#like yeah yeah this show i follow posted their podcast i dont follow early for patreon subs i dont care get out of my way

[gibbearish]

its been fun watching the hbomb subreddit try very very hard to stick to the "if anyone harasses james on my behalf they wont see the light of heaven" by imo overcorrecting to "any time anyone mentions somerton ever it's because you're obsessed with him and want to pick on him because he's the villain of the week" bc its like. yknow actually i dont think people keeping an eye on his various attempts to weasel back into the spotlight and keep doing his same old shit over the last /two months/ is the same as harassing him because it's hip and fun. i think maybe those are not the same thing

[petrichoriansys]

Hi, you reblogged a Sherlock & Co. post from me and I noticed you're also a sys, I just wanted to warn you, I don't know how far ahead you are but one of the later episodes is like... Really ableist :( I had to drop the pod after I heard it, it's really bad :(

I can tell you details if you want to hear

aah okay yeah if you want you can dm, i should have those open? i’m still pretty early on in the podcast (showed up on my feed fairly recently bcs im following the bbc show + acd canon tags and i dont have much time to listen but-)

[itsnina-bitch]

Podcast part 2

Read the first part first to understand, but a refresher: Bucky and Natasha start a podcast on murder mysteries (CACW and infinity war never happened)

Note: Sorry for any grammar mistakes, English isn’t my first language

Part 1:

https://yagirl-ninaa.tumblr.com/post/623139374579712000/note-i-dont-think-the-revengers-are-a-ripoff-but

“Wanna train?”

Natasha asked

Anyone watching would think they were dancing because of their in sinc

So there they were, dogging each other’s blows

Ducking their kicks, trying to pin each other down

It was about 10 minutes in when Natasha manged to pin the soldier

“I win”

Natasha says while hovering over him, almost touching her

“Let’s see”

Round two, the red head wins again

“What happened Barnes? Forgot your morning coffee?”

After one hour of training, the two of them went their separate ways

But Bucky wasn’t going to let that pass

He will manage to pin her down

I mean how hard can it be?

VERY hard.

I mean extremely hard

But he doesn’t know that yet so shhhh

Though he did win a few times

After a long shower he went on with his daily routine, but this time he couldn’t stop thinking of Natasha Romanoff

Fast forward, he meets with her again to help with the script

“What’s the plan agent?”

Except the slightly above average amount of comments of Sam, Steve, Clint and Tony, they were good

It was around 8 pm when someone knocked on his door

“Bucky, we need to talk”

Said Clint before locking the door

Bucky has no idea what happened or what he was going to say

“It’s about Nat. I can tell you like her”

“Is it that obvious?”

“She still hasn’t figured out, but I’m pretty sure the rest of the avengers ship you guy’s”

“Ship? Like a boat?”

After a while, the both of them were talking about Nat, Clint’s early relationship with Laura and some advice

“But if you hurt her; You. Are. Dead.”

Though Clint doesn’t seem like much of a threat, when it came to Nat it his family he would kill him and everyone else in this planet in the blink of an eye

Bucky quietly nodded, knowing that if he did anything to her, he would never forgive himself

Moments later, Clint was back to give him advice on how to ask her out

“Hey buck, dinner’s ready”

Steve said from behind the door

He would be lying if he said that he wasn’t listening to their conversation

Hell, they are SUPER SPYS and can’t hide a conversations

“How long have you been there?”

“Not long...”

He said as the two avengers stare at him

“Long...”

The blond man admitted

“So you and Nat huh?”

After dinner, James told his best friend the whole story, from the red room and hydra to podcasts

Well, most of it

A few details were too intimate, and others were something he wanted to keep to himself

But he didn’t want Steve to feel guilty he couldn’t save him, so he didn’t talk about the pain, the suffering, the flashbacks that crawl at the back of his head

So he ended up just like Clint; he thought it was only an affair, a one time thing, when in reality, he couldn’t be more wrong

“I just hope you’re happy now, with her”

Later that night, the clock read 3:26 am

James couldn’t sleep, as usual

His PTSD was unbearable, and he had to get some fresh air

As he walked out of the compound and into the small garden Wanda instead they should have, feeling the fresh air, he noticed someone was following him

Stopping midway to see who

“Natalia? What are you doing here”

“Natasha, please. Same thing as you I guess”

The widow said

“You know, I’m having these flashbacks, of hydra, the red room... and you”

You could see the pain in his eyes, the fear, but also the slight happiness, of knowing that someone he loved was there with him

But again, in past tense

“You know, I like you too”

Confessed Natalia, or Natasha

“What?”

“Steve is a horrible liar”

“Punk”

Bucky muttered under his breath

He stepped closer to her, and cupped her cheeks with his flesh hand and wrapped her waist with his metal one

“You know Natalia, I missed you. I missed holding you.”

“I missed you too”

And then she kissed him

Though they haven’t kissed in years, it felt natural, but very passionate

Hungrily kissing each other, their tongues exploring each other, and they dove deep in to the kiss

Pulling apart for a moment to catch some air

“I also missed kissing you”

After a hot making out session, they decided to head back inside, and maybe watch a movie

As they sat down on the couch, Nat asked:

“What do you want to watch, James”

Making sure to say James in a casual way, but enough to turn him on

“I don’t know, Natalia. Come here, I have a blanket”

As she crawled over to cuddle, she was surprised as he grabbed her shoulders and pined her down still on the sofa, and started to kiss her

But after a while they decided to watch the movie

The 2 hour 3 minute helped them finally get some sleep

The downside was that Steve and Sam always had a early morning run at around 6 am everyday

So if they didn’t want to get caught, they had to leave early

**2 months later**

That routine continued for a while

Their secret dating went well, nobody knew

Let’s just say that they did more than just kiss now...

