for Ilya. They couldn’t kill his hope.

Shane forced himself to eat a piece of cooked shrimp and a piece of hamachi and then surveyed his remaining choices with a blunt, detached feeling of distaste. He was down to octopus, scary-looking and up until now never actually tasted, or scallop, mild taste but deeply unpleasant texture. 

Dr Sturgeon had finished his own sushi and was looking at Shane with his eyebrows raised expectantly. 

Shane ate the scallop, washing it down with the rest of the champagne he hadn’t even wanted, just to get rid of that feeling inside his mouth. The doctor nodded approvingly and motioned to the housekeeper, an older beta woman, also Southeast Asian like Shane’s attendant, to come take away their plates.

As she was moving away, a younger, more skittish female beta staff member came forward holding a large gold box with a huge red bow and placed it on the table in front of Shane. Everybody who worked in this house was Southeast Asian, apparently. None of them would talk to Shane, or even make eye contact.

“Merry Christmas, sweetie,” Dr Sturgeon said, refilling both of their glasses from the open bottle of champagne. “Go ahead and open it.”

Shane lifted the lid off the box and pressed his lips together to suppress a frown.

Inside, wrapped in gold tissue paper, was a sheer black silk kimono-style robe embroidered with golden dragons and beneath it, a sheer, lacy black body suit with little gold silk ribbons tying the open crotch closed.

It was like some kind of anime porn cosplay outfit and just looking at it made Shane feel a pulse of anger straining against the film of his dull, drugged placidity. 

For one thing, even if that outfit was actually big enough for Shane’s broad, muscular body, there was no way his dick and balls were going to fit under those dainty little bows. And for another, the profound grossness of Dr. Sturgeon’s blatant Asian fetishism was yet another item on the ever expanding list of reasons that Shane would enjoy smashing his fucking face in.

I won’t let him touch me, Ilya. Only you, ever. I’m going to get free and fight my way back to you, I promise.

“Thank you,” Shane made himself say instead of what he was really thinking.

“You’re welcome, sweetie,” Dr Sturgeon drained his champagne and got up, walking over to stand behind Shane’s chair and place his cold hands on Shane’s shoulders. “It will be a shame to ruin it during our mating…” He leaned in to whisper in Shane’s ear. “But I promise, it will be worth it.”

That thick, nauseating pre-rut scent washed over Shane like bad breath and he thought for a moment that the sushi might come back up, but it didn’t. He just clenched his teeth and held himself completely still until Dr Sturgeon straightened up and walked away without another word.

Soon, Ilya. Soon.

***

Christmas day came and went without Dr Sturgeon. He’d left after tending quickly to Shane’s healing gland and administering his morning injection, and Shane assumed that he was probably off celebrating with his various family franchises. Shane wondered how that little boy in the photo was doing, if he was having a nice holiday or if Dr Sturgeon was scaring him, making him uncomfortable or worse. 

Shane had no intention of letting that motherfucker set up another franchise and produce even more offspring for him to control and terrorize. Even though he’d sworn he would do anything necessary to protect his mate from harm, Shane still couldn’t stand even the thought of anyone but Ilya touching him. There had to be a way out. A way to stop his impending date with the doctor’s knot. 

But it was so hard to think, so hard to stay focused. So hard to do anything other than just allow himself to be led through the now familiar steps of his morning routine. He was more than a little ashamed of how grateful he was to have access to good quality skin care products again.

Shane didn’t want to stay cooped up in his girlish, pastel bedroom all day so he asked to be allowed to sit in the great room for a little while. No verbal response from his attendant, of course, just a barely perceivable nod.

There was a huge, elegant and extravagantly decorated Christmas tree in the high-ceilinged great room when Shane’s attendant brought him out to sit alone on the expensive leather sectional sofa. Underneath the tree, there wasn't a single present. Even in stores, the Christmas trees at least had wrapped empty boxes underneath to give the illusion of the holiday spirt. Here, there was nothing. Anyway, Shane certainly didn't want any more presents like the one he'd already gotten.

After a few minutes, the housekeeper appeared with a cup of tea and a plate of sliced mango for Shane to snack on. She would never speak to him or make eye contact, just like the rest of the staff, but she still seemed pretty nice and always brought Shane things from the safe food list he’d made for her on his first day in that house. 

He blew steam from his hot tea and took a sip. The warm familiar aroma was painfully evocative of Ilya’s scent. His mate’s scent and his own. 

Ilya. Where is Ilya?

Shane took another sip, swallowing around that muted and distant ache, and looked out the large picture window at the broad, sloping backyard. There were light flurries of snow dancing in the bare branches of trees, but not enough to collect on the ground or qualify as a White Christmas.

Christmas had always been such a happy, chaotic disaster at his parents place. Shane’s dad loved Christmas, and it was one of the only times that David was allowed free reign over the normally calm and orderly routine of their home. Their house would be overflowing with a rotating cast of family and friends coming and going with colorful gift bags and bottles of holiday cheer. There’d be a table covered with a hundred different kinds of homemade cookies and the cheesiest Christmas songs playing through linked speakers in every room. Despite his mom’s half-hearted attempts to make a case for something more sophisticated and aesthetically pleasing, their tree was chaotic too, always loaded with weird and amusing ornaments David had collected over the years. Ugly painted clay or glitter and construction paper monstrosities Shane had made for him as a kid. A furry Yeti with ice skates and a hockey stick. A felt banana and a blown glass pickle. And always a thousand twinkling multicolored lights that made the whole room look like a tacky 70s disco. His mom would always be trying and failing to herd everyone into one planned activity or another and his dad would put his arms around her waist from behind and whisper something to make her laugh before popping a little taste of whatever he was cooking into her mouth. 

What were they doing right now? Were there any visitors at the house today? Did his dad bake any cookies? Or were they just sitting with their phones in their hands, worried sick and desperate to hear any news about Shane?

Shane never saw any phones, tablets or computers anywhere here. Not even the staff had cellphones or if they did they were forbidden from using them at work. This house was very big though, and he’d only been allowed into four of the rooms, so it was entirely possible that there were ways to communicate to the outside world hidden behind one of those locked doors. However, the ghastly and unspeakable threat Dr. Sturgeon had made against Ilya still loomed large in Shane’s mind.

All his emotions felt muffled and iced over, but they never went completely away. Just like his planning never stopped. It just ran like slow but reliable old software in the background, endlessly searching for a solution. Searching for a way back to his mate.

On the night he’d been brought here he had been even more heavily drugged than he was now, but he did remember passing through a guarded gate. Like a gated community of some kind, surrounded by high walls. He remembered passing other houses on the way to this quiet cul-de-sac, but just about half of them seemed occupied. Was there some kind of construction going on? He seemed to remember seeing some exposed wooden frames and empty dirt lots down at the far end of one road, and sometimes the sound of power tools and trucks backing up could be heard coming from somewhere outside. But the windows stayed closed against the winter chill and Shane hadn’t been allowed to leave the house at all, even just to go into the back yard. This house was his whole world now, until he found a way out.

There was a large pile of books on the nearest end table, mostly scientific journals and a few classic novels. Shane picked one up and started leafing through it, but he didn’t have his reading glasses.

Shane could hear Ilya’s deep, resonant voice making that dumb joke about glasses and Shane being a strict sexy teacher. He remembered how he had promised Ilya that he would wear his glasses for him when they were home safe together in Ottawa.

He needed to make good on that promise. He needed Ilya.

Fuck, he needed Ilya.

***

Dr. Sturgeon came to induce Shane’s heat on the morning of the 27th, but it was already building up like a storm inside him. Just like the massive Nor'easter that was threatening to rip open the dark and glowering sky over their heads at any moment.

Shane didn’t receive his morning injection the day before, because according to Dr Sturgeon, he didn’t want Shane to have any traces of drugs left in his system that would interfere with conception or potentially harm their unborn pup. As a result, by around 8pm that night Shane had fallen into a distressing combo of flu-like mate sickness and ferocious, relentless arousal. Not just the kind of non-specific need to be filled and cum that Shane usually experienced during his heats, but a ravenous, unbearable hunger for his mate. For Ilya.

He barely slept, waking nearly every hour to jack off repeatedly, fingering himself shamelessly and begging for Ilya to fill him up. 

There was no way for him to hide what was happening inside him from Dr. Sturgeon. The doctor breathed in Shane’s blooming pre-heat scent deeply, licking his chops like the Big Bad Wolf while pulling down Shane’s sweaty boxer briefs and sliding the syringe full of heat inducer into Shane’s glute.

“So close, sweetie,” he whispered, his vile, butchershop scent thickening in the air between them. “I’m coming up right behind you now, and with this little extra boost we should be synced up perfectly within the hour. Why don’t you get changed into your special outfit for me and I’ll be back to take care of you in a few minutes.”

Shane’s heart was pounding, his mating gland throbbing in time. Every muscle was bowstring taut and humming with kinetic energy and his body was on fire, demanding only one thing.

He needed Ilya.

Now.

“Wait,” Shane said. “Don’t go.”

The doctor paused, and Shane turned to face him. 

“What is it, sweetie? What do you need?”

Shane leaned in closer, concentrating on intensifying his scent, pumping out the strongest and most sexual elements as he pictured himself presenting for Ilya, being taken by him.

Soon, Ilya.

“I can’t wait,” Shane breathed, leaning in even closer. “I need…”

Dr Sturgeon’s rut scent was overwhelming now, and Shane could see deep crimson rings starting to form in the icy blue irises behind his glasses. His grin widened, gleaming white fangs sharper than ever, but Shane was not afraid. 

Because it was go time. The puck was dropping in slow motion inside Shane’s mind as every one of his senses sharpened to crystal clarity. His body knew exactly what to do.

Sometimes it was best to make and execute a meticulous plan, but other times you just had to shoot your shot when an opening appeared.

When Dr. Sturgeon reached for him, Shane ducked to the left, grabbed the doctor’s wrist and yanked forward as hard as he could, letting the older man’s own momentum throw him off balance so that Shane could swing around behind him. He already had his chain leash wound tight around one hand when he jumped up onto the doctor’s back and drew the chain across his throat, using his other hand to pull it tight.

Dr Sturgeon grunted and sputtered furiously and staggered backwards, smashing Shane against the wall, but he would not be dislodged. He did not lose his grip. He just relentlessly hung on, putting his full weight into the chain until the doctor dropped, gasping helplessly, to his knees.

Forcing Dr Sturgeon face down onto the hardwood floor, Shane put a knee into the middle of his back and yanked up on the chain as hard as he could until he heard a crisp snap.

The doctor’s body twitched and shuddered beneath him, then went still.

Shane got slowly to his feet, panting heavily and shaking with adrenaline. He never would have imagined that he’d be capable of anything even remotely like this. All he knew was that this grinning monster would never be able to hurt another omega, never harm another child, ever again.

