Chapter Text
“Have you read this yet?” Shane asked, voice raised to reach the kitchen from his seat in the living room.
He was seated on the recently re-assembled soda, laptop open in his lap. A deep buried part of himself had hated taking the couch cushions out of the nest, but it was too impractical to keep the couches as they were. It was like Shane needed the nest anymore - that mainly a heat-based instinct.
“Read what?”
Shane started and looked up, not expecting how close Ilya’s voice was.
The man in question was standing beside him, Shane having completely missed Ilya entering the room. Impressive, considering the sheer size of the man.
Ilya smirked down at him and offered Shane one of the plates in his hands.
Accepting it, Shane murmured his thanks. As Ilya took a seat next to him, Shane bit into the sandwich. The smell registered before the taste did.
Shane froze.
He glanced sideways at Ilya, but the alpha was focused on his own plate. Pointedly so.
Questions lingered on his tongue, but the words never took form on his lips. Feeling the weight of the moment, Shane struggled with how to respond. Acknowledging it felt like digging into old wounds, yet saying nothing - doing nothing - felt just as awful.
Instead of speaking, Shane found himself turning inwards, his thoughts reaching for the bond stretching between them. In his mind’s eye, he brushed that fledgling tether.
Longing.
Fondness.
Bittersweet nostalgia.
That last one hit hardest and Shane struggled to swallow past the lump in his throat. He was certain now that he should say something, anything.
“You know, these were pretty good the last time,” Shane said, aiming for casual. In the corner of his eye, he saw Ilya go still. Shane ignored it and took another bite of the tuna melt.
“Oh?” Ilya asked, his voice sounding cautious.
Shane hummed and nodded. “Yeah.” Bumping Ilya’s ankle with his own, he smiled. “They are better now.”
Shoulders dropping, a bright smile flashed across Ilya’s face. He shrugged and said “New mayo.”
With easy affection coming across the bond, Shane found himself returning the bright smile with one of his own. “It’s good.”
“Good,” Ilya repeated.
His expression was so warm, Shane’s breath caught in his chest.
Then he broke Shane’s reverie by nudging his leg. “You haven’t told me. What is it you are reading?”
“Oh!” Shane had forgotten, despite the computer sitting in his lap. “The email from Dr. Olsen.”
After their awkward meeting with Shane’s parents yesterday and their less than awkward lunch together, Ilya and Shane had taken a trip back to the hospital where Dr. Olsen waited for them. The man had managed to strike a balance between a kind and a matter-of-fact bedside manner - a disposition Shane found himself envious of.
Dr. Olsen had walked Shane and Ilya through a few basic medical checks, answered their most burning questions, and then sent them home with the promise of sending more information for them to read. It had taken a couple hours, but the email had come in as promised.
Ilya hummed and bobbed his head in understanding. “The one he sent with all the info packets attached? I read the email, but not the packets yet. You find something interesting?”
“A few things. Some of it, you practically need a medical degree to understand, but Olsen included a couple good breakdowns of the information.”
“Like what?”
Shane polished off his sandwich and set the empty plate next to Ilya’s on the coffee table. He twisted slightly to make it easier for Ilya to see the computer screen. The alpha slid in close behind Shane, his chest pressing to the back of Shane’s shoulder.
“He included some of the same general bonding info he told us - timelines, things to expect, some basic advice,” Shane started with.
“But that is not this?” Ilya asked, jerking his chin at the screen.
Shane shook his head, eyes on the screen. “No, this is more about going feral. What happens and why, that kind of thing.”
“He told us this, yes? It is a survival response, like fight or flight.” ” Ilya said, frowning as he squinted at the tiny letters on the screen. The print was absurdly small in his opinion. Was this the real reason Shane needed glasses to read? He kept the print too small for any normal human to see?
“Right, yeah, it’s similar to that,” Shane said. “Remember how Dr. Olsen had explained that sometimes it gets conflated - mixed up with omega hysteria?”
