Chapter Text
March 2015
Ilya
Ilya was in the communal showers, rinsing off the game sweat, when Marlow wandered in, pads half off.
"Yo, Rozy! Jane's calling you," he called, wiggling his phone at him.
Alarm shot through Ilya. Shane didn't call. They had an unspoken rule against it. Text only. Never voice. Never anything that could be overheard, recognized, or recorded. The fact that the phone was ringing at all meant something was wrong. Very wrong. His stomach did a flip.
Ilya turned off his water, barely aware that his teammates were watching him. He grabbed a towel from the rack, dried his face, and ran it roughly over his hair before wrapping it around his waist, not bothering to dry off more. He gestured to Marlow to toss him the phone.
"Shit, must be good tail," Marlow chirped and threw it to him.
Ilya lifted his lip in a snarl but caught it mid-stride, already moving toward a far corner of the locker room, and pressed accept. He pushed past a chuckling Marlow, pressing it to his ear as he walked, dripping water, not caring. He flipped him off when he heard him mutter, "Pussy whipped," under his breath behind his back.
"Hello?" His voice came out thick and cautious. Trying to block out the sounds of his teammates heckling him.
All he heard was breathing on the other end before a pained whine. His breath stalled in his own chest. He was about to repeat himself when he heard one word, barely a whisper that made his blood run cold, "Help." Ilya's entire body went still, and his hackles rose.
Shane's voice was wrong. Thin, stretched, and laced with pain. It tugged at his heart.
"What is wrong? Are you hurt?" His own voice lacked his snark, replaced with dread and demand. Sharp with alarm.
"I—I'm in heat…Need you," Shane stuttered out, before letting out another gasp.
Ilya's stride slowed, and his nostrils flared with desire. Shane was in heat. Fuck. His mind stalled briefly on the concept.
Betas could run hot — he knew this, it happened, less dramatic than an omega wave, but not unheard of.
He would have anticipated a rut from Shane before he would have anticipated a heat because of the way he played so aggressively on the ice. But then again, given how enthusiastically Hollander bottomed, maybe he should have. Male betas cycled either way sometimes. Some cycled both ways. He had known a few who had been that way. It was possible that Hollander did too.
Though considering how pained Hollander sounded, it was unlikely.
"Where are you?" He was already moving back toward the main locker room, beelining for his locker. He wedged the phone between his shoulder and his ear and started to rapidly dry off as he went.
"L-locker rooms."
His stomach clenched. Fuck, that wasn't good, he thought as he tugged on his pants and grabbed his shirt.
The Metros locker room, full of alphas, post-game, with a charged atmosphere of men who'd just exerted themselves and lost. Definitely not good. Then a terrifying thought struck him. Shane had broken the unspoken rules likely because he couldn't think clearly and didn't feel safe.
Shane needed to get out of there. Now! He had a sudden desire to rush over to the other side of the building and whisk him out of there. That was a preposterous notion. It would be so tricky and would raise questions if discovered.
"Are you safe?" The question came out sharper than he intended. A command more than a question.
Silence. Silence so complete it made his heart squeeze. Fuck, he wasn't, was he? He was already out of his locker room and making his way down the hallway that would take him to the visitors' locker room, consequences be damned.
"Hollander!"
"Y-yes, s-sorry—" came the stammered reply. Ilya came to a screeching halt, and relief flooded through him, leaving him dizzy. He glanced around to make sure no one had heard him. He was alone. Not even a custodian. Thank God! He'd been so careless saying the Canadian's name so loudly. He took a deep, calming breath before asking his next question.
"Can you get to your hotel?" His voice was thankfully steadier than he felt.
"Hayden can take me."
That was Shane's best friend, right? Still, he didn't like the idea of another male even near him. He grabbed his possessive feelings by the throat and throttled them back into place. What the fuck was going on with him?
"Your friend is mated, da?" he forced out.
"Yes, and not even an Alpha." The irritation in it was faint but present in Shane's voice, enough to sound like himself. It eased the tightness in Ilya's chest and allowed him to breathe freely again.
"Good. Send room number. Da?"
He hung up without waiting for a response. He knew that hadn't been proper English, but he couldn't translate everything correctly right now. He stood still for a few seconds in the hallway, heart still pounding, his scent sharp even to his own nose. He took a deep breath and let it out jaggedly, shaking out his arms roughly, trying to regain his composure. He patted down his pockets. Fuck, he hadn't grabbed his keys.