He knew that, and he also knew one other thing. 

Shane knew that he needed to go get his man.

Chapter Text

Shane had no idea what to expect when his attendant walked into the room while he was standing over Dr. Sturgeon’s body. He hadn’t really thought about anything beyond taking that motherfucker out, and now he was afraid that this unprecedented lack of advanced planning on his part was going to come back to bite him in the worst possible way.

His attendant was about as much shorter than Shane as Shane was than Dr. Sturgeon, maybe 10 cm, but he looked like a far more formidable opponent. The other man took a step forward, face as expressionless as always and Shane took a step back, wrapping his chain tighter around his fist and trying to settle his wildly beating heart. He really didn’t want to hurt someone who seemed like he was just doing his job, but Shane knew he had to do whatever it took to get to Ilya.

To Shane’s surprise, the other man leaned in and spit on Dr. Sturgeon’s body.

“Good,” he said with a terse nod.

He reached into his pocket and tossed Shane a key ring with only a single small key. The key to the padlock on the back of Shane’s collar. Then, the attendant turned and left the room. 

For a second, Shane just stood there, stunned, but he was running out of time to make it back to the NEORDC facility while the low-value omegas were outside in the yard. He knew that would be the best and possibly only chance to get to Ilya. Thirty minutes was an uncomfortably short window and he wasn’t even sure exactly how far away he was or even how to find his way back there. He needed to get a move on.

By the time he was able to unlock and remove the collar and chain, grab clothes and get dressed, the attendant was back with the skittish woman who had brought Shane the gift box on Christmas Eve. She was holding a big bucket full of rags and cleaning products and power tools.

“I’m Jimmy,” the attendant said in a light, clipped accent that Shane couldn’t quite identify. Thai, maybe? “This is Ubol. We clean. You go.” 

Shane nodded, heart still beating way too fast.

“I’m… uh… I’m Shane,” he said, wishing he could think of something better or more heartfelt to say.

Ubol looked up and gave him a shy wave and Jimmy nodded and flashed such a subtle hint of a smile that Shane might have imagined it.

“I like Boston Raiders,” Jimmy said. “Sorry.”

“That’s ok,” Shane said with a little huff of a laugh. “Thank you both.”

“Thank you,” Jimmy said and got to work. 

Shane turned to leave while the two of them dragged the doctor’s long, ungainly body towards the bathroom.

The only kind of clothes Shane had were the loose-fitting and silky black lounge pants and tank tops that Dr Sturgeon liked to see him in, and his only shoes were simple house slippers, but when he made his way downstairs he was intercepted by the housekeeper.

She still didn’t speak, and Shane didn’t know if it was because she couldn’t or because she didn’t speak English.

She held out a clean, soft, charcoal grey sweater and a dove gray, fleece lined trench coat. Shane quickly pulled the sweater over his head, his hands shaking as the lingering adrenaline continued to sizzle through his body. 

“Thanks,” he said, taking the coat. “Um… what’s your name?”

She shook her head and put her fingers to her lips, then opened her mouth to reveal a scarred lump where a tongue should have been.

“Oh my God,” Shane said before he could stop himself or control how horrified he must have sounded. “Did the doctor do that to you?”

She shook her head and pulled out a note pad and pencil from her apron pocket. She wrote quickly and then turned the pad around.

Khmer Rouge

She tapped herself in the sternum with the pencil’s eraser and then wrote:

Sothea

History wasn’t Shane’s best subject in school but he knew enough about the brutal Khmer Rouge government in Cambodia to know that this sweet old lady had survived shit way worse than Dr. Sturgeon.

“I’m so sorry, Sothea,” he said.

She turned the pad back around and started writing again.

HURRY SHANE!

Before Shane could even get one arm into the coat, Sothea was pulling him in the direction of a room he’d never been in.

It turned out to be a large, expensively appointed kitchen with a door at the far end. Next to the door was a small gold hook with a Land Rover key fob on a gold ring.

She pointed to the fob, then handed Shane an oil-cloth shopping bag with a strawberry pattern. In the bag were three mangos, several cans of tuna, a large bottle of Fiji water, a box of twelve assorted RX protein bars and a box of English Breakfast tea bags. 

Shane took the bag and she smiled and gave him two thumbs up.

“Thank you so much,” he said. 

She pointed to the door and made a hurry up kind of gesture with her hands like she was sweeping him away.

Shane grabbed the key fob while he was slipping on the trench coat and then opened the door.

On the other side was a spotless, well-lit three car garage with only one car in it, a black 2018 Land Rover.

By the steps leading up to the kitchen door was a wooden shoe rack, which held a pair of blue running shoes and a pair of black Timberlands. The boots were a little too big for Shane, but they were way better than the flimsy slippers.

Shane buttoned up the coat and tied its belt around his waist. It was too long and fit him almost like a floor length western duster, but at least it was warm and seemed like it had been recently dry-cleaned, retaining no trace of the late doctor’s awful scent. He unlocked the car and got behind the wheel, tucking the bag Sothea had given him behind the passenger seat.

Inside he found a pair of leather gloves, a flashlight and a paper map in the glove box, but no convenient gun or anything like that. 

Then, suddenly, he was hit by a wave of primal need for Ilya so strong he felt like the boat getting broadsided by the shark in Jaws. His vision went hazy and a thready whine escaped his lips as he closed his eyes and pressed the heel of his hand hard against his rising, urgent erection.

Ilya. I need you so bad, Ilya!

Fuck, how the hell was he going to manage this runaway freight train of a heat? Ilya’s time in the yard wasn’t the only ticking clock now. Shane needed to get the two of them as far away from NEORDC as possible before he could no longer control himself.

The coat felt way too hot now, and Shane could feel his slick soaking through his briefs. As tempted as he was to just knock out a quick one before he hit the road, Shane knew that if he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

The sooner he could get to Ilya, the sooner he could have what he really needed, but if he didn’t go right now, he might not ever have him again.

He took his hand off his nagging, painfully hard dick and clicked the garage door opener. When it cranked all the way up, he pushed the Rover’s ignition button, and went to get Ilya.

***

Lucky for Shane, he didn’t need the paper map yet, because Dr Sturgeon had NEORDC already programmed into the car’s navigation system under “WORK.” There was a little voice in the back of his brain that was trying to tell him it was a bad idea to use the navigation because it might allow him to be tracked by cops or something, but that voice was drowned out by the whole rest of his body demanding he get Ilya NOW.

The adrenaline and the heat hormones were bare knuckle brawling inside of Shane when he pulled up next to the dull concrete blocks that made up the bulk of the familiar facility. There was a large lot on the right side that looked like staff parking and beyond that, an alley.

Shane remembered Ilya standing next to him in the yard, asking about the English word for alley, but then he also remembered Ilya railing him into the mat in their cell, grinding the head of his cock against Shane’s o-spot and demanding that he cum again. His brain blanked out completely for a handful of heartbeats, all the blood in his body pooling in his leaden, aching balls and the heavy base of his dick as another gush of hot slick soaked through his clothes and into the lining of the trench coat.

He had to snap the fuck out of this maddening and unbearable heat fever. He had to save Ilya!

He rolled both windows down, letting in a blast of arctic air to chill the sweat on his flushed face. He could feel the barometric pressure outside dropping dramatically in the face of the oncoming storm, dark, threatening clouds gathering above the facility like they knew what went on in there and did not approve. 

The alley. Focus on the alley.

It was the only alley that Shane could see anywhere, and it ran between the side of the medical building and the two main buildings. That had to be the alley where he and Ilya had heard Rose calling his name, the alley by the guard tower. And that gate.

Despite the intense hormonal oversaturation inside his brain, a rough plan was forming. It was a one shot, all or nothing, and there was no plan B. But he was also running out of time. He had maybe eleven minutes left before the other omegas got taken back inside. 

He turned the Rover down the alley and coasted until he was just a single car-length away from the gate and the tower, then killed the engine.

Unsurprisingly, the tower guard had already noticed him and came around to look down at the car from the catwalk, lit cigarette hanging from the corner of his suspicious lips.

Was this going to work? Shane’s heat was his only weapon and of course it had worked to distract Dr Sturgeon because he was already powerfully attracted to Shane, but would it work on a strange Alpha? Not just any strange Alpha, but an armed and wary man whose job was to be vigilant against potential troublemakers?

Drawing in a deep breath, Shane unbuttoned the coat and shoved his fingers down the back of his pants, coating his fingers and then glossing his burning mating gland with fragrant slick. It had to work. He had no other options. 

He got out of the car and rushed to stand by the metal stairs leading up to the tower

“Please,” he called up to the smoking Alpha, focusing on strengthening his heat scent as much as possible and letting it waft upward like steam in the icy air. “I can’t find my Alpha anywhere and I’m… I need your help! Please!”

The Alpha’s nostrils flared and his face flushed crimson as he flicked his cigarette away and came barreling down the stairs like a charging bull.

“Who’s your Alpha?” the guard asked, his hot, brutal scent like a slap in Shane’s face. That same thick, meaty Alpha element but this one laced with acrid cordite and nicotine. 

“Please,” Shane said, softer now, leaning in close and tipping his chin back to let the Alpha smell the heat slick he had slathered over his gland. “I need…”

“Fuck,” the Alpha breathed, practically panting like a dog now, chin tilting down and reaching out to grip Shane’s waist. 

Shane’s body was about to riot, to override his brain completely and start flailing and biting and pummeling this guy like a rabid chimpanzee for daring to touch him, but Shane only had one shot. One shot, and it had to be perfect.

Doctor Sturgeon had been a much easier target for this game. This guy had a rifle slung over his shoulder, handcuffs on his belt and probably at least one additional sidearm or other concealed weapon somewhere on his extremely dangerous person. This was a man who shot defenseless omegas in the legs for fun. 

But Ilya was so close now. So close, and the clock was ticking.

Shane had gotten his bell rung a few times, like all the players do, but he’d never been knocked completely unconscious. Not once in all his years of hockey and roughhousing and brawling on the ice. His teammates joked that he had the hardest skull in the league in order to protect that great big brain. 

Shane slid his hands up over the guard’s arms and shoulders and then wove his slick-sticky fingers into the Alpha’s dark, greasy hair. Gripping tighter, until the Alpha bared his fangs. 

Then Shane head-butted him sharply in the nose.

Blood burst from the Alpha’s nostrils as he let out a furious roar, but the sound was cut off as Shane followed up with a brutal knee to his aroused and undoubtedly excruciatingly sensitive junk. When the Alpha doubled over, all the air whooshing out of his body, Shane followed up with another knee, this time directly to the bloody face.

