WiP Amnesty - Sid/Geno
I have a truly ridiculous WIP folder for Sid/Geno, so in the interest of cleaning it out, WiP Amnesty! I'm now down to only 3.5 unfinished fics I still think I might finish some day. That's reasonable, right? Of course right.
[Originally for a five cities Sid and Geno visited story - the idea was to explore the character of different cities that they visit on the road, but I got bored.]
“No, Sid,” Geno whines, manhandling Sid’s hips until Sid is standing facing him, and Sid feels his entire body flush in a learned response to being in this position and half-naked. “We stay in.”
“You know everyone else is staying in,” Sid says a little desperately. “They’re probably all in the next room trying to hear if we do embarrassing shit during sex.” Geno gets a furtive little smirk, and Sid reflexively goes, “ugh, shut up, Geno,” and pushes his head away.
“Not embarrassing to be... enthusiastic,” Geno says slyly, leaning back in to press a kiss above Sid’s belly button, and Sid has to shift his weight from foot to foot. “I like it.”
“You know there’s a German village?” Sid says weakly, trying to ignore Geno scattering kisses across his stomach. “I hear it’s nice. We could, uh, go there.”
Sid doesn’t put up much protest when Geno drags him down onto the bed, though, just gives a little defeated sigh into Geno’s mouth when he kisses him.
“You being stupid,” Geno says seriously when he pulls away, and Sid lets out a little hum of agreement, because Geno unbuttoning his jeans slowly is a very persuasive argument. “No one go out in Columbus. Guys all watching movie or something.”
He leans in to kiss Sid again, and a few seconds later Sid can hear obviously fake machine gun fire. “See?” Geno whispers in Sid’s ear, and Sid shivers all over.
You can have this, he reminds himself as Geno skims his jeans and boxers off. Geno’s hands are so warm. This is yours. Geno’s yours. You can have him.
“Sid?” Geno asks gently, hand resting on Sid’s thigh. Sid can tell by the way Geno’s fingers are twitching back and forth that Geno’s aching to grab his ass but won’t, not until Sid says it’s okay, so Sid makes an elaborate show of shrugging like it honestly doesn’t matter either way.
“Nothing else to do in Columbus,” he says, and Geno barks out a laugh and yeah, grabs his ass, because Geno’s predictable.
“I show you what you can do.”
“That’s awful,” Sid mumbles against Geno’s mouth. “Never make that joke again.”
[Sid and Geno go to Sochi as a couple. Problems ensue! But trying to write this far in the future gives me a headache.]
His routine without Sid feels weird. He keeps looking for Sid on the ice, has to recalibrate for a larger rink and passing to Kovy and Sema, who play with different, slower rhythms, who don’t know him like Nealsy or Kuni or even Sid do. No one argues when he goes out last, no one ghosts around frowning as they make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and it aches a little to think that Sid is so close to him, doing these things for other people to see.
He and Ovie decided to room together ages ago - before he and Sid even were together - because Sergei had refused to ever room with him again after Vancouver after Geno had snuck into the room late after a tryst with Oksana one too many times. “I’m too old for this,” he’d said, crossing his arms. “Next Olympics, you room with Sanja. That will teach you a lesson.”
Geno’s never past curfew now - Sid would never allow such a thing - but he’s still sneaking around, trying to find neutral places for him to “run into” Sid where no one will find them. Ovie bears his pining with better grace than Sergei ever did, which is to say he mocks Geno constantly, so Geno tries not to make it obvious how much he misses Sid rooming with him. He misses sharing toothpaste and teaching Sid Russian phrases and having someone to curl up with who’s better than a hot water bottle for soothing every ache and pain. It’s not the same hearing Sid’s honking laugh over the phone, and he doesn’t care how gay he is, Ovie’s clothing aversion is gross. Geno tries to think sympathetic thoughts, like that Ovie must miss Maria as much as he misses Sid, that no one’s happy they have to room away from all wives, girlfriends, and children. But Ovie gets to walk hand-in-hand with Maria wherever and whenever he likes, she gets to join Ksenia and Natalie and Victoria and all the other wives and children to watch practices or cheer. All the guys are used to being apart from their families, and Geno’s used to spending nine months of every year in Sid’s back pocket, with finding excuses to cheat the summer a little shorter and see Sid even when they’re supposed to be on opposite ends of the world.
“I see your boyfriend taught you how to throw temper tantrums,” Ovie says, and Geno throws his dirty socks at Ovie’s face.
“Fuck off, Ovie.”
“I thought you’d be excited, you’re getting a break from Sid making you do everything just so.” Ovive shakes his head. “I like him, but he’s weird, Zhenya.”
“You don’t wish I did things more like Masha?”
“I wish when you were in your underwear, you looked a little more like her, but other than that, no.”
[...]
The night before the final game, Sid doesn’t text him good night, and Geno knows where he’ll be, sitting on the bench and watching the empty ice. Sid, to his credit, doesn’t bother asking how Geno always knows where he is by now, he just scoots over to make space for Geno to sit down and put his arm around Sid’s shoulders.
“I don’t want tomorrow to happen,” he says after a long stretch of silence.
“My mother always remind me, tomorrow happen no matter what you want.”
“I know,” Sid says miserably, resting his head on Geno’s shoulder. They lapse into silence again, Geno watching Sid and running a hand up and down his arm. He wonders if Sid’s fallen asleep, and what he’s supposed to do if Sid has, when Sid speaks again. “I need you to promise me something,” he says. “I need you to promise me that whatever happens - if I check you too hard or score on you or, or whatever - I need you to promise you won’t hate me.”
