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The whole thing starts out as a mistake.
Geno wakes up before Sid, the room still quiet, the drapes muffling the sounds of people beginning to set out for work, the occasional car horn. He stretches out and re-settles under the sheets, before turning to face Sid, half hard in his boxers and warm all along his back where Sid’s side was pressed up against him all night. Sid’s sprawled in the centre of the bed as usual, the spread of his legs forcing Geno to half hang off the edge despite the vast expanse of empty bed on the other end. He’s still asleep, his breathing rhythmic, and Geno steals under the covers where it’s dark and warm and smells like laundry soap and sweat to wake him up with a sloppy blowjob.
Sid normally loves a morning of waking up slow and dreamy to Geno drooling a little over his fist, his tongue working the slit of Sid’s cock carefully, fingers just resting around the wide pucker of his lips, the elastic of his underwear digging in under his balls, but Geno’s forgotten that they have a game in three days.
The thing is, Sid has a ritual where he foregoes anything sexual from three days before until after the game itself. They’ve been dating long enough for Geno to know this. But Geno’s drowsy and content, his own cock plumping up further as he idly strokes himself with one hand while the other works Sid’s dick, Sid’s salty precum mixing with the morning sour taste in his mouth, and he hadn’t thought to do the math to their next game.
“Uh,” Sid mumbles, hips pushing up to thrust into the wet heat of Geno’s mouth before he remembers. “The fuck..?” Then abruptly there’s a flurry of sheets, a lot of screaming and an accidental knee to Geno’s sternum.
“Geno? What the hell!” Sid’s scrunched up near the headboard, knees up and pissed off. “You know the rules. We don’t do this; we’ve got a game coming up!”
And Geno remembers this, knows this, feels guilty about having forgotten, the flush of arousal dying away. “Sid,” he ventures, trying to fumble his way into an apology, “Sid – ” But Sid’s already up and slamming into the bathroom, so he's clearly not ready to hear it.
Geno’s not sure quite what he’s supposed to do now. He’s still mostly hard though the mood’s gone. He hears the water start up, can picture Sid forcing himself to stand under a cold shower. His dick jumps a little because the visual works, even with Sid mad at him, even with the knot in his gut. He settles back onto the bed, grimaces a little at the ache in his chest, the skin already reddening as he rubs at it, and waits for Sid to finish showering so they can talk.
He’s so focused on trying to think of how to make this up to Sid that it takes him a while to realise that he’s still hard, can feel the cotton of his boxers rub the sensitive head of his dick every time he exhales. It’s almost perverse but the more he thinks about trying to get rid of his hard on, the harder he seems to get.
After a while, Geno figures that it might be best if he jerks off quick to get rid of his boner and then he can grovel properly when Sid gets out of the shower.
He uses the best way he knows to get himself off quick: pulls his boxers down and gets a fairly basic rhythm going, tight and rough and just a little too dry to be comfortable. It works. He’s hunched over around his jerking hand, and when he comes it’s barely satisfying.
It’s not until he’s uncurling and reaching over for a tissue from the box on the nightstand that he looks up to see Sid scowling at him, hair wet and towel loosely slung around his waist.
“I can’t believe you!”
“Sid,” he blurts out, “not what it seem.” But Sid’s already pulling clothes from the cupboard and stomping down the hallway to the spare room.
Geno slumps back. Following Sid when he’s in this sort of mood isn’t going to lead to anything but a screaming fight, but Geno really, really wants to, wants this feeling of guilt to go away. Underneath it all he’s frustrated as well because he’d wanted to do a good thing, a nice thing, to make Sid feel good; he hadn’t meant to mess up Sid’s ritual. When he realises his hand is still sticky, he’s worked up enough to wipe it on the sheets instead of getting a tissue like he’d planned.
Fucking terrible start to the day.
