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Connor doesn’t handle losing well, even on a good day. And today is not a good day, far fucking from it actually.
Something has been crawling under his skin since he woke up this morning, everything he put on felt too tight, even his own skin. Everything was too loud, every single person’s voice grating, getting on every single one of his nerves, besides one of course. Which is also making his no-good day worse, because somehow Frank has been everywhere besides next to him, or within his sights at least.
He can feel him, can hear him even, but can never see him. It’s like the other man is just always barely out of view, Connor catching a glimpse of his hair before he turns a corner, a sliver of skin before he’s disappearing into a room.
It’s fucking maddening. Its torture is what it is.
He hadn’t even been able to eat his normal pre-game meal because everything felt like rocks in his stomach, his teeth aching with something he doesn’t know. And he’s been sweating like crazy today, already having had two showers before the game even began.
And for some reason, his anxiety had been at an all-time high before said game, his stomach swooping every other second, his neck getting a flash of warmth, like it does when he’s scared, like when he’s watching a horror movie buried in Frank’s couch, trying to ignore how the other laughs at him, always beaming, always emanating the most mouth-watering, delicious, delicate smell, one that screams happiness and peace.
His hands are shaking, his palms moist as he clenches and unclenches them, digging his fingers into the soft meat of his hand. His cuticles are bitten to filth, a habit he never has done before until today, now it’s suddenly the only thing he can do.
His legs are bouncing repeatedly, his shoes squeaking as he does so. Connor can tell the noise is bothering every single person in the room considering the glares he’s getting from half his teammates, causing him to send them a sheepish smile, his own scent screaming embarrassment and shame before he eventually starts up again.
Connor keeps glancing at the door every time it opens, straightening up, expecting Frank to walk through it, but he never does. And he knows this, knows that the other prefers to spend the lead up to games somewhere quiet, somewhere he can get into the zone, calm his head and nerves. But that doesn’t mean he stops looking for him, or stops hoping to see him, to smell him, to wrap himself around Frank and just breathe, letting this weird burst of anxiety and something else unfurl as he does.
And then they go out, against the San Jose Sharks, and fucking lose. Macklin Celebrini and Will Smith’s smug fucking faces playing over and over in his head as he skates off. It’s always hard losing, but it stings even more when it’s at home, when something has been off all day with Connor, something he can’t place, something he knows Frank could if he wasn’t somehow everywhere but here.
He was by his side on the ice, his voice next to his ear, calming him down when he shoved Macklin a little too hard, causing the refs to skate over, ready to intervene, or when he made a mistake, a stupid one that could’ve have gotten them a goal, or not, they’ll never know. Frank was there, tugging on his jersey, drawing his attention back to the game and not the scuff mark on his skate.
A quiet “Breathe,” huffed out between the both of them, immediately centering Connor as he nods his head, following Frank across the ice.
And Connor is well aware he’s never been normal, has never been a typical alpha. He’s never been overly possessive, never staking his claim on his friends or family or potential partners. No, he’d much rather be on the opposite end, always feeling warm and gooey when others act protective and fierce over him.
Of course, he buried that feeling deep, deep down, suppressing any and all wants related to that. Which had honestly caused him to be closed off to anyone and everyone, until he met Frank.
Even during his ruts, he never felt this overwhelming urge to hold down an omega and bare his teeth as he knotted them. He was overwhelmingly horny, yes, watching way too much porn and jerking off until his cock was almost raw, but never to classic ‘rut’ porn.
Only to soft videos, homemade ones where the two partners clearly love each other, the alpha usually worshipping the omega. And it hadn’t always been alpha and omega porn, before he’d settle for anything, honestly. But then Frank transferred to Chicago and it’s like Connor’s entire being just latched onto him, zeroing in on him, his scent, his smile, his beautiful, big, brown eyes, god he could get lost in them.
So, yes, Connor is not a normal alpha. So abnormal, that he couldn’t even tell he was in pre-rut.
Not until Frank so kindly pointed it out after he smashed his fist into Macklin’s face.
So, yes, losing at home is a different kind of hell.
Watching Macklin, his one-sided, self-identified rival, who stinks of happy alpha pheromones, overly saturated with rut as well, be enveloped in a team hug, Will clinging to him closer than the rest of them, makes his skin crawl.
Connor feels irrationally angry, his fangs itching, begging to drop and sink into something soft, something, or someone specifically, that smells like the forest after a thunderstorm, the dewy smell of rain clinging to the fresh pine combined with sweet juniper and sage. It makes his mouth water at just the thought of a certain omega’s scent.
He stomps off the ice, shoving past his teammates, his usual quiet, easy-going nature nowhere to be found as he ignores the indignant huffs from everyone he bumps into. Connor pushes past all the reporters and media, not caring if he seems like a total dickhead because right now, he has nothing productive to say.
Where would they like him to start?
That he’s pissed that they lost the game? That they’ve been losing game after game? That everyone, including himself, are making mistakes that shouldn’t be made?
Or maybe he should start with how he feels like he wants to peel his skin off, strip off his gear and drive straight home, forgoing a shower at the arena so he can scrub himself raw and let the burning water wash over him in the peace of his own apartment.
How he wants to punch just about everyone in his vicinity, some violent, dangerous animal lurking beneath the surface, a side of being an alpha he’s never experienced, not until now.
Even in whatever weird mood he is in, he knows he can’t do any of that, so instead, he moves past everyone, keeps his head down and rushes to the locker room, far away from prying eyes, at least those of the media.
Because the feeling of Frank’s eyes on him never leave him, even as he shucks off his gear, listening to the other man’s voice as he talks to their teammates, his cadence soft. He throws his elbow pads and skates on the ground, the sound deafening in the quietness of the room, the few hushed conversations coming to a halt as the blades ding off the wooden bench.
“Hey, you alright Bedsy?” Spencer calls out from where he’s sitting across from him, a genuine look of concern on his face, if Connor chanced a look up at him, which he doesn’t, too focused on striping himself of the rest of his gear, wanting to get the fuck out of this room before he explodes.
He hears Frank make a choked off ‘Not now’, most likely shaking his head. He’s the only one who can read Connor, can tell when he doesn’t want to be talked to or messed with, even though any other day he probably would’ve been delighted in his teammates concern.
Knight speaks up again, clearly not taking Frank’s warning to heart.
“No- Frank, it’s fine-,” He starts, causing Connor’s head to snap up, a snarl building in his throat, his hands tightening where they’re clutching his jersey. He can feel the sweat beading along his temple, his face no doubt flushed. The anxiety that has been settled in his stomach all night reaches a new high, causing him to feel physically ill, his hands shaking, his shoulders tense.
“You’ve been off all day, honestly- It’s weird!” Spencer finishes, turning back to where Frank is threading his fingers through his dark, soft (yes Connor knows Frank’s hair is soft, he’s spent more than one night playing with it, when the other man is asleep) hair, messing it up, clearly stressed out by their goalies continued questioning.
Connor feels his hackles rise, his anger boiling over, not appreciating anyone, even their own teammate, talking to Frank like that. And any other day he’d see the conversation for what it was, Spencer reassuring Frank that everything is fine and that he doesn’t have to shield him from Connor, but today, the only thing he can hear is someone talking to the omega he, in the darkest and deepest pits of his mind, considers his, in a demeaning, demanding, way.
It makes him feel like he could maul someone, anyone.
“Don’t.” He growls out, his voice an octave deeper than it usually is, the words slightly slurred around his sharp fangs that are digging into his lower lip now. He stares at the both of them, well aware about how crazy he looks, how he probably looks deranged. He can feel the eyes of every single one of his teammates in the room staring at him, all holding their breath, all waiting in trepidation.
Spencer looks taken aback, a look of confusion and the barest hint of unsureness and fear cloying his scent. Any other day, Connor would’ve felt sick with guilt at making his friend scared of him, but right now he can’t think straight, can’t think of anything beyond getting out of this room, scrubbing the horrors of today off him, and curling up in bed, preferably with Frank beside him, his calming scent settling every frayed nerve.
And the guys probably think his warning was in regard to the question.
When in reality, Connor could care less about the prodding question. The real reason he responded that way was because of Spencer talking to Frank like that. And he hopes, beyond hopes he fucking prays, that no one picks up on his true intentions, on what he really means.
Because what he means is don’t talk to Frank like that, don’t look in his direction, don’t even fucking breathe in the same space as him, especially if all he’s trying to do is defend Connor, who doesn’t deserve Frank, probably never will.
Everyone quickly goes back to shedding their gear, the locker room dead silent now, not a single conversation to be heard. And Connor keeps his eyes on Frank, and in turn Spencer, making sure to keep his eyes on the both of them, just daring the goalie to say something again.
He holds his gaze, slipping into his street clothes, only breaking contact when he slips his hoodie over his head, popping back through quickly, like he’s scared to take his eyes off Frank for even a second (he is). His hair is sticking up in a million different places, but Frank keeps staring at him, frozen, not having moved since Connor had growled out that one, single, possessive word.
And somehow, every single person in the room missed the truth behind his words, besides the one person he hoped would the most because of course Frank would know. There isn’t anyone in the world who can read him as well as he can.
At least Connor thinks he knows, if the way his face has gone a gorgeous shade of pink, his eyes half-lidded, his scent seeping out something warm and sweet, something Connor has never smelled before, something he can’t put his finger on, is anything to go off of.
Then he tears his eyes off him, overwhelmed by something, the urge to flee strong.
He tugs on his shoes, snags his bag that’s overflowing with way too much gear, half of the stuff he’d usually leave here but he’s not thinking clearly, just desperate to get out and rushes out the locker room door, ignoring Frank’s quiet, “Connor”.
He rushes down the halls, dodging any and every one, keeping his head down, ready to just get the fuck home.
And then he just so happens past the tunnel, his eyes darting up, like he wants to torture himself with the memory of their loss, the feeling so raw, so intense. Instead, he finds two people huddled together, still wearing their San Jose Shark jerseys, the numbers seventy-one and two gleaming in the low light.
Suddenly, the raging, simmering something that has been boiling underneath his skin for hours, ever since he woke up this morning, unleashes itself.
Connor drops his bag by the entrance, the sound ringing out loudly in the quiet tunnel, Macklin and Will’s voices the only sound.
Will’s head jerks up at the noise, surprise coloring his face as he watches Connor walk towards them, quickly washing away into something softer, something caring and it makes the skin on the back of his neck stand up.
He doesn’t want anyone’s kindness right now, least of all Will or Mack’s.
“Hey- Now’s not really the best time-,” He starts as Connor gets closer, his nose immediately filling with the scent of an alpha in rut, the smell of burnt marshmallows and a too warm bonfire flooding his nose. He bites the inside of his cheek, wrinkling his nose as takes another breath, the smell overwhelming, dominating the space between the three of them.
Will is standing, his entire body honed in on Macklin’s, the younger of the two sitting on the tiny ledge on the wall, leaning toward the omega, his head buried in the man’s chest. He’s clearly distressed, affected by his rut and the win, his vulnerability evident.
And if Connor was a better man, a better alpha, a normal alpha, maybe, just maybe, he would’ve left good enough alone, he wouldn’t have picked a fight with someone, who on his good days, considers a friend, someone who pushes him to be better.
But he’s not.
Because he looks at the two in front of him and sees everything he can’t have, sees everything he doesn’t have. He doesn’t have a spot on the Canadian national team, he isn’t going to the Olympics, and he doesn’t get to be with his teammate who he is madly, sickeningly in love with.
