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71tenseventeen · 4 years

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Into That Bad Night-Timestamp 1

Warnings for dark Geno, implied violence, threat of violence, flashbacks and trauma. (Geno is not violent towards Sidney, theirs is not an abusive relationship.) If you’re looking for a law-abiding Geno and a non-problematic, fluffy relationship, this is not the fic for you.

Set between the last chapter and the epilogue, covering the early days of Sid’s time in Miami. It is totally self-indulgent and probably could use some more editing so my apologies for anything I missed.

Thanks to @cakemakethme for the amazing banner and thanks to @queen-alia, @ljummen and @secret-sidgeno-writer for helping me through this timestamp.

Timestamp below the cut.

The dull ache behind Sid’s eyes makes itself known about an hour before they land. It’s mild but he knows he has to be careful or it will get much worse so he ducks his head against Zhenya’s arm, shielding his eyes from the light.

“Sid?” Zhenya’s voice is laced with concern and he immediately slips his arm around Sid’s shoulders, drawing him close until his head is resting against Zhenya’s chest. “What wrong?”

“Just a little headache. It’s not bad.”

Zhenya says a few things in low Russian that Sid knows isn’t directed at him. A moment later the cabin lights dim to almost out completely and a hush falls over the plane. “Here baby,” he murmurs, easing a bottle of water into Sid’s hands. “Take little drink for me.”

Sid takes the bottle, opening his eyes slowly. He takes a few sips before glancing around. “Zhenya they can talk and have the lights on. I’ll be okay if I close my eyes.”

Zhenya shakes his head, taking the bottle back from Sid and pulling him close again. “Shh. Is late anyway. Everyone need rest.”

Sid wants to argue; he feels bad but Flower nudges his foot before he can protest. “Seriously, Sid, rest up. Listen to Evgeni.”

Sid sighs softly but he can’t deny that the quiet and dark helps. He relaxes more into Zhenya’s arms and lets himself drift the rest of the flight.

–

Zhenya hurries them off the plane when they land. The humid air hits Sid like a brick wall and he has a moment to register that he loves the smell of the air, but his stomach wasn’t ready for the heavy heat. There’s a car waiting, though, so within moments he’s tucked into the air-conditioned back seat with Zhenya, leaning back into his grasp.

Zhenya gives quick, quiet orders in Russian and then drops a careful kiss on Sid’s head. “On our way home, sweetheart.”

“Wanted to see everything,” Sid says a little sadly.

“You have plenty time to see when you feeling better. I make sure, take you see everything.”

“Promise?”

“Promise you, my Sidney.”

—

Zhenya is short with everyone they encounter as he quickly ushers Sid out of the car and into the massive house—Sid’s new home—and no one dares challenge him. Even Flower snaps at someone to turn the lights down when they step into the brightly lit foyer.

Sid only catches glimpses of some of the rooms on the way to the massive master bedroom. Zhenya gives quick but definitive instructions to his guard before closing the door behind them and getting Sid stripped for bed. Moments later he’s wrapped around Sid, stroking his hair as Sid drifts back off nestled against Zhenya’s chest.

–

Sid feels better the next morning—he’s relieved that the episode was relatively mild and over quickly. Every day he gets a little better and he could not be more grateful. Once he’s convinced Zhenya that he’s really feeling okay, they shower together, Zhenya washing him gently from head to toe, like he’s done for every shower and bath since—

Sid hates thinking about it, hates the sick twist in his gut when he thinks about being back there, trapped and terrified. Zhenya always knows, too. Maybe he can see it in the shine of Sid’s eyes or feel it in the way Sid draws closer, breath hitching a little. He knows it now and pulls Sid close, dropping the softest kiss to Sid’s temple and sounding wrecked as he whispers, “Never let anyone hurt you again, Sid. Never. Going keep you safe, most safe, always.” Sid nods, tucking his head under Geno’s chin and swallows hard until his breathing evens out again.

–

Zhenya shows him around the massive house. They eat brunch together in the kitchen but they might as well be outside because the french doors leading outside are thrown open letting in the warm breeze. Zhenya started to close them before Sid assured him that he wanted them open, liked the feel of the warm air now that he was feeling a little better.

After brunch Zhenya walks Sid around the property, lingering in the garden to pluck a buttercup that he tucks behind Sid’s ear with a smile and a kiss. It’s maybe a little bit cheesy and it should probably make Sid blush or even laugh a little but he closes his eyes instead, leans his head into the kiss as he pulls close to Zhenya. They continue their walk with Sid tucked firmly against Zhenya’s side.

They spend the rest of the day like that, alternating between exploring the property and relaxing together in various places. Sid never wanders more than arm’s length away and Zhenya never leaves his side. It’s been like that since he woke up in their bedroom in Pittsburgh and Sid has no desire for it to change at this point, fear gripping him at just the thought of being separated from Zhenya right now.

They spend the next several days exactly like that. Occasionally Flower or Jake or one of the others comes into their orbit and Sid is fine with that. He’s still so happy that Flower is okay, he could cry everytime they see each other. Geno takes a few calls a day, mostly from Sergei but sometimes from other contacts and he conducts his business from right there by Sid’s side, pulling Sid gently along with him to the huge wood-paneled office if he needs to access information.

Halfway through Sid’s second week there’s a problem. Sid doesn’t know what it is or even what it’s about but he can see it in Zhenya’s dark gaze and hear it in his tone as he speaks to Gonch. Until now Sid’s been content to stay nearby while Zhenya takes his calls. But as Zhenya’s demeanor shifts, Sid has to shake his head a couple of times, trying to block out the memories of the last time he heard Zhenya use that tone. He finally stands and motions towards the door, hand already on the knob when Zhenya pulls the phone from his ear. “Sid,” he breathes, standing quickly, expression urgent and concerned. “What wrong?”

Sid shakes his head and forces a little smile. “Just finish your call. I’m going to go get a drink and maybe watch TV.”

Zhenya frowns, pressing his lips together for several seconds before he strides to the door, pulling it open. Flower is there in a blink, nodding as Zhenya says with a deeply serious tone. “Stay with Sid while I’m finish call.”

Flower nods a simple, silent affirmative.

Zhenya takes a deep breath, staring at Sid a moment longer before squeezing his hand and going back into the office, already switching back to Russian as he starts talking again.

Sid swallows hard. He doesn’t want to leave Zhenya’s sight but that’s—he knows he has to some time. Eventually, Zhenya may even have to leave for a bit, travel to Pittsburgh or some other place that Sid really shouldn’t go. The thought makes Sid a little nauseous but right now he tells himself that it’s just a few minutes, than he can handle this because Zhenya is just down the hall.

He does get a drink and then tries to settle into the media room to watch TV. He’s distracted, though, and feels antsy, full of nervous energy.

“You feel like talking about it,” Flower asks him once and Sid just shakes his head.

He murmurs, “Thanks,” softly and wanders back through the house. He finally settles outside on one of the terraces, curling up in a plush lounger and resting his eyes as he waits for Zhenya to be finished. Flower tries his best to give him space, staying just inside the french doors and Sid is grateful for the privacy. He knows he’s not handling this well and it’s harder to deal with when someone is watching his every facial expression.

He forces himself to breathe through some of the anxiety of being alone for the first time since—

He gulps at his water and pulls out his phone, trying to distract himself with mindless games while he waits for Zhenya.

“You fucking left him alone?!” Zhenya’s voice tears harshly through the peace, loud and furious.

Sid scrambles up just as Zhenya darts onto the terrace, making a beeline for Sid and gathering him up immediately. He’s muttering angrily in Russian at Flower until Sid says softly, “Zhenya?”

“You okay baby?”

He nods, slipping his arms around Zhenya’s waist and leaning in. “I’m fine. I just wanted to sit outside for a little bit. Flower was right inside the door.”

Zhenya doesn’t respond, just sets his jaw and stands there holding Sid close for a long time.

“When Zhenya finally calms down and heads back to his office for another call Sid asks Flower, “Am I still in danger?”

Flower looks alarmed at the question and sits up straighter in the chair he’d plopped down into on the terrace. “No. This place is like Fort Knox but with about ten times more security. Trust me, if anyone even gets close we know it.”

Sid looks up, confused. “Then why does he make someone stay with me all the time?”

Flower looks a little taken off guard by the question. He takes a deep breath and thinks for a moment before saying carefully, “It scared him, what happened. I’ve never seen him—for a few minutes after he found out you’d been taken he just, he fucking lost it. I’ve never seen him like that and I hope I never do again. I was afraid he would kill everyone in his line of sight, including me.”

Sid’s eyes burn and he looks down at his hands, swallowing thickly. A moment later, Flower’s lanky hand squeezes his shoulder.

“He protects what’s most important to him.”

Sid snuffles and nods. “I’m sorry you’re stuck with me all the time.”

Flower waves his hand around, motioning to the views all around them. “Look around, Sid. My job is to be here with my friend.” He reclines back then, tucking his hands behind his head and crosses his feet at the ankle. “Trust me. Of all the jobs I could be doing for him right now, this is the most cushy.”

Sid grins, chest filling with warmth. “Yeah, ok.” He leans back too, wondering if he’ll ever be as relaxed as Flower is again.

“If you need some real privacy though, you’ll need to talk to him. He won’t hear it from us.”

Sid thinks about that before saying carefully, “Is it—Would it be a problem if I didn’t…yet?”

“Not even a little bit. I’m pretty sure we’d hang out even if it wasn’t my orders. I mean I am the coolest friend you have.”

Sid snickers for a moment before settling back a little further, resting his head against the cushion. “Thank you, Flower.”

Flower’s quiet for a few moments after that before saying quietly, “I’m glad he met you.”

–

Sid’s head starts to hurt later in the day and Zhenya tucks him into bed early, wrapping around him, rubbing soothing circles on Sid’s skin until they both fall asleep.

It’s after midnight when Sid wakes with a start, flailing for a moment until he hears Zhenya’s voice and remembers he’s safe. “Shhh, sweetheart, I’m here. You safe, I got you.”

Like he has all the other times, Zhenya comforts him and offers sips of water, which Sid always takes. He asks, “You want lay back down now?” And Sid shakes his head so Zhenya leads him outside, letting go only long enough to settle down on one of the big, plush chaise loungers before pulling Sid down to sit between his legs.

He rests his head on Zhenya’s chest and lets himself sink into the soft lull of Zhenya’s fingers stroking gently through his hair. After a few minutes Zhenya says quietly, “You scared of me, Sid?”

It takes Sid a moment to comprehend that because it’s such a bizarre question. “Hmm?”

“Today you leave room when I’m on phone. I’m scare you?”

Sid finally understands and pushes up, twisting to look at Zhenya. “No. God no. You never scare me.”

“Can tell me about what happen, then?” His voice stays soothing, low. It’s been a constant since, well. He never loses his patience and for that Sid is grateful.

He lets out a ragged sigh before settling back in, more on his side now so he can still look up at Zhenya. “I just—it sounded like you were dealing with serious stuff. Bad stuff maybe and it just—it reminded me…” He trails off, looking up at Zhenya, hoping he understands.

He nods as though he does. “Gives bad memory?”

“Something like that, yeah,” Sid mumbles, ducking his head for a moment until Zhenya tips it gently back up, stroking his cheek.

“Bad thing happen, hard for brain to forget. I’m take care of you, until you feel safe again and then keep take care of you.”

“I always feel safe when I’m with you.”

Zhenya kisses his head gently and then, after a moment of hesitation, busses their lips together gently, lingering but not deepening the kiss. “Then will do everything I can to make sure that always true.”

–

A few days later he has the dream again. This time he manages to wake before the dream gets too bad. He’s been having the dream less often but Zhenya’s always right there with him when he does. This time it wasn’t enough to wake Zhenya and he slips out of bed as quietly as he can.

He crosses the massive bedroom and curls up in a chair overlooking the huge window wall. It’s so dark, just shy of midnight and he can’t make out any of the waves. But if he turns just a little he can gaze down at the dimly lit pool, water just barely rippling with the breeze.

Just as he draws his knees up he hears Zhenya’s voice, deep and thick with sleep. “What happen, Sid?” Zhenya’s already stirring even as he says it and Sid thinks about telling him he doesn’t have to get up but he knows Zhenya wouldn’t listen anyhow.

Instead he tips his face up into the kiss that Zhenya leans over for. “You okay, солнышко?”

“I’m okay.” He shifts forward, until he’s almost falling off the chair. “You want to sit?”

It’s a pointless question, Zhenya is already squeezing in behind him and rearranging him until he’s halfway on Zhenya’s lap. “Dream again?”

Sid sighs and rests his head against Zhenya’s shoulder. “Yeah.”

Zhenya doesn’t reply at first, just squeezes him tight, fingers finding their way into his hair. They sit like that for a while, just sharing the quiet together.

After a few minutes, Zhenya speaks again. “What you look at out there?”

“I wondered if I could see the waves but it’s too dark. So I was looking at the pool instead.”

“You want swim?”

“Yeah, we should tomorrow.” He smiles. He likes the pool.

“Can tomorrow but can right now if you want.”

Sid lets out a soft laugh. “It’s midnight.”

“So? Is private, safe, weather perfect. Our home, Sid. Can do whatever we want.”

Sid thinks about that for a moment before he sits up a little more. “I—do you want…?”

“Yes.”

Minutes later they’re slipping into the pool.

–

It’s after one by the time they climb out, Sid so much more relaxed than he’d been when they got in. He hums contentedly as Zhenya ushers him back to their bedroom and on into the master bathroom.

He feels lighter than he has in awhile but he almost feels shy when he reaches for Zhenya, pulls him down into a kiss that Sid tries to deepen.

Zhenya pulls away, panting a little, looking carefully down at him. “Sid, shouldn’t—”

Sid sighs, dropping his eyes to the ground. Almost immediately Zhenya tips his head back up and he looks so concerned. “Hey, hey what wrong?”

“You don’t, um, you don’t want—I mean, anymore…” he trails off, cheeks hot and tight.

He raises his eyebrows in response. “You think I’m not want? Most wrong! Want all the time. But not want to rush, not want to hurt you, need you be ready.”

“I am. Ready, I mean.”

Zhenya chews on the inside of his lip for a moment, studying Sid’s face before saying carefully. “You sure, моя любовь? Not have to say for me. I wait as long as you need.”

“I don’t want to wait anymore. I want—I just need…” He swallows before trying again. “I just want to be with you again.”

Zhenya’s eyes flutter closed for a moment and he takes a deep breath, as though he’s trying to maintain his composure. “Your head feel okay?”

“Yes. It hasn’t hurt in three days.”

He cups Sid’s face. “You really want?”

“More than anything. I miss you.” Sid’s certain Zhenya will understand what he means and he’s right.

Zhenya takes him to bed and they take things slowly. It feels like they spend hours just kissing, touching, getting Sid ready but he doesn’t mind. He loves it, delights in Zhenya touching him like this again and being able to touch back. And then Zhenya is on top of him, inside him, moving slow and steady, peppering Sid with tender kisses and sweet words.