They make up later. Geno apologises for everything he can think of, for the morning blowjob and for getting himself off while they were still fighting. Geno knows how Sid is about his rituals, and this three-day ritual is pretty important to him; Sid’s been doing this ever since the NHL draft, when the thought of playing real professional hockey under all that scrutiny had left no room for a sex drive under all the fear. However it started out, Sid’s gotten into a habit now and it’s part of his pre-game routine.
Sid accepts Geno’s apologies with ill-grace and doesn’t apologise for anything himself, maybe because he thinks that the bruise coming in on Geno’s chest isn’t his fault. Actually, Sid probably thinks it was totally warranted punishment. Geno doesn’t think it’s worth pushing him on this.
They’re sitting on the couch with breakfast now, the Food Network on, Geno a respectable distance away, because while Sid makes up fairly quickly, it always takes him longer to accept touching again. Things are calm even if Sid keeps glaring over at Geno, who’s fairly sure that Sid’s still pissed. The level of resentment in the room doesn’t really seem to be fading and Geno can feel discomfort simmering under the edges even if they’ve technically made up already.
“Sid,” Geno ventures carefully, “you want I go?”
And Geno can see Sid struggle with this, the warring urges to be a good, polite boyfriend and his internal freak-out about how this morning might constitute a breach in his pre-game protocol. All in all, it’s pretty clear that Sid probably wants to be alone and just doesn’t know how to ask for it.
“Okay, Sid.” Geno nods once, leans over and pats his thigh carefully, gathers up his keys and phone and heads out.
That night Geno stays at his own place and thinks that everything should be just fine soon, everything back to normal. He’ll just give Sid his space tonight and Sid will let Geno know when he wants him back around.
But when Geno catches Sid at practice the next day he’s even pricklier than before.
Everyone on the team is giving Sid a fairly wide berth. Sid is doing his usual thing of focusing totally on the plays they’re running, probably completely unaware that he’s been glaring at everyone since practice started. Flower goes so far as to give Geno a mournful look before he puts his mask on so Geno can skate forward to take his shot in the drills.
Geno ignores him.
In the locker room later, everyone does their best to ignore the tension between Geno and Sid. Sid himself seems to be slumped back, exhausted from running himself so hard, and Geno feels that strange irrevocable fondness that comes from looking at Sid’s tousled head and his ridiculous attempt at a beard.
The guys seem to get the hint that Geno’s waiting around to talk to Sid, and they make themselves scarce fairly quickly, Nealer and a few of the rookies heading to the new brunch place a couple of blocks from the centre.
The room’s quiet after they’ve all gone and Geno’s feeling itchy in his skin, trying to think of a way to ask if Sid is still holding a grudge over a derailed blowjob yesterday. Fortunately Sid saves him having to figure out how to phrase that – because learning how to speak English from a couple of books and some TV hadn’t really come with anything that covered this situation – by looking up at him mutinously.
“Sid, you okay?” He keeps his voice soft, conciliatory. Except Sid’s not having that because, while he keeps his voice low, he swears enough to make Geno’s eyebrows rise.
“Fuck, Geno! Just, fuck it all! You and your fucking mouth and fuck! You just had to go down on me and now… and now…”
And suddenly Geno is listening to Sid go off on a yell-whisper diatribe how it doesn’t seem to matter how nervous or worried Sid is, the boner-killing fear of losing in front of everyone seems to have spent itself somewhere on the way to now. Which, Geno thinks, normal people would consider a good thing. Except that this is Sid, and they're two days away from their game against the Flyers, and Sid apparently can no longer control his dick.
Geno doesn’t quite understand why Sid likes to keep sex to a minimum during the pre-game period. Sid claims that he likes to focus on just feeling his muscles move and thinking about getting his head in the right space to play. Geno would much rather just get off. As a result, Geno can’t really commiserate with Sid about how his sex drive picking up is a problem, which might make him a bad boyfriend, except for the fact that he totally accepts being cut off for a lot of the play-offs so he’s an excellent boyfriend, thank you very much.