“Sid -”
“I mean it,” Sid insists, “I need you to promise.”
“I promise,” Geno says, making sure Sid is looking him in the eye. “No matter what happens, even if you win, I won’t be mad. I still love you.”
Sid studies him a moment before nodding, apparently satisfied. “Good,” he says. “That’s, that’s good.”
Geno waits a few moments before going, “But you don’t win,” and Sid laughs and shoves him nearly off the bench.
[...]
He goes over to shake Sid’s hand at the end of warmups. He can hear the cameras clicking furiously and knows that if they lose, this is the moment he’ll be raked over the coals for.
“Good luck,” he says. Sid blinks slowly, like he’s surfacing from his routine enough to realize that Geno’s here. Geno squeezes his hand and taps a finger once on the inside of Sid’s wrist - you okay?
Sid smiles slowly. “Good luck,” he says, and then his fingers tap twice quickly. Yes.
[I have no idea what this was from.]
Geno had only brought that up once, when Sid was tipsy at one of their post-Cup parties and he’d turned to Geno with a wobbly smile and sighed, “how d’you - you always get me.”
“Yes,” Geno had said, because he’d been more than a little drunk too, and speaking, especially in English, had seemed like entirely too much effort.
“No one understands me,” Sid had confessed with painful honesty, and that’s why Geno remembers it, because that was something Sid never, ever would normally admit out loud.
“No one else try very hard,” Geno had said, scrambling to to cover the weird ache in his chest. “Listen to how you say, not what you say. Sid talk very loud, but make hard to hear with stupid words.”
Geno stands by that assessment now, that Sid’s easy to read if you listen to how he says things instead of what he’s saying. The only time that’s ever failed Geno was when he missed that Sid wanted him, and that has less to do with Sid, in retrospect, than it has to do with Geno thinking that wanting someone was a language Sid didn’t how to speak.
[This was a whole fic where Sid gets it into his head he needs to convince Geno to stay in Pittsburgh (because he’s in love with him) and Geno isn’t sure if he will because he’s in love with Sid and doesn’t know if he can stand to be around Sid for that long and not do something stupid. Then they sleep together and misunderstandings ensue. This felt too similar to other things I’ve written in a lot of parts, so I’ll probably never finish it.]
Sid is waiting for him after he gets named the MVP of the game the next night, watching Geno take his celebratory circle on the ice. “They love you,” he says, when Geno joins him in the tunnel, nodding out at the still-cheering crowd. “They’ll miss you if you leave.”
Geno looks down at Sid, face tilted upwards and chin jutted out like a challenge, so beautiful in the swirling lights dancing off the ice and down the tunnel, and wants to ask would you miss me? And would Sid miss him, Geno, or would he miss winning, or miss having someone else to shift the spotlight to when the glare got a little too bright?
“I already say I try,” he grumbles, looking down at his skates. “Why you not let it go?” He sees Sid’s jaw clench out of the corner of his eye.
“If you meant it you’d be trying harder,” Sid snaps. Geno doesn’t bother trying to catch him stomping down the tunnel to change.
- - -
It’s not that Geno doesn’t want to stay in Pittsburgh. He loves the town and he loves his teammates and he loves Sid - the problem is just that he can’t pretend he doesn’t love Sid a little bit different and a lot more than he should, in a way that has nothing to do with hockey at all. If Geno had his way he’d stay in Pittsburgh forever, always safely hidden in Sid’s shadow and one step behind him wherever he goes. He’d do it even if he hated Pittsburgh, because it would make Sid happy, and because wherever Sid plays, that’s where Geno wants to play too.
Maybe if Geno loved Sid a little less and a little safer, he could promise he’d stay playing next to Sid forever. It’s all fine now, while Sid remains oblivious to everything that doesn’t involve a puck and Geno can make himself happy with just being Sid’s friend. But Sid’s a smart guy, and one day he’ll figure it out. Geno’s seen what happens when Sid figures out a someone’s interested in a more than friendly way - he shuts them out brutally fast, and there’s nothing to be done to get him to be easy and open again.
Figuring out what he wants to ask for before he goes into negotiating his contract extension is like playing Russian roulette - how many more years does he think he can last before Sid finds out? Underestimate and he’ll have to play against Sid and always wonder what if he’d just stayed a little longer. Overstay his welcome and he’ll lose Sid and Pittsburgh completely. Either way, it’s almost more than Geno can bear, until he sees Sid smile at him, watches Sid hunker down on the ice with his determined glare to do something beautiful and impossible, and it’s a game of roulette he’ll happily play as long as he can.
- - -
Geno’s putting on his undershirt when he feels Sid’s sneaker toe at the back of his leg and Sid’s voice go “The Carnegie Natural History Museum.”
“Huh?” Geno asks, pulling the shirt over his head so he can see Sid, who’s watching him with crossed arms and the sort of expression that suggests he’s even more fixated on winning whatever conversation or argument he’s having than usual. Geno doesn’t even know if they’re having a conversation or Sid’s just saying random words.
“The Natural History Museum,” Sid repeats. “It’s cool. I took Taylor a few years back. They have dinosaurs.”
Geno considers this while he pulls on his jeans. “You think I stay in Pittsburgh because of dinosaurs?”
“It’s a T-Rex,” Sid says like he’s reciting the website from memory. He probably is. “Did you know they have one of the largest dinosaur exhibits in the world? And they have mummies.”
“The Science Museum is better,” Duper butts in. “They have a whole thing on the science of exercise. It’s awesome.” Then Adams interrupts to ask questions about if his kids are old enough to play there, which just devolves into everyone telling everyone else their kids’ favorite exhibits. (The dinosaurs rank highly, as does the laser show.)
