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Shane watched the game on TV from Ilya’s home in Ottawa, frowning as he scrutinized his boyfriend’s performance. Ilya was not playing like he usually did. His skating was erratic and aggressive, his shots lacked their usual finesse, and he was angry. He picked fights with almost every member of the opposing team, the refs, his coaches, and even some of his own teammates. He spent more time in the penalty box than on the ice, and every time the camera showed a close-up of his scowling face, Shane could see an unnaturally pink flush staining his cheeks and a sickly pallor beneath that.
Even though he knew Ilya wouldn’t see the message until after the game, Shane shot off a quick text: “Are you okay?”
Despite something clearly being off with their star player, Ottawa eked out a win. Ilya gave short, terse answers during the post-game interviews, his accent thicker than normal as his mouth struggled to produce coherent English. He snapped at several reporters, and his usually charming arrogance came across rude and abrasive tonight. Shane stepped closer to the screen to really study his boyfriend’s face. He was sweaty, which wasn’t unusual after a game, but Ilya’s face was practically soaked with sweat, glistening in the harsh lights beaming from behind the newscasters’ cameras. That bright flush was still across his cheeks and seemed to be spreading down his neck like a rash, and he glared at everyone like they had personally insulted him and he was contemplating their demise.
Shane turned off the TV and paced around the room. Something was wrong with Ilya, he just knew it. He thought back to several hours ago when Ilya left for the game; were there signs he had missed? Should he have known something wasn’t right and insisted that Ilya stay home? Not that Ilya would have listened; the man was stubborn and would never have skipped the game, even if he was feeling poorly. But nothing came to mind as being out of the ordinary. Ilya had seemed perfectly fine when he left, kissing Shane firmly on the lips and promising that his first goal of the night would be dedicated to Shane.
Shane checked his phone, but Ilya had left him on read. He contemplated sending another message, insisting that Ilya respond, but he resigned himself to grilling his boyfriend when he returned home.
Shane was in the bedroom, changing into his sleep clothes when he heard Ilya stomp through the front door, slamming it behind him. Shane made his way to the kitchen, where Ilya was muttering in Russian as he sought something in the fridge.
“You didn’t respond to my text,” Shane said, arms folded across his chest.
Ilya abandoned his search, letting the fridge door slam shut, and turned to face his boyfriend. “No, I did not respond to your boring text.” His features were drawn into a tight, pinched expression that Shane couldn’t quite interpret. Was that…pain?
Shane uncrossed his arms, not wanting to appear too confrontational. Open body language, open communication. “Then can you answer me now? Are you okay?”
Ilya frowned. “Yes, why are you asking me this? I won game, didn’t I?”
Shane scoffed. “Pretty sure the rest of your team did that. You seemed to be content to keep the bench in the penalty box warm.”
Ilya waved his hand dismissively. “Stupid refs making stupid calls. I did nothing wrong. They all had it out for me. They are jealous.”
“Ilya, you were playing so aggressively! You were fighting literally everyone. That’s not like you.”
“So I had off night, did not play like usual. So what?”
Shane sighed. “Ilya, I can tell something is up with you. I wish you would just talk to me.”
“Is nothing. I’m fine, Shane. Just tired. Let’s go to bed.” The Russian started toward the bedroom, taking a few slow steps before his knees buckled and he had to grab onto the kitchen island to balance himself. Shane was beside him in an instant, wrapping an arm around his waist. Ilya tried to brush him away. “I don’t need help, I can walk.”
“Didn’t look like you were doing such a great job of that,” Shane quipped, tightening his grip around his boyfriend. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
“Mm, you are always trying to get me to bed. You are so…what is word…insatiable for me.” Ilya waggled his eyebrows in a way he probably thought looked sexy but in his current state looked ridiculous.
Shane rolled his eyes. “Not what I meant, and you know it.”
Shane guided Ilya to the bedroom, concern building as Ilya leaned more and more of his weight against Shane, gait tentative and unsteady. It was slow going, but once they finally made it into the bedroom, Ilya flopped face first onto the mattress with a heavy grunt. Shane stared at him for a moment before heading to the bathroom to finish his bedtime routine, trying to squash the rising anxiety in his chest. He wished Ilya would just be honest with him and admit that something was wrong. In all likelihood, he was getting sick, and Shane could only imagine how intolerable a sick Ilya Rozanov would be. He opened the medicine cabinet, peeking in to assess the supply of drugs he had at his disposal. It wasn’t much, but it was hopefully enough to keep Ilya comfortable, whenever his sickness fully set in.
