Chapter Text
Shane rubbed his eyes and felt like he was going to die. He had stayed up all night reading an absolutely smashingly good omegaverse fic. It had all of his favorite tropes: a delicious dead dove, slow burn with breeding, and praise kink. He told himself one more chapter until it was 6 in the morning. He was sweaty, horny, fulfilled, and completely exhausted.
He then napped for an hour before his alarm went off, and he had to wake up again, take a shower, make himself a quick breakfast, and head to the gym. If anyone on the team knew how he loved spending his time, people would be giving him strange looks. He was pretty sure every single one of those bastards was probably watching the filthiest porn, but the moment a man wanted something with a bit of a plot and feelings, he was a fucking weirdo.
He liked to tell himself he didn't have an addiction, but his bookmarks of over twenty thousand works would beg to differ. The thing was, he had tried dating women—terrible mistake, and even men—fuck those apps. The woman he dated, Rose, was an absolute sweetheart, and Shane would have totally married her, but it seemed he really wasn't into women at all. And all the men he had tried dating were a disaster.
Maybe something was wrong with Shane, or it was just that people using internet apps to meet others were the kind who weren't interested in relationships, romance, or anything meaningful and just wanted a quick hookup. Shane simply didn't find that kind of thing arousing. He needed someone to stimulate and titillate his mind. So he had entirely given up because meeting people in real life would require Shane to come out publicly, and he simply wasn't ready. Even his parents didn't know. The only way to fill the hole in his heart was to read and live through the fics he found online.
He was so tired that he was sure he was going to end up dead on ice. And if all else failed, the coach would kill him. Whatever came first, Shane was dead. He took a quick shower to sober himself, skipped food, and went to the rink. Halfway through the drive, he realized that if he didn't have coffee, he was going to crash before he got to the rink.
He spotted a Starbucks, parked the car, and waddled out towards it, bundled up like a fucking snowman. He hoped they didn't skimp on caffeine strength. The road felt frozen under his feet, even though it wasn't that cold. He crossed the sidewalk, went inside, and thankfully, it wasn't busy—early hours and all. He got his coffee, rushed out, and had barely managed to take a sip before someone grabbed him. Before he could scream, before he could even blink, Shane felt a strange cloth press against his nose, and everything then went black.
The sound of wind swishing in the distance rang in his ears. Heat spread through his body, blood rushing through his veins, as Shane choked, gasping for air. Sudden awareness set in his clouded, fatigued mind, prompting him to jump up, cradling his chest as his heart sped up, pounding against his ribcage. His fingers tingled and throbbed, numb as if someone had cut off the blood flow.
Shane tried looking around; disorientation still clung to his brain, but his vision was blurry. Dark spots swam in his sight, and his eyes teared up in response to the light coming from above. He nearly vomited when the scent of coffee spilled on his shirt entered his nose. He patted himself in panic to make sure he wasn't injured and coughed, feeling like his trembling heart would drop out of his mouth.
Where the fuck was he?
He rubbed his stinging eyes, wiped away the tears from the corners, trying to gather his thoughts. The last thing he remembered was paying for his coffee. He was outside, driving to the rink. Coach Theriault was going to kill him now for sure, since Shane was undoubtedly going to be late. He wiped his face and tried to get up, but immediately fell back down, still disoriented.
A muffled conversation reached his ears, and the memory of someone grabbing him and knocking him out flooded his mind. Instant panic set in as he tried to crawl toward the light, rubbing his eyes and trying to make the blur go away, as though his brain was still waking up.
Someone had kidnapped him. He was in so much fucking trouble. Was it for ransom? Shane didn't have that kind of money, all right! He wasn't poor or anything, but he was pretty sure there were far wealthier ransom candidates in Montreal. It was fucking Montreal; there were definitely some very rich assholes available for picking, though they probably weren't stopping to pick up Starbucks on the way to work.
Whoever kidnapped him was in for a rude awakening because best Shane could do was a few hundred dollars. He had sponsorships and endorsements, but he'd bought a new place and renovated it, so he had no cash to pay anyone. It was just his fucking luck. If it was something cool, it wouldn't have happened to him. He guessed he could try to get his mom's number to them so they could call and get the cash, hoping they'd be reasonable about
The chatter was nonstop, but the chaos in his head wouldn't let him make out the actual words they were saying. He stopped moving, sat on the floor, and closed his eyes. What the fuck kind of drug had they given him? Was it chloroform? As far as he knew, it didn't smell like it, not that Shane claimed to be an expert, but AO3 authors he followed who did research extensively told him that shit wasn't as effective. Whatever they've given him, had knocked him out instantly.