“See,” Sid says smugly, just loud enough for Geno to hear, “Pittsburgh’s a great place for raising a family.”
“I don’t have family,” Geno points out. “Not even dating.”
Sid looks like this hadn’t occurred to him. “But you could be,” he says finally. “Is that the problem? There aren’t enough girls in Pittsburgh?”
“Girls are fine, Sid,” Geno sighs, zipping his coat and hefting his bag over his shoulder. “If I don’t stay in Pittsburgh, not because of girls.”
“But -” Sid starts, and Geno just repeats, “not worried about girls, Sid,” before he leaves, because if Sid’s already harping on girls, there’s no telling what dangerous territory he’s going to venture into next.
- - -
[Sid came to Geno’s house once with a group of bros to watch football and it was super weirdly decorated like all that’s really there is the den and Sid hates it because it’s so impermanent and he’s never come back and always makes excuses]
Sid’s never been over to Geno’s house. Everyone’s been over to Geno’s house, invited themselves over, mostly, except for Sid. Geno’s even gone so far as to ask Sid if he wants to join football nights with Neal and Tanger or come over for drinks with the rest of the team, but Sid always says “no, thank you” with a quick, close-mouthed smile that looks like a grimace and doesn’t quite reach his eyes. And after three or four times of Sid saying no, Geno stops asking.
It’s all he needs to know about his and Sid’s relationship, if he ever gets it into his head that there’s something more going on between them. Sid drives past Geno’s house every day, Sid’s been explicitly invited into Geno’s home and already burrowed into Geno’s chest and under his heart without any permission whatsoever, and all he does is refuse or push away.
- - -
[Geno admits he’s in love with Sid]
“Say something,” Geno begs, because Sid’s face is terrible and blank, like he’s looking at someone he’s never met before.
“You love me?” Sid asks, his voice completely flat.
“Yes.”
Sid stares at him. He crosses his arms, then uncrosses them before shaking his head. “No, that’s not - you can’t.”
“Fuck you,” Geno snaps. “Is not your decision, Sid.”
“If you loved me, you wouldn’t leave me!” Sid shouts. “People don’t leave people they’re in love with!”
Geno balls his hands into fists and closes his eyes, tries to remind himself that this is Sid. He shouldn’t be surprised that Sid isn’t comfortable with people having feelings about him, that Sid still thinks in childish absolutes. “Not that easy, Sid,” he grits out. “You can’t... is too much to ask I stay forever when you don’t, when I see you every day and feel,” he unclenches one hand and gestures between them helplessly. “Is not you. But I can’t stop feeling. I still want -”
“No,” Sid interrupts, frustrated, and Geno closes his eyes again. “No, this is so fucking stupid -” and then Geno wishes he hadn’t squeezed his eyes shut, because then he would have anticipated the desperate press of Sid’s lips against his own. Geno isn’t even sure it is Sid kissing him at first, because it seems so far-fetched, like it’s more likely a complete stranger walked in his house and planted one on him. But when he opens his eyes, it’s just Sid, a few inches from his face and looking up at him with a mixture of confusion and annoyance.
Geno unclenches one fist and tentatively brushes his fingertips against Sid’s cheek, watches in fascination as Sid blushes even as he refuses to look away, watching as Geno tilts his head closer and closer and finally - finally - kisses Sid as slowly and thoroughly as he’s always wanted to. He finally gets to hear that surprised little noise he always knew Sid would make. Sid’s pushing him towards the stairs, making desperate noises and mumbling something against Geno’s mouth. It isn’t until Geno pulls away to gasp for air that he hears that Sid’s repeating “don’t leave me, don’t leave me” over and over.
“Sid,” he says as gently as he knows how, but Sid shakes his head.
“No,” he insists, hands coming down to fist in Geno’s t-shirt like he has to keep him from running away. “No, Geno. You can’t - Army, Jordy, Max, fine, but not you. You’re too important. I can’t - you can’t leave me. I can’t take you leaving me. I won’t.”
There are a million reasons Geno should back away, should tell Sid that he’s not special. Sid is the special one, and he’ll always be the special one, with or without Geno. But he can’t, not when Sid is looking up at him, flushed and hopeful and everything Geno’s ever wanted. So he pushes aside the small ball of dread that always sits in the pit of his stomach and lets Sid lead him upstairs. He lets Sid push him into his bed and kiss him as desperately as he wants, he covers Sid’s body with every bit of love he’s ever felt and promise he wishes he could make.
- - -
It takes Geno roughly ten seconds to remember what happened when he wakes up the next morning, which means it takes ten seconds for him to go from fuzzy contentment to panic and self-loathing. That’s not anyone’s back pressed into his side, it’s Sid’s. Sid who was so beautiful last night, Sid who shuddered and moaned when Geno touched him, Sid who was willing to do anything to keep him.
Geno has no idea what he’s supposed to say to Sid when he wakes up, what he’s even supposed to say. He knows he should be sorry for sleeping with Sid, for taking advantage of his desperation, for loving Sid too much to have one night together ever be enough for him. He should probably be the most sorry that he isn’t really sorry about any of those things at all, that if he had last night to repeat he’d do the same thing all over again.
His room’s too suffocating to stay in, so Geno does the only thing he can think to do - he gets dressed as quickly and silently as he can and grabs his car keys from the dresser. Sid stirs a little as he’s about to sneak out the door, and Geno leans over to press one last kiss to Sid’s shoulder, to breathe in what a bed-warm Sid smells like for the first and only time.