Ilya did remember. The doctor had been forced to explain ‘omega hysteria’ to Ilya, the term having never been used in his presence before. If Ilya understood it correctly, it was a stereotype held over from older generations - that women, and omegas in particular, were overly emotional and prone to irrational behavior because of it. All while men, particularly alphas, were considered the more logical gender - both physically and mentally stronger than their counterparts.
It was a fading concept, especially with betas and even omegas such as Shane Hollander existing in spaces dominated by alphas.
Nonetheless, there were still plenty of people who thought going feral was reserved for alphas, while omegas presented a more emotional loss of control.
Dr. Olsen assured them it wasn’t the truth, as evidenced by Shane’s behaviour on the ice.
Feeling fond, Ilya tucked his chin over Shane’s shoulder, one hand sliding across the omega’s ribs and stomach to hold him that much closer. “You were not like that,” he stated softly.
Shane leaned into Ilya’s hold, face flushing red. “No, I instead attacked my teammates, bit and bonded an alpha, and became a car thief.”
Snickering at Shane’s grumbling, Ilya kissed his pink cheek. “A very pretty car thief,” he promised, a wicked grin curling his lips.
Shane half-heartedly elbowed him.
“What else does it say?” Ilya asked. “Does it warn that feral omegas will tear an alpha’s throat out?”
Twisting, Shane gave him an appalled look.
Ilya shrugged. “Is what Dr. Olsen told me when I woke up in hospital.”
Shane seemed to think about it and winced. “Yeah, I can’t deny the risk.” He sighed. “And yeah, this article does talk about that, although it doesn’t say anything about tearing throats out. Like, yeah, violence is more common when a person goes feral.”
“Feral omegas especially.”
That earned Ilya a wary side-eye.
“Yeah,” Shane acknowledged. “Feral omegas are twice as likely to resort to violence than an alpha in a similar situation.”
Ilya tried to hide his widening grin in the crook of Shane’s neck.
Shane felt it anyway. “You like that, don’t you?” He sounded exasperated. “Why do you like that?”
Resisting the urge to nip the pink and healing bond mark, Ilya lifted his head to respond. “In Russia, we have stories.”
“Stories?”
“Da, stories from grandmothers they heard from their grandmothers. Passed down.” Not for the first time, Ilya felt a strange homesickness that only came from trying to explain a deep-rooted truth another Russian would have immediately understood. “Some stories, they talk about the bears.”
Confusion covered Shane’s face. “Bears?”
“A man or woman goes feral, they have the bear’s soul inside them. The bear becomes part of them so they can fight, they can protect.” Ilya pressed his lips to Shane’s shoulder. “It is good thing to be chosen by an omega with the soul of a bear.”
“Why is it a good thing?” Shane asked, voice and face equally soft.
Ilya hummed. “Because the best only chose the best, yes?” He explained in short.
Shane processed that in silence for a few seconds, then Ilya felt a flicker of mischief over the bond. “So, you are admitting I am the best?”
“Second best hockey player, but who else were you to choose other than - ack!” A squawk burst out of Ilya as he flinched away from the fingers pinching his nipple. He shielded himself with one hand and batted Shane’s fingers away with the other. “Hey, no! No pinchy!” His eyes narrowed and he growled “I’ll pinch back.”
Relenting, Shane let him be. Little giggles were spilling out of his mouth, dark eyes sparkling.
Ilya reached out and closed the lid of the laptop.
“Hey!” Shane said, but it was a weak protest.
Ilya captured Shane’s lips in a kiss, kept him from trying to say anything more. A hand held Shane’s face at an angle, one perfect for Ilya to deepen the kiss.
They broke apart long enough for the laptop to end up on the coffee table, then Ilya was tipping Shane back into the couch cushions and kissing him some more. Between kisses, they hastily tugged off each other’s clothing.