Sid has never felt more loved.

–

They eat breakfast on the terrace. Sid catches Zhenya giving him a look and grins at him, cheeks flushed. Zhenya licks his lower lip and grins right back.

After a few minutes Zhenya makes a frustrated sound and moves around the table to kiss Sid, deep and sweet. “Too far away,” he murmurs against Sid’s lips when they finally break the kiss.

“Yeah,” Sid breathes back.

It takes them a long time to get through breakfast.

–

Zhenya takes Sid into the city.

For all that he’s started building a sense of security at home, leaving the estate is something else entirely. Zhenya holds his hand in the car, lifting Sid’s knuckles to his lips as they ease through a busy downtown intersection.

“Okay, sweetheart?”

Sid nods because he thinks he is, he’s at least determined to try—as long as Zhenya is with him. He scoots a little closer and Zhenya doesn’t protest.

They make it to the restaurant just as the sun is starting to dip below the horizon. Zhenya has made sure they have a very private table and Sid knows there are multiple guards tracking them. He still drops into the chair next to Zhenya instead of across from him.

There’s an unbelievably decadent cheesecake with berries delivered to their table after their meal, even though no one asked for it and it’s not on the menu. Sid looks at Zhenya questioningly and gets a soft smile back in return. “Pastry chef friend of mine. I call in favor, know she make your favorite dessert best.”

Sid has to kiss him then before digging in. And Zhenya was right; it’s the best cheesecake he’s ever tasted.

–

At home Zhenya stretches out on the sofa, still in his dress pants and shirt, and reaches his hand out to Sid in invitation. He takes it and lets himself be pulled down close to Zhenya. “Still feel okay?”

“Yeah. Everything feels good.” He smiles up at Zhenya.

“What about scare, nervous? That getting better?”

Sid takes a little longer to answer that. “It was hard. But I know it’s important.”

“Yes. Know is so hard for you, though. Proud of you for push yourself tonight.”

Sid smiles as Zhenya peppers his cheek with gentle kisses.

It’s another minute or so before Zhenya speaks again and when he does, his voice is lower this time. More serious. “Want to talk to you about something.”

Sid’s stomach twists immediately but he forces himself to look at Zhenya. “Okay.”

“You getting better every day, physically. In few days I think doctor clear you for more activity. I’m already arrange for instructors to train you. Self defense and firearms.”

“Firearms?” Sid’s never so much as held a gun but Zhenya nods, giving him a sober look.

“Important you be equip to handle self. Never leaving you unprotected Sid but this important. Always important know how to defend self. If anything ever happen, you fight until I’m get to you. I need you do this.”

Sid swallows thickly. It doesn’t sound like he has a choice in the matter but he can’t be too upset about that. Zhenya’s right, this is important. As much as Sid wants to believe that he will always be protected, he has to be prepared. He doesn’t want to feel helpless and he doesn’t want to be deadweight for Zhenya. Still—”Will you be there, too?” he asks, voice shaky but he needs to know.

“I want to, yes, if is okay with you. Want to help you.”

Sid takes a deep breath and sets his jaw. “Okay.”

–

It’s hard.

Andy—his self-defense instructor—never holds him tight or gets too harsh but sometimes, when he starts an exercise holding Sid from behind, it’s too much and Sid panics. Those are the times he falls into Zhenya’s arms, wracked with guilt but Zhenya never gets frustrated with him, never belittles him. And every time, Sid finally pulls away, wipes his tears away and turns to the instructor saying, “I want to try again.”

It’s hard but every day Zhenya says he’s proud of him and Sid believes him.

Firearms training isn’t as tough, at least emotionally. Patric, or as he likes to be called, Horny, is easy-going and calm. Sid doesn’t panic at these lessons though his hands do shake a lot, especially at the beginning. Zhenya is always there, praising him when he does well and coaching him when he needs help.

The first time Sid hits the target exactly where he’s aimed, he lets out a loud whoop and turns his lopsided grin on Zhenya who is smiling right back. “You do it, baby! So good!”

Sid grins at Zhenya and then over at Patric. The feeling of accomplishment takes him by surprise and it sticks with him for the rest of the day.

But that’s nothing to the first time Sid takes down Andy. Afterwards he towers over Andy, both of them looking stunned and then Zhenya’s voice breaks the silence. “YES! Baby you did that!”

Sid whips around to look at him and when he turns back Andy is laughing as he gets up. “Nice job, Sid.”

And then it hits him, what he just did, and he cracks a wide smile, turning and rushing into Zhenya’s arms. “Knew you do so well when you ready. So proud.”

Sid beams at him and though he’s been shy about it in the past, pulls Zhenya’s face down for a quick kiss before turning and squaring his shoulders. “Can we try again?”

Andy laughs again. “You got it.”

For the first time in a very long time, Sidney feels strong.

–

The next time Zhenya takes him out, it’s the middle of a beautiful day. They head to the Design District, Sid holding Zhenya’s hand tight as they stroll along.

“Okay, sweetheart?” Zhenya asks quietly.

Sid nods but pulls a little closer. Zhenya understands without Sid having to voice his thoughts. He’s okay as long as he’s with Zhenya.

For awhile they just walk—there’s so much to see—and Sid relaxes a little until Zhenya glances at his watch and says, “Oh, appointment soon. Come,” before pivoting them to the left.

“Where are we going?” Sid’s no fool, he knows Zhenya’s penchant for buying him things.

“Have to pick up couple things and have appointment for you get fitted for new suits.”

Sid thinks about that before replying, more quietly. “Last time you had someone come to your penthouse to do that.”

Zhenya slows to a stop and faces Sid. “I know,” he says gently. “But I’m think this good for you right now and want show you Miami, anyway. Show you our city, places I like. Okay?”

Sid takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

But when Zhenya guides him through the doors of the Armani shop a couple minutes later, Sid feels his breath hitch nervously. He sticks close as Zhenya shakes hands with the greeter and says authoritatively, “Have appointment with Juan.”

“Certainly, Mr. Malkin. Right this way.”

They take an elevator up, Zhenya making small talk with their greeter—Sid’s too nervous to remember his name—and then led into a huge private room. They’re on the third floor which Sid thinks is the top floor, judging by the view through the huge windows overlooking the street. He doesn’t have a lot of time to dwell on it because their greeter offers them champagne, which Zhenya accepts graciously, taking both glasses for them.

The greeter excuses himself then, after telling Zhenya that Juan will be with them soon. As soon as he’s gone Zhenya sets the champagne flutes on the table and turns to Sid. “Baby, what’s wrong? Scare?”

“No, I—,” he cuts himself off, not really sure how to say what he’s feeling.

“Can tell me,” Zhenya rubs his arms gently.

Sid’s voice is barely more than a whisper when he replies, “I feel like I don’t belong here.”

Zhenya raises an eyebrow and lifts his hands to cup Sid’s face gently, tugging until Sid meets his gaze. “You listen to me. This city mine,“ He says, tone serious and Sid knows he means something far deeper than just living there. "You with me and that mean this city yours now, too. This exactly where you belong, by my side so everyone know. You to be respected.”

Sid takes a deep breath because that’s a lot to process. Zhenya holds his gaze for a moment before reaching for the champagne, easing one of the glasses into Sid’s hand. “Should try, might help relax a little bit.” He reaches up again, though, with his free hand and strokes Sid’s cheek. “Want you to feel like this city yours as much as mine, want to give you best life. You deserve.”

Sid sighs and takes a sip and it’s as good as he expected. He takes another sip before he looks up and says, “Okay.”

Zhenya smiles and picks up a strawberry from the dish on the table, holding it out for Sid to take a bite. By the time Juan comes in, Sid’s glass is empty and Zhenya is kissing the taste of strawberries off his lips. Zhenya doesn’t immediately pull away though. He finishes the kiss, finally pulling back with a smoldering look. He winks and turns his attention to Juan, leaving Sid a little unsteady for reasons he won’t complain about, though he’s sure his blush is betraying him.

Juan is kind enough not to mention any of that, introducing himself to Sid before he glances at Zhenya and says, “You were right. He is beautiful.”

Juan winks at Sid whose cheeks burn but Zhenya just smiles.

Juan spends a lot of time getting precise measurements for Sid, pausing at times to have him try on different options. When he’s finally satisfied he’s gotten everything he needs, he moves on to Zhenya while Sid sips at his second glass of champagne.

“No wonder you said your shirts were feeling too snug. Have you been working out?”

Sid feels a spike of jealousy but says nothing. Zhenya winks at him before answering. “Have to keep look good for my Sid.” Sid ducks his head, laughing softly.

When the fitting is complete, they sit together, Zhenya close at Sid’s side as they comb through hundreds of clothing options on the iPad Bruce hands them. Sid feels out of his depth and lets Zhenya pick a lot of things for him. It takes some coaxing but he does finally pick out a few things which makes Zhenya beam at him and kiss his cheek.

By the time they leave the store Sid’s a little giddy from the champagne, unable to stop smiling as he leans into Zhenya’s side. They eat lunch at Kaido; Sid’s not sure if Zhenya had reservations or not but he only has to say a few words to the greeter before they’re being seated, in a small, semi-private booth, Sid tucked in between Zhenya and the wall.

A man dressed a little different from the other wait staff comes and greets Zhenya with an outstretched hand and a smile. “Evgeni, it’s nice to see you. I’m glad you could come by today.”

Zhenya stands and shakes the man’s hand before turning to Sid. “Thomas, this Sidney. He’s move to Miami with me now so will be seeing more of him in the future. Sid, this Thomas, restaurant manager and co-owner. He’s friend and business associate.”

Business. Right.

Sid stretches out his hand to shake, saying quietly, “It’s nice to meet you, Thomas.”

“It’s good to finally meet you, Sidney. Evgeni has said nothing but wonderful things. Anytime you want to stop in, just ask for me and you’ll be taken care of.”

Sid fights to keep the surprise off of his face, covering it with a soft smile. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

Zhenya seats himself again, slipping an arm around Sid’s back and squeezes his shoulder gently as Thomas sets two menus in front of them. Zhenya orders water, tea and a bottle of champagne that Thomas dashes off to get for them.

Sid grins at Zhenya.

“What?”

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

Zhenya laughs. “Mmm, maybe.” He boops Sids nose gently. “You cute when you little bit drunk.”

Sid tugs at Zhenya’s tie, so he’ll dip his head for a kiss and nips at his lip. Zhenya raises an eyebrow, amused. “You trying start something?”

“Maybe.”

He opens his mouth to reply but Thomas shows back up then and seriously, he seems like a nice guy but Sid really just wants him to go away. But it’s not like Zhenya can fuck him in the restaurant booth though so Sid tries to forgive him.

The food is good, the champagne perfect and Sid feels more relaxed in public than he has in a long time.

After they leave the restaurant, Sid tugs Zhenya close and gives him a look and Zhenya groans. “You killing me, baby. One more stop then we go, okay?”

Sid sighs and lets himself pout just a little, just to tease Zhenya before nodding. “Okay.”

Zhenya takes him to Cartier and Sid tries not to look as out of place as he feels. They seem to be expecting Zhenya here, too and he quickly introduces them to Sid. Their attendant, Victoria, is just as kind as Thomas was and just as prompt, scurrying off to retrieve Zhenya’s order. She’s back quickly with a fancy looking bag with a smile. “All of your items are in there, Mr. Malkin. Is there anything from the showroom I can show you today?”

Zhenya shakes his head. “This is all, thank you Victoria.”

She turns her attention to Sid. “It was lovely meeting you, Sidney. Come in anytime and we’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

It’s mind boggling—Sid’s been told some version of that three different times today and he suspects that he’d be given the same reception at any number of shops and restaurants here. He’s starting to understand what Zhenya means when he says this city is his and maybe this isn’t anything Sid ever expected for his life but he knows Zhenya wants him to be a part of this so he’ll do his best to embrace his new status.

As soon as they’re out of the shop Zhenya loops the bag’s handles over his wrist and pulls out a small, rectangular box. “See this and think look good on you.”

“Zhenya…”

“No complain. Is something you need.”

Sid thinks that’s probably a stretch but he doesn’t argue and Zhenya looks smug, like he knows he’s won. He opens the box and pulls out the nicest, most sleek pair of sunglasses Sid has ever seen and slides them right onto Sid’s face.

His smug smile melts into a very different kind of smile as he says, “Look so good, Sid. I knew these perfect.”

Sid pulls them off, handling them as gently as possible. His first thought is that, ugh, Zhenya was right. He does need them—he’s been wearing pairs of Zhenya’s since they got to Miami. His second thought is that he doesn’t need to know where they came from to know that they were very, very expensive and Sid bites his lip.

Zhenya slides his free arm around Sid’s waist, pulling him close. “You not like?”

“No! God, they’re unbelievable. It’s just… Zhenya, I’ve lost literally every pair of sunglasses I’ve ever owned.”

Zhenya breaks into a soft grin and laughs. “Is okay. If you lose, we buy more. Buy lots, just to make sure you always have.”

“Oh my god, no. You can’t buy more of these!”

“Hate to break it to you but you think ones you been wearing cheap?”

And he’s right, Sid had known that—it’s just that they weren’t technically his which somehow made it better, though he’s very aware that his logic is deeply flawed. He finally slides the glasses back on, pulling them down just enough to look over the top of them at Zhenya’s smug expression. “Thank you.”

Zhenya doesn’t offer an explanation of the rest of the bag’s contents and Sid doesn’t ask. He’s anxious to get back to the car, to be alone with Zhenya for awhile. Despite his nerves, Zhenya made Sid’s introduction into this part of his life as easy as possible and Sid doesn’t know if it’s the sun, Zhenya, champagne or some combination of all of the above but he feels happy. And he really wants to get Zhenya alone.

As impatient as he is, the ice cream shop makes him slow his step considerably. The concoctions people are carrying out look like a dream come true and the smells wafting out—Sid is very interested. It must show in the way he stares through the windows as they meander by because he hears a soft snicker beside him and Zhenya pulls him up short. “You want ice cream?”

Sid bites his lower lip. He does. Like, a lot. But he also wants to get Zhenya back into the privacy of the car. But—Zhenya laughs again. “Come, we get ice cream. Is nice day, we sit outside to eat.” He leans in closer, lips close to Sid’s ear. “We have all rest of day for everything else.”

Sid tries to bite back his smile but he doesn’t do a very good job of it. He doesn’t think it matters.

The ice cream cake cone concoction Sid gets is heavenly and he finds himself smiling at Zhenya as they sit side by side eating their treats. “This is nice. Thank you, Zhenya.”

“Not have to thank but am really glad you having nice time. You deserve always to have good days, be happy.”

“You make me happy. You know that,right?”

“I’m try. Is all I want, make you happiest, be best for you.”

“You are.” It feels important to Sid that Zhenya understands this, understands that even despite what happened, he doesn’t regret a single moment he’s had with Zhenya. “You’re the best person I know. I’m so glad I met you, so glad you chose me when you could’ve had anyone you wanted.”

