#geno making sure they got sid's gift RIGHT

[rinkrats]

Jen: It was definitely something that you wanted to be perfect. There’s no one more deserving to be more recognised. And knowing he had to do it without the fans there - you know, you just wish he could have got that ovation that he deserved, and celebrate it with them. So we wanted to make it extra special.

We were set for Valentine’s Day against the Capitals, and here we were doing it instead on Feb 21st… To be honest, the stick he got on the ice is back at the engraver’s, getting the date put on it for his 1000th game. We started in January, reaching out to all the teams. Not one person we asked said no.

And I can tell you that you guys saw quite a few videos from a lot of high-profile people, but Sid actually got a personal video with over 45 minutes of messages from friends, families, people at home, guys he played with at Rimouski… To not have fans, we wanted to make it extra special for him.

Steg: You had to be cognisant and respectful of the superstitious nature of Sidney Crosby. How did you handle that part of it?

Jen: So, I never, ever, ever said the word to him. I never said the word 1000 to him once. I think it was Wednesday the week before, and I said, ‘Hey, Thursday’s a day off, and I’m thinking Friday you’ll be available’. And he looks at me and I’m like, “FRIDAY… you’ll be available, because the media will want to talk to you’. And he gave me the wink, like, okay. We never said anything but he knew it was gonna be the first time he answered questions about it. I didn’t bring any requests to his attention prior to that.

We had an idea to watch his first game with him, but we haven’t done it yet because we didn’t wanna ask him till it was here. So, yeah, we’re superstitious from that factor. I actually called his sister and I said, ‘Taylor, you gotta help me. How do I proceed with this one?’ and she helped with the family stuff. I called Kathy, his girlfriend, and she helped with the friend stuff. It’s funny to see how many people - I can’t imagine what he felt like hearing all the messages and watching all the videos, because there were a few of them that made me tear up, because he is just so respected across the board at all levels of the game.

Steg: Whose ideas were they?

Jen: (on Sid’s 1000th game tribute mosaic) ...One of the funniest moments of last Saturday was, after the game was over, I saw Geno bending over and  he was counting to make sure there was a thousand!

(on tying the skates) You know, I don’t know what player came up with that but that was probably the highlight of the night for him. He didn’t even notice. He was so in the zone. And he turned around and looked around and was like, ‘Oh my god’. When they switched legs, I was laughing so hard. They really full on went in. I fully expected they would have done it in Washington too since they won. (Metzer: He would have required it right?) Yeah, I thought for sure this was gonna be a new mandate! That everyone was gonna have to tie their skates just like him.

Metzer: Sid’s such a great human, but it humanised him, seeing the emotion. When he came together with Geno and Kris Letang, was that kinda a cool moment for you guys too, to just see the big three having an emotional moment. You could just see the affection between those three guys.

Jen: It was actually quite funny to me because of everything that’s been in the media recently about the core and the changes in management, what the future of the team looks like. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the three of them have such an incredible moment - and I’ve seen them win three Cups together. They really were sincerely proud, sincerely thankful for each other and all the things they’ve accomplished together

Steg: It was nice to see Sid with his girlfriend too.

Jen: Yeah! Kathy’s wonderful. I didn’t want him to be alone out there. We had to ask the league for permission to have the guys on the ice, cus we felt like he was on an island by himself with no fans in the building.

...I feel like for someone who’s in his 16th season, nothing’s slowed down. On the ice or off the ice. He is still such a big magnet for our team and attention - and deservingly so. He shows up day in and day out.

The night of this game, there was a long delay before he did media and the true story was, we couldn’t find him. He worked out after the game (laughs). He brought a protein shake to media with him. We were looking all over for him. Sid was so long because after he took all his pictures, he went and worked out. We couldn’t find him! His teammates had all already worked out, showered, there was a cake- and it was just so funny. No one knew where Sid was. He was working out.

-Penguins Live Weekly on Sid’s 1000th game with Jen Bullano, 27 Feb 2021

In which sid is utterly sid...

[myhockeyworld87]

Milestone Maker - Sidney Crosby

Word Count: 1,992

POV: Reader

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, Language

Notes: So you guys made me realize I could not let this milestone of my OG hockey hubby go by without writing a little something. I hope you all enjoy this. Happy Reading to all of you! Congratulation Sidney on 1000th games! Can’t wait to watch him in the next 1000. 

“Good morning, my love,” you greeted your husband, setting the breakfast tray down at the foot of the bed so that you could kiss him properly. “Happy one-thousandth game day.” Sid smiled sweetly at you, before drawing you back down for another kiss. You’d been married for almost nineteen months now and you still couldn’t get enough of each other.

Your foot bumped the tray, as the kiss turned heated, reminding you that you’d brought him breakfast on his special day. “What’s this?” He asked after hearing the clink of the silverware.

“I made you all your favorites.”

“You’re telling me there are waffles in there?”

“Of course, with strawberries, just the way you like them.” You set the tray on his lap, removing the cover that you’d placed on it so keep everything warm.

“You know the other way I like this?” He scooped up a dollop of whipped cream and smeared it on your lips before licking it away.

“Eat this first,” you ordered, lifting up a forkful of eggs to feed him. “Then we’ll move on to other things.” He took the proffered bite, seductively closing his lips around the utensil and you were suddenly second-guessing your decision to bring him breakfast in bed. “You know I’m supposed to be the one inciting you like that.”

“Babe, you literally walk in the room and I want you. So consider this a taste of your own medicine.” Sid decided to grab a piece of turkey bacon next, moaning dramatically as he ate. It was all over after that. You grabbed the tray and set it on the bench at the foot of the bed. “Hey,” Sid whined. “That’s my breakfast.”

“Mmmhmm, I’m aware.” You crawled back up the length of the bed so that you were situated beside the length of him

“Then you’re aware it’s getting cold.” That damn smirk was on his face, the one that never failed to turn your insides to goo.

“I’ll remake everything, but this can’t wait.” You shimmied the comforter and sheets that were pooled around his waist down, exposing his body to you. Hands raking down his chest, you felt his sharp intake of breath before you heard it. Sid took the satin ties of your robe and toyed with them between his fingers, itching to touch your body, but this was about him today. You swatted him away before bending down to kiss the little trail of hair that led to the place you knew would drive him wild.

Taking his cock, you let your tongue sneak out and lick the head, tasting his dewy precum. It was your turn to moan, and you felt Sid harden even further with just that small simple touch. When you wrapped your lips around his shaft, Sid’s head fell back against the bed, lost in the power of your mouth. His hand instinctively threaded through your hair, pulling it back so he could enjoy the view. You worked him in and out of your mouth; your hand pumping what couldn’t fit in. “You’re so fucking good to me, (Y/N).” Swirling your tongue around the head, Sid groaned out his pleasure. You had a knack of driving him to the brink in no time and today was no different.

You popped him out of your mouth, then trailed your tongue down to his balls, sucking and licking him the way you knew he liked. His shaft, you worked with your right hand, jerking it up and down in a motion that drove him mad. It was torturous, but torture that he loved and you loved taking him there. His hips bucked up in your hand and you knew he was close, so you took him back into your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks so you could suck him off.

“Fuck baby.” The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he was pushing you off of him and rolling you onto your back. Somehow the ties of your robe had come undone, and Sid pushed it open the rest of the way to reveal your naked form. “God, you’re beautiful.” His fingers slipped between your folds, to make sure that you were wet for him. There was no need for you’d been dripping since the moment he took that bite of egg, but Sid, being the gentlemen that he was, always needed to make sure.

“Please, Sid,” you begged, wanting his cock inside you. “I need you.”

Again, that cocky little smirk, the one that you’d fallen in love with, came out, before he thrust deep inside you. “You feel so fucking good.” He pushed your knees back, before leveraging himself over you, then began pumping in and out of your pussy. His lips found yours, devouring you as he stroked his cock in and out of you. For as long as you’d known him, and it had been a few hundred of those thousand games, this would never get old. You’d always love the feel of him thrusting deep inside you.

Sid pinned your hands on either side of your head and laced his fingers with yours. His mouth was still firmly attached to yours, as he pistoned in and out of you. You were on the edge, ready to fall over at any moment, when he finally broke the kiss, both of you panting. “I love you,” He said looking deep in your eyes, right as you fell apart. The sight and feel causing Sid to spiral down that path with you. He collapsed on top of you, after cumming deep inside you.

“I love you too,” you whispered stroking the nape of his neck, then running your fingers through his soft curls. He moved to his side taking you with him and the two of you laid there for several minutes just catching your breath. Finally, Sid got up and went to the foot of the bed. “What are you doing?”

“Eating my breakfast,” he laughed, bringing the tray back up. “I worked up an appetite.”

You grabbed the tray out of his hand as he snatched up another piece of bacon. “This is cold. I’ll go make you fresh while you shower. You’ve got practice soon.”

There was a pout on his face, one that usually appeared when there was a bad call on the ice. “You’re ruining my day with talk of that.”

“Well, how else are you going to get another thousand if you don’t get out of this bed.”

“Fine, I’m going.”

The two of you went about your day, as you would any normal game day, for although it was his thousandth game, some things you couldn’t change. “I’ll see you at the arena.” He said before kissing you goodbye. “You’ll be on time, right?”

“Of course, I will.” You’d never been late to anything of his or yours for that matter, but you knew he was fretting because there would be a special little ceremony before the game.

“I know. I’m just being paranoid, but you’re all that's here for this.” It was killing Sid that his parents couldn’t be here with Covid restrictions.

“I know, baby. I’ll be there extra early.”

“Thanks, babe. I love you.”

“Love you too.” He was out the door then and as soon as he was, you were putting your surprise for him into action. Of course, the Penguins had things planned out for him, but you’d wanted to do something special for him as well.

You got ready and headed to the arena, making sure you were there thirty minutes before the time Sid had asked you to be, along with your surprise. While this wasn’t the way you wanted to commemorate your husband’s milestone, both you and he would’ve preferred to do it in front of the home crowd in Pittsburgh, you were still happy that the team and NHL were recognizing his accomplishment.

Right before the National anthem, they brought out the carpet where you would meet Sid. You stood there, waiting as you heard the announcer start the speech. Sid looked over making sure you were there and you blew him a kiss, while he gave you a little smirk and wink back. He then turned his attention to the scoreboard to watch the montage and well wishes from everyone. You had tears in your eyes as you watched all his accomplishments. The video came to an end to the sound of piped-in applause and stick taps from both teams.

“Please welcome Sidney’s family,” you heard the announcer say before the door opened. Sid looked over as you walked out, his parents and sister trailing behind you. He was stunned that they were there. Why you weren’t sure, because they would never miss something this special in his life, but you’d definitely been able to pull off this little surprise. He pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the tears that threatened to fall, while yours were already tumbling down.

He stopped at your first, kissing you through your mask. “How did you?”

“I’ll tell you later. I love you, baby. Congratulations.” He moved on hugging and kissing the cheeks of all his family members, while a couple of the guys brought out flowers for you, Trina and Taylor. Geno and Tanger brought out his sliver stick, while Rusty handed out the special plaque that was made. It was over within minutes but the reaction from Sid would last a lifetime in your mind.

At the end of the night, everyone celebrated his accomplishment with champagne at the arena. His parents told him that it had been all your doing to get them here, making sure that they had covid tests and getting them a hotel to stay at for the surprise. They would be staying on a few days longer, but at your home with the two of you.

“I don’t know how to thank you, babe. This means so much.”

“I still have a couple surprises left.” You pulled out one of the boxes you had hidden for him.

He opened the gift, a specially made Rolex watch commemorating his accomplishment. “Wow, this is incredible.”

“Just like you,” you told him before handing him the other.

“Sweetie this is way too much. You didn’t need to do all this.”

“Shush,” you told. “You deserve it, though this one has a no return policy on it so I hope you like it.”

His curiosity was piqued at that and he tore away the paper quickly. Lifting the lid, he gasped, smiling brightly at what he saw inside. “Really?” You simply smiled and nodded back.

“What is it, son?” Troy asked though everyone in the room's attention was now on Sidney.

“We’re having a baby,” Sid announced, before closing the lid and lifting you off the ground. He kissed you as champagne and cheers went up all around you. Sid set you down on your feet, after a few minutes, a worried look crossing his face. “Was that ok? Maybe I shouldn’t have told everyone.”

“It’s perfectly fine. I hope you don’t mind me telling you this way.”

“Mind? Babe this is perfect. You made this day one I’ll never forget.” His hands were roaming over your belly, where the baby grew even though you hadn’t started to show at all.

“I think you did that all on your own.”

“Nah, it’s taken everyone here to get me this far in my career, and it’s taken you to get me something I’ve always dreamed of.” Pregnancy hormones were getting the best of you as happy tears started to pool in your eyes. “Just think, if I make it to fifteen-hundred games, our little one will be out there with you.”

“You’ll make it to that and I have a feeling it’ll be more than one little one out there, Mr. Crosby.”

“God, I hope so. I love you, Mrs. Crosby.”

“Love you too, Sid.”

[himbeaux-on-ice]

Who are your top five NHL teams and why?

Ooooo this is fun! Thanks anon!

Short list:

Habs ❤️🤍💙

Pens 🐧

Canucks 🌈🌊

Caps 🦅

Leafs 🟦🍁🟦 (no really! I know I don’t talk about them much but its true!)

Over-wordy explanations/backstory for my relationship to each of these teams below the cut for those interested!

Montreal Canadiens. My dearly beloved Nana, who half-raised me, is a lifelong diehard Habs fan who grew up listening to their games on the radio and then later as an adult watching them duel with the Leafs on Saturday nights on a black-and-white tv (also a BIG Carey Price stan). Needless to say she rubbed off on me immensely, and I remember saying to myself at some point “well, if that’s Nana’s team, that’s gonna be my team too” and it stuck for life. I also had a friend in middle school who was a RELIGIOUS Habs fan who also worshipped at the altar of Jesus Price in those early 2010’s, so I heard a LOT about all of that every lunch break as he argued with friends who were Pens and Bruins fans lol. We went on the Bell Centre tour during the annual 9th grade French class trip to Quebec, and while I was mostly focused on getting to the gift shop to buy Nana a souvenir, I swear my friend’s eyes were the size of quarters the whole time lmao. (Would LOVE to go back now that I care a lot). Basically the Habs are the closest thing to a local NHL team our region has bc we get their broadcasts (though people choose their own team allegiances for various random personal reasons), and I grew up absorbing through osmosis both the legends of yore and the latest updates on whatever Carey and PK and the lads were up to. (Also I’ve been quietly in love with Price myself since at least the 2014 Olympics lol. My first best fav ❤️) Bottom line the Habs are My Team, the “I’m gonna be here even when it sucks, even when players move on, this is attached to me in a way I can’t quite explain” team that every hockey fan has in their heart. GO HABS GO!

Pittsburgh Penguins. If you were an elementary school kid in Nova Scotia when Sidney Crosby was first released and up through the 2010’s, you had two options: love him, or hate him, but you better accept you’re gonna be hearing about him a LOT. I settled on “vague fondness” and followed Sid from a newspaper-scanning distance and vaguely rooted for him because when he brought the Cup home it felt like we all won. And like I said, lots of passionate Pens fans in my grade school classes to hear from (he’s also the only non-Habs player my Nana likes lol). Then I got into hockey properly last year and learned about Geno beyond just knowing his name, and my chronic affection for large loveable Russians got combined with my longstanding vague “I hope the Penguins win” feelings and my “time to get the full story on the Sidney Crosby’s Penguins narrative I only ever watched from a distance” research, in a manner not unlike the creation of the PowerPuff Girls ([chemical X] etc etc lol) to create a potent adoration for this team that rocketed them to second place in my heart. Also the fandom is just so damn fun and makes such great content, and that definitely feeds my level of engagement with the Pens!! Sometimes, when I want an emotional pick-me-up I watch one of their last 3 championship films just to remember what joy and optimism is — I would love to be present as a real-time fan for another adventure like that. With how much I know about them and how much I care, they’re my #2 for sure. I love those flightless fucks!!