The cold of the concrete floor seeped through the soles of his feet. He looked down. Damn-it. He had run off without his shoes. Looking back up, he spotted the visitor's locker room door no more than fifteen feet away. Shit, what would he have done if Shane had said no to his question? It didn't bear dwelling on. He walked briskly back to his locker and snatched the missing items.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out.
869 Hurry.
He sent back his favorite emoji without thinking and pocketed the phone.
"Fuck this woman works you up, Rozy. I was wondering when you were going to realize—" Ilya cut Marlow off with a warning growl, not in the mood. Adrenaline from winning still coursing through him, mixing dangerously with cortisol triggered by Hollander's call. He felt too raw. He didn't want to do something like break his friend's nose.
The other alpha blinked and scented him tentatively. His eyes grew wide, and he dropped down to a crouch, eyes fixed on the floor by Ilya's feet. Genuflecting to Ilya, "Fuck, you good, Roz?"
Ilya blew out a breath and, with it, some of his tension. The submission of the weaker alpha soothed him instinctively. He decided to give him a half-truth.
"Jane's in heat and not safe…not at home," Ilya growled, his scent sharpening with protective pheromones.
Marlow flinched, "Fuck…Sorry, captain," he said, tone bland and submissive.
Ilya felt like an asshole. He didn't want his teammates to fear him.
"It's okay…you couldn't have known."
Marlow blew out a slow breath and dared to glance up at him, head still lowered. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
Ilya reached out and slapped his shoulder, making the larger man jump slightly. "Spread the word, why I won't be coming in for practice," he said, plastering on his cocky grin.
Marlow relaxed and grinned back. "Totally, man, you do what you need to and have fun." He leaned forward slightly, and Ilya bumped his forehead with his own gently, similar to the way they did with helmets on.
❖❖❖
The pharmacy was quiet at this hour of the night. He avoided the few patrons and beelined toward the one bored pharmacist behind the counter.
"My friend is in heat. Where are your supplies?"
She appraised him clinically and sniffed mildly, assessing him. "Beta heat or omega heat?" she asked, setting her phone down and walking around the counter.
"Um, beta. But it sounds bad," he replied, falling in behind her as she walked purposefully to the right aisle.
"Are they on suppressants?" she asked blandly.
Ilya's mind went blank. Fuck, he hadn't thought to ask. Or was it better he didn't? Would that have been too personal? But now wasn't the time for these thoughts; the pharmacist was waiting for his response.
"Umm…not sure probably…" It felt like a Shane thing to be on suppressants, with his love of control and routine. The more he thought about it, the more confident he was that Shane was on suppressants.
"Hmm, normally I would recommend this one for betas, it takes the edge off," she said, lightly tapping a green box. "But if your friend is on suppressants and sent you, I'm going to assume it wasn't a scheduled heat. Breakthrough heats can be a lot on the system. I would get the one with mood stabilizers. They're likely feeling…not out of control per se, but umm…untethered." She continued, pointing to a blue box next to the first.
Ilya took the second box without hesitation. He'd heard Shane's voice. It had sounded untethered and strained. He definitely needed more than taking the edge off.
She nodded approvingly. "Good, have them take one pill every four hours for the best effect…and pardon my bluntness, but I'm assuming you plan on helping this friend through their heat?"
Ilya nodded. There was no point in lying. She didn't seem to recognize him, and if she did, she was doing a great job of staying professional. She had even gone so far as not to assume the gender of his friend.
"Condoms are further down the aisle. Do you want help finding those, too?" she asked, staring pointedly at his chest, the only hint that she was uncomfortable.
Ilya scratched the back of his neck. Right, knotting condoms. He probably should get some.
Back in Russia, he had no problem finding condoms designed for alphas. But the same couldn't be said in America. Conventional sex was easy enough to accommodate; all he had to do was look for the word 'magnum'. However, ever since coming to America, he'd never gotten around to finding an alpha-specific brand that worked for him.
He’d been to uncomfortable with deciphering all the English instructions, he’ll still was, and unwilling to risk trial and error with something so crucial. Especially when, failing meant a broken condom and putting his partner at risk. That had never sat right with him. Actually the dangerously irresponsible idea repulsed him.
So, he'd simply forgone knotting while in America, saving such experiences for when he was back at home in Moscow. But now seemed to be the perfect time to change that.