Zhenya turns to face him a little more then, touching Sid’s chin with his free hand. “You are who I want then and now. No one else for me, Sidney. Ever.”

“Zhenya…” Sid’s eyes are burning now so he ducks his head, takes another bite of ice cream to break the moment a bit.

Zhenya kisses his temple and they go back to their ice cream. It’s not until they’re finished that Zhenya speaks again, this time with a huge grin. “Come, we go home now.”

“Yes.”

–

Their driver has barely pulled away from the curb when Sid climbs onto Zhenya’s lap. He raises his eyebrows, looking amused but adjusting his body to draw Sid closer. "So anxious?"

"Yes."

Zhenya laughs and kisses him hard.

Everything is awkward in the back seat of the car, both of them knocking legs and fumbling as they try to get to at least a partial state of undress.

Sid wants to blow him but Zhenya has other ideas when they’ve finally managed to at least get their pants most of the way off. He pulls Sid back onto his lap, kisses him hard while he wraps his big hand around both of them.

He looks so satisfied when Sid gasps and starts rocking his hips. "What you need, baby?,” He asks, voice low and deep.

“I just want to make you feel good."

"Then you doing good job,” he croons, stroking them a little slower and pushing his hips up. “You feel that, feel how hard? That for you, you so beautiful, all day I’m want to find private place and take you apart."

Sid groans and drops his forehead to Zhenya’s shoulder, nipping at the skin there just a little while Zhenya continues. "I’m think right now I make you feel so good, make you moan my name, make you lose control little bit. Then tonight I’m put you on bed and fuck you again, make you yell my name."

"Zhenya, fuck!"

Zhenya smirks. "Just like that."

Despite the air conditioning they’re both sweaty as they move together, finding a rhythm that works so well. It’s messy and hot and sticky and Sid loves it. He loves that he can make Zhenya lose control, make those faces, those sounds and knowing he’s the only one that can. He loves the way Zhenya loves him and touches him, loves knowing that he never has to let anyone else touch him again. All of that is swirling in his head as he moves his hips, moaning low in his throat and clinging to Zhenya.

It’s hot and dirty and messy and so fucking good.

Sid holds out as long as he can, until Zhenya croons low in his ear, “Come for me, Sidney.” And he does with a warbled cry. He hears Zhenya curse in Russian and feels his hips buck up hard until the wet heat hits Sid’s belly.

They stay tangled like that for a few minutes, trading lazy kisses and sweet touches until they have to clean up because they’re almost home.

–

They have a quiet dinner at home, outdoors. The effects of the champagne have mostly worn off leaving Sid feeling soft and quietly relaxed. After dinner they migrate together out to the terrace off of their bedroom. It’s huge and Sid has come to love spending time out there, especially evenings like this when the weather is perfect and Zhenya wraps around him while they watch the sunset.

He heads to the huge lounger they usually snuggle up on only to have Zhenya pull him gently towards the rail, snugging up behind Sid as they look out at the spectacular view. “You do so good today,” he says, low and gentle in Sid’s ear. “So proud of you.”

Sid doesn’t really know how to respond to that but he doesn’t think Zhenya needs him to. Instead he just turns and wraps his arms around Zhenya’s waist, resting his head on his chest. Sid is content to stand like that for awhile, feeling safe, secure and so loved. Eventually, as the sun starts to dip below the horizon, Zhenya rumbles in his ear, amused. “You not ask even once about what else I’m pick up today.”

Sid pulls back just enough to give Zhenya a suspicious look. ��Should I have? God, what did you do?”

Zhenya feigns innocence. “No idea what you talking about. Most nosy, Sid.”

“You literally just said…” he trails off at Zhenya’s soft laughter. “You think you’re so cute.” But there’s no heat behind it and and Zhenya knows it, laughing a little more.

“No, I’m think you most cute. And maybe I get you little presents that I know be most perfect for you.”

“Little, huh?”

“Little. I’m show you.” He pulls away from Sid then and disappears into their bedroom, emerging just a few seconds later with a flat, square box wrapped in simple black paper and a gold ribbon. He’s still looking a little smug as he presents it to Sid. “See? Little.”

Sid takes a deep breath because whatever is in that box might not be big in size but he’s sure it could never count as a little expenditure. That’s not Zhenya’s style.

He’s careful opening it, popping the paper open on one end to slide the box out instead of tearing it, ignoring Zhenya’s teasing, “Most boring.”

Sid finally gets to the box and opens it and—he has to look closer. There’s a necklace laid carefully inside the box. It has what is no doubt a very expensive chain but it’s the charm he’s interested in. He’s seen it before but he doesn’t fully understand what it means. He touches it carefully and then looks up to Zhenya for an explanation.

Zhenya lifts it out carefully. “Is Malkin family crest. Go back many generation.” Zhenya reaches up, pulls out his own cluster of pendants, thumbing at the one on his chain. The charm is a little bigger, looks heavier but the design is identical. “Very few get to have. Only if born into family or,” he pauses, watching Sid’s face carefully as he continues, ”marry into family.”

Sid stops breathing for a moment. He’s known for a long time now that he’d be with Zhenya as long as Zhenya wanted him but he never imagined—”You look so surprised, my love. You’re not know what you mean to me? You’re not think I’m want marry you someday?”

Sid can’t speak. His eyes burn and no matter how much he blinks them, they won’t clear. Zhenya kisses his forehead gently and unclasps the necklace. “If you want, I want to give you. Either way, I want to be with you always but I’m most want to marry you, make you mine, my family.”

He stops then, holding the necklace open, waiting for Sid’s response but Sid couldn’t speak if he tried. He feels frozen to the spot, unable to move or think or talk or do anything but stare at the little pendant for a moment until Zhenya says softly, “You marry me, Sidney?”

He’s nodding almost before it’s even a conscious thought and lets out a shaky breath when Zhenya clasps it around his neck. His fingers linger, brushing across the back of Sid’s neck for a moment and then he’s tugging Sid closer and kissing him, slow and deep. Then, before Sid can even catch his breath Zhenya is smiling and holding up a ring between them. "I’m not forget engagement ring."

Sid swallows hard as Zhenya takes his right hand and slips the ring onto the third finger. Then he lifts Sid’s hand and runs his fingers over the ring. There are three bands intertwined. Zhenya touches the first. “Is an eternity ring. This band,” he touches the one covered in white diamonds. “This you.” He moves his fingers to the band covered in black diamonds next. “This one me. And this one,” he finally moves to touch the last one, a simple band of white gold. “Is our life together. All three, woven together, can never be separated.”

They’re the sweetest words Sid has ever heard.

–

It was inevitable that there would be an event at some point that Zhenya would need to attend and Sid’s just grateful this one is in Miami. Zhenya gives him the option of staying home but as much as Sid wants to, he wants to try for Zhenya, to be by his side and create the presence that he knows Zhenya wants them to have. So he pulls on the perfectly pressed suit and goes to the fundraiser at some socialite’s tacky mansion.

He stays close to Zhenya or Flower all night, who is breaking procedure to mingle with Sid anytime Zhenya has to step away. It’s one of those times and Sid is chuckling softly at something ridiculous that Flower said when a man sidles up next to him holding two glasses of champagne. Flower snorts quietly as he offers one to Sid. “You looked like you could use a drink. I’m Claude,” he says, with a cheerful smile and Sid bristles.

“No thank you.” Sid finds himself being very grateful that Flower is right there next to him.

The man tilts his head. “Are you sure? It’s really good. I mean, they definitely sprung for the good stuff.”

“I’m sure, thanks.”

“I haven’t seen you around before. Are you new to Miami?”

“Not really.” He has no intention of telling this stranger anything about himself.

“I feel like I’d remember a pretty face like yours.”

Sid’s stomach turns, skin crawls just hearing the word. Pretty. He feels his hands start shaking as he tries to swallow back the bile rising at the back of his throat.

He has to get away from the man and he starts to turn to tell Flower that but then out of nowhere, Zhenya is there. He smiles warmly at Sid, dropping a kiss on his forehead before turning towards the man. He’s still smiling but his gaze is cold and dark.

Sid can see the color draining from the man’s face. “Mr. Malkin, I—it’s good to see you.”

“Hmm. I see you meet my fiance’ Sidney.”

Claude looks sick and something inside of Sid is glad that the man knows he’s made a serious mistake. “I, yes. I, ah, I didn’t realize.”

“Mm,” Zhenya makes the non-committal noise before glancing down at Sid, expression softening for the moment. “You go with Marc-Andre, I’m be back soon.” He squeezes Sid’s hand gently before turning back to Claude with a smile that’s anything but kind.

Tanger emerges then, along with Jake, casually coming closer as Zhenya reaches out and grips the nape of Claude’s neck firmly. He tugs, starting to walk them towards the door as Tanger and Jake fall into step behind him.

“Walk with me, Mr. Giroux. Let’s talk.”

#Into That Bad Night #my fic #dark geno #timestamp

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knifeshoeoreofight · 5 years

Photo

He keeps dreaming of snow.

It’s July. The weather is warm and sticky, and the sun has been blazing hot for weeks. And he dreams about snow.

It’s the same every time. A lake fringed with dark trees, the ice covered in a flawless expanse of white. Blank and perfect. In the dream, he has a pair of skates slung over his shoulder by the laces. When he swings them down to untie the knots and get them on his feet, they’re always a different pair he recognizes.

The first pair of good skates he’d received as a child, still able to fit him in the boundless logic of dreaming. He’d fallen asleep clutching them to his chest when he’d gotten them that Christmas. Stuffed dog under one arm, skates under the other.

The beat up pair he hid in Rimouski, so that he could practice even after they took away his regular skates. The same ones he’d take to play shinny in the park, just to feel a little normal. Free.

The pair he wore to win gold in Vancouver, gleaming and perfect.

In the dream he sits on a snowbank and pulls the skates on, and then he’s on the ice. You can’t skate on snow-covered ice, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Dream logic again.

The dark trees around the lake never grow closer, no matter how hard he skates for the opposite shore. Always, he ends up standing in the middle of that blank, unsettling expanse of white, frustrated. When he looks behind him, there’s never a mark in the featureless snow to show where he’s been. Nothing.

And he wakes up then, usually, disturbed and wondering why the fuck he’s dreaming that dream again.

***

He’s busy enough.The flurry of early summer weddings has petered out, finally. He loves his friends’ happiness, but the annual glut gets…old. Exhausting.

He has a few media obligations, some pre-planned get togethers with Nate and any of the boys who happen to be in town. He’s ramping up the training. But he still has too much damn time to brood in between it all. You’d think he’d be able to get the bad taste of last season out of his mouth by now, but it lingers, their ignominious playoff exit following him like a shadow.

He fishes, he paddleboards. He golfs. He trains some more. He tries going to the farmer’s market and has to leave after fifteen minutes because of the commotion his appearance causes. He teaches himself how to make gluten free parmesan chicken from the Internet.

He checks social media, liking pictures of babies and dogs and summertime shenanigans on Instagram. He uploads a photo of his dock at sunrise to his private one, to a flurry of likes and chirping about being a boring old man, fishing all day.

It’s a little funny but it stings a bit too. He doesn’t like to think of himself as old. He’s not, by ordinary standards. But he is in hockey years, and it terrifies him sometimes.

He should post more often, then maybe he’d get less shit from the guys. He’d only made his account in the first place so that he could follow the people that mattered to him.

He wakes up early to find that Geno commented a string of parentheses and a couple incomprehensible emojis.

He’s given up trying to interpret what Geno means by them; he’s 90% sure he just picks the weirdest ones possible just to fuck with people.

Sid ponders what to respond, and finally settles on turtle, Brazillian flag, paperclip. There, let him have a taste of his own medicine.

i dont get it, jake posts underneath. Probably sex stuff, replies Flower. better not to ask.

Asshole, Sid replies, and feels his face flush. It’s all meant as a joke, but thinking of sex and Geno too close together is always a problem, and he buries the well-worn thing he doesn’t acknowledge like he always does.

***

The next time he has the dream, there’s someone else there. He doesn’t see them, but their presence behind him lies on him like a weight.

He stops in the middle of the lake like he always does. The presence behind him stops too.

“Hey,” Sid says, more as an inquiry than a greeting.

Some small bit of dream-awareness slots into place, and he knows that it’s Geno, behind him.

“Three years Superleague, huh?” Sid says. It’s good, and right, Geno standing behind him.

***

More training. A podcast recording with Biz and Whit that actually ends up being a lot of fun. Just shooting the shit and swapping stories.

They ask him about Geno, of course, angling for some dirt, some “ha ha he’s so Russian” and “what a bully” kind of shit. Sid doesn’t give them anything.

Geno, Sid has always thought, is more just like an enormous cat. A little moody and opinionated, liking things to be just so. Affectionate and friendly only on his own terms. He’s always wondered if that was mostly due to the language barrier, or if it’s just how Geno is. He used to watch whenever Geno spoke to Gonch, or his friends on other teams. Listen to the faster cadence of his voice, the expansive movements of his hands, the expressiveness of his face. Trying to figure out who Geno really was when he was comfortable and at ease.

He used to watch Geno way too much in those days.

It’s still a problem sometimes.

Geno always treated Sid a little differently. All of his brash pushiness is tempered a little. He always looks into Sid’s eyes when Sid is trying to tell him something, leaning in and listening with his whole body. Sid has never taken that deference and respect for granted, treating Geno’s fierce loyalty as the precious honor it is.Geno gives zero consequence to people he’s decided he doesn’t like or respect. He isn’t like Sid, he doesn’t bother to reign in his colossal emotions or attempt a veneer of politeness or charm. If he’s done with you he’s done with you.

Geno is Geno, and Sid, god help him, has always loved him for it.

***

He has the dream again, and it’s accompanied by a creeping sense of dread. He and the Geno-presence take to the ice. In the middle of the lake, instead of smooth white, the snow is broken by a series of jagged cracks, dark water sloshing malevolently inches from Sid’s skates.

“Fuck, look out–” he tells Dream-Geno, but Dream-Geno steps past him, for the first time.

“Geno!” Sid tries to scream, but he doesn’t have the air. In the disjointed way of dreams, Sid just knows that Dream-Geno is in the water now, even if he didn’t see anything happen.

He drops to his knees, and reaches out. The water looks liquid, but his fingers scrabble along it like it’s ice. He claws at it, horror and desperation cresting over him. He’s trying to scream Geno’s name, but he can’t- he just can’t-

When he wakes up, he’s gasping, heart trying to pound its way out of his chest. He’s disoriented for a split second, grief crushing, until he wakes up further and realizes he was dreaming.

He sits up with a groan, shreds of the dream and its dread slowly fading around him. Fuck. He hasn’t had a nightmare like that in years.

He checks the time on his phone, curses to see that it’s three thirty in the morning. He drags himself up, flinching as he flips the bathroom light on. He takes a piss, and splashes water on his face as if he can wash away the lingering awfulness of the dream.

So weird. He hadn’t really seen anything, but the emotions themselves had felt so real.

