Get It Right, Get It Tight, 1/1
Title: Get It Right, Get It Tight
Fandom: NHL RPS
Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Summary: "The biceps peeking out of the sleeves, stretching the material thin and tight, are a lot more impressive than Geno remembers. He would have remembered if Sid had arms like that."
Length: 4,600ish
Warnings: The working title for this fic was "Puberty 2: Electric Lockout Boogaloo."
Notes: As always, The Hoyden. Perfection. Terrible enabler who dared me into this title. Equally terrible: MK. Monsters, the both of them. Basically, you know when you come back from summer vacation and you're like WHOA JESUS YOU GOT HOT, SO-AND-SO-PERSON? Yeah, this is that fic. Because sorry I'm not sorry but have you seen Sid recently
Sid texts him almost non-stop from the moment the lockout ends, all through Geno hurriedly packing his bags, saying goodbye to his friends and family and throwing himself on a plane back to Pittsburgh. So it's no huge surprise when Sid is waiting for him at the baggage claim, but what is surprising is the fierce, almost painfully tight hug Sid pulls him into before Geno can even drop his carry on.
Granted, almost every time he and Sid hug, there are pads masking Sid's body, emphasizing the difference in their height more than weight, but there's a muscular solidity and sheer physical strength to Sid that is new- new and distracting. Sid has also never been one for casual touching, at least outside of shared, drunken cab rides, where Sid seems to feel free to go boneless and slump against Geno, murmuring indistinct and too fast for Geno to usually catch. So Sid clinging to him now, a few thumping, seemingly unplanned slaps of Sid's hand accompanying the hug, is more than a little unusual. Geno thinks maybe it speaks to how desperately happy Sid is to get back on the ice, finally- healthy and hungry for it, and Geno can feel that under his fingertips, almost vibrating along Sid's skin.
"Good to see you, G," Sid says, like a child on Christmas morning, practically giddy.
"Have missed Sid too," Geno agrees, squeezing back, because Sid is as much Pittsburgh and hockey as anything else could be and Geno finally feels like the lockout is really over, being hugged by Sidney Crosby in the baggage claim of Pittsburgh International Airport.
"C'mon, let's get you home," Sid says, finally taking a step back, even if he doesn't exactly let go, his hands wrapping around Geno's shoulders, keeping Geno from getting out of arm's reach. "I ran by your house this morning to double check that the cleaning service had been in and I may have told Jeffrey you were coming home today." Sid says this, but he doesn't really move, even as Geno can see his luggage going by again on the carousel.
"Have to get bag first," Geno reminds Sid gently.
"Oh, right, yeah, for sure," Sid says, finally stepping away to snag Geno's bag off the conveyor right before it can disappear on its way to loop around for a third time. There's a lot of stuff in the duffel and Geno felt the evidence under his hands, but Sid's shoulders look massive as they heft Geno's bag up. Sid's never been frail, but clearly he spent his lockout frustration in endless reps at the gym.
"Sid looks good," Geno tells him, because it’s reassuring to see Sid look this healthy, after months of strain around his eyes and headaches that refused to fade. In fact, Sid's never looked better.
"Um, you know," Sid says, fumbling with the straps for a moment. "Not a lot else to do, right?"
"Shoot pucks into dryer?" Geno teases, and oh, how he's missed Sid's terrible, awful giggling.
"My contractor would kill me," Sid says firmly, once he has himself back under control, even if he's grinning wildly.
"How is house?" Geno asks, because Sid had been determined to really make a go of it, this time.
"Almost done," Sid answers, sounding proud and almost as surprised as Geno is to hear it. "You'll have to come over, check out the rink."
"Someone must fix whatever kitchen you choose," Geno agrees solemnly.
Sid looks like he's trying to be offended, but he's clearly in such a good mood that he fails spectacularly. "I copied Nathalie's kitchen," he admits.
"Smart. Unlike you," Geno teases, and chirping Sid is like settling feathers he hadn't known were ruffled.
"Shut up," Sid says, smacking Geno with his own bag. They walk out to the short term parking garage, Sid still refusing to hand over the duffel, stowing it in the trunk and herding Geno into the passenger seat. The trip from the airport home is familiar and soothing after the long flight- only the billboards have changed, the only indicator that Geno has been away much longer than he should have been.
Sid is tapping his fingers against the steering wheel to something quietly catchy on the radio, humming along off-key and idly, like he's not even realizing he's doing it. He's just happy, happier than Geno has seen him in a long time and it's infectious, despite how tired Geno is.
The heating in the car is up high, almost too warm, and rather than turning it down, Sid shimmies out of his coat at a stoplight, just a threadbare Reebok t-shirt underneath it and if Geno had felt anything earlier, seeing is believing.
The biceps peeking out of the sleeves, stretching the material thin and tight, are a lot more impressive than Geno remembers. He would have remembered if Sid had arms like that.
Sid's eyes are responsibly on the road, taking them north and over the bridge, and Geno can't stop staring at the way the shirt is taxed to its limits by Sid's body. Even though he's been playing the last couple months, he's starting to wonder if he needs to play some catch up- Geno idly flexes his arm at his side, glancing between his arm and Sid's. Maybe Sid shrunk the shirt in the laundry.
It's nothing- he hasn't seen Sid in person in months, which would have stung to think about even a week ago, but now, in Sid's car, Sid's tuneless humming accompanying Carly Rae Jepsen on the radio, everything is fine. Sid is in good shape, all that means is that they're clear to play, finally.
But now that he's noticed, it's like there's some new, impossibly-defined part of Sid on display all the time.
It’s not even limited to the locker room, although the towels do seem like they’ve gotten smaller, covering less of Sid's thighs, powerful and so built that Geno has to glance up, but then he’s staring at Sid's chest, which is like a stupid Greek statue or someone on the CW. There’s just nowhere to look- it's not like Sid's face is any less distracting than the rest of him. But Sid will be in some kind of unflattering sprawl on Geno's couch, fishing for the remote and suddenly there will be struggling t-shirts, rucked up over flat stomachs and the dramatic shadow of Sid's hipbone where his sweats hang low and it's not fair or sensible.