He'd been sorely tempted to try knotting with Hollander but hadn't found the courage to bring up the subject. Hollander had taken to anal better than anyone he'd introduced to it, but still… betas either loved it or hated it, and Ilya hadn't wanted to have Shane hate any sexual experience between them. But with Hollander in heat, he was likely craving his knot to some extent, right? It was probably a good idea to get them just in case.
"Yes, America does not have my preference," words thick with his Russian accent.
She looked up at him then and smiled slightly, clearly amused. "I'm sure we can find something comparable," she said, voice tinged with mirth.
It took five minutes to find a brand of condoms for alphas that would be able to accommodate his knot without risk of breaking. Were other alphas' knots really that small?
She had handed over a regular box first, but when he’d flipped it over to read the dimensions, he’d found them in inches. Unsure how to convert that into centimeters, he'd asked for a physical estimate. She'd blushed but said a medium-sized banana with a plum. He'd set it back down and picked up one labeled magnum and questioned again.
And so it had went until they were both blushing, dammit Russians weren’t supposed to do that, and he had a suitable-sized product, capable of withstanding a hefty-sized cucumber and a large grapefruit, according to her. He shook his head, remembering her slightly wide eyes and little 'oh' she had made with her lips when he had dropped it into his basket. Her scent had flared slightly with arousal, but she had stayed professional otherwise as she had scanned his stuff and he had paid.
He spent the ride to the hotel contemplating whether Hollander would actually let him knot him. Hoping the awkward and memorable encounter would be worth it in the end.
Despite going 10 miles over the speed limit, it took 20 minutes to arrive at the hotel the Metros always stayed in, parking around back where his red Ferrari was least noticeable. Somewhat...
❖❖❖
Room 869. He knocked quietly, said Hollander's name, and waited. Anticipation grew as he heard movement on the other side of the door grow closer. Then the door opened.
Hollander was bare. He registered the careless, eager vulnerability of it. He looked divine, all flushed, visibly quivering with need, glistening with sweat, and heavy and handsome cock already drooling pearly liquid, just the way Ilya liked him best.
"Birthday suit," Ilya commented, eyes trailing down Shane's naked body in approval. Then Shane's scent hit him like a physical wall. It punched him in the back of the throat and caught him in the chest. It licked along his senses like a wild thing and set his instinct at fuck, claim, and protect, to blaze bright in his gut. His cock already half-hard with anticipation since the phone call, finished hardening so fast it left him lightheaded. He smelled of sweetness and spice and something that made him think of home and safety. He'd never smelled this way before, even after some of their more rigorous and lengthy encounters. His mind went blank, save for one word that seemed to pulse before his eyes like a neon sign. Omega. He flared his nose and drew in a deep lungful of Shane's pheromones, feeling slightly disoriented. "Whoa. Hollander, you are an… omega."
Shit, he could get drunk on his scent. Sweet and warm and underneath, something rich and concentrated that implied fertility. It was so much fuller than his previous scent. It was as if the base notes, which had been compressed, had blossomed and were now pouring off him all at once. His nostrils flared before he could stop them.
He stood there for a moment, trying to catalogue Shane's true scent as he turned over the past few years of encounters. How had he misread him so completely?
Hollander's hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and hauled him inside. "Come in," he snarled, face scrunched up in desire and…worry?
"So aggressive for an omega," Ilya chirped casually, letting himself be pulled, all too eager.
Once the door shut, he started circling the slightly smaller man. Stalked him like he was the most delectable thing he'd ever come across. Fuck, he probably was. He took all of this pretty man in, all flushed, gorgeously freckled and naturally smooth like a swimmer, all graceful and lean. He looked like an overly rouged and luscious porcelain doll. He didn't know if he wanted to smell him, lick him, or fuck him. Looking at him now, it was so obvious he was an omega. Smelling him made his teeth ache with the subconscious desire to bite him and mark him as his.
"Should have known you were a closet omega. You always smell so sweet. Fuck! But now…mmm… You smell even better than usual. I could eat you up," Ilya said, mostly to himself.
"I won't stop you," Shane said eagerly "From eating me, I mean," he added shuffling his feet nervously.
Ilya grinned low and with predatory promise. His canines dropped involuntarily at the all too tempting invitation. Shit…
"Easy, Hollander… take this first," Ilya said, pressing the pharmacy bag against Shane's chest, concern for the trembling man overshadowing his lust. His eyes were glassy and pupils blown so wide he could barely see the rich, warm brown of his irises.