Vancouver Canucks. So I started watching live NHL hockey games last summer around I think game 2 of the Habs’ first round series against the Flyers (I saw Price’s “Miracle Save” on twitter while following along bc I was intrigued by the fact that they made it through the play-ins, and was like “OKAY NOW I GOTTA SEE THIS SHIT LIVE”). That was really fun! Riiiight up until the Habs got eliminated. :/ And I was like “well, shit. I’m enjoying this hockey thing too much to stop now. who else is still around I can root for?” And the Canucks were the last Canadian team still in it, and there was buzz about their miraculous first-round win but also uncertainty I believe Markstrom had *just* got injured. So I started watching, ended up witnessing the Bubble Demko Miracle unfold live, had my heart charmed off me by “whatever the hell those two lil blonde bitches have going on” and a delightful underdog story, and here I am. Hitched to the Canuck wagon whether I enjoy it or not. Here for whatever happens! (Doesn’t hurt that I love me some Elton John too 😉)

Washington Capitals. I’m a person who is more likely to be really engaged with a team that has super interesting personalities, characters, and narratives around it — and my GOD are the Capitals good for that. I absolutely definitely started down this road with that mic’d up video from the 2018 final of Ovi telling Nicke “after me, I give it to you baby!” re: the Cup. Like I can pinpoint that there was a day I saw that for the first time in a gifset, squinted at the screen, said “you’re fucking with me...”, went to youtube, watched it be for reals, and was like “well. now I need to know more about ALL this.” After watching games and learning more about the team, I really enjoy the Caps’ “big dumb found family of stone-cold total weirdos” energy, their fun collective chemistry, their Cup story, etc. And oh BOY the fandom is fun during game lb’s! I love all the in-jokes and player nicknames, our delight with the quirks of our colourful wonderful broadcast crew (shoutout Wine Uncles & Co), the way we cheer for record-breaking milestones like they’re a first NHL goal! Being a fan of the Caps AND the Pens can be a bit awkward sometimes, and the team certainly has its blemishes, but my heart is big enough for two Metro teams for sure, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Toronto Maple Leafs. So like, as you can imagine from my previously described upbringing in Hab Land, “haha Leafs suck” is a punchline I have long been familiar with and trained to recite. I got a solid 3 days of laughter and entertainment out of the whole Zamboni Driver Saga last February, oh boy did I ever. But the thing is.... I have the Leafs to thank for the fact that I watch hockey now. See, the entire reason I started paying proper attention to the playoff bubble last summer was because one day, I happened to see the phrase “WHAT IS HAPPENING” trending at 16k tweets on twitter, and clicked on it like “huh?”. Turns out the Leafs were in the middle of their miraculous 3-minute comeback against Columbus and the country was losing its mind. And when they won, I was like “huh... the Zamboni Team is doing THIS??? I may have to start paying attention to this playoffs thing, because if they go All The Way I think that might be the only thing funnier than the Zamboni Incident”. Aaaaand when they immediately lost the next game and were eliminated I was like “lol, sounds about right” and was then immediately distracted by news of the Habs winning the play-in round. So then I spent several months watching playoffs and forgetting about the Leafs. And then one day in early October, looking on YouTube for more hockey to watch after the playoffs ended, I stumbled across something called a Hat Pick, and boy I actually enjoyed this shouty man’s sense of humour and takes on the game... and then when I ran out of Hat Picks and Dangits I watched some Trade Trees, which pulled back the curtain on the business side of the game... and then I discovered LFR’s, which were good background noise for doing tasks... and then I was recommended the episode of the Steve Dangle Podcast about Mitch Marner and The List... and next thing I knew I was listening to more of this podcast, because I found Steve and the guys to be insightful and funny and there was no hockey to watch, and I was trepidatious about accidentally stumbling into the more toxic corners of hockey fandom if I branched out for other content... and, well. If you spend enough hours listening to people passionately analyze every facet of a team, shout and cheer over a team, make fun of that team, nearly cry over that team... it’s really REALLY hard to not start to care about it. Leafs analysis was basically how I learned most of what I’ve learned about hockey this past year! And kudos to Steve and Adam and Jesse, their passionate investment in the Leafs and great content has got ME invested in the Leafs mainly because I want to see things go well for them. I want Charlie Brown to kick the football! I love a triumph over adversity story! Also, I think if the Leafs did Do The Thing it would basically be the combination of “Cubs win the World Series” and “Raptors are the champs” and I wanna watch the city of Toronto go fully apeshit from a safe distance. I don’t adore many their individual players as much as I do some other teams higher on this list, and I still laugh far too much when things go super comically impossibly badly for them, but I am actually pulling for the Leafs!! I want to see it all pay off for them. I want them to go all the way. Gimme that “LEAFS WIN!!!” (Unless it’s against someone above them on this list lol)

[instant-typo]

Title: Mark me down as yours 

Pairing: Sidney Crosby / Evgeni Malkin  

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fluff, some light cursing, Idiots in Love, Fluff and Humor, Romance, Omega!Sidney, Alpha!Geno, Getting Together, Alternate Universe - College/University

Word Count: 2326

Summary:

Geno's got it bad.

There’s just something about the sight of Sidney holding something that belongs to Geno that makes his hindbrain salivate and activate all the embarrassing Alpha instincts buried deeply in his chest, somewhere below that repressed memory of his grandfather walking in on him at 16 and his highschool talent show performance during which he tripped over the cables on the floor and tore his jeans. So there’s that.

There should be a law against this, Geno thinks and drapes himself a bit more dramatically over his table top. Nobody should be forced to sit through a two-hour lecture on the history of data ascertainment and theories. What does he care about relativism and rationalism and theories that have been disproven already.

He’s not forced to attend these lectures, Seryosha likes to remind him.

Seryosha is not forced to stick his nose into Geno’s business, Geno likes to remind him.

He’s got his reasons. He’s got plans.

A plan.

Or, well, some parts of a plan. A plan-ish idea?

Attending a boring lecture and staring at the back of someone’s head who sits three rows to the front and seven seats to the right - he’s counted, several times - counts as somewhat of a plan.

Sidney, ever dutiful Sidney, is taking notes in that neat little handwriting of his, with prettily crossed ts and curled as, and the only reason Geno hasn’t left the lecture yet to return at the end and try and talk to Sidney then instead of waste his good time in the stuffy hall with hundreds of other suffering souls is because Sidney is writing with The Pen. The pen Geno has graciously lent him at the beginning of the two-hour hell when the sweet Omega had grown so adorably distressed because he had apparently forgotten his own pen and oh no Sidney how will you be able to take notes here better take one of mine yes really I’m sure here you go.

Seryosha had mocked him under his breath because apparently, Geno scrambling over three rows of crowded desks and almost falling over his own backpack to casually hold out the only single pen Geno had ever owned in his entire university life had not been a real smooth move.

Dick.

As if he knew.

As if he had any idea.

If he’d seen the smile on Sidney’s face or the soft blush on his round cheeks or had heard the stuttered thanks in that cute flustered voice, he would have understood!

There will be teasing he’ll have to endure later, but it is well worth it.

Sidney is somewhat of a legend on campus and one of the first things Geno learned about when he transferred some months ago. Captain of the varsity team, valedictorian of their year, volunteer at the local shelter, regular winner of dressing like a robber award in the unofficial college gossip newspaper.

As if dressing in unfitting, bland clothes will somehow hide all of… that.

They’ve exchanged words, once or twice. Or rather, sometimes Sidney talks at him, about a shared class or some team, and Geno will forget all his English and stare, probably like a bug-eyed creep, until Sidney wanders away again.

So he’s got that going for him…

Sasha had shown him a summary of thirst posts about Sidney’s… assets with so much manic glee once after tickling the secret of Geno’s little crush out of him and Geno had seen himself forced to delete Sasha’s final’s essay from his laptop two hours before the deadline.

(He’d given him the copied version he’d saved on a USB stick ten minutes before it was due because he’s not an asshole. That big of one, anyway. Also, because that Nicklas guy Sasha is friends with scares him. Not that Sasha didn’t totally have it coming, though.)

Anyway.

The sight of Sidney writing with his pen, his light blue pen with the broken off clip and scratched off font makes the Alpha in him purr and stretch contentedly. There’s just something about the sight of Sidney holding something that belongs to Geno that makes his hindbrain salivate and activate all the embarrassing Alpha instincts buried deeply in his chest, somewhere below that repressed memory of his grandfather walking in on him at 16 and his highschool talent show performance during which he tripped over the cables on the floor and tore his jeans. So there’s that.

It leaves him giddy and possessive, almost hot and as much as it soothes his inner Alpha it also wakes the hunger for more, to shower Sidney in things that belong to Geno, smother him in gifts and care and his scent and-…

A sharp elbow in his side tears him out of his little daydream.

The air around him is beginning to cloud with pheromones. His own, he notices sheepishly, other Alphas throwing him glares, Omegas close by shifting distractedly. Even Seryosha, who’s so used to Geno’s smell, is scrunching up his nose and turning his head away, jaw tense.

Embarrassing, to lose control of his scent like that, like a newly presented Alpha.

Geno’s eyes are drawn back to Sidney again, compact, cute Sidney whose ears are red and whose shoulders are drawn up and huh that’s interesting. He feels smug that his scent prods such an adorable reaction out of Sidney.

Sidney… ah, Sidney.

A look at the clock. Half an hour left.

Geno returns to his dramatic position on the desk and stares at the fluffy black strands of hair that curl at the nape of Sidney’s neck. They bop up and down with the jerky movement of his arm as he writes. He wonders what Sid would taste like, there, under his curls, where the skin is tanned and smooth looking and-...

Geno has to actively keep himself from thinking about that neck or jerky hand movements to prevent a repeat of the pheromone accident. Though it would be worth it to see if those ears would light up that enticing shade of red again.

Maybe later. Maybe once they are alone.

Nothing of the lecture has stuck in his brain by the time the bell finally rings and other students around him gather their things. He knows already that he’ll be cursing himself later during finals when he’s barricaded himself into one of the library’s corners, stewing over most likely Seryosha’ notes and understanding absolutely nothing. Oh well…

He casts another longing look at Sidney’s (very beautiful) head.

Worth it.

Geno stuffs his pullover and unopened notebook back into his backpack and stands, stretching his back just so that the slightest sliver of skin is visible over the waistband of his jeans just in case Sidney is looking. The Alpha inside of his chest purrs loudly when he does indeed meet skittish brown eyes that trail up over his chest and flee from his own when their owner finds himself being watched.

Alright. Geno’s practiced this in front of the mirror. He throws Sidney charming smile #4 and winks.

Sidney isn’t watching him anymore.

Instead, Sidney, sweet Sidney, is talking to Kris. Alpha, member of the photography club.

Genos’s mood sours as quickly as it had lifted.

And why would Sidney be talking to Kris when he could be looking at him, talking to him? Geno huffs out a breath of air and pulls his backpack up higher on his shoulder, leisurely walking down the steps of the lecture hall towards the pair. After all, Sidney still has his pen, right? He needs that pen. Now. Preferably before Kris can put that hand on Sidney’s shoulder!

(Also he really needs that pen because he only owns the one and he’s not gonna get laughed at by Sasha again when he inevitably steals one from the front office desk.)

Geno’s steps pick up and before he knows it, he’s rounded the last desk and casually joins the bubble of the two men. Well, it’s more Sidney’s bubble he’s joining.

“Hi!” There’s an awkward halting in the conversation and Geno’s smile grows wider and sharper with every second Kris’ hand keeps dangling in the air like a limp balloon between Sidney and him. Sweet triumph sings in Geno’s chest when Kris drops it and nods uncertainly, maybe to Sidney, maybe to Geno’s not so subtle please back off this is mine thank you. He prefers to think it’s the latter.

“…right. Right, uh… Your pen?” Besides him Geno can feel Sidney shift and when he chances a look down his face is flushed and his eyes are fluttering through the room like a scared little bird. Geno wants to wrap him up in several blankets and handfeed him Russian sweets while petting his head and telling him about how absolutely adorable he is!

Then Sidney looks up and their eyes meet and Geno is lost, can feel himself slipping and falling further and does nothing to prevent it. Sidney’s eyes are endless, cautious and so expressive at the same time, the soft brown brilliantly deep and drawing him in. Geno wants to make himself a nest in their depth and slowly unravel Sidney from the inside, wants to curl himself up in and around the Omega and be at peace there.

“Geno?”

Yes! That’s his name! His name on Sidney’s lips! His!

“Geno!”

He wonders if Sidney knows about Geno’s desire to show him what a perfect mate he’d be for him. How well Geno could take care of Sidney and his needs! He wonders if Sidney will allow him to prove it to him, if Geno were to ask him right now to please, please go out with me, let me buy you gifts and fall asleep with you, please let me court you, please. I have a grandma in Russia who sends me the good chocolate, I can provide for you!

“Earth to Geno?”

Geno startles, tries to catch himself smoothly against the edge of the nearest table and lands his hand smack dab in a puddle of… something. He grimaces and wipes it on his jeans. He’d… rather not now what that is. Ignorance is bliss, or whatever.

“Sorry, I’m…” say something that will impress him. “Very caught in, uh, Molyneux problem theory. Very interesting, uh, how he, uh. How he say that!” And that is precisely the reason he doesn’t talk around Sidney.

Sidney throws him a doubtful look over his backpack, though the corner of his lip twitches faintly, so Geno is cautious to count it as a victory.

“Really? I thought that was extremely boring, to be honest.”

“Oh God, yes, thank you. So boring? He not have any hobbies? Nobody love him, tell, ‘oh maybe go play outside, this not real problem’. If that his only problem, I’m like see him take SATs!”

Sidney’s hand is not quick enough to cover his mouth and the laughter that bursts out of him is so adorably strange yet flattering that all Geno can do is stand there and grin, like a stupid idiot probably. Had he counted the smile as a victory before, then he’s now high on triumph sticking his hands in his pockets to keep himself from doing something stupid, like hugging Sidney to his chest and not letting him go again.

Geno’s heart thumps heavily in his chest.

Now would be a good moment, he’s already talking to Sidney, he could just ask for one dinner.

And he’s definitely going to do it.

Once they are outside.

Totally.

They wander out of the classroom together, Sidney’s backpack bumping into his side with every step.

Yep, he’ll do it now.

“So, thanks again for the pen,” Sidney says, tugging on the straps hanging over his shoulders.

“Yep, sure, no problem.”

Sidney hesitates, then nods and takes a step back and Geno is an idiot. A huge, stupid, idiot. Maybe he could share some of his problems with Molyneux, because he has a lot of them!

“Okay, good. Well then, uh, see you next week?” Who’s he kidding, not even Molyneux would want his problems.

Sidney nods again, steps back, hesitates, then turns and sets off into the direction of the cafeteria.

And yeah, hate to watch you go, love to see you leave, or whatever, English, but man, he blew it. Totally combusted it.

Geno rolls his head back towards the heavens and groans his frustration at the century old gums stuck to the ugly white ceiling places when Sidney stops abruptly, then turns on his heel and marches up to Geno with an expression on his face that has Geno fearing for his bodily safety, for a short little second. He’s never going to admit that to Sasha.

“Actually, no.”

“No?”

“No! I’m not gonna see you next week. Well, no, uh, I guess I am. Unless you’re not coming? Oh man, what I’m trying to say is, I’m free this evening. And tomorrow. Wednesday is bad, because I have training then and Thursday is club meeting, but Friday would be good, unless you don’t want to watch the Habs game, then I’m busy because I really want to watch Carey Price and-...”

“Sidney-...”

“I want to go out with you. On a date!” Sidney stares up at him as if daring him to say no. His cheeks are an adorable pink, his lower lip an obscene red from his obsessive chewing and Geno is powerless against the slow smile spreading on his own.

“Tonight is good,” Geno says softly, catching Sidney’s fluttering hand in between both of his and giving him a slow, hopeful smile.

“Yeah? That’s… that’s good.”

They stand there, grinning at each other like lunatics, hands clasped between them. After a second they take a step back, probably because Sidney’s face looks like it’ll burst into flames any second now, dropping their hands to their sides. He can probably only stand so much soap opera behaviour.

(Sidney might have to get used to that. Geno has so many ideas stored in his head, he and his Alpha instincts have been holding back so badly, and he’s probably going to barf all of his gushy little feelings over Sidney’s weird cargo shorts.)

For now, Geno tugs him forward, towards the cafeteria, their pinkies brushing on every other step.

“I have grandma, in Russia. She send me very good chocolate!”

“Oh? Tell me more!”

[theassofwonder]

for the headcanon au - urban magic au sid/geno/anna ❤️❤️❤️

             Anna can see the future- little moments, mostly inconsequential, and usually of events in the very near future. Her mother places a jar of honey into the shopping cart and Anna gets a flash of the finished medovik cake sitting on the kitchen counter. And there it is, three days later. In year six, there’s a new boy in one of her classes, and when their eyes meet, she feels the impression of a kiss on her cheek. The next week, they’re holding hands during lunch. By the time she’s being introduced to Evgeni Malkin and can hear a child’s laugh ring in her ears, she knows that she is going to be very happy with this man and gives him her best smile as she shakes his hand.

             Evgeni can heal people- minor scrapes, scratches, and bruises, slight headaches and the like. His mother had it too, and until she sat him down and explained the Gift to him at seven years of age, he thought that every mother could actually “kiss it better”. He was crushed at first, but after thinking about it, he decided it just made his mother even more special. She laughed when he told her this, and said, jokingly, “You’ve got to remember you said that, six years from now, before you change your mind.” He kept his gift a secret for the most part, only talking about it if asked first. Evgeni knew he’d be persuaded to join the medical field, and although he enjoyed the thought of helping people, he loved hockey too much to give it up just for that.

             Sidney could make things happen. It wasn’t telekinesis, more like…he was bending the universe to his will. It was subtle; a lucky pass here, a nigh-impossible goal there. A puck bouncing off his ass and into the net. He didn’t realize exactly what his Gift was until he took the ‘Brief History of Gifts’ elective course at Shattuck. How only about a quarter of the population was born with one, and very rarely anymore were they anything more than a line in a medical record or a resumé. But sometimes, every century or so someone popped up who could do extraordinary things. That they could make things happen just by thinking them hard enough.

-          So obviously anna gets a flash of them all together, but she doesn’t realize it’s romantic until a little after Nikita is born, when she gets it again, but only because this time she feels a pair of hands on her that aren’t Zhenya’s, so they must be- OH

-          She doesn’t tell Zhenya right away. He knows about her Gift, but if- when- this premonition happens, it’s going to change so much about their lives, and she’s not sure if she’s ready

-          Geno told Sid about his gift during the first concussion- kind of had to, really, when Geno playfully smacked a kiss on Sid’s forehead and his headache eased up (but didn’t disappear) for a few minutes

-          There was never a good time to tell sid how he’s felt  he almost did, during sid and kathy’s brief split a decade ago, but he took too long. now Anya’s told him about her premonition (she had the second one almost a month ago, which means it should happen pretty soon), and Sid and Kathy have broken up again (“I think it’s for good now,” sid tells the group, picking at the beer label)- it feels too good to be true

-          Sid doesn’t think anything of it when geno invites him over for dinner (tells him to, more like it- “You come over for dinner tonight,” geno says. “Hold Nikita, practice terrible Russian with Anya.” “Not with you?” Sid grins. “Нет,” Geno shakes his head, frowns exaggeratedly. “I hear more, you kill me.”

-          So they have dinner and anna pulls him aside while geno does the dishes

“You know I have Gift?” she asks in English, quietly. When sid shakes his head ‘no’ she nods and looks off to the side, thinking. “My Gift is like- future, okay? But only small bits, and is only happen close, you know?” Anna wishes Sidney spoke Russian so she could explain it better, but he nods like he understands. “And my Gift,” she continues, “tells me you are important to me and Zhenya.”

“You guys are important to me too,” Sid says, but Anna shakes her head, looking a little frustrated. She grabs his face and just plants one on him. “You are important to us,” she repeats. And sid- he wants, oh he wants so much- he’s about to say that too, but- his blood runs cold. He can’t do that to them. He wants this so much, but he’s so afraid that his Gift is going to worm itself into this situation and he really can’t live with himself if this only happens because he wants it (his rational brain is on its lunch break, he totally just forgot that anna told him about her Gift like two minutes beforehand) so he pulls away and basically runs out the door

-          Cue months of mutual pining and miscommunication

-          Anna feeling guilty for just going for it like that but also indignant because she knows they’re meant to be, why can’t Sidney just trust her??