The Alpha crumpled to his knees then and Shane quickly relieved him of the rifle and his walkie talkie. He turned off the walkie and tossed it away, then cuffed the slumped and groaning Alpha to the chain link fence before grabbing his key ring off his belt and getting to work unlocking the gate.

There was only one big chunky padlock, but over a dozen keys on the guard’s keyring. Shane forced his breathing to slow down and tried to stay calm as he meticulously tried one key at a time, but his hands were shaking and the time was ticking by, slipping away from him at a terrifying rate. Beside him, the semi-conscious guard was making slushy, mumbling noises and stirring weakly against the fence.

Shane tried the next key.

And the next key.

Next key.

Next key.

He was very close to letting out a desperate, frustrated scream when the next key he tried was the right key. The scream became a wild, relieved laugh as he pulled the lock off the chain and shouldered the heavy rusted gate open.

All the omegas in the yard turned toward the suddenly open gate, but none of them mattered because there was Ilya, standing alone and slump-shouldered by the warped spot in the fence where he used to talk to his friend.

Ilya’s head snapped up, nostrils flaring as Shane ran to his mate. Shane could smell Ilya now, his achingly familiar crushed caraway and lush fucksweat scent suddenly pouring into the cold air like a smoke signal guiding Shane home.

They crashed into each other’s arms, kissing like they were starving, tears flowing now like Shane’s slick. Ilya slid his arms under Shane’s open coat, wrapping him up in a breathless embrace and pulling him close. Shane’s cock was like fucking iron in his thin, silky pants, slick wet down to his knees now as he pressed his hips hard against his mate’s, feeling Ilya’s cock responding instantly as he let out a choked sound that was half way between a sob and a moan.

Ilya put his cold hands on both of Shane’s flushed cheeks, those stunning blue hazel eyes overflowing with tears and raw, vulnerable love.

“You came for me,” Ilya said.

Shane let his breath out slow and forced himself to step back, taking both of Ilya’s hands in his.

“I’m gonna cum for you right now in my fucking pants if we don’t get the hell out of here in the next ten seconds,” Shane replied.

Ilya laughed and squeezed Shane’s hands.

“Fuck, I love you so much,” Ilya said.

“I love you too,” Shane said. “Come on!”

The metal door to the building flew wide open, banging off the cement block wall.

“What the hell is going on out here?”

Kenner.

When Shane was twelve, he went hunting with his mom for the first and only time. He loved being out in nature and spending quiet, quality time with her, but when it came time to do the deed, Shane just didn’t have it in him to pull the trigger. He took one look at the dark, gentle eyes of the doe he was supposed to shoot, and he knew that activity was not for him.

Kenner was no innocent doe, not by any stretch of the imagination. Just thinking about the Alpha’s so-called special visits to Ilya filled Shane with volcanic rage, but somehow his hands still felt humiliatingly unsteady on the rifle and his stomach did an anxious little twist at the thought of pulling that trigger. Not just because of the implication of ending another human life like this, but also because of the not unwarranted fear that he might miss and fuck up their only chance to get away.

Ilya had no such compunction.

He took the rifle from Shane, brought it smoothly to his shoulder like it was a natural extension of his body, and shot his rapist right in the center of his massive chest.

Kenner collapsed without a sound into the icy mud and Ilya slung the rifle over his shoulder and nodded to Shane. Together, they ran for the open gate.

Several of the other omegas were already making a run for it, while a few lingered back against the fence. When Shane and Ilya got to the gate, something unexpected happened.

Shane had already gone through, but Ilya hesitated at the threshold, his bright eyes full of some profound anxiety that Shane couldn’t even begin to fathom. 

He loved his mate so much, and wanted nothing more than to care for him and protect him in every way, but there wasn’t time to talk him through whatever was going on behind those eyes. More armed guards would be pouring out of that open door any second now. Shane had to take immediate action.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he said, gripping Ilya’s thighs and lifting his mate up into his arms. “Hold on to me.”

Ilya wrapped his legs around Shane’s waist, buried his face in Shane’s shoulder and let himself be carried swiftly to the passenger side of the car.

When Ilya let his feet drop back down to the ground, Shane couldn’t resist pressing his mate up against the car door and kissing him again. 

Another mind-melting wave of heat washed over him, his inflamed and ravenous body demanding that he not waste another second of his existence without Ilya’s cock inside him.

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya breathed, gripping Shane’s ass and slotting his hard cock into the crease of Shane’s hip right along side his own. “My beautiful boy, you will kill us both but I will die happy.”

Shane’s whole body melted into his mate’s, his vision gone hazy again and breath coming too fast between his softly parted lips. He found himself swaying helplessly towards Ilya, knowing that if his mate didn’t do something to stop this now, he would drop to his knees right here in this slushy alley in front of the handcuffed Alpha guard and the fleeing omegas and anyone else who cared to watch. 

“Listen to me, Shane,” Ilya said. “I promise to take care of you very soon, ok? But right now, I think you should let me drive.”

Shane’s legs were almost too weak to stand by then, so he just nodded and let Ilya open the door and help him into the passenger seat. 

Ilya got behind the wheel and started up the car as the storm clouds above opened up, unleashing a rush of feral, biting wind and swirling snow. As Ilya and Shane sped down the alley and out to the road, that clean, cold wind seemed to sweep them up and carry them like a leaf on a river, away from the horrors of the NEORDC center and towards an uncertain future

Chapter Text

Ilya had been driving into the storm for what felt like hours, but was probably closer to forty five minutes. He’d started off at high speed, driving recklessly and feeling this intense, wild exhilaration spangled with jittery fear and undeniable arousal. The lush, intoxicating scent of Shane’s heat filled the car, and as a result Ilya’s cock was hard enough to steer with, but they couldn’t stop. Not yet. Not until he was sure that his now vulnerable mate would be safe.

The sky was completely smothered by the raging storm, transforming midday into dim, blue twilight. Heavy snow limited Ilya’s visibility, making him drive slower and slower, squinting through the icy windshield as he searched for the exit at Huard Lake Road.

Shane had suggested that they look for an empty summer lake house where they could hole up and wait out the storm. He’d pointed to a long, skinny body of water on the paper map at the end of a small winding road, but that had been about a half hour ago. Now, Shane was close to completely non-verbal, writhing and whimpering helplessly in the passenger seat, smelling so delicious and driving Ilya out of his mind with the overwhelming need to fuck and claim his mate.

“I promise I will fuck you very soon, Shane,” Ilya said through gritted teeth, shifting his hips on the seat and feeling his own slick soaking through his sweatpants. “But right now I want you to touch yourself for me. Can you do that, beautiful boy?”

Shane let out a soft moan and shoved his pants down to his knees without a second’s hesitation, gripping his deeply flushed and weeping cock in his fist.

“Good boy,” Ilya said.

Shane cried out, head thrown back and cumming fast and hard after just a few strokes, his whole body clenching and shuddering, making a mess of his crumpled sweater.

“My God, you are so fucking beautiful,” Ilya said, struggling to keep his eyes on the barely visible road. “Keep going like that. Make yourself cum again and use your other hand to open yourself up for my cock.”

Shane yanked his loose, bunched up pants off of one leg and put that still booted foot up on the dashboard, spreading himself wide so that he could plunge his fingers deep into his dripping hole while he continued to stroke his thick, crimson cock.

Ilya couldn’t resist taking one hand off the wheel and squeezing his own insistent erection through his damp sweatpants. He was seriously going to drive into a fucking tree or oncoming traffic or something if they didn’t get off the road very soon. Luckily, it seemed like there were very few people as stupid as they were to be out driving in this crazy weather. Even when there was an occasional other car creeping by on the road, the visibility was so low now, he doubted anyone could see exactly what was going on inside the Land Rover. 

Ilya forced himself to put his hand back on the wheel and keep his eyes on the road. This was so dangerous for so many reasons, but the obscene rhythmic squelching sounds of Shane fucking himself with three fingers while he moaned and made breathless affirmative noises and panted Ilya’s name over and over were going to take Ilya out long before he had a chance to die in a crash. 

“Fuck, I need you so bad right now, Shane,” Ilya said. “I want to be inside you, make you mine again.”

Shane moaned, hips spasming as more cum spilled over his knuckles.

“Ilya,” he breathed. “I love you so much!”

This was far more than any mortal man could bear. Ilya was ready to pull over onto the shoulder and toss Shane into the back seat right then and there when, like some kind of fucking miracle, the sign for Huard Lake Road appeared out of the swirling snow.

The second they were off the main highway and out of sight from any other passing vehicles, Ilya pulled over alongside a tall stand of snowy fir trees.

“Get in the fucking backseat right now,” Ilya said, unbuckling his seatbelt.

Shane wrestled himself out of the oversized trench coat and scrambled gracelessly into the backseat. Ilya quickly followed.

The Land Rover was not a small vehicle but there still wasn’t a whole lot of space for two big muscular omegas in that backseat. It didn’t matter. Ilya barely noticed anything around him that wasn’t his mate’s fevered, sweet-smelling body. He grabbed Shane’s bare hips and slid them towards him, pushing Shane’s broad shoulders down on the seat. Then he shoved his sweatpants down and gripped Shane’s left thigh, pushing it up and back until it was nearly parallel to his torso. Shane was so wet and ready for Ilya that when he slid his cock in deep, all the way to the hilt, it felt inevitable, like submitting to gravity.

Ilya paused for a moment, looking down into his mate’s dilated eyes and saw the shimmer of bonded heat gold in the delicate brown rings of Shane’s irises. 

“Yours,” Shane whispered.

“I am yours too,” Ilya replied, forcing himself to keep on speaking English, not fall back and hide his feelings behind his native tongue. To make sure that Shane heard and understood every single word. “You have my heart forever, Shane. Until I die, I fucking swear this.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Shane was panting now, powerful muscles inside him gripping and milking Ilya’s cock and making him feel like was about to lose his goddamn mind. “I love you! Fuck, I love you!”

There would be no holding back for Ilya, and he couldn’t have cared less. He couldn’t think about anything in that moment other than emptying himself completely into his beautiful mate.

Whenever Ilya fell into one of his profound depressive episodes, his libido went dormant as if frozen under deep winter ice, so the last time he’d had an orgasm was during their mate bonding. As a result, the amount of cum that had built up inside him during his separation from Shane was truly astonishing, and when it spilled out of him like a river, filling and overflowing from his mate’s heat-saturated body, Ilya felt like it would never stop.

“So good,” Shane breathed. “Fuck, I’m so full. So full of you.”

Ilya let out a shattered moan and drove in even deeper, holding on to Shane’s hips for dear life, unable to stop thrusting as waves of intense, shuddering pleasure washed over and through him.

“Need your bite, Ilya,” Shane was begging, chin tipped back and mating gland exposed. “Please, again!”

