Archive of Our Own ^beta

            Geno could let it slide the first two times it happened. Ovechkin tripped and took Sidney down with him. Lying atop him, stick six feet away, his gloves low on Sid's hips, Geno could have sworn he saw Ovechkin press his hips down into Sid's ass. He dismissed it since it happened as Ovechkin was getting up. Just an accident.

            Then he pinned Sidney into the boards. After he kicked the puck away, Beagle taking it and running, he lingered far too long. With his stick across Sid's shoulders, his body flush against his back, Geno fucking saw him grind into Sid's ass. His mouth moved, as if he were saying something to Sidney, but judging by Sid's reaction, it wasn't in English, or he just didn't hear him.

            The last time—a third of the way into the third period—Geno had just changed lines and sat down on the bench. Ovechkin blatantly tripped Sidney, a smug grin on his face as he pushed the blade of his stick down between Sid's thighs, reaching and sliding down the length of his crotch. Geno's blood boiled, how had no one else seen it? How had the refs not seen it?

            "Ну все, тебе пизда…" Evgeni's shift alongside Sid came around, and Geno was intent on smashing Alex's fucking face into the glass.

            He made a few short plays—passing the puck down to Letang and blocking a shot on goal—as he waited for Ovechkin's shift. He figured he'd make it at least look legal. Once Ovechkin was on the ice, Geno made a beeline towards him. Stopping in front of him with a spray of ice, he nodded at him.

            "We go, Ovechkin?" he spat, voice rumbling low.

            "What's matter, Zhenya?" Ovechkin was grinning, "Can't golden boy defend self?"

            Geno pushed him then, shoving him into the glass. That sick smirk on Ovechkin's face was plastered as he dropped his gloves. Evgeni tossed his own to the ice, bringing his fists to his face.

            "Don't fucking touch Sid," he growled, throwing his hand out to grab a fistful of Ovechkin's sweater.

            A heavy left hook rained down into Ovechkin's mouth, sending saliva and tiny drops of blood flying to the ice. His tooth caught on the inside of his lip. Ovechkin, grappling Geno's right shoulder shot a two-punch melee, one landing on Geno's helmet and the other on the bridge of his nose. Geno just licked his lips as blood gushed from his nostrils. They danced around, pushing and pulling, throwing several punches to one another. Three landed on Geno's face, four on Ovechkin's. Ovechkin’s right eyebrow had split, blood running into his eyes. Fed up, Geno tossed him to the ice, about to straddle him and beat him senseless until the two linesmen came and bodily dragged him off and away from Alex. Ovechkin just laughed, grinning that stupid gap-toothed grin as he was dragged up off the ice and ushered into the box. Geno spat blood at his feet as he was shoved into his. Geno watched the replay on the jumbotron, snarling as he did. He spit, taking a towel and gingerly wiping the blood from his nostrils and the cut on the bridge of his nose. He spent the next fifteen minutes in the box for fighting and a game misconduct for trying to beat the shit out of Ovechkin.

            The remainder of the game passed rather normally, Sid and Nealer scoring two more goals to end the period with a win. As the buzzer sounds, Evgeni and Alex are released from their pens to return to their respective teams. Their paths cross on the way to their teammates, Ovechkin bumping shoulders with Geno.

            "Not bad, Zhenya." he smirks and skates past him and to the rest of the Capitals.

            Geno tries to ignore the son of a bitch as he congratulates his team on a game well played. He taps foreheads with Flower and puts an arm around Sid.

            "You have good game, Sid," he forces a grin.

            "Thanks, you too," Sid grins, genuinely, right back, "What happened out there with you and Ovechkin?"

            Geno's brows knit together in angry, frustrated confusion. Did Sid really not realize he had been targeted the entire sixty minutes?

            "He insult mother," he lied, laughing tightly as he and the rest of the team made their way to the locker room.

***

            The team makes quick work of post game routines. Sid's interview touches briefly on Geno's fight, but Sid doesn't say any more than it was a good one and Geno had won it.

            The boys are stretched, showered, and out of the rink by the time Geno is out of his shower. The locker room is quiet, the only sound being the buzz of fluorescent lighting and soft rustling of cloth as Sidney is gathering his things to leave.

            As he towels himself off, Geno contemplates momentarily whether or not it would be right to warn Sid about Ovechkin. Sid was either ignoring Ovechkin's dirty plays or just didn't see them when his head was so far into the game. As he puts on his basketball shorts and a loose t-shirt, he clears his throat. Sidney glances over momentarily, but he continues sorting his equipment. Geno grabs a bottle of Dasani and seats himself in Talbot's stall, drinking as he waits for Sid to acknowledge him. He knows Sid can be in his game time headspace well after the buzzer sounds, and by the looks of it, he's still working his way out. Once he has his equipment organized just so, he grabs his own water and sits next to Geno.

            "Great game, yeah?" Sid smiles softly at him.

            "Yes," Geno sips his water, side-eying Sid with caution.

            "You look weird, what's wrong, G?"

            Geno caps his bottle, his arms hanging between his thighs, "Sid, you hit by Ovechkin many times at game."

            Sid just laughs a little, "Yeah, so? What else is new?"

            "You not see how he hit?"

            Sidney's face scrunches up, "What?"

            "Sid,” he breathed, exasperated, “Ovechkin not just hit. He…he… " Geno waved his hands as he racked his brain for the right English word, "…he molest Sid."

            Sidney laughed sharply, loudly, almost banging his head on the wall with how strongly he burst out, "G, I don't think that's the word you were looking for. I think I would have noticed if that had happened."

            Geno grew frustrated. Sidney really was oblivious, "Sid. No. Is right word." He put a large, heavy hand on Sid's knee, "I tell truth, Sid. I see Ovechkin. He do things hockey player should not. He touch Sid in… personal way. It not good, Sid."

            A slight look of disgust flashed on Sidney's face, "Geno, that's not funny." He stood up, gathering his things to go home and pulling on his jacket, "I think you should go home. Maybe Ovechkin hit you too hard tonight," he patted Geno's shoulder as he turned to leave, "See you at practice, G."

            Evgeni was left with his mouth hanging open in surprise. He was not using the wrong words there he knew it. Was Sidney oblivious, or was he refusing to pay attention?

            "Fucking Crosby," Geno shook his head solemnly as he readied himself to go home. 

***

            After being written off by Sidney, Geno drove home, blasting heavy metal music the whole way in an attempt to drown out the thoughts and images of Ovechkin groping Sid. When the noise wouldn’t suffocate the infuriating thoughts, Geno screamed, yelling curse words in Russian and beating his fist on the steering wheel. Watching his captain be violated by someone he thought was a friend was like being checked into the boards at top speed headfirst. Geno didn’t know why it infuriated him so badly, other than it was just plain wrong. The image of Ovechkin’s blade sliding, slowly, lewdly over the length of Sidney’s crotch would not leave his mind. There was no excuse he could muster to forgive Alex. It was deliberate, knowing… he fucking knew Geno would be watching him.

            “мáтный язы́к...” he mumbled under his breath. He slammed the power button to turn off his iPod, choosing to wallow in silence for the remainder of the drive home.

***

            Sid’s hands were shaking as he tried to get the right key for his front door. The temperature was nearing -5˚F, and he was still slightly damp from his post-game shower. He was fairly certain curls of his hair were turning into icicles. Finally gaining entrance, he quickly flung his shoes off to the side and locked the door behind him.

            He exhaled a stuttered breath, rubbing his arms in an attempt to warm them. The house was dead silent save for a few pops and crackles of the house contracting in the subzero chill. Sid had forgotten to turn the heat up when he left last. It would take a good hour before the place warmed up to a comfortable temperature. Sid resigned himself to a hot cup of chamomile tea and watching the day’s game highlights on NHL Network until he fell asleep out of exhaustion.

            NHLN was reviewing the Stars-Ducks game when he settled in, a big fleece blanket wrapped around him, tea in hand. He watched the highlight reel intently, studying what he could see and filing it away for later. Eventually the commentators ran out of clever things to say about the Stars-Ducks game, transitioning into the Pens game with a swooping logo.

            Sid glanced at his phone when he saw the first trip on him by Ovechkin. Geno had said that Ovechkin was… molesting him throughout the game. But as he rewound the clip—what actually should have been a penalty—over and over, Sid couldn’t see anything unusual. The only thing he could think of was that Ovechkin should have gotten two minutes for it. He shrugged and continued watching. He remembered it hadn’t been the only time Ovechkin had been physical with him that night, so maybe there was something else Geno has mistaken for unusual.

            The highlight reel just barely panned over Sid being pinned to the boards as he tried to kick the puck away from Ovechkin. Sid paused and studied the other captain’s body pressed against his. He squinted and pressed slow motion, trying to see anything out of the norm. Sid flexed his shoulder muscles as he remembered the feeling of Ovechkin’s stick across his shoulder blades, forcing his shoulder pads to bite into his skin. He hadn’t looked in the locker room, but feeling how they were a little sore now, he could bet that there would be a few lines of bruises.

He rewound and slow-mo’ed the split second moment again and again, but still couldn’t see anything wrong. It was even a legal move. But, as the commentators went over bad calls and missed calls by the night’s refs, Sid saw the last hit on him by Ovechkin. The one not too long before Geno had gone after him. He listened to what they had to say about it before pausing to study the moment.

            “Whoa! What a miss for Sidney Crosby,” one of them exclaimed as they watched Sid trip on Ovechkin’s stick and land flat on his stomach, “Ovechkin clearly tripped him, not even a hint of trying to hide it. How could the refs miss that one!”

            Sid’s brows furrowed as he rewound the clip, watching Ovechkin intently. Scanning every bit of their bodies, he searched for something out of place. In slow motion, he watched as Ovechkin’s stick slid painfully slow between his sprawled legs and right to his crotch. Sid started backwards, he hadn’t remembered feeling Ovechkin’s stick down there. Maybe he had been winded, he couldn’t remember. He watched it in real time a few more times. The blade of Ovechkin’s stick stayed there for only a few seconds before he had gotten back up and went back to the bench. Sid still wondered about it. Was that what Geno was talking about? It was weird that Ovechkin’s blade had made it’s way between his legs like that, but he didn’t think it looked purposeful. Ovechkin had just looked glad that he wasn’t getting the penalty called on him, in fact he looked like he was laughing. Sid’s mouth curled up a tiny bit. Crosby and Ovechkin had been rivals for years. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for one or both of them to revel in the other’s bodily misfortune, even if it did end in a penalty. Sid knew he found himself smiling when Ovechkin was tripped or boarded every now and then. Maybe Geno had misinterpreted it. Ovechkin clearly wasn’t paying attention to where the blade of his stick was. He’d have to poke fun at Geno a little bit at practice tomorrow. Geno probably had some kind of Russian-to-English mistranslation about it all.