-          Geno is torn between giving Sid the cold shoulder because no one rejects his wife like that and trying to convince Sid that it would be a really good thing if he let it (he’s hesitant to bring out the Kathy card but he has it on standby if need be)

-          Sidney’s had time to come to terms with how his Gift works (he had to have a slightly uncomfortable conversation with his parents when he took that class in high school- he spent a good couple weeks distraught because he thought Taylor was only born because he so desperately wanted a younger sibling to play hockey with at home, and his parents had to sit him down and give him the Talk and that they had been trying for another kid for a while at that point and he might have had a small hand in it finally happening, but he wasn’t the only reason it happened, y’know?), but now it’s like all that personal work has just up and disappeared and he’s second-thinking everything that’s happened in the past decade. He doesn’t want to add something this big onto that list

-          But obvs this is a happy endings blog only (SHHHHH) so it all culminates at the end of the season when they get kicked out of the playoffs

-          Geno quietly asks him to come over, and Sidney is too tired to say no so he says yes

-          Anna hugs him as tightly as she can while also holding nikita and kisses his clothed shoulder

-          Sid tells them everything that’s been going through his head the past few months and says something that simultaneously wants anna to laugh and break down sobbing for this wonderful man (“I mean, I really wanted us to win another Cup this year, but that didn’t happen, so maybe it won’t interfere with this either”)

-          It takes him a little while to really believe that he can actually have this, that it didn’t happen just because of his stupid Gift (he apologizes later privately because it never good to have the universe upset with you)

-          Anna sometimes jokes about her Gift

-          Stuff like “my Gift told me I was going to get kissed today” and geno, who is used to this, kisses the top of her head good-naturedly but Sidney goes all out and gives tongue

-          (spicier take: “My Gift said I’m getting fucked tonight” and sid and Geno play-wrestle over who gets to fuck her)

[71tenseventeen]

Into That Bad Night-Chapter 11

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

Sid is braced against the shower wall, breathing hard as Zhenya fucks into him from behind—hard, fast, relentless.

Sid loves it.

Zhenya had woken up agitated, reaching for Sid as he grumbled soft Russian in his ear that verged on growling.

Now as he moves he alternates between biting at the tender skin on Sid’s neck and murmuring in his ear. “You mine, Sidney. I kill him for touching you.”

Sid shivers. He believes Zhenya but he thinks Ovechkin’s days were numbered since he sat down at the table with Sidney.

He’s not giving it a lot of thought at the moment, though, because Zhenya has shifted his angle the tiniest bit, is getting him just right and he’s losing his mind.

By the time the shower runs cold Sid’s neck is covered in marks and Zhenya has an arm wrapped firmly around his waist, keeping him steady on his feet.

Sid is happy.

An hour later Zhenya’s got him pinned to the bed, hard cock head teasing at Sid’s hole when there’s a knock at the main door. Zhenya growls in frustration but pulls back and Sid lets out a whimper. Zhenya palms an ass cheek and leans over to plant a quick kiss on Sid’s spine. “I know baby. But could be important. You wait for me.”

It’s Marc-Andre knocking and if he’s phased by a very cranky, very naked Zhenya answering the door, it doesn’t show. It doesn’t take long for them to have a hushed conversation in Russian, Zhenya finishing with “Give me an hour,” as Marc-Andre leaves the room.

Sid can’t help his smile as he watches Zhenya stride back to the bed. “I get you for another whole hour?”

Zhenya returns the grin as he climbs onto the bed and Sid. “Would keep you here all day if I could.”

“Nothing would make me happier.”

“We have an hour. I take care of you, then I work little bit. Come back to you by dinner.”

“Promise?” Sid’s voice is softer than he meant it to be but Zhenya nods.

“Promise,” Zhenya whispers and kisses him hard.

True to his word, Sid is well taken care of and they are both freshly showered by the time Marc-Andre returns. Zhenya is still buttoning his shirt when he opens the door with a smug grin before turning back to the bedroom.

“Get dressed, baby. If you feel safe, Fleury take you upstairs.”

Sid, sleepy-eyed and comfortable perks up at that. “Home?”

Zhenya smiles, leaning over to kiss him. “Home. Just needed to be sure is safe first.”

Marc-Andre snickers as he leads Sid up towards the main building. “I take it you two made up?” he asks with a smirk. Sid thinks he should be a little embarrassed—he knows how he looks—but he can’t stop smiling.

He shrugs, feeling his ears turn pink and just not caring.

“Thank god. He was a fucking bear to deal with.”

That wipes the smile off of Sid’s face for a moment and he swallows hard. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” Sid trails off, not sure how much they know of what he said to make Zhenya so angry last night.

Marc-Andre swivels his head to stare at Sid, amused. “Why are you sorry? He’s pissed at Ovechkin, not you.”

Sid shakes his head. “I know but I, um, I said some things last night and I just..” he trails off, not wanting to admit how childish he’d been acting.

Marc-Andre just laughs though. “Doesn’t matter what you said. He’s ready to rip Ovechkin’s fingers off one by one for touching you. I don’t blame him. If that fucker touched Vero I’d do the same.”

Sid’s eyes widen. “You mean for real…?”

Marc-Andre raises an eyebrow. “Sid. You know who you’re with and what he does.”

Sid swallows hard. “I, um. Yeah. Yeah.”

“Just don’t worry about it, okay? Ovechkin had it coming anyhow, trying to butt in on our territory and then trying to make amends by sending women and gifts.” He shakes his head, snorting as he says it. “It’s not like he wasn’t warned. But instead of retreating he threw down the gauntlet and sealed his own fate.”

“He tried to send, um, women?”

Marc-Andre grins. “Women, men—anyone he thought Evgeni would be interested in. He never counted on you, though. It’s an insult that he thought Evgeni could be so easily convinced to stray from you. You don’t insult Evgeni Malkin and get away with it. So for him to show up there last night, to touch you and lay down a threat? He’s a dead man.”

“Is he, um...?”

“Not yet but he will be and Evgeni will be the one to do it.”

Sid swallows hard again. “Is that, um, is that what Zhenya’s doing now?”

“We don’t have Ovechkin yet but we did find one source of the leak. Evgeni’s dealing with him.”

Sid can guess what that means.

“You okay, Sid?”

Sid thinks about it for a moment, realizes he is. “Yeah.”

Jake’s standing guard outside the apartment, nodding when he sees them. Sid thinks Marc-Andre will probably take over the post but, instead, he follows along inside the apartment.

“Boss’ orders,” he says, before Sid gets a word out. “You are not to be left alone in the apartment for now.”

“Can I at least change alone?” Sid asks, blushing, earning him a grin in return.

“I think that will be acceptable,” comes the smirky reply. “And if you want me to sit somewhere like the balcony or something so you can have some privacy, just tell me. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

Sid frowns. “I’m not making you sit on the balcony, Marc-Andre.”

“Flower.”

“Huh?”

“I told you to call me Flower.”

Sid rolls his eyes. “Fine. Flower. Just… sit down somewhere. I’ll cook and you can keep me company until Zhenya comes home.”

“Deal.”

--

Life slowly returns to normal—or something like it.

Zhenya won’t let Sid go to the actual offices of the Foundation any more and though he doesn’t have to stay in the apartment at all times, there are a list of places he simply can’t go to. He sees a lot more of Flower, Kris and Jake, though he thinks that they’re around as much as they ever were, they’re just more visible now.

Zhenya starts taking Sid out again every few nights, wanting to send a message to everyone that he will not be intimidated. But Sid’s nervous every time and after their third dinner date in a week, Zhenya reaches for Sid’s shaky hand in the car, pulling him close.

“Need to go to Miami in few weeks for business,” he says quietly, nuzzling Sid���s cheek. “You come with me. Need to get away, relax a little bit.”

It’s not really a question but Sid nods anyway.

--

Sid gazes out at the familiar Pittsburgh skyline. Even on cold, drizzly nights like this it’s beautiful. Still, as he turns back to the fancy ballroom full of Pittsburgh’s richest, gathered for a charity dinner, he really just wishes they were already in Miami.

He feels a gentle hand on the small of his back and sighs, leaning into the touch. “Penny for thoughts?” He hears, rumbling gently in his ear and he looks up at Zhenya with a soft smile.

“Just wishing we were already in Miami.”

“Only couple more days then we get a break from the bad weather.”

Sid eyes the throngs of people milling about the room. “It’s not the weather that I’m struggling with.”

Zhenya pulls him around so that they’re facing each other, taking Sid’s hands. “I know.”

Sid huffs out a breath, pulling a little closer to Zhenya. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t complain. This is—” He looks around the room, “This is good. All these people—they’re raising a lot of money.”

Zhenya kisses his forehead. “Yes, is good and important I’m be here but know is not your favorite. Thank you for come with me, Sid. Another hour, maybe, then we go.”

Sid nods, smiling up at him. He just has to get through another hour.

Ten minutes later he’s gratefully escaping to the bar after Zhenya rescued him from an awkward conversation with a man he doesn’t know.

“Sid?”

He whips his head around at the female voice, not able to place it until his eyes land on a vaguely familiar bright-eyed forty-something with stunning red hair. “Gwen,” he says with a smile, extending his hand.

It’s a relief to see a somewhat familiar face; he’d worked with Gwen a handful of times through the Foundation. She’d always been generous despite the rumors that she and her businessman husband had hit some financially rocky waters.

They spend the next fifteen minutes catching up over drinks, tucked away from the the thickest of the crowds. Eventually she glances over his shoulder before flashing a sly smile. “Either someone really likes your backside or your beau is anxious to see you again.”

Sid looks over his shoulder, breaking into a wide smile as he meets Zhenya’s eyes. Zhenya winks before Sid turns back to Gwen, blushing happily.

“I think both,” she says with a waggle of her eyebrows and Sid giggles into his drink.

He marvels for a moment, at how just locking eyes with Zhenya for that moment made him warm all over. He thinks about Miami and all the time they’ll have together there, away from the cold and stress of Pittsburgh. Zhenya has vowed to keep Sid naked as much as possible and the thought makes Sid feel impossibly warmer.

He absently reaches up, clumsily pushing his hair back, smiling down into his now nearly empty drink. Oh. He doesn’t remember drinking that much but he must have. He finishes it off, thinking vaguely of ordering another. The drinks are cold and it’s getting warmer in here. He turns toward the bar but finds Gwen blocking his vision with a soft frown. “Sid?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay? You look kind of…” She trails off, watching as he wipes his forehead again. When did it get so hot in here?

“I’m—” he starts, suddenly struggling to find the right words. “Is it hot in here?” He tugs at his collar as Gwen takes the empty glass from his hand.

Sid glances around, feeling more off kilter than he expected. He tries to look for Zhenya but everything is blurring the more he moves and he thinks the drinks must have been stronger than he expected. Maybe he should have eaten more, he thinks, before squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, trying to clear his vision. If anything that makes things worse and he finds himself listing slowly to the side when he opens them again.

Gwen’s eyes are wide now. “Oh honey,” she says, voice full of concern as she slips an arm around his waist. “You need some air.”

“Yeah,” he slurs. “Too hot.”

She guides him toward one of the outer doors, keeping close to the walls and moving quicker than he would have expected. But maybe that’s just the drinks talking. “Wait,” he mumbles, struggling to make his tongue work.

“We have to get you out of here.”

Sid shakes his head and everything spins. “Need...Zhenya…”

Gwen doesn’t respond, or if she does he doesn’t hear her. She’s leading him through a set of french doors and, for a moment after they step outside, Sid feels relieved as the cold breeze slaps at his clammy skin.

But everything is still spinning and Gwen just keeps leading him further and further along the garden pathways and he just wants to stop.

“Need to sit,” he garbles, barely getting the protest out.

“In a minute,” is her only reply and he doesn’t understand why they can’t just sit down.

He stumbles, leaning harder against her and struggling to keep his balance now as her voice seems farther and farther away. “...fading fast...hurry...help...need to go…” They’re the last words Sid hears before he closes his eyes.

--

Sid wakes with a soft groan.

It’s dark and his head is killing him. His mouth feels like he hasn’t had a drop of water in years. But the bed underneath him is soft and warm and he lets himself drift. He vaguely registers that the pillows don’t smell right and wonders if the laundry service used something different this time.

Somewhere behind him a soft light clicks on and Sid groans, burrowing his face under the covers for a moment as he wills himself slowly back to full consciousness. It takes a few moments but eventually he pulls the blankets back down, blinking rapidly as he tries to focus.

The moment he realizes this is not his bedroom is the same moment he hears a sickeningly familiar voice behind him.

“Hello Pretty.”  

[knifeshoeoreofight]

@sidgenophotochallenge

For those who haven’t seen it, The Interview He knows they’re going to be having a Conversation, capital “C,” when they’re back at the hotel. Sid is masterfully in control of himself in public, always, but Zhenya had seen the flash of surprised hurt in his eyes, behind the indulgent smile and the faux-casual swat to the arm.

He’s the first one back at the hotel, and he has time to stew a little. He knows Sid. He’s going to feel hurt for a little bit, and then the too-nice, too-rational little gears are going to start turning in his overthinking head. Zhenya always imagines them painted red, with little maple leaves embossed on them.

By the time Sid gets back he’s probably going to have come up with some kind of martyr-like bullshit about how he can see how Zhenya might feel held back by him and does Zhenya want out of his contract, and blah blah blah. Zhenya can feel his blood pressure go up just imagining it. Sid doesn’t have a selfish bone in his body. It’s absurd.

Zhenya is a mercurial man, he knows himself well enough to own to that. He can be passionate and possessive. He knows Sid isn’t like that. But sometimes.

Sometimes he wishes, just for a moment, that Sid was the kind to be possessive.

The temptation is there to say something rash, to jut his chin out and say that yes, he could go anywhere and be the face of a franchise, a star, someone who wouldn’t always be an afterthought, skimmed over for any fucking best 100 list. Just to see what Sid would say. Just to get him angry, light a fire in his eyes, make him prove that Zhenya is his and--

But Zhenya will do no such thing. Sid would take it at face value. He’d be so, so hurt by it, but he’d cover it with a bland veneer of acceptance, of reasonableness. Of wanting what was best for Zhenya, of letting Zhenya do whatever he pleases.

Sometimes, Zhenya needs someone to tell him no.

He gets so worked up that he Skypes his mother. Five pm is seven am in Magnitogorsk, so he gets her in her bathrobe, looking grumpy over a mug of strong tea.

“What is it, Zhenechka,” she says, already sounding exasperated with him. “I haven’t even gotten breakfast ready yet.”

“They asked me, today, in an interview with Sid right next to me, about that thing I said last year. About leaving the Penguins, being a big star somewhere else.”

“Ah.” His mother takes a noisy sip of tea. “And?”

“It shocked him, I think. And then we had media the rest of the day. He’s still in meetings now, we haven’t spoken yet.”

“And you’re, what? Afraid he’s going to be angry with you?”

Zhenya squirms. He feels hot and prickly, his emotions a soupy mess he can’t grasp in order to make sense of.

“I think... I think I’m afraid he won’t be.”

His mother gives him a long, unimpressed look, then sighs. “I’m getting your father. This is a conversation for him, not for me. You two can be unreasonable and have too many feelings together, I need more tea.”

Zhenya’s father is more sympathetic. “Love is hard, son. And it doesn’t always make sense. Talk to him when he gets back. Maybe a present? Roses or some good wine, show him that you love him, yes? What is that American expression you told me about? Ah. ‘Go big or go home’ right?”

Zhenya considers himself fairly amazing at the big gestures, but he’s not sure it would be a good idea this time.

He and his father are still talking when the lock on the hotel room door beeps as Sid slides his keycard in. And there he is, looking pinched and tired around the eyes, undoing the cuffs on his shirt and turning to set his wallet, watch, and phone on the dresser. Zhenya only takes the smallest moment to appreciate the way his ass and thighs strain the seams of his dress pants.

“I’ve got to go, Papa,” Zhenya tells his father. “He’s back.” His father winks at him and gives him a thumbs up.

“Was that your parents?” Sid says, still with his back to where Zhenya is sitting propped up in bed. Zhenya can see his face, though. There’s a huge mirror behind the dresser. His expression is as still and calm as an iced-over pond.

“Yes, little early, but. Want to talk to them.” Zhenya fidgets with the edge of the puffy white duvet. It’s goose down, he thinks. Light and soft. Earlier he’d wanted to pick a fight but now he he’s changed his mind. He thinks he wants to bury himself in the blankets. Hibernate, the the bear he’s always compared to.

Sid is on to unbuttoning his shirt, now, a kind of ruthless precision to his movements. He slides it off and takes it over to hang neatly in the closet, picking up Zhenya’s on the way from where he’d left it crumpled on the floor.

There’s a strange tension in the room as Sid slides his belt out of his pants, coils it, and stows it in a pocket of his garment bag. Next go the pants themselves, then the socks (surprisingly colorful, as most of his socks are), then his undershirt. All get folded and put away. Sid isn’t always this neat. This feels ominous.

He’s still not looking at Zhenya. He stands there in his black boxer briefs, facing the closet, shoulders looking stiff and tight even from across the room. Zhenya knows his body, knows what he movements and the way he carries himself mean.

He’d wanted a fight, but now he’s terrified.

“Did you eat?” Sid asks him, even and bland.

“No,” Zhenya says, and is hit with a sudden bolt of clarity. Surety. That’s what he’s after. That’s why he, perversely, wants Sid to be angry with him for leaving.

Sid is so intensely private. Their entire relationship, from its inception, has been clandestine and discreet. Neither one of those things come naturally to Zhenya. In anything, least of all love. He’s all unsubtle PDA, grand gestures, and ostentatious gift-giving. Or he had been, with the women he’d been with before he and Sid caved to years of pent up attraction and fell into bed together.

He hadn’t realized it had been bothering him this much until now. Sid is always in such consummate control of himself. Zhenya is frustrated, he realizes, with staying hidden, and not being completely sure what Sid wants out of their relationship. Their love languages are so different.

“If you ask me if I’m mean it, I’m scream,” he blurts. “Think about is not do, is not want. Is just think about.”

Sid still won’t fucking look at him. He just stands there, room service menu dangling loosely from his hand, face like a mask.

“Sid,” Zhenya says again, insistent, panic rising in his throat.