Geno didn't have these thoughts before the lockout- other than the kind of idle thoughts anyone might have about a mouth like that with an ass like that, and okay, maybe it's not a new problem after all. And it's not like Sid is different at all- he probably hasn't even put on that much muscle. Well, maybe he's a little happier, still high on hockey, prone to smiling goofily for no good reason, which is Geno's wheelhouse, really.
The smiling is actually more distracting than all of the muscles combined and Geno might have to admit that it's not even a Sidney-Body Problem, it's just a Sidney Problem.
Because Sid basically alternates between Mario's guesthouse and Geno's guest room while his decorator does something arcane that has Sid claiming that he can't possibly move in, "not yet." And that wouldn't be such a Problem if Sid weren't prone to lounging against Geno's breakfast counter, sleepy and sweet in bare feet, bare chested, wearing a pair of flannel pants that had seen better days in 1996. The sum of which leaves Geno constantly in a state of wanting to kiss Sid, right there against the counter- to press himself into that solid warmth and not let go.
And maybe that's not a new problem, either.
But it's not like Geno spends all his time watching Sidney roam around his house shirtless- there's hockey to be played, although Sid is a different, but no less hot distraction on the ice. He's fast, so fast, and strong, brushing aside hits that used to knock him into the boards, and it makes Geno's mouth dry in a way that's inappropriately the same as when Sid bends over to pick up carpet samples and paint swatches off the floor of his still somehow unfinished house.
Geno's certainly not helping himself, either- he has a league of touch-related bad habits that he can't seem to stop himself from engaging in- plastering himself against Sid's side in a booth at the bar, whether or not the booth is crowded, and stupid locker room ass swatting that never seemed sexy until now. He's thrown an arm around Sid's shoulder on the couch more times than he could count on twenty hands, but this time his fingertips are resting on Sid's shoulder, solid and firm, and it's keeping his attention a lot more than whatever they're watching. He can actually feel the line of Sid's biceps right there, even in total repose and Geno can't resist tracing that line, out of sheer incredulity, if nothing else.
Geno doesn't realize he's basically stroking Sid's arm until he also realizes Sid is pretty much frozen still, barely breathing. And Geno knows Sid, knows when the tension in his body means "don't touch," but this isn't back off, this is-
He lets his hand trail up the curve of Sid's shoulder, the pads of his fingers just barely dragging against Sid's old, too-tight t-shirt until they reach Sid's neck and there's no mistaking this for something friendly, something without intent. And Sid- Sid melts. Geno's arm is around him, his thumb brushing up over the soft, vulnerable skin, toward Sid's ear and Sid looks anything but unhappy about this turn of events, eyes half-lidded and dark.
"Sid's shirts are tight," Geno says by way of explanation and justification.
"No they aren't," Sid disagrees, still looking like something edible, like he's waiting to be sculpted by a renaissance master and Geno just glances down at Sid's shirt which is so tight someone could probably draw an anatomical diagram despite it. Geno can actually see Sid's nipples through the thin white cotton, dark and hard right under hardly anything at all and Geno has had just about all he can stand.
Geno feels dry like a forest on the verge of a fire and it'll only take the tiniest of sparks- Sid's breath hitches just a little in his throat on an uneven inhale and that's it.
Sid's mouth is instantly open and hot under his, and Geno can't get enough of it. He has to throw a leg over Sid's fucking obscene thighs, the stretch of it making him groan, half-sitting in Sid's lap, his knees just pressing into the couch. Sid clutches and grabs, like if he doesn't hold Geno close enough he'll walk off and do- do fucking what, what else could he want to do when he has Sid under him, kissing him like there's a bomb in the room and they're gonna die in thirty seconds. It feels explosive, like all the little surges of want carefully filed away in his body are boiling right under the surface, making his hands greedy and quick, too. He wants to slow down, take all the time he can to catalogue the feel of Sid's body under his, the swell and dip of his forearms, the close curve of his waist, the fucking unbelievable heat of it all. But instead his hands are slipping under Sid's useless t-shirt to get more skin under his palms, to feel more of that scorching burn, Sid like a heater under him.
"Geno, Geno," Sid breathes out between frantic kissing, like there's something so important he has to tell Geno, but Geno can't think of anything more important than this, than finally, finally getting to touch.
"Sid," Geno confirms, because it's the only answer that matters- it's Sid and that's all he wants right now, lust and something like satisfaction thrumming in his veins, pushing even faster when Sid manages a simple "yes," heavy and bone-deep wanting that makes Geno's hips grind slow against Sid's.
"Do you know," Sid pants, giving Geno a look that straddles the line between filthy and fucking filthy, "do you know how long I've wanted you to do that?"
It's an extremely gratifying sentence, but Geno would really prefer it if neither of them were capable of full sentences for the foreseeable future. "Be specific, yes? Do what, this?" Geno lets Sid take his weight again, grind against where Geno can feel Sid hard and waiting, "Or this?" He bends down to take Sid's mouth, lazily pushing his tongue against Sid's, until he's just taken the edge off, brushed the surface of what he wants from Sid.
Sid's eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones, sinfully long and full, as he drags in a shaky breath. "I want it all, I want you," Sid finally says, determined and Geno has got to get them both naked as quickly as possible.
"Anything Sid wants," Geno promises. "Tell me."
Sid groans. "Oh god, we have to get naked," he says, unknowingly echoing Geno's thoughts exactly. He strips his t-shirt off over his head in one almost-graceful drag/pull.
"Bed," Geno says firmly, because he doubts that Sid is the type, but if he's only going to get the one shot at this, he's going to need room.
"Are you kidding, I'm not going to make it upstairs," Sid tells him.
Geno bites at his mouth, gentle but firm. "Bed. Sid look good now, look better on my sheets," He says. Geno spares a moment to grin as dirty as he knows how at Sid. "Sid look too good."