            Sidney finished watching the highlights for the night then clicked off the television. He gathered his cup and tightened his grip on the blanket around his shoulders. He put his cup in the sink and made his way upstairs. As he was brushing his teeth, he thought about texting Geno, telling him how silly he’d been. He cleaned out the sink and wiped off the counter, turning off the light and making his way to bed. As he turned out the side table lamp and wrapped himself comfortably up, he stared at his phone. His face crinkled. It couldn’t hurt to try and console Geno just a tiny bit during the interim between then and practice. He probably wasn’t even awake right then.

            Sid typed out, Watched the highlight reel. It was all a misunderstanding, ok? See you tomorrow :-)

            Sid set his phone on the nightstand and curled himself back up into his blankets. Just as he had gotten comfortable again, the phone pinged and vibrated twice. Sid made a disgruntled noise and grabbed it. He unlocked it with a smile. It read, Sid wrong((((((((((.

            Maybe there was a different understanding of “molesting” in Russia. He quickly typed back a response: We’ll talk about it later. Night, G. He set the phone on his chest, waiting for Geno’s reply. It buzzed again, Goodnight Sid.

***

            The next day at 9AM optional practice Sid half expected Geno not to show. He figured Geno would be a little irked at him for not really taking him seriously about Ovechkin. It took Geno a good twenty minutes into practice to show up. As he hurried onto the ice, he looked out of breath, his chest rising and falling a little too fast. Sid’s brows scrunched together. It was unusual for G to be late. Even if he had a rough time getting up early, he still made it a point to be punctual. Geno would rather leave the latecomer title to Flower.

            Geno skated a lazy lap around the rink to get his legs warmed up, and stopped next to Sidney.

            “Mornin’, sleepyhead,” Sid grinned, leaning on his stick a little as he waited for his turn to shoot at Flower.

            “Morning, Sid,” he nodded in Sid’s general direction.

Geno was bent over, his stick vertical across his thighs. His voice was low and gravely, like he had spent the night at a rock concert.

“Hey, are you okay? You sound sick…” Sidney put a gloved hand on Geno’s shoulder.

“Am okay, just rough night. Not sleep well.”

Bylsma yelled then for Sid to pay attention, as it was his turn for their shooting routine. He patted Geno’s shoulder once more before speeding off to do his round.

 

            Geno hadn’t been lying to Sidney when he said he had a rough night. Once he had arrived home, he instinctively began to grab whatever object was nearest and throw it across the room, yelling and swearing. Everything from shoes to books and pillows were strewn across his house, and by the time he had calmed down there was a broken cup and a shattered picture frame. His throat was raw from all the screaming he had been doing, from the ride home to his tantrum then. Geno ignored any semblance of cleaning up the mess he made and immediately went to take a scalding hot shower, grumbling about “fucking Ovechkin” and “stupid Crosby” the entire time.

            The shower in the locker room had done nothing to help as the water was running lukewarm by the time everyone else had gotten out. But the burning water of his own shower loosened his incredibly tightly wound muscles. He leaned his forehead on the tiles, breathing in slowly and heavily the thick steam. Once the hot water ran out there too, he reluctantly got out and dried off. The walk to his bedroom made him painfully aware of how sore his body actually was after the game. His chest and shoulders were sore with flourishing bruises where Ovechkin had landed a few punches. He was pretty sure stressing over Sidney hadn’t helped any of the tenseness in him.

            Geno barely had enough sense left to dress himself in a pair of boxers and an old, worn-thin t-shirt before he shut off the lights and climbed into bed. He was about to set his alarm for morning practice when it pinged and vibrated. The banner across the top of the screen showed a message from Sidney. As he read it, Geno resisted the urge, albeit with much difficulty, to slam his phone into the wall across the room. Sid had actually watched what Ovechkin had done and still thought there was nothing wrong. Texting Sid back, he typed and erased several versions of Sid fucking idiot before settling on Sid wrong and a litany of frowny parenthesis. Geno felt a pain in his chest when Sid texted him goodnight. He replied simply then laid back onto his pillow, clutching the phone in hand and throwing his arm over his forehead. He took a deep, steadying breath, concentrating on the expansion of his ribs, and exhaling in a loud and slow sigh.

            “Sid…” he moaned, pained and confused. Geno fell asleep with the phone in his hand. Sleep was dreamless as he tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable spot anywhere on the king sized bed.

            When he awoke, it wasn’t to the sound of the alarm he had forgotten to set, distracted by Sidney’s texts. He woke up on his own, just around 8:55 AM. He cursed, throwing himself out of bed and hurrying to make it to practice. Traffic ended up being hell, and he had run from the parking lot into the locker room. He put on his gear faster than he ever had in his entire hockey career. Since it was an optional practice, Geno wouldn’t be penalized for showing up late, for which he was grateful, but it still bothered him to be so late, even later than Flower had ever been. Dan didn’t really acknowledge his appearance on the ice, but looked at him for just a moment before turning back to the team.

 

            Geno’s game was off the entire practice. Barely any of his shots hit the back of the net, a few even flying up and over the net. He fell several times during speed practice, ramming himself into the boards once. No one asked him about it, or teased him about it, but he could feel his teammates eyes on him whenever he missed or went down. Geno felt stupid for being so caught up in something Sidney hadn’t even acknowledged as a problem, but he couldn’t help feeling an immense wave of betrayal by Ovechkin and desperation for Sid to just open his fucking eyes every time he unwillingly got an image of the two in his mind.

            After practice was finished and Dan had reviewed and made suggestions for tomorrow’s game two against the Capitals, he pulled Geno aside with a concerned look on his face.

            “Geno,” he started sternly, “what’s going on in that head of yours? You looked like you’d never seen ice before.”

            Geno just shrugged a few times as he tried to come up with an acceptable excuse, “I not sleep well, Coach. Bad night.” It was a sad excuse, since he’d had better moves before, running on an hour of sleep than he had today on a full nine.

            Bylsma side-eyed him, as if he were about to call bullshit on him. But instead he reached up and squeezed Geno’s shoulder reassuringly.

            “Alright. Well, better get that fixed before tomorrow night. We need you out there. Full capacity, you hear?”

            Geno nodded, “Yes, Coach.”

            Dan pushed him a little towards the bench, going over to the boards to chat with Martin about the day’s work. Geno’s shoulders slumped as he quietly made his way to his locker stall. The boys didn’t say a word to him as he undressed, packing his equipment and tossing his sweaty clothes into the dirty laundry hamper for Heinze to gather later in the day. He was stuffing the laces into the boot of his skate when Sidney came over and plopped himself down in the stall next to Geno. Geno closed his eyes and held in the exasperated sigh threatening to disperse. Sid was the last person he wanted to talk to at the moment, knowing he would only get frustrated with him. He purposefully didn’t acknowledge his captain sitting there, just went about putting his things away. He caught a glimpse of Sid’s face as he put his gloves up on the shelf. Unable to ignore the obviously worried look he was giving him, he grumbled a little and sat down.

            “Yes, Sid?” he mumbled, not really looking at him still as he was putting his shoes on.

            Sidney just fidgeted with his hands in his lap for a few seconds before opening his mouth, “G, I—I… are you—are you upset with me?” Sid looked genuinely concerned, worrying his plump bottom lip, his brow knitted together.

            Geno sighed, “No. I not mad at Sid.” He leaned back against the wall of his locker stall, turning his head a little to look at Sidney. Sid visibly released the tension in his body at Geno’s words.

            “Thank god,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “I thought… about last night’s game. You know.”

            Geno smirked ever so slightly. He was angry. Furious even. But seeing Sidney so worried that he might be upset with him softened the edges a little.

            “Not worry, Sid. Only be careful with Ovechkin next game. Okay?” He rested a large hand heavily on Sidney’s knee, squeezing just a little.

            Sid smiled a little sadly, like he knew he’d never get Geno to believe Ovechkin’s weird hits were on accident, “Okay, Geno.” Sid put his much smaller hand atop Geno’s, patting it softly before getting up to gather his things to go home.

***

            That night and the following morning were calmer for Geno. He had nearly resigned himself to the fact that no matter how strongly he pushed that Ovechkin had been outright perverted in a crowd of nearly twenty thousand people, Sidney just couldn’t see it, hadn’t seen it from Geno’s point of view. He was still disgruntled by the fact that Ovechkin very well could do it all over again that night. After all the energy he’d spent on grousing to himself about the mess, he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop himself from outright murdering Ovechkin on the ice if he did it again. He decided not to think about it as best as he could, since Dan was right, the team and Sidney really did need him to have a clear head and play well in the night’s game. Geno cringed remembering how poorly practice had gone before. The pregame skate earlier in the day hadn’t been so bad. He had still been a little too far in his head around Sid, but he wasn’t skating like he had rubber ankles, at least.

            When Geno arrived at Consol he made an effort to chirp with the rest of the team, trying to keep his head level the nearer they got to game time. He caught Sidney smiling warmly at him every now and then as he went through his pregame routines, seemingly content to have Geno leave the Ovechkin incident alone.

            Bylsma went through their lineups and plays one more time as they waited to get out onto the ice. They were pretty pumped after winning last night’s game, and they were ready to win it all over again. As they listened to their opening song play they all shuffled from one foot to the other, bobbing up and down with excited, nervous energy. As Ryan Mill began to announce them, they filed out into the tunnel.

            “And now… ladies and gentlemen… please welcome… YOUR… PITTSBURGH PENGUINS!” Mill shouted, and the arena erupted into screams. Flower lead the line of Penguins onto the ice, the boys making their rounds as their opening song played.

            Once the arena was set for the national anthems, the teams lined up on the blue, shifting again from one foot to the other. Geno took a quick look at the Capital’s starting line, searching for Ovechkin. He saw him standing just a few men down on the opposite lineup. His heart rate sped up a little when they made eye contact. Ovechkin gave Geno the rudest, shit-eating smirk, sparking a fire in Geno’s belly. He tore his eyes away and tugged on the chain around his neck, turning his eyes down as the anthems began. The camera panned over the line’s faces, ending on Geno’s before going to pan over the boys on the bench. He reprimanded himself into being calm. Sid and the team needed him level headed. They needed this second win, especially against the Capitals.