“Sorry, Sid,” he whispers in Sid’s ear before he leaves. That much, at least, he means.
- - -
“Today’s my off day,” Segei grumbles when he picks up, “so you have ten seconds to give me one good reason why you’re calling so early.”
“I slept with Sid,” Geno says.
“That doesn’t explain why you had to wake me up at 7:30,” Sergei says. “Or why you make it sound like the worst thing in the world. I didn’t think he’d be that bad at sex.”
“No!” Geno says, horrified, “no, he’s -” He closes his eyes and sees Sid kneeling in front of him, feels Sid’s phantom fingers clutching at his hips. “He’s perfect,” Geno concludes miserably.
“Zhenya -” Sergei starts, and Geno has to squeeze his eyes tighter to block out the hot feeling of shame.
“He didn’t - he’s been mad at me lately,” Geno says. “He wanted to know why I wouldn’t renew my contract. He kept bothering me and bothering me, and when he was over last night I just, I snapped and told him and we...” He trails off miserably. “He did it so I’d stay.”
“You’re an idiot,” Sergei tells him.
“I know,” Geno grits out. “Do you think Ottawa would take me?”
“No, because you are an idiot.”
“He just started kissing me!” Geno protests. “What was I supposed to do, say no?”
“You were supposed to know that Sid’s been in love with you for years!” Sergei shouts.
“No,” Geno says after a few moments of shocked silence, because that’s all he can think. Sid couldn’t possibly, not when he could have anyone in the world. If Sid loved him, he’d know. He’d have felt it, last night, instead of just feeling like Sid was pleading with his body. “I told you, it was to get me to stay.”
“He didn’t try to seduce me into staying,” Sergei says dryly.
“You’re married,” Geno says. He wishes Sergei would take this seriously, he’s only been pining after Sid for a million years. “That’s different.”
“Fine.” Sergei sounds like he’s shrugging on the other end. “What about Max? Sid knew he was going to be a free agent. Did he sleep with Max?”
“Max didn’t like him like that.”
“Max likes anything with a pulse that likes him back,” Sergei scoffs. “Stop trying to make up excuses. No one prostitutes themselves for hockey, not even Sidney Crosby.”
[And when Geno comes back to the house after talking to Sergei on the phone in his car by the side of the road for like an hour and a half Sid is gone without a note. But somehow they make up and everything’s great. This was also too difficult to figure out, so I stopped trying.]
[For a while I was unsure if I was going to have Sid go to Magnitogorsk or not in Make this Place Your Home. I obviously decided not, but I liked the Magnitogorsk bits so much I kept them.]
It takes Sergei only a split-second of looking at Geno’s face the next morning at practice for his own face to fall and for him to groan theatrically.
“I thought Denis was joking when he texted me that Sidney Crosby showed up on his front door,” Sergei whines, and Geno just beams at him and grabs him in an affectionate headlock.
“It’s a Christmas miracle a month and a half early,” he says, scrubbing his hand into Sergei’s skull. “Maybe if you ask nicely, you’ll get some of your hair back.”
“You’re disgusting when you’re happy,” Sergei says, punching Geno in the stomach to make him let go, and Geno knows what he really means is that he’s glad Sid showed up too.
He is so happy it’s disgusting, though. It’s not that everything’s suddenly right or perfect, because that would mean he was back in Pittsburgh, that he and Sid were on the ice together or swatting at each other for luck while changing shifts. But it’s better to have Sid close, to watch him smile with Geno’s family and learn a few simple sentences in Russian. He still can’t believe that Sid’s here with him, that he’s real.
So Geno does what he’s always wanted to do. He holds Sid’s hand and takes him to the bend in the river where his father taught him to skate and by his old school and points out the apartment where he grew up, so Sid knows exactly how far Geno’s come to be who he is. He learns what it’s like to wake up to Sid every morning, the weight of Sid’s dick in his mouth, where Sid likes to be kissed and touched. He and Sid spend hours curled up next to each other, just staring silently, and Geno teaches himself the shadowy curve of Sid’s eyelashes and the dip in Sid’s lower lip so he doesn’t forget it when Sid leaves. He’s so in love it hurts, and it somehow that makes him feel like he understands himself better, like there were parts of him that needed those parts of Sid to feel right.
- - -
[After Sid leaves]
“Was it a mistake to come visit?” Sid asks when Geno tells him this, dawdling outside his house so he doesn’t have to go in and put on any sort of face for anyone. Geno can picture Sid so much clearer now that he’s just seen him in person, can see the furrowed brow and slight pout he was kissing away a week ago.
“No,” Geno says, because it’s all worth it, if he had that time with Sid. He sighs and looks up at the smoky night sky and the snow falling for what looks like forever. “I just miss you.”
Sid makes a gentle noise on the other end of the phone, like a sigh. “I think we’re really getting somewhere with these talks,” he says. He says that every time, lately, but Geno closes his eyes and makes himself believe it’s true.
“I love you, Sid.” It’s still awkward to say - it sounds so insubstantial in English, none of the heavy Russian syllables huddled close together. But he likes the way it sounds, too, like it’s a thin whispery string that long enough to tie them together even when it stretches halfway around the world.
“I love you, too,” Sid says immediately. “And you’ll be home soon.”
“Promise?”
“Promise,” Sid says. “Do you believe me?”
“I believe you,” Geno answers, because he does, because if there’s one person he believes more than anyone in the world, it’s Sid.