“Are you even listening here?” Sid glowers, “I’m telling you that I woke up humping the damn bed, Geno! I can’t stop thinking about your mouth, the way it felt. I’m dreaming about it; about us fucking!” Geno has a moment to be pleased before Sid ruins it. “It’s fucking with my head. I don’t want to ruin this! We’re heading into the fucking play-offs. We’ve got it together this year. I don’t want to ruin that. And I’m scared that I will. Geno, I nearly came yesterday before I even woke up! Do you get me? This is a problem! What you did is a problem!”
Sid’s really pissed. Really, really pissed. And maybe worried enough about being apparently on the verge of breaching one of the rules of his rituals, something Geno figures is all but unheard of. And Geno is a good boyfriend. He wants to be supportive. Except…
This is really working for Geno. Sid’s scowling and throwing his stuff about in his bag, and all Geno can hear is that Sid’s turned on, can’t stop thinking about his mouth, could maybe have to change his rules about the three day orgasm moratorium. Geno can’t stop thinking about how fucking hot that is: Sid so turned on at the thought of them together that he wakes up humping the bed. Geno could come over one morning and just watch him grunt and writhe and come if he wanted. Fuck.
Geno takes a moment to think about what being able to have sex with Sid any time he wants would be like. But even while he fantasizes about this, he knows that Sid isn’t going to give him that sort of pass on this one, despite the fact that he changed up one of his other rituals without a fight in the past.
Geno can still remember the two of them talking about going last, Sid nodding thoughtfully and ceding his spot in the line-up to Geno, accepting the head-bump and slap on the ass as its replacement. He remembers the first time the two of them took the ice together as Penguins. He hadn’t really thought about it much back then other than to be happy that his captain was so welcoming. He certainly hadn’t thought about the huge a deal it had been for Sid. Everything back then had been too new, too scary for him to really process all that closely. But now that he thinks back on it, he’s touched by Sid’s faith. And maybe a bit confused, because Sid’s willingness to change things up that one time had given Geno the false impression that Sid could be reasonable. Which, really, Geno has since learned better.
But even though Geno now fully understands Sid's ridiculous devotion to ritual, he's not very sympathetic. Aroused Sid will only ever be a good thing in his book; he’s pretty firm on this point.
“Sid,” he ventures, “maybe this good? Your body want, you can take. Is good.”
Sid slams out of the locker room at that, so clearly he disagrees.
Geno gives Sid space to sort his head out and sulk in peace, staying over at his own place for a few days to check up on Jeffrey and see if the cleaning service has been in to water his plants.
Geno’s been playing hockey almost all his life now, so he gets stupid rituals. It’s a fairly common thing, not getting off until after the game on game day, though Sid’s taken it to the next level by making it three days. But Geno walked into this thing with his eyes open; everyone on the team knows Sid’s weird about his routine and Sid had been quite clear when they’d first started hooking up that this was a deal breaker. And although Geno didn’t (and still can’t) see the appeal in winding yourself up over something else when you could be happy, muscles loose and relaxed, he doesn’t begrudge Sid his choice. Sid is Sid. There’s not much else to say.
… Though now that he’s thinking about it, it would be nice to not have to sneak into the shower to quickly stroke one out while Sid’s still in bed. Or have to excuse himself from dinner clean up – leaving Sid putting the dishes into the dishwasher –to spend a few minutes with some porn in their bedroom. But Geno figures needs must. Besides, Sid more than makes up for everything after their games, rougher than usual and desperate, pinning Geno to the wall the moment they get through the door to grind against him, mouth sloppy, the debris of their gear getting in the way.
Just the thought of it makes Geno want to play harder, faster, check people into the boards; get Sid home sooner. So Sid’s rituals work out, he supposes. It’s all good.
But the idea that Sid might want more now, might be forced to let the whole three day rule slide because he can’t stop thinking about them together, can’t stop dreaming, can’t stop fucking into the bed, wanting all the time, his body rebelling even while he’s avoiding Geno so desperately…
Now Geno can’t stop thinking about it.