            The arena filled with cheers as the anthems finished. Both teams pushed off their blue lines, fitting their helmets back onto their already damp heads. Sid bent over at the faceoff, and with a flick of the stick, the game was on.

            The period began with a fast pace, both teams handling the puck excellently and with no penalties. Ten minutes in and the Pens and Caps only had 5-4 shots on goal, respectively. They spent a lot of their time shuffling back and forth in the neutral zone and in the corners of the rink. Line changes were quick; Geno got a lot of ice time tonight despite his lousy practice, serving several shifts with Sidney. The first goal came against them from Nicklas Backstrom, an admittedly sweet goal from a sharp angle in the right corner. Flower had just missed it as it zoomed right past his head, barely missing his mask as it hit the back of the net. Sidney made a quick stop at the net, consoling him and encouraging him before making his way down to center ice for the faceoff.

            The rest of the period was scoreless for both teams, garnering a little less cheering from the crowd than usual. The boys were simultaneously dejected about them trailing behind, and fired up, fueled with determination to dominate the second period. More than anyone else, Sidney was the most motivated. He animatedly conferred with the team, suggesting plays and positions as they all sat back, huffing and puffing as they tried to get their breathing back to a regular pattern.

            Geno was hunched over, his arms on his thighs as he breathed heavily through his nose. Sweat dripped from his nose, his chin, the tips of the curls in his hair. He swiped at his face with a towel and downed a bottle of Gatorade. The entire first period, Ovechkin had kept his hands off Sidney, truly bumping into him only on accident or with intent to get the puck. Perhaps Ovechkin had gotten his fill of fucking with him after their fight in last night’s game.

            Just a few minutes left in the intermission, the team adjusted and replaced their gear, jumping around and shaking out their limbs to get themselves pumped up and ready for another twenty minutes. They lined up and made their way out, bumping fists and slapping backsides as they did. Sid and Geno dutifully did their handshake, nodding as they filed out onto the ice. The faceoff went to Nealer, passing back to Kunitz and the second period was on.

            The Capitals were just as relentless as they were in the first period, not letting up in the slightest. Bylsma and Martin had to genuinely rack their brains for unique plays and positions to allow their birds to gain access to the goal. They sent out Geno and Sid’s line, instructing the line carefully and exactly in where to go and what to do. After just thirty seconds, Geno received a backhand pass from Sid from the left circle. Holtby slid to the right, and Geno put it in right behind his back. Geno jumped up, pumping his fist with a roar. Sid slammed into him first, followed by Nealer, Kunitz, and Jussi. They all patted each other’s heads and slapped their hands on their back and shoulders, congratulating one another on a shift well played.

            While they were setting up for the next shift, Geno caught Ovechkin’s eye as he passed their bench. Geno could have sworn that the look Alex gave him could have stopped his heart if looks could kill. Geno glared right back at him as he set up for the faceoff. Of course Ovechkin would be pissed. They were tied with not but two-seventeen left in the second. Geno glanced to Sidney in the center of the faceoff circle. He was too focused on the puck, waiting for it to drop, to notice Geno. Geno shook his head as if to shake loose the worries about Ovechkin getting on Crosby again and readied himself.

            The remainder of the period was physical. Boys were getting checked left and right into the boards. Sid had nearly escaped a hit by Chimera on his way to the puck, but Ovechkin had not touched him. Yet. The sense of dread in Geno’s stomach wouldn’t leave him, and whenever Ovechkin got anywhere near Sid, whether or not Geno was on the ice with them, he would strain against the immediate reaction to get out and take Ovechkin down. Throughout Geno’s next few shifts, whenever Alex was on the ice, he would pass by him without so much as a look. Even when he bumped into Geno, his eyes never strayed from what was in front of him. Geno was half tempted to board him, a silent Ovechkin was a dangerous thing; for him, Sidney, and the team. Ovechkin took one last shot on goal as the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the second period. As Sidney and his line made their way back to the benches, Ovechkin rammed his shoulder into Sid as he passed him by. Geno was about to bark curses at him, ready to fight, but Alex just kept going into his locker room, smirking and glaring at Geno as he did so. Sid didn’t seem to think anything of it. He brushed it off and skated in with the rest of the team.

            After Dan congratulated them on a period well played, and went over some of the plays for the final third, the boys were left to rest up and take care of any injuries. Geno concentrated on getting as many fluids in him as possible, first a bottle of Gatorade then a bottle of water. Sid wasn’t really talking to anyone, probably too focused on his own performance, running through plays and mistakes in his head to find better ways to play their next period. His head was tilted back on the wall, exposing a long stretch of dripping wet pale skin. Sid’s Adams apple bobbed up and down slowly as he swallowed down his own bottles of water. Geno shook his head when he found himself staring; forcing himself to check on all his equipment to ensure everything was all in working order.

            During the first few minutes of the third, the Pens were topping the Capitals by far. The Caps looked tired, and it showed in their plays. Ovechkin seemed to be the only one still fiery on his skates and it may as well have been Penguins versus Ovechkin at that point. Sid and Geno’s line eventually made an easy goal, streamlined right over Holtby’s shoulder. They hugged one another and encircled the rest of their line with whoops and hollers and compliments on everyone’s efforts. Geno couldn’t help letting his eyes slide over to the Capitals’ bench. Ovechkin looked calm sitting there, but his eyes were full of wretched fire. Sidney patted Geno’s shoulder as they drifted over to the faceoff circle, forcing him to pull his attention back to the game at hand.

            Two lines went ahead of Ovechkin’s. Alex jumped onto the ice at the same time as Sid and Geno’s line returned. Geno intercepted a pass with a pokecheck, stealing the puck and making his way down to the Capitals’ net. Sidney wasn’t far behind him, ready to accept the pass for a shot on goal. As Geno went to shoot the puck to him, a huge flash of red and white pushed Sid right past the puck and down on the ice. Geno flinched when he saw Ovechkin on top of Sidney as the two slid into the boards to the left of Holtby’s cage. Nealer had grabbed the puck as it went past Sidney and made an effort to shoot, the rest of the teams were crowding the net on the right. Geno couldn’t pull his eyes off of Sidney and Ovechkin. As the rest of the team moved, he stilled and watched in disbelief as Ovechkin blatantly reached down between Sidney’s thighs, rubbing for a split second on his crotch. Ovechkin stared dead on into Geno’s eyes as he did it. What felt like an hour had to have been mere seconds in action before Sidney bucked Ovechkin off of him and went off towards the puck.

            Before he knew it, Geno had dropped his gloves and was on top of Ovechkin. Geno rained down a volley of punches, all landing on Ovechkin’s face. The refs were at the other end of the ice. It took them just a few seconds too long to reach the pair. Geno blindly punched and punched, roaring at the helpless man beneath him, until he felt a sickening crunch beneath his knuckles. Once the ref finally pried him off of Ovechkin, Geno looked down, barely able to see the split and crooked bridge of Alex’s nose beneath the splatter of blood on his face. The knuckles of his left hand were scraped and covered in blood, his own and Ovechkin’s mixing together. The Capitals’ medic skidded over to Ovechkin’s side, staring momentarily in disbelief at the red mess that was Alex’s face. Geno sniffed and swiped at his nose with his clean hand. The Capitals and Penguins’ boys were fighting to keep one another away from both Geno and Ovechkin, as he was lead off the ice. He had no doubt it would happen, but as the ref handling him shoved him towards the bench, he told him he was ejected from the game, and would get a few games’ suspension. The boys on the bench just stared, as Geno passed, seemingly unsure whether or not to cheer him on for a good fight like they usually did. Even the crowd had gone a little quieter as Geno slipped into the tunnel, out of sight.

            The team medic followed Geno to the locker room, intent on tending to his hand. Geno felt strange. He had gotten revenge for Sidney, but he felt like it still wasn’t enough. He hadn’t even seen Sid’s face as he got off the ice. He wasn’t sure Sid noticed Ovechkin’s molestation this time either, since he had skated off without so much as a backward glance. Geno’s stomach turned, and he let out a loud string of Russian swears. His hands itched to throw things again as he had a few nights before, but he resisted. The medic cautiously took his injured hand as Geno sat down. He put his head in his hand, muttering to himself under his breath as he was patched up.

            After the medic was finished and back out on the bench, Geno was left alone in the vast locker room. He was filled with electric anger, unable to sit still as he paced the oval of the room. Unable to tolerate staying there, he got out of his skates and pads, throwing them in his stall, and went to get on the bike for the rest of the game. He new Bylsma would want to question him about his outburst, but he hoped he would be left alone anyway.

            The last six minutes of the game played on the TV in the exercise room, allowing Geno to watch Sid and the team dominate the Caps. So suddenly without Ovechkin, they were almost pathetic. Tanger and Engelland scored a goal each, putting them up and over the Capitals by two points. By the time the game was finished, Geno had been on the bike long enough for his legs to be comfortably numb, like quiet static in a soothing buzz. The exercise calmed him down enough that he could return to the locker room to congratulate his teammates on a game well played, and apologize that he would be missing the next game at the least.

            When Geno arrived in the locker room, the team was already buzzing about, undressing, stretching and going for showers. Sidney was going through his usual post-game rituals, precise stretches and precise number of times; equipment taken off in the exact same order as every game before then. Only when Sid was finished did Geno plop down at his side, taking up Mario’s stall since Talbot was still getting undressed in the other one. Unusually, Sidney immediately turned to face him. His face was dripping sweat and water still. Little curls were plastered to his forehead, which was scrunched up in concern.

            “Geno… what happened out there?” He spoke quietly, as if what he was saying was a secret for him and Geno only.

            Geno didn’t really have an answer for him. He simultaneously wanted to force Sidney to sit down and watch precisely what Ovechkin had done to him this time, but he didn’t want to upset him after a good win either. Geno settled on shrugging a few times instead.

            That didn’t fly with Sidney. He gingerly picked up Geno’s injured hand, cupping it in his smaller palm and softly stroking the bandages on his knuckles a few time. His face managed to look even more concerned when Geno wouldn’t say anything.

            “…Doesn’t look like a nothing,” he muttered.

            Geno gently pulled his hand back from Sid’s grasp, “Sid don’t want to hear anyway,” he shrugged noncommittally.

            Sidney rolled his eyes and, looking more frustrated than concerned, went to take his shower.