“I always thought,” Sid says slowly. “That things were fine. That I knew you and what you wanted. I guess didn’t know anything.”

“Sid,” Zhenya growls, and throws off the duvet, swinging his feet to the floor. “You not listening to me.”

“Mostly I didn’t know myself. It’s freaking me out. All day, all I could think about was…”

“What, Sid?” Zhenya pleads. “Just say.”

Sid looks up then, eyes dark, expression fierce. “It’s ugly, Geno. It’s really ugly.”

“Tell me,” Zhenya breathes. “Don’t care.”

Sid takes a deep breath. “Telling you that no fucking way was I letting you leave. Marking you up. Shouting from the fucking rooftops that you’re mine.” He nearly hisses the last word through his clenched teeth.

Zhenya feels relief flood him, cool as water. He wants to lie back and let him.

But Sid’s not done talking. “But, that’s just fucked up, you’re your own person and you shouldn’t--”

“Sid!” Zhenya barks, sharp enough that Sid stops talking. His breath is coming fast and shallow. “Look at me Sid. Fucking look, okay?”

Sid does. Zhenya watches him register the flush of Zhenya’s face and chest, the heaving of his chest. Zhenya tries to gentle his voice, but it still shakes. “Want you to, Sid. So tired of be so quiet always.” It’s now quite the right phrasing but close enough. “You tell me, I belong to you.”

Sid looks so lost. “You belong to yourself, Geno.”

Zhenya feels hot tears prick at his eyes. “Want to know I belong to you, Sid.”

Sid stares at him like he’s never seen him before, for a long, long moment. “Oh,” he finally breathes. “Oh.” He moves forward, takes Zhenya’s face in his hands, and tilts it to so Zhenya’s looking up at him. “Tell me what you want, G.”

“I want you fight for me,” Zhenya says, hating the wobble in his voice. “Not just say, ‘oh is okay, you go somewhere else, is no problem.’”

“Geno,” Sid rasps. “Losing you would destroy me, you have to know that.”

“Would?” Zhenya says, small and uncertain. Sid’s face crumples in dismay.

“Oh, baby,” he breathes. “You didn’t know. How could you not know? I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Zhenya buries his face in Sid’s abdomen, and clutches at him as he winds an arm around Zhenya’s shoulders and pulls him in.

“You’re everything, baby,” Sid says thickly.

Zhenya shudders. Sid has never called him “baby” before.

“I’d let you go if you really wanted it, or I’d buy you a ring tomorrow if you really wanted it. Part of me is always scared that--” his voice cracks. “That you’ll decide you want to go. Back home, back somewhere they speak your own language. Back to a woman who could give you babies-- I was always kind of bracing for it.”

“Don’t. Want,” Zhenya growls. “Don’t want to go home, be lonely. Don’t want some woman. Just want you want me enough to make me stay.”

“Stay,” Sid says, and pushes him down onto the bed.

“Stay,” he says, and presses biting, sucking kisses to Zhenya’s lips and neck and chest. Zhenya’s going to bloom with bruises by morning.

“Stay,” he begs as he fucks him, taking Zhenya apart, shattering him against the tangled white sheets of their bed.

“Stay, Zhenya,” he whispers into Zhenya’s sweat-soaked hair after, as Zhenya rests his head over Sid’s racing heart, listening to it gradually slow.

“Long as you want,” he tells him back. “Long as you want.”

Zhenya dimly hears Sid leave the room early the next morning, but decides it’s probably an exra morning workout because Sid is Sid, and rolls over and goes back to sleep.

When he wakes up again, it’s because Sid slides back into bed with him, and his feet are cold.

“Wake up for a sec,” Sid whispers. “Please.” Zhenya obliges, turning around to face him and to complain about his icy feet against Zhenya’s shins.

Sid’s lying there staring at him, eyes wide and nervous. He extends a hand across the sheets between them.

“You said as long as I want. This is how long I want.”

It’s a small, velvet box. Zhenya sits bolt upright.

The ring inside is absolutely gaudy, masculine but flashing with diamonds. It’s as far from Sid’s taste as it’s possible to get. It’s exactly Zhenya’s.

“Would have bought you one sooner,” Sid says, voice wet. “But was scared of the answer.”

Zhenya can only shake his head as he tries to slide it on to his finger. “Don’t have to be scared.” His hands are shaking and he nearly fumbles the ring into the bedding.

Sid leans over and helps him slide it on.

“There,” he says, sounding satisfied with himself. “Oh man, G—Zhenya, are you crying?”

“Not,” Zhenya lies, and pulls Sid into his arms.

[nomorelonelydays]

Bee! I saw this video and it made me think of your Sidney who has actually never been kissed so even if he wanted to tell Potash, he couldn't. Maybe the team sees and starts joking with him, coming up with ridiculous theories about what his first kiss was. Maybe they start offering to give him the best 1st kiss, and clearly their joking but no one realizes what a direct hit that is, except maybe Geno sees the way Sid crumbles a bit at that. fahbee tumblr com/post/166900551932

oh my goshhhhhhh i love this. here have a ficlet:

“Sid want to keep first kiss secret, we keep let him keep secret.” Geno waves the rest of the groaning rookies away. “Is superstition, if he tell then he lose magic touch.”

“Maybe he hasn’t even kissed anyone,” one grumbles quietly.

It’s meant to be a playful jab, but Geno notices how silent Sidney is, how he stiffens as if he’s trying to wait out everything. The tips of his ears are just barely red, but Geno’s known him for long enough to know what embarrassment looks like on Sidney. 

He doesn’t bring it up again. Not until the day they lose a game and Geno’s knocking on Sidney’s hotel room door.

“I have hot chocolate,” he coaxes. “From gift store. Is fancy chocolate, the ones you like.”

Sidney doesn’t respond immediately, but Geno’s nothing if not persistent.

“Hot chocolate,” he calls again, with three more knocks. “I’m stand here all night–”

“Geno.” The door opens and Sidney’s face peers at him, looking exhausted and resigned. “We’re gonna get noise complaints.”

“No complain if you just open door faster,” Geno says, wedging his way in to the room. “I buy marshmallows too.”

“We’re really too old to drink chocolate at midnight,” Sidney says. “Diet plans aside, I don’t know if my stomach can handle sugar right now.”

But he lets Geno work the kettle and pour them both generous portions, rich and frothy with two marshmallows floating on top like icebergs. They sit on Sidney’s bed, blowing at the steam and warming their hands. Geno watches him, at the way his fingers curve and lace with each other, at the pink dusting his cheeks and his lowered lashes that Geno has always thought made Sidney look especially lovely. Lonely, too.

“Just a little bit,” Geno says, then gently clinks his mug against Sidney’s. “Cheers.”

“My mom used make me hot cocoa when I was little,” Sidney says, after a short silence. “When I couldn’t sleep. Dad didn’t want me to have sugar at night, but I think she felt bad for me.”

“Why feel bad?”

“I got bullied. I didn’t have a lot of friends.” Sidney shrugs. “She wanted to cheer me up.”

Sidney never likes to talk about the past. He’s grown, he’d said. Too old to hold grudges over petty parents and childish behaviors. But whenever he does bring it up, he always sounds sad. 

“Bet you popular in Shattuck,” Geno tries. “Lots of pretty girls want be your friend now.”

Sidney stares into his mug. “I’ve never even been kissed.”

And there it was. 

“Sid.”

“You don’t have too feel sorry for me.” He puts the mug down on his lap, decisively not looking in Geno’s direction. “And I don’t want you telling this to the guys either. I don’t want you trying to drag me to some bar and–”

“No, it’s–I’m just surprise. You’re talented and good looking. Why no one kiss?”

Sidney finally raises his head at that. His eyes are a little red, and it’s only now that Geno knows how much this whole first kiss thing has bothered him. 

“I–” Sidney opens his mouth, then closes it again. “You think I’m good looking?”

“Sure.” Geno thinks a lot more than that, for years and years now. “Thought you maybe have long list of girls who want you, maybe boys too.”

Sidney lets out a startled laugh. “No. No girls.” He grips his mug a little tighter. “No boys either.”

“Well.” Geno thinks his heart might jump out of his mouth; the cocoa coating his throat isn’t exactly helping. “Maybe one boy.”

Sidney turns to him sharply. “Geno,” he says, and it sounds a little like a plea. “Please don’t joke about this.”

“I’m not joke, is serious.” Geno purses his lips, until Sidney’s frown starts to wobble. “Is my serious, kissing face.”

“I don’t want my first kiss to be an experiment for you,” Sidney says, hoarsely. “I can’t if it’s–not when it’s you–”

“Not an experiment. I’m–I think about for years already. Just don’t know if you want, too, so I never ask.” 

“Geno,” Sidney whispers. 

“I can wait,” Geno says. “Can wait for you decide. Maybe you think, okay, is bad idea, then I never say again. But if you think you want to try, then I take you to movie and–and dinner too–or I cook something. No, that’s bad, I can’t cook. I can do UberEats.” He swallows. “You make me happy. I just want make you happy too, Sid.”

Five more seconds pass without Sidney uttering a word–the five longest seconds of Geno’s life, really. He feels his heart deflate. “Sid–”

He feels Sidney’s lips press against his like a miracle, a soft, shy peck that Sidney pulls away from almost immediately. His entire face is flushed, and he looks more beautiful than he has any right to in a wrinkled t-shirt with too many holes where there shouldn’t be. 

“I’d like that,” Sidney says shakily. “The movie and dinner.”

Geno gapes, then nods quickly as he recollects himself, because now he has permission to sweep Sidney off his feet, and he’d be damned if he missed another second.

“Let me show you something,” he says, and wraps a steady arm around Sidney’s waist.

Sidney closes his eyes and lets Geno pull him flush against his own chest. It’s the best kiss of Geno’s goddamn life, he thinks, even if they belatedly realize that half of Sidney’s leftover hot chocolate had spilled on Geno’s shirt. 

-

(Years later, at their wedding, Sidney proudly announces that he’s married the first and only person he’s ever kissed. Geno watches his teammates’ eyes widen in realization as one makes an involuntary squawk. And in the rising commotion, Sidney meets his eyes, beaming like he’s never been more sure of anything in the world. 

As for Geno, he’s pretty sure that if he loves his husband any more than this, his heart will actually overflow all over his shirt like hot chocolate.)

[icebirdsmateforlife]

Worst Kept Secrets (three times Sid and Geno are very careful and one time they wonder what for)

Sid and Geno are very good at hiding. No really. They are. Nobody will ever suspect a thing.

This is a fluffy birthday gift for @sheepassisted because she deserves fluffy things on her birthday. People who share a birthday with Geno always deserve fluffy things. I don't make the rules. Happy birthday! ♥♥

AO3

I.

“I can come up with an excuse,” Sid says for what feels like the tenth time. “He wouldn't mind. I'm sure he would just -”

“Can't always make excuse,” Geno reminds him, softly kissing him on the lips, their limbs still tangled together under the sheets. It's warm and comfortable here and Sid never wants to get out of bed. They slept late. There won't even be enough time for morning sex if he doesn't call Tanger right this second and tell him he can't go play mini golf with him and Alex today. But then, it's probably already too late. It's 8:45 and Tanger said he'd pick him up at 9. He doesn't even have time for breakfast anymore.

“I guess you're right.” Sid sighs. “But I want to stay here with you!”

Geno smiles and pulls him in closer. “I come back tonight, if you want.”

Sid laughs and bumps their noses together. “Of course I want that, I always want -” He breaks off, interrupted by the doorbell ringing downstairs, and he curses, shooting out of bed so quickly he gets his legs tangled in the sheets and almost falls flat on his face. “Shit. He's early.”

Geno's eyes are wide. “My car, what if he see -”

“You parked it in the garage last night, remember?” Geno's shoulders sag in relief while Sid struggles into last night's clothes, too pressed for time to pick out clean ones from the closet. “I gotta go, be quiet up here until we're gone, and be back in time for dinner? Love you, see you tonight!” He barely waits for Geno's response before he's jumping down the stairs three steps at a time. “Be right there,” he yells, stepping into one shoe, hopping on one foot to get the second one on as he reaches for the door.

“Hi,” Tanger says, smiling brightly.

“Hey,” Sid says, hoping he doesn't sound out of breath, that is face isn't as flushed as it feels.

Tanger slowly looks him up and down, frowning. “Are you okay?” he asks, and Sid blinks back at him.

“Yeah, sure, why?”

“Because,” Tanger gestures at his feet. “You're wearing two different shoes.”

Geno chooses that exact moment to sneeze upstairs, and Sid does his best to cover the noise with a cough, swearing loudly in his head. Fucking shit. Fucking shit. If Tanger find out... “I overslept,” he says. “Must have grabbed one wrong one in a hurry.”

“Ohh...kay.” Tanger doesn't really look like he believes him, but thankfully lets it go anyway.

Sid manages to find matching shoes without Geno making any further noises upstairs. His heart is still pounding as he closes the door behind himself making a mental note to be more careful from now on. Way, way more careful.

II.

“Come on, Geno,” Sid says, weakly pushing at his chest even though he really doesn't want Geno to stop. He never wants him to stop. He never knew he had a thing for having his neck kissed, but either it's a thing for him, or Geno is just that good at it.

“Few more minutes,” Geno mumbles, and gently bites at the skin where Sid's neck meets his shoulder.

“We've been in here for, like, ten minutes already,” Sid points out. “Someone's gonna notice we've both disappeared at the same time eventually.”

It's not really a party, just a few of the guys and their wives and girlfriends hanging out at Geno's for a good meal and a couple of beers. And Sid knew it was a stupid idea to follow Geno upstairs when he went to get a cardigan, and an even stupider idea to shove the bedroom door closed and let Geno kiss him silly against it. Someone's gonna notice. Eventually.

“Okay.” Geno sighs, resting his forehead against Sid's. “Probably right. But...you can stay? Tonight?”

Sid kisses him, slow and soft. “Of course,” he says. “That was always the plan.”

“Love you,” Geno says, and Sid kisses him again before they join their friends back downstairs.

For another blissful half hour he thinks they got away with it, until Olli looks at him, tilts his head, and says, “That's a really impressive hickey.”

Of course, everybody hears. And everybody turns their heads to look. Tanger even pokes him in the neck, right where the mark has to be. Sid claps a hand over it quickly, even though he knows there's no use hiding it anymore. His mind is racing.

“Has that been there all night and we didn't see?” Rusty says, and Sid jumps when Geno speaks up right behind him.

“I see earlier,” he says. “You don't? Been there all night. I'm only wait for Sid telling us about hot date last night. Is not nice, letting friends wait, Sid!”

Sid almost sighs with relief. “I don't kiss and tell,” he says, with what he hopes is a smug smile.

“That thing is huge,” Jake points out. “It's so weird we all missed that. How could we miss that? It's the size of Canada.”

“You just busy drinking too much,” Geno says, and waves an arm toward the kitchen. “Sid can get us more snack to soak up alcohol, if he refuse to tell about hot date.”

Sid gives him a grateful smile as he does his best to walk from the room at a normal pace. Geno deserves a thank-you blowjob for that one later for sure. Right after a stern lecture about where he can put his mouth and what he can do with it when they have company.

III.

They brought their suits because they're going to hit the road right after this optional morning skate, but neither of them felt like dressing up that early in the morning. Sid hadn't even really wanted to go to morning skate in the first place, but they'd been up and Geno had said maybe they should because they hadn't gone to the last few in favour of staying in bed together, and Sid had agreed.

Now they're showered and getting dressed, joking with the other guys who are there, and Sid doesn't notice anything different as he grabs his shirt and sticks his arm through one sleeve. His laughter at a joke Tommy told fades as he tries to get his other arm through the other sleeve, and the fabric stretches unusually tight across his shoulders. He looks down at himself, seeing the shirt fall down all the way to his thighs.

He stops laughing all together and suddenly feels cold. Oh no. He knows exactly what happened.

“G, what the fuck are you wearing?” Tanger asks, sounding horrified, and Sid swallows, not daring to turn around. But he does anyway.

Geno stands there, shirt unbuttoned – a shirt that sits way too loose across his shoulders but ends way too high on his hips.

“Um,” Geno says, looking a little freaked out, and Sid tries to tug at his own shirt sleeve, struggling to get out of it before anybody sees -

“Dude,” Tommy laughs. “Did you and Geno switch shirts?”

“No,” Sid says, probably too quickly. “Uh, I – don't know -”

“This is -” Geno tries, then breaks off.

“Same dry cleaner,” Sid says quickly, and Geno nods vigorously.

“Yes! I pick up yesterday, bring Sid his too.”

“They must have switched the tags out accidentally,” Sid says. He finally gets the fucking shirt off and practically throws it at Geno, a litany of 'shit shit shit shit shit' repeating in his head. This is exactly the kind of thing they didn't need to happen right now. Not again.

Fortunately, Tanger is the only one still staring at them, squinting his eyes and looking thoughtful. Everyone else seems to have moved on to teasing Dumo about something Sid doesn't have the energy to listen to right now.

They couldn't have gotten their T-shirts mixed up in the closet? Nobody notices if a T-shirt fits weird, right? He sighs, doing his best to look calm as he buttons up his own shirt, careful not to look over at Geno. Sharing clothes is kind of hot, actually. Hoodies, sweatpants...totally hot. In private. But maybe not dress shirts. And not in a locker room full of their friends.

+I.

“So,” Sid says, rubbing his sweaty palms over his jeans, taking a breath.

“Yes?” Flower says, patiently. His new house is nice. Sid thinks his old one in Pittsburgh was nicer, but he's glad he got to visit him in his new home on this road trip.

“We, um,” Geno says, but apparently he doesn't know any better how to do this either.

“You can talk to us,” Tanger says.

Sid nods. “We know. That's why we're here.”

“You don't have to though,” Flower assures them. “If you can't.”

“No,” Sid says. “It's important. We -”

“We want get married,” Geno says quickly, a little too loud, a little too fast, but Sid exhales. There it is. It's out. Two of their best friends know and the world didn't end.

“Yeah,” Tanger says.

“Finally,” Flower says.

Sid exchanges a look with Geno. “Uh, what?”

Flower sighs. “You've been dating for two years and in love for, I don't know, twelve? It's about time.”

Geno's mouth is hanging open as he stares at them. “You...know?”

Tanger laughs. “You didn't hide it very well.”

