Chapter Text
Shane opens the door to something that truly shocks him more than it should. He had a clue on who it could be; the whole world knows about Shane's Ottawa cottage, but the address is a precious secret given out to very limited people. He selfishly hoped someone would come, someone would see something wrong with his unusual behaviour. He hoped someone would notice that he needed help, and he's too close to pass up the offer of getting out of this hole he has dug for himself.
“Hayden?”
Standing out there in the sun on the front porch of Shane’s cottage, stands his best friend and his wife. Shane wordlessly steps to the side, too overwhelmed with emotions to speak about how he really feels. He’s thankful for the reminder that he still exists, that selfishly, the loss of him would affect more than his parents. The reminder that there are people who want him to be happy, to be happy as he is, happy as he is, boring and without changes. The reminder that he is lovable, and that he is loved. He pulls the door open a little more to give them enough space to enter the house.
Jackie and Hayden trudge in, dragging a suitcase and an old, beaten hockey bag. She looks around the entryway, leaning back to peer into the kitchen. “Wow.” She says, astonished. “It looks…well, really, honestly, it looks like someone lives in here for once.” She looks him up and down.
“Not a very healthy person.” She adds, fingering the misaligned pillows on the sofa. This room, this house as a whole, was usually kept spotlessly to the extent that she’s often afraid to let the tornadoes she calls her children loose in here. She loves her little terrors, and so does Shane, so he never says anything as the four of them wreak havoc around, play a game of what-can-we-destruct in Shane’s carefully crafted home.
“I…I…?” Shane mumbles, still standing in the entrance to his home. He’s managed to turn around to face them at least. Hayden and Jackie have made themselves comfortable on the couch, shoes off, jackets unzipped, and fingers inching towards the blanket draped over the back of the sofa. He clears his throat. “I’m fine.”
Hayden pointedly stares at the pile of used tissues laying in a pile on the coffee table. It’s coated in a layer of dust, the coffee table–the usual assortment of hockey stats books, and modern art books that his mother definitely put there. Rings from mugs long past have lingered stains across the front lip of the table, coasters lying abandoned, still in a neat pile in the corner. It's hard to see this peek of an unorganized, misaligned Shane. In the entire time they have known each other, Shane has always been routine first, life second; living with a type of cyclical focus on the next task. It's almost like he never processes the things that happen to him in an effort to be prepared for the future, but this whole situation has thrown him in the dryer, scrambling for a foothold in his new reality.
It's quiet, the discontent that fills the space. It sneaks up on you, the feeling, the scent of Shane’s despondency. The way his hands shake, and his eyes shiver from side to side, the shivers he’s obviously trying to contain but remains unable to do so, all of it feeds into showing the shame he is trying to hide from them. From his pack.
Jackie goes to stand. “Shane…” She says softly.
“I’m okay! Really, I am. I’m just taking a break this summer, you know, some time off like the team and everyone is always telling me to do. And…and I’m taking a break from the diet too, so no more rabbit food for me! Do you want anything to eat or drink? Wow, I’m being such a bad host. Let me grab you guys something to drink!”
Shane slips out of the room after word vomiting all over the Pikes.
“Okay. So. He is definitely not okay.” Hayden says.
Jackie smacks him. “Obviously!”
Shane continues to thud things around in the kitchen, making a bigger deal out of grabbing a few glasses of water than it really should be. Jackie flinches and then stands, pulling her husband to his feet as well. She starts to tidy up the living room, making the mess go back to its normal, meticulously organized, color-coded headache it usually is. She elbows Hayden to clue him into what she’s doing. He takes the hint (finally) and starts picking up pillows and returning them to their carefully assigned spots across the seating areas on the lower floors of the house.
Shane teeters out of the kitchen, stopping at the sight of his pack cleaning up his living room. He is struggling with his sense of balance, and it is pretty obvious, watching him shake in his frame as he delivers two cups of tea and two cups of water on a tray to the coffee table in the living room.