            Geno groaned, just as, if not more, frustrated than Sid was. At least Ovechkin shouldn’t be bothering Sid for a while. Without Geno on the ice, though, he wasn’t so sure about that. He worried at his lip, wondering if instead of preventing Ovechkin from groping Sidney, he actually handed him the perfect opportunity to do so with no repercussions. Alex was clearly good at not letting the rest of the men on the ice notice, and Geno was sure that he wouldn’t have seen it if Ovechkin hadn’t wanted him to. The realization that he probably just fucked up very badly made him scrub at his face with heavy hands.

***

            Once the team was gone, Geno figured he had better show Sid what happened. Sidney’s safety outweighed any sort of resentment he might have for Geno afterwards. There was no doubt that the groping wasn’t accidental, it was too, too obvious. At least Geno hoped it was. Sidney liked to see too much good in people. But with video evidence…Geno had requested that he be allowed to take the game tape home for the night. He was granted a two-day loan of the video, which would be more than enough for him to convince his captain.

            Geno barely caught Sid on his way out to the parking lot. He grabbed his wrist with his good hand, completely circling the appendage. Sidney started, spinning around and tugging at the hand on his wrist until he realized to whom it belonged to.

            “Geno… I thought you left already?”

            “No, not leave yet. Need Sid to come over. Watch game tape.”

            Sid wriggled his wrist, prompting Geno to release him and stuff his hands back into his pockets.

            “Will you tell me what made you go berserk out there?” Sidney asked sincerely, almost begging, it seemed.

            “Yes. I tell. Please come,” Geno needed Sid to see Ovechkin for what he was, if only for his own safety.

            Sid nodded then, hesitant at first, “I’ll go home and change then meet you at your place, okay?”

            Geno nodded back, letting Sidney go to his car, and heading over to his own.

***

            When Geno arrived home he immediately shoved the tape into the player, searching for the exact moment Ovechkin topped Sid. He paused it and waited nervously for his captain to arrive. It was a good twenty minutes later when Sid rang the doorbell. Geno answered eagerly.

            “Hi,” he said gruffly, “you not have to ring, you know. Can come in on own.”

            “I—I know, but it’s…” he shrugged as he entered the house, “never mind that, what did you want me over for?”

            Geno took Sidney’s coat, hanging it up on the rack. He nudged him towards the living room where the game’s video was still paused at just a few seconds before Sid was hit. Once Sidney recognized what was on screen, he glanced over at Geno, wary of what was to come.

            “Geno… what’s with the game tape?” he gestured as he sat himself down on the couch.

            “Sid need see Ovechkin tonight,” he held his hand up to stop any protest from him, “No argue. Must watch, is very important, okay?” 

            Sid bit back a sigh and sat back to watch. Geno pressed play, pointing at Ovechkin, “Watch Ovechkin hand, Sid.” He paused and went forward in slow motion, cringing as he watched, again, Alex’s gloved hand go straight for Sidney’s groin. He glanced over to gauge Sid’s reaction.

            “You see now what I talk about last game?” he nearly whined with impatience.

            Sid’s mouth opened and closed a few times as he floundered for words. Geno just rewound it and played it in slow motion again and again until Sidney put his hand on Geno’s hand holding the remote.

            “Enough, Geno.” Sidney sounded angry, his voice deep. Geno couldn’t tell yet if that anger was directed at him or Ovechkin’s image on the screen.

            Geno muted it and the pressed play, letting it run in the background. He turned to Sidney, one knee on the couch and his arm hanging on the back of the sofa. Leaning forward a little, he tried to figure out what Sid was thinking. Out the corner of his eye he saw the cameras zooming in to fill the screen with Ovechkin’s bloody face.

            “Sid…” he whispered.

            He was startled a little when Sidney rose up from the couch, one hand on his hip and the other running through his hair. He huffed out a sharp breath.

            “Geno—I—I don’t know,” he shrugged.

            Geno held back the anger and frustration that bubbled up at Sid’s words. His head dropped to his chest, nearly defeated.

            “Sidney,” he moaned, “How can you not see Ovechkin bad guy?” Geno gestured with his injured hand and the big flat screen TV, “Sid have to see. Have to.”

            Geno was close to begging as Sid turned his back on him, folding his arms tightly over his chest.

            “Geno, you know how ridiculous this sounds?” The muscles in his shoulders rippled under the tight t-shirt as he shrugged yet again, “Why would—why me? Why would Ovechkin, of all people, suddenly start… molesting me?” He spat the last words out like venom, clearly angry with Geno.

            Sid turned around then, “I thought he was your friend, G?”

            Geno groaned, standing up in front of Sidney.

            “Not now,” he put heavy hands on Sid’s shoulders, “Ovechkin risk hurting Sid. That not friend. Please, Sid…”

            Geno’s voice was strained, as if it was taking everything he had just to speak. He put his hands, heavy on Sidney’s shoulders. As he squeezed them gently, he considered what options he had. The visual evidence clearly wasn’t enough. Geno bit his lip as a most outrageous thought came to mind.

            “Sid… what if—what if show what I saw. Would you believe then?”

            Taken aback, Sid’s face scrunched up a little, “What? I—how? You just showed me the tape.”

            Geno shook his head, pushing on Sid’s shoulders to get him to move. Guiding them across the room to push him against the wall, “Show, Sid.”

            Sidney swallowed audibly, uncertainty raced across his features. His eyes darted back and forth between Geno’s. Under Geno’s hands, his breathing sped up slightly. Eventually Sid nodded, looking like he was not entirely sure what he had gotten himself into by doing so.

            “I won’t hurt you… not like Ovechkin,” Geno said soft and low, the vibrations making Sidney shudder.

            Sid nodded again as if it were another question. Geno took the invitation to spin him around, pressing his chest into the wall. Sidney gasped softly. Geno pressed his chest firmly along Sid’s back, mimicking the time Ovechkin had shoved him against the glass. Sidney’s hands were up on either side of his head, his cheek pressing into the wall as well. Geno pressed harder into Sid before grinding his hips into his ass. Sidney let out a surprised moan, almost pushing back on him.

            “See what I mean?” Geno’s voice vibrated against the skin of Sid’s neck, making him shiver, “This not hockey player move,” he accentuated his statement with another hellaciously hard and slow grind, the bulge in his pants clear and prominent against the curve of Sidney’s ass. Geno watched as he bit his bottom lip, his eyelids fluttering closed.

            Satisfied that Sidney had finally accepted his point, he pulled him back from the wall and dropped him to the floor. Sid went willingly, dropping to his knees before falling onto his stomach with hands planted under his shoulders. Geno kicked apart his legs.

            “Then tonight…” he murmured.

            He stood himself between Sid’s calves, sliding his bare foot up Sidney’s thighs. He could feel Sidney tense beneath him. His toes nudged the growing hardness between Sid’s thighs. Sid breathed out a little Ahh, dropping his forehead to the carpet. Geno went down on his knees, spreading Sidney’s thighs further apart. Sid’s arms were shaking from the position they were in. Geno took them and pushed them above Sid’s head, running his hands down his sides as he returned upright.

            “Sid…” he breathed.

            He slipped his hand under Sid’s shirt, running fingertips from the small of his back all the way up to his neck, curling his hand around his throat. He squeezed, massaging him a little. He let his other hand run along Sid’s thigh and up the middle of his ass, teasing him through the thick denim of his jeans. Geno’s breath hitched when Sid whimpered.

            “Geno, please… I—I can’t… I—you…”

            He started rocking his hips down into the floor, attempting, fruitlessly, to gain friction on his straining cock. Geno laced his fingers with Sid’s, leaning forward to brace himself on his forearms. He licked the shell of his ear, nipping at the cartilage. Sidney’s resulting whine went straight to his dick. Geno ground his hips downwards again. He murmured into his ear, “You have to say, Sid…”

            Sidney was breathless, panting already, “ Fuck. Please, Geno…do something. I can’t—can’t stand...”

            With one hand, Geno slipped under Sid and deftly undid the button on his jeans. As he sat back up on his heels, he tugged his jeans down, maneuvering around them and his underwear to get them off and tossed to the side. Geno’s breath was ragged as he gripped one of Sid’s ass cheeks, relishing in the firmness and the soft mewling noise it dragged from Sid’s throat. Geno made a low, rumbling sound before taking Sid’s right leg and flipping him onto his back. Sidney’s face was flushed pink, he eyes blown wide and darkening. His chest rose and fell rapidly. Geno took in the sight, his captain bare from the waist-down beneath him, completely undone. Sidney seemed to blush harder under Geno’s gaze, his cock twitching on his stomach. He averted his eyes to the wall, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. Geno stood up quickly to remove his own clothes, piling them with Sid’s. He knelt between Sidney’s thighs again, pushing his shirt up and over his head. He ran his hands over the vast expanse of Sid’s chest, dipping his fingers into his pubic hair, then trailing back up to catch on his nipples.

            Sidney gasped, “God, Geno, please.”

            “Yes,” Geno murmured, almost physically unable to pull his eyes from the expanse of taut flesh beneath his hands.

            With a staggering breath, he leaned forward. Geno’s thick tongue laved one of Sidney’s nipples. He moaned in disbelief, the sound vibrating deeply through Sid’s chest. Sid whined, bringing both his hands up to scrub at his face. His hips stuttered upwards, pressing his cock against the thigh between his legs. Geno mouthed his way down to Sid’s navel, nipping at the protruding muscle and bone on the way there. At the hollow of Sid’s hip he bit and sucked, his teeth scraping at the tender flesh there. His captain groaned, louder than before. One hand reached out to bury itself in the curls of Geno’s hair, the other still covering Sid’s mouth. The sounds he was making were fucking delicious. Geno couldn’t help but take the hand covering his mouth and pinning it down by the wrist. Sid’s fingers gripped a little tighter at that.

            By the time Geno finally breathed hot and wet on the crown of Sidney’s cock, Sid was practically sobbing. Geno couldn’t help the wry smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Geno, not Ovechkin, was the one pulling Sidney apart at the seams. That thought alone was enough to make his own dick twitch, precome dripping from the tip.  He sat back on his heels, his hands never leaving the expanse of Sid’s body. Geno just looked, drank the sight before him, distantly knowing that it could be the only chance he’d get. Sidney was hot beneath him, his cock full and pink, leaking onto his stomach.

            “What you want, Sid,” he said softly, one large hand petting Sidney’s stomach.

            “I don’t—care, Geno. Whatever you want…just please do something,” he groaned, his eyes barely open.

            “I use mouth, then,” Geno slid down to lie on his stomach.