Hollander blinked, as if trying to fathom seemingly unexpected turn of the conversation, and scrunched up adorably in confusion. He looked into the bag and then back at Ilya with something unidentifiable flickering deep in his eyes.
"I went to pharmacy. The lady said these pills would help relieve heat symptoms," Ilya explained.
"Thanks," Hollander said, reaching into the bag and pulling out the blue box. Shane turned it over with trembling hands, fumbling to open it. It was Ilya's turn to frown. He'd never seen Shane this uncoordinated. The heat was definitely affecting him deeply. He sighed, putting on an air of impatience to hide his concern.
Ilya took the box from his hands, deftly tore it open, and took out one of the sheets of pills. "Are you fully in heat?" He smelled like it.
"Just about," Shane said, with a jerky shrug, eyes fixed on the box like it held his salvation. Shit, he was going to get worse before he got better, wasn't he? What word had the pharmacist used? Untethered? That didn't seem strong enough of a word. Shane looked unmoored, swaying slightly on his feet as if one wrong move would have him crumpling.
Ilya nodded and popped two pills out into Shane's waiting palms. Yeah, best to get on top of it. An omega in heat was hard enough to keep up with, but if he was having a breakthrough heat, which he suspected he was, it as possible Shane might outpace Ilya’s impressive stamina.
Hollander took them dry, with the focused determination of someone who needed relief badly enough to skip the water. Yeah, this was going to be a wild ride, and Ilya suspected he was going to be the one ridden hard and put up wet. Thank god he had the stamina of a stallion.
"What do you need from me, Hollander?" he asked, kicking off his shoes. Keeping his voice easy. Practical. He needed to know how far Shane wanted to go tonight before his heat wiped all concepts of consent and boundaries from his mind.
"Sex," Shane answered eagerly, dropping the now-empty shopping bag to the floor. Yeah, not good. The Hollander he knew would never put trash on the floor when a bin was only feet away.
"Just sex? No knotting?" Ilya asked carefully, hoping Shane wasn't too far gone already to have this conversation.
Something shifted in Hollander's expression. "I've never..." he answered, shivering, nervousness and anticipation broadcasted all over his face.
Part of Ilya preened with the knowledge that no alpha had taken this first of Hollander's, while another part scolded himself. Ilya had so many partners who weren't Shane, who had taken nearly all of his own firsts. But the idea of another man, another alpha fucking his knot into the beautiful, sweet Canadian’s ass set his teeth to grinding with jealousy and his blood boiling with rage. Which was stupid. Hollander wasn't his omega. "You want him to be," a little voice in his head whispered.
"I figured. Good thing I bought special condoms to try it with you then." Ilya couldn't contain his eagerness as he reached into his back pocket, retrieving the box he'd tucked there. "I got them from pharmacy too," he added, suddenly unsure as he studied Hollander.
Shane was bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet, cock swaying lewdly, clearly forgotten.
Was he scared? He'd been scared to try anal sex with him; it was logical that he might be scared to try this too. He'd never taken a knot.
Ilya pushed away his possessive and ravenous thoughts and focused on Shane. He was his priority. Making sure he was okay. Not his own selfish and impossible desires.
"Only if you want to? There are other ways to satisfy you without it," Ilya added hastily, keeping his voice carefully level, soothing even. He didn't want to pressure him into doing anything he wasn't ready for.
"No! Want it…Need it!" Shane cried, looking devastated at the idea of not taking his knot. Ilya couldn't help his predatory grin of lust at the outburst. He couldn't deny this man anything when he looked so ravishing. God, if he didn't look away from him right now, all his control would fly out the window, and he would end up bending Shane over and knotting him on the carpet.
Ilya tore his eyes away from Hollander, letting them land on the bed. No. Wait. A nest.
He let his legs carry him across the room. He could hear Shane eagerly following him, thanks to his little pitter patter of bare feet on the carpet. "Is that your nest over there?" He asked stupidly. Of course it was.
Ilya studied it. The comforter had been dragged from the bed entirely to now pool at the bottom of the bed. More covers wrapped around the edge of the mattress. Glancing at the other bed, he found it bare, robbed blind by Hollander. Then there were the pillows. So many fucking pillows. Eight of them laid out to form a rough oval across the upper half of the mattress. Arranged, oh, so carefully to prevent them from overlapping.