Ilya pressed his lips to Shane’s throat, kissing and suckling his mate’s throbbing gland until Shane sobbed and cried out, fat tears spilling down his cheeks and mingling with the sweat in Ilya’s damp, messy curls. 

“Yes,” Shane cried. “Oh my God yes! Fuck yes, do it please, fucking do it!”

Ilya bit down as hard as he could.

A sweet trickle of hormone-saturated blood flowed across Ilya’s tongue, overwhelming his senses with the pure and deliciously familiar taste and scent of his mate. Their scents were blending again now, mingling and braiding and echoing back again until they became a single unmistakable mated note tethering them together like golden stitches threaded through twin souls. 

Shane’s hole seized and spasmed around Ilya’s cock, wringing yet another uncontrollable and overflowing round of cum out of him as a burst of bright, glassy pleasure ripped through his shuddering body. Shane orgasmed again too, his overstimulated cock twitching and dry-firing helplessly between their bellies.

“Good boy,” Ilya whispered against Shane’s throat. “So fucking good, so perfect for me.”

“Mine,” Shane murmured, body still clenching and quivering as he wrapped his arms tight around Ilya’s sweaty back underneath his coat and pulled him closer.

Ilya let himself be held like that for a few precious minutes, breathing in his mate’s scent and feeling his pulse against Ilya’s lips. But he knew that they needed to get out of this blizzard before they ended up stranded inside the car and waiting to either freeze to death or be picked up by the New American police, whichever came first.

“I love you, Shane,” Ilya said, pushing himself up and away, his softening cock slipping free. “But I need to drive now.”

“Mm-mm,” Shane said, clinging tighter. “Need you.”  

“We are not safe here,” Ilya said, breaking away from Shane’s embrace, stripping off his meatpacking jacket and pulling his t-shirt off over his head. He used the sweaty t-shirt to wipe most of their mess from his own crotch and belly, then handed it to Shane. “Try to get a little bit of rest now, if you can. I promise I will give you everything you need and more as soon as we find a safe place to stay, ok?”

“Ok,” Shane said softly, pressing the damp, pungent t-shirt to his cheek and curling up on his side, already half asleep. “But not too long.”

“Not too long,” Ilya said, taking the trench coat from the front seat and laying it over his drowsing mate like a blanket.

Shane looked so soft and so sweet with his messy hair and his flushed, freckled cheeks and his long dark lashes still damp from his ecstatic tears. So unlike the force of fucking nature that had come back to the NEORDC facility ready to kill anyone who came between him and his mate. The possessive, almost savage love Ilya felt for Shane in that moment seemed to be spinning wildly out of control inside him, far too much to be contained inside the broken husk of his poor scarred heart. 

Ilya put his outside jacket back on over his bare chest, zipped it up and climbed into the front seat.

He gripped the wheel and drew in a deep shaky breath. Then, suddenly, he found himself completely overwhelmed with intense emotion, everything he had held back in the headlong rush to get away washing over him at once. Stinging tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision as his body was wracked with muffled sobs. 

His boy came back for him.

Shane could have just escaped on his own, but he had risked everything to return to the facility. He faced down an armed guard in order to get to Ilya. When Ilya had been afraid, when he hesitated at the gate with that terrible voice in his head telling him not to leave, that he wouldn’t make it out there, that he would probably get his mate killed and wouldn’t it be safer to stay, just give up and stay, Shane was there for him. His brave, beautiful boy didn’t leave him behind, disgusted at his pathetic display of weakness. Shane had picked him up and held him close like he was the most precious thing, the one thing worth saving in a house fire. He had carried Ilya to safety in his strong arms like Ilya mattered. Like he wasn’t a disgusting, used up whore or a shameful, broken coward. Like he was a beloved boyfriend. A chosen mate. 

Like he was good. 

Shane wanted him, and not just when it was easy either. Shane wanted Ilya even when it was hard, almost impossible. Shane believed in him, saw worth in him. Shane, his only light in the depth of his inner darkness, his everything, lying there all curled up and cozy in the backseat. Shane, who had been so strong for Ilya when he needed it and who now needed him to be strong. Who trusted him completely to keep them both safe.  

But what if he couldn’t?

“Baby?” Shane’s sleepy voice from the backseat. “Are you ok? You’re scenting sad.”

His midnight sun. His beautiful boy. His mate.

“I am not sad, solnyshko,” Ilya said, knuckling his tears away before Shane could see them. “I am just feeling a lot.”

“Do you need a blowjob?” Shane asked.

Ilya laughed and shook his head, swiping at his dripping nose with the back of his hand.

“I would like that very much, but I maybe need a few minutes,” he said, turning the AC to defrost, and wiping the thick condensation from the inside of the windshield. “You have emptied me out completely, greedy boy.” 

“Well, you’d better get to work filling back up,” Shane said, snuggling down under the trench coat with the t-shirt tucked up under his chin. “Because I’m gonna need you again soon.”

“Soon, I promise,” Ilya said, engaging the Land Rover’s four wheel drive, pushing down slowly on the gas and inching the Rover carefully back onto the snowy road.

***

After about ten more minutes, Ilya was pretty sure that the rough, bumpy road beneath the Rover’s wheels was no longer paved, but it was almost impossible to tell in the snow. He was driving so slowly that it barely measured on the dashboard speedometer when he spotted a driveway with a chain stretched across it and a rusty old NO TRESSPASSING sign swinging wildly in the icy wind. It was a big risk, but Ilya thought if he could get that chain open and then closed back up after they passed through, then the storm would bury their tire tracks and people would be less likely to look for them down that way.

He just hoped there was a safe, empty house somewhere on the other end of that driveway, because if there wasn’t, he was pretty sure they wouldn’t be able to get back up to the main road until the storm died down. And who knew how long that might be. Hours? Days? How soon would they run out of gas trying to stay warm?

Before the voice in his head could talk him out of it, Ilya pulled the Rover right up to the chain, pulled on the leather gloves Shane had set down on top of the paper map on the center console, and opened the driver’s side door.

Ilya had to fight against the raw, toothy strength of the wind to get the door all the way open. Once he got outside, the wind slammed the door for him, brutal cold blasting instantly through his inadequate jacket and the gritty, nearly horizontal snow feeling like it was going to sandblast the flesh right off his skull.

Ilya had dealt with plenty of thick snow and frigid weather back home in Moscow, but he was a city boy to his core and had never experienced anything like this dim, foreboding woods full of black, lashing branches and mysterious white shapes (rocks? fallen trees? sleeping dragons?) looming up out of the driving snow all around them. He felt like the reckless and arrogant young protagonist in one of the dark fairy tales his mother used to read to him, a boy who was about to pay a terrible price for his hubris. 

He had to stay focused. Shane needed a warm, safe place to spend his heat and Ilya was determined to find one for him.

The chain was slippery with ice beneath his gloved fingers, but it was not locked and Ilya was able to unhook it from the post and let it drop to the snow-covered ground. When he got back into the Rover, Shane was awake and sitting up in the backseat.

“Ilya,” he said, breath coming too fast and bordering on panicky as he reached out for Ilya’s gloved hand. “I thought you were gone!”

“You will not be rid of me that easily,” Ilya said, squeezing Shane’s fingers and bringing them to his cold lips before letting go and cranking up the heater.

Ilya rolled the car slowly over the chain and into the driveway, then put it back into park.

“I need to go outside one more time, solnyshko,” he said. “But I will be right back, ok?”

“What does that mean,” Shane asked, reaching for Ilya’s hand again and clutching it tightly, scenting so sweetly with his big brown eyes flashing golden, making it very difficult for Ilya to leave him. “That word, solnyshko?” 

“It means beautiful good boy who will be taking my cock again very soon,” Ilya replied, swiping a leather clad thumb across Shane’s trembling lower lip. “But only if he lets me take care of this now.” 

Shane let out a needy little whimper and then sucked Ilya’s gloved thumb into his mouth. Ilya’s breath caught, his cock pulsing and hardening again inside his sticky sweatpants, making a liar out of him and insisting that in fact, he definitely didn’t need any more minutes to recharge before that blowjob. He felt almost hypnotized, watching the shiny black leather slide in and out of Shane’s mouth as the interior of the car filled with his mate’s syrupy malt, lush musk and sweet heat slick scent.

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya said, reluctantly pulling his thumb away. “You want to kill me?”

“Need you in my mouth,” Shane said, hungry eyes all black blown pupils now except for the most delicate golden rings. “Please, Ilya, I need you.”

He couldn’t say no to those eyes, those lips. Fuck.

“Ok ok, fuck,” Ilya clambered into the back seat and shoving his pants down again. “Here, you can have my cock, Shane.” He sat back, gripping the base of his hard dick. “Right here, beautiful boy, come on.”

Shane slid his hand up over Ilya’s tense thigh and leaned in close to his crotch, shamelessly sniffing and drinking in Ilya’s intimate scent.

“Open for me,” Ilya said, sliding his gloved fingers through Shane’s hair. 

Shane opened his mouth and closed his eyes. The feel of his mate’s warm exhale against the head of Ilya’s cock caused a hot surge of blood through Ilya’s length, along with a pulse of anticipation.

When Ilya slid his cock into Shane’s hot, drooling mouth, he forgot himself completely, unable to think about anything other than needing more, needing to thrust deeper and have his full length embraced by his mate. The heat hormones surging through Shane’s body were relaxing all his muscles, large and small, making him more pliable and receptive and allowing him to take Ilya’s cock all the way down his throat without the slightest ripple of a gag reflex. The way Shane moaned around it sent vibrations rumbling and racing through Ilya, making him groan and arch his back, slapping the roof of the car with one hand, clinging to a fistful of Shane’s hair with the other.

Shane was humping and grinding his hips hard against the seat while Ilya fucked up into his hungry, willing mouth. Ilya couldn’t look away from the gorgeous display of Shane’s thick, muscular ass clenching rhythmically as his flushed and weeping cock slid in and out of the bunched up fleece lining of the trench coat.

“My god, you are beautiful,” Ilya said, caressing Shane’s cheek and feeling his own cock sliding beneath it, making it bulge against his gloved fingers. “So hungry for me. I want to see you cum with my cock in your mouth. Cum again for me, Shane.”

Shane was making muffled, needy sounds around the shape of Ilya’s cock, and then Shane’s whole body shuddered and clenched, hips bucking fast and hard against the seat as his cum spilled out into the black fleece below him.

“Fuck, you will make me cum,” Ilya gritted out. “Fuck, Shane!”

Ilya held onto Shane’s head with both hands, groaning and thrusting deep into his mate’s throat as he surrendered to the inevitability of his own intense orgasm.