            He gingerly framed Sid’s dick with the L’s of his thumbs and forefingers, hands laid flat against his abdomen. He teased the head, laving the roundness and licking up the beads of precome that were slowly dripping down. Sid made a loud, keening noise, instantly bringing his hand up to bite at his knuckles, the other hand resuming its former place buried in Geno’s hair.

            “Sid not bite,” Geno tugged the offending hand away from Sid’s mouth, placing it alongside the hand on his head, “Want hear you.”

            Sidney bit his bottom lip instead, looking down at Geno through his lashes. Satisfied, Geno took the whole of Sid’s crown into his mouth, sucking gently. His tongue rolled along the edges, swiping occasionally at the slit.

            “Oh!” Sidney cried out, the sound echoing through the living room.

            Geno rewarded his compliance by taking the whole of Sid’s cock into his mouth. He was just long enough to nudge the back of his throat. Geno swallowed hard around him, gaining him a sharp tug on his hair.

            “G… Geno, I’m going to… you need—Ah!”

            Sidney’s thighs clenched around Geno’s shoulders, his body positively trembling as he came down Geno’s throat. Geno swallowed every bit, milking Sid dry. Sid’s body slackened, the hands in Geno’s hair falling off to the sides. Geno slowly released him, his tongue cushioning the underside, making Sid shudder as his cock flopped down. Geno slowly sat back on his heels, relishing in the sight of a completely undone Sidney Crosby. His fingertips ghosted over the dark red and purple bruise forming on the side of Sid’s hip, the faintest, reddish-pink outlines of his teeth along the edges. Sidney shivered again, his hand grasping Geno’s wrist. His fingers barely closed around its girth.

            “Geno,” he whispered, voice cracking, “You’re—what about you?”

            Geno chuckled. Ever the polite captain.    

            “I take care of later,” he murmured, bringing his wrist and Sid’s fingertips to his lips in a chaste kiss.

            “Not fair,” Sid half-opened his eyes, looking up at Geno through a curtain of thick, dark lashes. He ran his fingertips along Geno’s plump bottom lip. Geno’s mouth dropped open, gently sucking Sid’s fingertips in. He ran his tongue over them. He let his teeth scrape over the calloused pads. Geno glanced hotly down at his captain.

            “You really want?” He pressed his lips to those fingertips.

            Sidney swallowed audibly, nodding, “Yes, Geno.”

            Geno held Sid’s hand to his chest, leaning down to claim the full pair of lips beneath him. Sid kissed him back lazily, not quite messy, but like he had so little energy left. Geno hummed into his mouth, causing Sid to break away, panting again. Geno placed small kisses along Sid’s jaw, nipping at the bone. Making his way down Sid’s body again, he stopped to lick the insides of Sidney’s thighs. He purposefully drooled as he licked, slicking up the sensitive skin. Satisfied that he was wet enough, he leaned back on his heels. Gathering Sidney’s knees from beside him and pulling them together, he held his legs by Sid’s ankles, and laid them over one of his shoulders. Geno’s saliva dripped slowly down to the floor beneath him. Sid’s hands flopped weakly down next to his head, his breathing heavy. Geno wetly kissed Sid’s calves, biting the protruding anklebone. He took one hand to align his cock with the tight, wet space between Sid’s thighs. He took a quick glance at Sidney, meeting his eyes.

            “Okay?” he asked with another kiss to Sid’s legs.

            Sidney nodded deeply, one hand reaching for Geno’s. Geno took it, lacing their fingers together. He pushed himself through the small hole with a deep groan. Sid’s thighs tightened around him, his skin probably still sensitive after the orgasm. The grip on Geno’s hand tightened and released, Sid’s hands flexing as Geno fucked his thighs. In one instant, the thick head of Geno’s cock slid over Sid’s own, half hard and attempting to fill completely. Sidney gasped, his whole body tensing and relaxing.

            “Too much… too much,” he whined, bringing his free hand up to tug on his own hair.

            Geno angled himself better, away from Sid’s dick. His thrusts were quick and shallow, just enough to slide completely through Sidney’s thighs. Geno muttered curses and compliments in Russian. Even in his mother tongue it wasn’t quite coherent. It didn’t take much longer for Geno to come, his body freezing as he sputtered over Sidney’s stomach, some dripping down his thighs. He moaned as he slid out, letting Sidney’s legs back down onto the ground. Sidney seemed never to have gained his breath back. Geno lay down next to him, not quite touching him. Sidney’s head lay facing away from him, his body completely boneless with the only movement being the slowing rise and fall of his chest. Geno was suddenly very aware of himself.

            “Sid?” he said quietly, daring to reach a hand out to touch his shoulder.

            Sidney lazily rolled his head to look at him. His eyes looking like they were struggling to stay open, “Yeah?”

            “You not… you not upset with me?” He bit his lip, “I mean… didn’t…”

            Sid covered the hand on his shoulder with his own, “No. Kind of confused. Not upset though.”

            A tightness in Geno’s chest uncoiled as he let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. He let his head fall back.

            “Thank you,” he mumbled.

            “Tired,” Sid replied.

            Geno chuckled, “Okay. I take Sid to bed.”

            He struggled to get upright, his head still light from an intense orgasm. Once he had his bearings, he scooped Sid up from the floor and carried him in his arms down the hall to his bedroom. Geno set him down on top of the comforter and went to the bathroom to get a rag to clean them off. He made sure the water was warm as he brought it back, wiping gently at the insides of Sid’s thighs and his stomach. He swiped quickly at himself and then threw the rag into a laundry basket on the other side of the room. He hesitated a minute.

            “You want I sleep with you? I can… couch” he asked, still unsure of their new arrangement.

            Sid’s lips quirked up in the barest smile, his eyes still closed as if he was already asleep.

            “Worry too much,” he mumbled as he patted the bed next to him.

            Geno sighed in relief, then turned off the lights and climbed into bed next to him. He tugged the covers down and up over them. Geno pulled the boneless Sidney Crosby into him and wrapped his arms lazily around his waist. Sid rested his head on Geno’s chest. Geno kissed the top of his head and let himself relax. He listened to Sidney’s even breaths as he drifted into sleep.

***

            Geno’s face felt too warm. He rolled over to stuff his face into the pillow, groaning. He hadn’t shut the curtains last night. He milled about, stretching languidly in bed before he remembered the night before. In an instant, he raised up from his laying position on the bed, looking for Sidney. Geno had, at some point, rolled into the middle of the bed. There was no Sid to be found. Geno flailed, tangling himself in the sheets as he sprang out of bed. Dread coiled in the pit of Geno’s stomach. He checked the ensuite bathroom, hoping Sid had just gotten up to pee or take a shower, but the room was empty. He checked both hallway bathrooms and the guestroom, slamming doors shut again as he went through. Sid wasn’t in any of them. The dread started to burn, turning into anxiety. In one last attempt at finding him, Geno stepped into the kitchen. There was no sign of Sidney, but there was a small piece of paper with chicken scratch writing on it.

            See you next practice, —Sid.

            Geno stared at the note in disbelief. He had half-expected Sidney to still be there in the morning. He had half-hoped to kiss him awake, warm and heavy in his arms. Instead, Geno had been welcomed to the pit of emptiness in his gut, alarming him to the idea perhaps he had made a very big mistake.

***

            Throughout the course of the day, Geno went through his usual routines—breakfast, workout, lunch, yoga and second workout—completely uninterested in them. His mind was a million miles away, his body going through the motions without him. He had been checking his phone in ten-minute intervals regardless of whether or not he had heard it or felt it vibrate. Each time the inbox was empty. Each time Geno wished it wasn’t. He resisted the urge to text Sid, out of some self-deprecating feeling of unworthiness. He had taken Sidney almost against his will. He wouldn’t have called it rape, but he felt like he had coerced Sidney into being so physically overwhelmed that Sidney had to say yes, no matter whose hand it was around him.

            Geno yelped as he dropped a glass of water, the cup shattering in wet pieces all across the floor of the kitchen. Geno was too far into his own head, and what made it worse was that he was suspended for the next game for breaking Ovechkin’s face. As he swept and mopped the mess, he couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry for Ovechkin, but felt sick, as he knew in his gut that Ovechkin would still be playing in the final game of three against them that night. A broken nose wasn’t going to stop him from playing, not the time in Montreal, not last night, not ever. Geno bitterly wished he had broken an arm or leg instead.

            After the three game series against the Capitals, the Penguins would have a three-day break, the next game being a Thursday night that week. Geno wouldn’t be allowed to practice with the team until Wednesday, so he resigned himself to watching the game at a bar downtown. He fleetingly thought that he might be worse watching the game while drunk, especially if anything happened to Sid. If Ovechkin did anything to Sid. But at that point he couldn’t really bring himself to care. He fucked his team captain and broke his ex-friend’s nose. There wasn’t really much more damage he could do.

            He plopped himself down at the bar counter about thirty minutes before game time. Geno was right in front of one of two TV sets playing the Pens game in the place, the rest had on some football news stations. He ordered a ginger ale and vodka, nursing the drink slowly, looking positively miserable. He had been wearing his street clothes and a Steelers hat, so he hoped no one would notice him or bug him for autographs or pictures. The last thing he needed were pictures of a degraded, drunk Evgeni Malkin plastered all over the Internet.

            Geno watched as the camera panned over his teammates circling the ice, shooting pucks at Flower or Zatkoff as they passed by. By the time the buzzer sounded and the teams corralled their members back into their respective locker rooms, Geno was already on his third drink. It normally took quite a few to get him properly drunk, but he hadn’t been able to eat much at breakfast or lunch, and he hadn’t even thought about dinner. With a relatively empty stomach, he was feeling a little buzz around his head already. He unlocked his phone one last time, stupidly hoping maybe Sidney had texted him before he had gone out onto the ice. It was one of Sidney’s things to not even look at his phone once he had gotten into the locker room. He wouldn’t even call or answer calls from his own mother. There was no way in hell he’d risk a superstitious loss just to reassure Geno. He slid the phone back into his back pocket and returned to watch the game.

            His team was already out of the tunnel and the starting line queued up for the anthems as they were being announced. Geno ordered a fourth ginger ale and vodka as he listened to the singing. Watching the camera pan over the faces of the starting line. Crosby’s was downturned and serious, completely focused on getting into his game-time headspace. Geno smiled sadly. He wondered if Sidney would talk to him outside of games and practices anymore—if he’d fucked up so badly that Sid wouldn’t talk to him in any way other than a teammate. He sipped his drink as he watched the puck drop, Nealer winning the faceoff and the team flying down the ice.