Back in bed, he almost doesn’t want to go back to sleep. He feels wide awake anyway. What he wants to do, is.

Incredibly stupid.

Good for a lifetime of shit-talking if Geno tells anyone.

He does it anyway.

You up? He texts Geno. It’s nine-something am in Moscow, so who knows. Geno’s not exactly a morning person.

There’s no answer, for long enough that he starts to feel even more colossally lame than he already did.

Then his phone rings, making him jump. Fuck.

“Sid?” Geno says when he picks up. “What’s happen? It’s night for you.”

God, his voice. Deep and rumbling right in his ear. Accent thick like it always gets over the summer when he doesn’t use his English for months. Sid feels something in him let go, soothed by a living, breathing Geno at the other end of the line. But, then, he realizes that he now has to come up with an explanation that isn’t just, “hey bud, just had a real bad dream, wish you were here to fucking tuck me in, eh?”

“Uh. I’m okay it’s just… I was thinking.”

There’s a judgmental silence on the other end of the line. Sid pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

“You’re gonna chirp me forever, man. I, uh. I’ve been having this dream.”

“Whaat?” Geno draws the word out, somehow conveying both amusement and disbelief.

“I know, I know. But I’ve been having this stupid dream about skating on a lake, yeah? Just over and over. It’s fucking weird. And you were there? I think. The last few times, anyway. And this time there were these cracks in the ice, and you fell in. You know how even if it doesn’t make sense, for a second in a dream your brain doesn’t know the difference? Well. You, you were dead.”

He pauses, realizing he’s babbling, how stupid this is. Shame washes over him.

“Okay…” Geno says, clearly trying to take all of that in. “Sorry for dream?”

“Not your fault,” Sid says automatically. “So, yeah. Pretty much I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Geno huffs out a laugh. “Okay. I’m doing good, so.” There’s a pause, like he’s considering something.

“It’s little bit cute, you know? Call me for scared.” His tone is amused but not as teasing as Sid would expect.

Still. Cute.

“Oh my god,” Sid groans, and flops back into his pillows.

“So stupid,” he says, more to himself then to Geno.

“No, no,” Geno says, and he’s definitely laughing now. “It’s fine, most cute. Can call me, I can give you some story, for sleep. Maybe some song.”

“Fuck off,” Sidney gripes, but he’s kind of smiling at the ceiling now, like a dweeb.

Geno yawns, then audibly settles back into the bed or couch he’s probably lounging on. “So, keep having dream?”

“Yeah, over and over. No idea why.”

“Stress?”

Sid is quiet for a moment, wondering how to answer. “Maybe. My birthday, the season coming up. You know.”

“You captain,” Geno says. “Lots things for worry.” The matter of fact way he says it is comforting, somehow. “You need come here. Have fun in Russia.”

“Naw. The visa would take too long to get,” Sid says, wondering if Geno means it, if he’d really like to show Sid around Moscow.

“You know how long it’s take?” Geno sounds amused again, like he’s smiling. “You think about?”

“Oh, off and on,” Sid answers. “Over the years, you know.”

“Should do, Russia best.”

Sid laughs. “Oh, for sure.”

“You do, you come. We go to banya, we eat Russian food. You can go to some museum, so boring.”

It sounds… really good. It makes an old ache start up behind Sid’s ribcage to think about it, but it sounds good. Especially if…

There’s always been an expiration date on Geno’s time in the US. And if this season is as bad as the last–

Sid tamps down the urge to surrender to the loss he can sense hovering on the horizon.

“That sounds amazing, G. I want to, I really do. What about next summer? I can make sure the paperwork is all set up ahead of time.” Something to look forward to in that summer, no matter what. A way to delay Geno from slipping through his fingers if Geno decides he’s finally had it.

He’s being irrational, he knows. Geno has a contract. And yet.

“Yes, we do,” Geno says, with finality. “You come.”

They’re both quiet for a moment. Then there’s a bit of rustling on Geno’s end, like he’s sitting up. He sounds more awake when he speaks again.

“I can come early, now. Go to Canada first.”

Sid blinks, his lips parting in surprise. “Come here? To Nova Scotia? You’d want to?”

“No more bad dream,” Geno coos mockingly, and Sid has to laugh.

“You gonna tuck me in at night, eh?” Fuck, no, what is he doing. That sounds like he’s trying to flirt, or something. He needs to backpedal.

“For real though. I’d always love to have you visit, you know that. I just thought, it’s a little quiet, maybe. Boring.” His voice, damn it, is a lot softer than he meant it to sound. Maybe revealing a little too much. He hopes Geno isn’t paying attention.

“Mooost boring,” Geno drawls. Then, firmly: “I come. You can show me fishing. No golf.”

Something stupid and anticipatory flutters in Sidney’s gut. “Sure, okay. Let’s uh, work out the details.” Fuck.

***

Geno plans to go to Miami for a week, then to Sid’s, then to fly together down to Pittsburgh for training camp. He grouses a little at needing to be early because Sid is the captain and always shows up in town first.

He grumbles but then he’s there in a week and a half, tanned and insolent with a backwards SnapBack on his head, rolling a lollipop stick between his teeth and disturbing Sid’s whole universe.

He pulls Sid in for a one armed hug and a backslap, right there in the terminal. He smells like airplane and very nice cologne, and Sid wonders why the hell he allowed this to happen.

He’s exhausted but looks around avidly as they take the 102 down to Dartmouth.

“Flat,” he says thoughtfully. “Big sky. Like Russia.”

Sid feels disproportionately pleased about that.

It’s so strange, looking at home through Geno’s eyes, or trying to. He wants him to like it.

“Halifax is across the harbor from where we are now,” Sid explains. “We can take a look around tomorrow.”

“I’m look Google Earth,” Geno says. “Little bit. Pretty.”

“It is,” Sid agrees.

There’s a strange little smile playing around Geno’s lips as he takes in his surroundings. Sid isn’t quite sure what it means.

When they get to Sid’s place, Geno unfolds his long legs from the car and shoves his sunglasses up on his head. He just stands there for a minute, looking at the house, the sliver of lake visible through the trees.

Then he looks at Sid, like he’s fitting Sid into this place in his mind. That wry little smile is back.

“Looks like you,” he says, and Sid isn’t quite sure what he means.

***

Sid takes Geno out on the lake to fish. He takes him to the rink for training, where Geno imperiously nods once at Nate and then proceeds to ignore him for the rest of the drills. He stands in the lobby for a long time, looking at the display of Sid’s jerseys and photos. He takes a picture of one of Sid’s Timbits photos with his phone.

Sid takes him around Halifax, as promised, then to his parent’s house, where Geno is all charm and bashful politeness, helping Sid’s mom in the kitchen and talking hockey with Sid’s dad.

In every place, it’s a strange collision of worlds. Sid has to stop himself from just, staring all the time. Geno, here in his life. Lying on the floor of his parents’ living room to fuss over Sam. Rifling through Sid’s cabinets to judge his lack of acceptable tea. Strapping on his pads in the locker room of the rink where Sid learned to skate.

He fits easier than Sid had imagined, and that ache seems to sit in his chest all the time now.

***

Geno’s been there nearly a week when Sid has the dream again. Same thing, with Geno disappearing into the dark water.

Sid wakes up drenched in sweat, and swears before stumbling as quietly as he can to his kitchen for cold water from the Brita in the fridge.

“Sid?”

Sid yelps, sloshing water all over the counter. “Fuck!”

Geno’s lying on the couch in the living room, awash in the blue light of the muted television.

“What are you doing up? Did I wake you?”

“Still little bit jet lag. What’s happen? Dream, again?”

Sid takes his glass of water and stands pointedly by the couch until Geno pulls up his knees and frees a space for Sid to sit.

“Yeah.” Sid sighs. “So stupid.” He rubs at his eyes.

“I’m die?”

Sid stares ahead at the silent TV. It’s showing an ad for Canadian Tire. He’s not sure how he feels about talking about this, least of all talking about it with Geno. “Uh huh.”

Geno scoots partially upright, and regards Sid with a surprising amount of gravity.

“What you worry about, Sid?” he says, and it’s quiet, his voice low.

Sid can’t look at him. He takes a long swallow of water and sets his glass carefully on the coffee table, trying to decide how honest to be.

He’s too tired, on too many levels, to say anything other than the truth.

“That if we have another season like we did, you’ll decide you’re done.”

Geno whole face seems to go soft, his mouth dropping open a little.

“I know,” Sid says quickly. “I know, this is so stupid, but I just—”

Geno swings his feet to the floor, and suddenly he’s right there next to him, so close their thighs are almost touching.

“Sid,” Geno says, and waits to continue until Sid looks over at him.

“Until I’m hurt or you leave, I’m not leave Penguins.”

His voice is softer and more reassuring than Sid has ever heard it before. What is happening.

He can’t speak for a moment.

“I, uh. Fuck, G.”

Geno is just. Sitting there so close Sid can feel the heat of his body, looking at Sid with dark, serious eyes.

Sid wants to kiss him. Wants to push him back onto the couch and mark him up. Something must have shown in his face because Geno tilts his head, brows drawing together in puzzlement.

“Sid?”

Sid shakes his head. He has to get It together, in so many ways.

“No, yeah, sorry I just.” He sighs. “Thank you, G. I can’t tell you how much that means.”

Geno makes a hum of agreement, and stands, extending a hand to Sid. Sid shouldn’t take it but he does, let’s Geno haul him to his feet, and lets Geno…pull him in for a hug apparently. Oh no.

This time Geno smells like the body wash Sid keeps in the guest bedroom, and his worn t shirt is soft against Sid’s cheek.

It’s a curiously long embrace, and when Geno’s arms tighten Sid allows himself the indulgence of relaxing, letting himself melt into it.

Geno raises one hand and lays it heavily on the nape of Sid’s neck. He eases back so he can look into Sid’s face.

Sid can’t tell what he’s thinking. And he himself can’t think at all, not with Geno’s hand pressing onto his neck and his everything so, so close.

He realizes, slowly, that Geno’s hands are shaking.

“G?”

“Sid,” Geno says, husky and so low.

Sid feels outside of his body, incredulous that this is really, actually happening as Geno, very slowly, leans in, pausing just a hairsbreadth from Sid’s lips.

“Sid?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, and tilts his head up to cross that final bit of separation.

Geno’s kiss is soft lips and hot mouth, gasped breaths and possessive sweeps of those huge hands.

Sid shudders in his arms as Geno moves to his neck, trailing kisses across his jaw and down to the skin bared by the vee of his sleep shirt.

Sid tugs them backwards, folding when the couch hits the back of his legs and pulling Geno down over him.

He’s greedy, he’s starving. He can’t touch enough skin, he can’t get Geno close enough. He sets his teeth where Geno’s neck meets his shoulder and nearly keens when Geno moans and responds with a slow, devastating roll of his hips.

“Geno, is this— are you—“

Geno pushes himself upright enough to look Sid in the eyes.

“Won’t leave, Sid. Can’t.”

“I’ve wanted this,” Sid confesses. “I’ve wanted this for a really long time.”

“Good,” Geno says, and rolls his hips again.

“I can’t just do a, a one time fuck or—“

“No,” Geno says sharply. “No.” He leans on one elbow so that he can lay a hand on Sid’s cheek. “We’re like this, you know? Mine.”

Sid feels too bright and expansive for his skin. He fists a hand in Geno’s t-shirt and tugs him closer.

“Mine,” he echoes, and Geno groans, responding to another tug and taking Sid’s mouth in a deep, demanding kiss.

Hands and mouths and the greedy rocking of their bodies bring them to completion within moments of each other.

Sid lies there after, stroking his hand over Geno’s head where he’s laid it on Sid’s chest. He’s sprawled over Sid like a gigantic, clingy octopus, and Sid is feeling the kind of incredulous elation he normally associates with Cups and Olympic gold.

“Thanks for coming, G,” he says, and although he meant “coming to Canada,”

Geno snorts.

“You know what I mean, dickhead,” Sid says, laughing.

“I mean it,” he says a few minutes later. “I’m just, yeah.”

Geno smiles at him like that made perfect sense, and doesn’t protest when Sid prods him upright and tugs him along into Sid’s bedroom.

***

Jet lag or not, Geno falls asleep with Sid spooned up behind him, and is still asleep when Sid wakes up to the mid-morning sun streaming in the windows. Heart impossibly full, the old ache released and gone, Sid presses a kiss to the sun-gilded skin of Geno’s shoulder.

He had dreamt of the lake again, but this time, as happened for him only rarely, he’d lucid-dreamed.

“No,” he’d told Dream-Geno, and turned his back on the lake. Which suddenly was a completely frozen Monongahela River.

He points up the bank, towards the arena. “We’ve got a game to get to.”

Dream-Geno put his hand in Sid’s, and leaned down to kiss his hair.

“Let’s go,” he tells Sid, and they walk up the bank together.

#sidgeno #sidney crosby/evgeni malkin #hockey rpf #sid/geno #pic challenge #dana writes a thing

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sidcrosbybro · 5 years

Text

Pittsburgh Penguins 2018/19: Explained

Since we're about to kick off with the playoffs, I figured I'd do an updated silly explanation of the Penguins. So here goes...

Players

Kris "Tanger" Letang - a fashion icon who loves to tweet about how much he loves his team. Incredible two way defenseman. Loves to yell at the refs. It's not Tanger if he's not arguing.

Evgeni "Geno" Malkin - fashion disaster. NHL101. One of the best, if not the best, players in the league but constantly overlooked. Shouldn't be able to skate as gracefully as he does on such long legs. Has the softest hands. Would kill a man for Sidney Crosby.

Sidney "Sid the kid" Crosby - Captain Dad. Takes on rookies like it's his job and ninety percent of the comments from players about him is that he's great at making newbies feel welcome. Has adopted so many sons. Really likes candy. Is already a legend and isn't slowing down. Will probably take over the world at some point. Loves his teammates, especially the rest of the core. Has specially commissioned paintings of him and the boys hanging in his house. President of the Evgeni Malkin fan club.

Jake "Guentz" Guentzel - young but mighty. Really put all his heart into playing and came out from under Sid's wing like a champ. Won't stop scoring. Likes golf. Wrote a book report on Sid once.

Justin "Jultz" Schultz - Also known as Jeff. Amazing defenseman, literally don't know what we'd do without him. Missed a bunch of this season with a broken leg but thank God he came back. Has a fake tooth he just carries around with him for interviews. Best friends with Olli Maatta.

Olli Maatta - for a long time we all thought he was super quiet and shy and then at the 2016/17 cup parade we turned out to be very very wrong. Boy went buckwild and passed out on his own balcony. Soft and fluffy. We love him. Best friends with Justin Schultz.

Brian "Dumo" Dumoulin - looks like your typical frat boy but actually doubles as one of the best/most underrated defensemen in the league and the Ultimate Wine Connoisseur. Loves his wife and his dog more than anything. Team DJ but doesn't know what indie music is.