"Stop talking or touching me, unless you want me to blow you into next week on the sofa," Sid warns him, tone sharp, but totally undermined by the way that Sid tucks his fingers into the waistband of Geno's sweats.
"Bed," Geno practically growls, because he's going to take Sid up on that- take him up on that a lot- just not right now.
They get slowed down on the landing because Sid tackles him against the wall and Geno can't really say no to that, Sid crowding him in and kissing him wet and needy. He loses track of the thread for a moment, but the bump of the bannister into the back of his thighs reminds him, and he can't resist a swift slap to Sid's ass, Sid gasping against Geno's mouth.
"Up," Geno practically drags Sid the rest of the way up the stairs, slipping his hands into the back pockets of those fucking custom jeans and just getting a palmful and squeezing.
"You're going to fucking kill me," Sid says, tucking his face into Geno's neck, nuzzling in.
"Sid can't talk, ass better than porn star," Geno says.
"Why aren't we naked?" Sid whines, plastering himself against Geno as closely as he can.
"Because Sid disobedient, can't follow simple directions," Geno says, pulling him into the bedroom, pushing him onto the bed in an extremely appealing spread.
"You're distracting," Sid argues, reaching up to tug Geno down on top of him.
"Kettle black pot," Geno tries, and if the idiom comes out mixed up, fuck it, he's got far better things to do. Too many things, even, because faced with Sid, propped up on his elbows on Geno's bed, shirt off, boxers just peeking over the edge of his jeans, Geno doesn't know where to start.
"Naked," Sid reminds him, as if he knows exactly what Geno is thinking.
"Sid first," Geno retorts, because he could probably get off on Sid just lying there and finally getting to look his fill. Of course, he's never going to be able to stop himself from touching- not that he plans to try.
"Unfair," Sid sighs, but his hands go for his own fly and Geno doesn't want to waste any of his attention on getting himself undressed. It's not showy, although it’s not like he was expecting a striptease. Sid just goes for it all at once, shucking off pants and boxers at the same time.
Geno thinks he maybe makes an embarrassing noise, but he can forgive himself because, damn. Sid's not shy, has no fucking reason to be shy, and just waits for a moment while Geno's eyes rove over firm musculature and irresistibly smooth looking skin before Sid finally shifts with impatience.
"Geno," Sid whines, moving to get up and that gets Geno going, throwing his clothes off quickly; shirt, sweats, boxers. "Fuck." Sid swears with feeling, his breathing just a little quicker and Geno wants to put his mouth where he can see the muscles of Sid's stomach working. So he does- pushes Sid down to lay flat against the bed and kisses, sucks, bites all the hidden, sensitive spots that he’s going to catalogue and shamelessly abuse.
Sid's neck seems to be especially vulnerable, and Sid arches it to let Geno have whatever he wants, sighing when Geno bites just a little at the edge of a collarbone, swearing as Geno licks over a nipple, hard and tight. He's not talkative as much as he is vocal, which Geno didn't know he wanted until Sid rewards all Geno's attentions with breathy sighs and groans, little humming and hitching noises that speak volumes, anyway. Geno hasn't even gotten to the main event yet, still mouthing his way down Sid's torso, moving from pectoral to sternum to Sid's abs, tense with anticipation as Geno kisses lower and lower.
"Fuck, are you gonna- oh God," Sid hisses as Geno lets his hands wander, his thumbs finding the ticklish divot between hip and thigh, pressing in reflexively, keeping Sid steady, but not still. Sid groans even more deeply when Geno's hands slip down to frame his cock, hard and curved and flushed. It's been years since Geno has sucked cock, but he figures some things never really leave you. Plus, Sid is extremely responsive, his hands curling onto Geno's shoulders and gripping hard when Geno takes just the head in his mouth, wrapping his hand around the base, teasing with his tongue. From the high, whining keen coming from Sid, Geno's willing to bet this is working for him.
Before Geno's jaw can get tired, lips bumping against the side of his thumb, and certainly before Geno is done making Sid swear and his chest heave in breath after breath, Sid squeezes hard at Geno's shoulder, tugging him up and off.
"Okay?" Geno asks cautiously, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Sid makes a noise that manages to sound broken and painfully aroused at the same time before dragging Geno close enough to kiss, like Sid is trying to really fuck his mouth up, probably already bruised and red with use. "I want you to fuck me," Sid manages finally, on a gasping inhale.
Geno's brain goes offline for a second, hands clutching at Sid's hips. "Yes," he says, low, hoarse, almost unrecognizable as his voice. "I want also."
Sid smiles at him, huge and pleased and that more than anything has Geno feeling like he's so primed, he's gonna come before he can even start to- wait.
"You have-" Gear isn't right. "Supply?" Geno says, words flying out of his mind with the idea of Sid, tight and hot and his.
"We're in your bedroom, Geno," Sid points out gently.
Geno bites back a curse and a laugh. "Sid blow my mind," he explains, leaning over to fish in the bedside drawer, pulling out the lube and a condom.
"Now you know how I feel," Sid says wryly, calm, but Geno can feel his heart pounding where his hand is still braced on Sid's chest.
"Gonna make you feel good, so good, Sid," Geno murmurs into the place on Sid's neck that makes him squirm even closer. "Want to make feel good always."
"Oh, fuck-" Sid hisses as Geno sneaks a hand into his hair and tugs, just a little. "C'mon, Geno, hurry."
Sid is tight as Geno slips a lubed up finger behind his balls, just teasing the entrance, but not tense. Well, tense everywhere else, his shoulders are one big mess of tension.
"Okay?" Geno asks again, being careful to be still.
"Are you fucking kidding me, why did you stop?" Sid demands, twisting his hips a little. "You don't have to be so gentle, I'm not a rookie."
Geno bites his lip against the thought of anyone else touching Sid, let alone touching him like this. "Pro?"
"Fuck, you wanna hear that I finger myself, thinking about what it would be like with your hands instead of mine?" Sid asks. "Because that's the least of what I've been thinking about."