Given all the drama of the run-up, it’s almost stunning how well Sid plays on game day. He’s everywhere; passing, yelling, streaking down the ice. Both sides can barely keep up with him and Geno can’t keep his eyes off him. He loves watching Sid, hopes that Sid is watching him tear it up on the ice, sees him check the other team hard into the boards. The idea of keeping pace with Sid when he’s like this gets Geno excited, makes him want to show everyone – show Sid – what he can do.
They don’t win by a huge amount, barely scraping out a victory, 3-2. But against the Flyers, and given how well both sides were playing, they’ll take it. The team all crash into a group for hugs, screaming into each other’s faces. And Geno’s happy to take Sid home after this and celebrate their win the best way he knows how.
They all tromp back into the locker room after a while. Sid and Geno both scrub down fast and get their suits back on. Geno ducks out quick to avoid the Press, and leaves Sid to his usual non-replies about working hard and playing the game.
It seems like everyone’s too tired and happy to pay much attention to the tension simmering between the two of them, so when Sid declines the team’s plans to go clubbing and Geno tells the guys to text him once they’ve got everything set up, no one questions them. They’re both packed up headed out to the car fairly quickly.
Sid spends the entire ride back looking out the window, his fingers fidgeting on the seatbelt, his jacket, picking apart lint from his pockets, and Geno figures that Sid might still be pissy with him despite the win. Which would seem insane, except this is Sid so it’s totally par for the course.
Still, he pulls into Sid’s driveway and unfastens his seatbelt, walks around to get his stuff out of the trunk. Sid hasn’t said anything to the contrary, which means that Geno’s not about to get tossed out, but there’s something about the tension in the air that makes Geno feel a bit hinky, the sort of feeling he normally gets just before someone drops their gloves on the ice.
And sure enough, the moment they get in Sid is slamming Geno up against the wall, muscling into his space, touching all along the length of their chest and the tops of their thighs. But before Geno can say anything or even brace for impact, Sid’s crumpling over him, huffing wetly into his neck.
Wait, what?
“Sid,” Geno ventures carefully, because unless he’s mistaken Sid’s just come in his pants practically without being touched. “Sid, you okay?”
Sid groans, stiffening up and staggering away to faceplant into the couch. His hips are propped up over the armrest and if Geno wasn’t so flummoxed by what just happened he’d totally be smacking Sid’s ass a little and pressing down over him because he’s so damn turned on right now which…
He’s interrupted from his line of thought by Sid mumbling into the sofa.
“Sid, not understand,” he tells him, coming round to perch on the table so he can better see Sid’s face. “Tell me, not sofa.”
Sid groans again but obligingly pulls his flushed face out of the sofa cushions to mumble, “I guess I was more worked up this time than I thought.” About halfway through this he starts glaring because yup, there it comes, more blame for Geno.
Geno, who is definitely not to blame for his ridiculous boyfriend’s self-denying rituals. And totally on board with what just happened, because Sid coming from barely a touch is really freaking hot. Besides, it would be a shame not to take advantage of having Sid all grumpy and fucked out, legs spread, ass high and round and inviting…
Geno ignores Sid’s glare to kneel closer to the couch, sliding his hand carefully up Sid’s thigh to his ass, smacking it once before rubbing the sting away. Sid’s silent except for a whimpering over-stimulated shiver that has Geno clenching his fists, cock hard and straining in his pants.
He’s leaning over to grind against that ass when Sid half turns and wow, there’s a bit of a damp patch that’s outlining the head of his dick. And almost before Geno thinks it, he’s bending down and pressing his mouth to it, sucking at the material while Sid alternately pushes at his face and grinds down into it, making these frantic “uh, uh, ah” noises that make Geno fucking hot.