Matt "Cully" Cullen - (A.K.A Dad) Was with us for a few years, left us for a season and was meant to retire in Minnesota but then came back for 18/19 because he Missed Us Too Much. Not convinced he'll ever stop playing tbh. Has the funniest kids and loves his family.

Phil 'The Thrill' Kessel - ...Is a Stanley Cup Champion. Shy boy who doesn't like cameras. Plays like a God. Really loves his dog, Stella. Super Supportive Brother of Amanda Kessel. We are so blessed to have this man on our team.

Patric "Horny" Hornqvist - resident Swedish Viking. Was part of the iconic duo of Horny and Hags but this season stole that from us. Very shouty and very happy. A net-pest who upsets most goalies in the league. Allergic to wearing clothes.

Bryan "Rusty" Rust - soft boy. Great at breakaways and his job in general. Went through a period of time where empty nets just really weren't working for him to the point it became a team meme. Works really hard and deserves nice things.

Matt "Muzz" Murray - elite!!! Crazy good at his job and is going to be a complete legend one day. Has two giant Newfoundlands who are adorable. Was a mentee to Flower and It Shows. Works with charity a lot and is so humble. We love this boy.

Tristan Jarry - eyebrows!!! Also very good at his job. Sully once had to tell him to be LESS calm because he's so chill. He doesn't even break a sweat making insane saves. Fantastic dude.

Zach Aston-Reese - "ZAR" - looks like he should be in the wilderness chopping wood. Looks AMAZING when he gets into fights. Soft and lovely, works really hard for this team and deserves his place here. Poor boy won't stop getting injured though. Half of the iconic nose & eyebrows squad.

Garrett "Willy" Wilson - other half of the nose and eyebrows squad. Has freckles for days. Captain of WBS and it shows. BIG, looks like he could Kill, but is actually very soft spoken and has a little bit of a lisp. Loves kids and loves Pittsburgh. Deserves only the best.

Dominik "Domino" Simon - people can personally fight me about Dom, I love him. Had a bit of an up and down season but he'll be okay!!! Underrated two way player and trusted by Sully. Looks like a chick that just hatched for Easter.

Chad "Roo" Ruhwedel - used to play roller hockey a lot! We don't see him much but he's a good guy. Works hard and gets along with Sid a lot.

Jack Johnson, A.K.A. "JJ" - was Sid's roommate in school. Has a lot of stories about him he either can't or won't share about him. Had a questionable start but has been really really helpful to the whole team as of late. So big.

Theodore "Teddy" Blueger - somebody please let this boy get some rest. Looks like he has a cold 90% of the time but definitely doesn't play like it. He's going to have an amazing career. Jesus Christ.

Marcus "The Dragon" Pettersson - acquired him from the Ducks this season and it was definitely worth it. He's tall, young and has a play similar to Dumo's. Who knows, maybe in a few years he'll be just as unstoppable as him?

Jared "Canner" McCann - along with Bjuggy, Canner experienced maybe the most stressful move from his old team to the Penguins. Left Florida and showed up for their first game two minutes before the anthem started. Looks a bit like Guentz when he has his helmet on. Insanely good addition to this team, could not be more grateful for him.

Nick "Bjuggy" Bjugstad - like Canner, has been an incredible acquisition. You will hear his name pop up about 100 times a game because he never stops working for it. Just wow.

Erik Gudbranson - Large Man. He can really steamroll them. He's too new for me to know That Much about him but boy can he send opposing players flying.

Zach Trotman - called up from WBS recently. Looks a bit lost sometimes like he's not 100% sure where he is or what he's doing but he's a good guy.

Head & Assistant Coaches

Mike "Sully" Sullivan - Head Coach. Angry Bird. Loves his team, expresses his pride in the guys constantly, but is not afraid to yell. Has a good relationship with his players and makes good decisions most of the time. Unless it's an empty net. He really likes them. The fans wish he didn't.

Mark "Rex" Recchi - Assistant Coach. A kind guy who works hard and backs Sully most of the time. Looks after his players. Top notch dude.

Sergei "Gonch" Gonchar - Assistant Coach. Basically a second father to Geno, housed him when he first came to Pittsburgh. Played with him and Sid for a little while. Is permanently done with the whole team. Absolutely beloved.

Jacques Martin - Assistant Coach. Responsible for 'Jacques Squad' which was an incredible penalty team group the last few seasons.

#pittsburgh penguins

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burning-up-ao3 · 4 years

Photo

Edge of 17 ch 7/12 Let’s Be Lonely Together

AO3 members, read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22297483/chapters/54723820

**if you need an AO3 request, let me know. I’m sure I have some

Sid woke to the scent of acrid hangover—the lingering scent of vomit mixed with sweat and cheap beer on him exacerbated by how incredibly warm he was.

But it was December in Pittsburgh, and their house was never warm.

Geno.

Geno was molded to Sidney, his knees curved where Sid’s curved, his chest snug against Sid’s back. Oh my God, how long had they slept like that, with Geno’s face pressed against Sid’s neck, his hand warm on Sidney’s hip.

It was awful and wonderful.

And it had to stop.

Sidney took one more minute to enjoy the fantasy that they were together, that this meant something between them, and tried to ignore the heaviness in his stomach. With a deep breath he edged away from Geno and rolled out of bed to use the bathroom.

When Sid walked back into the room, Geno had one eye cracked open. “Am dead.”

“Nope,” Sid laughed. “You are absolutely alive. Be glad we don’t have skate this morning. Coach would take one look at you and bag skate you.”

“Why you yell when I’m dead.” In something like slow motion, Geno dragged Sid’s pillow over his face to hide.

“Not yelling,” Sid said, slightly louder and could feel Geno’s entire body wince. He pulled the pillow off Geno’s face and added, “C’mon. Breakfast then laundry and homework.”

Geno pretended he was asleep.

“I’m giving you til three, then I’m pulling you out of bed. One, two—” Sid reached for Geno’s ankle, but Geno, groaning loudly and not really stable, sat almost upright.

“Don’t tell Mama,” Geno whispered. “She be disappoint.” He stared at his clasped hands in his lap and when he looked up, his eyes were wet with tears.

“My mom?” Sid asked. “I won’t. I promise.”

It was an easy promise to keep. First, his mom would take one whiff and know Geno was hungover. But second, in the way his heart hurt watching Geno so upset, Sid knew he’d do anything to keep him from being sad ever again.

Sid reached out his hand for Geno. “Shower, clean clothes, then breakfast. You smell like hell.”

Geno wobbled a smile and shuffled slowly to the bathroom, grumbling in Russian. Sid dug in his drawer for that pair of black Penguins sweatpants that dragged on the floor when he wore them, thinking they might be okay on Geno. He added an old Sewickley Country Day School t-shirt and debated giving Geno a pair of his underwear, which seemed nasty, but in the end, not as nasty as G freeballing in his sweats.

Sid knocked and didn’t wait for an answer before edging open the bathroom door. “Here’s some clean clothes.”

Geno stuck his head out from the shower curtain, his wet hair dripping into his face. He looked tired and his eyes were bloodshot, but he looked better—and almost awake. His smile was small but genuine, and Sid smiled back.

~*~

Sid’s mom took one look at Geno, clean showered and in fresh clothes but still smelling like last night’s party. She bit her lips and went back to reading the newspaper.

~*~

After breakfast, Geno tried to crawl back into bed, but Sid stopped him before he could. “Laundry. You have to strip the bed, wash the sheets and your clothes, then remake the bed.”

Sid waited, his arms crossed over his chest.

Geno stared at Sid.

“Geno. Strip the bed.” Sid pointed, but Geno just stared. “You know? Take the blankets off, the sheets off—”

Geno didn’t move, and Sid felt his anger rising. “Come on, G. Everyone has stripped a bed before. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m saying.”

Geno barked something back in Russian, lifted the corner of the blanket and dropped it back down.

Sid threw his hands up in frustration and pushed a pillow into Geno’s hands. “Take the pillow out of the pillowcase.” Geno wrestled with it for a moment before extracting the big pillow from the smaller case.

“Next, the blankets. Then the sheets. Have you really never stripped a bed?”

Geno shrugged. “Mama.”

Sid huffed a Ha! “No way my mom is gonna do this for me. She hasn’t since I was tall enough to work the washing machine.”

They finished pulling the dirty sheets from the mattress, and Sid shoved them and last night’s clothes into Geno’s arms. “Next stop, the washer.”

Turns out, Geno had no idea how to do laundry. That’s not gonna last long, Sid thought. He bullied through Geno’s hangover and unwillingness to learn until Geno had started the washer.

“If you’re going to live here, you gotta know these things,” Sid said shaking Geno’s shoulder, “I mean, if you want to. I know we don’t speak Russian or make Russian food, and living with Coach Gonch probably makes you feel more at home—”

“I’m learn,” was all Geno said, but his smile was brilliant and bright for the first time that day, and Sid’s stomach flip flopped. He ignored it (not really) as he showed Geno where they kept the clean sheets and how to make the bed.

“Did you really never do this at home?”

“Mama,” Geno said with a crafty smile, and Sid just shook his head.

“Maybe I’ll take a picture of you making the bed and send it to her.” Sid angled the phone toward Geno, elbows deep in fitted sheet. Seconds after the flash exploded, Geno tackled Sid to the bare mattress and wrestled him for control of the phone.

Sid was pinned under Geno, who was a bit larger and a bit heavier and definitely had longer arms. “I’m look at all your pictures. Maybe you take more of me that I’m get rid of.”

Sid’s face was deep red, from not being able to breathe and not from the idea of taking other pictures of Geno. “Ha! It’s locked.”

Geno sat back on his heels, one knee on either side of Sid’s hips, and Jesus fuck, but he looked so good over Sid, and the pressure on him in exactly the right spot, and it took all of Sid’s fight not to roll his hips, because that would have been a humiliating disaster.

“Hmm,” Geno over exaggerated pretending to think. “Wonder what you code is.” Sid struggled to grab his phone back, but Geno held it out to the side. He poked in four numbers. “Ha! 8-7-8-7. I’m only know you few days, but already know you love you jersey number.”

Geno angled his torso away as Sid reached for the phone; Sid stilled when Geno’s crotch pressed against Sid’s hard dick. This was bad, bad, so bad.

Geno laughed evilly at Sid’s phone. “Not me.” Swipe. “Not me.” Swipe. “Not me.”

“Why not me? Little bit sad.” Geno pouted as Sid grabbed the phone from him. Swipe. When Geno turned back, Sid could see the rigid outline of Geno’s dick in the sweatpants.

It’s a biological response. That’s it. It doesn’t mean anything.

The thing of it was, Sid was hard, aching and wanting, because it was Geno. Not because of pure biology. He hadn’t felt this way about another person in a long time.

Maybe, just maybe, it was the same for Geno.

“Asshole. You just got here. When was I gonna take your picture?” Quick as he could, Sid opened the camera app and clicked a picture of Geno. It was bad, with Geno’s eyes half closed and his mouth in a derpy smile.

“Now who asshole?” Geno stole the phone again and squawked. “How you take bad picture of this pretty face?” He dropped onto the bed next to Sid and put their heads together. “Smile!” Geno ordered and snapped a selfie of them. “Good.”

Geno texted the picture to himself and finally returned the phone to Sid. “Is my phone number. Should keep.”

“We live together, asshole,” Sid grinned. Being with Geno made him stupidly happy, laughing about nothing and feeling like his insides had turned to fizzy bubbles.

“But what if you take selfie at school, and it suck, and you say, oh no, I’m need Zhenya to take picture because Zhenya best?” He used a ridiculous, high pitched voice for Sid. “You need it.”

“Fuck you,” Sid said shoving Geno away, who pushed him back. “Hey, what did you call yourself.”

“Zhenya. Is little name for family to use. Family, best friends. You say.” Geno made him repeat it, squeezed Sid’s cheeks until he could finally pronounce the Jsh sound at the start of the word. “Good. You can use. Do you have small name?”

Sid thought about it before shaking his head. “No. My mom calls me Sid or Sidney. Taylor calls me Squid, but not the same thing.”

Geno cackled, and Sid punched his arm. “Don’t even think about it or else.”

Eventually the bed got made, in between wrestling matches. Sid finally left Geno to it and escaped to the bathroom. It would be faster to jack off than try to get his dick to go down. He pulled his pants and underwear down to mid-thigh and leaned his forehead against the wall. He spit into his palm and wrapped his hand around his aching dick. It took one thought about Geno straddling him, grinding against him, one thought about the permission to call him Zhenya, and it was over.

He waited for his breathing to even out to wash his hands and splash cold water on his face.

What idiot asked Geno to live with them? Oh yeah. Him.

~*~

Homework was next. After his paper, Sid had left the rest of his homework til Sunday. He assumed Geno had homework, too, judging by the aggressive way he ignored his backpack.

“Is just reading. Can do later.”

“If it’s just reading, we’ll do it now.” Sid sat on the bed, his back against the wall with the pillows propped behind him. Geno settled in next to him. It was homework for English as a Second Language class.

Sid opened his own literature textbook but watched Geno out of the corner of his eye. He was tracing the lines of the story with his finger; he went over the same paragraph three times.

“English is my favorite class,” Sid began slowly, hoping he wouldn’t insult Geno. “Can I help you? I mean, I’d still be sitting in math if it wasn’t for you.”

Geno bit his bottom lip then nodded slowly. “I know what words mean, but they not—in here—” he stabbed the book with his finger, and Sid could feel the tension in Geno, in the set of his jaw and the tight muscles in his arm.

“They don’t make sense when you put them together?” Sid offered.

“Yes! English is stupid.”

Sid was afraid what Geno was really saying was that he was stupid because he couldn’t understand. “It’s really stupid. There are so many rules, and then the rules don’t apply.”

Sid eased the book over so it laid on both their laps. Geno read aloud, and Sid explained anything he didn’t understand. By the time they finished, Geno was beaming.

“You best. Best teacher. Best friend ever.” Geno curved his arm around Sid’s neck and pulled him in closer for a headlock hug.

He smelled like tacos from lunch and Sid’s strawberry shampoo and not much like hangover any more.

“I’m sure you had tons of friends at home,” Sid said, trying not to be creepy and breathing in Geno, trying not to memorize the scent of him.

“How is the word—friend but not friend? I’m know them but not feel close.”

“Acquaintance?”

“Yes. I’m not have friend to tell secrets or help with work.” Geno closed the English book with a slam. “I’m miss Mama and Papa, but I’m like it here. Is more—free.” He let Sid out of the headlock, and Sid missed the warmth of Geno’s chest against his cheek.

“I get that,” Sid said as he sat up, proud that Geno felt that way about him. He wasn’t sure whether to say this, but he decided to trust Geno. “I don’t have a lot of friends. Just Flower and Tanger. Most people think I’m weird, like, too obsessed with hockey and school.”

“They weird for not like you.”

“Well, people are weird for not liking you!” Sid shoved his books into his backpack so he didn’t do something incredibly wrong like try to touch Geno’s face.