“I'd been hoping you'd get married before I moved away,” Flower admits.

Sid swallows. “Well, we're getting married now,” he says. “This summer. Does, um. Do all the guys know?”

Tanger shakes his head. “Me, Flower, Olli, Cully...I think that's it.”

“Oh thank god,” Sid says, as Geno takes his hand and squeezes.

“We want you to come,” Geno says. “To wedding. Olli and Cully too now, I guess.”

“You can't tell anyone,” Sid says. “Not yet. We'll tell them. We'll have a party for all of them. But we want to do this just for us first.”

Flower nods. “You can count on us,” he says. “We've kept your secret better than you have for all these years. You really are not good at hiding.”

Sid laughs and hides his face against Geno's shoulder as he does. It feels good, being able to do that in front of people now.

* * *

“I can't believe they all knew,” he says to Geno after sneaking into his hotel room that night.

“Of course they know, with way you look at me,” Geno teases. “Very obvious, Sid.”

Sid laughs and elbows him in the side. “Oh yeah? It took you a decade to figure it out.”

Geno pulls him in for a kiss and sticks his hand down his boxers, cupping Sid's ass. “Took you same time,” he points out.

Sid rolls on top of him and kisses him. “We're gonna make up for all that time a hundred times over,” he promises, and slides down to pull Geno's underwear off to get to work on that right away.

[fanforthefics]

Sid/Geno, modern mythology au

1) It becomes clear early that Sid is gods-chosen. It’s not just his skill on the ice, it’s the way it encompasses him. The way he can see things no one else can. It doesn’t mean he can’t play; it’s like the throw of the dice of genetics–an advantage no one chose, and no one controls for. He’s not the only one, anyway. There are always gods-chosen, in every walk of life. They are always great. 

2) There are things Sid doesn’t tell anyone. The way he sometimes he sets foot on the ice and knows how it will go. The things he can see no one else can. The way he dreams, of ice and iron and a presence that is infinitely large and too other to be kind but that likes him, in its way. Of blood, and war, and other lives where the battles he fights for his god are real, where he stands alone against the dark. 

He does tell people, because they ask, about how he can know when someone’s important. When the hand of his god, or fate, or something, has landed on him. He knows when he picks up a stick. He knows when he’s drafted. And he knows, when Mario tells him about Evgeni Malkin’s situation, that this matters. “He’ll get here,” Sid tells Mario, calm and sure. Mario doesn’t ask. Like he doesn’t ask when Evgeni makes it to Pittsburgh at last, and Sid greets him with a smile and without surprise. This is important, Sid knows. This boy, standing there exhausted, gone through his trials. 

The hand of his god is on him, and Sid smiles at Evgeni, holds out his hand. “Welcome,” he says, and feels fate close around them. 

3) Geno is not gods-chosen, and he has spent much of his life bitter about it. Or, not bitter–envious. Geno is always good, always great, and never noticed as the best; he can fight all he wants, work all he wants, and he will never get the notice of the gods. They know all, after all; if Geno wasn’t chosen in the womb, he won’t be now, and so he’ll never be great. 

It makes him wary, at first, of Sid. Everyone knows that the hand of the gods is heavy on Sid, heavier than anyone else in their generation; his hockey is gorgeous, the best Geno’s ever seen. What would it be, part of him can’t help but ask though, if the gods had never chosen? Would he still be as good? Or is this all the favor of the gods, which Geno was never given? 

But then–then, slowly, it’s just Sid. Sid who is awkward and earnest and works so hard, despite being gods-chosen. Who carries the weight of the hand of his god with him wherever he goes, and makes it look easy. Who fits next to Geno on the ice, and when they score, Geno doesn’t think of gods or their gifts, just joy and the two of them. 

4) “What it like?” Geno asks once, on a plane high above the middle of the continent, everyone else asleep. Geno had been too, until he woke from turbulence to find Sid awake, staring unseeing at the seat in front of him. Geno put his hand on Sid’s knee, to draw him out of it; Sid started, and looked at him like he was coming back from somewhere very far away. 

“What?” 

“The gods,” Geno clarifies. No one talks about it. They all know, and they’re all fiercely proud of their captain, but no one asks. 

Sid shakes his head. “I can’t…there aren’t words, to explain.” It sounds lonely. 

The plane is very quiet. “I’m always want. To be chosen,” Geno confesses. “Think…it make me special.” 

Sid blinks, and looks at Geno in confusion. “You are special,” he says, like it’s obvious.  

Geno has to smile at that, and feels something turn over in his stomach, in his heart–something he’s been trying to ignore for years. “Not the same.” 

“No,” Sid agrees. “It’s better. You earned everything you have. I…” he shakes his head, and that faraway look is back. “It’s been chosen for me.” 

“You earn too,” Geno retorts, as sure as Sid. “Not because of gods. Because of you.” 

Sid smiles, slow and bright, and there’s that thing in Geno’s heart again. “Thanks,” he says, and then his hand is resting on Geno’s hand on Sid’s knee.

5) There are stories about the gods-chosen. It’s not a blessing. The gods-chosen have great gifts, but no gift comes without a price. 

And for those they love…sometimes their price can be higher. 

6) Sid dreams, of ice and steel and blood, and the glinting silver of the Cup, and he’s raising it and so is Geno and they’re grinning at each other and then Geno’s melting away, dissolving into nothingness, and Sid grabs at him but there’s nothing there, no one left to hold, and Sid’s alone except for the presence of his god. What can you do alone? he’s asked, and Sid wants to scream, because that’s never mattered. 

He wakes, tears on his cheeks, and scrambles for his phone. Geno doesn’t pick up; he calls again. “What?” Geno snaps, when he finally answers. “Is three in the morning, Sid.” 

“Be careful,” Sid pants. Orders. Fate is building around him, and it hurts to touch. “Don’t–you’re okay?” 

“Yes, am fine. Less now I’m awake. What’s wrong?” Geno asks, softer now that it’s clear Sid’s really worked up. 

Sid forces himself to breathe. “I’m sorry,” he says, and hangs up before Geno can ask what for. It’s not Geno’s fault Sid fell in love. 

7) Sid goes down, and stay down. Geno doesn’t understand. What use is Sid’s god–what use is any god–if this can happen? If Sid’s head betrays him like this? All of Sid’s dire warnings, the way he’s been watching Geno–what use is any of it? 

It doesn’t matter. The gods don’t listen to Geno. Geno can just watch Sid’s pale face and the way he curls into himself in his dark, empty house, all alone, unable to handle anything for long. Can only try to be there, as the months stretch on, as the rumblings start about Sid losing the favor of his god, of them replacing him, until–

“You’ll be a great captain,” Sid says, one day when Geno’s over, trying to cheer him up, “It should be you.” He’s serious, and when he looks at Geno he seems to mean it, and it’s so wrong, so not Sid, that Geno breaks. 

“No,” he says, once, and gets up. The gods have never listened to him. Not like they listen to Sid. But Geno has fought his way to everything he got, and he can fight for this too. Fight for Sid. 

8) Geno dreams. He’s on the ice, not a rink just–the ice, in his pads. Sid is there, at the other end of it. He’s in the gym short and t-shirt that Geno last saw him in, looking small and alone. Geno tries to skate towards him, but he can’t move. 

Then there’s something–Geno can’t quite understand. Sid has a stick or maybe a sword, and there’s someone or maybe a ghost or maybe nothing, and they’re fighting, and Geno doesn’t know what’s happening but he can see that Sid’s bleeding. He pushes harder, but he can’t get towards Sid. 

And then there’s something there, infinitely large and unfathomable, watching Sid fight. Amused, Geno thinks. Invested, but amused. Like a fan watching a game. Sid is bleeding, Sid’s drained, and it’s amused. 

Geno tries, and tries again. Let me help, he rages. Let me go. You’re killing him. I can help. No, he thinks, like he did at Sid’s. This isn’t right. Sid doesn’t stand alone. 

And then–impossibly heavy, the presence of a god. Geno’s knees almost buckle. Is this what Sid feels, every day of his life? The weight of the hand of his god? 

What would you give? is asked, and Geno refuses to fall. He straightens. Glares back. Who are you, to give? 

And Geno–he thinks of the rink in Russia and the bathroom in Finland and his skates on the ice and the smug satisfaction of a puck hitting twine and the Calder and the Conn Smythe and everything he’s done without the gods and he thinks of Sid’s sure eyes the first time they met and Sid next to him on the rink and in the locker room and on the plane and at team parties and lifting the cup together and Sid’s laugh and the quiet joy of him at a bar with the team and how he smiles at Geno sometimes, like there’s nowhere he’d rather be, and he thinks of Sid bleeding right now and the only thing he knows is that he needs to help. That Sid shouldn’t be alone. That he loves Sid, and he won’t let him be alone. 

More amusement, then–then Geno is there, and Sid blinks at him, confused, the fight frozen. Geno? he asks, reaching out, and Geno touches the blood on his skin, wipes it away. 

You’re not alone, Geno tells him, the weight still on him. You’re never alone. 

You’ll get hurt. This hurts. It’ll hurt you. 

Then it hurts. Geno’s thumb runs over Sid’s lips. Worth it. 

Sid looks unconvinced, even in this nothing-place, and here it’s as easy as leaning down to kiss him before taking his place beside him in the fight. 

9) Sid drives to Geno’s. He doesn’t think about it, about what it might do to his head. His head is better. It will be better. He needs to be there. 

Geno lets him in. He’s pale, and Sid’s hands are on him before the door is closed, trying to make sure he’s whole. “What’s that?” Geno asks. “That–real?” 

“It’s what I couldn’t explain,” Sid tells him, “Or part of it, but Geno, you aren’t–”

He’s not. He’s still not, Sid knows, because he can tell the gods-chosen, and that doesn’t change. Geno’s not gods-chosen, and he was there, in Sid’s dreams, fighting against the monsters. That’s never happened. Sid doesn’t know how. 

“That what it like, all the time?” Geno catches Sid’s hand, pulls it to his chest. “You alone there, always?” 

“Yeah. But–you’re okay? Really?” There’s always a price, and Sid won’t let Geno pay it. 

“Feel fine, Sid.” Geno grabs at Sid’s other hand. The way he’s looking at Sid is as heavy in its way as the presence of the god, but totally different too. Like he’d looked at Sid in the other world, when he’d melted out of nothing. “Sid…” 

“It’ll hurt,” Sid warns. He can feel fate building. He’ll fight it, though. For Geno. “You know what happens, to those close to people like me.” 

Geno tugs. Sid does’t move. Geno sighs, and steps closer. “Then it hurts. Already hurting you.” 

“You shouldn’t have been able to be there.” Sid looks at Geno, mostly in awe. “How did you–”

“I’m special,” Geno tells him, smug, and leans down to kiss him, and there’s no fate, no hand of the gods. Just Geno, and Sid, and their very human hearts. 

[icosahedonist]

Imagine the team following sid one night because they all want to know who they're being ditched for on the regular. They find sid at the bar before the set, huddled up close to geno by the bar and all the players are just like !!

“He’s hiding something.”

“Of course he is,” Flower said absently, undoing the backs of his pads. “Who would tell you anything?”

Tanger groans and kicks at Flower’s skate. Flower looks up and sees his friend standing there in his nice suit, his arms folded across his chest and looking far more serious than the situation probably warrants. It’s probably the fact his neck is still recuperating that he’s turned into this busybody, Flower figures. He doesn’t do well idle. Hockey-less. Very similar to someone else they know.

“I mean it, Marc-Andre.” Oh, using the first name now, it must be serious. “He hasn’t been out with the team in ages. You know how he feels about ‘team unity bonding time,’“ he says in English in the sort of voice used to ridicule opponents. “He’s being squirrelly.”

“He’s a squirrelly guy.”

“No he’s not, which is my point. What sort of secret would he hide from us, for this long? If he’s getting laid regularly he can tell us.”

Flower thinks about adulthood, and the nature of the locker room, and the fact that while he himself is a nosy person when it comes to their captain, there are some things that should be left alone until the person in question brings them up. But this is a conversation better suited outside the locker room, because being in here turns grown men into gossipy little boys, and Flower is really no better.

“So what do you plan to do?”

Tanger smiles. He turns and calls across the room. “Sid!”

The man in question looks up from undressing, having just finished his media obligations. He raises his eyebrows but doesn’t stop moving.

“You’re coming out with us tonight. No excuses.”

Laughing, Sid shakes his head. “Sorry Tanger, I’ve got other plans tonight. Maybe another night.” The way he says it borders on being his speaking-to-the-press voice, which is likely just bleed from before, but it piques Flower’s interest nonetheless.

The locker room really does affect a man’s brain.

“C’mon, we miss you. Just a couple of drinks and then you’re free to retreat back to your Friends marathon, or whatever your plans are.” Tanger glances over at Flower as if to say, aren’t I clever?, and Flower restrains an eye roll.

But Sid won’t be swayed. “Sorry Tanger,” he repeats, “another time.” And off he goes to the showers without a hitch or a stitch.

“I told you,” Tanger mutters. Flower lets out a breathy laugh.

“Oh yes, real persuasive. You’ve a gift, my friend.”

Tanger kicks at Flower’s now-bare foot. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this, and you’re going to help me. Get clean. I don’t want Sid to catch wind of your stink.”

Just for that, Flower gives him a face wash before he goes for his own shower. After, when Flower is dressed and the rest of the team has scattered and Dana and his equipment guys come in to do their magic, he meets Tanger at Tanger’s car.

“If this ends badly I’m blaming you,” he says once he’s got his seat belt on. “I’ll tell him this was coercion from the start.”

Tanger snorts. They drive through downtown in silence, broken only by the occasional mutter from Tanger as he pokes at his dash-mounted phone. They don’t go too far, however, and once they’re parked in another garage, Tanger leads them to the front of a little bar.

It doesn’t look like much from the outside: it’s got some posters plastered on the glass of past and upcoming events, mostly jazz or blues, but nothing else about it really stands out. Once inside, the place is much more inviting. The bar lines the right wall, and cozy tables dotted with patrons fill the rest of the main area. At the back is the stage, and a couple of people–musicians, Flower figures–are setting things up for a performance.

It’s not hard at all to spot Sid at the bar. Flower makes to go to him, but Tanger steers him instead to an empty table. It gives them a better view of Sid, who looks to be talking to the man next to him.

Flower studies them. They’re bent toward each other, tangibly in each other’s space but not touching. Whatever the man is saying has Sid smiling, and Flower is pleased to see it’s the one he uses for people he likes. The man turns to look at the stage–his face is long and a bit reminiscent of a basset hound with his soft eyes–and then stands. He’s tall, and thin, and when he looks back at Sid his expression is gentle. He lingers a moment longer before putting his hand on Sid’s shoulder. Sid is still smiling, saying something too quiet to hear. The man lets his hand trail down Sid’s arm as he backs away and heads for the stage.

Tanger leans in, a terribly self-satisfied expression on his face; Flower shoves him back. “Fine,” Flower says before Tanger can get a word in. “It looks like you might be right.”

“Might be right–”

“Yes, might be. We don’t know for sure.” Tanger scoffs. “So go ahead and ask him.”

But Tanger shakes his head. “Not yet. I have to know if this guy is any good first.”

For an absurd moment Flower thinks he’s talking about in bed. But then he watches the man on the stage tune his upright bass, and, well. Flower’s curious too. He still says, “What does that matter?” Because even if this guy is a hack, if he makes Sid happy, that’s the important part.

“It just does,” Tanger intones gravely, and Flower knows he’s full of shit but he doesn’t press. Like Tanger has some hidden musical talent that’ll give him special insight into this guy’s abilities.

So they sit back and take in the show. Enjoy it too (at least on Flower’s part). The bassist, as far as Flower can tell, has solid rhythm, and does well no matter how slow or fast the song of the moment is. He breaks out a bow for one piece, the horsehair gliding over the strings in low, mournful tones that, at some signal from the band, become sweet like molasses as the song brightens gently. The band takes a break after one especially rollicking number, so when the man goes back to Sid (who’s grinning from ear to ear), Flower decides it’s time.

He grabs hold of a protesting Tanger and guides them to the bar. Upon seeing them, Sid’s eyes grow wide for just a second before his expression smooths back down to what Flower would call his “I’m upset at you but I can’t show it right now” face. Flower knows they’re in for it, but it’s too late to back out now. He puts on his most charming smile.

“Hey Sid! Small world, huh? Guess we can get those drinks together after all. Hey, you were really great up there,” he adds, turning toward the musician, who looks a little lost but perks up at the compliment.

“Thank you.”

“I’m Marc-Andre, by the way, and this is Kris. We’re friends of Sid’s.”

The man glances at Sid, who nods curtly. “Flower and Tanger. You know.”

Understanding eases into his expression. “Goalie and d-man, yes. Sid tell me about you. I’m Geno.”

Tanger earns himself a sharp elbow to the side when he says, “That’s weird, Sid’s never mentioned you.”

Sid’s face goes tight at that. Taking a measured breath, he says, “I think I’ll step outside, it’s a little warm in here.” He gives Flower and Tanger each a significant look, then softens when he looks back at Geno. “I’ll be in before you go back on.”

Geno searches Sid’s face a moment before nodding. “Okay,” he murmurs. He heads toward the stage, and the three of them exit the building.

Outside, Sid rounds on them almost immediately. “Did you fucking follow me? What the hell guys?”

Flower and Tanger try to speak at the same time.

“We just wanted to know–”

“You had your location turned on–”

Sid breaks in. “My location? That’s for if I get lost, not for spying on me.”

Tanger has the sense to at least look chagrined. “Okay, that was wrong of me. I’m sorry. But Sid, man, you’ve been avoiding the team for weeks now.”

He scoffs. “I have not–”

Gently, Flower interrupts, “You have, Sid. You wouldn’t tell us anything. We were getting a little worried.”

“You know we don’t mind, right? If you’re dating him or whatever,” Tanger adds.

Sid scrubs at his face and sighs. “It’s really new. We’ve only been seeing each other for, like, a week now. I’ve been coming to the bar longer,” he says. “I wanted to try something different so I started coming here. It’s… been good. I guess I wanted to wait until things were a little more solid before saying anything, but.” He looks at them wryly. “You two couldn’t wait.”

“Sorry Sid.”