Sid’s eyes are wide and his face is red, and Geno is barely able to think. He rips open his own fly and yanks at Sid’s pants and underwear, and Sid's fumbling desperately as well, until they’ve both got the important clothes off. Geno fits himself between Sid’s generous asscheeks and ruts frantically, rubbing Sid’s come-covered cock, and everything goes hot and Sid clenches his ass tight and Geno’s shaking apart, sliding heavily onto Sid’s back.
Sid makes a dissatisfied hiss. He pushes Geno off and flips himself over into Geno's lap, his hand flying over his cock until he finally comes on Geno’s shirt.
Geno’s still trying to catch his breath and figure out what just happened when Sid huffs a little, flops over to the side and falls off the couch.
Unfortunately, laughing means that Geno has to deal with the stains on the carpet.
And Sid refuses to look at him for the rest of the day.
Geno thinks this is fair.
For a while it seems like this might be a one off, but eventually Sid’s inability to turn his sex drive off and Geno’s inability to not be turned on by his boyfriend’s erect cock – which he feels is perfectly normal and Sid seems to view as some sort of deliberate betrayal – means that there’s a whole new aspect added on to Sid’s pre-existing ritual.
And by new aspect, Geno means this strange sex-but-no-orgasms-for-Sid thing they have going on.
Because suddenly Sid is totally okay with Geno lying in bed next to him, stroking himself with a lot of lube and two fingers in his ass, before he gets up onto his knees and comes on Sid’s chest. Sid doesn’t do much at these times, just looks turned on, his pupils blown wide. Though Geno sometimes catches him trailing his fingers through the mess on his chest while he waits for the shower to get to the right temperature, just spreading it around a little as if the feel of it was enough for him, his cock wet but untouched. Geno isn’t allowed to touch him and Sid still doesn’t get off, but it’s a strange sort of progress.
Fortunately, after a couple of weeks of trying the new system out Sid loses that initial skittishness about them touching or making out in the pre-game run-up, more confident that his one hair-trigger incident won’t lead to an unexpected breach of his no orgasm rule.
And while Geno is in favour of scrapping the rule altogether – because orgasms together make for a happy relationship, Oksana was very clear about this when they were together – he has to admit that the changes work for both of them. They’re playing well, and this way Geno gets to come as many times as he likes, in any way that he likes, even if Sid is only allowed to come once the game is over. So in the days running up to the game Geno can tease Sid as much as he wants, do anything he wants, so long as he also helps Sid keep to his no-orgasm rule. And when they’re not going to be playing anyone, Sid gets to come as much as he wants.
Geno is both baffled and turned on by all of this, which is pretty much par for the course in his relationship with Sid.
He tries to explain the weirdness of the whole thing to Sergei, who swears loudly and hangs up when Geno starts explaining Sid’s willingness to suck cock while not getting off himself. So there’s that.
Geno keeps expecting Sid to call it off and go back to his old ritual – because no sex seems better than having your dick sucked until you’re dripping, over and over again, without any possibility of getting off anytime soon. But even after their first loss since the changes were instituted, Sid keeps to his new rules. In the run-up to the following game, he’s happy enough to get Geno off, quick and dirty with a hand-job, before sitting back on the sofa next to him, flushed, cock erect and hands fisted tight, resting on his knees.
It always seems to take him a while to calm down after, and Geno is careful to maintain some distance, gently rubbing his shoulders and whispering how good Sid is at this, how he’s going to be a good boy and not come until after the game. Sid always smiles at him, willing to lean in and make out, all sharp teeth and soft lips, before his natural reticence to touch comes back into play.
Sometimes Sid has to go take a cold shower after they tease him, and more than once Geno’s had to pull his balls sharply or twist his nipple hard to help calm him down, remind him why he can’t come. They’re winning as much as they’re losing these days, and Geno is pretty sure that Sid's torturing himself pointlessly for a silly superstition. But Sid is obstinate, and Geno’s not the one going without, so it’s not his call. Ever so often Geno has to remind himself that while he might not understand why Sid would want to put himself through this, he understands that it’s important to him.