***

            The first period went as smooth as could be. Their lines were working like they had hivemind; everyone knowing their plays and positions so well it looked like the team was one whole entity. Without Geno, his unit replaced him with Suttsy. They did well—uncomfortably well—without him. Maybe it was because Dan had told them to step it up, but by the looks of it, the boys were out for blood. Anyone who had the capability was checking hard. Nealer had a vicious hit on Volpatti, nearly knocking him unconscious. Geno thought he did since he didn’t see him back on the ice for several shifts.

            The first period had gone scoreless. Zatkoff was having his turn in the cage; Dan must have given Flower the night off for his hard work the last two games. The pressure of sweeping the weekend didn’t seem to faze Zats in the slightest. He was on top of his game, stopping sixteen shots on goal in the first alone. The Caps weren’t going easy, either. Perhaps they were trying to get revenge for their captain. Their boys were bringing out solid shots, some were miracles that they hadn’t gone in. Geno was so invested in the game, he had completely forgotten about his drink. By the time the first intermission was nearing a close, he downed the rest of the watery drink, gesturing to the tender for another. He touched his phone in his pocket, thinking momentarily about sending Sid a text. He decided against it, figuring he wouldn’t look at it until long after the game was finished.

            Geno watched intently throughout the second period. He stood and yelled at the screen a few times when were bad calls, half speaking in Russian as he cursed and muttered about how bad the refs suddenly were. No one in the bar seemed to care. Some of the people at the counter next to him shot him some funny looks when he started spewing Russian alongside broken English, but other than that no one really bothered. He was working on his sixth vodka soda, and he was starting to get a little lazy in the limbs. His legs would wobble a little whenever he stood to go to the bathroom. He decided to stay at his spot at the counter for the remainder of the game, absolutely sure that if he moved too much he would be horizontal for the rest of the night. After his drink was gone he switched to water, hazily thinking that he had to be aware if anything happened to Sid.

            Within the last two minutes of the period, Määttä and Scuderi scored back to back goals, a mere fifty seconds apart. It had almost gone too fast for Geno to track. He jumped to his feet when Olli scored, yelling “Xороший мальчик, Олли! Хорошо!” He raised his glass of water to anyone who was paying any attention to him, grinning, “That my good Olli,” he slurred, pointing to the screen. When Scuder scored just after, he nearly fell off the stool and onto the floor with his celebration. “Cвятое дерьмо!”  He sighed, grinning in disbelief. They were tiring out Neuvirth with every shot on goal. As the buzzer signaled the end of the second, Neuvirth was gliding to the bench, hunched over with his elbows on his thighs. The rest of the Capitals team looked just as dejected. Zatkoff passed them with a grin that could be seen from space. Flower hugged his head to his chest when he got to the bench. Geno could see the congratulations just spewing from him, his accent visibly worsening the more excited he got. Geno could understand where he was coming from.

            After a trip to the bathroom, wobbling around like the earth was on a tilt-a-whirl as he tried to wash his hands, he returned to his seat to watch the last period. There was almost an entirely new crowd in the bar now, it’d been just a little over two hours since Geno had arrived. He asked for another glass of water and watched as his teammates hopped back onto the ice. Almost everyone was smiling, in good spirits after a hell of a game so far. Ovechkin was barking orders at his team, simultaneously scolding them and trying to fire them up by the looks of it. The inner corners of Alex’s eyes were black and blue, swollen around the break. His nose had a strip of white bandage over the area Geno broke. He looked worse than usual with that missing tooth thrown in the mix. Geno smirked proudly. The fucker deserved every bit of it.

            The teams faced off, the Caps winning for one of few times that night. Minutes passed with few penalties, a tripping on them, and a hooking and high stick on the Caps. The Capitals seemed to be skating even harder, hitting back with as much power as they could muster being so far into the game and trailing behind by two. Zatkoff was like a fucking brick wall out there. He very well could have been Flower wearing a Zatkoff sweater with the moves he was pulling. Occasionally, the cameraman would zoom in on Flower’s face. He was positively melting with absolute adoration for his backup whenever he made an especially gorgeous save. Geno had a feeling Jeff would be getting the rock and the number one star that night. The team was playing exceptionally well, but without Zatkoff’s solid tending, there would have been several goals by then.

            The Caps tried and tried to score; again getting several so close but just not able to pass the line. Geno was more or less sobered up by then, drinking only water and eating whatever little free snacks the bartender had out on the counter cleared his head some. He was ecstatic. He had gone in expecting the worst, waiting for the Capitals to positively destroy them in defense of their injured captain. They had certainly tried, no doubt about that, but Geno had stars in his eyes as he watched his team play like there was no tomorrow. With just three minutes remaining in the third, and with thirty-four shots on the Penguins’ goal, the Caps were getting physical. If they couldn’t win, then they were going to make the Penguins hurt. Checks got dirtier and more and more penalties were piling up—more for the Caps than the Pens. Geno was fidgety, fingers tapping the counter and knees bobbing up and down as the timer ticked down. Three minutes was turning into ten with so many fights and penalties.

            As Wilson and Glass were grappling, Geno saw the camera pan down the ice to see Ovechkin chirping Crosby. Alex looked amused, smirking at the captain. Sidney’s eyes were full of fire, his jaw set tight. The commentators said something about captain rivalries, and then Geno watched as Ovechkin’s gloved hand came up to touch Sidney’s cheek. In an instant, Sidney’s gloves dropped and he was on Ovechkin like he had killed his mother. Geno stood abruptly from his stool, his jaw hanging in disbelief. Sidney’s fists were flying like he wasn’t even aiming, just punching wildly and hoping some would land. A lot did. Ovechkin was grappling Sidney, his fist balled up in his sweater and one fist punching at his shoulders. Sid’s teeth were bared. He landed a perfect punch dead center of Ovechkin’s face and blood gushed from his nose, the break clearly displaced again. Referees immediately pulled Sidney from Alex at the sight of blood. Sid was pushing and shoving, his mouth moving violently as they carried him off the ice and onto the bench. The people in the bar cheered, high fiving and clicking glasses together as Crosby was led off. The crowd in the arena was just as spirited, people banging on the glass, relishing in the rare sight of Captain Clutch absolutely thrashing Alexander the Great.

            It took Geno a while to sit back down, staring at the television incredulously. He itched to be in that locker room, to hear what Ovechkin had done to so thoroughly piss Sidney off. He couldn’t help unlocking his phone and sending a text to him. He hesitated on what to say. Should he ask directly what happened? Should he congratulate him? Geno’s fingers hovered over the screen. Eventually he simply sent, )))))))))))))))))))).

            When the ice was cleaned of blood, Ovechkin back in the medical room, and the teams’ penalties sorted out, the final minute and a half of the game was played. They were 4 on 3, Caps, and once the clock hit 90 seconds they pulled Neuvirth and added another player. Zatkoff’s work was made easy, as his team grabbed the puck on a break away and scored an empty netter with just 14 seconds left. The Caps puttered the puck around after the final faceoff and ran the clock out, getting one last half-hearted shot on goal before the buzzer sounded. The crowd jumped and cheered, absolutely ecstatic to have gotten three incredibly energetic games in a row. Rivalry games were always intense, but no one could have imagined so much bad blood. Geno was going to hang around for the post-game interview from Sid, but Dan had apparently informed the media that he would not be showing. Geno couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Sidney genuinely angry, but it had to have been seriously bad for him to refuse to do his usual interview. He was pretty sure that doing the post-game interview was a thing. Geno was suddenly more than a little worried. He paid his tab and thanked his barkeep, then hurried out to get himself over to Sidney’s. Sid had given him a key a few seasons ago when they were both out on IR.

***

            When he was on the highway, Geno considered, a little hesitant, that Sid wouldn’t want to see him. That maybe Sid was so goddamn furious because of Geno and Ovechkin had just been the last straw. He weighed his pros and cons, and decided that making sure Sid was okay was more important than Sid being pissed at him for a while. It took him a little over twenty minutes to get to Sidney’s place. He took a few long roads in an attempt to stretch the drive out, but he ran out and eventually had to continue straight on. He figured Bylsma wouldn’t keep the team for long after such a damned good game and them having an off day next, but Sidney would still have to go through his rituals and those always took a little bit of time. When Geno pulled up, he sat in his car, hesitantly wondering if he should wait in his car or wait in the house. He eventually said ‘fuck it’ and made his way into the house.

            He took his shoes off at the door, placing them on the tray specifically for dirty shoes, and turned on the porch lights so Sidney would know someone was there. Geno minutely hoped Sid would know it was Geno, but he wasn’t planning on it. He hung his coat over the back of a chair in the kitchen and got himself a glass of water. His head was nearly clear, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to get more fluids in him. As he was leaning back on the counter, sipping his water and thinking about the game, he heard the door click open. Geno set his glass on the counter and made his way to the entrance. He stood in the door to the living room, leaning on the frame with his hands in his pockets. It took a minute for Sidney to notice him after he had taken his shoes off and hung up his coat. Sid didn’t look startled, or surprised. Geno thought he looked… tired. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, not really knowing what to say. Sidney looked at Geno then down to his feet, and back to Geno. He sighed softly, like he was completely exasperated.

            “Hi, G,” he said quietly, not moving from his spot in front of the door.

            His dress shirt was tucked haphazardly into his pants. His tie wasn’t tightened properly, leaving one button undone. Just the tiniest bit of his suprasternal notch was visible at the collar. His hair was still damp, little curls framing his temples. Geno had to seriously restrain himself from just going and hugging that look off his face.

            “Hi, Sid,” Geno eventually replied in the same soft voice as Sidney, “You have good game tonight.”

            Sid smiled crookedly, just a tiny glimpse of teeth flashing. Geno hesitated a moment before cautiously stepping to Sidney and gently sliding his suit jacket off his shoulders to hang up on the coat rack. 

            “Thank you,” Sid mumbled.

            Geno pressed his hand lightly into the small of Sid’s back, nudging him towards his bedroom.

            “Go change, I make tea.”

            Sidney lingered, and Geno could have sworn he leaned back into his hand. Geno pushed him a little more then left to make the tea. Sidney shuffled up into his bedroom, the stairs creaking a little under his weight. As Geno was heating the water, he listened to Sid’s footsteps above him and imagined him undressing. He imagined him stripping off, folding, and putting away each piece of clothing, hanging his tie and jacket in color-coded order... Geno smirked, pouring boiling water from the kettle over two sachets of lemon-chamomile tea. He took the cups with him to the living room, setting them on the coffee table. He stood there, a little unsure of himself. Sidney hadn’t looked upset with him when he came in the door. He hadn’t even questioned why Geno was there. Geno was torn between being relieved at that and sincerely concerned for their friendship… and whatever their relationship currently was.