When Shane returned to the bedroom, Ilya had not budged. Shane wasn’t even sure he was still awake. “Ilya?” he asked softly. A muffled groan. Still awake then, but barely. “I’m done in the bathroom if you wanted to…wash up or brush your teeth or something?”
“No,” Ilya said into the duvet.
“Do you want to at least change, then?”
With a dramatic sigh, Ilya pushed himself up and stripped off his black tank top, dropping it to the floor. “There. I am changed.” He fell back onto the bed, settling on his back this time.
Shane resisted the urge to pick up Ilya’s shirt and instead made his way to the opposite side of the bed. He slid in next to Ilya, who immediately pressed his entire body against Shane’s.
“Fuck, Ilya, you’re so hot!” Shane exclaimed, pulling away slightly.
“I know,” Ilya murmured. “That’s why you can’t get enough of me.” He patted Shane’s pec and pressed a kiss against his nipple.
“No, Ilya, not hot like that. Hot like you’re burning up.” Shane pressed a hand to Ilya’s cheek. Ilya let out a whimper at the contact. “Ilya, I think you have a fever. Why don’t you just admit that you’re sick?”
“Am not sick,” Ilya said, burying his face in Shane’s chest. “Just need sleep. I’ll be fine.”
Shane sat up, ignoring Ilya’s protests. “Can I get you something? I just took a look, you have some pain medicines and fever reducers in the bathroom cabinet. Or I can get you a ginger ale to settle your stomach?”
“I don’t need medicine, and I don’t want any of your boring soda. I just want to sleep. Please, Shane.” His eyes were glassy and unfocused as he looked up at Shane.
Shane sighed, knowing arguing with the Russian was likely to get him nowhere. “Okay. But promise you’ll wake me up if you need anything.”
“I promise.”
Shane settled back and wrapped his arms around Ilya, who fell asleep quickly, mouth parted as gentle snores fell from his lips. Shane laid awake, brain too full of worries over his boyfriend. He catalogued a list of Ilya’s symptoms so far: fever, weakness, fatigue. The flu, maybe? He wasn’t sure how the aggressiveness and anger played into it, unless that was just Ilya trying to overcompensate for feeling ill. He had a difficult time showing weakness, and like it or not, illness knocked everyone down a few pegs, even obstinate Russian hockey players.
Eventually, Shane must have fallen asleep, because he woke with a start, disoriented until he realized the body-turned-space-heater curled beside him was Ilya and he was in Ilya’s bed. But there were more pressing concerns that had Shane realizing that Ilya’s condition was not a sickness like he thought it was. The room was heavy with Ilya’s scent, potent and overpowering, and the alpha was hard and leaking against Shane’s thigh.
“Oh, shit,” Shane hissed. A trickle of slick dripped out of him as his body responded involuntarily to a fresh wave of Ilya’s strong scent washing over him. He shook Ilya awake. “Ilya!” he said urgently.
The alpha moaned, nuzzling his face deeper into Shane’s shirt. Shane shook him again. “Ilya, wake up.”
More moaning, followed by a drowsy, “Is morning?”
“No, not yet. Ilya, you’re going into rut.”
The alpha’s body tensed, and the next thing Shane knew, Ilya was swearing under his breath, tumbling out of bed, and locking himself in the bathroom. He heard the shower turn on and stared at the closed door, not sure what to make of Ilya’s rapid departure. He had never spent a rut with an alpha before, so he wasn’t sure if this was normal behavior or not. He’d also never experienced Ilya in rut. They hadn’t yet discussed spending their cycles together; anytime Shane tried to bring it up, Ilya quickly changed the subject. That hadn’t stopped Shane from thinking about it, fantasizing about what it would feel like to be knotted by Ilya for the first time. His knot was probably massive; the rest of him certainly was. Shane pictured it now, and a fresh gush of slick soaked into his boxer briefs.
He slid out of bed and carefully stripped out of his clothes, folding each item and making a neat pile of them on the floor. He reached into the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out the bottle of lube. He was producing enough slick that he likely didn’t need it, but he coated his fingers in it all the same before settling himself back in bed, propped up with a pillow. He opened himself quickly, not sure how long he had until Ilya returned. Shane wanted to be ready for the alpha as soon as he finished his shower. He tossed the lube aside, pushed his body into a presentation pose, and waited.