It makes the cruel, horrible words far too easy to slip past his lips. He stops right in front of them, Mack clinging onto Will tightly, like he’s trying to hide from the world. He’s drenched in sweat, or water, Connor isn’t too sure. His back is shaking, his fingers white where they grip tightly.
Will cuts himself off, baffled at Connor coming up to them, especially considering Mack’s in rut, his scent leaving nothing to the imagination.
“Looks like your omega has a tight leash on you, Macklin.” Connor says, his voice sardonically sweet as he cocks his head to the side, like he’s evaluating them, assessing and calculating. He watches how they both go taut, Mack pushing himself further into Will’s body, the omega’s face hardening, his arm that had been resting by his side coming up protectively, cradling his mate’s head.
Connor remembers the acid that had crawled up from his throat into his mouth when that news had broken, the two stars of the San Jose Sharks, mated. Remembers sitting on his couch, clenching the glass of water in his hand too tightly, the cup shattering, the splinters digging into the soft flesh of his palm. Remembers calling Frank, the only person he trusted to see him so vulnerable, the omega cleaning out the cuts, neither of them saying anything, the other’s scent flooded with worry.
It makes his fangs drop just thinking about it, the action completely uncontrolled.
“Connor-,” Will warns, his voice tight, his entire face stone cold, his scent wrapping around them, possessiveness and protectiveness seeping out of him. Connor crosses his arms over his chest, feeling weirdly exposed, like they both can see right through him, can see through this fucking tough guy alpha act.
The anger is real, the urge to bite something and prove his worth is real, but not in the usual way, not in the ‘typical alpha’ way.
And maybe that’s why Connor feels so fucking atrocious, so horrible because he is everything he shouldn’t be. Maybe that’s why he feels so angry at the two in front of him, because they are everything he wants to be, open with who they are, with someone who matches them perfectly.
Because Macklin is curled up in his omega’s arms, whimpering at Connor’s jabs where any other alpha would have immediately gone for his throat, and Will isn’t cowering, isn’t expecting Mack to defend him, no instead he’s the one protecting the both of them, he’s the one in charge between the two of them, that much is obvious.
Fuck, maybe that is all Connor has wanted, was someone else to care for him, to look out for him, to take charge, and maybe Frank fits that role perfectly. Maybe Frank is perfect.
Not maybe, he is. Frank Nazar is perfect and Connor is completely, madly in love with him.
Connor cannot process that right now, maybe ever quite frankly.
He rounds on the two of them, Will keeping his eyes on him the entire time, until he can’t, and then he’s whipping his head around, meeting his gaze once more. Now Connor’s back is to the ice, the view of the entrance of the tunnel now in front of him.
“The big, bad alpha can’t stand up for himself- Hm?” Connor sneers, grinding his teeth as he speaks, feeling absolutely sick with himself but being unable to stop, wants to poke at the alpha who so closely resembles him, in so many ways.
Because he’s not seeing Macklin in front of him, not really. No, he’s picturing himself, berating himself, hurting himself. Forcing the questions, the anger, the fucking internal rage he’s felt for so long, onto the unsuspecting alpha, imagining it was himself, imagining how he would crumble, completely fold in on himself.
He realizes, startlingly, that he’s forcing his own hatred of himself, of his designation, of his differences onto Mack, who turns a bleary, sad face toward him, holding onto his boyfriend tightly, anchoring himself, so he doesn’t float away.
Connor knows the feeling, has done the same thing more than once when he’s scored, feeling so overwhelmed with everything, until Frank shows up by his side, beaming at him, easing everything, keeping him grounded.
Will’s about to say something, most likely defending his mate, Macklin looks like he’s going to speak up, his lower lip wobbling, Connor feels like he’s going to say something, apologies or more awful digs aimed at his own insecurities he’s not sure, but then someone appears at the entrance of the tunnel, a silhouette that Connor would recognize anywhere.
“Frank.” He says softly, so softly it’s more like a breath, a barely-there whisper of the omega’s name. Connor’s entire body gravitates toward him, his feet shuffling once before he stops himself, a tiny, aborted growl escaping him as he does, because now he has fucking Will and Mack in between him and the only person he has wanted to be with all day.
The two in front of him notice, just in different ways.
Understanding washes over Will, his mouth dropping open into an ‘O’, his eyebrows shooting up, his eyes widening as he looks between the figure at the end of the tunnel, who he now identified as Frank, and Connor.
“Oh,” Will says, closing his mouth, trying to bite his lip as to not laugh, and Connor honestly wants to smack the smug look on his face right off, but he doesn’t, too focused on Frank, focused on the way he drops his bag right next where he had and makes his way up the tunnel to where they’re at.
Mack on the other hand, seems to think that Connor is not happy with the arrival of the omega, the tiny growl he let out in frustration coming across to the other alpha as one of anger. He immediately is on high alert, standing up from where he was trying to nestle even deeper into Will’s jersey, taking his own turn to glance between the new omega and Connor, clearly not picking up on his mate’s knowing smile.
Frank finally, after what feels like an eternity to him, approaches them, coming up on where the three of them are standing. Connor still has his arms folded over his chest, feeling overly protective now that his omega is here with an alpha in rut.
The space between them is tense, the air thick with an alpha in rut and another just about to be, Connor clearly (well not so clearly to him) well into pre-rut, with two head strong omegas, both of their scents strong, not a hint of fear or trepidation present.
And Connor feels like his breath has been stolen from him as the other comes into view, the light from the tunnels dancing off his sharp cheekbones, his hair dry, signaling that he skipped a shower in favor of coming to find him. It makes his heart beat about ten times faster. He can hear his pulse in his temples, can feel the tiny, pathetic whimper crawling up his throat, cutting it off before it can escape, refusing to allow these two to see him that vulnerable.
Frank looks gorgeous. He looks tired, worn out, exhausted by yet another loss, but also breathtakingly handsome, his hair falling just perfectly, even though he can tell he’s been running his hands through it, most likely stressed by Connor’s explosion in the locker room. He’s wearing that pair of black slacks that make him want to get down on his knees and just stare, grab his thighs and just turn him around and around, getting his fill of every angle, every piece of Frank.
He’s also wearing a downright sinful cream, knitted sweater, hugging his biceps, which is a whole separate thing because honestly, Connor could spend a whole fucking week worshiping Frank’s biceps and thighs, both rippled with muscle. It makes him want to sink his teeth into the soft, malleable flesh.
Connor makes another little step toward Frank, not sure if he’s going to cling onto the omega, burrow his face into the other’s neck, mouth at his scent gland that is there, the strongest one, the richest part of his scent being stored there.
Or if he’s going to get down on his knees and confess his love for the omega, spill his guts and tell him everything he’s been keeping buried under tight lock and key, not letting his feelings ever see the light of day.
Maybe he’ll just do both.
But before he can bulldoze between Will and Mack, the other alpha is throwing his left arm out, his forearm hitting Frank’s chest, just a barely there tap but enough to stop the omega in his path where he was making his way toward Connor, the two of them drawn to each other like moths to a flame.
“No, don’t-,” Mack starts, warning Frank, his eyes glancing between the two, a suspicious, untrusting look in them when he sizes Connor up. And it takes him a second to process what he’s saying, to digest and understand what Mack is warning Frank from, what he’s implying.
Oh.
Mack is warning Frank from him. The alpha, even though he does not know Frank at all, sees an unmated, vulnerable omega in the vicinity of a violent alpha, who is in the early stages of rut and feels the need to protect.
In another situation, Will would have felt the same, would have stepped in between anyone if he thought they were in danger. But he knew better, his judgment wasn’t clouded by heat or rut, he could see how much Connor truly cared for the other, had known him before Frank and knows him now after, how the omega has softened him, had made him kind in ways he wasn’t before, carefree with his emotions, the other frequently reaching out to Mack now (the young Canadian alpha always so desperate for the other’s friendship), and he trusts him even in his rut to not hurt the omega.
Right now, though, the only two people thinking clearly are Frank and Will, both of their eyes going wide, a look of shock crossing the other’s face, as Will feels his eye twitch, already knowing exactly where this is going considering the growl that escapes Connor at Mack not only touching Frank but also feeling the need to protect the omega he sees as his own from himself.
Connor feels his canines so sharply, feels them drop from his gums and dig into his bottom lip as he snarls, the sound coming straight from his throat, deep and gravelly before he’s on Mack, his fist colliding with the other alpha’s face, the metallic tang of blood quickly filling the tight space between the four of them.
And then, they’re a mess of tangled limbs, Mack on his back, snapping at Connor, throwing his own punches, both of their fists bloody, both of them growling and throwing their entire weight into each blow.
Frank stands there, frozen for about thirty seconds, absolutely confused because Connor is anything but violent, rarely even fights on the ice. He’s the opposite of the typical knot-headed alpha, the type that is always posturing and trying to put any and every one down, thinking he’s better than everyone else because he was born with a knot on his dick.
He’s never been like that and even now, he still isn’t, because Connor isn’t fighting Mack to show off, to prove he’s the better alpha. No, he’s fighting his friend because he’s been off all day, because his scent has been off all day, the usual soft cinnamon orange fragrance that clouds Connor has been tinted with something sharp and spicy, the citrusy scent cutting deep.
Connor may think he’s hiding it well, but Frank’s noticed, of course he has. Frank notices everything about the alpha, absolutely enamored with the younger, shorter man, always looking for him, his smile always stretching extra wide when he finds him.
He’s noticed the way his shoulders have been permanently strung taut since he’s walked into the arena, how his fingers are a raw, pink mess where he’s been picking and chewing at them, how he’s been a jittery, anxious mess, his lips bitten raw from where he’s been chewing on them with his canines, the muscles in his forearms rippling with how strained he is.
He saw how he slammed harder into Celebrini than he had to, dropping his shoulder, not caring about the play, could feel the way he was losing control over his bad pass, his eyes blank and glassy, sweat beading across his forehead.
And for someone who is almost always last off the ice, regardless of how terrible the game was, to be rushing off first, ignoring their teammates and coach, pushing past the media, Frank knew it had to be bad.
It wasn’t until he snapped at Spencer, their friend and teammate, who was genuinely checking in on him that it all hit him, that it all really started to make sense. Connor was in rut, maybe not full-fledged but close, deep into his pre-rut.
And maybe if Frank hadn’t been so absent today, had let the anxiety of his first game back off IR, after he broke his jaw not consume him entirely, he would’ve been able to see the change in him earlier, would’ve been able to be there for him when he needed him.
But now he’s punching one of his closest friends because Frank hadn’t been there, hadn’t been able to ground him, scent him, bring him back down.
He’s here now though, he can stop this before it gets worse, before they really hurt each other.
Connor’s not sure what’s happening, because one moment he’s throwing punches at Mack, the blood warm and sticky on his knuckles, a mixture of his own and the other alphas, and then a desperate, wretched whine is making its way out of his throat, his entire body falling lax.
There’s a big, warm hand landing on the back of his neck, effectively scruffing him, the rough pads of the other man’s fingers digging into the soft flesh of Connor’s neck. There is only one person who could have this effect on him, who could render him defenseless and vulnerable, who could turn him to goo in the middle of a fight with another alpha in rut.
Frank.
“Enough, Connor- Stop.” Frank says, his voice low, leaving absolutely no room for argument, and so he does. Connor stops, his hands unfurling from where he had them clenched tightly, cocked and ready to land another punch, and falls flat against the collar of Mack’s jersey.
He’s panting, exhausted, not just from the fight but from today in general. From the moment he woke up, he’s felt drained, like everything that makes him, him, was slowly leeched out of him over night. He feels like he could collapse right here, if he wasn’t still on top of Mack with Will watching the whole scene go down.