            Geno fiddled with the hem of his hoodie, chewing his lip as he thought about everything and anything regarding himself and Sidney Crosby up to that very moment. He thought about what they would do, what he would do, if Sidney decided that they should keep their relationship strictly professional, and what he would do if Sidney decided to move forward with the new… physical aspect. Geno was so deep in his thoughts again that he barely registered the sound of Sidney coming back down the stairs. Geno let go of his sweater, smoothing the hem back down along his hips. He sat down, but only on the edge of the couch, as if he knew Sidney would kick him out any moment.

            Sid didn’t pay much attention to Geno. His eyes were nearly glazed over. He was so far away from that place, Geno wondered if he hadn’t done his post game rituals completely, or at all, and was still stuck in his game time headspace. Geno gestured for Sidney to sit next to him, picking up and offering the other cup of tea. Sid took it with the tiniest smile, sitting carefully down at Geno’s side, just a few inches keeping them from touching. They sat in silence for a few minutes, just listening to each other’s breathing and the sound of the heating system. Geno finished his tea first. He set his cup back on the table then turned a little to face Sid. He kept the little bit of space between them, just in case Sid was in one of his “don’t touch me” moods.

            “Sid,” he started gently, proceeding with as much caution as he could, “What happen at game tonight?”

            Geno spoke a little slower than usual, making sure that his words were translating correctly in his head to keep himself from saying the wrong thing and upsetting his captain.

            Sidney sipped from the plain white porcelain cup, looking like he was trying to will Geno to disappear. Eventually, Sid piped up, his voice cracking like it always did when he tried to be his quietest.

            “You were right, Geno,” he took the last sip of his tea and set the cup next to Geno’s.

            Part of Geno was incredibly relieved, knowing that Sidney was finally seeing things in the right light, but the other part was dreading what Sidney would tell him, knowing that there wasn’t much else he could do at the moment other than listen. Geno let his hand cover Sid’s, his large, heavy hand completely engulfing Sidney’s.

            “What Ovechkin say, Sid?” he said lightly, “I watch game at bar. Cameraman only show he touch Sid before Sid fight.”

            Sidney’s face grew dark, his brows knitting together. His hand balled up into a fist beneath Geno’s. Geno kept his hand over Sid’s, hoping he was comforting and not stifling.

            “He told me, to my face, Geno…” he stammered, “I—He… He looked me right in the eye… and he said, Zhenya’s not here to save you now.”

            Sid’s face was bitter, looking as if he was about to spit venom. His hands flexed, grasping the cushions of the couch.

            “You were fucking right, Geno. I can—I can’t even… How did I not see all that? Not feel all of that?

            He voice was getting higher pitched, his body starting to tremble with anger or frustration… whatever it was Geno knew it wasn’t good. Sid turned to look at him. His eyes, dark with shrunken pupils, stared right through Geno. He had never seen Sidney so angry. Geno slipped his hand under Sid’s, attempting to lock their fingers together. Sid let him, his fingers squeezing around Geno’s knuckles instead of the cushions. Geno noticed him training his breaths, his head bobbing nearly imperceptible as he counted inhales and exhales. Geno kept quiet, letting Sidney work himself out of the anger. Sid had his way of dealing with things, and if it helped even a little to just sit there and offer his hand to him, Geno would gladly sit all night. Slowly Sidney’s grip on his hand relaxed, just enough to relieve the tight pressure on his knuckles.

            “I’m sorry, Geno,” he glanced shyly at him from the corner of his eye, “I should’ve listened to you. I—You… I didn’t realize it until you—you…we, um…”

            He vaguely gestured to the space between their bodies. Geno tensed up, worrying that whatever was to come next would be the end of his relationship with his captain off the ice.

            “I sorry, too, Sid,” he choked out, “I not should have. Was wrong. Not fair to Sid. Sid not able say…say no.”

            When he tried to pull his hand away from Sidney’s, Sid only gripped tighter.

            “No, Geno. I didn’t… I wanted it to happen. I didn’t want to say no…”

            Sid seemed to have finally relaxed, being able to focus on and talk about something other than the shit Ovechkin pulled. Geno took the moment to pull Sid into his side, lacing their fingers together again over Sid’s lap. Geno pressed a kiss to his temple.

            “I was so frustrated, Sid,” he mumbled, “I worried Ovechkin would hurt you.”

            Sid’s mouth quirked in the same tiny smile as before, in the doorway.

            “I’m glad you did, G...,” he finally turned his head up to look at Geno, “I wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been so pushy. And I wouldn’t have got to pop him in his stupid fucking face either.”

            Sidney laughed a little, his smile widening to show his teeth. Geno smiled back at him.

            “Before I watch game, I wish I break leg instead of nose. Keep Ovechkin from playing rest of season,” he smirked, squeezing Sid’s hand reassuringly.

            That brought a genuine laugh out of Sidney. Geno joined him, touching their foreheads together, laughing together. The weight in Geno’s stomach lifted, leaving him just a little tired instead.

            “Thank you Geno,” Sid said softly as he held his and Geno’s hands against his chest, leaning into Geno’s shoulder, “thank you for protecting me.”

            Geno stared down at him. Sid’s voice was warm and he could hear the smile there. He hesitated just a moment before leaning down to kiss Sidney’s lips. Sid stilled for a moment before pressing back. The kiss was chaste, soft, more of a gesture of appreciation for one another than anything else. Sid leaned into him, though. He nuzzled Geno’s nose with his own, just brushing their lips together at first. Geno gently pulled him up so he was sitting sideways on Geno’s lap with his legs on one side. He took his hands, kissing the redness around his knuckles from punching Ovechkin earlier. Sid sighed, keeping their foreheads together.

            “Geno…” he whispered, barely audible.

            “Yes, Sid?” Geno kept his eyes closed, unable to focus on anything with Sid so close. He heard Sid’s breathing come a little quicker than before.

            “Can we… will you—I mean…” he fumbled for words.

            Geno chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

            “Yes,” he said with another soft kiss on his mouth. Geno slipped his hands up his arms, rolling Sidney’s shoulders slowly back, and coming to rest on the sides of Sid’s face. Sid held onto one of his hands, his face flushing a light pink. Sidney sighed, the noise almost a tiny moan. Geno kissed him again, pressing tightly against his mouth, his thumbs rubbing over his cheekbones. Sidney slid his tongue over Geno’s incredibly full bottom lip, and Geno’s mouth fell open to him. Sid took control and he let him, pushing back and pulling on Sid’s lips when he felt like it. When they broke for air, Sidney’s breathing was faster, the pink on his cheeks rising higher. Geno smirked, kissing him again before he nudged one of Sid’s thighs.

            “Sit on lap,” he murmured, hanging on to Sid’s waist as he maneuvered himself into place.

            Sidney wrapped his arms around Geno’s neck, pushing his hips down slightly—almost shyly—as he did so. Geno wondered momentarily if Sid had ever been with another man before him. If he had been with anyone before him. The idea made his cock stir—to be the first to claim Sidney...well that would explain why he had been so angry when Ovechkin touched him. Sid returned to nipping at Geno’s lips, pulling him from his dreamy thoughts. He licked the corners of Geno’s mouth, kissed his jawline, the tip of his nose… wherever he readily could reach. Geno gently pulled Sid away, just far enough to be able to see his face. His eyes were dilated, wide and dark.

            “Sid…” Geno moaned.

            Sid answered him with another tiny grind of his hips, making Geno bite his lip.

            “Is Sid…” he breathed as Sidney did it again, “is Sid… virgin?”

            Sidney’s cheeks turned red and he wriggled a little in Geno’s lap.

            “You mean… with a guy or…?” his voice was soft and high.

            “Both.”

            “I—Y-Yeah,” he turned his head down, “never, with anyone,” he shrugged a little with a shy smirk, “never had a lot of time for girls…” he coughed, “or boys.”

            It was Geno’s turn to flush, his mouth falling open as Sidney tried to distract him with a sharper grind down on his groin.  

            “Ты такой безупречный, Сид…” he moaned softly.

            Sid blushed again with a little smile. He had heard versions of that phrase in practices and games, usually when he had done something great.

            “Thank you,” he said, which Geno thought was a little silly, but he smiled at him anyway.

            “You want bed?” Geno breathed, his head lolling to one side.

            Sidney seemed to consider it before nodding. He clung tighter to Geno’s neck, pressing his body firmly against his. Geno took a minute to collect himself before lifting them off the couch. Sid wasn’t heavy, at all, but with Geno’s head spinning from the heated contact, it took him a little more effort than it should have. Sid nuzzled into the crook of his neck. Geno felt him hum against his throat. He could very well have been purring. He squeezed Sid’s hip as he carried him up the stairs to Sid’s bedroom.

            Geno dropped him on the bed, his hands lingering at the back of Geno’s neck. The look in Sid’s eyes—a look of… love? admiration? …whatever it was—made his breath catch in his throat. He pried one hand off his neck, turning it up to kiss his wrist and palm before taking them both and laying them gently over Sid’s head. Sid grasped the wrist of one hand with the other, resting his head on his arm. Geno couldn’t help but run his hands over Sid’s chest, his body radiating heat like he was the sun. Sid smiled at him, warm and nearly angelic, and Geno’s heart practically burst.

            “Sid,” he moaned, “Sid, Sid, Sid…”

            Sid chuckled as Geno went to work on his clothes. Geno slipped his fingers under the hem of his sweatpants boxers, just feeling the smooth, burning skin under the pads of his fingertips. Sid rocked his hips up, angling himself towards Geno. Geno pushed the fabric down, pulling them completely off at his feet. Sidney turned his head further into this arm, his face flushing red again. His mouth opened and his eyes slid shut. Geno lazily ran his hand up and down the length of Sid’s legs, prompting him to let them relax. Geno’s other hand pushed Sid’s shirt up around his armpits, stroking the taut skin of his abdomen.

            “Красивая...” he purred, his eyes raking lovingly along the expanse of Sid’s bare skin.

            He pulled his own shirt over his head, throwing it somewhere as he kicked off his pants and boxers. The bed shifted as Geno knelt between Sid’s legs. Sid let them fall further open around him. Geno slid his hands down Sid’s thighs, stopping to grab his hips and pull him down and onto Geno’s lap. He grabbed a pillow from the top of the bed and propped it under Sidney’s hips. Sidney sighed, his back slightly bowing. Geno just petted him, enjoying the feel of his unbelievably soft skin.