He wasn't even sure why he was trying to solve the mystery of what kind of fucked-up substance had been shoved into his nostrils. It wasn't like it mattered. He was panic attack prone, so maybe his poor brain was just trying its best to keep him busy with the most random thoughts just so Shane wouldn't suffocate.
The moment the thought of his dead body being shown to his mom for identification entered his mind, he felt like he was really going to die. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Shane had to bring his hand to muffle the scream, threatening to escape his lips. He blinked rapidly until his vision completely cleared. His eyes scanned over his surroundings. He was in a room. It was dark inside, but there was a small window on what looked like a domed ceiling. If he had to guess, he was in some kind of a warehouse. Typical of these vile assholes to use a place like this.
Fuck, they were going to kill him.
He looked around trying to see if anything around gave him any kind of clue of where he was. There were wooden crates stacked up on the corner. Shane squinted to read the label, but all he could get was "Psilocybin-Mimetic", and he had no idea what that was nor did he care to find out.
Sounds got closer and he stilled, craning his neck towards the metal door in the corner, trying to eavesdrop. The voices were not close and loud, but he had no idea what they were saying. Fuck, it was another language, and Shane spoke three. He was fluent in English and French, but he also knew some Japanese.
The door opened by a tall, muscled man, who's head was shaved clean. He stared at Shane with his hooded eyes, but then turned to hold the door open. He was wearing a leather coat over bare skin and Shane could see his inked neck and chest. A strange thought occurred to him, making him freeze. Fuck, was this a racist thing?
"Вот, ну, он тут, Илья Григорьевич," the man spoke, and Shane had no idea who he was talking to or what he was saying. "Его вообще-то было трудно поймать, знаете ли. Но Гоша и я его зацепили, когда он заказывал кофе. Гребаный придурок!"
“Here he is, Ilya Grigorievich,” the man spoke, and Shane had no idea who he was talking to or what he was saying. “It was actually difficult to catch him, you know. But Gosha and I caught him when he was ordering coffee. Fucking idiot!”
A man stepped in and stared at Shane. Shane fell onto his ass and stared back because, fuck it, this man wasn't hot. He was so fucking tall and handsome, really, really good-looking. If there were any justice in this world, Shane would have been wearing a suit too, with his hair properly combed, not in his freaking gym gear bundled up like someone's grandma. The man was wearing a suit, and looked so good with his light brown hair, cold hazel eyes, and those muscles. Shane stared and gulped, not sure what was going on.
Shane pressed his legs together awkwardly as he stared up at the hot man glaring down at him. His heart drummed in his chest, and he gasped when the stranger stepped closer, the smell of amber woods, tobacco, and brandy entering his nose. Oh, no, he smelled so fucking good, Shane wanted to lean in and bury his nose in the crook of the man's neck. What the actual fuck was wrong with him?
"Шурик, Шурик, как говорится, без труда не вытащишь и рыбку из пруда, да?" the hot man said with a smirk on his face, staring down at Shane with a look that could best be described as feral. "Оказывается, ты и есть рыбка. Вот только мне нужно, чтобы твой папаша этого понял."
“Shurik, Shurik, as they say, you can't pull a fish out of a pond without some effort, right?” the hot man said with a smirk on his face, staring down at Shane with a look that could best be described as feral. “It turns out you're the fish. Now I just need your old man to understand that.”
Shane had no idea what he was saying, but somehow it sounded hot. He involuntarily fanned himself and stared. He sounded so smooth and sweet for someone who'd just kidnapped Shane off the street and dragged him to this strange warehouse, like some kind of hot mob boss. Shane blinked, gears turning in his head. The situation was frankly unbelievable, but it was suspiciously similar to the setup of one of his favorite fics. Was this where he'd ordered the men out and then proceeded to ravish Shane? Shane gulped, feeling a delicious wave of goosebumps spread over his body.
Wait, was this...?
Could it be the fucking surprise Rose had been sneaky about? She did say she had a present for Shane that he'd love. Did she somehow find out about his AO3 addiction and come up with this? Because it totally would be something Rose would do. Fuck, she might have seen his bookmarks on his phone, because he'd given it to her when she needed to search something, and her phone was dead.
Shit! Shameful blush crept to Shane's cheeks. Of course, it made sense, who would kidnap Shane in the broad daylight and then take him to a warehouse but not tie him up and blindfold him? Clearly, they didn't intend to harm him or conceal their identities because this wasn't real. It was all part of the game, part of the charm. Maybe these guys were Rose's friends or something. She was a theater kid, as she called herself, and knew plenty of gay men who would have totally indulged her.