Connor feels his hackles rise, a snarl about to work its way back and up out of his throat, feeling defenseless and exposed, feeling the urge to cover up, to hide, like he’s always been told to do, like he’s always done.
But then Frank is letting out a soft, but firm purr, different than an alpha’s growl, but equally, if not more so intimidating, commanding. It makes Connor stop immediately again, his entire body leaning backward into Frank’s hand that had tightened around his nape, swaying into the soft, calloused hands of the omega.
“I said enough, Connor- Come here, now.” Frank says as he bends over, his lips right next to his ear now, the scent of him, a dewy rainforest with pine trees so tall you can’t even see the sky, the moss soft under your feet as you walk, a fresh sage bush blooming, he finds himself following the silent command without even thinking.
He lets Frank stand up, guiding him along as he does, pulling him to his feet with just the grip on the back of his neck, a whimper escaping him as they stand, unable to hold it back at the demonstration of strength from the omega. It makes his knees feel weak, his stomach swooping and flipping, similar to before but now it’s not because of anxiety, but arousal instead.
Connor’s eyes go wide, not having even realized he had closed them, at the sound, completely horrified at the fact that that noise just came out of his throat, it makes him want to curl up in a ball and hide from the world.
But clearly, Frank has no intention of allowing that. He pulls them both clear of Mack, the other alpha looking like he’s about to cry, his eyes wet and glazed over, his bottom lip wobbling, and then Will is rushing over to him, crouching down and running his hands over him, murmuring soft words, too soft for Frank or Connor to hear.
“You’re in rut.” Frank says, finally removing his hand from the back of Connor’s neck and grabbing his shoulder, squeezing gently, grounding him, the warmth from his hand seeping into him, and suddenly he doesn’t feel so clammy anymore, he actually feels freezing, like he needs the omega’s warmth to live.
And then the words hit him.
Rut? No, he is not in rut. He cannot be in rut, he’s not due for another two whole months. Connor is positive, he tracks them carefully, always dreading them, always wanting to hide away and burrow into the soft, plushness of his bed, scrolling through his hidden album of photos of Frank.
But suddenly, something hits him.
Today was Frank’s first game back and that in and of itself isn’t a revelation, but the fact that he went into a stress rut because of it, is. He went into rut because of Frank, because the person he is closest to, who he considers his, came back to the ice today after a rough fourteen games off, games that he had to learn and adapt to playing without him.
The stress of all those weeks and missed games and practices must have finally gotten to him.
He decides to keep that piece of information to himself, at least for now.
Connor just shakes his head, because he still can’t really believe it, but knows now, looking back, that it all makes sense. It’s exactly like he had thought earlier that Frank would be the one able to figure out what was wrong with him.
“Yes, you are. We’re going to go back to your apartment- I’m going to take care of you and then when this is all over, you’re going to apologize to Mack- And Will.” Frank speaks softly, lowering his head, moving his hand from Connor’s shoulder to his jaw, grabbing his chin carefully between his thumb and forefinger and draws his attention up to his eyes.
And of course, Connor goes, his eyes immediately finding the other’s big, beautiful, brown ones.
It takes him another second to process what Frank had said, his mind running slow, like he’s wading through honey trying to parse through his thoughts now that he’s enveloped in the comforting, warm scent of his omega. But when he finally does, he lets out a stubborn little whine, shaking his head once more, aware that he probably looks like a petulant child.
“I have to apologize- Me? No, that is so not fair-,” Connor starts, his voice whiney as he grabs at Frank’s wrist, his fingers circling the delicate bones easily, his other hand finding the omega’s sinfully tiny waist, his fingers caressing him gently.
Frank lets out a tiny huff, letting go of Connor’s chin and bringing both of his hands up to his face, running his thumb over his split lip, his other hand dancing across the bruise that is surely blossoming on his right eye.
Concern flits over his face, his brows furrowing in poorly concealed worry as he scans the entirety of Connor’s being, his eyes running from his face to his chest to his hands, staying on his bloody knuckles as he speaks.
And Connor just soaks up the warmth and love in the other’s gaze, more than happy to have the omega’s entire attention on him and only him.
“You were upset because we lost and so you decided to start punching your friend- So, yes, you have to apologize.” He says, still cradling the alpha’s face. Now it is Connor’s turn to huff as he drops his hand from Frank’s wrist, grabbing the other side of his waist and pulling him close, his fingers tightening in the softness of his sweater as he does so.
His hands are settled on Frank’s waist now, feeling greedy with how freely he’s letting him touch him, hold him, it makes him want to get down on his knees and beg him for anything, for everything.
But finally, his brain catches up, and he remembers he wanted to say something back to Frank’s statement.
“No, no. That’s not why I punched that smug, alpha bastard-,” Connor starts, looking over Frank’s shoulder where he can see Mack and Will, the other omega having helped him up, returning to their original position that he had happened upon them in, Mack sitting on the little lip on the wall with his face buried in Will’s stomach as he runs his hands through his hair.
He lets out a tiny, aborted growl before he’s cut off by Frank turning his face back to him, a fond, affectionate look on his face, albeit slightly exasperated.
“Connor, don’t start. You know better, yeah?” He says, dropping his voice low and soft on the second part, aware of how the other feels about being vulnerable in front of others, especially someone he considers to be a mirror image of him, in a way.
“Yes but- That’s not the reason I punched him. I punched him,” Connor starts, gritting his teeth, forcing the words out of his mouth without saying something mean, softening up a little when Frank hums, acknowledging the restraint the alpha is showing, finally dropping his hands from his face and settling on his biceps instead, squeezing once, then twice, centering him.
“He stepped in between- He thought that I would- I wouldn’t ever-,” He stammers, finding it difficult to put his thoughts into words all of a sudden, feeling so out of his depth with being open and honest, struggling with everything. He cuts himself off, feeling the anxiety from before begin to creep up his spine, his fingers fidgeting with Frank’s sweater.
And the omega clocks the change in him immediately, calming him.
“Take your time, Connor- Just breathe, I’m not leaving any time soon.” He soothes, loosening his hand on his bicep and placing it on his chest, right over his heart, feeling the erratic beating. He presses softly, forcing him to feel his hand, feel his strength, feel his presence.
And Connor does. He takes a deep breath, bowing his head the tiniest bit, desperate to get closer to Frank, letting the other’s calming scent wash over him, doing his very best to ignore the alpha in rut smell emanating from behind him, along with another omega’s scent that isn’t his own.
Will finally interrupts the two of them.
“I think we’ll head out, incase we’d like another fight on our hands.” He says, a tiny, slightly bitter smile on his face, not happy with his mate being punched repeatedly when he was in rut but a little bit pleased that Connor seems to be softening up a little, just a little.
(And maybe because he thinks that this will finally be the thing that breaks the ever-present cold front that seems to always be between the two Canadians, both desperate for the other’s approval. Both aware of how similar yet different they are.)
Frank nods, looking over his shoulder briefly and sending them both a soft, genuine smile.
“Yeah, get some rest- Both of you. I’m sorry about Connor fighting you, Mack. I’ll make sure to have him apologize once his rut has passed, okay?” He says gently, his voice steady and calm. Connor doesn’t even care that Frank is promising an apology to Mack from him, he’s way too focused on the side profile of his omega, the slope of his nose so delectable, saliva pooling in his mouth as he gazes at him, his scent no doubt going crazy, arousal pouring from every pore of him.
Frank swallows, his cheeks turning a bright pink, his adam’s apple bobbing as he keeps his gaze on the other couple in the tunnel, trying to ignore how Connor’s breathing picks up.
“That’s okay, I’m not mad, Frank. I just want Connor to feel better.” Mack responds softly, a tiny whine escaping him as Will mutters a soft ‘Good boy’ and before either of them can respond, the other omega is guiding the both of them away, Mack throwing a sweet smile and wave over their retreating shoulders.
Connor can’t even focus on the two of them, his entire being honed into the man in front of him.
“Bedsy-,” Frank starts, his face still beautifully flushed, as he turns back toward the alpha in front of him, his entire body so warm, so soft, it makes Connor want to carve a place in his chest and stay there forever.
Deep down, in a place where Connor hides his feelings for Frank, his all-encompassing, life altering love he has for the omega is another dangerous thought. Connor knows that if he had Frank, he wouldn’t need anything else, he wouldn’t even need hockey.
But then his mind goes sticky and gooey all over again, his rut and arousal flooding him and his scent, the thought easily swept away.
“Fuck, your nose- I’m obsessed with your nose- I swear it’s made for riding.” Connor slurs, his rut completely taking over his brain to mouth filter, moving his hands from Frank’s waist to circling it instead, tugging him in closer, looking up at him, his eyes glazed over with lust, glassy and unfocused.
“Okay- Shit- Let’s get you home, now.” Frank says, his eyes wide at the alpha’s comment, the reality of the situation settling in. He goes to move away from Connor, planning on most likely doing exactly what he said, getting them home, but the alpha doesn’t let him.
He keeps his hold on him, dropping his head down, dipping forward and nestling into the junction where Frank’s neck meets shoulder, the tendons jumping underneath him as he gives a soft, barely-there kitten lick, savoring the gentle taste of salt and sweet pine, a moan leaving his mouth as he does.
His scent is so, so thick, the omega pumping out pleased, happy, pheromones, his body so intertwined with Connor’s.
“I didn’t fight Mack because we lost, Frankie- I fought him because he thought I was going to hurt you- That I would put my hands on you. It doesn’t matter if I’m in rut or not- I’d never do anything to hurt you. You have to believe me- Please, omega-,” Connor continues his thought from earlier, needing the other to understand that he’s not some violent, piece of shit alpha that enjoys fighting, and that he would never, ever hurt Frank. He’d rather fucking swallow broken glass then ever lay a finger on him.
Even through his rut-addled mind, he feels desperate for the other to understand him. His voice slightly panicky, his breath hitching, his lips still pressed firmly against Frank’s neck, his arms wrapped around him like a vice, holding onto him so tight; like he’s afraid the other may just disappear.
“Oh- Oh, baby. You’re okay, everything is going to be okay.” Frank whispers softly, his voice so gentle, so kind. And Connor is struck with the thought, once again, that he doesn’t deserve him, could never deserve an omega, a partner, as sweet and forgiving as Frank.
“I know you, Connor. I trust you. Look- Hey, look at me, baby.” The omega calls out, his voice still quiet. And Connor lets him pull his hand out from between them, where it was still pressed tightly against his heart, sandwiched between the two of them, to cradle his face, both hands pressing gently, assuredly.
His hands hold his jaw so delicately, like he’s something to be loved and cherished and it makes Connor want to press into him, contort himself around him so he’d never have to be apart from him.
He looks up at him, his emotions and feelings all over the place, jumping from one to another, overwhelming him.
There are three words that are burning a hole in his throat, suddenly begging to be let out, as if he doesn’t, he might just die. Because when he looks up at Frank, the other man looking down at him so lovingly, he sees the man who never doubted him, who gave him every reason to keep going, who made him fall in love with hockey over and over again in ways he didn’t even know he could.
He sees the man who has only ever wanted Connor to be Connor, not some version of himself everyone else expected him to be.
“There you are.” Frank sighs lovingly, leaning forward, their foreheads pressing against each other, the tips of their noses barely brushing. Connor steadies himself, like he’s been having to do all day, but now with the help of Frank, it’s a much easier task.
“Let’s get you back to your place, we’ll take a nice, hot shower- Doesn’t that sound good? And then I’ll get you all sorted out- I promise.” Frank says, one hand drifting from Connor’s cheek to the back of his neck, a gentle, barely-there scruff, his fingers pressing against the tension that has been steadily building throughout the entire day.