Shane eagerly swallowed every drop, and Ilya could not resist pulling him up and kissing him deeply, tasting himself in his mate’s mouth.

“Such a greedy boy,” Ilya said, holding Shane tight as if he were the greedy one. “Like a vampire. You have drained me again and now I must go out and fight the wind with no energy left in my body.”

“I guess you’ll just have to stay in here and fuck me some more,” Shane said.

“You tricked me,” Ilya said, pushing a stray lock of sweaty hair back from Shane’s forehead. “You made me belive you are a good boy but you are really a fucking menace!”

“You like it,” Shane said with that sweet little smile Ilya had missed so much.

“I do,” Ilya said. “I love you so much, solnyshko, but if you don’t let me get us somewhere safe soon we are going to run out of gas. Please, Shane, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but I’d like it to be a long, boring life in Canada, not a short one in this car where we freeze to death with our pants down, ok?”

“Ok,” Shane said, letting go of Ilya and snuggling back up under the trench coat with the pink t-shirt clutched to his cheek, already half asleep again. “I love you too, Ilya.”

***

After the chain was strung back across the driveway, Ilya had to endure fifteen more intensely stressful minutes skidding and slip-sliding down the rough, snowy driveway, nearly ending up nose down in a ditch more than once until he triumphantly pulled the Rover up in front of a small, rustic cabin with a high, triangular roof under a thick blanket of snow and a screened in porch from which the rusted old screen had been torn half off and was currently thrashing in the brutal wind. There were no lights on, and no tire tracks but their own.

“I’m going to check it out, solnyshko,” Ilya said, pulling out the flashlight from the glovebox and switching it on. “Stay in here until I come back for you ok?”

“Mmmmm,” Shane murmured, pressing his flushed face into the crumpled pink t-shirt. “Hurry.”

Outside the vehicle, the wind was worse than ever, leaping on Ilya like a hungry animal and battling viciously against him as he bent down low and made his careful way through the swirling snow and up onto the rickety porch. 

It was almost as dark as night now in the heart of the brutal storm, and without any light inside the porch Ilya was glad to have that flashlight. The torn and flimsy screens offered minimal protection from the elements as he tried the door and each of the windows. All locked. 

Swirls of crystalline ice and snow danced in the beam of the flashlight as Ilya searched around inside the porch. He briefly contemplated breaking the glass in one of the windows, but didn’t want the cold to get in once they were inside. That was when he spotted a little ceramic frog down by a cast iron boot scraper to the left of the door.

The frog was wearing a floppy yellow hat pulled down over his eyes and holding a fishing pole in his big, knobby frog hands. He was leaning up against a crooked sign that said “Gone Fishin’” and his long legs were stretched out wide with his yellow boots dangling in the sculpted clay water of the figure’s heavy base.

Ilya bent down to lift the frog up and sure enough, there was a single brass key beneath him. This kind of lax attitude towards security made Ilya hopeful that there would be no alarm system to worry about.

He unlocked the door and pushed it open on its cranky, reluctant hinges.

It was still cold enough inside for Ilya to see his breath, but he was relieved to be out of the vicious wind. There was a switch on the wall right inside the doorway, but nothing happened when Ilya flicked it on and off and on again. No power. That wasn’t ideal, obviously, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and there was a large stone fireplace on the far wall that they could use for both light and warmth.

The little cabin felt so luxurious and enormous after four long years in Ilya’s tiny basement cell. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been free to move around inside a place with more than one room. Fyodor’s penthouse, probably.

The main room of the cabin had high ceilings and big windows. The heavy green curtains were closed, but Ilya could imagine that there would be a pretty view of the frozen lake if the weather were clear. There was a worn plaid couch and a lumpy green chair and glossy wooden plaque with a creepy, taxidermied trout over the fireplace. The fish’s shiny yellow glass eye seemed to be watching Ilya no matter where he stood. 

He could see a narrow kitchen through a doorway to the right of the fireplace and a storage closet and two closed doors on the far wall straight ahead, leading to a small, neat bedroom and an even smaller bathroom with two fluffy striped towels and extra bars of soap and plenty of toilet paper. 

There was nobody here. It was safe and clean and had everything they needed. 

Ilya went to get Shane.

***

Ilya had no idea where Shane had gotten that large strawberry patterned shopping bag, like the kind of thing that some babushka would use to carry homemade pastries or little hand-knitted sweaters across town for her grandchildren, but he was thrilled to discover that it was actually full of food. He set the bag down on the kitchen counter and got to work building a fire while Shane gathered up every blanket and pillow and sleeping bag and couch cushion he could find and started making a big warm nest for them on the rag rug in front of the fireplace.

Once he got the fire going good and strong, Ilya took the flashlight and went to explore a little bit more.

The kitchen was clean and mostly empty, except for some canned soup and canned fruit of various types, a glass jar of raisins floating in golden liquid and a box of dubious pancake mix. The refrigerator was empty and dark, the same temperature inside as the rest of the room. There was a small wooden table at the far end with two slightly mismatched chairs and a mason jar full of dusty, artificial sunflowers.

In the bedroom, Ilya found some spare clothes, everything a little too big but workable. He stripped off his NEORDC jacket and pants and pulled on a pair of ugly brown corduroy pants and a soft green flannel shirt from the closet, as well as some thick marled wool socks he found in a nearby drawer. He grabbed another flannel shirt, this one a deep burgundy and gold plaid, a pair of faded old jeans and another pair of warm socks for Shane to wear whenever he felt ready for clothes again. Ilya left the shitty outside jacket behind, but saved his pink sweatpants for Shane to add to their nest.

Ilya paused for a moment in the doorway to the main room, just watching his mate fussing and frowning over the arrangement of the various elements of their nest, testing and rejecting different textures and choosing the softest, smoothest things to put on top. The base was composed of two puffy, unzipped sleeping bags with three rumpled blankets on top, one brown, one forest green and an especially plush throw with a big howling wolf silhouetted against a fat yellow moon. Large, bulky couch cushions formed the outer perimeter and various smaller decorative pillows were scattered throughout, including one shaped like an inexplicably furry fish and a matching set with embroidered script that said “LOVE” and “FAMILY.” Shane had the inside out trench coat and his stained gray sweater already placed near the head, but was being indecisive about where to put his new favorite t-shirt. 

Again, Ilya felt an overflowing surge of love for Shane, almost more than he could bear. Could this be real? Could Ilya really have this? A safe house and a beautiful mate and the freedom to do anything he wanted any time he wanted?

But right then, in that moment, there was only one thing that he really wanted. 

“You are making our nest so cozy and perfect, solnyshko,” Ilya said, leaning in to kiss Shane on the cheek and handing him the sweatpants. “I cannot wait to fuck you in it.”

Shane clutched the sweatpants against his chest, cheeks flushing deep pink as his eyes fluttered shut and he swayed into Ilya, leaving him no choice but to take Shane in his arms and kiss him deeply.

The wind was still howling like a wild beast outside, rattling the windows and flinging snow around like it was angry that it couldn’t get in. It was still pretty cold inside the big room, even with the fire going, but Shane was radiating more heat than that fire, his skin glistening with sweat in the flickering orange light. He kissed Ilya back with his whole fevered body, every inch so deliciously responsive against Ilya’s. 

Ilya never wanted to stop kissing his mate, but it was Shane who pulled abruptly away.

“Wait wait,” he said.

“What is it, beautiful boy?” Ilya asked.

“I just…” Shane knelt down in the center of the nest, shifting things around and making room for the sweatpants. “One second.”

Ilya smiled and reached out to caress Shane’s damp hair.

“Take your time,” he said. “And take your clothes off when you are ready for me. I will be right here.”

While Shane continued his work on the nest, Ilya got the large bottle of water and the box of protein bars from the shopping bag. He unscrewed the cap and took a deep and desperately needed drink of water, then set it and the box on the floor near the head of the nest.

Shane finally seemed satisfied with everything in the nest and quickly stripped off his pants and tank top, folding them neatly and setting them aside. His cock was hard again, his skin flushed across his chest and cheeks and his dark eyes flashing gold at Ilya as he sank to his hands and knees.

“Now, Ilya,” he whispered, turning to face the fire and pressing his cheek to his folded arms, presenting his ass with his thick, slick wet thighs spread wide. “Need you again, please.” 

Ilya’s hand dropped to his cock, already responding to the sight of his mate so eager and ready for him. He took a deep breath, palming the aching length through the rough fabric of the borrowed pants before swiftly unbuttoning the shirt he’d just put on and stripping down to join Shane in the nest.

“Come here,” Ilya said, kneeling down and pulling Shane gently up from his presented position. “Let me see you, Shane.” He caressed his mate’s overheated cheek with his knuckles “I want to see your beautiful golden eyes while I make love to you. Will you let me have that?”

Shane nodded and let out the softest little whisper of a moan, unable to respond verbally in that moment and Ilya could not have been deeper or more helplessly in love with him.

He laid his mate gently down on his broad back, breathing in the intoxicating scent of Shane’s heat as he lifted those powerful legs up so that they rested on his shoulders. He leaned in closer to Shane, folding him almost completely in half and pressing the head of his cock down with his thumb until it lined up with his mate’s slick, inviting hole.

Ilya could fuck Shane every day for the rest of his life and never get over how incredible that first raw thrust and lush, wet slide felt every single time. How strong Shane’s body was even when he was rendered pliant and liquid by his thrumming heat like this. How deliciously responsive Shane always was, how his bottomless desire for his mate made Ilya feel like the best lover in the world even when he could barely control himself. 

Thankfully, Ilya had already gotten those first embarrassingly quick, touch-starved and desperate orgasms out of the way so now he could focus completely on pleasing his mate, on fucking Shane deeply and selflessly, working him through the waves of his heat and giving him everything he needed.

Because all Ilya needed was to gaze into his mate’s dilated golden eyes and know that he was loved and wanted.

***

Time lost any kind of meaning for Ilya as the storm raged on outside and Shane’s heat-driven need ebbed and flowed and ebbed again. There was no clock anywhere in this cabin and the days and nights flowed together until it was impossible to tell the difference behind the tightly closed curtains. Ilya’s only purpose was to care for his mate, to make Shane feel good, to give him everything he needed like the whole world revolved around him. Which, for Ilya, it did.

Whenever Shane’s burning desire was temporarily slaked, Ilya would feed him little bite-sized pieces of protein bar and cut up mango and make sure that he drank plenty of water. Ilya heated a pan of water in the fire and used a soft cloth to clean Shane and himself. He held Shane tightly in their comfortable default position while his mate slept fitfully between the bouts of ravenous, demanding sex. Ilya caught what sleep he could while Shane rested, but it was more important to him to stay vigilant and make sure that his mate had everything he needed. 