This was a date. Shane couldn't believe he didn't realize it sooner. The tattoos, the exaggerated leather coat over a bare body... who dressed up like that unless they were doing a cosplay of 90s Russian mob or something? Wait, the language, it was clearly Russian. Shane was too busy admiring the hot man to have noticed before. He had heard it numerous times during games. He'd heard it in Sochi, and there were a few Russian players. Okay, so this was Rose's big surprise, and well color Shane surprised and intrigued, because fuck if this man didn't pull the whole hot mobster look. He was so good-looking in that well-tailored suit of his.
Shane definitely was dumb that it hadn't clicked sooner, because what kind of mobster looked as young and hot as this man? Only in his filthy fantasies. Okay, he patted his cheeks, trying to cool down the heat.
"Что с ним? Вы что переборщили с дозой, что ли?" the man said, pointing down at Shane.
“What's wrong with him? Did you give him too high a dose or something?” the man said, pointing down at Shane.
The two men in the room said something, but Shane didn't care to hear and even if he did, he wouldn't understand anyways. They were going for an authentic experience. Shane hopped this wasn't a one time thing. He patted his face, trying to bring himself into order to look good. Rose could have warned him, alright! This wasn't fair. At least, he showered in the morning, and this wasn't after practice when he was gross and sweaty.
Right, he needed to do his part.
"Please don't hurt me," he begged, trying his best to sound breathy and sultry, even though he was pretty sure it came out very awkward. Shane wasn't an actor, after all. "I will do anything."
He hoped the hot mobster would lead this, because Shane didn't have much experience with role play. The men looked at him confused, and then the two started laughing. Shane thought of all the possible sad things to force tears into his eyes for extra effort, since these two were showing masterclass at being dumb underlings. The hot mob boss's expression darkened, and then he snorted, amused.
"Кто ж знал, что сын Смирнова начнет истерить и распускать нюни, как сопливая сучка," the hot man said, making Shane feel a cold shiver run down his spine.
“Who knew that Smirnov's son would start throwing a fit and whining like a snotty bitch,” the hot man said, making Shane feel a cold shiver run down his spine.
"Please," Shane, feeling confident, cried. "I will do anything. I don't have much, but I will pay you back, just don't hurt me, sir. If my parents don't pay you, back, I swear, I will. I work at a coffee shop and don't make much, but I will do anything."
Okay, he was getting a bit ahead of himself with mixing tropes, but sue him, he wanted the full experience; coffee shop AUs were cute.
"Что он, блядь, говорит?" the hot mobster said with a look of disapproval on his face, gesturing at Shane. Blyadz, Shane knew that word. Well, he knew it was a curse word, didn't know what it meant exactly, but it sounded so hot.
“What the fuck is he saying?” the hot mobster said with a look of disapproval on his face, gesturing at Shane. Blyadz, Shane knew that word. Well, he knew it was a curse word, didn't know what it meant exactly, but it sounded so hot.
"Ты на каком языке вообще шпаришь? Давай нормально, по-нашему," the hot man said, stepping closer and grabbing Shane's face. Shane moaned. "What coffee shop? What are you talking about, Shura? You put me as an idiot, da? Davay, shut your mouth, and pray Daddy loves you enough to do as he's told."
“What language are you blathering in? Let's speak normally, in our language,” the hot man said, stepping closer and grabbing Shane's face. Shane moaned. "What coffee shop? What are you talking about, Shura? You put me as an idiot, da? Davay, shut your mouth, and pray Daddy loves you enough to do as he's told."
Shane licked his lower lip, dragging his teeth over the plump tissue, trying to think of a clever response because the heat spreading down his veins was robbing him of any semblance of wit. The man standing over him, holding Shane's face, was just so hot that Shane's braincells refused to function further in anticipation of an action that didn't require much thought. Not to mention, the rough, commanding voice he'd used was sinful and plucked straight out of Shane's fantasies.
"I'm sorry, sir," Shane muttered softly. "I didn't mean to sound disrespectful. I'll do anything you ask me, just don't hurt me, please. My parents don't have any money to pay you back, but I'll find the money. I have a little brother that relies on me, please don't hurt me. He's too young. My parents are too sick to care for him."
Shane somehow managed to get a few tears in his eyes as he remembered the ending of a unrequited love fic he read a month ago. That shit still haunted him. He sniffled pitifully and the hot man, still holding his face with his large strong hands, stared at Shane like he was disgusted and annoyed. Shane must have put a convincing performance. Also, the bit about his little brother relying on him was genius on his part. He wasn't into kid fics that often, but the introducing an element of vulnerability into his story seemed proper.