Connor nods, hearing the other’s words and understanding, but the only response he has is, “I love you, Frank.” The words escape his mouth, everything thick and syrupy in his head, but those three words flowing out freely, all his inhibitions down.
Because he’s tired. Tired from trying to pretend he’s a normal alpha, tired from denying himself how much he loves Frank, even if the other man doesn’t return his feelings, doesn’t want anything to do with him after finding out.
At the end of the day, all Connor wants is to be loved, for who he is. And Frank has always done that. The least he can do, is tell the omega the truth, let him know that he is loved, completely, irrevocably, with no expectations.
Frank deserves that, deserves to be loved, deserves to know. He deserves so much that Connor cannot give.
“That’s not- You don’t- This is your rut speaking.” Frank says, shaking his head, looking lost for the first time tonight, and it makes Connor’s heart break. His hands retreat from the alpha’s body, floating in the air like he’s afraid to touch him, like he doesn’t know what to do. And Frank always knows what to do.
“No- Frank, you said you trust me. So, trust me when I say I love you. Rut or no rut.” Connor pleads, pulling his hands from around Frank’s waist. He takes the omega’s face into his hands, tugging him down, forcing Frank to meet his gaze, and he does. Connor feels his palms land on his waist, holding him tightly, like now he’s the one afraid he’ll disappear.
“Trust me.” Is all Connor says, before he’s pulling Frank even closer, their lips finally meeting in a tentative, soft kiss, just a brush, a harsh comparison to the arousal that he knows is coursing through both of them, his rut nowhere near forgotten, but instead placed on the back burner.
They both melt into it, Frank tilting his head just so, his nose brushing against his own, and it makes Connor think back to his earlier statement, about how fucking perfect the omega’s nose is. He lets his arms wrap around his neck, wrapping him in a sweet, tight embrace. And Frank rubs his thumbs against his hip bones, pulling him closer and Connor lets out a sharp, startled whine, bucking forward, his cock filling out quickly, maybe embarrassingly so but he’s not too sure he cares.
That’s how Frank makes him feel, why hide it?
Frank pulls back, slowly, like it hurts to part with him.
“I trust you.” Frank says, nodding his head, bumping their foreheads together. “And I love you, so fucking much. More than I can even begin to put into words.” He finishes softly, his voice overflowing with adoration and affection, love evident in every single one of his words. He feels himself melt into the words, a sappy, serene, slightly strung-out smile on his face.
And suddenly he feels so stupid. How could he have ever doubted Frank’s love for him?
Frank lets out a little laugh, a bright smile on his face, leaning forward to press another chaste kiss to Connor’s lips, cutting it off the second he feels the little alpha’s tongue try to slip into his mouth.
“Kind of makes complete sense- Us confessing our love here. Where we met- Where we fell in love.” He says, syrupy happiness leaking from him, his scent overflowing with pure, unfiltered love. Connor lets himself smile, lets all the horrendous, horrible moments from the day fade away.
“Yeah, it’s kind of fitting.” Connor mumbles, looking up at Frank, his usual crystalline-blue eyes now dark, heavy with something that up until now, he’d refuse to put a name to, at least in the light of day.
Love.
And a very heavy dose of arousal.
“Always thought it would be impossible to find someone- With hockey. I never knew I could find someone because of hockey. Never even imagined they would be as perfect as you- As my omega.” Connor hums quietly, like he’s nervous to speak the words, even though Frank has already reciprocated his feelings, has already promised to take care of him, to get him through this rut and hopefully every one afterward.
Because Connor realizes that he has Frank right now, but he wants him forever. He wants to marry him, to mate him, have kids with him, have a life away from hockey with him, wherever that may be. He doesn’t care if that’s Chicago, or Michigan, or Vancouver.
It doesn’t matter. Nothing does, not without Frank.
“I’m far from perfect, Connor.” Frank huffs, rolling his eyes, letting out a soft purr as Connor tangles his fingers in his hair, rubbing the strands in between his pads, letting out his own rumbling growl in response at the softness of his omega’s hair and the fact that he thinks he is anything but perfect.
Connor shakes his head, pulling Frank down the tiniest bit, their lips meeting once more, the alpha making sure to keep it short, because if he doesn’t, he’ll try to jump his bones right here, right now.
“You’re perfect to me.” He hums after he pulls away, so slowly, already addicted to the taste of the other, obsessed with the fact that he gets to have Frank now, all to himself. He lets his forehead rest against the other’s again, taking the time to feel and see and smell Frank.
And it is dizzyingly overwhelming in the best of ways, makes his hips twitch forward again, the knot at the base of his cock already beginning to swell. He probably should be slightly embarrassed at how easy he is, at the fact that he’s already rock fucking hard in his pants and Frank has barely touched him but he isn’t.
Maybe if he wasn’t in rut he would be but.
Connor suddenly feels the shudder that wracks through him, gripping onto Frank’s biceps, letting his head drop to the omega’s shoulder again, a tiny, pathetic whimper escaping him as he feels sickly warm.
“Okay- Okay, you can wax poetry about me later, for now though, I need to get you home and clean. Then I’ll take care of your rut. Understood?” Frank mumbles through gritted teeth, like he’s fighting to hold himself back, and it makes Connor’s stomach swoop, to know how affected his omega is. The alpha can smell the want and need and love pouring off him in waves.
It makes his canines drop, scraping against Frank’s delicate collar bone, saliva beginning to pool in his mouth at the heat radiating off him, of his smell coating his tongue, his entire being flooding every single one of his senses.
Connor doesn’t really have anything to say, can’t even think about forming a sentence when all he’s able to think about is laying Frank out on his bed and devouring him, preferably burying his face in between the omega’s thighs and tasting his slick for hours, until his jaw is numb and it’s spilling down his chin, onto his chest.
Connor really, really wants that. Needs it actually. If he doesn’t get to taste Frank in about ten minutes, he thinks he might go insane. He tells him as such.
“Can I eat you out when we get home? Please, Frank- Omega- I’ll do anything.” He begs, panting against the warm, now slightly tacky skin on Frank’s neck, opening his mouth as a burst of arousal floods the omega’s scent, trying to taste it on his tongue.
“Okay, so you didn’t hear me at all- That’s perfect. Let’s go, baby- Let’s go home and you can have whatever you want. Hm?” Frank murmurs, a slight huff of laughter on his voice, the tiniest bit hysterical because the Chicago Blackhawk’s golden alpha is trying to climb him like a tree and fuck him in a very public and very notorious rink.
And he also loves him and wants to mate him, that too.
The only thing that gets through to Connor is ‘Whatever he wants’ and ‘Home’, and he begins a throaty, growling purr, one an alpha can only make when he’s truly content, truly happy and at peace and nods his head.
Finally, he allows Frank to move them, the omega separating the two of them the tiniest bit, just enough to grab Connor’s hand and steer them down the tunnel, his legs wobbly and weak as he follows, pressing closely against his back.
Connor holds onto Frank’s sweater with one hand, his other enclosed in his, as he plasters himself against him, and walks in complete harmony with him.
Right leg, left leg. Right leg, left leg.
And then he’s bumping into his back, Connor’s cheek smooshing against the warm, cream knit, a moan falling from his lips at the sudden burst of pine that erupts from Frank. He can’t even ask what he’s doing before they’re moving again. He feels something swinging half hazardly into his leg, realizing Frank had stopped to pick their bags up, in one arm, while contorting his arm and holding Connor’s hand with his other.
“Fuck, you’re so hot. So, fucking strong- My omega.” Connor rumbles, rubbing his cheek against Frank’s shoulder blade as they walk, trying, and failing desperately to not get even harder. Because that feat is impossible when you’re dealing with someone as beautiful and perfect as Frank.
“Baby,” Frank says, trying and failing to come off as amused, and instead sounding completely wrecked. Which of course, makes Connor feel utterly wrecked as well, his sharp teeth digging into the meat of his shoulder, piercing through the omega’s sweater.
Frank just sighs and continues guiding them to wherever they are going, Connor isn’t sure, doesn’t care. He ideally wants to be in his apartment, in his bed, wrapped up in a nest his mate made for him, surrounded by Frank, his scent, his body, his entire being.
But at this point, he’ll take anything, as long as he can fuck Frank, or vice versa, he doesn’t care. He’s never been a typical alpha, in many ways, this being one of them. He never cared about being the top or bottom, never preferred it one way or the other, really only cared about his partner being the one in charge.
Which isn’t usual for an alpha, hence why Connor has never actually been with anyone, way too scared and uncomfortable with the idea of being so vulnerable with another person like that, alpha, beta or omega. Not until Frank that is. And when he met Frank, there was no point in ever even looking at another person, let alone entertaining the thought of sleeping with another.
So, Connor doesn’t care if Frank wants to fuck him or if he prefers Connor does the fucking, as long as he can have him, he’ll be happy. Quite frankly, he wants it every single way with the omega, in every single place and position for the rest of their lives.
He tells the omega as much.
“I want to fuck you so bad, Frank- So fucking bad. Or you can fuck me- I don’t care. I want it all.” He murmurs, not even aware the words are escaping him, too focused on the picture of Frank ‘taking care of him’ that is forming in his head, a very explicit and detailed one.
Imagines the strong and commanding and beautiful omega lying in his bed, on his back, nestled in the comfort of a nest, their nest with his muscular thighs spread open, his chest heaving. Connor imagines the delicious trail of dark, coarse hair that leads down Frank’s navel that he has seen so many times in the locker room.
Imagines the sparse yet thick hair that dots the omega’s chest as well, spattered over his pecs. It makes him physically salivate. The thought of an omega, as commanding and dominating as Frank, lying in his bed, getting him through his rut, makes him want to get down on his knees right here and now and beg him for it, for anything.
(Even though he knows if anyone saw them right now, Connor would go full alpha on them, feeling the need to defend and protect the omega, even if Frank is completely capable of taking care of the both of them.)
Before Frank can somehow formulate an answer to that, or Connor can come up with something even more inappropriate to say, there’s a burst of cold January air, pleasantly washing over their overheated flesh.
Connor jerks his head up, finally pulling himself away from Frank’s back, scanning the parking lot.
Wait, how had they gotten here? They were just in the tunnel leading to the ice and now they’re outside in the cool garage. Connor looks at all the cars still parked, seeing his not too far away. He lets a whine slip out at the thought of leaving the warmth of Frank to drive, the thought of separating from his omega feels like torture.
And Connor is well aware he should stop referring to Frank as his, when he isn’t, not yet. But he is Frank’s, no matter what.
He’s about to tell Frank he probably doesn’t want to drive, doesn’t want to be apart from him for even a second. But of course, the omega reads his mind, in tune perfectly with Connor.
“We’ll leave your car here- I’ll drive us back to your apartment. We can come back for your car after your rut. Does that sound okay?” Frank asks softly, looking over his shoulder, his side profile glinting so handsomely in the dingy, parking garage lights. He looks like a painting, his eyes half-lidded, a soft look on his face.
Connor just hums his affirmation, too busy gazing at the jaw-droppingly, breathtakingly beautiful man in front of him. Franks nods to himself, seemingly satisfied with the alpha’s answer. He squeezes his hand once before pulling him toward his car, the tinted windows something Connor usually chirps him for but today, he’s thankful for them.
He lets Frank lead him, still holding onto him tightly as he pops the trunk open and stuffs their bags in, slamming it closed quickly, the sound ringing out loudly in the desolate garage. And then he’s guiding Connor into the passenger seat, the alpha immediately whining high in his throat.