Geno lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, dizzy with that. "Yeah, what I want." He slides a finger all the way in, Sid practically shaking on a low buzz of satisfaction. "Sid think about a lot?"
Sid laughs, choked off and a little wild. "Contrary to popular rumor, I don't get off on reliving hockey plays," he says. "Well, most of the time. You're involved anyway, then."
Geno huffs a laugh of his own. "Compliment sex and hockey at once," he acknowledges. "Very flattery." To be fair, if anyone was going to knock one out thinking about hockey, it would be Sid.
Sid flushes a little deeper. "Shut up and focus," he says.
"Yes?" Geno asks, adding another finger, carefully stretching.
Sid hisses his approval, hands clenched in the sheets as Geno crooks his fingers. "You can do better," he dares Geno and Geno doesn't know whether to laugh or not, so he just angles his fingers until Sid is swearing a low blue streak, biting his lip hard.
"Better," Geno says smugly.
"More," Sid insists, panting, clearly not going to be outdone.
Geno slicks up again, just stroking over Sid's hole for a moment before slipping in three fingers. "What does Sid think about? Alone," Geno prompts, just to watch Sid's brow furrow and his mouth work while he tries to think.
"I can't believe you're trying to get me to talk dirty to you," Sid mutters, but he looks Geno dead in the eye, challenging. "You, sitting against the headboard, riding you until you come or my thighs can't take it anymore, and-" Sid smirks. "Believe me, I can take it."
Fuck. Geno has spent a lot of time carefully not thinking about what Sid might be like in bed, but Geno should have guessed competitive would be a big part of it- Sid's going to kill him. He tells him as much and Sid laughs and kisses Geno.
"That's really not in my best interests in any sense whatsoever," Sid teases. "Come on, Geno, I'm ready. You want that, right, I can tell."
"Of course," Geno says, letting Sid put him where Sid wants, happy to let Sid take the lead, always. Sid jacks Geno a few times, hands steady as he slips the condom on, and then guides Geno's cock into his ass. It only takes one smooth slide for Sid to essentially sit in Geno's lap, leaving Geno swearing vehemently. Sid just grins, reckless before bending to kiss Geno, clenching tight.
Sid is seriously going to fucking kill him.
It's all Geno can do to hang on, hang on to control, to not come as Sid- Sid, who Max called the "Virgin Who Needed Urgin',"- works his hips in a grind dirtier than anything Geno's ever seen in fucking expensive pornography with former gymnasts. If he wouldn't have to murder him after explaining why, Geno would call Max and laugh in his face about how insanely- awesomely- wrong he was. Sid's staring at Geno, watching him fall apart as he fucks himself on Geno's lap, like a positive feedback loop- Geno's unintelligible Russian swearing making Sid move even faster, more sinuous, wrecking him.
"Sid," Geno says, clutching at Sid's thighs, just to feel the muscle working there, such a fucking rush, all that power harnessed to do what- to give Geno pleasure.
And it seems like the least Geno can do is take Sid's cock in hand, still slick with lube- the angle is a little awkward, but Geno is willing to deal with whatever discomfort it requires to watch Sid's lashes flutter, watch him bite his fucking wet dream of a bottom lip, and sigh, rhythm faltering just a little.
"Fuck, Geno," Sid breathes out, expression near blissful, drifting for a moment, hips lax and Geno decides to get a little of his own back. He shoves his hips up, pushing Sid's cock through Geno's grip as he slams into Sid. The noise Sid makes is indescribable.
"Oh fuck, like that," Sid says, bracing his hands on the headboard for just a little bit more leverage and control.
It's a crazier pace than any workout Geno's ever gone in for, but he can't deny the results- Sid going fucking wild, just a stream of profanity and prayers falling out of his mouth.
"C'mon, Geno," Sid begs, and just flat out takes Geno's hand off his dick and directs both of Geno's hands to his ass. "Just give me all of it, I want it, come on." There are websites dedicated to Sid's ass, rightfully so, as a) it is breathtaking and b) he feels like he'd be doing both of them, maybe even the world, a disservice if he didn't just use that opportunity and handhold to really put his back into it, bringing Sid's hips down to meet his lifting up, going all in.
Sid is grinning like a crazy person, reaching down to get himself off and Geno just loses it watching that- squeezes even tighter and fucks Sid even harder. He's going to come, he can feel it building up low in his stomach, but he waits until he hears Sid come with an almost pained groan, feels the wetness between their bodies before he finally lets go.
"Oh," Sid says weakly, still sitting on Geno's lap, head slumped into the crook of Geno's neck, and Geno is extremely glad for the headboard holding them both up.
"Yes," Geno agrees, pressing a kiss onto the top of Sidney's sweaty, messily curling hair. He's exhausted, but he can't stop himself from stroking a hand down Sid's side, light, pleased and still curious.
Sid shivers. "Geno," Sid protests, but his voice is sweet, full of things that Geno has only hoped for.
"I like to touch," Geno says and smiles, even though Sid can't see it. He can probably hear it, that's how goofy and irrepressible it is.
"I like you to touch me," Sid admits quietly, and that's huge, that's- Geno is still unpacking that when Sid tips his face up and kisses Geno softly. "I don't just want touch, not just this, though." Sid says and gestures something that Geno takes to mean sex.
"Not just touch- not with Sid," Geno promises. He thinks about the ache of missing Sid over the summer, the lockout- the way Sid has been avoiding moving into his house to keep eating Geno’s cereal, how it feels to wake up and know Sid is the first person he’ll see. He takes Sid's hand and puts it over his heart, beating too fast, hoping he understands. It's probably crazy- too much, too honest- but Sid looks at him like Geno just handed him the moon, the Cup.
"Okay," Sid says, easy, because Sid has never needed words to understand what Geno wants, needs.
Geno kisses him, warm and solid and real under his hands, and he's not just back in Pittsburgh- he's home.
Yo dawg, why don't you comment on the dw. Because you can do that. And I want you to do that. Right here. http://twentysomething.dreamwidth.org/29698.html?mode=reply <3.