"So you are going to—" he gritted his teeth, let go off Shane's chin, and snapped his fingers in frustration as if trying to recall a word. Shane was so impressed that he forgot to hold himself up and just fell face down onto the dirty warehouse ground. "Как это называется, insist, da? You are going to insist not to understand what I am saying, Shura?"
"So you are going to—" he gritted his teeth, let go off Shane's chin, and snapped his fingers in frustration as if trying to recall a word. Shane was so impressed that he forgot to hold himself up and just fell face down onto the dirty warehouse ground. "What is it called, insist, da? You are going to insist not to understand what I am saying, Shura?"
He reached out to the back of his pants and pulled out a gun. When the barrel pressed against Shane's forehead, the cold mental instantly felt soothing against his skin. It honestly didn't feel like a prop, but Shane knew they made them look and feel realistic. He wasn't complaining about the effort placed into this little date of theirs. Honestly, it was super hot. Gun kink? He'd never considered, but this man was making him reconsider tropes he hadn't indulged before.
Shane whimpered and looked at the man with teary eyes. When was he going to kick out the two extras? Was something more planned out with them present. He wasn't into audiences. One of Shane's favorite tropes was a possessive top, so if he didn't kick the stooges out, Shane wasn't going to be happy about it. Maybe he'd even need to end the date.
"Your daddy stole my product, and if I don't have it back, he gets your corpse this evening."
Product? Shane wrinkled his face for a second. He thought they were doing a borrow money and not pay back trope. He was stumped on how to navigate this one. Whatever! He was going to stick to his guns.
"I don't know anything about that," he whimpered. "If I can pay you back, just tell me how. My parents... my father doesn't even... I'm not in contact with them. That's why I'm caring for my brother. He won't care... please spare me."
"Are you holding me for idiot, da?" the hot mobster growled, grabbing the scarf that Shane was bundled up and pulling it off. Shane lost his balance again and fell down and when he lifted his face, he stared into the cool eyes of his absolutely hot captor. He stared at Shane for a short second before the anger in his eyes turned into confusion and then into fury. "Что это за хрень такая? Who is this? Вы, полные ублюдки, кто этот тип вообще, бля?"
"Are you holding me for idiot, da?" the hot mobster growled, grabbing the scarf that Shane was bundled up and pulling it off. Shane lost his balance again and fell down and when he lifted his face, he stared into the cool eyes of his absolutely hot captor. He stared at Shane for a short second before the anger in his eyes turned into confusion and then into fury. "What the fuck is this? Who is this? You absolute fuckers, who the fuck is this? Fuck!"
They all stared at him and then the hot man started yelling and screaming and pointing at Shane, like somehow he was unhappy about something. Shane wasn't sure of he was unhappy about his looks or if this wasn't part of the performance.
"Вы хотя бы проверили, прежде чем взяли его, нахуй?" he screamed at his underlings. "Это че за гусь, нахуй? За что я вам бабки-то плачу, идиоты чертовые. Это же не сын Смирнова. Вы его как вообще сюда припёрли?"
"Have you even fucking checked before you took him? he screamed at his underlings "Who the fuck is this? Why the fuck am I even paying you, you fucking morons? This isn't Smirnov's son. How the fuck did you even drag him here?"
"Ну да, он типа запостил у себя в вкотакте про кофе, ну мы сидели ждали, и он тут и нарисовался, Илья Григорьевич," one of the underlings, the one with crazy tattoos, said, waving his hands in the air, his voice getting a bit worried. Shane wasn't sure. He wasn't always good at reading people's moods. "Ну, смахивает немного, да?"
"I mean he kind of posted on his VK about coffee, and we just sat and waited for him and then he showed up, Ilya Grigorievich," one of the underlings, the one with crazy tattoos, said, waving his hands in the air, his voice getting a bit worried. Shane wasn't sure. He wasn't always good at reading people's moods. "He kind of looks like him, yes?"
The hot man held his hand out, impatiently shaking it. The underling handed him his phone. Shane exhaled loudly, getting a bit annoyed that the attention went from him to this guy and he had no idea what they were saying, so in all honesty, it didn't matter if they played out everything perfectly. Rose's friends were crazy.
"Вы что, кретины, вообще лица не различаете? Как можно было не заметить, что он на Александра нифига не похож? На лицо его посмотрите. Да он же девчачий какой-то, твою мать!"
"You imbeciles, do you have face blindness? How did you not realize this guy doesn't look anything like Alexander. Look at his face. Kind of looks girly, fuck."
"I promise to pay back," Shane tried to bring the focus back on himself, licking his lips. "Perhaps we could have a conversation about how to resolve this issue, sir. Just the two of us."