“Maybe we’re the weird ones,” Sid said as he got up to put his bag away.

Geno held Sid’s wrist, and Sid swore he could feel Geno’s pulse, but maybe it was just his, racing at the touch. “Then we be weird. Together.”

#men's hockey RPF #My writing #pittsburgh penguins #sidney crosby #Evgeni Malkin #high school au

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fanforthefics · 5 years

Note

Sid/Geno #22 💋

a kiss … in a rush of adrenaline

Geno thinks about it for the first time after their first Cup win.

It’s the wrong place to think about it, maybe–they’re all high on everything, haven’t been sober in days, and Geno’s happier than maybe he’s ever been. This is what he came here to do, why he hid in that Finland bathroom, why he ran to a country without knowing the language or anything more than hockey–this. To hold the Cup.

And then he looks at Sid, incandescent with his happiness as Flower tilts beer from the Cup into his mouth, boyish and handsome and Sid licks some beer from his mouth, tongue pink, and–something shifts in Geno, something irrevocable. A knowledge that can’t be changed or moved, as he looks at Sid.

Oh, Geno thinks then, for the first but not the last time. What will it be like, to have Sid next to him, but only in some of the ways Geno wants?

It doesn’t matter then. It’s just a thing Geno thinks about, usually when Sid’s either being particularly annoying or particularly cute. When either he chafes, passed over again and again for Sid’s brighter flame, or when Sid does something that makes him ache for wanting, drawn in always to that flame.

It’s easier, in some guilty parts of Geno, during the concussion. When it’s–not Geno’s team, because the Penguins are Sid’s team to their bones, and Geno will fight tooth and nail to make sure that stays true, but Geno’s the one holding them in trust. Geno’s the one leading them for now, the one the camera’s on. The one people are talking about. It’s–Geno hadn’t thought he wanted that, not really. But it makes him think.

And–and Sid’s not there all the time, on the ice and in the locker room and on the bus, yakking on and smiling so fondly and dragging Geno into watching game tape and listening to every single call up who sets foot in the lockerr room, to every fan, and just being so Sidney that Geno’s fists sometimes clench to keep from just–being reckless. Geno still goes to see SId, of course, but it’s not all the time. Not the constant reminder of what he can’t have.

And then–then Geno gets back from Russia, where he learned what it meant to be Captain, to have a team that was his, and Sid’s there, in the locker room Geno’s first day back, and he yanks Geno into a hug, and Geno can feel his smile on his neck. Geno leans into Sid’s embrace, holding him tight so he can have this much, and he thinks it again, for real.

So that summer, when his agent comes to him, asking about the contract extension–Geno thinks about what it felt like, to have his own team. Thinks about standing on his own. Thinks about eight years in a locker room with a man he’s in love with and can’t have. Thinks about what might happen, if that love turns to resentment.

And he says no.

Sid doesn’t talk to him for two months, once the Pens trade him.

Geno’s not surprised, exactly. Geno hadn’t told him for exactly this reason–because he’d wanted as long as he could have with Sid unsullied, Sid’s offseason texts about everything from the fish he’d caught to pictures of his dog to thoughts about the penalty kill. Sid’s ridiculously awkward selfies, and the way he sucked at emoji responses to Geno’s pictures. But Geno does not have any illusions about Sidney Crosby. He knew what to expect.

Still, Geno had expected a few weeks, maybe. Everyone knows Sid sulks. Geno’s been sulked at, more than once. Oh, Sid says all the right things to the media– “For sure, I’m sad to see Geno go, but he’s going to make a huge splash in Dallas. I can’t wait to see what he does–as long as it’s not beat us,” and shit like that. But the chatty texts cut off on a dime a few days before Geno heard about the trade, and Geno knows what that meant.

He gives Sid a few weeks, but then he starts to get annoyed. What, did Sid expect him to stay in his shadow for the rest of his career? To always be in second place? Sid wasn’t usually selfish, but that was.

But he texts Sid a few times, angrily, and gets nothing back; and then he goes to Dallas.

It’s–he’s been to Dallas before, he’s played there, but it’s still different. There’s so much more space here, and it’s warm, and there’s none of the steel that seems to run through Pittsburgh’s bones. Instead there’s oil and cows and it all feels newer, somehow.

The guys are good, though–training camp is what it is, as usual, and if none of them are the Pens–none of them are Sid–it’s still good. They’re a good group, and clearly ready to make something of themselves. And Gonch is there, which, as always, makes it easier. Still, it’s…weird. Different locker room, different traditions. The way some of the guys look at him, like he knows the answers–he’s used to being a vet on the team now, to wearing a letter, but it’s different, here. Where’s he’s expected to change things.

“You’ll get us there,” Benn–Jamie, not Jordie tells him, a little drunk and big-eyed. Geno had been worried about him; rumor was he was going to be captain before Geno came, but he’s been nothing but solid. A good kid, Geno thinks, though he isn’t that much older, solid and dependable and the sort to care more about his team than scoring–the kind of person, Geno thinks despite himself, who Sid would like.

He stops thinking that. He’s been trying not to think about Sid as much. It hasn’t worked–he still looks to him on the power play, still looks at his phone and wonders how the Pens camp is doing, who’s wearing the A in his stead, if Sid is spending long evenings with whoever that is–but he’s trying. He came to Dallas for a fresh start. He’s going to get it.

“Right, Geno?” Jamie asks, and Geno blinks.

“Hm?”

“The playoffs,” Jamie tells him, eyes big and bright and yearning. “Right? This year’s our year.”

“Yes, our year,” Geno agrees, though he’s maybe not sure, and toasts Jamie.

They play the Pens early in the season. Geno doesn’t have time to nod to some of the guys before they get on the ice, but then–then he’s across a faceoff dot from Sid, and in some ways it’s like practice almost every day for years, the two of them. And in some ways–Sid would always be smiling then. Now he’s set, his game face on, the one that means nothing’s going to throw him out.

“Guess we finally see who better,” Geno throws at him, right before the puck drops–just to break him. To see him feel something, god.

It’s a miscalculation. Geno knows it the moment he sees Sid set his jaw at that, the way it lights a fire in his eyes. Sid wins the faceoff, and then he’s down the ice.

Dallas loses. No one’s surprised, really–the Stars are still rebuilding, and the bones are there, but they aren’t quite there yet. Sid’s on fire the way he always is after someone challenged him, but Geno gets a goal and an assist too, sneaking it around Flower in a way that gets him sworn at in French. In the end it’s not that weird–Geno’s played long enough that he’s played against people he considers friends. A whole team of them is a little different, but. It is what it is.

They get off the ice clearly bummed but not distraught, and head to the locker room, where Geno has infinite media about what it feels like to play against his old team, against Sid. “Is always fun to play Sid,” Geno tells them. “He win this time, but maybe not next.” He doesn’t think it’s fitting, here and now, to say what he’s always said–that Sid’s the best player in the world, and there’s nothing Geno’s loved more than keeping up.

“Yeah, sure,” Demers puts in, when the media’s done. “You say it’s fun. Tell me that when you can check him.”

“What that mean?” Geno asks, raising an eyebrow.

Demers looks at Jamie, who shrugs. “Um, you just. Don’t check him very hard,” he says. Geno’s been getting shit about this for years, he knows how the handle it–it’s not like, maybe, in his heart of hearts, it might not be true.

Anyway, “Think I have enough checking,” he says, because he was definitely not imagining how hard Tanger was gunning for him. He’s more than a little pissed about that, actually; they’re supposed to be friends.

He gets changed quickly, then goes to the visitor’s locker room, to say hi to the people who are still his friends.

What he’s not expecting, when he opens the door, is to be met with a glaring Sidney surrounded by a cadre of French Canadians–one smiling (Flower), one glaring (Tanger) and one looking vaguely exasperated (Duper). “Yes, hi Geno, good game,” Flower says in a rush. “Now, take him. Fix him.” He shoves Sid out of the door.

Sid must not have been expecting it, because he stumbles, and Flower’s slammed the door shut before he can catch it.

“Asshole!” Sid mutters. Geno raises his eyebrows.

“Is so bad, talk to me?” he asks.

Sid lifts his head, and–god, it’s still…He’s still so Sid, even with his media face on, all eyes and lips and cheekbones and a ridiculous sort of beard. “You want to talk?” he asks, coolly.

They aren’t going to do this here. “Come,” Geno says, and ushers them to a nearby office. Sid goes like a cat might–making it clear he’s only going because it’s his idea. Then Geno closes the door and leans against it.

Sid stands in the middle of the room, his media face still on. Geno thinks he’s going to have to talk first–Geno tends to be more impatient than Sid, and he has plenty to say–but then Sid tilts his chin up just a little.

“If you weren’t happy with the way the team was going, you could have talked to me,” he starts, stiff, formal. “Or to Kuni. I know we haven’t won in a few years, but–”

“Not about winning,” Geno snaps at him. Does Sid think so little of him? And if he really cared this much about winning, would he really have gone to Dallas?

Sid swallows. “Well. If you were having problems with anyone on the team–”

“Sid, you know I’m not.”

“Then if you were dissatisfied with my leadership, we could have discussed–”

“Of course not!” Geno interrupts. God, he wants to just–shake Sid. For being so Sid.

“Or with your minutes, we could have–”

“Not about how long I play–”

“Then what the fuck?” Sid snaps back, his cheeks flushed, and Geno can breathe again. This is Sid, his Sid–not the media version, the Sid who was easygoing until he wasn’t and who would fight with Geno for hours about stupid shit and who, Geno was beginning to realize, he would never not love. “If it wasn’t any of that, why did you want to leave?”

“You really think I’m want to play behind you forever?” Geno demands, incredulous. Does Sid not get it? “Always be–Sidney Crosby, and also Evgeni Malkin. All fame on you.”

“That’s all–media bullshit!” Sid retorts. “You’re the best player out there and you know it, why does it matter what they say?”

“Easy for you to say!” Geno yells, and pushes away the part of him that always thrills to have Sid praise him like that, like it’s obvious. “Maybe I’m want someone, sometime, to say, oh yes, Geno Malkin, he great too!”

“You never cared before!” Sid’s hands are clenched into fists. “You–you always said you didn’t care about that, you just wanted to play, for us to play together.” He takes a breath, and Geno can see it, beneath the anger–the hurt. The confusion. Fuck, he hates that. Wants, instinctively, to do whatever he has to to fix it. “Was that a lie?” Sid asks, half accusing, half–something else. “Were you always going to leave m–us?”

“Not a lie! I’m think I stay, but my contract up, and–” What’s Geno supposed to say? But I realized I couldn’t stay forever and be in love with you and watch you never know? “And I’m think things over, and decide,” he finishes.

“You could have talked to me about it,” Sid informs him snippily, but he’s winding down. Sid can keep a grudge forever, but he doesn’t seem to want to keep this one. “I–Mario told me, and I told him he was lying, because you’d have told me if you were thinking about going somewhere else.”

Geno winces. “I’m…I can’t say, not to you.”

“Why not?” Sid asks, honestly confused, and Geno–it’s another thing Geno can’t say, that Sid would have talked him into staying, because Sid could probably talk him into anything short of throwing a game if he smiled at him, if he asked. “I thought–I mean, weren’t we–aren’t we–friends?”

“Yes, of course,” Geno says, too fast. They’re friends before anything. “Yes, but. Have to make choice on my own.”

“But why?” Sid demands again, because he’s like a dog with a bone, and then there’s a knock on the door and it pulls open to reveal Tanger and Kuni there, looking, if Geno knows them right, like Tanger was going to burst in and Kuni was holding him back a little.

“Bus is leaving, Sid,” Kuni says. Tanger’s mostly growling at Geno. “You ready?”

“Yeah, for sure. I’ll just–” Sid waves a hand, like that means anything. “It was–good seeing you, Geno.” He pauses, then something like a smile cracks over his face, bright and like a knife into Geno’s heart. “Better beating you.”

“Not next time!” Geno throws back, as Sid leaves. Kuni nods to Geno and heads out, but Geno grabs Tanger’s arm before he can go.

“What wrong with you?” He demands. “You mad I’m trade too?”

Tanger throws off Geno’s arm with the sort of look in his eyes he gets before a fight on the ice. “I get not wanting to be in Sid’s shadow,” he shoots back, his accent thick enough that it takes all of Geno’s concentration to understand the English. “But you didn’t have to be cruel about it. Not to Sid.”

“What? I’m not–”

Tanger shoves him out of his way–hard enough that Geno might have pushed back, if he’d been expecting it. “He’d just gotten back, and now he’s been fucking miserable and it’s your fault,” he snaps, and then he’s stalking out of the room before Geno can follow him, if Geno even had an idea of what to say.

They don’t talk again for two weeks, and even then, it’s because Geno’s been complaining to Gonch about the lingering weirdness in the room–he knows what it feels like when a team is 100% behind their captain, and it’s not Dallas, not right now. He just can’t get it there–there’s no real problem in the room, it’s not that, it’s just not what he knows it can be. What it should be.

“I’ve worn a letter for years,” he tells Gonch on a groan. “I should know how to do this.”

Gonch just raises his eyebrows at him. “You wore an A,” he says. “It’s different.”

“Are you saying I don’t know how to lead?” Geno demands. He knows how to fucking lead, that’s not the problem.

“I’m saying,” Gonch says, in the tone that means his patience is wearing thin, “That you’ve always had Sid’s authority as a crutch, and you’ve never had to do it on your own. And that I’m not the person I should be asking about this.”

Geno glares, but–he has a point. And, guiltily, maybe Geno’s been waiting for this–for a good reason to talk to Sid. To hear his voice again.

So he calls, that night, when he knows Sid will be eating dinner. “Hello?” Sid answers, sounding wary.

“Hi, Sid.” he says. “Good time?”

“Yeah.” He hears movement, like Sid’s getting up. “How are things?”

Geno is not equipped to do small talk in English over the phone. “Sid,” He whines, and Sid snorts. Geno grins to himself, smug.

“You called me,” Sid points out. More noise–is he sitting down? Geno can picture him, sitting in his living room, probably in his old sweats and one of his t-shirts that are far too small on him now in ways that made it hard for Geno to look at him, sometimes. “What’s up?”

Sid’s being aggressively normal, so Geno is too. “I’m…want advice,” he admits. He can almost hear Sid’s smugness down the line. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, you think, very loud.”

“What do you need advice on?” Sid asks, instead of replying to that. “If it’s your defense, I can’t–”

Geno doesn’t like asking for help, but it’s Sid. If there’s anyone other than his mom he can ask…He takes a breath. “I’m–how you make sure you win room?” he asks. “I’m…it’s not there. Don’t know how to get it, to where we–where Pens are. With you.”

“You’ll get there. it’s only been a few months.”

Geno rolls his eyes at the floor. “Is not the same. You know–everyone on Pens ready to kill for you, if you say.”

“That’s not–”

“We all ready,” Geno interrupts him. He doesn’t want to deal with Sid’s humility, not right now. “How you get there?”