After a particularly intense wave of heat, Shane was dozing sweetly as Ilya wrapped him up in the softest blanket and gave him his favorite t-shirt to snuggle with while Ilya managed to wolf down a can of tuna and a can of pineapple chunks to keep his strength up. 

Sitting there by the crackling fire in a real nest made with wonderful, luxuriously cozy material that actually retained their scents, enjoying the best meal he’d had in years while his gorgeous and perfect mate napped beside him in a soft, fucked-out haze, Ilya felt like a goddamn king. 

It didn’t matter that this wasn’t really their home, that it was just a temporary shelter. It didn’t matter that Ilya’s core muscles were aching from overuse and his tender cock was starting to feel like a battered and war-weary but still fiercely loyal soldier between his thighs. It didn’t matter that the road ahead of them was fraught with danger and uncertainty.

The voice in his head telling him he didn’t deserve this didn’t matter either. The only thing in the world that mattered to Ilya was Shane.

Ilya was drinking down the last of the tangy juice inside the pineapple can when he felt Shane’s fingers reaching for him, clutching at his leg. 

“I’m here, solnyshko.” Ilya set the empty can aside and lay back down beside Shane. “Right here.”

Shane let out a happy little purr and slotted himself into position against Ilya’s side, wrapping one arm possessively around Ilya’s waist and nuzzling against his pec.

Nothing else mattered.

***

Ilya felt like he had just barely drifted off when he woke again to the feeling of Shane cumming against his thigh.

“Mmmmmm, Shane,” Ilya said, rolling towards Shane and cupping his mate’s sweaty face in both hands. “Tell me what you need, beautiful boy.”

Shane couldn’t respond verbally, he just moaned and panted. His eyes were fully gold, soft and hazy and totally gone, subsumed in the profound depths of his heat as he continued humping against Ilya’s leg, sliding his thick, undying erection against Ilya’s cum-slick skin. 

This was clearly the apex of Shane’s cycle, and Ilya was ready for it.

“Ok,” Ilya said gently, rolling Shane onto his back in the center of the nest. “Ok, let me take care of you.”

Ilya laid on top of Shane, letting his mate feel the full weight of his body pressing down like a weighted blanket as he kissed Shane’s parted, panting lips, licking and sliding his tongue between them.

Shane’s hips were still moving rhythmically, still grinding, now sliding his cock alongside Ilya’s own as Ilya deepened the kiss, breathing into Shane’s mouth and gripping the back of his neck. 

When Ilya eventually broke the kiss and pulled back to look into his mate’s flushed and beautiful face, Shane whimpered, hands clutching at Ilya’s back as he pressed his pulsing cock harder against Ilya’s hip, but that whimper turned into a shameless groan of pleasure as Ilya kissed along the line of his strong jaw towards his swollen gland.

Ilya teased, licked and nipped at his mate’s gland, and Shane’s wrecked and desperate cries cranked up louder and wilder. When he finally gave Shane what he needed, sucking the gland in between his teeth, Ilya felt another impossible spurt of liquid heat against his abs as his mate’s cock throbbed and pulsed between them.

Shane’s body was Ilya’s whole world as he moved his mouth slowly down the taut line of his mate’s trembling throat and across his heaving chest. Ilya took his time licking and suckling each of Shane’s nipples, squeezing his firm pecs and running his fingers up and down the sweat and cum sheened muscles of Shane’s abdomen. He could have happily spent the rest of his life worshiping every inch of his mate’s strong, powerful, heat-inflamed body, but he knew that Shane needed more.

His mate’s cum tasted so good and so familiar as Ilya lapped it up off of Shane’s trembling abs. 

“You are so fucking delicious,” Ilya whispered, moving his tongue down to the source. “You taste like mine.”

Ilya licked every pungent drop from Shane’s tight balls and the sides of his broad, throbbing shaft before sucking the fat head between his lips, cleaning it thoroughly with his tongue. But Ilya knew intuitively that Shane didn’t need more genital stimulation at this point in his heat. He needed something deeper now, more intense.

Pushing Shane’s thighs up and back, Ilya dipped his tongue down into the molten crevice between Shane’s firm, muscular ass cheeks. His mate was so wet, obscenely drenched in sweet, glistening slick running in thick rivulets down to pool on the already saturated blanket beneath him. The rich, juicy heat scent pouring off of Shane was making Ilya’s head swim and his cock throb between his thighs, but this moment wasn’t about him, it was about his mate. 

It was about Shane.

“Let me fill you up, Shane,” Ilya said, circling his mate’s slick, puffy rim with teasing fingertips. “Open up for me and let me give you what you need.”

Shane nodded with a soft, affirmative noise, looking down at Ilya with his pupils blown wide.

“If you need to stop and you cannot say your safe word,” Ilya said. “Tap your thigh three times and I will see that, ok?”

Shane nodded again.

“I will not do this until you use your words,” Ilya said. “Tell me what you will do.”

“...tap three times…” Shane said.

“Where?” Ilya asked.

“...my thigh…”

“Good boy,” Ilya replied, easing two fingers slowly into Shane’s hole.

Shane gasped and bucked his hips, twisting the blankets in his big fists and letting his head fall back.

Shane’s o-spot was no longer a subtle, concave dimple, it was engorged and swollen to almost the same size as his mating gland and felt much hotter than the already feverishly warm, slick tissue surrounding it. The second Ilya’s fingertips brushed lightly against it, Shane cried out, hips stuttering as another thin dribble of cum drooled from the crimson head of his twitching cock.

“...more…” Shane panted. “...need…more…”

Ilya pulled his fingers out and then added the ring and pinkie finger, folding his hand into a duck bill shape and sliding all four fingers up into Shane.

Shane let out a wild, shattered moan, powerful muscles clenching hard around Ilya’s hand as Ilya worked his fingers slowly, deliberately in and out, curving them inward to caress that swollen, burning spot on every thrust.

Ilya had never felt so profoundly in tune with another person’s body, breathing in time with Shane and acutely aware of every tiny twitch or pulse inside his mate’s heat-saturated core. It was as if the whole world had fallen away, leaving nothing but the nexus where the two of them were intimately joined. The rest of Ilya’s own body had completely ceased to exist, all his feeling and focus narrowed down to only the tips of his probing fingers.

Shane’s copious slick was flowing freely down Ilya’s forearm, dripping off his elbow as he tucked the tip of his thumb in between his pinkie and his index finger and pushed in deeper, the crown of his knuckles twisting against Shane’s stretched and straining rim. 

The noises Shane was making were getting deeper and more feral, punctuated by breathlessly inhaled gasps and emphatic, affirmative sounds.

“Breathe for me, Shane,” Ilya said. “Breathe and open wider for me now.”

Shane pulled in a hitching breath and then let it all the way out, muscles going warm and slack inside him as another gush of slick flowed over Ilya’s wrist and down his arm.

“Such a good boy for me,” Ilya said, pressing the broad ridge of his knuckles harder against Shane’s rim. “So wet and hungry. You need to be full don’t you?”

Shane nodded, letting out a high needy whine.

“You are going to take all of this like a good boy, yes?”

Another nod, another whine.

“Deep breath,” Ilya said, waiting as Shane did what he was told. 

As soon as Shane had let all the air out of his lungs, Ilya began the slow, methodical final push, curving and folding the widest part of his hand as much as he could as he twisted it and worked it in a cautious centimeter at a time. Once the bridge of his knuckles finally slid past Shane’s rim, he paused, looking up at his mate.

“Look at me, Shane,” Ilya said. “Is this ok?”

Shane looked down between his legs, his golden eyes so hazy, fucked-out and deep in subspace that Ilya was a little worried that his mate might be too far gone in his heat to effectively communicate. 

“You will let me know if you need to stop?” Ilya asked. 

Shane nodded and Ilya could see he was struggling with words. When he finally spoke, it wasn’t what Ilya was expecting.

“Don’t….” he said “Don’t fucking stop, please. I’ll die if you stop.”

Ilya did not stop.

He worked in deeper, and deeper still, his folded palm nearly halfway in, then three quarters. And then, one last firm push on Shane’s exhale and Ilya’s whole hand was in, his mate’s dripping rim tight as a handcuff around his wrist.

“Good boy, taking it all like this,” Ilya said. “Taking what you need.”

Another cascade of affirmative noises from Shane, followed by another thick flood of slick as Ilya curled his fingers slowly down from the duck bill position, until they formed into a wide, square fist.

Ilya just kept his fist completely still inside Shane for several minutes, allowing his mate to breathe and relish the feeling of total and complete fullness. Then, Ilya pushed in and upward until his first two knuckles found Shane’s o-spot. 

When Ilya started rocking and twisting his fist so that his knuckles ground back and forth against that swollen and hypersensitive nerve bundle, he thought Shane might actually pulverize all the bones in his fingers or even rip his hand off completely. His mate’s ferociously spasming muscles clenched down on Ilya like a beartrap and the primal scream that Shane let out didn’t even sound human.

More cum was leaking out of Shane’s fitfully twitching cock as a cascade of overlapping, internal orgasms chased each other through his trembling body, and Ilya rode it out with him, pressing his other hand flat against Shane’s heaving abs to hold him steady through the internal storm.

“I’ve got you, Shane,” Ilya said. “You can let go. Let it all go.”

Ilya lost track of time as Shane came completely apart for him, sobbing and thrashing and clenching around the steady gravitational center of Ilya fist.

When the spasms subsided and eventually stopped, Ilya began to slowly, carefully uncurl and withdraw his hand. One last gush of fragrant slick came pouring out along with Ilya’s knuckles and then his numb fingers slipped free and Shane opened his eyes, looking down at Ilya like his heart was breaking.

“No,” Shane breathed, shaking his head. “No, no, no, please, Ilya! I need…” 

“You cannot possibly want more, greedy boy,” Ilya said, shaking out his hand to get the blood flowing back into it.

“Please don’t leave me like this,” Shane begged. “I’m so empty, I need you inside me.”

“Shane…”

“Need your cum in me now,” Shane said, rolling over and pushing his slick wet ass up high, presenting desperately for Ilya. “Need you in my fucking womb, Ilya.”

Fuck. How could Ilya say no to that? 

He got up on his knees behind his mate and gripped his hard, neglected cock, guiding it up into Shane’s stretched and sloppy hole. There was no resistance at all until he was about halfway in and then he felt something unique and amazing, something he’d never felt before.

Shane was sobbing and whimpering and gasping for breath as Ilya’s cock suddenly and unexpectedly breached an impossibly tight, angled bottleneck, a supple and deliciously textured channel lined with tiny ridges that felt like heaven against the sensitive underside of his cockhead. Ilya thrust deeper, all the way in until his aching balls were pressed flush against Shane body and Ilya could feel the head of his cock kissing the quivering mouth of Shane’s womb.