- - -
Ten days later, he wakes up to his phone telling them he has over fifty new messages. He scrolls through them, heart pounding, refusing to look at the subject line until he gets to Sid’s. We start the 17th, it reads. Pack your bags, you’re coming home. I love you. - Sid
[Originally for a five cities Sid and Geno visited story - the idea was to explore the character of different cities that they visit on the road, but I got bored.]
“No, Sid,” Geno whines, manhandling Sid’s hips until Sid is standing facing him, and Sid feels his entire body flush in a learned response to being in this position and half-naked. “We stay in.”
“You know everyone else is staying in,” Sid says a little desperately. “They’re probably all in the next room trying to hear if we do embarrassing shit during sex.” Geno gets a furtive little smirk, and Sid reflexively goes, “ugh, shut up, Geno,” and pushes his head away.
“Not embarrassing to be... enthusiastic,” Geno says slyly, leaning back in to press a kiss above Sid’s belly button, and Sid has to shift his weight from foot to foot. “I like it.”
“You know there’s a German village?” Sid says weakly, trying to ignore Geno scattering kisses across his stomach. “I hear it’s nice. We could, uh, go there.”
Sid doesn’t put up much protest when Geno drags him down onto the bed, though, just gives a little defeated sigh into Geno’s mouth when he kisses him.
“You being stupid,” Geno says seriously when he pulls away, and Sid lets out a little hum of agreement, because Geno unbuttoning his jeans slowly is a very persuasive argument. “No one go out in Columbus. Guys all watching movie or something.”
He leans in to kiss Sid again, and a few seconds later Sid can hear obviously fake machine gun fire. “See?” Geno whispers in Sid’s ear, and Sid shivers all over.
You can have this, he reminds himself as Geno skims his jeans and boxers off. Geno’s hands are so warm. This is yours. Geno’s yours. You can have him.
“Sid?” Geno asks gently, hand resting on Sid’s thigh. Sid can tell by the way Geno’s fingers are twitching back and forth that Geno’s aching to grab his ass but won’t, not until Sid says it’s okay, so Sid makes an elaborate show of shrugging like it honestly doesn’t matter either way.
“Nothing else to do in Columbus,” he says, and Geno barks out a laugh and yeah, grabs his ass, because Geno’s predictable.
“I show you what you can do.”
“That’s awful,” Sid mumbles against Geno’s mouth. “Never make that joke again.”
[Sid and Geno go to Sochi as a couple. Problems ensue! But trying to write this far in the future gives me a headache.]
His routine without Sid feels weird. He keeps looking for Sid on the ice, has to recalibrate for a larger rink and passing to Kovy and Sema, who play with different, slower rhythms, who don’t know him like Nealsy or Kuni or even Sid do. No one argues when he goes out last, no one ghosts around frowning as they make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and it aches a little to think that Sid is so close to him, doing these things for other people to see.
He and Ovie decided to room together ages ago - before he and Sid even were together - because Sergei had refused to ever room with him again after Vancouver after Geno had snuck into the room late after a tryst with Oksana one too many times. “I’m too old for this,” he’d said, crossing his arms. “Next Olympics, you room with Sanja. That will teach you a lesson.”
Geno’s never past curfew now - Sid would never allow such a thing - but he’s still sneaking around, trying to find neutral places for him to “run into” Sid where no one will find them. Ovie bears his pining with better grace than Sergei ever did, which is to say he mocks Geno constantly, so Geno tries not to make it obvious how much he misses Sid rooming with him. He misses sharing toothpaste and teaching Sid Russian phrases and having someone to curl up with who’s better than a hot water bottle for soothing every ache and pain. It’s not the same hearing Sid’s honking laugh over the phone, and he doesn’t care how gay he is, Ovie’s clothing aversion is gross. Geno tries to think sympathetic thoughts, like that Ovie must miss Maria as much as he misses Sid, that no one’s happy they have to room away from all wives, girlfriends, and children. But Ovie gets to walk hand-in-hand with Maria wherever and whenever he likes, she gets to join Ksenia and Natalie and Victoria and all the other wives and children to watch practices or cheer. All the guys are used to being apart from their families, and Geno’s used to spending nine months of every year in Sid’s back pocket, with finding excuses to cheat the summer a little shorter and see Sid even when they’re supposed to be on opposite ends of the world.
“I see your boyfriend taught you how to throw temper tantrums,” Ovie says, and Geno throws his dirty socks at Ovie’s face.
“Fuck off, Ovie.”
“I thought you’d be excited, you’re getting a break from Sid making you do everything just so.” Ovive shakes his head. “I like him, but he’s weird, Zhenya.”
“You don’t wish I did things more like Masha?”
“I wish when you were in your underwear, you looked a little more like her, but other than that, no.”
[...]
The night before the final game, Sid doesn’t text him good night, and Geno knows where he’ll be, sitting on the bench and watching the empty ice. Sid, to his credit, doesn’t bother asking how Geno always knows where he is by now, he just scoots over to make space for Geno to sit down and put his arm around Sid’s shoulders.
“I don’t want tomorrow to happen,” he says after a long stretch of silence.
“My mother always remind me, tomorrow happen no matter what you want.”
“I know,” Sid says miserably, resting his head on Geno’s shoulder. They lapse into silence again, Geno watching Sid and running a hand up and down his arm. He wonders if Sid’s fallen asleep, and what he’s supposed to do if Sid has, when Sid speaks again. “I need you to promise me something,” he says. “I need you to promise me that whatever happens - if I check you too hard or score on you or, or whatever - I need you to promise you won’t hate me.”
“Sid -”
“I mean it,” Sid insists, “I need you to promise.”