Fandom: NHL RPS
Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Summary: "The biceps peeking out of the sleeves, stretching the material thin and tight, are a lot more impressive than Geno remembers. He would have remembered if Sid had arms like that."
Length: 4,600ish
Warnings: The working title for this fic was "Puberty 2: Electric Lockout Boogaloo."
Notes: As always, The Hoyden. Perfection. Terrible enabler who dared me into this title. Equally terrible: MK. Monsters, the both of them. Basically, you know when you come back from summer vacation and you're like WHOA JESUS YOU GOT HOT, SO-AND-SO-PERSON? Yeah, this is that fic. Because sorry I'm not sorry but have you seen Sid recently
Sid texts him almost non-stop from the moment the lockout ends, all through Geno hurriedly packing his bags, saying goodbye to his friends and family and throwing himself on a plane back to Pittsburgh. So it's no huge surprise when Sid is waiting for him at the baggage claim, but what is surprising is the fierce, almost painfully tight hug Sid pulls him into before Geno can even drop his carry on.
Granted, almost every time he and Sid hug, there are pads masking Sid's body, emphasizing the difference in their height more than weight, but there's a muscular solidity and sheer physical strength to Sid that is new- new and distracting. Sid has also never been one for casual touching, at least outside of shared, drunken cab rides, where Sid seems to feel free to go boneless and slump against Geno, murmuring indistinct and too fast for Geno to usually catch. So Sid clinging to him now, a few thumping, seemingly unplanned slaps of Sid's hand accompanying the hug, is more than a little unusual. Geno thinks maybe it speaks to how desperately happy Sid is to get back on the ice, finally- healthy and hungry for it, and Geno can feel that under his fingertips, almost vibrating along Sid's skin.
"Good to see you, G," Sid says, like a child on Christmas morning, practically giddy.
"Have missed Sid too," Geno agrees, squeezing back, because Sid is as much Pittsburgh and hockey as anything else could be and Geno finally feels like the lockout is really over, being hugged by Sidney Crosby in the baggage claim of Pittsburgh International Airport.
"C'mon, let's get you home," Sid says, finally taking a step back, even if he doesn't exactly let go, his hands wrapping around Geno's shoulders, keeping Geno from getting out of arm's reach. "I ran by your house this morning to double check that the cleaning service had been in and I may have told Jeffrey you were coming home today." Sid says this, but he doesn't really move, even as Geno can see his luggage going by again on the carousel.
"Have to get bag first," Geno reminds Sid gently.
"Oh, right, yeah, for sure," Sid says, finally stepping away to snag Geno's bag off the conveyor right before it can disappear on its way to loop around for a third time. There's a lot of stuff in the duffel and Geno felt the evidence under his hands, but Sid's shoulders look massive as they heft Geno's bag up. Sid's never been frail, but clearly he spent his lockout frustration in endless reps at the gym.
"Sid looks good," Geno tells him, because it’s reassuring to see Sid look this healthy, after months of strain around his eyes and headaches that refused to fade. In fact, Sid's never looked better.
"Um, you know," Sid says, fumbling with the straps for a moment. "Not a lot else to do, right?"
"Shoot pucks into dryer?" Geno teases, and oh, how he's missed Sid's terrible, awful giggling.
"My contractor would kill me," Sid says firmly, once he has himself back under control, even if he's grinning wildly.
"How is house?" Geno asks, because Sid had been determined to really make a go of it, this time.
"Almost done," Sid answers, sounding proud and almost as surprised as Geno is to hear it. "You'll have to come over, check out the rink."
"Someone must fix whatever kitchen you choose," Geno agrees solemnly.
Sid looks like he's trying to be offended, but he's clearly in such a good mood that he fails spectacularly. "I copied Nathalie's kitchen," he admits.
"Smart. Unlike you," Geno teases, and chirping Sid is like settling feathers he hadn't known were ruffled.
"Shut up," Sid says, smacking Geno with his own bag. They walk out to the short term parking garage, Sid still refusing to hand over the duffel, stowing it in the trunk and herding Geno into the passenger seat. The trip from the airport home is familiar and soothing after the long flight- only the billboards have changed, the only indicator that Geno has been away much longer than he should have been.
Sid is tapping his fingers against the steering wheel to something quietly catchy on the radio, humming along off-key and idly, like he's not even realizing he's doing it. He's just happy, happier than Geno has seen him in a long time and it's infectious, despite how tired Geno is.
The heating in the car is up high, almost too warm, and rather than turning it down, Sid shimmies out of his coat at a stoplight, just a threadbare Reebok t-shirt underneath it and if Geno had felt anything earlier, seeing is believing.
The biceps peeking out of the sleeves, stretching the material thin and tight, are a lot more impressive than Geno remembers. He would have remembered if Sid had arms like that.
Sid's eyes are responsibly on the road, taking them north and over the bridge, and Geno can't stop staring at the way the shirt is taxed to its limits by Sid's body. Even though he's been playing the last couple months, he's starting to wonder if he needs to play some catch up- Geno idly flexes his arm at his side, glancing between his arm and Sid's. Maybe Sid shrunk the shirt in the laundry.
It's nothing- he hasn't seen Sid in person in months, which would have stung to think about even a week ago, but now, in Sid's car, Sid's tuneless humming accompanying Carly Rae Jepsen on the radio, everything is fine. Sid is in good shape, all that means is that they're clear to play, finally.
But now that he's noticed, it's like there's some new, impossibly-defined part of Sid on display all the time.
It’s not even limited to the locker room, although the towels do seem like they’ve gotten smaller, covering less of Sid's thighs, powerful and so built that Geno has to glance up, but then he’s staring at Sid's chest, which is like a stupid Greek statue or someone on the CW. There’s just nowhere to look- it's not like Sid's face is any less distracting than the rest of him. But Sid will be in some kind of unflattering sprawl on Geno's couch, fishing for the remote and suddenly there will be struggling t-shirts, rucked up over flat stomachs and the dramatic shadow of Sid's hipbone where his sweats hang low and it's not fair or sensible.