Ilya knew in the logical part of his brain that he was not an Alpha, that there were no viable sperm swimming in his omega semen, but that part of his brain had gone completely offline in that moment and all he could think about was claiming his mate’s virginal, secret channel and filling up Shane’s fertile womb with his cum.

Chasing his own swiftly building orgasm and completely lost in the deep, primal fantasy of giving his mate pups, Ilya thrust into Shane again and again, reduced to panting Shane's name like a some kind of desperate mantra.

“...so deep…” Shane whispered. “Fuck, I feel you, Ilya. I feel you. I’m gonna… I…”

When Shane’s last and most terrifyingly powerful full-body orgasm hit, the profound hormonal maelstrom took Ilya down with it. There wasn’t a drop of cum left in Shane as his cock spasmed and dry-fired repeatedly between his thighs but Ilya clearly had inner reserves he hadn’t known existed, because the sheer volume of the release that exploded out of him rivaled that first one in the back of the Rover. Ilya could feel the muscles around that tight channel hungrily suckling the tip of his spurting cock like a greedy mouth and it was almost more than he could stand. Every nerve in his body crackled with overstimulation and he felt like he was on the verge of passing out when the clenching finally tapered off and Shane collapsed and flattened out on his stomach. Ilya followed him down without pulling out, resting with his full boneless and exhausted weight on top of his softly purring mate.

“That was…” Shane murmured. …fuck.”

Ilya smiled and kissed the back of Shane’s sweaty neck.

“Yes,” Ilya said. “It was.”

“Have you ever…” Shane turned his head and looked back at Ilya, eyes still solid burnished gold. “...felt anything like that before?”

“No,” Ilya replied. “I never have. Only with you, solnyshko.”

“Only with you,” Shane repeated. “And I never want to feel that with anyone else. That part of me belongs to you, Ilya, just like every other part of me. I want this feeling to be ours forever, ok?”

“Of course,” Ilya said. “Ours forever.”

Ilya pulled out and rolled over onto his back, moving away from the enormous wet spot in the nest and pulling Shane with him so that they could slot back into their default position closer to the banked fire.

Shane’s fingers gripped Ilya wild and sweaty curls as he pulled Ilya’s mouth down for a slow, tender kiss. Ilya let himself relish the taste of his mate for a few luxurious minutes, then laid his head back against the throw pillow that said FAMILY and held Shane closer, breathing in their rich, interwoven scents.

“Are you ever gonna tell me what solnyshko means?” Shane asked, already half-drowsing.

“It means that you are my sun in the darkness,” Ilya told him. “The center of my universe. It means I love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” Shane said. 

Ilya reached for the one blanket that had somehow managed to stay dry during the slick tsunami of this last earth-shattering round of Shane's heat and pulled it over them, tucking it in around his deeply sleeping mate.

***

When Ilya woke again several hours later, the storm had finally quieted outside the cabin, just some thin flurries still dancing in the gentled wind. He carefully extracted himself from his sleeping mate’s warm koala embrace, added more wood to the fire and went to refill their water bottle.

As he watched the water flow from the tap into the mouth of the bottle, he felt a sudden wash of woozy dizziness, skin prickling with gooseflesh. He could feel sweat breaking out all over, dripping down between his pecs, yet he felt chilled, shivering. He drank from the water bottle, wondering if maybe he’d let himself become dehydrated while he was focused so completely on Shane, but he somehow felt thirstier the more he drank. 

Was this a weird, inexplicable relapse of the mate loss sickness he’d experienced when Shane had first been taken away? It didn’t seem possible when he could still smell his sleeping and contented mate right in the next room.

He loosely capped the water bottle and rushed back to their nest, suddenly desperate to see Shane, to hold him and scent him again and prove that he was real. That Ilya was real.

Standing at the lip of the nest, Ilya filled his lungs with his mate’s familiar scent. Shane had kicked off the blanket while Ilya was getting water and was now treating Ilya to the stunning sight of his whole nude, athletic body splayed out on his stomach with his thick thighs slightly parted, his swollen and well-fucked hole still glistening with heat slick and Ilya’s cum in the flickering firelight.

That’s when it hit. The feeling of surging blood like magma under his skin. Slick dripping between his legs and his cock painfully hard and burning like white hot steel on a blacksmith’s anvil. Unquenchable fire flared and twisted deep in the heart of his secret core. 

Heat. Fuck, Ilya was in heat.

Ilya lay on his bruised and skinny back on the hardwood floor with a ring of standing Alphas around him, glossy spit-shined boots, military brass buttons gleaming on their broad chests, their cruel, leering faces half hidden in the shadows high above him. Someone with wiry gray chest hair was fucking him, working their massive knot in and out of his torn and bleeding hole while someone else knelt down on one knee next to his head to stuff his mouth full until he choked. Above him, a luxurious crystal chandelier the size of a small car glittered and refracted the dim light, casting pretty little rainbows onto Ilya’s sweat and spunk drenched chest and belly as he orgasmed again and again, painfully and involuntarily, aching with bottomless need, wanting more. Needing more.

“Baby?” A voice from somewhere was saying. 

The water bottle dropped from his numb fingers, cap flying off and cold water pooling around his feet.

Sharp white fangs ripping into his skin, piercing deep into his delicate and sensitive gland again and again, growling and snapping all around him and thick, warring rut scents suffocating him like the enormous, sweaty bodies pressing up against him from every direction. He couldn’t focus on any individual person, couldn’t connect with or even find his own Alpha anywhere in the writhing crowd. He had no idea who he belonged to anymore and he couldn’t get away, couldn’t do anything but take more and more and more.

Ilya couldn’t breathe. The scream was back, trapped between his chattering teeth. 

He crouched alone, naked in a slippery mess of slick, blood, and stinking Alpha spunk, shivering and terrified and abandoned. Bloody drool was leaking down his chin and his jaw would not close all the way, the right hinge sizzling with eye-watering pain after Ilya had been knotted repeatedly in the mouth. His gland burned like he’d been branded but where was his Alpha? Who was his Alpha? The pretty crystal rainbows flickered and danced like tiny fairies in the widening puddle between his legs.

“Ilya what’s wrong?”

He had to get away. He needed to hide, before they found him again. Hurt him again.

Nearly blinded by tears, Ilya ran to the bathroom, slammed and locked the door and slid down until he was sitting on the floor with his face in his hands.

***

“Ilya, please,” Shane’s soft, gentle voice was saying through the door. “I’m right here. Just tell me what you need.”

Ilya was curled in a fetal position on the musty green bath mat, shaking all over and needing to cum so badly but drowning under wave after wave of crushing, toxic shame, unable to stop thinking about those Alphas, about being used and hurt and fucked by them. About wanting to be fucked by them. 

You are disgusting.

He hit himself in the temple with the side of his fist over and over.

“Nyet nyet nyet…”

You will never be good enough. Never clean enough. You will always be that boy on the floor, relishing your own torment and degradation like a pig wallowing in filth. 

That wasn't true. It wasn’t. He was chosen and loved. Shane loved him.

Only because he doesn’t know who you really are, and it’s only a matter of time before he finds out. Then you will be alone again. Abandoned again. Unwanted and thrown away, like the trash you are.

Ilya could smell Shane scenting him, his calming, safe tea scent drifting through the crack beneath the door. This wasn’t some long ago memory either, it was a real scent from his real mate who was really here with him right now. Not a hateful voice in his head, but Shane. His light, his midnight sun. His best thing.

“Shane…” he whispered, reaching out to brush his fingers against the door.

“You’re safe, Ilya,” Shane was saying. “I’m here. We’re together. I can smell how scared you are, baby, but you don’t have to open the door if you don’t want to, ok? Just try to say these words back to me, if you can. You’re safe. I’m here. We’re together.”

“I am safe,” Ilya whispered, even though it felt far from true.

“Yes, you’re safe,” Shane said. “You’re safe, I’m here, we’re together.”

“I am safe,” Ilya made himself say again, louder this time. “My mate is here. We are together.”

“I’m here and I’m not going anywhere,” Shane said. “I love you so much, Ilya, and I’ll just be sitting here next to the door whenever you feel ready to open it.”

Ilya got slowly up to his knees, pulled in a few deep breaths and then turned the knob on the door, opening it just a crack so that he could fit his hand and wrist through.

Shane didn’t grab him or try to pull him out of the bathroom, he just lightly pressed his wrist to Ilya’s and that familiar, homey scent eased Ilya gently back from the brink, back to now.

“I’m just going to stay here, ok?” Shane said softly. “If you need me, I’m right here.”

Ilya didn’t know how much time passed while they sat with their wrists pressed together through the crack in the door, but he was starting to feel more grounded with every heartbeat. More now. The banked fire of his heat was starting to flare up again inside him and he needed Shane more than he needed to stay hidden.

He pushed the door the rest of the way open and crawled out on his hands and knees to sit beside Shane against the polished, rustic wood paneling of the cabin wall.

“Oh, baby,” Shane whispered, not moving or trying to touch him. “You’re in heat, aren’t you?”

Ilya nodded, looking down at his swollen, angry and nearly purple cock and then back up at Shane. 

“Do you need to cum?” Shane asked.

Ilya nodded again, tears flowing freely down his flushed and burning cheeks.

“I’m not going to move or touch you,” Shane said. “I’m just going to sit here and you can touch me or yourself or whatever you need to do. If you want me to touch any part of your body, just take my hand and put it where you need it. Does that sound ok?”

“Ok,” Ilya said.

“And if you get scared or feel bad, you can stop any time.” Shane’s little smile curled in one corner of his lips. “You can even use my safe word if you like.”

“Zamboni,” Ilya said, trying for a smile of his own and not quite getting all the way there.

“Right, Zamboni,” Shane said.

“Ok,” Ilya said.

For a moment, neither of them moved. They just sat together, breathing in their sinuously intertwining heat scents. Ilya could feel the erotic tension vibrating in Shane’s body and knew how hard it must be for him to sit still and wait like this, what with his own lingering heat still simmering on a low boil inside him. 

This perfect fucking boy. His boy. 

Then, before Ilya could think too much about it, he climbed into his mate’s lap, straddling his brawny legs and pressing his aching cock against Shane’s taut abs. Shane was hard too, slotted in between Ilya’s slick cheeks but he was not pushing Ilya for more, not trying to grind against him or slide up into him. Shane just sat still and quiet, solid and present and real, smelling so sweet and so safe. So much like their blended sweat and cum and slick, like their strong mated scent. Shane smelled like home, like his.

“Touch my cock, Shane, please,” he said, taking his mate’s big calloused hand and guiding it down to Ilya’s cock. “And look at me. Look at my eyes when you make me cum so I know that it is you.”