“What- No, I-,” Connor starts to babble, aghast at the feeling of losing the warmth of Frank, absolutely not putting up with being separated from him. The omega just lets out a tiny, amused huff, a smile etching itself on his pretty face, the new scar on his chin so prominent in the low light.
He reaches over the alpha, clicking his seatbelt in place, speaking so softly that it immediately settles Connor.
“Connor, you have to let me go so I can drive us home. Then you can keep me all to yourself for the next few days, I promise.” He smiles even wider as the alpha grabs his wrist and tugs it up to his lips, his sharp canines scraping over his pulse as he presses a gentle, feather-light kiss to the inside, nuzzling against the warm flesh afterward.
They sit there for a second, Frank leaning over Connor, balancing himself with one arm on the center counsel the other in the alpha’s hold. He lets him play with his fingers, pressing kisses to each digit individually, growling softly when Frank goes to pull his hand away, nipping at his retreating fingers.
“Behave, alpha.” Frank says, his voice so deep and commanding that is sends a full body shiver through Connor, the alpha immediately letting go of the omega, even though he doesn’t want to. Of course he lets the omega know his displeasure at separating.
“Fine.” He huffs, letting him close the door and crossing his arms, making a point not to look at the omega once he gets in, keeping his eyes on the tinted window, mumbling and grumbling to himself as the other starts the car up.
It lasts a total of ten seconds before Connor is jerking his gaze back over to Frank, squinting slightly at the smug, knowing look on the omega’s face.
“I can’t be mad at you- You’re just so pretty and kind- And your arms looking fucking huge in that sweater- I want to bite them so bad,” Connor begins to ramble, having the decency to at least blush at his own words, but not enough to not reach over and tug on Frank’s right hand that was resting on his own thigh and intertwining their fingers together, losing the tiny bit of jitteriness he didn’t realize had started to settle back into his bones.
Now, it’s Frank’s turn to turn red, but it’s not the tiny, barely there flush Connor had, due to his rut and his words, but instead a full face, spreading down his neck type of pink, even coloring the tips of his ears as well. The alpha hears the sharp intake of breath at his words. It makes him want to jump across the center counsel and rip into him, sink his teeth into the untouched mating gland on his neck, and let everyone know who Frank belongs to, and who Connor belongs to.
Because he wants his own mating bite to match, wants everyone to know his omega has claimed him in every single way.
Frank doesn’t say anything, just squeezes the alpha’s hand and rubs his thumb over the back of Connor’s hand. But he doesn’t need to say anything, he never has because they’ve always just known what the other wants, what the other needs. And right now, he can smell both of those things, the scent in the car thick with arousal and need and pure, unfiltered want.
So, Connor takes the hand holding, knows Frank is probably a little shy at his proclamations, even though there is a lot more where that came from, and smiles dopily at him, just happy to take in the downright delectable smell his omega is emitting.
In the back of his mind, he’s vaguely aware that the drive from the arena to his apartment isn’t too long, maybe fifteen minutes without traffic, probably thirty with and as much as he wants to be home right now, enacting all the wonderful scenarios he’s been steadily concocting in his head for months, he doesn’t entirely mind sitting in the passenger seat of Frank’s car, the combined scent of them wrapping him in a comforting blanket as he just stares at the other, watching every single minute expression flit across his face.
Being able to look so unabashedly, without having to hide his feelings, is so freeing and so easy and so, so fucking addicting.
“You’re so beautiful, Frankie.” Connor hums softly, his voice so soft, barely heard over the hum of the heater, the car quickly warming up in the cold, January air. He holds Frank’s hand in both of his, caressing and inspecting his fingers, turning it over in his own, tracing every single callous and line, committing them to memory. He’s still staring at the side of the omega’s face, still smiling, still flooding the space between them with happy, pleased alpha pheromones.
Frank doesn’t say anything for a minute, focused on pulling out of the parking lot and turning into the Chicago traffic that is waiting for them, but his scent spikes, making his usual forest, pine smell sweet, like fresh flowers in full bloom.
A scent that Connor had smelled before but had been unable to place. Now, though, he is easily able to put a name to the scent that is filling his nose deliciously.
Love.
It makes a rumbling purr begin deep in his chest as he brings their conjoined hands up to his face, nuzzling against Frank’s warm hand, spreading his scent all over the omega. His own scent that he knows mimics Frank’s spreading throughout the car.
Connor thinks of all the loving, soft, gentle things he can about Frank, pouring it into his scent, hoping it conveys everything he feels.
After another minute or two of the alpha scenting Frank, he finally speaks up, having gotten them safely onto the road and away from the arena, toward Connor’s apartment building. Which is close to where Frank himself lives, the two only living a block away from each other.
“Sweetheart,” Frank starts, looking away from the road for a brief second, a tiny laugh escaping him at the picture in front of him, his sweet, gentle, little alpha pressing his face against his hand, a bright, carefree smile on his face as he does so. It makes a wave of fondness roll through him, his heart aching with love.
Connor just hums where he’s still rubbing his face on Frank’s palm, not really able to put anything into words right now, besides maybe how beautiful his omega is.
“Almost home, yeah? You’re doing so good- Being so patient.” He says, taking the time to run his thumb over the apple of Connor’s cheek, so delicately, relishing in the loud purr that erupts from the other’s chest, louder than the steady one he had been letting out before.
The alpha nods, sucking in a sharp breath, the words having a slightly different effect on him than perhaps Frank had been intending.
“Keep being good and wait until we get home. Almost there.” Frank murmurs, removing his hand from Connor’s tight hold, his heart constricting at the little whine the alpha lets out, and immediately grabs the back of his neck, scruffing him, grounding him, the glazed over look in his eyes clearing just the tiniest bit.
Connor takes a deep breath, lets the scent of Frank invade his senses, and calms down, faster than he ever has before in his life, and nods, his words failing him.
But Frank doesn’t need words, not with Connor.
They stay like that the rest of the ride home, Frank’s hand gripping Connor’s neck firmly, keeping his thoughts from drifting away, not allowing the alpha’s rut to overwhelm him just yet. He removes it finally when he pulls into the parking garage of the other’s building, finding a spot easily and putting the car in park. It’s silent for a second, the fogginess slowly creeping back into Connor’s body without the omega’s calming touch, his eyes glassy.
Frank doesn’t say anything, but he notices the shift, the telltale sign that he’s dropping into his rut once more, and this time the omega has no intention of pulling him out of it, fully planning on letting his alpha careen head first into it.
The most important thing for Frank is to take care of Connor, to make sure he’s fed, well-rested, safe. But what the omega wants the other to focus on is feeling good, enjoying himself, not worrying about anything other than his rut.
He gets out of the driver’s seat quickly, making a split-second decision to leave their hockey bags in the car, and rushes over to the passenger’s side where the alpha is waiting for him. When he tugs the door open, Connor almost falls into him, his head lolling to the side onto Frank’s chest.
He nimbly undoes the seatbelt, the heat radiating off the alpha so warm, beads of sweat springing up on his forehead and temple, his breaths ragged and labored, like it’s taking conscious effort to breathe.
“You’re doing so well, baby- So well. I’m so proud of you.” Frank soothes, hoisting Connor’s arm over his shoulders, his own wrapping around the alpha’s waist, supporting most of his weight. He closes the door with his foot, really not caring that he definitely left a salt mark on it.
He moves on instinct, his feet carrying them both through the building, getting into the elevator and up to the top floor as quickly as possible, navigating his way through the winding hallways until he finds Connor’s front door, a sigh escaping as he does so, relief coursing through him.
Because the whole time, Connor was mouthing at his neck, pawing at every single part of Frank he could touch, panting absolutely sinful words against his warm, flushed skin. His rut had taken over, all rationale slipping from his brain, no care in the world that they’re in public, that anyone in his building could see.
Frank slips his free hand into the alpha’s pocket, finding his keys and fishing them out, sliding them into the lock with ease, trying and failing to ignore Connor’s desperate little ‘please’ falling from his lips.
His hands shake as he pushes the door open, slamming it shut behind them, immediately guiding the alpha to sit down in the entry way on the tiny bench there. Connor makes a confused huff, unsure of why his omega wants him to sit down but he does it regardless, stumbling slightly as Frank removes his arm from his waist to settle him down.
He bends down, slipping Connor’s shoes off gently, speaking softly to him the whole time.
“We’re going to get in the shower- Take the edge off. Then we’ll get settled in your room, I’ll make a nest, just for you, alpha.” He murmurs, his voice so quiet. Connor sways forward a little, slumping against Frank, letting his head fall against the omega’s shoulder, taking a deep breath.
The thought of his omega making a nest for him? It makes him want to cry tears of happiness. Because Connor never thought he’d have a mate, not with hockey. And when he met Frank, when he walked into the training center the day he signed with the Blackhawks, Connor had thought he’d never have him.
And now he gets both. He gets Frank, he gets to have someone who loves him endlessly, someone who chooses him every day, someone who has never made him be anyone but him, an imperfect alpha.
“A nest- For me?” Connor mutters out, trying to keep the awe out of his voice as he turns his face toward Frank, pressing his nose against the skin on his neck, darting his tongue out for a quick taste, the slight tinge of salt mixed with his underlying scent so delicious, a moan slips out of his lips.
He presses his lips fully to Frank’s skin in open mouthed kissed, alternating between sucking harshly, the urge to mark the man he thinks of as his mate overwhelming, letting his sharp canines drag over the sensitive skin, delighting in the hitch of the other’s breath, the slight shake in his shoulders, the sharp spike in his scent.
Connor feels delirious with it all.
“Yeah, just for you, Connor. Always for you.” Frank responds, putting his shoes to the side, straightening up, the alpha’s head falling backward, his hands fisting the cream, knit sweater the omega is wearing, gazing up at him, spit shining on his full lips. He licks them subconsciously, chasing the taste of Frank on his lips.
Frank swallows, forcing himself to keep his composure. He reaches out, wrapping his hand around Connor’s bicep, pulling him up with ease and directing them toward the bathroom, the shower he promised him.
And Connor is trying to focus on the shower, how the hot water washing over his skin, how the scalding heat washing away the day will feel but he really can’t, not when Frank just fucking hauled him up with one hand.
He is not a tiny man, slightly on the shorter side, maybe, but he has plenty of muscle on him, so the fact that the omega can just, manhandle him like that. Well, it does something to him; he’s way too far gone to pretend any longer, way too fucking in love and horny for Frank to hide it.
“Jesus, you’re so hot, Frank- So strong. Want to see how strong you are- How strong your thighs are when you ride me.” Connor stammers out, tripping over his words and feet as Frank tugs them forward and into the bathroom, staring at the omega’s ass instead of focusing on his own two feet.
As soon as the words are out of his mouth and hanging in the air between them, Frank is spinning on his heels, pushing Connor against the bathroom door that is now closed. The omega’s right hand slams next to the alpha’s head, his other hand coming to grab Connor’s throat, right under his jaw, his pointer finger digging gently into the hinge of his jaw.
A loud whine erupts from the alpha, his mouth falling open, saliva pooling on his tongue at the blatant show of strength from the omega, the warm, heady feeling from his rut completely taking over, forcing every sane thought that could possibly form in his head, out.
“Is that what you want? Want me to ride you, alpha? Want me to hold you down- Make you take whatever I give you? Hm?” Frank hums, his voice so deep, so low. Clearly Connor’s rut is affecting him, maybe more so than he has been letting on. He’s not sure what makes him buck his hips more, his cock begging for friction as he presses against Frank, the omega’s words or the clear arousal and want in his scent, the desperation he thought was only leaking off him now mixing in with Frank’s.