Soon, he heard the water shut off and moments later, the bathroom door creaked open. There was a sharp intake of breath, then silence. He braced himself, anticipating his alpha launching onto the bed and pounding into him. When nothing happened, he arched his back more, trying to make himself look as desirable as possible. He could feel more slick leaking out of him, and just for good measure, he released a burst of pheromones that he hoped signaled how ready he was to be taken by his alpha.
“Hollander, what are you doing?” Ilya said finally.
Shane huffed out a laugh and turned his head to look at the alpha, who was hovering in the doorway with a fresh pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips and an unreadable expression on his face. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m presenting for you.”
“Why are you doing this?”
Shane was taken aback by this line of questioning. “What do you mean, why am I doing this? You’re in rut, Ilya. I want to help you. I know we haven’t really discussed it or anything, but I want to spend your rut with you. I prepped while you were in the shower; I’m ready to serve you, Alpha. Take me, use me, knot me, whatever you need. I’m yours.” He arched his back again, purring seductively.
“Put your clothes back on, Hollander,” Ilya said in a low voice.
Shane startled, not expecting such an order from his alpha. “What?”
“You heard me. Clothes on. Please.” Ilya’s voice cracked at the end, and Shane’s heart broke a little at the sound. He was so confused, but he would do whatever his alpha asked of him. He fell forward onto his arms and rolled off the bed. He picked up his carefully folded clothes and redressed slowly, watching Ilya’s face for any sign that he was fucking with him, but the alpha’s features remained expressionless.
Then, it came to him. Shane smiled, half-dressed, and addressed the alpha. “I know what you’re doing,” he said. “You want to undress me. Give into your animalistic urges and tear the clothes from my body. How very alpha of you, Rozanov.” He smirked, waiting for Ilya to banter back.
“No, Hollander. I just want you to put your clothes on so we can go back to sleep. Okay?”
Now Shane was even more confused. Was Ilya not far enough into his rut to need him yet? Or was Shane not good enough for him? He wondered if Ilya preferred female omegas, and a spike of jealousy pierced through him as he imagined Ilya spending his past ruts with the likes of Svetlana.
He finished dressing and watched Ilya slowly move toward the bed. The alpha eyed him cautiously before sliding under the covers. Ilya exhaled heavily, eyes squeezed shut, lips moving slightly like he was whispering soundlessly to himself. Then he opened his eyes again and reached an arm out toward Shane. “Come back to bed, please,” he said softly.
Shane slipped in beside him, opening his arms and letting the alpha settle into them, head pillowed on his chest. He ran his fingers through Ilya’s curls, and the alpha let out a contented sigh. He fell back to sleep quickly, but once again, Shane’s head was far too full of thoughts and questions. What had just happened? Why did Ilya run off to the shower the minute he realized he was in rut? Why did he look almost…disgusted…at the sight of Shane presenting for him? Why wasn’t he currently knot-deep in Shane’s ass? None of it made any sense, and Shane was desperate for some answers. He vowed to interrogate Ilya in the morning.
It was a few hours later when Shane blinked awake again. A trickle of light spilled through the crack of the curtains, casting a warm glow across the bed. Ilya was still sound asleep, but his scent was spiking again. Slick dripped out of Shane, but he needed to be patient, wait for his alpha to wake, and ideally talk to him first about what the hell was going on with his rut. Maybe Ilya didn’t actually want Shane here, but he didn’t want to hurt his feelings by telling him that to his face. Which, fair – Shane would be absolutely devastated if his alpha rejected his help, but he would respect it, if it was what Ilya wanted.
Ilya came to with a loud groan. He opened his eyes and caught Shane looking at him. “Good morning,” he mumbled, throwing an arm across his face to block out the light.
“Morning,” Shane replied. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit.”
Shane couldn’t help but laugh at the alpha’s blunt honesty. “Is there anything I can do to help?” He slipped a little suggestive tone into his voice, trailing his fingers down the alpha’s shirtless chest.
Ilya tensed and turned away from him. “No,” he said firmly. “I’m good.”
“Ilya.” Shane placed a hand on the alpha’s shoulder, trying very hard not to take it personally when Ilya flinched at the contact. “Will you please tell me what’s going on? Do you…” Shane swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat. “Do you not want me here? I can leave, if you’d rather spend your rut alone.”
“No, Shane. Please stay.”
“Then will you please explain why you haven’t wanted me to help you through your rut? I’m literally yours for the taking, Ilya. You can do whatever you want, whatever you need.”