Geno didn't have these thoughts before the lockout- other than the kind of idle thoughts anyone might have about a mouth like that with an ass like that, and okay, maybe it's not a new problem after all. And it's not like Sid is different at all- he probably hasn't even put on that much muscle. Well, maybe he's a little happier, still high on hockey, prone to smiling goofily for no good reason, which is Geno's wheelhouse, really.
The smiling is actually more distracting than all of the muscles combined and Geno might have to admit that it's not even a Sidney-Body Problem, it's just a Sidney Problem.
Because Sid basically alternates between Mario's guesthouse and Geno's guest room while his decorator does something arcane that has Sid claiming that he can't possibly move in, "not yet." And that wouldn't be such a Problem if Sid weren't prone to lounging against Geno's breakfast counter, sleepy and sweet in bare feet, bare chested, wearing a pair of flannel pants that had seen better days in 1996. The sum of which leaves Geno constantly in a state of wanting to kiss Sid, right there against the counter- to press himself into that solid warmth and not let go.
And maybe that's not a new problem, either.
But it's not like Geno spends all his time watching Sidney roam around his house shirtless- there's hockey to be played, although Sid is a different, but no less hot distraction on the ice. He's fast, so fast, and strong, brushing aside hits that used to knock him into the boards, and it makes Geno's mouth dry in a way that's inappropriately the same as when Sid bends over to pick up carpet samples and paint swatches off the floor of his still somehow unfinished house.
Geno's certainly not helping himself, either- he has a league of touch-related bad habits that he can't seem to stop himself from engaging in- plastering himself against Sid's side in a booth at the bar, whether or not the booth is crowded, and stupid locker room ass swatting that never seemed sexy until now. He's thrown an arm around Sid's shoulder on the couch more times than he could count on twenty hands, but this time his fingertips are resting on Sid's shoulder, solid and firm, and it's keeping his attention a lot more than whatever they're watching. He can actually feel the line of Sid's biceps right there, even in total repose and Geno can't resist tracing that line, out of sheer incredulity, if nothing else.
Geno doesn't realize he's basically stroking Sid's arm until he also realizes Sid is pretty much frozen still, barely breathing. And Geno knows Sid, knows when the tension in his body means "don't touch," but this isn't back off, this is-
He lets his hand trail up the curve of Sid's shoulder, the pads of his fingers just barely dragging against Sid's old, too-tight t-shirt until they reach Sid's neck and there's no mistaking this for something friendly, something without intent. And Sid- Sid melts. Geno's arm is around him, his thumb brushing up over the soft, vulnerable skin, toward Sid's ear and Sid looks anything but unhappy about this turn of events, eyes half-lidded and dark.
"Sid's shirts are tight," Geno says by way of explanation and justification.
"No they aren't," Sid disagrees, still looking like something edible, like he's waiting to be sculpted by a renaissance master and Geno just glances down at Sid's shirt which is so tight someone could probably draw an anatomical diagram despite it. Geno can actually see Sid's nipples through the thin white cotton, dark and hard right under hardly anything at all and Geno has had just about all he can stand.
Geno feels dry like a forest on the verge of a fire and it'll only take the tiniest of sparks- Sid's breath hitches just a little in his throat on an uneven inhale and that's it.
Sid's mouth is instantly open and hot under his, and Geno can't get enough of it. He has to throw a leg over Sid's fucking obscene thighs, the stretch of it making him groan, half-sitting in Sid's lap, his knees just pressing into the couch. Sid clutches and grabs, like if he doesn't hold Geno close enough he'll walk off and do- do fucking what, what else could he want to do when he has Sid under him, kissing him like there's a bomb in the room and they're gonna die in thirty seconds. It feels explosive, like all the little surges of want carefully filed away in his body are boiling right under the surface, making his hands greedy and quick, too. He wants to slow down, take all the time he can to catalogue the feel of Sid's body under his, the swell and dip of his forearms, the close curve of his waist, the fucking unbelievable heat of it all. But instead his hands are slipping under Sid's useless t-shirt to get more skin under his palms, to feel more of that scorching burn, Sid like a heater under him.
"Geno, Geno," Sid breathes out between frantic kissing, like there's something so important he has to tell Geno, but Geno can't think of anything more important than this, than finally, finally getting to touch.
"Sid," Geno confirms, because it's the only answer that matters- it's Sid and that's all he wants right now, lust and something like satisfaction thrumming in his veins, pushing even faster when Sid manages a simple "yes," heavy and bone-deep wanting that makes Geno's hips grind slow against Sid's.
"Do you know," Sid pants, giving Geno a look that straddles the line between filthy and fucking filthy, "do you know how long I've wanted you to do that?"
It's an extremely gratifying sentence, but Geno would really prefer it if neither of them were capable of full sentences for the foreseeable future. "Be specific, yes? Do what, this?" Geno lets Sid take his weight again, grind against where Geno can feel Sid hard and waiting, "Or this?" He bends down to take Sid's mouth, lazily pushing his tongue against Sid's, until he's just taken the edge off, brushed the surface of what he wants from Sid.
Sid's eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones, sinfully long and full, as he drags in a shaky breath. "I want it all, I want you," Sid finally says, determined and Geno has got to get them both naked as quickly as possible.
"Anything Sid wants," Geno promises. "Tell me."
Sid groans. "Oh god, we have to get naked," he says, unknowingly echoing Geno's thoughts exactly. He strips his t-shirt off over his head in one almost-graceful drag/pull.
"Bed," Geno says firmly, because he doubts that Sid is the type, but if he's only going to get the one shot at this, he's going to need room.
"Are you kidding, I'm not going to make it upstairs," Sid tells him.
Geno bites at his mouth, gentle but firm. "Bed. Sid look good now, look better on my sheets," He says. Geno spares a moment to grin as dirty as he knows how at Sid. "Sid look too good."