“Uh huh.” Yet Sid smiles when he says, a little louder, “I should have Horny fine you both.”

“But then you’d have to tell him the reason,” Flower points out with a grin.

Sid grins back. “Well.” He says nothing else, but Flower knows what he means.

Sid makes for the door but pauses before opening it. “Do you want to stay? They’ll play for at least another thirty minutes.”

Tanger and Flower look at each other. As if this is a legit question. “Yeah, let’s go watch your boy play,” Flower says.

“He’s not ‘my boy’,” Sid mutters, color high on his cheeks.

“He’s your boy,” Tanger sing-songs. Flower laughs, and they go inside, the warm glow of the bar inviting them in.

[rinkrats]

🥺 that mike lange story. But also those tags #sid loooves christmas #he loves giving presents #looks good in red #piles on the pounds fast #post hockey career as santa 😂😂👌🏽👌🏽

he loves his mementos and presents and is COMMITTED to them. scrapbooking. matching jackets. little pills with hidden motivational messages~*~ his love language is gifts and neck smooches and stalking geno. relevant right now are some anecdotes i sent a friend earlier this year for dorky sid gifts fic fodder:

1. Crosby's constant thoughtfulness would be impressive from anyone, much less someone of his stature.

"Sid always texts me happy birthday, he's always asking me like, how's Russia?" Evgeni Malkin said. "We talk and message all summer. He asks me how my skates are. He knows, like, everything. He follows my Instagram, I think (laughs)."

In addition to having a handle on those little details, Crosby is constantly providing those around him with memories and mementos. If the team is on the road and goes, say, sightseeing or to a sporting event and takes a group photo, Crosby will later send a framed copy to everyone.

When Ron Hextall and Brian Burke watched their first Penguins game in person, Crosby is the one who approached head equipment manager Dana Heinze and asked for two used game pucks to give to the new GM and president of hockey ops. 

After the Penguins won in 2009, Crosby had jackets made for the three players on the team who had scored a Cup-clinching goal in Game 7: Talbot (Pittsburgh), Ruslan Fedotenko (Tampa Bay) and Mike Rupp (New Jersey).

"They were blue jackets with gold buttons, and each one had a patch on it that said 'GWG Game 7,'" Talbot said. "At one of our first team meals the next season, he presented us with the jackets and did a big ceremony with the music and stuff. We had a private room in the restaurant. I still have the jacket."

-The Consummate Teammate, Captain and Ambassador, Feb 2021

2. Merz: My first interaction with Sid was when we were on the bench, guys were talking about a teammate, and the first thing this 15-year-old says is, “Hey, guys. Let’s keep everything positive. Don’t talk about your teammates that way.”

Salcido: When we were getting ready for nationals, he found these little pills that you could put a hidden message inside. They unscrewed, and inside was a tiny scroll. He gave one to every teammate. … He had everyone fill one out. He didn’t tell anyone what to write, but he made it known that we all knew what the goal was: winning nationals. So we wrote on our scrolls, rolled them up and put them in the pill thing. We kept them with us everywhere we went.

-‘Is this real?’: Stories of Sidney Crosby’s year at a Minnesota prep school, May 2020

3. On “Butterfly Boy” Jonathan Pitre:

Though the Senators are his team, Sidney Crosby has always been Jonny’s favourite player. After the TSN documentary airs, Tina gets a call from the Penguins. Sid needs Jonny’s measurements. He wants to have a suit made for him by his personal tailor, Domenico Vacca.

“It’s the kindest, sweetest gesture,” Tina says. “Sid heard that Jonny went to a lot of games, so he wants him to look like he’s one of the guys.”

“I want him to feel like a pro,” Crosby says. “Here’s a guy who is going through something so painful, and his first thought is always, ‘How can I help others?’ When I was young, I’d watch on TV the players coming to the rink in their suits. That was a cool part of being an NHL player. I want him to feel that, to make it as real as possible for him.”

Tina tries to discreetly measure Jonny while she’s changing his dressings. But he’s way too smart for that.

“Um, Mom, why are you measuring me? Am I going for surgery again?” he asks.

“No, no!” Tina replies, trying to reassure him and come up with a good lie, all in the same breath. “The doctor needs them just to make sure they have proper dressings next time you are in.”

A few weeks later, the sharp navy blue suit shows up at their front door, along with a couple of ties, an autographed stick and a handwritten letter from Sid. 

“His eyes just light up,” Tina says. “Jonny always liked to be well-dressed, and he just loves having his own suit. It fits perfectly. He looks so good in it.”

-Beauties by James Duthie (2020)

4. Pascal Dupuis inspired his Pittsburgh Penguins teammates on their run to the Stanley Cup, and Sidney Crosby found a special way of driving that message home.

Dupuis retired in December with lingering health concerns because of blood clots. Despite his NHL playing days coming to an end, the veteran forward remained an integral part of the Penguins and was in uniform to hoist the Cup after Pittsburgh's six-game win against the San Jose Sharks in the Stanley Cup Final.

On Sunday, Dupuis brought the Cup home one last time as a player to share a special day with his family, friends and hometown fans.

"Yes, it does feel bittersweet a little bit," Dupuis said. "You get the Cup, you want to celebrate. But at the same time I got a gift by the mail [Saturday]. Basically, it's a book of all the pictures of all the good stuff we went through. It came from Nova Scotia, so you guys can figure out who it came from (Crosby), but he couldn't give it to me during the season, he saw me skating a little bit.

"And he sent it [Saturday], before my day with the Cup, so he knew what he was doing to get me right here," Dupuis said, putting his fist over his heart.

-Pascal Dupuis shares Stanley Cup with family, friends, Aug 2016

5. In 2011, Crosby was out of the lineup with a concussion, and the Penguins made their annual visit to Children’s Hospital.

Crosby got along so well with one boy there and was so touched that he later asked Bullano to go back... just the two of them, no cameras, no attention.

When Bullano and Crosby met for the follow-up visit, Crosby appeared clutching a pair of Toys “R” Us bags, filled with a Transformer toy the two had discussed.

“He literally bought every type of this toy they make,” Bullano said. “[Crosby] had never seen it before and thought it was so cool.

“There are no pictures of this. There’s no video. He was laying in the bed with the kid. They were just playing. We were there for over two hours. I got to know the mom really well because we were just sitting there.

“The kid had no idea. Didn’t expect it. They had no idea he was coming. We got there and he said, ‘Hey buddy. hope you don’t mind that I came back.’ The kid couldn’t believe it.

“[Crosby’s] crazy cool about stuff like that.”

What’s crazy is trying to recount the many times stuff like this has happened with Crosby:

• The Little Penguins Learn to Play program has been around for nine seasons, outfitting now 1,200 kids with free head-to-toe hockey equipment. Not only does Crosby serve as the face of the program — which the NHL has now adopted — but he helps fund it, too.

“There’s an awareness of what a person in his position can bring,” Penguins vice president of communications Tom McMillan said. “I think he activates that as much as anybody I’ve seen during his playing career.”

• After a recent practice, Crosby noticed a local family in the Penguins dressing room, approached them, introduced himself, learned their story and wound up giving them a signed stick.

Nobody asked Crosby to do that, and he wanted zero credit when discussing it a couple days later.

“For people who have the opportunity to come in here, people dealing with certain things, if you can brighten their day a bit or spend some time with them, it’s something that’s special for all of us,” Crosby said.

• A few years ago, through a team charity event, Crosby befriended a 4-year-old Amish boy with cancer. Crosby remarked to Bullano how much he loved talking to the boy because of how engaging the boy was and how he wasn’t consumed with technology. Crosby even tried to visit the boy but learned he had passed away.

• He learns the first and last names of the kids who attend his hockey school in Cole Harbour, Nova Scotia.

“Two kids came from Japan its first year,” Bullano recalled. “He was so blown away by that. He couldn’t wait to meet them.”

• Earlier this season, the Penguins welcomed Grant Chupinka, 24-year-old cancer patient, into the dressing room. Crosby chatted up Grant and his parents, Steve and Kim.

He spent his usual time — about two or three times the requirement. Gave the tour. Then found out the Chupinkas didn’t have tickets for that night’s game and decided he would pay for them to go.

“I’m sure he could just give them an autographed puck or something, but he takes his time to go out and see them and talk to them and get to know them,” Brian Dumoulin said. “It speaks volumes for him and who he is as a person.”

Spend any length of time with Crosby during his visits with those less fortunate, and a few things become obvious.

One, Crosby is really good at these. Smooth but not in a slimy way. Sweet. You know how when you’re around someone talking and they go out of their way to make eye contact with everyone around? That’s Crosby.

He’s also humble, always introducing himself like those he’s meeting don’t already know. Holding a hand is no issue. And Crosby is the rare 20-something pro athlete without kids who acts every bit like he does.

“It is not an easy situation to talk to someone with terminal cancer,” McMillan said. “A lot of people couldn’t do that. He has an amazing ability to do that and make that person feel good.”

Crosby has welcomed several Make-a-Wish kids and tries, if at all possible, to schedule such events for practice days — to maximize the time he’s able to spend.

He’s developed a special friendship with Patrick McIlvain, a soldier who nearly died when he took a bullet to the head in Afghanistan. McIlvain actually does physical therapy with one of Crosby’s sticks.

A former club hockey player at Cal U, McIlvain comes by every year, and the Penguins don’t even bother to tell Crosby. Either he already knows or immediately stops what he’s doing to come say hello.

“He’s not doing it to leave a legacy,” said Terry Kalna, Penguins vice president of sales and broadcasting. “His numbers leave the legacy. He’s just a down-to-Earth, good guy.”

Before a visit, Crosby has Bullano email him what is essentially a scouting report on who he’s going to meet. He likes to learn about them, their situation and what they’ve been through. As much information as he can ingest. Crosby never just swoops in, shake a hand and leave.

“As much as anyone has ever seen, he accepts the responsibilities of being not just a professional athlete but a star professional athlete,” McMillan said. “He views it as part of the job. Like coming to the morning skate. That’s just what you do.”

Put another way, “he owns those moments,” says Kalna.

Said Bullano, “He’s just a good human being.”

-When it comes to giving, Sidney Crosby does as much as he can, Feb 2017

6. When Crosby received a generous signing bonus on his Reebok deal, he wanted to share it with everyone.

“He gave everyone on the bus gifts,”  says Oceanic radio commentator Michel Germain. “Him sharing his bonus with all the people he’d been travelling with for two years, that impresses me greatly. I think the most important thing about Sidney Crosby is his personality and the kind of human being he is. What he exuded. The inner richness he’d already developed.” 

-Superstitious and generous, Dec 2006

7. also this simply because it makes me ;w;

Even in defeat — no, especially in defeat — Sidney Crosby proved why he wears the "C" for the Penguins.

After the game, with his heart sinking and his season over, the Penguins’ captain bent over, sank to the ice to pick up the puck, took it to linesman Tony Sericolo and then skated to his team’s handshake line.

I immediately thought of a View from Ice Level I’d written on Crosby making sure a retiring official was sent away from PPG Paints Arena properly. I knew picking up the puck wasn’t for the same reason that was, but I also knew, in some way, it was connected to Crosby’s awareness and respect of the game.

“It was for the Islanders,” Crosby told me after the game, his eyes swollen from a first round exit – by way of a sweep to make it worse. He told me how the winning team always wanted the puck, and it was his way of providing it for the Islanders.

Crosby looked me right in the eye as he told me this, just as he did with every other member of the media to come to him after the loss.

I could tell from those swollen eyes and the way he sat at his stall, by himself with his hands folded as he stared blankly, that Sidney Crosby is much more used to being on the receiving end of a puck when a series ends than he is at retrieving it for the winning team.

That scene. His swollen eyes. Staying in the locker room until most had left – talking to anyone who needed him. Most of all, though, picking up the puck that prompted my question in the first place and making sure the right people got their piece of their own history.

It all adds up to one thing: In victory and in defeat, Crosby respects the game above all else – just as he’s always done.

-Even in defeat, Crosby shines, April 2019

[orangecuties]

SidGeno 12ish Days of Christmas - Day 3

I'll Be Home For Christmas - ao3 link 

(major character death warning)

“Hey Sid, it’s Taylor again. Listen, I really think you should get out of your house for Christmas. You can come visit mom and dad with me? Or maybe me and you can take a quick trip over the break? Please, just don’t spend the holiday alone okay. I’m worried about you.” Sidney listened to the voicemail, his hand clenched around his phone almost tight enough to break, squeezing his eyes shut, and leaning his forehead against the fridge. “I love you, call me back when you can.” Sidney sighed and thought about calling Taylor back, he knew he should, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he deleted the message and sank down to the floor, scrolling through his voicemails to the same one he did every time, the last one.

“Hey Sid, going to pick up groceries real fast after practice, know you sad about injury and getting sent home, maybe I bring you surprise yes? Cheesecake make you not so pouty? See you soon, Я люблю тебя.” Sid had listened to the recording so many times he could hear each syllable, each rise and fall, each little breath that Geno took, perfectly in his head. He sat there playing the recording over and over, closing his eyes, getting lost in the same dangerous fantasies that maybe if he listened to it enough he’d somehow change his past self's mind and call Geno back, make him stay at the store just a few more minutes, maybe if he listened to it enough Geno would just keep talking to him, tell him that he was home and walking through the door, maybe if he kept listening he would just get so lost in his voice he’d never have to open his eyes and hear another sound again.

Sid and Geno had been dating for a little over a year. They had wanted to take things slow at first, to make sure it wouldn’t affect the team and how they played and to really see if they worked together as a couple, but they already knew they were it for each other right at the beginning. It had always been them two, just waiting for one to make the move, to finally take that step, and now they finally had. They moved in together after about four months and it had been perfect.

They understood the commitments each had to playing hockey, to the team, to winning, but they still came home to each other each night, still came together in perfect sync. They weren’t close to retiring anytime soon, but they had talked about it, about everything. They talked about coming out, getting married, having children, retiring at the same time, building a life together.

But now those plans were gone.

Geno had been driving home from the grocery store while Sid was at home watching tape; he had a minor injury, would miss a handful of games, but he could still offer pointers and critiques for how to play against the upcoming teams. He listened to Geno’s voicemail and figured he didn’t need to call him back, he’d be home soon, and set his phone back down on the table. After another half hour had passed Sid began to wonder what was taking Geno so long, but assumed he must’ve just got held up by some fans or maybe there was traffic, so again, he didn’t call and set his phone back down. As more time passed, Sid began to worry. As if on instinct he reached for his phone and it began ringing as soon as it was in his hand.

“Hello?” Sidney didn’t recognize the number except for the Pittsburgh area code, usually he wouldn’t answer but he felt the need to now.

“Hello, am I speaking to Mr. Crosby?” The voice said, calm but clearly strained, it set Sidney on edge, his whole body was beginning to tense up, as if it knew what was happening before he did.

“This is he”

“Mr. Crosby, you might want to sit down.”

And just like that, Sidney’s world had been shattered.

Geno had been hit by a driver texting on their phone, they didn’t notice the red light and slammed head on into the left side of Geno’s car. Only the driver had survived. A part of Sidney hated them, hated them for not paying attention, for hitting Geno, for surviving. Why did they get to keep living after their mistake? Why did they get to go home to their family afterwards?  While Sidney was left with alone.

That was at the end of November, only about a month had passed, but it felt like a lifetime, the days seemed to stretch on and on and Sidney just couldn’t bear it.

Sidney had always been able to throw himself into hockey, whatever happened, he had hockey. But sometime through the years, hockey began to mean Geno, playing with Geno, winning with Geno; Geno became his new constant.

He thought about going back to play, but he couldn’t, he needed time away; maybe he’d just retire. He never thought he’d have to play hockey without Geno and he didn’t think he even could. He couldn’t face all the fans in the arena with their sad faces and posters of condolences, he couldn’t stomach the thought of looking up and seeing a banner in the rafters, retiring Geno’s number forever with a small “1986-2018” printed underneath.

Sidney finally got up from the floor when his phone began to die. He went upstairs and dropped onto the bed, laying on Geno’s side like he had been every night for the past month, wishing that he would feel his warmth one last time. He couldn’t bear to lay on his own side of the bed, to feel that emptiness across from him, staring at him all night.

Christmas was in a week and Sidney didn’t really care. It would be his first Christmas without Geno, even when they weren’t together, they would still exchange gifts and have some sort of dinner at one of their houses, usually watch a Christmas movie on TV until they fell asleep on the couch. Now that was gone, Geno was gone, and Sidney felt so empty, at first, he had been depressed and angry, but now he just felt hollowed out.

He didn’t want to spend Christmas with anyone, he’d probably spend the day in bed, listening to the same recording, going through Geno’s clothes, trying to find one that still smelt like him. That was the only thing of his he touched, he didn’t want to go through all his things, to clear his stuff out, that would make it all too real. Instead Sidney left it as it was, as Geno left it, so that it was like he was still here, that he might come back and he’d find all his stuff just the way he left it and he’d smile down at Sid and curl up next to him on the bed.

Sidney began to shake with sobs, not even knowing how much time was passing. He stopped when his phone began to ring and saw that Taylor was calling him again, he debated answering, if just to tell her that he was going to say home for Christmas, but he was too exhausted to even manage that, he just let it ring until the room was silent again. Sidney laid there until the quiet was too overwhelming, too real, he got up and went to the closet to grab one of Geno’s old sweatshirts when he noticed something behind the stack of clothes that he hadn’t seen before.

It was a small gift wrapped in Christmas paper with a sticker that said “To Sidney, From Geno,” Sidney wasn’t sure what to do, to open it and see what Geno had bought for him, or to leave it, another piece of Geno that Sid could leave just as it was to try to preserve Geno’s presence.

Sidney decided to open it, whatever it was, Geno wanted him to have it, and so Sidney would, whatever was in it, he’d keep it with him. When he unwrapped and opened the box, a small velvet case was inside. Sidney’s breath stopped as he opened the case and saw a platinum band sitting inside.

For the smallest split second, he felt pure joy, Geno wanted to marry him, he was going to propose, images of a wedding flashing through his mind and warming him inside, excitement at getting to marry the man he loved, until the images faded and reality came crashing down even harder. Sidney fell to his knees, crying and yelling into his hands, the small box still held tight. The wedding would never happen, Geno would never propose, and Sidney would never get a chance to say yes.

