beggingwolf

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so we know how geno rolls the R in "crosby", yes? well have we considered werecreature or werecat geno purring his name at him? can we consider it? please? for my health

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The Gleaming of the Blade, Christian J. Collier

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mutuals always making masterpieces and I think wow. and you're following me too. wild stuff

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try to look at these with a pure mind okay people

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If you're a writer you're supposed to write a lot of bullshit. It's part of the gig. You have to write a lot of absolute garbage in order to get to the good bits. Every once in a while you'll be like "Oh, I wish I hadn't wasted all that time writing bullshit," but that's dumb. That's exactly the same as an Olympic runner being like "Oh, I wish I hadn't wasted all that time running all those practice laps"

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what they don’t tell you about writing is AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!! AAAAAAAAAAHH!!!

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you gotta write for your dick not the stats

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november 16 2024 vs sharks, 4-3 S/O win

previous soulbond installments: 1 2 3 4 5 6

hot damn. double hot damn. TRIPLE hot damn. and of course geno's unbelievable goal that got called back. hey guys, thanks for showing up!

this is approximately the quarter-mark for this season, and with this installment the series is at 24,097 words. dang. thanks to everyone who's been reading along, leaving nice tags and comments, etc—i am not sure i'd be able to do this if it weren't for the encouragement!

Sid spends the entire Sharks game having to consciously stop himself from putting his hand to his chest.

Something shifted last night, clicked into place when he and Geno met eyes in the locker room after losing to the Blue Jackets. He’d woke up that night from a dead sleep gasping for air and fumbling for his phone, convinced he was having a cardiac event—but instead of his own heart beating double-time, once he was more awake he realized it was Geno’s heartbeat he was feeling too, thumping along just slightly offset from his own.

He’d texted Geno instead of the training staff, asking if he was OK. Geno sent him the thumbs up emoji, and then Sid watched the typing bubbles appeared and disappeared for almost three minutes before Geno apparently settled on just 💕.

Sid stared at the two little pink hearts for a long time before like-reacting and locking his phone.

It took a while to fall back asleep. He did the deep-breathing exercises that meditation app Andy made him download a few years ago recommended for nighttime, and his own heartbeat slowed, but Geno’s was out of sync—until Sid felt something at the back of his mind, an almost apologetic oh-shit.

Sid could feel when Geno started to regulate his own breathing, and his heartbeat settling into time with Sid’s sent such a powerful sense of relief through him that he practically fell asleep on the spot. They’re not quite lined up, not with Sid’s abnormally low resting heart rate, but they beat in time, a soothing percussive beat that puts Sid out like a light.

It had been an odd sensation all day as Sid went through his pre-game routine, sort of like when he’d lost teeth in the past and not immediately gotten them replaced—but instead of a constant simmering awareness of an absence, Sid couldn’t quite escape the feeling of more. He felt too big for his skin, too aware of what’s going on somewhere he’s not.

Once they both get to the rink it settles, and Geno looks visibly relieved to see Sid too.

Outside of their midnight text exchange, they haven’t spoken. Sid can feel it though, the conversation barreling towards them itching at his teeth.

During the game, Geno’s heart spikes at the oddest times. Rarely if ever when he’s skating, which had surprised Sid; on the ice he’s ice-cold unless someone on the other team is pissing him off. But on the bench, when Geno’s watching, he gets just as involved as some of the fans, jumping to his feet when it looks like someone’s going to score, shouting encouragement at the guys and recriminations at whatever Shark that skates close enough to be targeted.

It takes Sid by surprise, especially when he’s out for a shift, and he barely got his hand halfway to his chest the first time before he realized what him clutching his chest would look like and forced it back to his lap.

It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t even feel all that wrong anymore, now that Sid’s had almost a whole day to get used to it.

It feels like something he wants to cradle, to touch to see if he can feel it as clearly through his skin as he can inside his body. He wants to strip down at intermission and look down to see if he can see Geno’s heart beating next to his own.