"Stop talking or touching me, unless you want me to blow you into next week on the sofa," Sid warns him, tone sharp, but totally undermined by the way that Sid tucks his fingers into the waistband of Geno's sweats.
"Bed," Geno practically growls, because he's going to take Sid up on that- take him up on that a lot- just not right now.
They get slowed down on the landing because Sid tackles him against the wall and Geno can't really say no to that, Sid crowding him in and kissing him wet and needy. He loses track of the thread for a moment, but the bump of the bannister into the back of his thighs reminds him, and he can't resist a swift slap to Sid's ass, Sid gasping against Geno's mouth.
"Up," Geno practically drags Sid the rest of the way up the stairs, slipping his hands into the back pockets of those fucking custom jeans and just getting a palmful and squeezing.
"You're going to fucking kill me," Sid says, tucking his face into Geno's neck, nuzzling in.
"Sid can't talk, ass better than porn star," Geno says.
"Why aren't we naked?" Sid whines, plastering himself against Geno as closely as he can.
"Because Sid disobedient, can't follow simple directions," Geno says, pulling him into the bedroom, pushing him onto the bed in an extremely appealing spread.
"You're distracting," Sid argues, reaching up to tug Geno down on top of him.
"Kettle black pot," Geno tries, and if the idiom comes out mixed up, fuck it, he's got far better things to do. Too many things, even, because faced with Sid, propped up on his elbows on Geno's bed, shirt off, boxers just peeking over the edge of his jeans, Geno doesn't know where to start.
"Naked," Sid reminds him, as if he knows exactly what Geno is thinking.
"Sid first," Geno retorts, because he could probably get off on Sid just lying there and finally getting to look his fill. Of course, he's never going to be able to stop himself from touching- not that he plans to try.
"Unfair," Sid sighs, but his hands go for his own fly and Geno doesn't want to waste any of his attention on getting himself undressed. It's not showy, although it’s not like he was expecting a striptease. Sid just goes for it all at once, shucking off pants and boxers at the same time.
Geno thinks he maybe makes an embarrassing noise, but he can forgive himself because, damn. Sid's not shy, has no fucking reason to be shy, and just waits for a moment while Geno's eyes rove over firm musculature and irresistibly smooth looking skin before Sid finally shifts with impatience.
"Geno," Sid whines, moving to get up and that gets Geno going, throwing his clothes off quickly; shirt, sweats, boxers. "Fuck." Sid swears with feeling, his breathing just a little quicker and Geno wants to put his mouth where he can see the muscles of Sid's stomach working. So he does- pushes Sid down to lay flat against the bed and kisses, sucks, bites all the hidden, sensitive spots that he’s going to catalogue and shamelessly abuse.
Sid's neck seems to be especially vulnerable, and Sid arches it to let Geno have whatever he wants, sighing when Geno bites just a little at the edge of a collarbone, swearing as Geno licks over a nipple, hard and tight. He's not talkative as much as he is vocal, which Geno didn't know he wanted until Sid rewards all Geno's attentions with breathy sighs and groans, little humming and hitching noises that speak volumes, anyway. Geno hasn't even gotten to the main event yet, still mouthing his way down Sid's torso, moving from pectoral to sternum to Sid's abs, tense with anticipation as Geno kisses lower and lower.
"Fuck, are you gonna- oh God," Sid hisses as Geno lets his hands wander, his thumbs finding the ticklish divot between hip and thigh, pressing in reflexively, keeping Sid steady, but not still. Sid groans even more deeply when Geno's hands slip down to frame his cock, hard and curved and flushed. It's been years since Geno has sucked cock, but he figures some things never really leave you. Plus, Sid is extremely responsive, his hands curling onto Geno's shoulders and gripping hard when Geno takes just the head in his mouth, wrapping his hand around the base, teasing with his tongue. From the high, whining keen coming from Sid, Geno's willing to bet this is working for him.
Before Geno's jaw can get tired, lips bumping against the side of his thumb, and certainly before Geno is done making Sid swear and his chest heave in breath after breath, Sid squeezes hard at Geno's shoulder, tugging him up and off.
"Okay?" Geno asks cautiously, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Sid makes a noise that manages to sound broken and painfully aroused at the same time before dragging Geno close enough to kiss, like Sid is trying to really fuck his mouth up, probably already bruised and red with use. "I want you to fuck me," Sid manages finally, on a gasping inhale.
Geno's brain goes offline for a second, hands clutching at Sid's hips. "Yes," he says, low, hoarse, almost unrecognizable as his voice. "I want also."
Sid smiles at him, huge and pleased and that more than anything has Geno feeling like he's so primed, he's gonna come before he can even start to- wait.
"You have-" Gear isn't right. "Supply?" Geno says, words flying out of his mind with the idea of Sid, tight and hot and his.
"We're in your bedroom, Geno," Sid points out gently.
Geno bites back a curse and a laugh. "Sid blow my mind," he explains, leaning over to fish in the bedside drawer, pulling out the lube and a condom.
"Now you know how I feel," Sid says wryly, calm, but Geno can feel his heart pounding where his hand is still braced on Sid's chest.
"Gonna make you feel good, so good, Sid," Geno murmurs into the place on Sid's neck that makes him squirm even closer. "Want to make feel good always."
"Oh, fuck-" Sid hisses as Geno sneaks a hand into his hair and tugs, just a little. "C'mon, Geno, hurry."
Sid is tight as Geno slips a lubed up finger behind his balls, just teasing the entrance, but not tense. Well, tense everywhere else, his shoulders are one big mess of tension.
"Okay?" Geno asks again, being careful to be still.
"Are you fucking kidding me, why did you stop?" Sid demands, twisting his hips a little. "You don't have to be so gentle, I'm not a rookie."
Geno bites his lip against the thought of anyone else touching Sid, let alone touching him like this. "Pro?"
"Fuck, you wanna hear that I finger myself, thinking about what it would be like with your hands instead of mine?" Sid asks. "Because that's the least of what I've been thinking about."