[knifeshoeoreofight]

How about a late night stream-of-consciousness chatfic from last night?

me: reg text

@icosahedonist: bold

There’s a particular path Sid likes to take in the mornings to jog with his dog. It’s quiet and barely used.  And it’s pretty. He likes to go as often as he can, to clear his head. Even in winter. 

... I think Sid is a..............how about a kid's hockey coach? It's not well paid, and there are rumors his program might be cut, and he'd be out of a job. He's stressed out about it.

Geno is a KHL star who retired early. He's got a lot of money but no idea how to have an actual life outside of playing hockey.

He's ended up in wherever-the-fuck Canada because..............

uuhhhhhh

maybe there's some kind of rich people ski resort.

But he's brooding so he ends up walking this trail that ends up winding through a local park.

He need to walk as part of his knee rehab maybe.

He notices the dog first. It's this squat little pitbull mix, goofy looking and cute, and always looking thrilled with life.

One time it lunges for him, tail whipping wildly and tongue lolling, trying to make friends. "Come on, Peanut," the owner chides. "Leave him alone." Geno has to laugh to himself. Peanut. What a name. (If only he knew that the dog's full name was Peanut Butter, and that he'd been named by one of Flower's daughters).

(because he's a brown dog and Uncle Sid likes PB & J, of course!)

And one day he hears the same guy calling and calling his dog, but this time it's loud and anxious, interspersed with piercing whistles and beseeching "Here, boy!"s

oh no

He jogs a little, turns a corner and there's the guy, hands cupped to his mouth, calling.

"Lose dog?" Geno offers. the guy turns to him, frantic. "Yeah, there was a squirrel, and we've been working on this in obedience class?? But he bolted, and I--" the man's breath hitches. Geno is quick to offer to head the other direction down the trail and help look.

He's a ways down the trail when he practically runs into Peanut, who is jogging down the trail looking bewildered because his dad? was just right there? but now he's not??? !!!!!!!!

Geno calls his name and Peanut happily lollops up to him, grinning and excited.

(a friend!)

He grabs him by the collar and quickly walks him down the trail towards Sid. It's hell on his back, Peanut is kind of low to the ground, and he eventually decides to just pick him up, sturdy as he is. Peanut just puts his paws up on Geno's shoulder and peers happily around from his new vantage point, tail bap-bapping violently against Geno's middle.

"Fuck, Peanut, you stupid dog!" Sid cries as Peanut practically mauls Geno as he flails to get back down on the ground and oh boy! Kiss his dad all over! His dad! That's his FAVORITE person!!!!!!!! Geno has to laugh. Sid's scolding is obviously totally out of fearful relief. His (pretty, hazel, luminous, oh no) eyes are red-rimmed and too bright as he clips a leash on his dog and thanks Geno profusely.

Geno really takes a moment to look at Sid for the first time. oh. no. He's....he's got black hair curling out from under a lumpy knitted toque (it was a gift "for Coach," from one of his peewee girls, in their team colors)

knitted with love, no doubt

so much. Coach Crosby is adored.

Anyway this guy has pretty eyes and a prettier mouth and a cute hat and a cute dog and Geno can just feel the flock of butterflies take up residence in his stomach.

he walks back with Sid to his car, even though the park's parking lot is in the complete opposite direction of the resort. His knee is beginning to ache a bit and he knows the slog back will be murder, but. Sid.

He's asking Sid about himself, trying to remember how to be charming, how he chatted up beautiful people all the time in clubs and bars before he got hurt. Before he left Russia and the KHL behind.

Meanwhile Sid is about 70% sheer relief that Peanut has been corralled and about 30% oh wow TALL, and oh wow ACCENT.

he noticed Geno wince when he stumbles over a ridge of compacted snow at the edge of the parking lot and it triggers his Coach Senses. Is Geno hurt, what hurts, how long has it been hurting etc etc

Geno is shamefacedly forced to admit that he's rehabbing his knee and he maaaaybe overdid it. this will obviously Not Do as far as Sid is concerned and before he quite knows what happened, Geno is sitting in Sid's beat-up truck, Peanut ensconced between them (thrilled that there's TWO people, his favorite things, in the car, his favorite place, oh boy)

Sid apologizes if the trucks a little funky, he hauls around a lot of hockey gear as well as a wet dog. Oh no, Geno thinks. Hockey. He had really wanted to stay away from hockey.

(why did you go to fucking Canada then, Geno?)

(HMMMM)

oh no, cute guy with cute dog who loves hockey... whatever will geno do???

And he finds out Sid is a hockey COACH, even. Sid gets talking about his kids on the way up, and even though Geno hadn't wanted to hear any hockey talk, the love of the game and his charges just kind of, radiates from Sid. Geno can tell this guy loves what he does. So damn much, He's.....probably amazing with kids.

(fuck)

the answer seems to be fall in love

A couple days later, Geno kind of Accidentally Ends up at the community rink. It's part nervous hope he'll see Sid again, it's partly that the yearning to put on skates and just, fly, never really left him.

He's been okayed for skating months ago. But he hasn't felt ready to face a rink again until now.

The rink is run down, but clearly busy and loved. There are little teeny kiddos with brightly colored figure skating bags in the foyer, putting neon fuzzy soakers on their blades after their lessons. God, their skates are so tiny.

There's a lot of happy yelling coming from the ice, and when he walks through the doors to the rink, after he's recovered from the emotional hit that is the sting of cooled air, the smell of the ice, the rubber flooring, he sees a hockey practice is happening on the ice.

He's not been around little hockey players in a while. He's forgotten how funny tiny kids look in gear. Especially the goalies like little robots in all their pads. And there is Sid on the ice, somehow making a set of trackies look good, gliding gracefully between his miniature players as they wobble through their drills.

Geno climbs into the stands to watch and wait for the public rec session after this. There are a smattering of parents watching.

A nice mom greets him. "Which one's yours?" she asks, and his heart does a funny thing in his chest.

*lies face down*

"Uh, none," he has to admit. "I come for public skate but I come too early." He waggles his beat up pair of rental hockey skates.

The nice mom continues to chat with him, telling him how WONderful Coach Crosby is with the kids, how they just ADORE him.

Geno makes faint noises of acknowledgment and tries not to let both his crush and his dormant love of hockey unfold any further.

she has an active ear, geno gonna get sid's entire life story and every scrap of gossip by the time the kiddos are done

Then, the mom sadly adds, "But, this is probably the last winter we'll have this, you know?"

And then Geno gets to hear that the rink is in disrepair and the town can't afford to repair it to code. It's going to be shut down at the end of the season, with no timeline for it to reopen.

uh oh

Sid's going to lose his job, he realizes. He looks at where he can see Sid as he carefully helps a kid back upright, pulling a kleenex out of his pocket to wipe their tears and snotty nose as he makes sure they're okay, just a little scared from the tumble they took.

He thinks about his untouched millions in the bank. How bleak he'd felt, with nothing to work towards and no need to strive for anything anymore.

Well. This he can do. This is easy.

"Who in charge?" he asks the mom. "Where can I find?"  She blinks but tells him the board of trustees is having a meeting next week.

What a helpful lady.

the helpfulest!

Geno already has his phone out, and is already busy canceling his flight home in two days. He's going to be here a while longer, he thinks.

And scene.

(you can imagine the rest: geno saves the rink, but like, secretly, and he gets to know sid better, and they fall in love, Geno skates again, and finds out how good it feels to get back on the ice. He meets Sid's beer league friends. They definitely at one point kiss in Sid's questionable old truck. Peanut anoints him Best Person Ever After Dad.)

(eventually somehow Sid finds out, there's a dramatic conversation, maybe with snow swirling around them, etc. It's a little angsty but things get resolved and theres a Big Damn Cinematic Kiss.)

hmmmmm but... what if sid knows who geno is, and it doesn't take too much figuring out to know who had the cash to save the rink, and he never says anything bc geno never says anything, and it doesn't seem like he did it just to get into sid's pants (altho that is a bonus for sure)

that too

he just waits for Geno to tell him when he's ready.

Couple years down the line, they're 1. Moved into the gorgeous lodge-style house Geno buys. 2. Engaged, with plans for a December wedding. 3. Looking into adoption.

when geno tells sid about his past, and all the money that geno just "mysteriously" has, it's anticlimatic. sid may be a hockey coach in nowhere, canada, but he's heard of evgeni malkin

He gently kisses Geno's forehead. "I know, babe. It wasn't hard to figure out. I knew you'd tell me when you were ready."

and anyway, he didn't fall in love with geno bc of his money. when geno asks what it was, then, sid smiles beautifically and says, "your ass."

AHAHA yess

(but it was actually his heart, of course)

(bc he's too fond of chirping to let an opportunity go by!)

Geno: "Hm, smart, is best ass."

"Need to lock up." "Lock down?" "Yes, that."

[71tenseventeen]

Shelter-(18)

TW for serious illness and character death.

Please don’t feel obligated to read if these topics are too hard for you. 

This chapter was tough to write and it’s about twice as long as usual. I just want you all to know that I always give my characters happy endings. I hope that helps to know. 

Mom is sick.

Really sick.

And the doctors have been running tests and monitoring her blood work but now she’s been diagnosed and it’s—it’s not good.

There are some things they can try, some potential treatments,  but they’re warned very seriously that the success rates of the treatments are inconsistent and that there are no guarantees.  

Sidney can read between the lines—things are very, very bad.

--

Mom’s first treatment is on Sidney’s first day of senior year.

He squabbles with her right up until she walks him to the front door with a very stern look.  “Sidney Patrick Crosby, so help me god, if you don’t get your butt to school I’m going to march you there myself and cause a scene.”

“Mom, come on!”

“Enough! You are not going to miss school because of this.  I will literally only be there a couple of hours and I won’t feel any side effects until late tonight, most likely.  I’ll be damned if you’re going to miss school for any of this.  Now get. To. School.”

Sidney pouts the whole way to school.  Then he feels guilty and calls Mom to apologize.

She sounds both exasperated and fond but she accepts his apology.

He races home when school’s over and comes through the front door so fast he trips and knocks over the side table.   Mom steps out of the kitchen holding Taylor and looking at Sidney incredulously.  “What on earth?”

“Um.  I tripped.”

Mom snorts.  “Oh Sidney.  Come on.  I made you a snack.”  She offers him a sweet smile and kisses his cheek.  And Sidney has to admit she looks fine so he allows himself a moment of relief and follows her into the kitchen.

--

Sidney does his best to adjust to their new reality.  He goes to school, goes to hockey and hangs out at home with Mom and Taylor as much as possible.  Mom still works—less hours now but she still insists on working and gives him a vicious glare if he looks like he’s even thinking about suggesting that he get a job.  

And for awhile, things are okay—or as close to okay at they’re going to get right now.  Sidney thinks that if things stay like this, they might make it through.  

The problem is, things don’t stay the same.

In the beginning, Mom had some mild side effects but she was largely okay as long as she made sure to get some extra sleep and stay on top of her medications.  But the medications only go so far and after a couple of months, the side effects are greater than what her prescriptions can relieve.  She’s exhausted all of the time and Sidney realizes she’s losing weight—a lot of weight and fast.

Geno tries to talk to him about how he’s doing, how he’s feeling but Sidney doesn’t want to unload all of that on Geno.  It’s Geno’s rookie year in the NHL and he’s doing amazing and the last thing Sidney wants to do is weigh him down with his bleak reality.  So he lies and insists they’re making it okay.  He knows that Geno knows it’s a lie but he’s firm and, the few times that Geno really presses, Sidney makes up an excuse to hang up.  He feels bad about it but no matter how much he misses Geno, no matter desperate he is for Geno to comfort him, he knows Geno deserves better.

Sidney refuses to be Geno’s burden.

--

In November Mom collapses at work and is rushed to the hospital. Sidney is called out of class and the school counselor drives him there. She has a sprained wrist and a bump on her head but she’s okay to go home after a few hours of observation.  

The doctor says she can’t drive anymore and she has to stop work.

The next day, Sidney drops out of hockey.

Mom doesn’t argue.

Sidney doesn’t tell Geno.

--

Sidney is relieved when Thanksgiving break rolls around.  He’s taken over most of Taylor’s care at night and when he’s home from school so Mom can rest.  He’s exhausted all the time.

He’s just gotten her to sleep when Geno calls.  “Hey G.”

“Hey Sid.  You see any of game?”  

“Shit, Geno. I’m so sorry.  Taylor is teething and she was crying all night and I didn’t want her to wake up Mom so I drove her around.  We just got back a few minutes ago. I’m sorry.”  

“Is okay, Sid. Understand.  How Taylor doing? How your Mama?”

Sidney lets out a deep sigh.  “Taylor’s good.  Just you know, the teething.  She wakes up a lot at night.  Mom is...she’s doing okay.”  Sidney is careful, never wanting Geno to know the depth of the situation. “Feeling a little better today.  It’s good.  But tell me about your game.  How was it?”

He hears Geno sigh, knows he wants to ask more.  Thankfully, he lets it drop and tells Sidney about the game.

Geno sounds resigned later when he asks, “So, Christmas not such good idea for Pittsburgh, probably?”  

Sidney hurts.  “I’m so sorry, Geno.”

“Hey.  Hey, is okay. Your Mama need you right now.  We be together after she all better.  This important for you to do right now.”

Sidney’s throat feels thick and his eyes are wet but he does his best to swallow back his tears. “Yeah.”

“Miss you, Sid. So much.  Wish I be there to help.”

“It’s okay, G.  I’m so proud of you.  You just keep playing like you have been.”

“For you.”

Sidney smiles and rasps out, “Love you, G.”

“Love you too, Sid.”

--

Christmas is tough.  There’s no money.  They’re barely scraping enough food together with the assistance Mom qualifies for now. Still, Sidney thinks some decorations might cheer things up a bit and drags out their fake tree and sets it up.  He makes a big deal of decorating it together, which is mostly Mom watching and laughing as Sidney tries to keep Taylor from eating various ornaments.  

He looks online and reads that the key to infant development is to offer a wide variety of activities and that often home made toys are better than store bought so he makes Taylor five new toys with stuff they have around the house and wraps it up carefully in the paper left from last year.

He scrapes together what he can and buys a photo frame and has a picture printed to put in it.  It’s the three of them, just after Taylor came home from the hospital.  They’re all smiling and crowded together.  Sidney remembers how happy he was that day.  

While Mom is napping a few days before Christmas, Sidney gathers up Taylor and together they go to the kitchen and make an absolute mess with paper, homemade salt dough, paint and other craft supplies they had in the closet.  Mom has always been so protective of the silly little things he made as a child that she hangs on the tree so he figures he’ll make some with Taylor.  It’s a lot more fun than he realizes and soon enough he has enough snowman footprints to cover the tree and what he thinks is a beautiful baked ornament with Taylor’s handprint pressed into it.   He carefully adds the date to each item and then wraps up the handprint ornament for Mom to open on Christmas morning.  

Maybe it’s not much but Sidney’s proud of himself.

A couple of days before Christmas, Sidney gets a huge package with wrapped gifts from Geno for him and Mom and even Taylor.  He smiles and slips them under the tree and goes to find his phone.  

Christmas morning is nice.  Mom is feeling okay and Sidney makes them all breakfast.  He lets Taylor try a tiny bite of his pancake with syrup and he and Mom crack up when her eyes go wide and she smacks her lips before opening her mouth wide for more.

Sidney gets Mom arranged on the couch and has her close her eyes while he quickly puts the snowman footprints all over the tree.  “Okay, you know how you always say you miss when I was little enough to make you Christmas crafts for the tree?  Well...surprise!”

Mom uncovers her eyes and looks a little stunned for a moment as she takes in the tree, absolutely covered with footprint snowmen, half of them Sidney’s feet.  She bursts into laughter and Sidney maybe turns a little pink but it’s worth it for the look on Mom’s face.

“There’s just so many!” She dissolves into laughter again and it’s several minutes before they move on to the rest of the presents.

Mom cries when she opens the photo and Taylor’s handprint ornament.  “Oh Sidney. This is so wonderful. I love it.  Thank you.”  She hugs him tight and Sidney blinks back his own tears.

It does no good because when he opens his present from Mom he bursts into tears so fast he has no hope of stopping it.  Mom has gotten him a Pens sweater, customized with his name and number.  “Mom.  Oh my god, Mom. No, this must have cost so much.  You shouldn’t…”  He covers his face with his hands.

Mom scoots closer and wraps her arm around his shoulders, pulling him in. “Sidney, hey.  No. I wanted to do this for you and I saved to make it happen.  You deserve this.  What’s Christmas if I can’t do at least one nice thing for my child?”

Sidney nods but he can’t speak.  

Eventually they get to Geno’s gifts and it’s as ridiculous as Sidney suspected.  He’s sent a truly alarming amount of toys and clothes for Taylor, half of it marked with a Pens logo.  He sent Sidney an autographed puck (signed by Geno himself) and Sidney giggles as he reads the note with it.  “Signed puck from favorite player!”

He also sent a picture of himself still using the old windshield scraper Sidney got him last year on his new porsche.

There are a couple of Pens hoodies—one for both Sidney and Mom—and a ridiculous looking stuffed Geno doll that Taylor immediately grabs and starts gnawing on.

The last thing in the box is a card with Sidney’s name on the front.  He smiles as he reads the funny joke on the front but his smile falls away when he opens it and sees the check.  It’s a really big check.

“Sidney, what’s wrong?”  

Sidney swallows hard and shuts the card, leaving the check inside. “Nothing, Mom.  Just reading the card.” He forces a smile.  “I’ll go get us a trash bag for all this paper.”

He calls Geno when Mom is napping later.

Geno answers sounding cheerful.  “Hey Sid, Happy Christmas.”  

“Geno, what the fuck?”  Sidney’s too furious to ease into it.

Geno hesitates. “What wrong, Sid?”

“You know what’s wrong.  We’ve talked about this!”

Geno sighs. “What you want me to say, Sid? Sorry? I’m not sorry.  You lie to me whole time I’m gone. Have to hear from Mama you quit hockey, your Mama lose job. Not fucking sorry, Sid. What good is money if can’t help people I love.”

“I told you, we can make it.  This isn’t your responsibility, Geno!”

Geno huffs, irritated.  “So sick of you say things like this, Sid.  Gonna be like this forever? You never let me help with anything?  Never let me take care?”