            “What you want, Sid?” he said.

            Sidney’s eyes slid open in a half-gaze, glancing up at Geno.

            “You,” he mumbled, “…everywhere.”

            He lifted his arms, reaching for Geno. Geno leaned forward, allowing him to coil his arms around his neck again. Sid pulled him down for a kiss. He was sloppy now, tongue working against Geno’s in what he could only call a needy way. Geno took the opportunity to bite and suck at his lips, feeling them swell a little from the abuse. He drew a line of wet kisses from his chin to his collarbone. Geno fitted his mouth over the bone, licking the ridge and biting down. Sidney moaned, pressing his chest up into Geno’s. One hand gripped the hair at Geno’s neck, pulling just enough to elicit a moan from Geno in return. The sound vibrated through Sidney’s chest, buzzing around his bones and filling his ribcage with pleasant warmth. Geno bit his way down, further and further until he was nibbling on Sid’s protruding hipbone. The bruise he had given Sid there was a yellowing green, still a little purple around his teeth marks. His fingertips ghosted over the mark. Sidney propped himself up on his elbow, staring down at Geno with one hand still in his hair. He was nearly panting, his breath hotter than his skin was as it rushed past Geno’s cheeks. Geno stared back at him, barely blinking as he ran his tongue over the head of Sidney’s cock. He closed his eyes, satisfied when Sidney groaned and let his head fall back, the hand in his hair tightening. Geno pulled a whine out of Sid as he laved the thick vein underneath.

            “Geno,” he breathed, “fucking god, G…”

            Geno laughed a little before taking the whole of Sidney’s cock into his mouth. Sid’s hips jerked up, pressing himself a little too far in. Geno’s eyes watered, but he just pinned Sid’s hips down with one hand, the other curled around the base. Sid whimpered. His body began to tremble as he worked to keep his hips from moving. Geno glanced up at him. He had fallen back, one hand now in his own hair, tugging. Geno smiled around the dick in his mouth, proceeding to bob his head slowly up and down. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked, harder then softer then harder again. Sid was a litany of high-pitched noises between panting breaths. Geno slid up, licking the tip of his tongue over his slit, causing Sidney to cry out, a loud, keening noise. Geno rolled his tongue around, collecting the mix of saliva and precome gathering at the crown. It only took one more long, languid suck for Sid to come, nearly screaming Geno’s name as his entire body tensed, shivering. The hand in Geno’s hair pulled, sharply tugging his head to one side. Geno winced, but let him be pulled off of Sid’s cock before he had finished. Come dripped down his lip, a little bit splattered onto his chin and cheek.

            “Fuck, Geno,” Sid moaned as his body went limp.

            Geno wiped his face with his hand, absently licking the filth from his fingers. He sat back on his heels, watching the little tremors of aftershock make waves through Sidney’s body. He petted him softly, letting Sid cling to his arms as his body calmed. Once his breathing was more or less back to normal, his eyes opened. His pupils were still blown wide as he stared up at Geno. Geno leaned down to kiss him again, slowly, less fervently than before even though his dick was ready to burst.

            “You okay?” he asked quietly against Sid’s lips.

            Sidney nodded, swallowing between breaths, “Yeah. Fine. Great, actually”

            They both giggled at that, Sid wobbly rubbed his hands up and down Geno’s arms. It was Geno’s turn to shiver, any contact sending lightning bolts through his body at that moment. Sid looked like he was formulating a game plan, his brows pulled together and his teeth worrying his lips.

            “What you thinking, Sid?” Geno asked with a smile. If anyone were to have their game face on in the bedroom, it would definitely be Sidney Crosby.

            “I think… I mean if you want to…” he stumbled over his words, looking a little frustrated that he couldn’t just outright say what he wanted.

            Geno stroked the side of his face with his thumb, threading his fingers into the hair at his temple, “Got you, Sid,” he purred.

            Sid’s face relaxed.

            “I think…I want you to fuck me, Geno,” he said finally, voice tiny and face already turning pink.

            Geno’s mouth watered. He leaned down and pressed their foreheads together. He sighed a shaky breath, his body still buzzing like a livewire.

            “You sure?” he murmured, smiling hugely when Sid nodded.

            He sort of thanked him with a kiss on the lips, the long kiss trailing off into smaller and smaller ones until he sat up. Geno slid himself back a little, letting Sid’s hips fall down onto the bed. He pushed Sid’s knees up so his feet were flat on the bed. Geno kept watch of Sid’s face as he maneuvered him in case Sid changed his mind part way in. He pressed a kiss to each knee before letting his fingertip circle the tight ring of Sid’s hole.

            “You have any…” Geno pressed his finger against Sid, saying without saying what he needed. He grinned as Sid’s face flushed red.

            “Under the mattress on the other side,” he said tightly, embarrassed as a teenage boy.

            Geno leaned over, stretching himself across the bed to rummage under the lip of the mattress. Repositioning himself between Sid’s legs, he hummed happily. The lid popped as he opened it; the liquid cool as it dripped down his fingers. He kissed his shoulder as he leaned his weight on one elbow next to Sid’s side. Sid’s eyes went dark again as Geno’s slick fingertips pressed against his opening.

            “Ready?” Geno mumbled against his shoulder.

            “Yes,” Sid sighed.

            Sid sucked in a slow, gasping breath as Geno pressed one finger in. Sid’s legs closed around Geno’s shoulders, his back arching up against him. He worked his finger in and out, crooking upwards into Sidney’s prostate. His dick twitched at the mewling sound Sid made.

            “Another?” Geno asked, keeping his words simple as his brain was becoming unable to correctly process into English.

            Sid nodded sharply, his hands clutching at the sheets. Geno poured more lube onto his fingers before slipping a second one inside. He could feel Sidney’s cock beginning to harden again against his stomach. He scissored his fingers, stretching Sidney more and more as his body began to accommodate them. Geno glanced at Sid. His face was almost peaceful. His eyes were shut softly, the thick curtain of his eyelashes fanning across his cheeks, his mouth hanging open as he panted quietly. Geno let his head fall down against Sid’s shoulder, pressing lazy, open mouthed kisses there as he slowly pushed a third finger into him. Sidney let out a rolling groan, his head swaying from one side to the other. Geno pushed as deep as he could, curling his fingers when he pulled out. Sid’s cock was once again fully hard when Geno pulled completely out with a slick sound.

            “I think you ready now,” he said, sitting back up with one last kiss to Sid’s shoulder, “you want?”

            Sidney’s eyes popped open, one hand coming up to curl around Geno’s shoulder. His eyes were glazed over, but he nodded.

            “Yes, please, Geno,” his voice was so small that Geno would have missed it if he weren’t watching at his mouth move.

            Geno smiled and used his lube-slicked hand to wet himself. He lifted Sidney’s legs, hooking one over his left shoulder and the other over his arm. Sid’s breathing sped up as Geno positioned himself at his hole.

            “Relax, Sid,” he kissed the knee on his shoulder, “got you.”

            Sidney let out a long breath, and Geno took that opportunity to press into him. Sid groaned as he stretched to fit him. He took more deep breaths as Geno thrust slowly into him, inch by excruciating inch, until he was buried to the hilt. He had to stop, shuddering when Sid clenched reflexively around him. He muttered fuck as he slid halfway out then thrust back in. He did it a few more times, slowly getting Sid used to having him inside. Sid had put one hand around Geno’s arm next to him and the other curled into the sheets by his head. His head was thrown back, the long trail of his throat exposed. Geno leaned down on a thrust inwards and bit lightly just below Sid’s adam’s apple. He groaned as it made Sid tighten around him.

            “More…” he moaned breathlessly.

            Geno shivered. He sat back, pulling nearly all the way out. Sidney stared up at him, brows knitted together when Geno stilled. Geno smirked before thrusting, hard and deep into him. Sidney gasped as the flare of his cock rubbed against his prostate.

            “Fuck! There, Geno!” he cried, eyes wide as he pushed down onto Geno’s lap.

            Geno pulled out and thrust in again and again, gradually speeding up. The movement was sending Sidney wild. He cried out, unabashed as Geno slammed into him, his ass slapping against Geno’s thighs. Geno moved to hold Sid’s leg off of his shoulder, pushing both of his knees a little further apart, opening him wider. Sidney cried out again, burying his hands in his hair as his body bounced against Geno’s.

            “Close, Sid,” Geno groaned.

            Tears squeezed out of Sid’s screwed-shut eyes. He was practically sobbing, whining Geno’s name. Geno rutted against him, hips stuttering out of rhythm as he came, hard, inside of Sidney. His hips bucked as he rode out his orgasm. His head hung down, panting as if he had just skated a hundred laps around the rink. Sid was squirming, trying still to fuck himself on Geno’s softening cock. Geno’s pulled out, watching as his come dripped slowly from Sid’s asshole. As he slid two fingers in, a positively vulgar noise made him shiver. He roughly fingered Sid, trying to hit his prostate as much as he could. Geno wrapped his other hand around his dick, stroking it out of sync with his thrusting fingers. Sidney was fucking keening as he came, splattering all over his chest and stomach and Geno’s hand. Geno carried him through it, curling and uncurling his fingers, lazily stroking his cock until, shivering, Sidney pushed at his hands. Geno wiped his messy hands on the blanket, rolling over on his side next to Sid. They both lay there, panting loudly for a few minutes.

            “Fuck, Geno,” Sid mumbled, voice hoarse from screaming for so long.

            Geno hummed lazily and pulled him against his chest, burying his chin in Sid’s hair.

            “Sid, best,” he purred, wrapping his long arms around Sidney’s waist.

            Sid curled into him, his body lax as he came back down to earth. Geno felt Sid pressing tiny kisses to the parts of him he could reach without moving too much.

            “Thank you,” he said, muffled by Geno’s body, “for everything, I mean.”

            “You welcome, Sid,” he chuckled, “But not need to thank. I do for you anyway. Always” he punctuated the last word with a kiss to his forehead.

            Sid wriggled himself in impossibly closer, twining his legs around Geno’s, their ankles rubbing against one another. They lay in silence. Geno vaguely wondered if he should get up to clean them off. But when he pulled back to look at him, Sid was already dozed off. His face was completely relaxed, his mouth slightly opened.

            “Всегда,” Geno mumbled, kissing Sid’s forehead once more before settling himself back into the pillows, drifting off with the warmth of Sidney’s sleep-heavy body in his arms.

***