Besides, it’s all ridiculously hot and Sid seems happy enough. So no harm, no foul.
Geno’s main fears about the modified ritual don’t come to pass anyway, because Sid doesn’t start shying away from Geno’s touch or avoiding situations where he’d need to test his control.
In fact, Sid’s suddenly all over Geno; chasing him down to suck him off, waking him up in the morning by rubbing his ass against Geno’s cock, moaning in frustration once Geno comes all over his back but keeping his hands away from his own dick, digging his fingers into his thighs; playing faster, rougher, better than Geno's ever seen. And he only relaxes once they get back home and Geno can back him up against the door. Usually Geno barely gets a hand on him before Sid is whining high in his throat, head thudding back and fingers squeezing at Geno's shoulders, shaking and coming like a freight-train.
Geno always calms him down after; kissing him, telling him how good he’s been, how proud of him he is – because Sid loves positive reinforcement – before taking him upstairs to get them both off again.
The night they beat the Sens and Sid gets his second career playoff hat trick, Geno takes Sid home, strips him and lays him out on their bed, pushes Sid’s knees to his chest and rims him until Geno’s mouth is wet and he’s got saliva running down his chin, and Sid’s screaming.
Geno leans back and bites at the junction of Sid’s ass and thighs, sucks hard so that the blood rushes to the surface, and Sid’s a moaning and writhing mess, desperately kicking out at Geno, his heels catching on Geno’s shoulders, thumping on his back. Sid humps back at him, shoving to get away from Geno's mouth only to swing himself back towards it, like he can't decide whether or not it feels good, flushed all over from his cheeks to his chest.
Geno’s gets his hands under Sid’s knees, which gives him enough leverage to push Sid’s legs out to either side. Geno crawls up so he can lie on top of Sid, the two of them squirming to rut against each other even though Geno’s still fully dressed in his suit.
Geno can’t help but think of how amazing Sid was on the ice, can’t stop kissing his neck, his collarbone, whispers “So good, Sid, so good for me” as he scratches his nails down Sid’s sides so that he can trace the pink trails with his tongue.
Sid’s pushing back at Geno, whimpering “Geno, Geno, I can’t. I need, I need help. I need help.” And they bought a cock-ring for precisely this reason, so Sid could have help, so Geno wouldn’t have to hold back completely.
Geno nods, “Sid get” and while Sid moves to get the cock-ring out of the bedside table, starts stripping out of his suit, leaving it in a pile next to the bed. He notes that Sid is having some trouble trying to maneuver the cock-ring on because of his hard on, but he hasn’t really asked for Geno’s help so Geno leaves him to it and heads into the bathroom for a quick rinse with some mouthwash.
It takes Sid a while to calm down enough to get the cock-ring on. After he's got it in place Geno notices how much more relaxed Sid seems, how much more willing to kiss back, to push at Geno’s shoulders until he falls back onto the bed so that Sid can climb on top of him, can press him down and rub against him, hissing wetly into Geno’s ear and muttering “yeah, yeah.”
“Yeah” Geno whispers back, and starts to jack Sid’s cock slowly, reaching back to feel the heft of his balls, and further to push under them. Sid goes still, practically vibrating with how much he wants to get off, but the next game is in two days and he can’t. Geno will help him make sure that he doesn’t.
“Geno,” – and that’s Sid’s pushy voice – “fuck it, I need to –” and Sid shoves him back, grabs at his cock and swallows him all the way down. Sid’s fingers are digging into Geno’s thighs and Geno can feel how much he loves this, can feel Sid urging him to fuck into his throat. And Geno does, over and over, until he comes.
Geno’s not stupid enough to think that these changes aren’t spilling out onto the ice. Sure the basics have stayed the same – Sid’s got his no-orgasm plan and Geno is exempt – but he’s even more aware of Sid than before. In the back of his mind it's always there, that he could take Sid home after practice and fuck him slow and steady until he’s cursing and swearing but still pushing back to take it all, always begging for more. And Geno’s happy to give it to him.