Connor nods his head, his hair falling into his eyes as he does so, his eyes so hazy, glazed over with need, with want. He doesn’t think any real words are coming out of his mouth at this point, just helpless, high-strung whines and moans as he pushes himself against Frank even harder. He feels the omega’s cock, hard against his own and so fucking big, it rips a whimper out of him, the knot at the base of his dick threatening to fill out, right here, right now.
“Or-,” Frank starts, cocking his head, a sharp, dangerous smile on his face, his lips looking so beautiful in the bathroom light, his brown eyes so big, so dark, so expressive, every single one of his emotions reflected in them.
He leans forward, pressing a soft, barely-there kiss against the apple of Connor’s cheek, another one lower down his jaw, his lips trailing over the feverish warm heat of the alpha’s skin, pressing one last one against the shell of his ear before continuing, his voice barely audible, laced with pure, unfiltered want.
“Would you rather I put you on your knees- Put you face down and fuck you? Does my alpha want to take my cock- Feel it nice and deep, right here?” Frank says quietly, like it’s just for the two of them, like there’s anyone else around to hear them and removes his hand from the wall, pressing his palm flat against the hard plane of Connor’s abdomen, right below his navel, right where Frank’s cock will be when he fucks him, because he so definitely will be.
He pulls back a little bit, his dark eyes gleaming, his fingers pressing around Connor’s throat, applying just enough pressure to make his head dizzy, a surprised, hitched breath falling from his lips, his head thunking backward as he mindlessly ruts forward, chasing the tiniest hint of pleasure.
And Connor wants that, fucking needs it actually, but not for their first time. Because the thought of not seeing Frank’s face as the omega fucks him for the first time, not being able to see how beautiful and breathtaking the man he wants to mate with looks when he takes the most vulnerable, sacred thing that Connor has to offer, other than his neck, which he plans on giving him too, would kill him, tear his heart out.
The alpha lets out a desperate, high whine, shaking his head viciously, finally moving his hands from where they had somehow gravitated to Frank’s waist, having grabbed him to not only feel the comfort and warmth of his omega, but also to use the leverage to pull Frank against him, the knowledge that the only reason why he was allowed to hold onto him and rut against him was because the omega permitted it does not go over his head.
Not at all.
But before he can address how fucking hot that is, he needs to correct the omega.
“No- No. Want to be able to see you- See your face when you fuck me- Fuck Frank, I fucking need it- I’ll die without your cock in me I think.” Connor stammers out, his hands reaching up and guiding Frank’s face from where he had been close to his ear so he could see him, his eyes now wide, pleading for the omega to understand him, to know him.
Of course, Frank does, how couldn’t he?
“Holy shit, you’re going to kill me.” He mumbles, now Frank being the one with the wide eyes, his hand still wrapped around Connor’s throat, his other pressed gently, but firmly against his lower belly.
Before Connor can sink down to his knees and get a taste of Frank, feeling like he might go crazy if he can’t feel the weight of him in his mouth, the ache in his jaw, the salty tang of his cum when he inevitably begs the omega to, said man is stepping back, away from the alpha.
He feels like he’s going to go insane. Why does his mate keep pulling away?
“Frankie- Omega, please.” Connor begs, not even caring about his leaking cock or his rut washing over him, only wanting Frank close to him, in whatever capacity possible. He doesn’t even need any relief, would be more than happy to just be next to him, to look at him, to love him.
“Hey- Shh- It’s okay, I love you.” Frank says softly, carefully, like he’s trying not to spook a scared animal. He doesn’t realize he had been shaking this whole time, slightly, barely but when Frank had pulled away, even briefly, it had gotten worse, his teeth almost chattering.
Frank places his both his hands on Connor’s shoulders and tugs him close to him, pressing him against his chest as he wraps his arms around his shoulders, his hand pressing the alpha’s head to the crook of his neck, and pours out the most delicious, calming scent possible.
And it works. Connor melts into the omega’s arms, immediately turning his face into the mating gland on his neck, mouthing at it, worrying the skin with teeth, sucking on it softly.
“I’m right here, okay- Right here. Let’s get you in the shower and then you can have whatever you want- You can have me however you want.” The omega says softly, rocking the both of them slowly, before pulling away, gently, calmly, making sure that Connor doesn’t think he’s leaving him, like he had before.
The alpha lets out a tiny purr, his omega so kind and caring, so considerate, able to read him as easy as a book.
So many people, besides his family, had deemed him difficult, quiet, hard to understand but not Frank. Never him. He had taken everything that made him, him and didn’t love him in spite of it, but because of it.
What did he do to deserve him?
Connor lets Frank lead him to the toilet, sitting down on the lid as the omega turns the shower on, cranking up the temperature, just like he likes. He lets his eyes close, lets the peace of the situation wash over him, takes in the warmth seeping from the shower, the scent of his omega, happy and comfortable, and just sits there for a second.
He feels a shift in the air and opens his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat that had quickly formed after seeing Frank stripped down, bare, nothing covering up his pretty, tan skin, the slight smattering of freckles on his shoulder blades looking like a constellation he needs to map out with his tongue.
The omega is bent over, rearranging the bottles the alpha had haphazardly knocked over in his pre-game shower, Connor doesn’t really pay any attention to that, way too focused on Frank’s ass, which is now on perfect display for him to stare at.
And staring is probably a polite term to use considering Connor feels more like he’s leering, his mouth slightly open, his canines now firmly dropped, pressing into the plushness of his bottom lip, a tiny string of drool making its way out of the corner of his mouth.
He feels like a fucking dog.
Probably looks like one.
Frank must be able to feel his stare on him, which makes sense considering he feels like he may be staring holes into him, unable to take his eyes off him, and honestly, who could? Connor thinks Frank may be the most handsome person in the fucking world and he is definitely not biased.
The omega turns around, that pretty pink blush back on his cheeks, coloring the tips of his ears and spreading over the bridge of his nose and holds is hand out, making a grabby motion, signaling the alpha to come closer.
And Connor goes, so easily, his eyes running over the front of Frank, completely mesmerized by him. He feels the omega tugging on his clothes, murmuring soft praise, stripping him of garments that were slowly causing him to overheat, the steam from the scalding water curling around them but his mind is elsewhere, completely and utterly entrapped by the other man in front of him.
The soft way his brow furrows as he tugs off his pants, carefully, like it’s taking great effort to not bowl Connor over, and it probably is, the alpha is offering absolutely zero help. The way the hair at base of his neck starts to curl with the heat, making him want to reach out and tangle his fingers in it, swallow the moan that he knows the omega would let out.
The way he can see his back muscles ripple when he crouches down to pull his pants free from his feet, planting one hand on Frank’s shoulder when he feels himself wobble, letting him maneuver him however he sees fit.
The tiny, comforting smile on his lips as he tells Connor to lift his arms, quickly getting rid of his hoodie, folding everything so neatly.
He’s so focused on Frank, he doesn’t even realize that he’s now standing naked, matching the omega. Not until it hits him like a truck slamming into him, the sudden realization caving in the center of his sternum, his breastbone aching with it.
“Come on, alpha- Shower first.” Frank huffs out, grabbing Connor’s hand again, having dropped it to help him get naked, and intertwines their fingers, tugging just the littlest bit, clearly well aware that Connor does not need any convincing, just needs the gentle command, the comfort and security of it.
He nods, once, before Frank is turning back around, still holding his hand, and steps into the steam. This close to him, with no clothes between them, the alpha catches a scent he has never smelled before, a scent he knows he’ll never forget, a scent that makes his teeth ache, his mouth water, and his head swim.
Frank is wet with slick.
And now that he’s really looking, not just staring, he can see the slight wetness between his thighs and he’s suddenly hit with the fact that he did that, he made Frank wet.
Just by being him, not putting on some show, not winning a game, or scoring a goal but because he loves him, he wants him. Suddenly, or not so suddenly considering Connor always feels insane about the omega in some capacity, he feels the need to profess his love for the other once more.
“I love you so much, Frank- Fuck, I need you.” He breathes out, stepping into the shower and pressing his omega against the warm, wet tiles, careful not to send the both of them careening toward the ground, because he may be slowly losing his mind with his rut, but his top priority will always be Frank’s safety, whether he’s in rut or not.
He’s got one pressed to his hip, the other coming to rest against his throat, feeling the quiet, almost imperceptible purr coming from his omega’s throat, the scent of his slick and the warmth and pressure of the water pelting the side of him enough to make him feel lightheaded.
Connor leans forward, connecting their lips. He nips at Frank’s bottom lip, careful not to draw blood, but he’s needy and desperate, whines and whimpers escaping him once the other opens his mouth, letting him lick inside, tasting every inch of the omega.
The alpha presses forward, like he’s trying to crawl into Frank’s chest, like he can nestle into the place carved out in his heart labelled ‘Connor’ and live there. He kneads at his hip, his fingers digging into the muscle and skin, no doubt leaving bruises behind with the force of it, and the thought makes his cock harden somehow even more.
The smell of Frank’s slick having him about two seconds away from popping his knot right here in his shower.
He lets their tongues dance together and Frank lets him lead, lets him invade his space, take his air, lets him have his way with him, for just a second, before he’s pulling back, panting, his lips red and swollen, his scent thickening in the shower, no doubt fresh slick making its way down his thighs.
Connor feels like he’s going to go insane if he doesn’t get to taste Frank, in whatever way he’ll have him. He wants to get down on his knees, wants to suck him off, feel his dick bully its way down his throat, wants to feel the omega’s hands in his hair pulling him forward, forward, until he can’t do anything but take it. Wants to feel Frank cum down his throat, wants to feel the ache in his knees from the tiles and the matching one in his jaw from having something so big in his mouth.
And he wants to spin the omega around, wants to eat him out, feel the way his hole clenches and releases around his tongue, feel him open up around him. Connor wants to taste his omega’s slick, let it drip down his jaw, listen to all of Frank’s noises, wants to pull every whine and whimper from him, wants to taste them on his tongue.
Fuck, Connor wants so bad, wants whatever Frank is willing to give him. But before he can tell him that, the omega is speaking.
“Let me wash you first- Then you can have what you want, I promise.” He says softly, pressing the words into the alpha’s skin as he leans forward and places a kiss underneath his jaw, watching Connor go slack, his hands falling from him, hanging by his sides, following the command that was written in between the lines.
So, Connor caves easily, lets his omega turn him around, lets the water wash over him, lets him run his hands through his hair with shampoo, then followed by conditioner. Lets the calmness and peace, the domesticity of it all wash over him.
Because he has never been a normal alpha, has never had normal ruts.
He’s never needed to knot someone or a toy to feel relief. Cumming had never been the center of his ruts, not that it didn’t help take the edge off, because it did, but it was never what made his ruts better, never is what eased the ache in the pit of his stomach or the headache brewing behind his eyes.
His ruts had been insufferable before Frank, long hours spent missing his friends from his junior days, his family, every single player on the Blackhawks, desperately wanting the feeling of being wrapped up in his pack’s scent.
And then he met him and curated his secret folder of photos and videos of him laughing or smiling at something stupid Connor had said or done, collected random pieces of clothing the other had left around his apartment, and fell in love with him and suddenly his ruts were easier, manageable with the omega’s friendship.
Because Connor could get through anything if Frank was with him, waiting on the other side with a smile on his face, a tooth-achingly sweet coffee in his hand, a sharp quip already leaving his mouth before the alpha can even get over the beauty of him.
So even though he’s the hardest he’s ever been in his life, even though his knot is pulsing at the base of his cock, even though his canines are still dropped, he doesn’t feel the need to get off, doesn’t feel wild with the need to cum and knot Frank.