Sid sucks in a breath, then pauses for long enough that Geno prompts him, “Sid?”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m thinking.” There’s a weird note to his voice. “Some of it really is time. It wasn’t like this, in the beginning.”

“Sid.”

Sid chuckles, probably at Geno’s tone. “Yeah, fine. So I think what works best is to make sure you make it personal with everyone–they need to know you, trust you even if they don’t like you–”

Once he gets started, of course, Geno’s stuck there forever, because Sid on a role can’t be stopped. but it’s–maybe this was a bad idea, because Geno had known Sid was a good leader but he hadn’t really conceived of how much thought Sid put into it, and it’s just a lot, and it’s not helping Geno’s plan of moving on.

It also–and this part is a little annoying, in a general ‘Sid shouldn’t be good at everything’ sort of way–works. Geno can sense it, can see the room coming together. Can see the thing they could build.

And it breaks the seal, too. Sid starts texting him again, little things that Geno encourages by sending pictures back. It’s not helping him move on, but it’s not like he could ever not want to have Sid in his life, not really. And he thinks he could survive like this, with his team and Sid on his phone, far enough away that the yearning isn’t omnipresent.

Then–there’s Sochi.

The less said about Sochi, the better.

Jamie comes back covered in glory, grinning and showing his medal around. Geno comes back glowering, and unable to put a fucking puck in the net.

Geno’s storming around his house one day after practice, unable to sit still and unable to work out either. What’s the point? He’s just–he couldn’t win for Russia, couldn’t do his job, how is he supposed to here?

The doorbell rings. He strongly considers just letting it ring–who could be here? Who could want to see him? –but then it rings again, and he goes to the door, to yell at whoever’s there if nothing else.

He’s not expecting Sid. But Sid is what he gets, standing on his doorstep in a baseball cap, looking like he’d just wandered over for a beer like he’d do in Pittsburgh. “Sid?” Geno asks, his throat dry.

“Hey, can I come in?”

Geno steps aside. Sid comes in, looking around the house curiously as Geno leads the way to the living room.

“You still have those? I thought you’d ditch them,” he says, nodding to his statues.

“Why I get rid?” Geno asks, sitting down on the couch. “Are best statues.”

“They’re awful.”

“You awful,” Geno retorts, then. “Sid, what are you doing here?”

Sid just looks at him, long and hard. He’s taken a seat on the couch next to Geno, and he’s so–solid and handsome and Geno remembers seeing him with the gold medal in his hand, alight like he was the sun. “We’re playing tomorrow,” he says, slowly. Like Geno should have remembered. Which maybe he should have, but what would it matter. He wasn’t going to be of use anyway. “Jamie asked me to come by.” Geno snorts. “He’s worried,” Sid adds.

“Why? He finally get team, like he want first.”

“Geno,” Sid tells him, scolding. Geno scowls. maybe it’s unfair, but he thinks he gets to be. “He’s worried. So is Gonch. So am I.”

“Why? I play like shit, you win.”

“I don’t want to win if you’re like this,” Sid retorts. “I want to beat you at your best.” Geno almost smiles, despite himself.

But then– “I fuck up, Sid,” he mutters, looking down at his hands. “In Sochi. It—”

“Yeah, you didn’t win,” Sid agrees, matter of fact. “You didn’t win a lot of times. What’s different about this time?”

“I don’t know!” Geno’s getting louder, he can’t help it. Does Sid think he’s doing this on purpose? “I just–it not working. We losing again, and I’m not help, and–”

“You wanted a team,” Sid interrupts. He’s leaning over, elbows braced on his knees; he’s looking at Geno like what he’s saying is obvious, like Geno should know it. Should be able to do it. Can do it. “This is what it means to be captain. It doesn’t matter how you’re feeling. You’re a leader.” His chin lifts up, and Geno thinks of–of Sid at the worst of the concussion, when he’d drag himself to the rink to watch. When he clearly wanted to play more than anything, and still fist bumped everyone on their way out. Every time they lost and Sid stood in front of the media, the team, Geno, and told them what they had to hear, before he went home and dealt with it himself. “So lead.”

They win. A part of Geno feels a little bad about it, because Sid helped more than a little, but more of him is just–he got a goal, and more than that, he played well. It was good.

He’s still riding on that when he goes to the guest locker room. Tanger glares at him less this time, when he comes in; or only the grumpy post-loss glare. Geno takes it as a good sign.

Sid’s still getting changed, buttoning up his shirt as he talks to Duper, and he’s got his face on like he’s talking over the game and Geno thinks of how he’d lookeed over the faceoff dot today when Geno had won the faceoff, and how he looks now, and how he looked last night telling Geno exactly what he needed to hear, and he won, finally, again, and–

“I’m steal,” he announces to Duper, and tugs Sid away.

“Fuck off, what?” Sid demands, clearly pissy from the loss. “G, I–”

Geno opens the nearest door he can find, herds Sid in, closes the door, and kisses him.

It clearly takes Sid entirely by surprise. It takes Geno a little by surprise, the recklessness joy of it. Sid goes still beneath Geno, and Geno probably should be worried but he can’t be, right now. Instead, he pulls back, beaming. He won, and now he knows what Sid’s lips felt like, and Sid hasn’t punched him. He’s doing well.

“What?” Sid asks. His hand come up to touch his lips.

“I’m win,” Geno tells him, feeling smug.

“Yeah, I know.” Sid’s cute when he’s sulky, Geno’s always thought. “But, G–what was that?”

Geno is happy, and he’s been holding this in so long, and–Sid’s looking at him with his big eyes and touching his lips and looks confused, not mad. “I’m not tell you about contract because you talk me out of it,” he says. “I’m know that if you ask me to stay, I stay, and I can’t stay, not with how much I want you.”

“G–”

“Because I’m want you, so much, for so long, and I know if I stay, I say something, or I start to–or it turns bad, because I’m jealous, or because I’m think I only stay for you, and so I’m go, and–”

“G–”

“And I’m happy here,” Geno keeps going. He should have known he wasn’t going to stop once he started. “But, if I’m think I move to get over you, it not working, and you–”

“Geno,” Sid interrupts, just enough of the captain in his voice that, instinctively, Geno shuts up. Sid blinks at him again, still tracing his lips with his fingers. Lips Geno has kissed. Geno has to resist the urge to touch his own lips, to remember. “I didn’t–I didn’t know. I didn’t think.”

“I know.” Geno does. “I–”

“Shut up,” Sid cuts him off again. “I didn’t think, but–I never thought I was going to play without you. And then you weren’t there, and I had to learn…” He shakes his head, but there’s a light in his eyes Geno knows. That’s Sid making a play, that’s Sid before he does something insane and wonderful and scores. “Maybe I couldn’t have let myself think about that,” Sid goes on, thoughtful, “Not when–I was your captain, it wouldn’t have been okay.”

Like Sid would have ever tried to pull rank on him. But Geno has spent years knowing Sid’s play, and going with it, and now is not the time to scoff at that. “You not my captain now,” he points out.

“No,” Sid agrees, and he still doesn’t look happy to say it, but he doesn’t just look sulky either, as he takes a step forward. Closer to Geno. “I’m not.”

Geno looks at him, smiling up at Geno, and it’s–it’s like that first time, that Cup win sparkling through their veins. That first time he fell in love with Sid.

It’s probably stupid. They live halfway across a country from each other; their schedules will never match up; they’re going to have to play against each other. But–maybe Geno doesn’t need Sid. But he wants him. And they might not be on the same team anymore, but together they’ll always be unstoppable.

“Going to kiss you again,” Geno warns, and Sid rolls his eyes, and kisses him first.

#pens fic #my fic #like a month later!#and not entirely to the prompt #sorry life ate me #but i was thinking about the white shirt interview #and needed to go the alternate route #also i am coming off of a very busy week so i have no idea if this makes sense #but enjoy!#Anonymous #pens tumblr fic

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nomorelonelydays · 6 years

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What if Geno jokingly suggests Sid to a Russian fashion photographer he knows, who's looking for a wholesome model for a fall shoot. Only Sid actually does the shoot, looking criminally cozy in designer sweaters and an artificial blush and as if he put an actual effort into the acting. Geno is just devestated, because now his crush is getting out of proportion and he just wants to heap Sid with cashmere shawls and take him out and make him tea and Sid seems completely oblivious. 1/4

In a desperate attempt to get it out of his head, he drags Sid shopping with him, which just makes it worse, smoothing down lapels for Sid and teasing him with the purple coat lining till he concedes defeat, yet never getting as close as he wants to. What he doesn't know is that Sid has it just as bad. He did the shoot and did it well, because it was Geno that recommended him and he didn't want to disappoint him. 2/4

He's been hoping that Geno might look up one year and finally see him, and has gotten so used to resignated daydreaming that he agreed in a weird fit of trying to get Geno's attention. He liked the anonymity and dressing up in warm, soft things more than he thought, but the only result seems to be Geno teasing him more and taking him shopping, which makes him happy and miserable in equal measure. 3/4

The whole season long, they go shopping, always with lunch afterwards, and spend so much time together the pining is becoming unbearable. Finally both decide to confess their love, to end the torment (Flower and Gonch are decided influences, because it's getting too horrible to watch any longer). They rush out their declarations of love on the same day, respectively armed with a dozen red roses and a penguin pendant. The next summer, they do a photo shoot together - in matching sweaters. 4/4

OH!!!!!!! THIS IS TOO CUTE!!! I am imagining Sidney wrapped in Geno’s arms and being kissed on the forehead for that photoshoot together....Sidney has a steaming mug of coffee in his hands and he’s blushing and looking so happy....

#ask bee

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visionshadows · 6 years

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Um, my mind always goes blank. Ummmmmmm. How about the Pens managed to not only draft Geno but also the identical Crosby twins, Sidney and Seth. Poor overwhelmed Geno!

Zhenya learns about the Crosby twins from Sasha who learned about them from his agent. They learn about them more when they’re getting ready for World Juniors and their coaches give them dossiers on all of the teams.

The Crosby twins are kind of goofy looking, crooked teeth and too big smiles, looking way too young to be on the team. Sasha had shook his head and just pointed at the stats. “Best forwards no matter how young. Sid is better than Seth, but together they’re a nightmare.”

Zhenya’s cocky, young and promising in a way that meant he thinks he’s better than everyone, especially if he has Sasha on his wing. He tells Sasha as much and Sasha just laughs, snuggling into Zhenya’s side.

They’re not better than the Crosby twins. Especially not after Sasha gets hurt. Zhenya doesn’t know whose hand he’s shaking when they lined up across from each other, his eyes blurry with tears. All he knows is he isn’t good enough.

Zhenya watches as Mario Lemieux pulls off the unthinkable and manages to draft the Crosby twins to Pittsburgh. He does it without losing Zhenya himself or the goalie they drafted first the year before Zhenya. They won’t have a first round pick for a few years and Ryan Whitney is gone, but they’ve got the Crosby twins.

Sasha calls him up immediately, “Are you going to Pittsburgh now?”

Zhenya’s stomach roils. “I can’t. I have a contract for another year.”

“Oh Zhenya,” Sasha says with a sigh. “I wanted to beat all of you for rookie of the year.”

Zhenya barks out a laugh at that. “You’ll never beat both of them.”

“Watch me.”

Sergei Gonchar is a familiar face that Zhenya clings to like a life raft. When Sergei introduces him around, he gets to the twins and says in Russian “I can’t tell them apart with their clothes on.”

“Evgeni, Sidney and Seth Crosby.”

Zhenya shakes their hands, not knowing who is who. They smile almost identical smiles, shake hands with equal pressure. One of them speaks in too quick English and the other elbows him in the ribs.

“Hello. Welcome to Pittsburgh,” that one says in shaky Russian. “I’m Seth. That Sid. He bad speak. No Russian.”

Zhenya feels tears prick at his eyes. He’s so tired and Seth is trying to speak Russian and he’s so far from home. Sergei puts a hand on his arm, steadying him.

“You have to use English, Seth, or he won’t learn,” Sergei says, not unkindly in Russian. “Right, Evgeni?”

Seth frowns at that. “Can do both or I not learn too.”

Mario Lemieux (Mario. Lemieux. Holy. Shit.) interrupts them and gently urges everyone to the dining room and Zhenya is starving. He sits next to Sergei with Seth on the other side of him. Sid sits across from them and Zhenya eats, barely listening to the conversation since most of it is in English. Seth whispers bits of things in fractured Russian and kicks at Sid across the table.

It’s weird and wonderful and just like eating dinner with Denis.

Zhenya is so, so tired.

Seth and Sid don’t room together and Seth convinces whomever makes up the road roommates to put him with Zhenya. He promises he will speak English with him and not be a bad influence.

Zhenya learns pretty quickly that Seth and Sid are pretty different off the ice. Sid is very focused and responsible, silly yes, but definitely the more serious brother. Seth is competitive with Sid, but is otherwise pretty laid back and happy to let Sid take the media and team responsibilities.

And Seth wasn’t kidding about how bad Sid is at Russian. His French is slightly better, good enough that he doesn’t embarrass himself when talking to the Quebecois players, but he can’t say anything more than hello to the Russian players. Seth can talk fluently in French and decently in Russian.

It’s a relief to be able to go back to their hotel room and talk to Seth in Russian, to be allowed to think in his own language for a little while. His head constantly hurts from all the English, the immersion so stark and rough. Seth’s Nova Scotia accent rounding out Russian words is a balm for his brain.

Soon enough Seth’s hands are a balm for his aching body as well. It starts as drunken jerking off which eventually leads to Geno offering to blow him because Seth is cute and awkward (not as awkward as Sid) and he likes him. It’s fun and silly and it’s not at all serious. They don’t actually have any chemistry with each other, but casual sex is good when neither of them feel like trying to pick up.

Sid knows. It’s obvious Sid knows because he has entire conversations with Seth in looks and frowns and tilts of his head and elbows in the ribs. Geno just rolls his eyes and lets them talk about it their own silent twin way.

Now that Geno knows them, he doesn’t understand how anyone can confuse the two of them, but people always do. Their teammates can’t tell them apart unless they have their jerseys on or they’re wearing something with their numbers on it.

Sid stands differently than Seth, his body weight shifted to the right compared to Seth who shifts to the left. Seth speaks with his hands while Sid tends to shove his hands in his pockets. Seth’s teeth aren’t as crooked as Sid’s because most of them are fake.

Geno knows it’s not just because he’s hooking up with Seth because even after that stops in his second year, he can tell them apart with a quick glance.

Somehow they all stay together, Sid and Seth and Geno. They win a Cup. Sid and Seth win a gold medal. Sid goes down with a horrible concussion and Geno tears his ACL. Seth manages to keep the team going during that time period, but it’s tough. It’s the first time he’s really played without Sid and he’s in the spotlight. People expect him to be Sid and he’s not. They don’t even play the same position and without Sid centering him, Seth’s production goes down.