“I don’t need…that,” Ilya said in a low voice. “My rut is not…how you say…traditional.”
“Okay,” said Shane. “What does that mean, exactly?”
“Is complicated. Too hard to explain.”
“Can you please try? For me,” Shane pleaded. “I just want to understand, Ilya.”
Ilya turned his head and took in the desperate look on Shane’s face. “Sit up,” he said finally.
Shane did so immediately, propping himself against the headboard. Ilya shuffled his body to lay his head in Shane’s lap, facing away from him. Shane recognized this position. It was the same one they were in the first time he brought Ilya to the cottage, when they stared at the fire and Ilya told Shane about his mother’s death for the first time. Shane knew Ilya had a hard time being vulnerable, but in this position, where he could be grounded and comforted by physical contact with Shane without the pressure and intensity of making eye contact, it was easier for Ilya to open up. Shane brought one of his hands down to grasp Ilya’s shoulder and the other carded through his curls and massaged his scalp. The alpha relaxed, tension easing out of his muscles.
Shane stayed quiet, waiting for Ilya to speak on his terms, but the silence stretched between them for so long that he thought the alpha must have fallen asleep. Just when he was about to say Ilya’s name, the Russian said, “I have…condition.”
Shane waited for him to elaborate, but Ilya stayed silent. “Okay,” Shane replied. “Is it…is it serious?”
Ilya shook his head. “Mm, no. I don’t think so. Maybe. I have not told anyone before, so maybe it is more serious to others than to me.”
Shane was not following this cryptic line of thought. “Okay?”
Ilya sighed. “This condition…it makes it so that when I am in rut, I don’t want sex.”
Shane’s hand froze mid scalp massage. “Oh?”
“Da. When I am not in rut, I find all sorts of people attractive. In the past, I would want to have sex with many of them. But now, just you, of course. But when I am in rut, I look at beautiful people and feel…nothing. I do not want them. The thought of sex with them makes me…” Ilya shuddered, and Shane tightened his grip on Ilya’s shoulder. “Uncomfortable,” he said finally. “Even now, here, with you…” Ilya’s voice cracked. “I do not want you like that.”
Shane’s mind was racing, processing all of this information. The phrases Ilya was using sparked some familiarity in Shane, bringing to mind research he had done in the past. “So, what you’re saying is… When you’re in rut, you’re asexual?”
When Shane finally came to terms with his own place in the LGBTQ+ community, he felt it was his duty to learn about other identities under that umbrella. When he and Ilya eventually decided to go public with their relationship, there would be a lot of queer fans looking up to him, and he wanted all of them, no matter their place in the community, to see him as an ally. He’d become particularly drawn to asexuality and the nuances of the various identities within that spectrum, often wondering if he himself wasn’t some flavor of ace. He’d rarely experienced attraction to anyone besides Ilya, so it was possible he fit somewhere on that spectrum, too. Needless to say, he knew a lot more about asexuality than the average person, and what Ilya was describing sounded like it fit somewhere in that realm.
“I do not understand this term, asexual. What is this?”
“Oh, well, in terms of sexuality, it’s where someone experiences little to no sexual attraction. There’s actually a whole spectrum, where some people can experience attraction under certain circumstances or towards certain people, and there are some people who don’t experience any attraction at all, no matter what. It gets a little complicated when you start talking about the split attraction model, because sexual attraction is different from romantic attraction, and then there are other forms of attraction too, like emotional attraction and aesthetic attraction and…”
“Shane,” interrupted Ilya. “Is there short version of answer to my question?”
Shane blushed. “Sorry. I’ve, um, done a lot of research about this particular topic. I might actually fall somewhere on that spectrum myself, maybe demisexual, but I don’t know for sure. I mean, I’m definitely gay, but there really haven’t been that many men I’ve been attracted to, aside from you, so…”
“Shane, you are still rambling. Is hurting my head, trying to keep up with you. This is a lot.”
“Sorry,” Shane apologized again. “It’s just…what you’re describing about how you feel when you’re in rut... It sounds very similar to what I’ve read about asexuality and how people who identify as ace…asexual…feel.”
“Hmm. Maybe I will read up on this later. And these people feel like this all the time? Not just in rut or heat?”
Shane nodded, then realized Ilya was still facing away from him and couldn’t see him. “Yes,” he said. “It’s just their sexuality, like being gay or bi.”
Ilya fell silent again, contemplating this new information. “There is much I do not know about the world,” he said finally. “I did not know there were people out there who could relate to how I feel in rut. I thought I was only one who felt like this.”