Hayden reaches for the glass of water, and seconds later, Jackie does too, until she is stopped by Shane's keen. He seems upset that the sound escaped him, that they know he cares, that they know he's affected by their action, especially right now. Jackie quickly corrects course, but not before making eye contact with Hayden above Shane’s head. She grabs the hot mug of tea.
Shane’s answering whine is one of appeasement, and he scents happier, happier than he has been for weeks. He curls into himself and leans into Jackie, taking comfort from the other omega in his pack. She smells good. And safe. She smells good, and safe, and like home, and for the first time since the Winter Olympics, Shane thinks he might be okay. Hayden curls into his other side, and Shane remembers that he isn't alone, that he doesn't have to be alone.
“Thank you.” He whispers. Hayden shakes his head, but he continues. “Thank you for coming. Thank you for helping me clean. I want to feel better. I want to be better. I want…” He trails off.
Jackie squeezes his arm and continues to pet his hair. “You’re not alone. You have us for as long as you need.”
“Where are the kids?” Shane shoots up suddenly. “Oh my god, did you leave them at home because I’ve been blowing up? Oh my god theyre going to hate me! What did you tell the–”
“No.” Jackie interrupts before he has a chance to continue spiraling. “We brought them with us; they’re at your parents' place right now. Your mom seemed excited to have Grandma Yuna time, and whatever that means, I am kind of scared of her, so I let her have it.”
“Oh.”
Hayden pipes up. “I don’t think those kids could hate you even if they tried. You’re their Uncle Shane! You can't be replaced that easily.”
That causes him to burst into tears. Hayden looks at his wife in terror. He knows how to deal with children crying, his stoic best friend who's never let a lick of tears escape in public, crying his eyes out in his arms is a completely different story. She just raises her eyebrows at him. He cracks his neck before gesturing at her, a series of complicated hand movements. She seems to understand whatever he just did because she grabs the arm of the crying man and manhandles him around for a moment.
They work together to shuffle the three of them into a new position, one where Shane can be covered by scents of family and home and pack so he knows it's okay to feel, to think, to cry.
He cries, and he cries, and he shakes, to such an extent that he’s concerned he will turn into a raisin from all the dehydration from crying. He cries for so long he's not sure what he's even upset about anymore. Eventually, he slows down, and Hayden lets out soothing spicy alpha pheromones into the room before letting out a large breath, coaching Jackie and Shane into some quick breathing exercises.
Shane finds himself on Hayden’s lap, face tucked into his pack alpha's glands at the base of his neck to help stabilize his emotions. He feels more at peace than he has in weeks, almost like this summer never happened, like his life hasn't been ending since the Winter Olympics. There is still a lot to be stressed about, there is still plenty to worry about, but right now, the best answer was that his family was close, and his pack was closer, and his alpha existed out there. He could rest, because they would figure it all out, he can rest because he isn't alone, he can rest because finally, finally, he can have some hope again.
‘I'll do anything, for you to love me again. If you don't like me now, I will change for you.’
Shane's eyes close gradually, into the first soft sleep he’s slipped into in weeks.
❇⭐❇
He awakens slowly, eyes fluttering open in a space that smells like fresh linen and a cozy nest of home. In his eyes, in front of him lies Ilya, asleep. Tangled together and nestled into the sheets, sharing the same space. The room feels light and airy, like he's floating on a cloud.
The smoky cinnamon and apple scent that he has been dreaming about permeates the room, the bedding, the bodies in the expanse. He traces a finger down the chest of the other man, who is still asleep. Glittering slits of light sparkle across the range of the space, freckling the Russian man with soft, glowing dots of sunlight. Delicate head movements and low Russian murmurings bring his attention to his face.
He places his hand on Ilyas's cheek, palm to his cheekbones, fingers cupping his sideburns. He lets his hand rest there, taking up space he always wishes he could on the other man's physical form. A thumb lightly brushes against the soft lips he loves to kiss, loves when they kiss him. His thumb brushes across his cheek, pushing the flesh back.