Sid scores, and the pride that sweeps through him is absolutely not his own.

The reaction his shootout goal gets is maybe something Sid should have expected, especially after yesterday, but it still trips him up a little on his way back to the bench. He peers down the row at Geno, who’s staring fixedly at his skates. His ears are red.

When Geno dekes out the goalie and pings an absolutely sick shot off the post and in, Sid has to work to keep his face neutral with the camera right on him. By the way Geno looks at him as he makes his way down the fistbump line, he’s not sure how good of a job he does.

Geno’s done with his shower and gone fast, like always, but Sid knows he hasn’t left, and when he’s finally free from media and his own postgame routine, instinct pulls him to a corridor down near the visitor’s locker rooms, one that nobody ever goes down because the rooms are all overflow storage.

Geno’s waiting for him in a room halfway down the hallway, and Sid beelines for the door, stepping into the room and firmly shutting the door before taking a deep breath and turning around.

It’s not even a storage room. Geno managed to find possibly the only office in the entire rink that Kyle and his staff hasn’t taken over; Sid wonders if anyone even knows it’s here.

Geno’s leaning against the desk, drumming his fingers against the wood. Before Sid fully registers what he’s doing, he’s stepping forward, wedging himself between Geno’s legs and pressing them together.

When Geno’s arms come around his back, Sid exhales fully for the first time in almost two weeks.

“Sid,” Geno says, and his voice sounds…

Sid closes his eyes.

He doesn’t know what to do with this. He’s never felt this way about anyone before, certainly not another man. The bond specialists didn’t say anything about this all-consuming need he and Geno have been doing their best to deny, and Sid hasn’t breathed a word of it to anyone.

He’s not sure if it was fear of what people would say or a fierce, instinctive need to keep it private that stopped him from asking. Probably a combination of both.

Geno’s arms tighten around him, and Sid takes an unsteady breath. His whole body feels hot, and when Geno’s hands slide down and his fingers brush over the sliver of exposed skin above Sid’s sweatpants, Sid can’t stop the groan that sounds shockingly loud in the quiet room.

“Fuck,” Geno says, voice shaky. “Sid, what…”

“I don’t know,” Sid says. Geno’s hand feels like a brand on his skin. “Shit, you’re…” He gropes down Geno’s back and slides his hands under Geno’s shirt, and when Geno shivers under his touch Sid digs his fingers in. 

When Geno shifts his hips, Sid can feel his dick hard in his pants brushing against Sid’s stomach. He should be nervous, maybe, or even concerned, but instead he’s more turned on than he’s ever been in his life, his and Geno’s arousal ricocheting back and forth over the bond until Sid’s panting into Geno’s shoulder and hitching himself against Geno’s body, desperate for friction.

Geno’s breath is harsh in Sid’s ear. He’s clumsy as he humps against Sid’s thigh. It doesn’t feel good for either of them, not really—too much friction with the fabric, bad angles, nothing that would be enough to get either of them off normally—but they’re feeding off each other now, and Sid can feel his orgasm coming shockingly fast.

Sid didn’t think that after 20 years there was much more new he had to learn about Geno. Now he knows that Geno’s loud when he comes.

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geno… hottest man alive. that closeup of sid’s face right after he’s thinking can you request your own teammate for the winner’s room

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many will tell you that the dog motif is passé and cliché and overdone . don't listen to them. keep chaining that fictional man to a fence

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“malkin runs over celebrini” he’s like yeah yeah you jerked off to sid’s highlight reels. I jerk off on his face. and he fucking loves it. get lost

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Happy birthday to AO3 🎂🎉

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bro last night was a real person fiction

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november 13 2024 vs red wings, 3-2 OT loss

geno day 🥺 pulling inspiration from this picture and this tweet.

Back when Sid was a rookie, he got used to the names he’d get called during games and the barely-veiled insults in the media. Most of them he could shrug off—he doesn’t cry any more than any other person, talking to the refs isn’t whining, and he certainly wouldn’t classify the beatings he took as a teenager as getting favors from the officials.