Interwoven were shirts and hoodies he recognized instantly as Hollander's. Two stood out most to him: a crumpled sage green linen shirt that Hollander never seemed to iron and a creamy sweater with Canada and a maple leaf emblazoned upon it. He'd seen Shane wear those too many times to count. And in the center of the installation was a plaid earth-toned blanket.
Ilya was captivated. He'd never seen Shane exhibit nesting behavior. Or had he?
The image popped into his mind. Shane's Montreal apartment… bed piled high with so many fucking pillows. Had Shane always been nesting? Just in the privacy of his own home. Forced to deconstruct it before Ilya arrived, hiding the evidence of what he actually was?
Christ. How many things had Shane hidden from him?
Hot on the heels of his musings was a memory. December 2013. The first time Shane had bottomed for him in the sanctuary of his Montreal apartment. When Shane had gifted Ilya permission to fuck him properly, and he came untouched for the first time. He'd felt like a sex god, making him come like that without even trying to, making Shane's first all the more memorable. It dawned on him now that he had unintentionally given Shane exactly what his body craved. Fuck! He should have known he was an omega…coming so eagerly from just being fucked.
He recalled so vividly how tender Shane had been after his release. He'd been so cuddly and blissed out. Pressing his back up into Ilya when Ilya had fallen to his side after tumbling over the edge himself. He had let Ilya take a shower first. Fuck, thinking back on it, Shane hadn't showered at all… Shane — mess-hater Hollander — hadn't even stripped the bed; he’d lounged on the messy bed, basking in the afterglow and rolling around slightly in their combined scents. It was so obvious, thinking back on it, that Shane wasn't a beta. But Ilya had chalked his actions up to experiencing his first prostate orgasm. He knew from experimentation just how bewilderingly powerful one could be. He'd been so blind.
The memory continued to play in his mind's eye. Shane cradled Ilya against his body after Ilya had gotten out of the shower. He'd kissed him with such tenderness, and that forehead kiss… fuck…Ilya had felt it in his chest, and he'd panicked. He'd pulled back from the vulnerable sensation, made an excuse about a flight, and fled before he lost himself in Shane's softness.
And what had that sweet Canadian man done? Shane had walked him down the stairs, carrying his jacket, still covered in his scent. Clearly not wanting him to go, craving comfort. And Ilya had repaid that sweetness by being an asshole…refusing to text him back for months, being harsh to him at the Sochi Olympics, and only resumed fucking him in June, at the Las Vegas MLH Awards, unable to resist the pull towards him.
Ilya's mind was swimming. How much of Shane's neat, controlled, and regimented persona was because he had been hiding his true nature? How thoroughly had he been disguising himself over the years? Could he take care of him now if he never truly knew what Hollander needed?
But one thread of questions upset him the most. Had that tenderness Shane had given him that night been him trying to show Ilya his real self? If he had stayed, would Shane have told him he was an omega? Fuck probably…
As his mind spiraled, he managed a mild chirp, "Hmm. So many pillows. And boring, like you." There was no heat to his words; if anything, they held affection. Chirp was familiar and a safe way to show attraction between them.
"Fuck you," came the immediate reply.
"So you want to top me now? And here I thought you wanted my knot," Ilya teased, turning to face Shane, feeling less raw after chirping. But his smile died on his face as he took in the sight before him.
Shane's shoulders were rounded inward, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides. His face was scrunched, micro-expressions displaying his anger and sadness. Eyebrows scrunched in anger while tears pooled on his lash line, refusing to let them fall.
And when Ilya's gaze caught his, Shane flinched. It was a small movement, a barely perceptible recoil. He acted as if Ilya had struck him instead of having merely looked at him.
The flinch tore through Ilya's chest like a blade. It plunged deep into his heart and twisted the same way his careless chirp had just knifed Shane. Shit, he hadn't been thinking. He'd expected Shane to hurl chirps back at him like usual, but Shane didn't have anything left to parry with tonight. His emotions were tattered and clearly on display.
"Whoa, easy, Hollander." He moved to him, unable to stop himself. Shane had always responded well to physical touch, relaxed into it long before his brain had processed what Ilya was really saying.
His left hand found Shane's rippling stomach, the other came up to cup his face, and he watched Shane's tension ease just at the contact. Something loosened further in his chest.