“You’re only doing it because you think I can’t!

“Fine, Sid.  Sorry I care so much.”  And that stings.  They both fall silent.

Finally Sid rasps out. “I should go. Taylor will be up soon.”

“Sid, please don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry.  I—I’ll call you later. I love you.”  And Sidney hangs up.

Later that night, long after Mom and Taylor have gone to bed, Sidney sits in the dark of his room, turning the signed puck over in his hands.  He thinks about the picture Geno sent.  He’s using the $5 scraper Sidney got him on his—well his incredibly expensive car.  He’s staying with Sergei Gonchar for now, in a huge mansion that probably cost millions.  He’s playing NHL hockey and can apparently write a $10,000 check like it’s nothing.

Sidney hates how separated he feels from Geno’s life now.  More and more, it’s getting hard to envision a future where he’s part of that, where he fits into Geno’s world.  It hurts more every day.

--

January rolls around and, with it, Geno’s bye week.  He flies home and goes straight to see Sidney.  

Sidney had apologized but he never deposited the check, stowing it in a book on his book shelf. If things get desperate enough, he will but he hopes it won’t come to that.

Mom relies heavily on Sidney to take care of Taylor but she makes a huge deal about him spending at least one night with Geno while he’s home and Geno checks them into the nicest hotel in town.  For one night, Sidney feels a little bit like himself again.

--

The week before Valentine’s Day, their car breaks down on the highway.  Sidney tries to hold it together when the mechanic tells him the car is a lost cause but he has no idea what they’re going to do now. Mom has to get to her appointments, she has to have her treatments because she has to get better.

He finally calls Geno for help.

“Can I...Geno is it okay if I cash it?”  

Geno pauses for a moment.  “Know you not even have to ask me that, Sid.”

“Geno, please.”  

Geno sounds frustrated when he says,  “Of course okay, Sid.  And if you need more, I help.”

“I don’t need more.”

“Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Not really.”

Geno sighs heavily.  “Okay, Sid.”

The next day Sidney deposits the check and buys a used car.  He uses what’s left to pay off some bills that are behind and fill their refrigerator and cabinets.  He calls Geno again that night and breathes out a soft. “Thank you.”

“You welcome, Sid.  Thank you for take.”

--

In March, Taylor turns one.  Sidney and Mom pull together a very small party and Sidney bakes a cake for Taylor to make a mess of.  He makes sure there’s ice cream.    

Two weeks after Taylor’s birthday marks the last day of this course of Trina’s treatment.  A few days later she has testing to determine how successful the treatments have been.  They say they’ll have the results within a week.

For the first time in a long time, Sidney finally feels like there’s a light at the end of this tunnel.  Mom’s been doing okay, he thinks, and he feels good about the treatments.  He wants her to be better so badly it hurts and it finally feels like they’re getting close to that.

Mom gets the results within two days.  

It’s not good news.

A week later, Mom starts a new course of treatment.  New medications, harsher and more severe, to try to kill this thing that’s making her so sick.

--

Geno flies in for Sidney’s high school graduation.  Mom needs to be pushed in a wheelchair now and she has trouble staying awake but Geno snaps a picture of her clapping and cheering with tears in her eyes as Sidney accepts his diploma.

Geno can only stay for one night—the Pens are in the middle of the playoffs—but it means the world to Sidney that he’s there and Sidney tells him so. “Remember what I say before, Sid.  Always here for you.  Always.”  Sidney’s throat is too tight to respond.

The day after he graduates, Sidney gets a job at the diner.

--

He’s at work a little over a week later when he gets the call.  Mama Malkin was at the house taking care of Taylor when Trina became unresponsive.  It was a seizure, they think, and Mom is in the hospital again.

She smiles weakly when Sidney pokes his head into her room, his eyes wide with stress and fear.  “Hi baby.”  She sounds so weak.

“Mom.”  Sidney’s lip is quivering and he wishes he could make it stop.  

“Oh, Sidney.  Baby, come here.”  Mom winces as she pushes up slowly but she scoots over, patting the bed next to her.  Sidney climbs in without hesitation.  

He’s just so worn out and he needs his Mom to comfort him, as selfish as that is.

He carefully tucks his head against her shoulder and holds her hand.  “What did they say?”

“It was a seizure. They think the medications are causing it.”  

Sidney’s stomach turns. “So they’ll change your medications, right?”

Mom hesitates.

“Mom? They’re going to change them, right?  They can’t just let you keep having seizures.”

Mom takes a deep breath.  “Sidney, the medications aren’t working.  I’ve known for a few weeks.  We were just waiting to see if there would be any kind of turnaround or response but,” she swallows hard, “I’m only getting worse.”

“What are you saying?” Sidney whispers it, terrified to hear the answer.

For the first time, Mom’s voice breaks. “Oh baby, I’m so sorry.”

“No.”

“Sweetheart, there’s nothing else they can do.  I need you to know that I am so sorry for everything you’ve been through.  And I need you to promise me that you’ll take of yourself and Taylor and you’ll still go to college and follow your dreams.  You have to promise me, Sidney.”

“No!”  It comes out on a sob and Sidney can’t talk for a long while after that.

--

Two days after the Pens win the cup, Mom quietly passes away in the hospital as Sidney cries next to her.

[nomorelonelydays]

Sidgeno Mermaid AU anon fic

<< [Chapter 2/?] >>

It’s not until the morning when he’s looking over the pictures again when he notices the same figure in the water that he saw the night before.

The diner in town opens at five.

Geno gets there at 5:30 and rolls his eyes at how chipper the waiter sounds when he tells him to “take a seat wherever you like, I'll be right with ya.”

His name tag says Jake and he doesn't bat an eye at his sullen look when he pour his coffee and puts down the menu.

He’s young, fresh out of high school, maybe, and he doesn’t look like he knows who Geno is at all.

Geno’s already made up his mind to tip him very well.

“You're the one that moved into that shack down by the beach, aren't you?”

He coughs as the coffee goes down the wrong way. It burns his tongue.

“How you know?”

“This is a tiny, little island. Everyone knows everything. Is it haunted?”

“I’m Geno and it’s not haunted,” he grumbles. “Not a shack.”

“The walls are falling in on themselves and it looks haunted.”

“Walls are fine. Everything else,” he waves his hand back and forth. “No ghosts.”

He hums like he doesn't believe him. “So what are you going to do with it?”

“Going to live in it.”

“Forever? Like that?”

“No, no, I fix. Not walls because I don't need to but I fix the rest.”

“Who are you going to have helping you? You’re going to hire someone, right?”

“I do myself.”

“You do yourself,” he repeats slowly. “That's a lot of work.”

“Figure out. Look up online.”

He laughs and Geno decides to cut his tip my 10%. “You're going to learn how to fix a house by using the internet?”

“Why not? Everything on internet?”

“Maybe but we never get to see it. It's super slow around here. Even at the school and way out where you are….you're not going to get anything to load.”

“So what should I do?”

“Hire someone to do it for you. They'll probably get you a good deal since you're new to town and everything.”

“No. Want to do myself.”

“It's a pretty big project for just one guy. Especially one that doesn't know what he's doing.”

“You’re pretty chatty for a waiter who should just be bringing me pancakes. And bacon.”

He rolls his eyes and takes the menu that he's holding out. “I'm just trying to help.”

Geno shakes his head and looks out the front window.

The town is starting to wake up.

A man flips the closed sign to open on the bakery across the street and a grey haired unlocks the door to the florist. A man wearing tall yellow boots nods to a woman pushing a baby stroller on the sidewalk.

“Look, if you want my advice-.”

“Don't.”

“If you want my advice,” he repeats, attitude so clear in his voice that Geno has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop the smile, “you should probably go to the library. The internet there is okay and there are tons of reference books, Sidney is like, a fiend for books.”

“Who Sidney?”

He slides into the booth across from him. “He's the librarian but he's kind of….” he pauses and leans forward, voice dropping to a whisper. “He's kind of weird.”

Geno finds himself whispering back, “why?”

Jake leans back against the booth and shrugs. Voice returning to normal when he says “he just is. Everyone in this town knows everything about everyone else but no one knows anything about him. We're all real open and friendly, talk your ear off type people.”

“Everyone in town talk as much as you? I go to my house and never come out.”

Jake kicks him. “He's real quiet and standoffish. No family, no friends. Just him and that library and all those books. And his boat. He's real weird about his boat.”

“Maybe just private.”

“No, it's more than that. You'd have to meet him to know.”

“What time library open?”

“Ten.”

“I meet him then. Find out if weird or not for myself.”

“Oh you'll find out pretty quick.” The bell above the door chimes and Jake smiles and waves at the woman that was pushing the stroller. “Come on in, take a seat wherever you like, I'll be right with you. Good luck with, Sid. Hope he doesn't creep you out. Hope you don't get electrocuted.”

“Pancakes and bacon,” he calls after him when he stands up.

*

He has time to kill before the library opens so he wanders around town.

Gerry from the hardware store opens ten minutes early for him and talks to him for forty minutes about all the things that he’ll need to fix his house.

He talks about footers and reinforcing them. Drywall and double paned windows and how they’ll save him money in the long run.

Geno doesn’t understand any of it, not yet, but by the end he’s charging almost six hundred dollars worth of supplies to his credit card.

“I’ll throw in delivery for free since you’re new to town,” Gerry says with a slap on his back. “And if you ever need any help at all you give me a call.”

Lucy from the florist convinces him that lavender would look lovely lining the path up to his house and day lilies would really brighten up the area in front of his porch. She sends him on his way with a blooming gaillardia in a pot as a housewarming gift.

Alice at the farmstand feeds him fresh strawberries, dandelion greens, and artichokes that she grew in her garden and Lance at the bakery hands him freshly baked bread.

Outside the bakery Michael from the Animal Shelter has set up a booth to take donation and Geno slides a twenty into the jar and takes a flyer from him advertising an adoption event the following Saturday.

“We’ve got all kinds of cats and dogs,” Michael tells him. “They all need good homes and you really shouldn’t be all alone in that house of yours.”

They’re nice and mean well but it’s a bit overwhelming and Geno’s thankful when he pushes open the double doors of the library and finds it blissfully silent.

He tries to set everything he’s carrying down on the front desk but it spills out of his arms at the last second. The carton of strawberries pop open and a few of them roll off the desk. The gaillardia hits the floor and dirt goes everywhere.

“Shit,” he says softly and kneels down to scoop the dirt back into the pot.

“Can I help you with something?”

Geno straightens enough to look over the desk.

There’s a man standing on the other side, broad shoulders and summer tan skin even though it’s early spring.

There’s a nameplate on the desk that says Sidney Crosby.

Sid is beautiful and nothing like what Geno was expecting.

He’s holding half a dozen strawberries in his hands and Geno drops the dirt he’s holding and throws them towards the strawberry container but they knock into the artichokes instead and they roll off the desk as well.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He places the strawberries down on the desk and makes sure they don’t move before he steps back. “Why don’t you just….stop. Just stop and wait. I’ll be right back.”

Geno nods and tries not to lose his breath over the sight of his retreating form.

He’s back a moment later holding a dustpan and a broom and Geno pushes himself to his feet as Sid starts to sweep.

“Sorry. People keep giving me things. Everywhere I go people keep giving me things. Can’t say no.”

“They probably wouldn’t have taken no for an answer anyways,” Sid says as he dumps the dirt back into the pot. “That’s what happens when you’re new to town.”

“How you know?”

“If you come in through the main docks in the center of town everyone knows you’re here within the first five minutes. A bunch of gossips in this town, he says quietly.  “You bought the old house down by the shore, didn’t you?” He asks, as if to prove his point.

“Yes. Geno.” Geno sticks his hand out and then remembers to wipe his dirt covered hands on the back of his jeans. “Is nice to meet you.”

Sid shakes his hand once and Geno points to the nameplate. “You’re Sidney.”

“Yeah, what do you need?”

“Books,” Geno says.

“Okay. Well this is a library so you’re going to need to be more specific.”

“Right. Have to fix house so anything about that. Gerry say something about footers. Have to learn what they are. I’ll take everything you have if I can. Lucy wants me to plant garden, she gave me lots of seeds, so books about flowers. Books about growing vegetables. Might get a pet so something about dogs. Maybe cat book just to be safe. Cookbooks. Sailing. Maybe I build some chairs for the porch.”

“Okay. That’s a lot but I’ll see what I can get for you. Wait here.”

Sid takes off down the aisles, pausing to pull books off shelves and then keeps moving. “I’m going to need library card aren’t I? What I need for that?”

“All you need is to sign your name on a piece of paper,” Sid calls from somewhere in the back of the building. “I’ll be right there.”

Geno takes the opportunity to get a good look at his desk. It’s clean and organized with a cup filled with pens next to a stack of post-it notes and jars and jars of seaglass. He can hear Sid’s footsteps to his left and he leans over to grab a jar. He holds it up and lets it catch the light coming through the window.

“Hey.”

The jar slips from his hand and he catches it at the last second. Sid is standing behind him holding a stack of books and Geno gently puts the jar back in it’s place.

“Sorry, just looking. You collect?”

“I just pick up what I find on the beach.”

“There’s a lot of it.”

“The coast is dotted with dozens of shipwrecks. Things have been washing up on the shore here for hundreds of years.”

Geno hums. “Do you have any books on that?” Sid puts the books down on the desk and sighs. “I’ll be right back.”

Geno watches him go and then remembers. “Oh, wait. Wiring maybe not so good. Need some books on that.”

“You’re not an electrician, you shouldn’t be doing that.”

“Well, have to read about it.”

“That’s not….no. That’s not how it works.”

Geno rolls his eyes. “Everyone say that.”

“Everyone is right. You should really call a professional for that.”

Sid ducks behind the shelves and Geno picks up another jar of seaglass to look at.

When he comes back he frowns at the jar in his hand and Geno puts it down. He’s carrying two books, one on shipwrecks and The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Electrical Repair. Geno smiles at him.

“This is for reference. So you don’t do something stupid like stick a fork in an electrical socket or something.”

“Good thing you tell me. Was going to go home and do just that,” Geno jokes. He pushes his tongue against his cheek and watches Sid try not to be impressed with it.

“I just need an ID and I’ll get you in the system. I’ll get you a card and you can sign the back of it and you’re good to go.”

Geno digs his license out of his wallet and apologizes for still having his old address on it. Sid waves it off and types his name into the computer, slowing down at the last letter and staring at the screen. Then he shakes his head and starts to scan the books and Geno relaxes. If he knows who he is he’s not saying.

“You get these for three weeks,” Sid says and Geno starts to stack the books up.

“Might need them for longer than that.”

“Just drop in and let me know. I’ll renew them from here. I doubt anyone will be looking for them.”

“I come back and see you?”

“You can call if you’d like,” Sid says without looking up.

“No, no. I come see.”

“Fine,” Sid says softly as he finishes the last book. “Then I’ll work on your card and you can pick it up the next time you’re here.”

“Can’t wait.”

Sid ignores him and Geno tucks his fifteen books beneath his chin but he can't pick up anything else. He juggles the produce for a moment before Sid says “let me get you a bag” and slides a reusable tote with Perkins Bay Public Library written across it.

“How much,” Geno asks.

“Don't worry about it.”

He helps him load up the books and wedge the carton of strawberries and container of artichokes in there as well so they won't be crushed.

“I come back soon, okay? You'll be here?”

“I work here.”

Sid doesn't looks up from the computer but Geno smiles at him anyways.

*

Geno yanks open the door of the diner and points a finger at Jake who is carrying a plate filled with French fries.

He smiles at him.

“You lie to me.”

“What did I do?” He keeps walking towards her waiting table and Geno follows.

“You tell me stories about Sidney Crosby, make me think he's some scary, old man who steals children. Is wrong. I saw him. He's, he's….he looks.”

“I never said anything about the way he looks. Just how he acts.”

“You could have warned me. Look like an idiot in front of him.”

“Sorry, I should have said he's as pretty as he is weird.”

“Not weird. He helped me, get me all these books. Give me this bag.”

“That maybe the only nice thing he's ever done.”

“He is nice. Very helpful. Didn't want me to stick a fork in a socket.”

“High praise,” he says dryly. “He must really like you.”

“You think?”

Jake rolls his eyes and Geno turns on his heels and heads for the exit.

*

The lumber and supplies from the hardware store are waiting for him when he gets home.

Seeing everything he needs all stacked up makes it seem more real and more daunting and he bypasses the lumber, drops the bag at the inside of the door, and passes out on the lumpy couch in the living room.

When he wakes up the house is cooler than he likes it and his back and knee hurt.

He digs a Pens sweatshirt out of his bag and pulls it on. He’ll have to stop by the furniture store he passed in town tomorrow. One more thing to add to the list.

He sets water on the stove to boil and for the first time since getting here he turns on his phone.

Dozens of texts and missed calls pop up and he ignores them all and calls Tanger instead.

“Dumbest thing you’ve ever done,” Tanger says by way of a hello, “and I’m counting that time you tried to fight Chara.”

“He touch, Sheary. Had to fight. He so small.”

“Whatever, where the fuck are you?”

Geno leans against the railing on the porch. “Canada.”

“Why?”

“Small town. No one knows who I am. Stay in Pittsburgh, go to Russia, everyone knows me.”

“And you think no one knows who you are in Canada?”

“No one has said anything and everyone so nice. Help me out a lot. House needs a lot of work but I have time.”

“So you’re never coming back?”

“Have house here. Nothing for me back there.”

“Your team.”

“Not my team anymore. Can’t do anything for you anymore. It’s too hard. I tell my mama I come here instead of going back home and she cry. No you disappointed in me too.”

“I’m not disappointed, G, I’m worried. You took off without telling anyone. You were just gone. We didn’t know what to think or if you were okay.”

“I’m fine. I need some time. Get away from hockey for a little while. Maybe you can come up and see me this summer. Send you pictures. It’s really beautiful.”

Tanger doesn’t say anything for a moment but when he does he sounds a little sad. “Let me know when you’re ready for guests and I’ll be there.”

They say goodbye and Geno takes a few photos of the view off the front porch to send to him. He’ll show him the house when he’s gotten further along in the renovation. There’s no need to worry him further.

*

It’s not until the morning when he’s looking over the pictures again when he notices the same figure in the water that he saw the night before.