There was one that did stick with him, though, because it had a ring of truth to it.

Spoiled.

When Sid was younger, he never would have thought of it that way. He worked for everything he got, putting in hours on the rink and at school and with whatever odd jobs their neighbors would pay him for. But now? Yeah, there’s some merit to it.

He’s spent twenty years getting what he wants, when he wants it. There’s a multi-million dollar corporation that bends over backwards to accommodate his slightest whim, two separate cities that treat him like a king. Off the ice, the hardest he’s had to work for anything in the last two decades has been…

Well, Geno.

Sid wanted him the minute he laid eyes on him in Latvia. He’d been respectful, of course, giving Geno time and space, and he’d told himself that he would have been happy if Geno only wanted to be friends.

Looking back, that had been a lie.

Now that Sid has him, though, he wants Geno all the time. Watching Geno from the bench is mesmerizing, but Sid likes it better when he’s out there with him, getting a front-row seat to whatever move Geno’s going to pull that can turn the tide of a game in a millisecond.

It makes it better when he’s a part of it. Setting Geno up for his 500th goal, returning the favor from Sid’s own milestone, and getting to watch Geno fight through the defense and flick the puck over the goalie’s shoulder right into the net, sweet as anything, is exactly how Sid would have wanted it, if he got to pick. If he had his way, Geno would score off his passes for the rest of their careers and no one else’s.

They’d had to rush home that night, Kris’s angry shouts chasing them out of the equipment room when he’d stumbled on them getting handsy after all the media finally left.

To be fair, Kris has walked in on them far more than his fair share of times over the years.

It’s not Sid’s fault that Geno makes him want to touch all the time. He’s always been covetous and possessive, and it’s gotten worse now that he’s used to getting what he wants. It’s hard to keep his hands to himself when Geno’s always there, so big and funny and talented.

He restrains himself to a discreet slide of his hand over Geno’s thigh when they go out for the pictures, down where nobody will notice. Geno glances at Sid and his eyes crinkle, but otherwise he doesn’t react.

When Geno beckons him over and tucks him under his arm for the photo, Sid has to actively wrench his attention back to the upcoming game.

For once it’s them spoiling someone else’s two-goal lead. They drop it in OT, but G has a beautiful chance that makes Sid’s mouth dry where he’s standing on the bench, and any point is precious this season.

“Chill the fuck out,” Kris mutters to him on his way out of the locker room. Sid’s dressed and ready to leave too, but Geno’s still doing media; everyone wants to talk to him after his ceremony, get a soundbite on how he feels about the way their season is going, his hopes for the future.

Sid will listen later. Geno always has his heart on his sleeve during media, and Sid loves to hear it, but now he’s got other things on his mind.

He scrolls his phone aimlessly while Geno goes through his cooldown and showers, jiggling his leg and not bothering to disguise that he’s staring when Geno steps back into the change room with his towel slung over his shoulder.

Geno takes his time getting dressed, so Sid looks his fill.

“Mouth open, catch flies,” Geno teases when he turns around, tugging his sweatshirt on. Sid narrows his eyes, but Geno’s finally ready to leave, so he stows his comeback in favor of getting to Geno’s side, putting a hand low on his back to steer him out to the car.

Geno lets him, sticking close to Sid’s side as they step into the garage, and when they’re in the car and Geno’s settled into the driver’s seat, he drops one huge palm on Sid’s thigh, leaving it there the whole drive home.

They’re staying at Sid’s tonight. Geno’s parents are at his house, and Geno’s never gotten fully comfortable going to bed with Sid while they’re in the same building; Mama and Papa Malkin have never been anything but accepting and loving about their relationship, but there are parts of Geno that still flinch away from being with another man so publicly. 

“Are you hungry?” Sid asks as they walk in through the mudroom, but he barely gives Geno time to answer, chivvying them up the stairs as soon as their bags are dropped and shoes are off.