He tipped Shane's face up slightly until he was forced to look him in the eyes. He'd noticed that Shane struggled with maintaining eye contact, not only with him but with literally everyone — preferring to stare at their chin, chest, or over their shoulder. But he needed Shane to see the sincerity in his eyes when he spoke. "Your nest is fine. A tad boring, yes, but it suits you. I'm honored you're willing to share it with me." He spoke truthfully, and yet he left out a part too exposing to share…he more than liked Shane's boring, really — he craved it.
Boring was predictable, calm, and safe. Nothing in his life had ever been boring, except Shane Hollander. That wasn't to say Shane was always boring. Quite the opposite, actually. He was frequently surprising him on the ice and in the bedroom, just never in a bad way.
He stared deep into Shane's watery eyes and waited. Waited for his words to fully process and his lover to relax. It didn't take long. Hollander's eyes fluttered shut, and he rocked subconsciously into his touch. The tension went out of him by degrees as Ilya traced his fingertips over his stomach and up his ribs, feeling the blaze of his overheated skin, and the involuntary clenching and unclenching of his abdomen. A fresh wave of desire wafted off of Shane, a potent flood of pheromones perfuming the air between them. Shane's scent tugged at something primal within him, speaking directly to his alpha with a language beyond words.
How had he gotten so lucky to have Shane Hollander, the poster child of prodigious hockey, be attracted to him? What had Ilya done right to have Mister Goody Two-Shoes himself like fucking him, or more precisely, liked being fucked by him? Liked it so much that Ilya had been invited over to help when Shane went into heat? Called him while in a locker room surrounded by likely willing alphas? To have his name chosen over all others on the likely small list of willing partners? He had no idea.
Honestly, he was most surprised by the fact that Shane had called him to help after how he'd treated this wonderful man through the years. But Ilya was the only one Shane had wanted. That knowledge did weird things to his insides that he couldn't afford to look at too closely right now. Not while he was staring into Hollander's eyes that stared up at him like he held the moon. Probably not ever…
"Please," Hollander breathed.
"Please, what?" Ilya asked. He needed to know — was it 'please leave' or…
"Please fuck me?" Shane panted.
"And?" Ilya pressed, wanting Shane to use his words, needing to know if Shane still wanted his knot, to bare himself so completely to Ilya after unintentionally hurting him. As he questioned, he eased them toward the nest, with gentle pressure on Shane's jaw and throat.
He found his nipple with his other hand and rubbed firmly between two fingers. He enjoyed watching Hollander's tension dissolve in real time and marveled at how fast Shane slipped further under the heat's spell, mind fogging over rapidly.
"Fill me with your knot, Alpha," Hollander said, his voice stripped to its core. "Can't stop thinking about it..."
That word. Alpha. His designation. Fuck, if Hollander knew what it did to him when he said that word.
Ilya fought to think past his raw avarice for this man to register what it had cost Shane to say that word. This man, who had never once acknowledged the biology between them, who had kept their encounters scrupulously equal, who had built an entire career as an omega in a sport dominated by alphas pretending to be beta.
He had submitted to Ilya by saying that word. Begged Ilya to fuck him, care for him, and protect him while in this vulnerable state, mind muddled by heat, hormones wreaking havoc, and emotions raw. He could deny him nothing. Not now…likely not ever…
Ilya did not make Shane say it twice.
He learned Hollander that night in the way you learn something you had been looking at for a long time without properly understanding it.
He was careful. He paid attention to every sound and every response. He catalogued the differences between what he'd known and what was in front of him now. And the difference were vast.
The way his body responded. The depth of it, the involuntary honesty of it, the way he relaxed under Ilya's hands. The trust broadcasted in Shane’s every response as he let himself go fully into Ilya’s controlling care, as if finally permitted to do so. The sounds he made, no longer suppressed, were addictive.
But not as addictive as his scent. Sweet and spiced at first, cinnamon rolling off him warm and immediate. But the longer he bathed in the scent, something softer emerged — light floral notes of rose and lily, delicate and almost secret, that made his inner alpha yearn to bottle it. But beneath all of it, the base that never left: vanilla-infused sugar and cinnamon, rich and deep and devastatingly warm. Like something homemade. Like something you wanted to consume. It built all night, each layer fuller than the last, until Ilya couldn't remember what air smelled like without him in it. Fuck. He was a goner.
❖❖❖
To be continued...