“I promise,” Geno says, making sure Sid is looking him in the eye. “No matter what happens, even if you win, I won’t be mad. I still love you.”
Sid studies him a moment before nodding, apparently satisfied. “Good,” he says. “That’s, that’s good.”
Geno waits a few moments before going, “But you don’t win,” and Sid laughs and shoves him nearly off the bench.
[...]
He goes over to shake Sid’s hand at the end of warmups. He can hear the cameras clicking furiously and knows that if they lose, this is the moment he’ll be raked over the coals for.
“Good luck,” he says. Sid blinks slowly, like he’s surfacing from his routine enough to realize that Geno’s here. Geno squeezes his hand and taps a finger once on the inside of Sid’s wrist - you okay?
Sid smiles slowly. “Good luck,” he says, and then his fingers tap twice quickly. Yes.
[I have no idea what this was from.]
Geno had only brought that up once, when Sid was tipsy at one of their post-Cup parties and he’d turned to Geno with a wobbly smile and sighed, “how d’you - you always get me.”
“Yes,” Geno had said, because he’d been more than a little drunk too, and speaking, especially in English, had seemed like entirely too much effort.
“No one understands me,” Sid had confessed with painful honesty, and that’s why Geno remembers it, because that was something Sid never, ever would normally admit out loud.
“No one else try very hard,” Geno had said, scrambling to to cover the weird ache in his chest. “Listen to how you say, not what you say. Sid talk very loud, but make hard to hear with stupid words.”
Geno stands by that assessment now, that Sid’s easy to read if you listen to how he says things instead of what he’s saying. The only time that’s ever failed Geno was when he missed that Sid wanted him, and that has less to do with Sid, in retrospect, than it has to do with Geno thinking that wanting someone was a language Sid didn’t how to speak.
[This was a whole fic where Sid gets it into his head he needs to convince Geno to stay in Pittsburgh (because he’s in love with him) and Geno isn’t sure if he will because he’s in love with Sid and doesn’t know if he can stand to be around Sid for that long and not do something stupid. Then they sleep together and misunderstandings ensue. This felt too similar to other things I’ve written in a lot of parts, so I’ll probably never finish it.]
Sid is waiting for him after he gets named the MVP of the game the next night, watching Geno take his celebratory circle on the ice. “They love you,” he says, when Geno joins him in the tunnel, nodding out at the still-cheering crowd. “They’ll miss you if you leave.”
Geno looks down at Sid, face tilted upwards and chin jutted out like a challenge, so beautiful in the swirling lights dancing off the ice and down the tunnel, and wants to ask would you miss me? And would Sid miss him, Geno, or would he miss winning, or miss having someone else to shift the spotlight to when the glare got a little too bright?
“I already say I try,” he grumbles, looking down at his skates. “Why you not let it go?” He sees Sid’s jaw clench out of the corner of his eye.
“If you meant it you’d be trying harder,” Sid snaps. Geno doesn’t bother trying to catch him stomping down the tunnel to change.
- - -
It’s not that Geno doesn’t want to stay in Pittsburgh. He loves the town and he loves his teammates and he loves Sid - the problem is just that he can’t pretend he doesn’t love Sid a little bit different and a lot more than he should, in a way that has nothing to do with hockey at all. If Geno had his way he’d stay in Pittsburgh forever, always safely hidden in Sid’s shadow and one step behind him wherever he goes. He’d do it even if he hated Pittsburgh, because it would make Sid happy, and because wherever Sid plays, that’s where Geno wants to play too.
Maybe if Geno loved Sid a little less and a little safer, he could promise he’d stay playing next to Sid forever. It’s all fine now, while Sid remains oblivious to everything that doesn’t involve a puck and Geno can make himself happy with just being Sid’s friend. But Sid’s a smart guy, and one day he’ll figure it out. Geno’s seen what happens when Sid figures out a someone’s interested in a more than friendly way - he shuts them out brutally fast, and there’s nothing to be done to get him to be easy and open again.
Figuring out what he wants to ask for before he goes into negotiating his contract extension is like playing Russian roulette - how many more years does he think he can last before Sid finds out? Underestimate and he’ll have to play against Sid and always wonder what if he’d just stayed a little longer. Overstay his welcome and he’ll lose Sid and Pittsburgh completely. Either way, it’s almost more than Geno can bear, until he sees Sid smile at him, watches Sid hunker down on the ice with his determined glare to do something beautiful and impossible, and it’s a game of roulette he’ll happily play as long as he can.
- - -
Geno’s putting on his undershirt when he feels Sid’s sneaker toe at the back of his leg and Sid’s voice go “The Carnegie Natural History Museum.”
“Huh?” Geno asks, pulling the shirt over his head so he can see Sid, who’s watching him with crossed arms and the sort of expression that suggests he’s even more fixated on winning whatever conversation or argument he’s having than usual. Geno doesn’t even know if they’re having a conversation or Sid’s just saying random words.
“The Natural History Museum,” Sid repeats. “It’s cool. I took Taylor a few years back. They have dinosaurs.”
Geno considers this while he pulls on his jeans. “You think I stay in Pittsburgh because of dinosaurs?”
“It’s a T-Rex,” Sid says like he’s reciting the website from memory. He probably is. “Did you know they have one of the largest dinosaur exhibits in the world? And they have mummies.”
“The Science Museum is better,” Duper butts in. “They have a whole thing on the science of exercise. It’s awesome.” Then Adams interrupts to ask questions about if his kids are old enough to play there, which just devolves into everyone telling everyone else their kids’ favorite exhibits. (The dinosaurs rank highly, as does the laser show.)