“So you’ve really never told anyone about your rut? You’ve just kept it to yourself this whole time?”
“No, never. Too…embarrassed. My rut makes me feel like a terrible alpha.”
“What? Why do you think that?”
“Because…look at me.” Ilya waved a hand at himself. “What kind of an alpha doesn’t want to fuck during rut? That is literally the whole point.” Ilya’s voice cracked again, but Shane recognized this crack as signaling Ilya was trying not to cry.
“Hey,” he said softly, leaning down to press a kiss to Ilya’s forehead. “It’s okay.”
Ilya buried his face in Shane’s lap, choking down a sob. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.
“You have nothing to be sorry about.” Shane wrapped both arms around Ilya’s upper body, rocking him gently as the Russian cried into Shane’s sweatpants.
When the tears subsided, Shane helped Ilya into a seated position and wiped his face with a tissue. “You’re not a terrible alpha,” Shane told him. “Just because you don’t want to have sex when you’re in rut, that doesn’t mean anything is wrong with you.”
“Feels wrong, though,” Ilya said quietly. “Feels like I am broken.”
Shane traced his fingers along one of Ilya’s cheeks, feeling the tackiness of dried tears. “Nothing about you is wrong,” he said firmly. “You’re not broken. Hell, if you woke up one day and you weren’t in rut but still didn’t want to have sex ever again, I wouldn’t care. I would gladly give up sex if it was what you wanted.”
Ilya met his gaze, eyes still swimming with unshed tears. “Do you really mean that?”
“Of course. I love you, Ilya. I want you, no matter what that looks like.” Shane bit his lip, suddenly remembering his actions earlier. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, before. When I presented for you. I thought that’s what you needed from me, and I was so confused when you didn’t want me… I thought it was something to do with me, that I wasn’t good enough, that I wasn’t desirable, that I wasn’t the kind of omega you wanted…”
“How many times do I have to tell you that not everything is about you, Hollander?” There was a fondness in Ilya’s voice, none of the anger that laced his tone the first time he said those words to Shane, on a rooftop in Las Vegas all those years ago.
“I just…wish you’d told me sooner, instead of letting me assume what you needed and accidentally making things worse.”
“You were just acting on instincts. Is normal. Unlike me.”
“Ilya, stop. You are normal.”
“How can you believe that? How can you look at me, with slick dripping out of you because your omega senses an alpha in rut, and say that I am normal? I should be pounding into you and knotting you, but I don’t want that. Nothing about this is normal, Shane.” Ilya let out a frustrated growl. “I hate myself for being like this.”
“I just don’t think it’s that big of a deal, Ilya. So you don’t want sex while you’re in rut. Who cares? I know I don’t. I’ll give you whatever you need me to, and if that’s nothing, then so be it.”
“Not nothing,” Ilya whispered. “I need…” He shifted, wincing at the pain smoldering under his skin, yearning for something to relieve the discomfort spiking within him.
“What do you need?”
“Hold me?”
They settled back onto the bed, limbs tangled around each other. Shane pressed kisses against Ilya’s head, his cheeks, his neck. “Is this okay?” he asked, lips grazing the skin just below Ilya’s collarbone. He realized, with a start, he wasn’t usually the one asking that question. It felt strange, especially considering their usual dynamics, to be checking in on Ilya when he was so used to it being the other way around.
Ilya nodded, so Shane continued to kiss every surface he could reach from this position. When Ilya started to squirm, Shane pulled back. “What is it?”
“Will you…?” Ilya tilted his neck to expose his scent gland. “Will you scent me?”
Shane couldn’t help the burst of delighted pheromones that he let out at the request. He immediately buried his nose against Ilya’s neck, inhaling the scent of his alpha before rubbing his own scent across his skin.
“Wrists, too,” Ilya said, and Shane ran his own wrists along Ilya’s, mingling their scents together. Ilya lifted one hand toward his face and pressed his nose into the gland, a small smile creeping onto his face as he took in the comforting scent. “Thank you,” he murmured, eyes drifting closed.
Shane’s eyes flicked downwards, noticing that Ilya was hard again, dick straining against his pants. It had to be painful, but the alpha’s face remained relaxed as he rested. Shane couldn’t imagine trying to sleep like that, but Ilya seemed content to ignore his body’s needs since they didn’t align with what the rest of him wanted. Shane made a mental note to ask about that later. He was endlessly curious to learn everything there was about Ilya’s non-traditional, asexual rut. He wished there was more he could do to help. What could he do to make this rut better for Ilya, if he didn’t want Shane for sex? Shane felt a bit useless, and that was a feeling he despised.