The team’s beginning to figure out that something’s up as well. The two of them help set the tone for the game like a tuning fork, and the tension between them keeps the rest of the team humming. But while they’re all clearly confused and suspicious, no one’s brought anything up yet, so maybe they’re willing to let it slide.
Geno starts noticing all sorts of things now, like how Sid plays well at home games – because he's Sidney Goddamn Crosby and if he's not playing at 150% it's the day of the fucking apocalypse –but also how he's playing even better at the away games. He thinks this has a lot to do with the other part of Sid's ritual: three days before the start of a road trip, Sid stops allowing himself to come. He only gets off after they get back. It's ridiculous.
Geno’s playing well too, though he’s nearly always turned on, constantly having to re-adjust himself as his cock swells uncomfortably in his jock. He watches Sid on the ice, knowing that when they get home he gets to take Sid apart and fuck him until all that pent-up energy leaves him and he's soft and satisfied. Even on the days that Sid doesn’t get to come, Geno works at him carefully, fingers him open while Sid curses, rubs relentlessly against Sid's prostate before he lubes up and pushes in. Geno tries to ensure that he leaves long pauses in between fucking Sid - fast at first and then slower, practically grinding, so Geno can last longer with Sid so tight, tight, hot around him- and so that Sid can try to regain his control; Geno waits long enough for Sid's breathing to slow, for Sid to be able wipe his tears away. And after Geno comes, he slides his fingers back in, pushes all that wet warmth back into Sid, occasionally pulling out to rub at his rim, until Sid thrashes and begs and Geno can't take it anymore and has to push his dick back in and start all over again.
Sometimes he changes things up and leans back against the headboard alongside Sid and fingers himself open, makes Sid watch him while he moans and stretches himself, Sid’s mouth falling open, his pupils wide, as Geno pushes himself all the way to the edge until he’s barely climbed onto Sid’s cock, hardly moved for more than a minute before he’s coming in short spurts all over Sid’s chest. Sid writhes at these times, face flushed and eyes dark, just taking everything Geno has to give him so beautifully, but cursing, calling out “shit, ah, uh, Geno, please” until Geno has to mash his lips against his and kiss him silent.
Geno knows, knows that it’s a bad idea to intertwine their relationship so tightly with their game on the ice. Because what happens if one of them is hurt? Or if he leaves, or they break up? Would Sid go out and find someone to take Geno’s place, to get him all hot and leaking before the game, ease him all the way down after? Would he bend over for them, too, arch his back so prettily?
Already they have to be careful not to rile Sid up too much the night before a game because he can’t sleep when he’s that keyed up and there’s only so much cold showers can accomplish. Sid wants to be good for himself, for Geno, and so Geno has to make sure that Sid doesn’t wake up humping his ass again and almost crying because he needs it, Geno, fuck, fuck, because Geno wants him to succeed. Geno always wants Sid to succeed. So on the nights before games they hang out and Sid gets his space, gets to sit on the other end of the couch and watch Friends.
This whole thing is a recipe for disaster in so many ways.
But when he thinks about it – about how desperate Sid seemed on the night that Geno angled his jaw carefully and fucked his mouth, Sid’s hands tied back away from temptation; or the sounds he made the night he held the headboard while Geno pounded into him until Sid had to beg him to pull out or he'd come, the moan when Geno finished by jacking off onto Sid's dick; or the way he shook while Geno rode him while Sid wore the cock ring; the way it felt to swallow around Sid’s cock while Sid trembled, hands clenched in Geno’s hair – Geno realises that he’s totally on board with this. It doesn’t need to be broken or changed in any way because he’s going to be here, be with Sid, forever. And the sight of Sid swallowing desperately, tearing up but resolute, is the prettiest picture to take with him into a game.