Geno lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, dizzy with that. "Yeah, what I want." He slides a finger all the way in, Sid practically shaking on a low buzz of satisfaction. "Sid think about a lot?"
Sid laughs, choked off and a little wild. "Contrary to popular rumor, I don't get off on reliving hockey plays," he says. "Well, most of the time. You're involved anyway, then."
Geno huffs a laugh of his own. "Compliment sex and hockey at once," he acknowledges. "Very flattery." To be fair, if anyone was going to knock one out thinking about hockey, it would be Sid.
Sid flushes a little deeper. "Shut up and focus," he says.
"Yes?" Geno asks, adding another finger, carefully stretching.
Sid hisses his approval, hands clenched in the sheets as Geno crooks his fingers. "You can do better," he dares Geno and Geno doesn't know whether to laugh or not, so he just angles his fingers until Sid is swearing a low blue streak, biting his lip hard.
"Better," Geno says smugly.
"More," Sid insists, panting, clearly not going to be outdone.
Geno slicks up again, just stroking over Sid's hole for a moment before slipping in three fingers. "What does Sid think about? Alone," Geno prompts, just to watch Sid's brow furrow and his mouth work while he tries to think.
"I can't believe you're trying to get me to talk dirty to you," Sid mutters, but he looks Geno dead in the eye, challenging. "You, sitting against the headboard, riding you until you come or my thighs can't take it anymore, and-" Sid smirks. "Believe me, I can take it."
Fuck. Geno has spent a lot of time carefully not thinking about what Sid might be like in bed, but Geno should have guessed competitive would be a big part of it- Sid's going to kill him. He tells him as much and Sid laughs and kisses Geno.
"That's really not in my best interests in any sense whatsoever," Sid teases. "Come on, Geno, I'm ready. You want that, right, I can tell."
"Of course," Geno says, letting Sid put him where Sid wants, happy to let Sid take the lead, always. Sid jacks Geno a few times, hands steady as he slips the condom on, and then guides Geno's cock into his ass. It only takes one smooth slide for Sid to essentially sit in Geno's lap, leaving Geno swearing vehemently. Sid just grins, reckless before bending to kiss Geno, clenching tight.
Sid is seriously going to fucking kill him.
It's all Geno can do to hang on, hang on to control, to not come as Sid- Sid, who Max called the "Virgin Who Needed Urgin',"- works his hips in a grind dirtier than anything Geno's ever seen in fucking expensive pornography with former gymnasts. If he wouldn't have to murder him after explaining why, Geno would call Max and laugh in his face about how insanely- awesomely- wrong he was. Sid's staring at Geno, watching him fall apart as he fucks himself on Geno's lap, like a positive feedback loop- Geno's unintelligible Russian swearing making Sid move even faster, more sinuous, wrecking him.
"Sid," Geno says, clutching at Sid's thighs, just to feel the muscle working there, such a fucking rush, all that power harnessed to do what- to give Geno pleasure.
And it seems like the least Geno can do is take Sid's cock in hand, still slick with lube- the angle is a little awkward, but Geno is willing to deal with whatever discomfort it requires to watch Sid's lashes flutter, watch him bite his fucking wet dream of a bottom lip, and sigh, rhythm faltering just a little.
"Fuck, Geno," Sid breathes out, expression near blissful, drifting for a moment, hips lax and Geno decides to get a little of his own back. He shoves his hips up, pushing Sid's cock through Geno's grip as he slams into Sid. The noise Sid makes is indescribable.
"Oh fuck, like that," Sid says, bracing his hands on the headboard for just a little bit more leverage and control.
It's a crazier pace than any workout Geno's ever gone in for, but he can't deny the results- Sid going fucking wild, just a stream of profanity and prayers falling out of his mouth.
"C'mon, Geno," Sid begs, and just flat out takes Geno's hand off his dick and directs both of Geno's hands to his ass. "Just give me all of it, I want it, come on." There are websites dedicated to Sid's ass, rightfully so, as a) it is breathtaking and b) he feels like he'd be doing both of them, maybe even the world, a disservice if he didn't just use that opportunity and handhold to really put his back into it, bringing Sid's hips down to meet his lifting up, going all in.
Sid is grinning like a crazy person, reaching down to get himself off and Geno just loses it watching that- squeezes even tighter and fucks Sid even harder. He's going to come, he can feel it building up low in his stomach, but he waits until he hears Sid come with an almost pained groan, feels the wetness between their bodies before he finally lets go.
"Oh," Sid says weakly, still sitting on Geno's lap, head slumped into the crook of Geno's neck, and Geno is extremely glad for the headboard holding them both up.
"Yes," Geno agrees, pressing a kiss onto the top of Sidney's sweaty, messily curling hair. He's exhausted, but he can't stop himself from stroking a hand down Sid's side, light, pleased and still curious.
Sid shivers. "Geno," Sid protests, but his voice is sweet, full of things that Geno has only hoped for.
"I like to touch," Geno says and smiles, even though Sid can't see it. He can probably hear it, that's how goofy and irrepressible it is.
"I like you to touch me," Sid admits quietly, and that's huge, that's- Geno is still unpacking that when Sid tips his face up and kisses Geno softly. "I don't just want touch, not just this, though." Sid says and gestures something that Geno takes to mean sex.
"Not just touch- not with Sid," Geno promises. He thinks about the ache of missing Sid over the summer, the lockout- the way Sid has been avoiding moving into his house to keep eating Geno’s cereal, how it feels to wake up and know Sid is the first person he’ll see. He takes Sid's hand and puts it over his heart, beating too fast, hoping he understands. It's probably crazy- too much, too honest- but Sid looks at him like Geno just handed him the moon, the Cup.
"Okay," Sid says, easy, because Sid has never needed words to understand what Geno wants, needs.
Geno kisses him, warm and solid and real under his hands, and he's not just back in Pittsburgh- he's home.
Yo dawg, why don't you comment on the dw. Because you can do that. And I want you to do that. Right here. http://twentysomething.dreamwidth.org/29698.html?mode=reply <3.