“See,” Sid says smugly, just loud enough for Geno to hear, “Pittsburgh’s a great place for raising a family.”
“I don’t have family,” Geno points out. “Not even dating.”
Sid looks like this hadn’t occurred to him. “But you could be,” he says finally. “Is that the problem? There aren’t enough girls in Pittsburgh?”
“Girls are fine, Sid,” Geno sighs, zipping his coat and hefting his bag over his shoulder. “If I don’t stay in Pittsburgh, not because of girls.”
“But -” Sid starts, and Geno just repeats, “not worried about girls, Sid,” before he leaves, because if Sid’s already harping on girls, there’s no telling what dangerous territory he’s going to venture into next.
- - -
[Sid came to Geno’s house once with a group of bros to watch football and it was super weirdly decorated like all that’s really there is the den and Sid hates it because it’s so impermanent and he’s never come back and always makes excuses]
Sid’s never been over to Geno’s house. Everyone’s been over to Geno’s house, invited themselves over, mostly, except for Sid. Geno’s even gone so far as to ask Sid if he wants to join football nights with Neal and Tanger or come over for drinks with the rest of the team, but Sid always says “no, thank you” with a quick, close-mouthed smile that looks like a grimace and doesn’t quite reach his eyes. And after three or four times of Sid saying no, Geno stops asking.
It’s all he needs to know about his and Sid’s relationship, if he ever gets it into his head that there’s something more going on between them. Sid drives past Geno’s house every day, Sid’s been explicitly invited into Geno’s home and already burrowed into Geno’s chest and under his heart without any permission whatsoever, and all he does is refuse or push away.
- - -
[Geno admits he’s in love with Sid]
“Say something,” Geno begs, because Sid’s face is terrible and blank, like he’s looking at someone he’s never met before.
“You love me?” Sid asks, his voice completely flat.
“Yes.”
Sid stares at him. He crosses his arms, then uncrosses them before shaking his head. “No, that’s not - you can’t.”
“Fuck you,” Geno snaps. “Is not your decision, Sid.”
“If you loved me, you wouldn’t leave me!” Sid shouts. “People don’t leave people they’re in love with!”
Geno balls his hands into fists and closes his eyes, tries to remind himself that this is Sid. He shouldn’t be surprised that Sid isn’t comfortable with people having feelings about him, that Sid still thinks in childish absolutes. “Not that easy, Sid,” he grits out. “You can’t... is too much to ask I stay forever when you don’t, when I see you every day and feel,” he unclenches one hand and gestures between them helplessly. “Is not you. But I can’t stop feeling. I still want -”
“No,” Sid interrupts, frustrated, and Geno closes his eyes again. “No, this is so fucking stupid -” and then Geno wishes he hadn’t squeezed his eyes shut, because then he would have anticipated the desperate press of Sid’s lips against his own. Geno isn’t even sure it is Sid kissing him at first, because it seems so far-fetched, like it’s more likely a complete stranger walked in his house and planted one on him. But when he opens his eyes, it’s just Sid, a few inches from his face and looking up at him with a mixture of confusion and annoyance.
Geno unclenches one fist and tentatively brushes his fingertips against Sid’s cheek, watches in fascination as Sid blushes even as he refuses to look away, watching as Geno tilts his head closer and closer and finally - finally - kisses Sid as slowly and thoroughly as he’s always wanted to. He finally gets to hear that surprised little noise he always knew Sid would make. Sid’s pushing him towards the stairs, making desperate noises and mumbling something against Geno’s mouth. It isn’t until Geno pulls away to gasp for air that he hears that Sid’s repeating “don’t leave me, don’t leave me” over and over.
“Sid,” he says as gently as he knows how, but Sid shakes his head.
“No,” he insists, hands coming down to fist in Geno’s t-shirt like he has to keep him from running away. “No, Geno. You can’t - Army, Jordy, Max, fine, but not you. You’re too important. I can’t - you can’t leave me. I can’t take you leaving me. I won’t.”
There are a million reasons Geno should back away, should tell Sid that he’s not special. Sid is the special one, and he’ll always be the special one, with or without Geno. But he can’t, not when Sid is looking up at him, flushed and hopeful and everything Geno’s ever wanted. So he pushes aside the small ball of dread that always sits in the pit of his stomach and lets Sid lead him upstairs. He lets Sid push him into his bed and kiss him as desperately as he wants, he covers Sid’s body with every bit of love he’s ever felt and promise he wishes he could make.
- - -
It takes Geno roughly ten seconds to remember what happened when he wakes up the next morning, which means it takes ten seconds for him to go from fuzzy contentment to panic and self-loathing. That’s not anyone’s back pressed into his side, it’s Sid’s. Sid who was so beautiful last night, Sid who shuddered and moaned when Geno touched him, Sid who was willing to do anything to keep him.
Geno has no idea what he’s supposed to say to Sid when he wakes up, what he’s even supposed to say. He knows he should be sorry for sleeping with Sid, for taking advantage of his desperation, for loving Sid too much to have one night together ever be enough for him. He should probably be the most sorry that he isn’t really sorry about any of those things at all, that if he had last night to repeat he’d do the same thing all over again.
His room’s too suffocating to stay in, so Geno does the only thing he can think to do - he gets dressed as quickly and silently as he can and grabs his car keys from the dresser. Sid stirs a little as he’s about to sneak out the door, and Geno leans over to press one last kiss to Sid’s shoulder, to breathe in what a bed-warm Sid smells like for the first and only time.
“Sorry, Sid,” he whispers in Sid’s ear before he leaves. That much, at least, he means.