No, instead he feels crazed with the idea of making his omega feel good, making Frank cum on his tongue, whether that be buried in his hole or wrapped around his dick, he doesn’t care. Connor just wants to make him feel good.
He’s shocked out of his thoughts, his hair now clean, dripping water onto his shoulder blades, the scent of his body wash overwhelming his sensitive nose, (He realizes belatedly he should’ve told Frank to avoid washing them with anything too strong, wanting to smell Frank, wanting to smell them mixing together) by the omega wrapping his large palm around him, his cock jumping, a bead of precum leaking out.
Connor feels dizzy with it, feels the familiar feeling of pleasure coil in his stomach, his knot thickening immediately. And it feels fucking amazing, the best anything has ever felt, but it’s not what he needs, not what will help him ride through his rut.
His breathing hitches, getting stuck in his throat, a long, high-pitched whine escaping as his hips buck forward, chasing the pleasure mindlessly, on instinct alone. Connor starts shaking his head, his entire body suddenly jittery, his back taught like a bow.
“Is this, okay?” Frank asks quietly, the only other sound besides the water being the alpha’s desperate little whines. It doesn’t go over Connor’s head how gentle and patient the omega is with him. He leans forward, dropping his forehead onto the other’s shoulder, nuzzling against the soft, wet skin there, inhaling deeply, trying to get through the smell of the body wash that is now tainting his omega’s smell.
He knows he’s probably sending extremely mixed signals right now, shaking his head ‘No’ but whining and fucking up into Frank’s hand, the other man having done nothing but wrap his hand around the alpha’s cock, his grip tight yet loose enough for the other to still need more friction.
“Yes,” Connor says, his voice breathy, the word sounding like someone had torn it from his throat, scraping the edges as they went. He sounds wrecked, his face still pressed against Frank’s shoulder, feeling the muscles bunch and relax underneath his forehead.
The omega removes his hand slowly, loosening his hold and settling his hands on Connor’s waist instead, immediately clocking that he wasn’t telling the truth, the full truth at least. Because it is okay that he is touching him, he is Frank’s to touch, to feel, to fuck, and any other day he’d be completely at the omega’s whims but right now, his rut is clouding his brain, and he only has one thing on his mind.
Making Frank cum. Tasting Frank cum. Feeling him come apart on his tongue.
He whines briefly at the loss of contact but leans into the feeling of the other’s hands on his waist, finding comfort easily.
“Of course it’s okay. It’s just- I need something else, I need you. I need to taste you. Make you feel good.” Connor murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, his words almost getting washed away with the sound of the water, but Frank hears him, of course he does.
He feels the omega run his hands up and down his sides in a comforting manner, soothing him, the shakes wracking his body slowing to minute tremors.
“Alpha’s need to cum while they’re in rut to take the edge off, to feel relief- At least that’s what I’ve always been told. If that’s not what you need, then explain to me what you do, baby-,” The omega says, his tone so gentle, so soft, giving Connor so much comfort, so much peace. He doesn’t feel embarrassed, doesn’t feel abnormal, doesn’t feel like less of an alpha just because he likes different things, not with Frank.
But it’s still hard for him to put it all into words, to voice his feelings, unused to being accepted after years of suppressing himself, forcing himself into whatever box everyone else thinks he should be in.
So, he doesn’t speak, not right away, just drops to his knees in the middle of the shower, the tiles digging into his skin, a startled whine falling from Frank’s lips as he does, the scent of him thickening as he gets closer to the source of his slick. The scent of the body wash finally washing away, Frank’s natural scent seeping through, filling Connor’s nose, painting the back of his throat.
He thinks Frank might be speaking to him, and while usually he’d rather die than ignore the other, he finds himself completely focused on the omega’s dick in front of him, everything else passing around him like sludge.
He’s so fucking pretty.
He’s big, bigger than the average omega. He looks heavy too, even though he’s hard, completely, his cock struggles to stay upright, bobbing forward, tiny, almost clear pearls of precum leak from his head. And fuck, the head of his dick looks so fucking delectable. There’s a slight curve to him and a vein that runs down the right side. Connor can see it pulsating, can almost imagine what it feels like if he were to press his tongue flat against it. It makes his head swim with the thought.
The alpha finally peels his eyes off the omega’s cock, focusing his eyes on the dark patch of hair leading to it, Frank’s happy trail making saliva pool in his mouth once more. He feels his teeth dig into his bottom lip, tastes a burst of something metallic that he just knows is blood.
He wants to bury his face in the thick, almost pitch-black thatch of hair at the base of his cock, the treasure to where his treasure trail leads to. Wants to nuzzle against him, breathe him in, let the unmasked scent of Frank roll over him and flood every single one of his senses.
And then he sees the gleam between the omega’s thighs, sees the way Frank squirms just the tiniest bit, an almost imperceptible squelch ringing out as he does so. It makes Connor pant, placing both hands on the omega’s glorious thighs, kneading gently, pulling them apart a little, a hiccup escaping him as he looks at a fresh glob of slick roll down the omega’s muscled leg.
Finally, he’s shaken out of his reverie by Frank.
“Sweetheart- Alpha.” He says, drawing Connor’s attention back to up to him, even though it’s slow, his eyes glued to the omega’s thighs, his gaze raking up his entire body, trying to take in every divot, every freckle and mole, every curve.
Eventually his eyes come to rest on Frank’s brown ones, a look of worry in them. Connor swallows, realizing he had sort of gone non-verbal, dropped to his knees with the hot water still lashing against Frank’s back, and has yet to give a reason why.
Of course he’s worried.
“I’m not normal. I’m not like other alphas. I don’t-,” Connor sighs, leaning forward, pressing his face against the warm, strong muscle of Frank’s thigh, like it’s possible for him to hide there forever, and honestly, he wishes he could.
The omega lets him, doesn’t force him to continue right away, gives him a second to just breathe and center himself, his hands coming down to run them through the alpha’s wet strands, scratching behind his ear every now and then.
“I don’t need to cum or to knot something to feel better, not that it hurts but- I just need- I need to be close to you, to feel you. Making you feel good, making you cum, being able to taste your release, your scent on my tongue- That’s what will make my rut better.” He huffs out, rushing to get all the words out, like if he doesn’t now he never will.
And Frank just stares down at him, a look of awe and love on his face.
The omega still has his hands in the alpha’s hair when he responds.
“I’m not exactly normal either, if you haven’t noticed.” He says, a bitter laugh escaping him as he does, raising his eyebrows, moving his eyes between Connor, an alpha down on his knees, and his own cock, which honestly gives said alpha’s a run for his money.
And Connor shakes his head, desperate to correct Frank, tell him that he’s perfect just the way he is, that they complement each other, that he’d die if the omega was anyone but who he is but the other man is speaking again before he can get the words out.
“If that’s what you need right now, Connor, then you can have it- Fuck you can have everything you want. Every part of me is for you, just you. Always has been- Since the first day I saw you, I knew.” Frank says, his eyes glassy, in a different way than Connor’s.
“I love you, so much more than I can put into words.” The omega breathes out, and Connor feels his heart physically ache with love, because honestly, truly, how had he gotten so lucky? He had found someone who loved him, irrevocably, unconditionally, and he loved him just the same. He feels himself getting choked up, feels all of his emotions welling up in his throat. He takes his face out from where he had been buried in Frank’s thigh and looks back up at him, a tiny, private smile spreading across his face.
“Me too- So much.” The alpha says, his hands still firmly holding the other man, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.
Frank takes one of his hands out of the alpha’s hair and cups his cheek, so delicately, like he’s holding a delicate, precious piece of china, like he has the moon and stars themselves laid out in his palms.
He leans into the touch, a low rumble starting in his chest once more, nuzzling into the omega’s palm before he’s blurting his thoughts out, most definitely ruining the peaceful, loving silence that had just settled over them.
“Can I suck you off, now- And finger you, please- Please?” Connor begs, his voice coming out so whiny, so desperate. And he should be embarrassed, your average alpha doesn’t go around begging to go down on an omega, but, as Frank and him have established, neither one of them are ‘normal’.
(And if having Frank like this means Connor isn’t normal, then fuck, he never wants to be.)
Frank’s eyes go wide for a split second and then he’s throwing his head back, a loud, carefree laugh escaping him, the water positively pelting him in the face, even though he clearly doesn’t care, his laughter just continuing.
It’s not a mocking laugh, the thought doesn’t even cross Connor’s mind. He can smell the happiness and adoration coloring the omega’s scent, his own positively matching.
When Frank looks back down at the alpha on his knees, he’s got a smile on his face, laughter etched into every detail on his face, and nods.
“Yeah, baby, you can take whatever you want.” He says softly, reaching out and running both hands through Connor’s hair again, sweeping the strands that had fallen onto his forehead back, tugging on them gently as he does.
And then he’s darting forward, while also pulling the omega’s hips toward him, the slightest bit, not enough to send him off kilter but enough to draw him close.
It takes him about a second to get his bearings before the need to have Frank’s cock in his mouth overwhelms every rational thought in his head and he’s leaning the rest of the way forward, wrapping his mouth around his head.
He lets the loud, startled whine that falls from the omega’s lips guide him, hoping that means he’s doing a good job because he’s actually never done this before. He’s slept with a few girls when he was younger, when he thought maybe if he had sex with enough of them, he’d start to like them, like being a traditional alpha.
To no one’s surprise, he was very wrong and he found that out very quickly.
So, this is a first for him.
He starts off slow, one hand still holding Frank firmly in place, his other wrapping around his waist. The angle isn’t great, but Connor is nothing if not determined, and what he wants is his mouth wrapped around the omega’s insanely perfect cock and his fingers buried in his delicious, mouthwatering ass, and he plans on doing both.
Connor runs his tongue over the head of the omega’s cock, letting the taste of his precum roll over his tastebuds, a moan escaping his own mouth as he does so, the vibration causing Frank to buck his hips forward, his cock sliding farther into the alpha’s mouth.
And Connor takes it enthusiastically, opens his mouth wider and bobs his head forward, listening to the endless stream of curses and praises falling from the omega’s mouth.
“Fuck, Connor- Doing so well, holy shit. Doing amazing, alpha.” His voice goes high on the last word, Connor having sunk even further down his length, making a conscious effort to keep his canines far away from the omega’s dick, drool pooling in his mouth, saliva dripping down his chin, his hand having finally landed between Frank’s downright sinful ass.
The alpha’s head feels fuzzy, yet so clear, like he’s breathing for the first time all day. Frank keeps moaning above him, his hands gripping Connor’s hair tightly, but not enough to hurt, just to cause a tiny sting.
He’s just holding, patiently, not moving the alpha’s head or forcing a pace, just grounding the both of them, maybe more so himself with the way his hips cant forward again when Connor teases his finger over his hole, a frenzied whimper forcing its way out of his throat.
Frank’s begging now, his voice sounding wrecked even though Connor has been sucking his dick for barely a minute, and it makes the alpha in him happy, makes his chest swell with pride at making his omega feel good, bringing his omega this close to the brink so fast.
The feeling is addicting, so is the taste of Frank on his tongue, the scent of his pleasure washing over him completely, like a warm, weighted blanket. He takes him down even further, his throat constricting, warning him that he does not, right now at least, have the capacity to take every inch of the omega down his throat, and isn’t that a dizzyingly arousing thought.
“Connor- Alpha, so good- So perfect for me. Please, please give me more. Anything- Just something, please.” Frank begs, his eyes water as he pushes back against the single finger prodding at his hole, slick gushing out when Connor just brushes his finger tip over him.