When they get to the bedroom, Sid makes to push Geno against the wall and kiss him breathless, but Geno grabs his shoulders and shoves him onto the bed before he can.

“Oh,” Sid gets out as Geno’s crawling on top of him. “Yeah, okay.” Like this, he can run his hands all over Geno’s back, squeeze his traps and dig his fingers into Geno’s well-muscled ass.

“You want?” Geno murmurs in his ear, grinding his dick down onto Sid’s, and Sid can’t think of anything better than Geno’s hands all over him, in him, so he nods and spreads his legs.

It’s a battle to get their pants off because neither of them are willing to move too far away, but eventually they’re naked, Geno settled between Sid’s legs and nosing at his balls while he prods at Sid’s hole with two lubed-up fingers.

Geno’s hands are huge, with long fingers and prominent knuckles, and when he slides his index and middle fingers in without giving Sid time to adjust, Sid can feel every inch pressing inside him.

“Fuck,” Sid mutters, twisting his hips to get some friction. The head of his dick drags over Geno’s cheek, and Sid grits his teeth. “G, I need more.”

“Always want so much,” Geno says lowly, but he gives Sid a third, twisting his wrist and spreading his fingers.

When Sid glances down, Geno’s attention is fixed on Sid’s hole where he’s spreading Sid open. He’s totally ignoring Sid’s dick, and that lack of regard as Geno plays with him gets Sid hot, makes his dick jerk and blurt out precome onto his stomach.

“Please,” he begs, and Geno takes pity on him, pulling back and reaching for a pillow to slide under Sid’s hips. Sid barely has time to feel empty before Geno’s pushing in with his dick, a steady stretch that has Sid clutching the bedspread and gasping in air through his mouth.

When Geno’s fully in him, he drops down to blanket Sid’s body, propping himself on his elbows as he grinds into Sid’s body. Geno’s barely fucking him; their proximity means he can’t pull back that far, but he feels huge inside Sid, a constant pressure that lights up his nerves.

Sid squeezes around Geno to make him curse and wraps his legs around Geno’s torso, scrabbling at his back. It feels like he can’t get close enough, not even when they’re skin-to-skin and Sid has his mouth on Geno’s neck, digging his teeth into his throat.

“Fuck, Sid,” Geno grunts, and Sid clenches over and over, thighs shaking as the pressure on his prostate increases. When Geno comes, Sid can feel Geno’s balls draw up where they’re pressed against his own.

Before Sid has to beg again, Geno pulls out, sliding back down to get his fingers into Sid, rubbing so hard on his prostate that Sid shouts and tries to squirm away. Geno uses his other arm to pin Sid’s hips to the mattress, though, so Sid has to just take it, thrashing his head back and forth as Geno takes the head of his dick into his mouth.

It’s Geno’s teeth scraping carefully against his shaft that tips Sid over the edge, every muscle in his body clenching as he unloads in Geno’s mouth.

Geno keeps his fingers where they are until Sid kicks weakly at him, pulling out slowly enough that Sid’s gritting his teeth at the overstimulation. He wipes his hand on Sid’s thigh before crawling up the mattress, pulling at Sid until they’re spooned together, Geno’s back tucked tight against Sid’s torso.

Sid spreads his palm over Geno’s chest, rubbing one nipple with his thumb. Geno grumbles and shifts, tucking his feet between Sid’s. There’s not a millimeter of space between them, and it’s still not close enough for Sid.

He thought that the almost-frightening level of need he felt for Geno would fade, but it’s been almost 20 years now and he still wants so badly, all the time. He wants to keep them tangled in bed together forever. He wants to scream that Geno’s his over the arena loudspeaker whenever he spots Geno eyeing up some pretty blonde in the crowd during warmups.

Sid can feel Geno’s heartbeat as it slows, steady and strong under his palm. He syncs their breathing to feel their chests rise and fall in unison. 

Spoiled. He calls it lucky.