Shane wrapped his fingers around Ilya’s cock and nodded, eyes locked with Ilya’s.

“This is me,” Shane said, brown eyes flashing gold. “Can you feel my fingers holding you?” 

Ilya gasped and nodded, breath hitching as sparks of burning pleasure swirled and shot through him, igniting him from the inside out.

“Fuck into my hand, baby,” Shane whispered, never breaking eye contact. “Come on, use my hand to cum. You’re in control. Take what you need from me, I’m yours.”

Letting go and letting himself feel this was profoundly terrifying but also exhilarating, freeing. Ilya thrust up into Shane’s strong grip, eyes locked with his mate as the first free, chosen heat orgasm he’d had in a decade gathered with astonishing strength inside his molten core, building bigger and stronger and coming to a soul-shattering crescendo.

“Gold,” Shane whispered. “Your eyes, Ilya, they’re golden, so beautiful. You are so beautiful.”

“For you,” Ilya breathed. “I am yours. I…”

Whatever Ilya had been about to say disintegrated in the white hot blast radius of the powerful orgasm ripping through him and what came out instead morphed into a deep primal cry that felt like Shane’s name in his mouth but wasn’t in any civilized human language.

Ilya must have actually blacked out for a moment then because the next thing he knew he was being tightly held and rocked in Shane’s arms with his tear streaked face buried in the crook of his mate’s fragrant neck.

“I’ve got you, Ilya,” Shane was saying. “I’ve got you.”

“Shane,” Ilya whispered, sobbing his heart out as if all the tears he’d kept inside for so long were finally being released at once.

“I’m here,” Shane replied. “Shhhhhhh, baby, I’m right here.”

Ilya had no idea how long they stayed pressed together like that as his tears slowly tapered off, but eventually Ilya realized that he was hard again, sliding his cock back and forth against Shane’s now cum slick abs.

“Ilya,” Shane said softly. “I don’t want to scare you or do anything that might feel like too much for you right now, but…”

Ilya stilled his hips, swiping at the last of his tears with his knuckles and looking up into Shane’s eyes.

“But what?”

“If you keep grinding your ass against me like that,” Shane said. “I’m gonna fucking cum.”

The smile Ilya had tried for earlier bloomed again on his lips, succeeding this time.

“No,” Ilya said. “I will not allow it. I do not want you to waste one drop.”

Shane’s eyes went wide, dilating to black and flashing gold at the same time.

“You want..?”

“I want you to fill me up, Shane,” Ilya said. “I want you to fuck me the way you did when you claimed me in our cell.”

“Are you sure?” Shane asked, breath coming hard and fast now as he slid his hands down the sides of Ilya’s body to grip his waist.

Instead of answering, Ilya reached back and guided the head of Shane’s thick cock into his slick drenched hole.

“Tell me you want me,” Ilya said.

“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane said. “I want you so bad. I love you so much. Can you feel it? Can you feel me?”

Feeling his mate slide all the way home, deep into Ilya’s thrumming, heat-inflamed core, brought more tears to Ilya’s eyes and drew a breathless moan from his lips. 

“Da, yes, yes,” Ilya breathed. “Fuck, yes, I feel you.”

“I want you,” Shane repeated.

Ilya suddenly needed every sense to be filled and overwhelmed with Shane.

“Again,” he pleaded as he gripped one of Shane’s muscular arms and shoved it up over his head. “Tell me again, please!”

“I want you,” Shane said, head thrown back and eyes closed now, totally lost in the intense sensations, panting in time with the pulsing of his cock inside of Ilya. “I want you, I need you, I love you, Ilya. I fucking love you.”

Ilya buried his face in Shane’s sweaty armpit.

Here was the pure and uncut essence of his mate, his familiar, mouthwatering scent, his delicious sweat and the sweet, luscious musk of his heat. No cruel Alpha smelled like this. No other person in the world smelled like this. Like his boy. Like Shane. 

This was real. Shane was real. Shane wanted him and nothing else mattered.

When Shane came, Ilya felt that flush of liquid heat pumping into him, filling him up with love and sunlight, obliterating everything dark and ugly inside him. Ilya breathed in Shane’s powerful, masculine scent like it was oxygen and worked his hips in short, grinding strokes, dragging the head of Shane’s cock back and forth against his throbbing o-spot until all his senses whited out from the blinding intensity of his deep, internal orgasm.

When the shuddering aftershocks died down, they just sat like that for several minutes, clinging onto each other like shipwrecked and half-drowned sailors who couldn’t believe they’d finally reached dry land.

“Are you ok, baby?” Shane asked.

“I am better than ok,” Ilya said. “Because of you.”

Shane pulled Ilya into a tender, gentle kiss.

“Can I take you back to our nest now?” Shane asked.

Ilya nodded.

To his surprise, Shane shifted suddenly forward, getting his legs under him and Ilya could feel the strength coiling in the long muscles of his thighs as he cupped Ilya’s ass in his big hands.

“You cannot be serious…” Ilya started to say.

But Shane was serious, apparently. He didn’t bother to reply, just let out a strong exhale and stood up smoothly without letting Ilya go, easily lifting and carrying him again just like he did when they fled from the hell of NEORDC, only this time with his cock still deep inside Ilya, still miraculously hard and wanting more.

“Oh my God, Shane,” Ilya said, clinging to Shane’s neck. “What is this now? New Olympic sport dreamed up by horny Canadians?”

“You should try it some time,” Shane said, not even out of breath. “Of course, I’ll always win. You might have a shot against me in a 100 meter sprint, but I have way better stamina for marathons.”

“You have better stamina?” Ilya said with a small huff of a laugh. “Who has been fucking you non-stop for days without benefit of heat?”

“Do heat hormones count as doping?” Shane asked.

“I think so, probably,” Ilya replied. “And I can walk just fine, you know this. It is my heart that is damaged, not my legs.”

“If I let you walk,” Shane said, stepping up to the edge of their nest. “Then I’d have to pull out.”

“Ok, fair,” Ilya said. “I do not want that.”

Shane let Ilya sink a little lower in his arms and looked into his eyes.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” Shane said. “Whatever you need, anything, you just tell me ok?”

Ilya kissed Shane, relishing his mate’s taste and his unwavering strength and the feel of his fat cock filling Ilya so perfectly, his sweet, fragrant cum mingling with Ilya’s slick and dripping down both of their thighs.

“I want more,” Ilya said, pressing his forehead to Shane’s. “More of you.”

“You want me to fuck you more?” Shane asked, never taking his soft golden gaze off of Ilya. “Cum inside you again?”

“Yes,” Ilya said. “I need to be completely full of you. I want to feel you inside my heart.”

“Ok,” Shane said. “Hold on to me.”

He lowered Ilya gently down, but the second Ilya’s back touched the floor of the nest, his entire body clenched and locked up.

… the hardwood floor against his bruised back. The Alphas all around him. The rainbows, the chandelier. The shame, the blood, the awful hunger burning inside him…

“Ilya,” Shane’s voice. “Hey, hey, it’s ok Ilya.”

… Alphas growling, laughing, teeth snapping and their thick stinking cum everywhere, mixing with his own, drowning him, drowning in shame…

Ilya wasn’t even aware of lashing out, kicking and punching and scrambling away. It wasn’t until he found himself hunched down and pressed against the far wall that he realized he had hit Shane in the face.

He wanted to die in that moment.

But Shane didn’t hit back or yell at Ilya and he didn’t leave. He just sat still and patient in the center of the cozy, wonderful nest he’d made for them. There was a big splotch of red on his sweet, freckled cheek where Ilya had lashed out at him and he heard a broken, keening sound coming from somewhere. 

From Ilya. The sound was coming from him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, hitting himself repeatedly in the temple but it wasn’t enough to take away what he had done to his beautiful, trusting mate. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

“Baby, please don’t do that,” Shane said, coming slowly over to sit beside Ilya without touching him. “Can you just put your hand down for a second?”

Ilya lowered his fist, digging his nails into his palm and shaking his head.

“I hurt you,” Ilya said. “I am bad.”

“Did you forget I’m a professional hockey player?” Shane asked, still not touching Ilya or trying to scent him, just sitting with his open hands on his thighs. “I get hit way harder by my best friends on an average fucking Tuesday, so you’re gonna have to do a lot more than that if you want to convince me you’re bad.”

“Fuck, Shane, I do not deserve you,” Ilya said. “I ruin your heat. I ruin everything.”

“Nothing is ruined, baby,” Shane said. “We have plenty of time to take it slow, take breaks. Whatever you need, I’m here for you ok?”

Ilya nodded.

“Ok.”

“Can I scent you?” Shane asked.

Ilya nodded again, offered his wrist.

“Ok,” he said.

They just sat together, breathing together, scents drifting and mingling as Ilya’s heartbeat started to slow to match Shane’s, but the hurt still lingered in Ilya’s heart.

“I told you that I cannot be fixed,” Ilya said, taking his wrist away from Shane and wrapping his arms around himself, curling his body inward. “I am too broken inside. Not worth it. You should leave me, find a good man…”

“Don’t ever say that!” Shane cut him off, angry brows furrowed and eyes filling with tears. “That’s not happening. Not ever! I won’t give up on you and I won’t abandon you.”

Ilya couldn’t stop shaking, digging his nails into his palms over and over. He wanted to believe Shane so badly.

“Don’t you get it?” Shane continued. ‘When you said that we could be broken together, I told you how much I wanted that and I fucking meant it. I want you, Ilya, not some theoretical nice guy that probably doesn’t even exist. You are my mate. I chose you and I’ll keep on choosing you as long as you let me.”

Ilya’s brain was screaming for him to run, to hide, to seal himself back up, but he couldn’t. His body needed Shane. He crawled back into his mate’s lap, resting his cheek against Shane's sturdy shoulder.

“Even though I am a mess like this?” Ilya asked. “Not simple and fun?”

“You don’t have to be simple,” Shane replied, sliding his hands slowly up Ilya’s back. “And you never have to perform for me. You don’t need to earn my love, you already have it.”

“How are you real?” Ilya whispered, genuinely awestruck and humbled by his beautiful boy.

“Oh I’m real,” Shane said, pulling Ilya closer. “Just you wait until you have to deal with how annoying I get when I start training for the new season. And you’ve never had to deal with the way I need the dishwasher to be loaded or my very strong opinions about laundry.”

“Shane, I swear I will learn everything about your dishwasher and laundry needs perfectly,” Ilya said, sniffling and looking into Shane’s golden eyes. “I would do anything for you. I would die for you, you know this.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Shane said. “Because I like you better alive and also I’m still really horny even though I’m trying very hard to be chill about it.”

Ilya laughed and shook his head.

“Do you need a blowjob?” Ilya asked.

“Fuck yes,” Shane replied.

***