“Stop thinking so loudly,” Ilya grunted. “I can’t sleep.”
“Sorry. I just…was wondering if there’s anything I can do for you. To help you.”
“You can stop thinking and come cuddle me.”
“That’s all you want?” Shane glanced back down at Ilya’s crotch, longing to wrap his hand around him. Just a few quick strokes, just to give him a little relief from the pain.
Ilya caught him staring and shook his head. “Leave it, Shane. It will go away.”
“You really don’t want…?”
“No.”
Shane pushed down his omega’s desire to touch his alpha and laid back down next to Ilya. They dozed for a while, until Ilya sat up suddenly, features tinged with uneasiness. Shane pushed himself into a seated position. “What is it?”
Ilya crumpled forward, groaning and clutching his abdomen. “Fuck.”
“Cramps?” Shane guessed. Ilya gave a small nod, hands pushing tighter into his belly as if he could physically force the pain away.
Shane reached a hand out and rested it between Ilya’s shoulder blades. “Breathe,” he murmured, rubbing soothing circles across the alpha’s back. He moved his hand lower to press against the expanse of skin right above Ilya’s ass, knowing that when he was in heat, his own cramps often radiated from his lower back and across his pelvis. Ilya tensed, pulling away slightly. “Not there, please,” he mumbled.
Shane moved his hand back to higher ground. “Is this okay?” he asked, resuming his back rub along the upper portion of Ilya’s back and shoulders.
“Mm, yes.”
They stayed like that until the cramping dulled enough for Ilya to uncurl himself from the fetal position. He sat back up and gave Shane a sheepish look. “Thank you.”
“Was that good? Did it help?”
Ilya nodded. “Yes.” He settled himself on his side, and Shane took the hint to curl his body around the alpha from behind. He wrapped an arm around Ilya’s chest and felt the alpha place his hand on top of Shane’s, lacing their fingers together.
“Ilya?” Shane asked when the silence became too much for him again.
“Yes, Shane?”
“Can I ask you something about your rut?” Ilya didn’t say anything in return, so Shane took his silence as an invitation to continue. “How exactly do you…you know…deal with everything?”
“What do you mean?”
Shane blushed. After all these years and everything they’d done together, it shouldn’t be this embarrassing to talk about sex. Finally, he mustered the courage and asked, “When you get hard. You didn’t seem to want me to touch you earlier. Is it… Do you…um… Do you prefer to just…get yourself off?”
Ilya let out a soft snort. “Ah…no. Touching myself while in rut also makes me uncomfortable. I am very…what is the word? Repulsed.”
“So what do you do?”
“Try to ignore it. Take cold showers.”
Another puzzle piece slotted into place. “So that’s why you ran off and took a shower as soon as I mentioned you were in rut.”
“Yes,” Ilya confirmed.
Shane frowned. “But what about the pain? What do you do about that?” Shane couldn’t imagine going through his heats without getting off. It was the only way to ease some of the discomfort associated with his cycle.
“Suffer,” Ilya said with a humorless laugh.
Shane wasn’t laughing. “Ilya, that’s…that’s so sad. I wish there was something I could do to help.”
Ilya met his eyes then. “You help,” he whispered. “Just you being here… Holding me, kissing me, scenting me… The pain is not so bad, with you here.”
Pride bloomed in Shane’s chest as his glands released a surge of happy pheromones. “Really?”
“Yes. Now please hold me tighter.” Shane squeezed Ilya closer, pressing the alpha’s body against his chest. “Thank you for staying,” the alpha murmured sleepily.
“Always,” Shane whispered back. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Shane still had so much he wanted to know, but he would let it go for now. They could talk more once Ilya was out of rut; no sense in tiring him out with more questions. He knew enough now to understand what his role was here. He would be what Ilya needed him to be – a safe place, a warm body, a loving boyfriend – nothing more, nothing less. He would learn what else he could do to help his alpha through his rut – how to ease his pain without fucking, how to show his love without sex, how to care for him without causing discomfort. It would require a lot of communication, something they were both notoriously bad at doing with each other, but it would be worth it in the end.
“You’re worth it, baby,” he whispered, kissing Ilya’s forehead. The alpha let out a sleepy hum, and Shane smiled. They would figure this out, together.