Geno spends a lot of time at Sid and Seth’s house when he’s injured, curled up on the couch with Sid who feels like shit and is worried about his brother. When Seth gets home, he joins them and pretends he isn’t mad about the shit people are saying about him. So they’re like a house of grumpy boys, none of whom can really cook, so they eat a lot of take out and Nathalie drops food off for them and not so silently despairs of them.

Things get a little better in the fall when Geno is on the ice again. He centers Seth on the top line until Sid comes back and then again when Sid goes back out. The two of them put up a ton of points and Geno has a career year. It’s all for naught though when they’re bounced in the first round of the playoffs by the Flyers in an ugly matchup that results in multiple fights and Sid popping off about how he hates everyone on their team.

“You should date my brother,” Seth tells Geno one day when they’re sitting in a cafe in Magnitogorsk during the lockout. “It is a great idea.”

Geno drops his fork into his water glass and just stares at Seth who is calmly eating his blinis. Why Geno ever thought it was a good idea to bring Seth to the KHL during the lockout he didn’t know?

“Sid is in love with you. He break up with Tony last month. None of us like him anyway. You are single and you love him. Is perfect plan.”

Geno fishes his fork out of his glass, glancing furtively around. “Not a good idea. It would be weird. I’ve slept with you.”

Seth waves a hand. “So? Sid and I not same person. You know that best. Just think about it.”

Geno does.

Apparently he doesn’t think about it fast enough because two months after they get back from the lockout, Seth locks him and Sid in a training room “accidentally” with Duper and Flower’s help. Geno wonders why he ever thought Seth was his friend. He misses Gonch.

“So what did you do to Seth?” asks Sid from where he’s trying to pick the lock.

“Why I do something? Maybe you do.”

Sid straightens up, rubbing his hands on his thighs. Geno tries not to look, but it’s hard. Sid’s got amazing thighs. And an amazing ass. So much better than Seth’s.

“He gave me the last protein shake this morning so I know I’m on his good side,” Sid says easily, sitting on the table next to Geno. “So this is obviously on you.”

Geno sighs and looks over at Sid. He spent the entire lockout with Seth, seeing him every single day. By the time they came back, he figured he would be at least somewhat numb to what Sid and Seth look like but no. Sid is somehow a million times more attractive than Seth and looks a lot different than him now.

“He think we should go out. You and me.”

Sid purses his lips and then nods. “Yeah, he mentioned that. I didn’t think he’d lock us in a room though.”

“You know when he and I do stuff, we not serious. Was just for fun. He kind of gross,” Geno says, nudging Sid lightly. “Like you a lot better.”

Sid smiles softly, nudging him back. “He told me. He’s been trying to get me to date you for like three years now. Probably since you guys stopped hooking up.”

Geno laughs at that. “He know I best. Want the best for you.”

“Why do I like either of you?” Sid groans.

Geno reaches up and touches Sid’s chin lightly, turning his face. “This okay?”

Sid nods and leans in, pressing their lips together softly. Geno kisses him back, sliding a hand to Sid’s neck to keep him close and not thinking about Seth once.

Seth lets them out twenty minutes later and declares himself Geno’s best man when they get married because Geno is too much of a loser to get anyone better. Sid can have Taylor as his best woman.

#stumblingoverchaos asks #sidgeno #crosby twins au #i have so much more in my head #sid and geno and seth #this ask is so old

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icebirdsmateforlife · 6 years

Text

a very special handshake and other important routines

In which Geno knows for a fact that Sid is the absolute best.

A/N: Hi! Remember me? I am still working on a number of other things that have all decided to be difficult, so I wrote this to get me unstuck. And I thought I'd share it, because it was fun to write, so here, have it! :)

“Me three years Superleague,” Geno says, and Sid laughs. It sounds like a goose honking. And he lets Geno go out onto the ice last.

Geno is happy, and once again pleasantly surprised by how nice Sid is. He knows it’s a big deal. He doesn’t quite understand how big a deal until he gets to know Sid a little better.

Hockey players are superstitious by nature and their routines don’t change for the most part, unless absolutely necessary. Geno tapes his stick from the toe up, his left skate must be sharpened first, and he goes out onto the ice last.

So does Sid. And he lets Geno have that spot without argument.

They create their own special handshake instead. It seems to be good enough for Sid as a substitute for an important old routine. Which, once Geno really thinks about it, is pretty amazing. But then, Sid is pretty amazing.

“You settling in okay?” Sid asks after practice the next day. Gonch translates it for Geno.

Geno pauses, tempted to give his answer to Gonch in Russian and have him tell Sid that he’s glad to be here and that everything is good, but it’s Sid, and he doesn’t think Sid minds him taking a while to work it out by himself. “Good,” he manages finally. “I...like.”

Sid smiles so widely at him, Geno thinks maybe he’ll try English a little more often. For Sid. Sid will be patient with him. He feels a lot less embarrassed about his halting English around Sid.

Geno makes an effort after that. To talk to Sid more, to be around him more. Because he’s always liked making friends and he has a feeling that Sid with his easy smile and funny laugh and kind heart is a very good friend to have. Every time Sid grins at him across the locker room, Geno feels a little less lonely. A little less like the weird new kid nobody quite knows what to make of yet.

All the guys are nice to him. And he hopes he’ll become friends with all of them. But Sid...it’s easy to trust him. He feels safe. He makes Geno feel comfortable and at ease. So Geno sticks close to him and Sid lets him.

“Dinner?” Sid asks after practice.

Geno nods. “Yes,” he says. “Okay.”

It’s become a bit of their thing, going out for dinner just the two of them. Geno thinks Sid has caught onto the fact that Geno talks more, and also more freely when they’re by themselves, and wants to give him the opportunity to practice his English.

Geno is pretty sure he has more than just a little crush on his new friend, but even if Sid is just being nice, just wanting to hang out, that’s okay, too. Geno didn’t come here for anything else, after all. He just wants to play hockey.

And be with Sid all the time. But it looks like maybe he can have both.

“Let’s meet at seven,” Sid says after practice, and Geno smiles and nods eagerly.

“Yes,” he says.

Sid slaps his shoulder and walks off.

Geno heads for the showers and thinks about what he wants to eat tonight.

Dinner goes from being a couple-of-times-a-week thing to a pretty-much-every-night-they’re-in-Pittsburgh thing. When they’re not away on a road trip, Sid picks Geno up for dinner and they hang out and eat and talk, and then Sid drops Geno off again and they repeat the same thing again the next day.

“Maybe next season...get house,” Geno tells Sid over pasta at their favourite restaurant, and Sid smiles.

“Yeah? You want to buy one?”

Geno nods. “Want...dog. Need house for dog.”

“That sounds nice,” Sid says. “A house and a dog. Are you gonna invite me for dinner at your house so I can see your dog?”

Geno laughs. “Maybe,” he says, then pauses, sorting the words carefully in his head. “You...want house, too?”

Sid makes a face and shrugs. “I mean, yeah? I guess. Eventually. But I don’t like being by myself all the time. I think I’m gonna wait until -” He looks down at his plate, and his cheeks are a little red when he looks back up at Geno. “Until I meet someone.”

Geno wants to offer Sid to just move in with him next season, but he knows what Sid means with “meeting someone,” and even if Geno maybe wouldn’t mind being that someone, he knows that’s not really an option. “Until girlfriend?” he asks.

Sid’s face falls a little, but he nods his head. “I guess,” he says, and Geno smiles and nudges Sid’s foot with his own under the table.

“You meet soon,” he says, because he wants to cheer Sid up. “You best. Everybody want. I know.”

Sid doesn’t look convinced, and there’s something a little sad around his eyes through the rest of dinner.

But the next day at the rink he pats Geno on the shoulder just as usual and his smile is back and Geno stops worrying so much about maybe having said something wrong.

Sid being out with a sprained ankle is hard, not just because Geno misses him like crazy, but also because he worries about him. He knows Sid must miss playing hockey and being around the guys. And being injured is never fun.

He wishes he could still hang out with Sid, but of course Sid can’t drive them to dinner with a sprained ankle and Geno doesn’t really feel brave or confident enough yet to just stop by the Lemieux’s house and ask to see Sid.

It takes him a week to finally gather his nerves, and even then he goes over the words a hundred times in his head on his way over on an off day.

“Hello,” he says, as a kid — Stephanie — opens the door. “Can I visit Sid?”

She shrugs and waves him inside. “Sure,” she says. “He’s upstairs. I’ll show you.”

“Thank you,” he says carefully, and follows her. He’s relieved, because that was a lot easier than he’d feared, but he still hopes this is okay. Maybe he should have asked Sid first if he wanted visitors at all.

She knocks on a door and Geno hears Sid’s voice calling out “come in!” and his treacherous heart is already speeding up, excitement over seeing Sid making him feel fluttery and a little nervous.

Sid is sitting on a couch in what looks to be the guest suite he’s occupied as his home. He has his foot propped up on the coffee table and there’s a hockey game on. He turns down the sound of the TV, then switches it off completely when he looks up and sees Geno.

“Hey,” he says, and Geno doesn’t think he’s imagining the happy surprise in Sid’s voice. “Geno! What are you doing here?”

Geno hears the door click shut again and they’re alone, and he sits down on the couch next to Sid and grins at him. “Maybe little bit miss you,” he says, and Sid blushes.

“Oh,” he says. “I...missed you, too. I guess.”

Geno wants to take his hand, but instead he gestures at the TV. “Keep watch game, if you want,” he says.

“No, no, we can -” Sid starts, then breaks off. “Uh. What did you want to do?”

Geno thinks about it. Because he didn’t really want anything. He just wanted to be where Sid was. But he doesn’t think he should tell him that. “Nothing,” he settles on. “No hockey today. I think...hang out.”

Sid seems okay with that. “Okay,” he says, and turns the TV back on. “We can watch another game, if you want. This one’s from last night.”

“No, I like,” Geno says, and Sid settles back into the couch and Geno sits as close as he dares, and he feels better..

When he gets ready to leave that evening, Sid looks up at him, unbearably cute with his curling hair and his bare feet on the coffee table and his shorts that have definitely seen better days. “You can come over after practice tomorrow, if you want,” he says. “I’ll even make you dinner.”

Geno frowns. “Not make dinner,” he says. “Not...walk. Not hurt foot.”

Sid laughs. “It’s okay, G,” he says. “I can manage.”

“I come over,” Geno says. “But I cook.”

Sid looks surprised, but in a good way. “You don’t have to,” he says. “But...yeah, either way, just come over and we’ll figure it out then.”

Geno is determined that there won’t be anything to figure out, he will cook and Sid will stay on the couch and rest his ankle. But he doesn’t say so now. He squeezes Sid’s shoulder and smiles, and he’s glad he decided to visit today.

There’s a small kitchenette in Sid’s suite. Maybe he’ll try to make him something nice. Nothing too complicated. He likes cooking well enough, but he doesn’t really have a lot of practice yet. And he wants to make sure Sid likes it.

So their dinner dates continue, even with Sid out injured. Not dates, Geno reminds himself. Just...friend-dates, maybe.

He appreciates Sid letting him spend so much time at his place — it’s definitely good for his English, if nothing else, and Sid knows he’s not comfortable talking to too many people at once yet. He’s grateful that Sid is putting up with him like this. And he tries to show his appreciation by doing as many little things for him as possible while he’s there. They don’t eat with the Lemieux’s when Geno is over because Sid seems to sense that Geno doesn’t want to, and in return Geno takes it upon himself to be in charge of dinner. He also does the dishes. He gets Sid a hoodie from his bedroom when he’s cold. He gets ice packs for Sid’s foot which Sid insists isn’t even really necessary anymore at this point, but Geno figures it can’t hurt. He just wants to thank Sid for being such a good friend.

It takes a little while, but eventually Sid is back at practice, and then playing games again, and everyone is so glad to have him back, but Geno most of all. He’s grown so fond of all the little things Sid does — from his pregame sandwich to watching his taped sticks like a hawk so nobody can touch them. And he’s struck again by the realisation that Sid has so many rituals and routines that are fixed and unwavering, and yet he gave Geno that last spot in line when they walk out onto the ice to play hockey.

Sid catches Geno looking at him and raises his eyebrows questioningly. Geno shakes his head and smiles at his feet and doesn’t know what his heart is even doing. It’s hard not to love the best person he’s ever met, so he supposes he’s just going to have to get used to the feeling.

“Where are you going?” Sid asks, as Geno is heading in the opposite direction from him after morning skate. “My car is over there.”

Geno looks at him. “Huh?”

“Oh.” Sid’s eyes widen slightly. “Sorry. I just assumed — you wanna come over and have a late lunch?”

“Yes,” Geno says, before he can even stop himself. It’s always going to be yes, yes to everything that Sid is willing to give him, and he’ll be the best friend he knows how to be in exchange.

He’s sitting on Sid’s couch after lunch and he knows he should get going, because there’s a lot of day left yet and he doesn’t want to overstay his welcome. He’s pretty tired after a game last night and then skate this morning, and he knows Sid must be, too.

But when he says so, Sid looks at him, confused. “You don’t have to leave,” he says. “I mean...if you want to go take a nap, yeah. Sorry. Of course. I don’t want to -”

“I’m not need nap,” Geno assures him. “I think maybe you want.”

“I want you to stay,” Sid says, a little too quickly, and his cheeks go red as Geno looks at him. “I mean -”

“I stay,” Geno promises. “If you want, I always stay.”

“You don’t have to,” Sid says. “Sorry. I’m being weird today.”

“Not weird,” Geno says. “I’m want stay.”

“Okay,” Sid says, and his smile is so soft and happy and Geno feels bold enough to ask the question that’s been on his mind for weeks now.

“Sid?”

“Yeah?”

“Why you let me go last?”

Sid rubs his neck and lets out a short laugh. “Oh, uh, I mean…” He clears his throat. “I wanted you to feel welcome here.”

“Yes,” Geno says, “You do many things to make me feel like home.”

Sid shrugs and doesn’t quite look at him as he speaks. “I guess I just kinda like you,” he says. “You know. A lot.”

“Like?” Geno asks, and his voice comes out a little hoarse.

“Sorry,” Sid says, and Geno frowns.

“Why sorry?”

Sid finally meets his eyes, studies his face carefully, and whatever he sees there must reassure him.

Geno sits very still as Sid leans forward, resting one hand gently on Geno’s thigh. Sid shifts closer another few inches and Geno covers Sid’s hand with his own and meets him halfway, pressing their lips together in a kiss that’s so soft, so sweet it makes his heart jump in his chest, his breath stuttering as he pulls back.

Sid keeps his eyes closed for a long second before he flickers them open, and the look on his face is half stunned, half deliriously happy. The smile that spreads across his face is Geno’s favourite, a little crooked, eyes squinting almost all the way closed.

“I guess I’m not sorry, then,” Sid says.

“Then kiss again,” Geno demands, grinning.

Sid laughs and complies. Geno wraps his arms around him and holds him close. This is so much more than he hoped for. And with Sid, he has a feeling it’s going to get even better yet.

#sidgeno #sidgeno fic #hockey rpf #my writing

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