It feels so simple like this.
He hears the sounds of children giggling just outside the room, a little girl and a younger boy arguing about something just barely out of hearing range. Shane lies back, curling into the arms of his lover. An arm comes up to his stomach, a large, flat hand across his stomach, pressing him back into his bed partner's bulge. Ilya mouths at Shane’s scent gland at the back of his neck, obviously wanting to incite something. He lets him, as his own hands begin to wander, stroking down his arm, covering the hand on his stomach. You still want? A whisper in his ear that he responded to, I still want to.
And then his hands trailed down more, exploring the space between his thighs. Fingers brush against the lacy trim of his panties as Ilya lets out a groan and sneaks the tips of his fingers under the fabric. Shane lets out a broken whimper in response, body alight with goosebumps and pleasure. Ilya continues his meandering, not stopping too long anywhere, letting his fingertips brush across his lover's body over and over again. He ignites a fire in Shane, one that only he can tamper with and tone down. His other hand travels upwards, creeping inside Shane’s bralette, a hand coming up to cup his breast. He squeezes lightly at first, and then a little harder, letting the feelings get to him, letting them overwhelm him into feeling everything.
His other hand has long since entered him, pumping three fingers in and out at a pace that should be unsustainable for Ilya to keep up with. Somehow, he manages, letting the omega give up control to him, bringing him to the edge over and over again, trembling in his arms until he's a shaky mess of orgasms and heavy breaths.
He kisses him up and down his body, peppering little pecks and kisses across his arms, face, and back.
Ilya smirks at his omega before inching down the bed and settling between the other man's thighs.
“I am going to eat you out now, Da?” He asks, not waiting for an answer before diving in. His tongue pushes his lips apart, before entering him at the same fast pace as his fingers before. He replaces his tongue with two fingers as he moves his head upwards towards his partner's clit. Keeping up at his abusingly fast pace, he continues, even as Shane shudders around him, legs shaking, begging, please, please, please, please for reprieve for what he really wants.
“Tell me what you need, moya lyubov'” Ilya pulls back to ask. “dam tebe vso, chto ty zakhochesh', kotonok.” (I'll give you everything you want, kitten.)
“I need…”
“Need what, moy mal'chik?” he whispers. “What can I do for you, dorogoy?”
“I need you to fuck me.”
Ilya lets out a little growl along with a laugh before sitting up and dragging Shane to the end of the bed. He’s careful in positioning Shane, making sure there is minimal pressure on his knees, that his hands have something to grip, that his feet remain free, just how he likes it. He drags him back against him, resting his cock on his lower back.
“Krasivyy.” Shane turns back to look at him, eyes half-drooping. Ilya drops a kiss to his upper back as Shane shifts to present, hips high in the air, weight balancing between his knees and elbows. He drops a kiss to his lower back, and he enters him slowly, draping his body over his partner.
They fuck together, slowly, sensually, more in a rush for pleasure than completion. Their bodies rock together, still tangled up in the sheets. The room smells like pack, like family, like a unit of two, their scents curled together in the air. Warm and bright cinnamon and apple from Ilya, and his own lemongrass and orange combined in the air, the hints of cigarette smoke, caramel, and bergamot brighten the spaces between them.
The room smells brighter, it looks brighter than it ever has before, like an angel landed in the room while the two of them were too busy having sex.
Finally, finally, their orgasm comes together, like always. Crashing together, pleasure erupting from their deepest parts, they lay together. As they do, the rest of the room comes into awareness. The kids are arguing, although farther away than before, the smell of an outdoor grill is floating in from outside. The room is covered in cozy fabrics and family photos.
It's peaceful.
It’s all he's ever wanted.
This is all he has ever wanted.
They drift off back to sleep, wrapped up in each other's arms, tangled together so tight, like necklaces trapped in a jewelry box together. Person to person, where one starts, the other ends.
❇⭐❇
Shane wakes up in his nest. Alone.