Ilya stretched out over Shane, then slid into him, smooth and easy. He fucked Shane slow, just for the novelty of being able to take his time. There was no ticking clock hanging over them, no urgency built up by the adrenaline of the ice and secrets, and no need built up by too much time between meetings.
This time, and for many times in the future, Ilya had the luxury of patience. He could indulge in this slow fuck that had Shane squirming beneath him long before they were finished. Heat built between them and their breaths mingled.
Slipping a hand between their bodies, Ilya stroked once, twice, before Shane spilled white ribbons over Ilya’s fingers. Wet walls fluttered and constricted around Ilya, and his hips stuttered. With a low grunt, Ilya pushed deep and came inside the spasming clench of his mate.
His lips found Shane’s once more, the act messy as they panted into each other’s mouths more than they kissed. He dropped down onto Shane, confident in the omega’s strength to handle Ilya’s limp body weight.
Ilya kept kissing Shane, his mouth trailing from Shane’s lips down his jaw. When he reached Shane’s neck and shoulder, Ilya heard him speak.
“Huh. I get it now.”
“Get what?” Ilya asked, words muffled by Shane’s shoulder.
“I get why some people call it ‘making love’.”
A warmth grew between them, different from the heat of moments before. That thin and still growing cord connecting them shone gold and made Ilya’s heart ache in the best of ways. He nuzzled Shane’s temple.
They were outside of heat and rut, so there was no knot. Yet, Ilya was reluctant to pull away, to end the intimacy of being inside Shane. It was like being a physical part of the man he loved so very much.
Shane’s chest made a nice pillow, anyways. Ignoring the sweat pooled on Shane’s sternum, Ilya shut his eyes and listened to the rush of air in Shane’s lungs and the beat of his heart. Shade didn’t protest either, didn’t make any sort of complaint about Ilya’s weight crushing him. Instead, he dug his hands into Ilya’s hair, fingers tugging ans toying with the curls as he stroked. A lump grew in Ilya’s throat when he felt the unmistakable press of lips to the top of his head. Shane was right.
This was much better than last time.
More than he’d let his heart hope for.
They rested in silence until the discomfort of remaining inside Shane outweighed the intimacy of it and Ilya was forced to pull away. Judging by how their skin stuck together, it was long past time to clean up.
Ilya tugged the drowsy omega up from the couch and ushered him into the shower. It was far from the first time they’d bathed together, but, just like earlier, the lack of a ticking clock added a novelty to the experience. Shane seemed to feel it too, the both of them wordlessly taking their time, each sweeping touch lingering beyond the needs of cleaning.
After the shower, Shane insisted on doing another load of laundry. Ilya couldn’t exactly blame him - the pile of dirty bedding generated during Shane’s heat had been more substantial than Ilya had anticipated.
While they folded the latest load out of the dryer - Ilya mostly watching Shane with a fond expression on his face - Shane broached the topic again.
“The old stories, the one from Russia… do the stories mean it will be ok?” Shane swallowed. “For you to go back, I mean?”
The question doesn’t hit right away - it takes a moment for Ilya to parse through the words to what Shane is really asking.
“No,” Ilya responded slowly. “Russia has laws against propaganda, other laws in discussion. Many in the government have opinions about same-primary relationships.” All of them strong and very few of them good.
Shane bit his lip. “So me bonding you while feral - having a bear’s spirit - it didn’t really change anything?”
“Yes and no,” Ilya said. He sighed and tucked the shirt in his hand into the appropriate dresser drawer. Then he leaned one hip against the dresser, hands braced on either side of his hips. “Us bonding this way means they cannot claim I have committed a crime, cannot call for me to return for trial.” Not that they would have been successful if they tried - there were enough mate protections established by the UN that it would have been entirely for show no matter what.
“But you still can’t return?”
“It would not be safe. I told you before, my father was police, my brother is police.” He shook his head. “Too many eyes, and my brother would not hesitate to look the other way if it meant saving his own skin.”