And Connor is a strong man; had to be with everything he’s gone through in his life. He’s strong on the ice, strong for his team, for his family, and he’s strong for Frank. But right now, fuck, he is so weak, so easily swayed by the other’s pleas that he doesn’t even think twice, just pushes his index finger in slowly, not wanting to hurt the omega, even if he is leaking slick in bucket loads.
(Frank will tell him later that that does not make him weak, that loving someone only makes you strong, and that he feels the same, that he would do anything for the alpha.)
“Fuck!” Frank swears, grind his hips back toward Connor’s finger, effectively pulling the alpha off his cock a tiny bit. The alpha lets out a tiny whine, immediately surging forward again, taking even more of Frank’s dick down his throat, his eyes beginning to water, but it’s so fucking good.
He can feel the ache in his jaw already beginning to settle in, can feel the tiles cutting into his knees, can feel his cock jump at every moan and whine the omega lets out, feels his balls tighten up with every wave of pleased omega pheromones that pour out of Frank.
“Such a good alpha, taking such good care of me- So good, Connor.” Frank murmurs, petting his hands through Connor’s now damp hair, the water still running down his back in rivulets, the steam surrounding them and making the air thick with their scents.
It’s the best smell in the world if you asked Connor (and Frank).
He lets himself reacclimate to the feeling of Frank so far down his throat once more, relaxing into it, letting his tongue lave at the soft, sensitive skin underneath his head, moaning at the soft, choked off whine the omega lets out.
And then he’s focusing back on his finger, which is still buried in Frank’s ass, warm and wet with slick, and so unbelievably fucking tight.
Connor lets himself get lost in it, lost in the feeling of Frank heavy on his tongue, in the way the omega lets out high, keening whines when he crooks his finger just so, how every time he moans around his cock, Frank bucks forward.
He pulls back a little bit, and then presses forward once more, bobbing his head, repeating the motion over and over, matching his finger to the movements of his mouth.
“Please, please- I need you, I need more, alpha.” Frank chokes out, his voice wrecked, his hands running through Connor’s hair, messing it up, threading his fingers through, scratching behind his ears gently when he pulls back briefly and presses his tongue against his slit, precum spilling out.
The alpha looks up, a moan being torn from his throat as he does so, because the omega looks fucking ruined, his hair is damp from the shower and pushed back, a few strands falling forward onto his forehead. His eyes are half-lidded, a desperate, glassy look in them, his dark lashes fanning over his cheeks when he blinks. His chest is heaving, his pecs wet, water droplets rolling down his skin, and fuck he looks so big from this angle, makes his canines accidently brush against Frank’s cock, the omega letting out a full-bodied shudder, his body lurching forward, a moan slipping out of his lips, and the alpha realizes belatedly that he likes it, likes the edge of pain and pleasure.
He nods, causing another moan to slip from the omega’s lips, knowing exactly what Frank needs, knows exactly what he needs.
Connor withdraws his finger, slowly, the desperate pleas and whimpers falling from Frank’s lips like music to his ears, and presses two back inside him, sinking his fingers in all the way to his knuckles, feeling the omega fuck his hips forward.
The alpha crooks his fingers once, then twice, the sound of Frank’s slick squelching around them enough to drive him crazy, swallowing around his cock in perfect harmony.
He feels the omega’s hands tighten in his hair, feels the way he clenches around his fingers, the fresh wave of slick gushing out of his hole, and fuck Connor wants to eat him out so fucking bad. He hears his high-pitched whines, his cut off sobs and feels the pulse of the omega’s cock in his mouth.
And then Frank is throwing his head back and cumming.
Connor swallows it all down, desperate to taste the omega, to take everything he gives him. He feels him flutter around his fingers; his entire hand soaked at this point from Frank’s slick. The taste of the omega’s cum on his tongue is addicting, even more so when he swallows mouthfuls down.
Fuck, Connor thinks he might be obsessed. He can’t wait to taste Frank’s slick.
He lets Frank guide him off his cock after a few minutes, content to stay on his knees and just suckle on the omega’s cock, but he knows he’s probably over sensitive, knows he’s probably tired of having the steaming, slightly scalding water run over his back.
“Come on- Good alpha.” Frank murmurs, his voice so soft, enveloping Connor like a warm embrace. He looks up at the omega, blinking his eyes slowly, letting the pleasure and happiness flooding Frank’s scent to wash over him, a deep rumble starting in his chest as he slowly lets Frank’s cock slip out of his mouth.
He pulls his fingers out of the omega’s hole gently, not wanting to hurt him, and presses his face against his thigh briefly when he lets out a tiny, pained whine, a quiet ‘Careful, baby’ escaping him as he does so.
The alpha can’t help himself when his fingers drift to his mouth, wrapping around them like he had the omega’s cock just minutes prior and tastes his slick, lets the taste explode in his mouth. Connor lets out a loud moan, lapping at his fingers, fucking desperate to get all of the omega’s slick in his mouth.
Frank’s breath hitches before he’s removing his hands from the little alpha’s hair and grabbing his biceps, squeezing once before hauling him up to his feet, steadying him as he stumbles a little, his hands quickly flying to his waist to ground him.
Connor’s fingers are still in his mouth, the taste of Frank’s slick gone by now, but the alpha keeps searching, just in case he missed some.
The omega lets out a soft purr, matching the alpha’s deep rumble.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, again. Then bed. My little alpha looks tired.” Frank coos softly, pulling his hand from his mouth and pressing a kiss to his lips, a barely there brush, once then twice. Connor opens his eyes, the glossy, faraway look finally ebbing away, a deep boned sleepiness settling in now.
He nods and presses his forehead against Frank’s shoulder, letting the omega do whatever he deems necessary to get them cleaned, which just includes scrubbing them both down again, this time with a plain bar of body soap that he has no idea where it came from, the soap scentless.
Frank must’ve sensed his unease and discomfort when he had washed away their combined scent earlier with his usual body soap, having switched. It makes his head feel syrupy thick, fondness rolling through his scent.
One second, they’re in the shower, Frank washing them both up, and then the omega is sitting him down on the edge of the bed.
Connor blinks once, clearing his head, and watches Frank as he moves around the room, naked, his muscles rippling as he bends over, picking up random pieces of clothing.
The alpha doesn’t say anything, just sits there quietly, watching, more than happy to just stare at his omega.
And then Frank is dumping his haul on the bed and motioning for the alpha to scooch.
“Get comfortable, Connor- Lay in the middle of the bed, I’ll make the nest around you, okay?” He says, tapping his thighs to get him to move, little ‘Up, Up, Up’s’ leaving Frank’s mouth as he breathes out a laugh, a saccharine smile on his face.
“My omega,” Connor mumbles softly, matching the other’s overly endeared smile. Frank just leans forward and presses a sweet kiss to the alpha’s lips, before fluffing the pillows underneath his head, adjusting them just so, so the alpha is as comfortable as possible.
“Yeah, baby. All yours.” He says back before he’s getting to work, assembling the nest for his alpha.
And Connor just gets to lie there and watch his omega work, rumbling the entire time, entirely too pleased.
Frank is humming to himself as he works, some random song that had probably been playing in the locker room earlier, before the game, not that Connor was paying any attention, his entire focus on Frank.
There’s a sweatshirt from Oliver, along with a hat that is definitely Lardis’s. Frank has his own clothes from the day in his arms, placing those closest to the alpha’s head. Connor watches and picks out pieces of clothing from his teammates and distantly wonders how he got ahold of them. He’s pretty sure he had been hording and stealing from them for the past few days, his body moving on instinct, telling him he’s about to go into rut before the conscious part of his brain knew, not that it helped much.
Frank’s grabbing clothes from his laundry basket, sniffing them before deigning them clean enough to go in their nest, or dirty enough to go back. The thought of this being their nest is enough to make Connor feel on top of the world, like he’s just won the lottery, like he just won the cup.
The omega grabs a few blankets in his closet to finish off the nest. Connor surveys the nest his beautiful omega made, letting out a pleased, happy hum, running his hands over the endless pieces of clothing and soft blankets, smiling as Frank looks at him expectantly.
“Is it okay?” The omega says, shyness creeping into his voice, glancing off to the side like he doesn’t want to see the alpha’s face in case he says ‘No’. But it doesn’t matter if Frank had built a nest the omega himself didn’t think was good, Connor would always believe it was the best one he’s ever seen, and not just to please him, but because he truly feels that way.
“Better than okay, omega- It’s perfect. You are perfect.” Connor replies, lying comfortably in the middle of said perfect nest, suddenly feeling how cold the room is, deciding he really needs his omega right next to him, right now.
Frank preens a little under the praise and moves closer to his alpha, a fluffy blanket in his arms and cocks his head, motioning at Connor.
“Where do you want me, little alpha?” He says, a poorly hidden smile spreading across his face as he thinks about how crazy Connor’s hair is going to dry.
And Connor, unaware of what his omega is thinking, pats the spot in front of him, wanting to hold him, wrap him up in his arms and scent him. Frank goes easily, lying down in front of Connor and pulling the blanket over the them both.
The alpha immediately drapes his arm over Frank’s waist, splaying his hand right under the omega’s navel, delighting in the spattering of hair there, the faint scent of his cum and pleasure still on his skin.
Frank lets the alpha maneuver him however he pleases, Connor pressing them as close as possible, tucking his now, slightly softer but still hard cock right against his ass, reveling in the closeness and warmth of the omega.
They sit in silence for a minute before Frank is speaking, so tender.
“Was that, okay? Are you feeling better?” He questions, placing his hand over Connor’s and intertwining their fingers, squeezing.
Connor feels so sleepy and so fucking good. His head feels clear for the first time all day, maybe even all week if he’s being honest. He’s not jittery anymore, his body finally, finally calm and he doesn’t feel like he’s overheating anymore.
And fuck all that honestly, he could live with feeling like shit, feeling like he’s going to itch his skin off and bite his fingernails off, he doesn’t care.
What really has him feeling so good, so light and free is the fact that he gets to have Frank. He gets to be with the man he loves, the man he’s been enamored with since the minute he met him, the man who loves him, unconditionally.
“I’ve never felt better, Frankie. I love you- So much.” Connor says, sleepy, drifting off, love pulsing through his body and flooding his scent with his omega in his arms, the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with having taken care of him in ways he didn’t know he needed.
Frank lets out a relieved sigh and relaxes into Connor’s hold, sleep tugging at him as well.
“Sleep, my little alpha.” Frank mumbles, letting out a tender purr, soothing them both to sleep.
(And when Connor’s rut is over, he’s quick to ask Frank if he can court him, properly, with expensive gifts and way too many bouquets of flowers. And when Frank rolls his eyes and tells the alpha that he’s already his, that he doesn’t need any extravagant courting, it doesn’t stop him from flooding the locker room with a pleased, happy scent when there’s a dozen yellow tulips sitting in his stall, a gorgeous ninety-one gold chain to match.
And a week before his heat, his kind, shy, perfect alpha is asking him if Frank would give him his bite, his mark. The omega had never said ‘Yes’ faster, on one condition. If Connor would bite him right back.
Of course, the alpha had never said ‘Yes’ faster either.)
(Frank had also followed through with his promise to Mack, Connor having called the other alpha a week after his rut, a heartfelt apology spoken over the phone in the dark, quiet of the night, where only the two of them could hear, with a vow to be better, to do better. And when the Blackhawks go to San Jose for their next match-up against the Sharks, the four of them go out for a nice dinner, Macklin almost tackling Connor with a hug, a beaming smile spread across his face, a more subdued but equally as happy one on the slightly older alpha’s face. And matching fond ones on both of their omega's faces.)