- - -
“Today’s my off day,” Segei grumbles when he picks up, “so you have ten seconds to give me one good reason why you’re calling so early.”
“I slept with Sid,” Geno says.
“That doesn’t explain why you had to wake me up at 7:30,” Sergei says. “Or why you make it sound like the worst thing in the world. I didn’t think he’d be that bad at sex.”
“No!” Geno says, horrified, “no, he’s -” He closes his eyes and sees Sid kneeling in front of him, feels Sid’s phantom fingers clutching at his hips. “He’s perfect,” Geno concludes miserably.
“Zhenya -” Sergei starts, and Geno has to squeeze his eyes tighter to block out the hot feeling of shame.
“He didn’t - he’s been mad at me lately,” Geno says. “He wanted to know why I wouldn’t renew my contract. He kept bothering me and bothering me, and when he was over last night I just, I snapped and told him and we...” He trails off miserably. “He did it so I’d stay.”
“You’re an idiot,” Sergei tells him.
“I know,” Geno grits out. “Do you think Ottawa would take me?”
“No, because you are an idiot.”
“He just started kissing me!” Geno protests. “What was I supposed to do, say no?”
“You were supposed to know that Sid’s been in love with you for years!” Sergei shouts.
“No,” Geno says after a few moments of shocked silence, because that’s all he can think. Sid couldn’t possibly, not when he could have anyone in the world. If Sid loved him, he’d know. He’d have felt it, last night, instead of just feeling like Sid was pleading with his body. “I told you, it was to get me to stay.”
“He didn’t try to seduce me into staying,” Sergei says dryly.
“You’re married,” Geno says. He wishes Sergei would take this seriously, he’s only been pining after Sid for a million years. “That’s different.”
“Fine.” Sergei sounds like he’s shrugging on the other end. “What about Max? Sid knew he was going to be a free agent. Did he sleep with Max?”
“Max didn’t like him like that.”
“Max likes anything with a pulse that likes him back,” Sergei scoffs. “Stop trying to make up excuses. No one prostitutes themselves for hockey, not even Sidney Crosby.”
[And when Geno comes back to the house after talking to Sergei on the phone in his car by the side of the road for like an hour and a half Sid is gone without a note. But somehow they make up and everything’s great. This was also too difficult to figure out, so I stopped trying.]
[For a while I was unsure if I was going to have Sid go to Magnitogorsk or not in Make this Place Your Home. I obviously decided not, but I liked the Magnitogorsk bits so much I kept them.]
It takes Sergei only a split-second of looking at Geno’s face the next morning at practice for his own face to fall and for him to groan theatrically.
“I thought Denis was joking when he texted me that Sidney Crosby showed up on his front door,” Sergei whines, and Geno just beams at him and grabs him in an affectionate headlock.
“It’s a Christmas miracle a month and a half early,” he says, scrubbing his hand into Sergei’s skull. “Maybe if you ask nicely, you’ll get some of your hair back.”
“You’re disgusting when you’re happy,” Sergei says, punching Geno in the stomach to make him let go, and Geno knows what he really means is that he’s glad Sid showed up too.
He is so happy it’s disgusting, though. It’s not that everything’s suddenly right or perfect, because that would mean he was back in Pittsburgh, that he and Sid were on the ice together or swatting at each other for luck while changing shifts. But it’s better to have Sid close, to watch him smile with Geno’s family and learn a few simple sentences in Russian. He still can’t believe that Sid’s here with him, that he’s real.
So Geno does what he’s always wanted to do. He holds Sid’s hand and takes him to the bend in the river where his father taught him to skate and by his old school and points out the apartment where he grew up, so Sid knows exactly how far Geno’s come to be who he is. He learns what it’s like to wake up to Sid every morning, the weight of Sid’s dick in his mouth, where Sid likes to be kissed and touched. He and Sid spend hours curled up next to each other, just staring silently, and Geno teaches himself the shadowy curve of Sid’s eyelashes and the dip in Sid’s lower lip so he doesn’t forget it when Sid leaves. He’s so in love it hurts, and it somehow that makes him feel like he understands himself better, like there were parts of him that needed those parts of Sid to feel right.
- - -
[After Sid leaves]
“Was it a mistake to come visit?” Sid asks when Geno tells him this, dawdling outside his house so he doesn’t have to go in and put on any sort of face for anyone. Geno can picture Sid so much clearer now that he’s just seen him in person, can see the furrowed brow and slight pout he was kissing away a week ago.
“No,” Geno says, because it’s all worth it, if he had that time with Sid. He sighs and looks up at the smoky night sky and the snow falling for what looks like forever. “I just miss you.”
Sid makes a gentle noise on the other end of the phone, like a sigh. “I think we’re really getting somewhere with these talks,” he says. He says that every time, lately, but Geno closes his eyes and makes himself believe it’s true.
“I love you, Sid.” It’s still awkward to say - it sounds so insubstantial in English, none of the heavy Russian syllables huddled close together. But he likes the way it sounds, too, like it’s a thin whispery string that long enough to tie them together even when it stretches halfway around the world.
“I love you, too,” Sid says immediately. “And you’ll be home soon.”
“Promise?”
“Promise,” Sid says. “Do you believe me?”
“I believe you,” Geno answers, because he does, because if there’s one person he believes more than anyone in the world, it’s Sid.
- - -
Ten days later, he wakes up to his phone telling them he has over fifty new messages. He scrolls through them, heart pounding, refusing to look at the subject line until he gets to Sid’s. We start the 17th, it reads. Pack your bags, you’re coming home. I love you. - Sid