A choked noise and then two arms were wrapping tight around Ilya’s waist. Shane squeezed him hard, nearly squeezing the life out of Ilya even as the alpha returned the embrace.
Grief struck. It wasn’t overwhelming, but the blade of it was sharp and struck deep. Ilya’s vision blurred and his jaw clenched. He clung to Shane as he fought back the burn of his eyes. He hated to shed tears for his father, for his brother. They were never worth the shame of it.
“I’m sorry.” The words were muffled by Ilya’s shirt.
Ilya leaned back and cupped Shane’s face in his hands. “No,” he refuted calmly. “No sorries. I have lost, yes, but I have also gained so much more.”
He pressed a quick kiss to Shane’s lips, which were soft and damp under his.
“I have lost Russia, but that has been happening for a long time,” he continued.
Shane shook his head. “Ilya, you told me your father is sick.”
Ilya lost the fight against the burn. “Yes.” He nodded. “I will not see him again, I think.” He’d already known that, he realized. There had always been a high chance of it, since he spent little time in Moscow as it was. Now, it was a near certainty that the last time Ilya saw his father alive… would be the last time he saw his father alive.
The reality was that all Shane truly changed for Ilya was that he wouldn’t be able to attend his father’s funeral. He’d pay for it, he was sure. It wasn’t as if Alexei’s calls had stopped - the insults and cutting remarks had just gotten more pointed.
That was fine.
Ilya cared… but also didn’t? In a lot of ways, his father was already dead and gone. Ilya was merely stuck waiting for the shell of his father’s body to catch up with the truth of his mind. And once it did, Ilya would do his duty. He would see to the arrangements, as best he could. There were already accounts prepared, for the funeral as well as for Polina and his niece.
And then Ilya would never need to take a call from his brother again.
The body pressed to his shifted. “What can I do?” Shane whispered, eyes glassy with unshed tears.
Ilya tried to reign in his grief so it stopped infecting their bond. To distract himself, he dragged a thumb over the freckles he’d fallen in love with years ago. “You have already done it,” he told Shane. “You exist.”
The grip around his ribs grew painful.
Ilya would never complain.
“I fucking love you so much,” Shane choked out.
“Not as much as I love you.”
“Don’t even start.”
“Shane, please,” Ilya groaned in despair. “You are killing me.”
“I’m sorry,” Shane said and meant it. Sighing, he rolled onto his back and stared up at the darkened ceiling. There was something wrong.
Unfortunately, Shane was having a hell of a time figuring out what the ‘something’ was.
“You need cushions?” Ilya offered, his voice raspy with exhaustion.
He meant the cushions they’d taken out of the nest in order to use the couch.
Wincing, Shane shook his head. Those sounded vaguely terrible right now.
It was late in the evening. Ilya and Shane were laying together in the partially deconstructed nest, trying to sleep. The key word being ‘trying’. Shane couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t get his brain to settle, to shut off. He kept rolling a fidgeting, plucking the blankets into place and shifting his pillows.
And he was driving his poor alpha crazy.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Shane admitted, piteous. “It’s like nothing feels right.”
Ilya huffed and sat up on one elbow. “Well, what would feel right? New sheets? Pillows?”
Shane shrugged, frustrated and helpless. “No, none of that.”
Flopping back down into the bedding, Ilya hooked an arm around the omega’s waist and hauled him close. “You have been like this for hours,” the complaint came out a near whine.
Scoffing, Shane protested “We went to bed an hour ago, maybe. It hasn’t been hours.”
“Yes, fine, but before that, you wouldn’t even sit with me on the couch for more than ten minutes before you were up and doing something,” Ilya grumbled and shoved his face into the nape of Shane’s neck. “Stupid things, too.”
“Are you saying you don’t appreciate having clean laundry?”
“No, but why did you rearrange the spice cabinet?”
“Because your arrangement was ‘anything goes’ and I couldn’t half of what I needed.”
“You also wiped the counter three times.” Ilya nipped at one bare shoulder, drawing a surprised yelp. “Three. Times.”
Shane’s ears burned. “Was it really three times?”
“What, you lose count?”
Yes.
“Leave me alone,” Shane huffed, refusing to admit to the truth.
A pause, then Ilya curled tighter around Shane’s back. “No.”
Shane relaxed into his hold, as much as he was capable of in that moment.
It wasn’t enough.
“What is this?” Ilya flat out whined. “It’s like your bones itch, what the fuck?”
He was right, it really was like Shane’s bones themselves were itching. His muscles were filled with a buzzing need to move, to do, to fix and it was a discomfort bordering on pain.
“Things feel… wrong,” Shane tried to explain. “Or, not wrong, but not right? Not -” He cut himself off.
“Not what?” Stroking Shane’s abdomen with one hand, Ilya waited. When no response seemed forthcoming, he tried to fill in the gaps. “Not good? Not comfortable?”
“No, no!” Shane rushed to say, shaking his head. “Everything is good, your place is good, that’s what makes it so confusing.” He buried his face in the pillow. “It’s so stupid.”
“So?” Ilya asked. “Tell me anyway so maybe we can sleep sometime this year.”
“It’s not mine,” Shane blurted out and tensed. He knew his embarrassment and guilt had to be flooding the bond.
Behind him, Ilya started shaking.
“Ilya, what - ?” Then he felt it, heard it. “Stop laughing! You’re such an asshole.”
Turning on to his back, Ilya cackled up at the ceiling. “Shane, you are nesting,” he said, once he could take a breath. “The articles said this, the doctor said this, said omegas could feel like this.”
Maybe Shane had skimmed the nesting section more than he should have. He honestly thought it would have more to do with the physical nest - that they were currently in - than anything else.
But apparently not?
He was going to have to reread the articles.
Ilya evidently had the same idea, climbing over Shane and out of the nest. “I’m getting tablet,” he said when Shane let out a garbled sound in protest. “I want to sleep, and your brain needs answers before it will let us.”
When he returned, Shane took the tablet from him gratefully. The pertinent document itself about the effects of bonding was pulled up on the screen and Ilya had already found the subsection on nesting for Shane.
It was a known fact that bonding could and would stir up all sorts of instincts in people. It was why most places offered a Bonding Respite period. Physical contact sport often exacerbated the issue, and the league had already informed Ilya and Shane about their own mandatory two week respite period.
Beyond a vague understanding of bonding and the effects, Shane hadn’t thought too much about it before. It was always a topic to consider later, even when it looked like there was someone who might feature in that later. Bonding was an abstract idea, never a concrete plan.
Now Shane has gone feral on the ice and bonded Ilya in front of thousands of fans. Maybe it should have been less abstract, in hindsight.
He read the section on nesting and found that it was something that both alphas and omegas go through, often in different ways. It showed up as a restlessness or inability to settle shortly after the initial high of bonding had faded. For alphas, the nesting instinct was often focused on their new mate and the members of their pack, as well as provisions and supplies.
For omegas, their instincts would similarly focus on provisions, but would also focus on locations instead of pack members. The idea of nesting came from the traditional concepts of an alpha providing nest materials for an omega to build with. Yet, it wasn’t uncommon for an already familiar space to be needed by some omegas to assuage the instincts.
It was the least convenient of the options and of course, Shane fit the bill for it.
“So, where do we need to go?” Ilya asked when it was clear Shane had finished reading.
“We don’t have to go any-”
“Shane.”
His jaw snapped shut.
Ilya hummed thoughtfully. “Alright. We will go to Montreal. Tomorrow.”
Shane hated that he felt a little bit better hearing that. “Tomorrow,” he agreed. Spinning around, he tucked his face under Ilya’s chin. He fell asleep listening to the alpha’s soft snoring breaths.