Anyways, their relationship was going well, until one day Bucky is seriously hurt in a mission

He had to stay away for a week, so sleeping goes back to being hard, no Bucky for her to cuddle with

She did stay with him at the hospital a lot, speaking mostly in Russian so that the others don’t understand

But one day Thor showed up

“трудно спать без тебя, надеюсь, ты скоро поправишься” (it’s hard to sleep without you , I hope you get well soon)

“Да, я тоже” (yeah, me too)

“так ты в отношениях”

Thor said, leaning in the doorway

“You understand Russian?”

“Yes I do, by are you courting each oth-“

“Yes but don’t tell anyone”

Natasha sighed

“Your secret is safe with me”

Out of nowhere, Tony apears;

“What secret?”

“I do not know, now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go back to new Asgard”

Luckily, Thor saved them, but they would rather not be teased by their friends, so it’s still a secret

The podcast is still going strong, but tomorrow when Bucky gets out of the hospital they will record an episode and film it live

Meanwhile, Steve and Sam are talking about their new routine: a morning run at 5:30 am twice a week, starting tomorrow

Fast forward to the next day 3:35 am, they decided to watch a 1 hour 58 minute movie

What could go wrong?

“Hey Steve, let’s go.”

“Have you seen my shoes?”

“Check the living room”

When he gets there, he sees Bucky and Nat cuddling, watching the sunrise, with the tv still on

“So you two are together?”

Fuck.

A/N: hey! So I’ll leave this part to your imagination, but my headcanon is that they are now officially together, first they tell the avengers then the podcast. My other headcannon is that the avengers all have sound proof rooms bc it is often for someone to wake up screaming...

This is my second fic so sorry it’s bad! But pls give me suggestions! And personally I prefer the first one but I hope you like this one too! Thanks!

[knifeshoeoreofight]

He keeps dreaming of snow. 

It’s July. The weather is warm and sticky, and the sun has been blazing hot for weeks. And he dreams about snow.

It’s the same every time. A lake fringed with dark trees, the ice covered in a flawless expanse of white. Blank and perfect. In the dream, he has a pair of skates slung over his shoulder by the laces. When he swings them down to untie the knots and get them on his feet, they’re always a different pair he recognizes.

The first pair of good skates he’d received as a child, still able to fit him in the boundless logic of dreaming. He’d fallen asleep clutching them to his chest when he’d gotten them that Christmas. Stuffed dog under one arm, skates under the other. 

The beat up pair he hid in Rimouski, so that he could practice even after they took away his regular skates. The same ones he’d take to play shinny in the park, just to feel a little normal. Free.

The pair he wore to win gold in Vancouver, gleaming and perfect. 

In the dream he sits on a snowbank and pulls the skates on, and then he’s on the ice. You can’t skate on snow-covered ice, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Dream logic again.

The dark trees around the lake never grow closer, no matter how hard he skates for the opposite shore. Always, he ends up standing in the middle of that blank, unsettling expanse of white, frustrated. When he looks behind him, there’s never a mark in the featureless snow to show where he’s been. Nothing.

And he wakes up then, usually, disturbed and wondering why the fuck he’s dreaming that dream again. 

***

He’s busy enough.The flurry of early summer weddings has petered out, finally. He loves his friends’ happiness, but the annual glut gets…old. Exhausting.

He has a few media obligations, some pre-planned get togethers with Nate and any of the boys who happen to be in town. He’s ramping up the training. But he still has too much damn time to brood in between it all. You’d think he’d be able to get the bad taste of last season out of his mouth by now, but it lingers, their ignominious playoff exit following him like a shadow.

He fishes, he paddleboards. He golfs. He trains some more. He tries going to the farmer’s market and has to leave after fifteen minutes because of the commotion his appearance causes. He teaches himself how to make gluten free parmesan chicken from the Internet.

He checks social media, liking pictures of babies and dogs and summertime shenanigans on Instagram. He uploads a photo of his dock at sunrise to his private one, to a flurry of likes and chirping about being a boring old man, fishing all day. 

It’s a little funny but it stings a bit too. He doesn’t like to think of himself as old. He’s not, by ordinary standards. But he is in hockey years, and it terrifies him sometimes. 

He should post more often, then maybe he’d get less shit from the guys. He’d only made his account in the first place so that he could follow the people that mattered to him. 

He wakes up early to find that Geno commented a string of parentheses and a couple incomprehensible emojis. 

He’s given up trying to interpret what Geno means by them; he’s 90% sure he just picks the weirdest ones possible just to fuck with people. 

Sid ponders what to respond, and finally settles on turtle, Brazillian flag, paperclip. There, let him have a taste of his own medicine. 

i dont get it, jake posts underneath. Probably sex stuff, replies Flower. better not to ask. 

Asshole, Sid replies, and feels his face flush. It’s all meant as a joke, but thinking of sex and Geno too close together is always a problem, and he buries the well-worn thing he doesn’t acknowledge like he always does. 

***

The next time he has the dream, there’s someone else there. He doesn’t see them, but their presence behind him lies on him like a weight.

He stops in the middle of the lake like he always does. The presence behind him stops too.

“Hey,” Sid says, more as an inquiry than a greeting.

Some small bit of dream-awareness slots into place, and he knows that it’s Geno, behind him.

“Three years Superleague, huh?” Sid says. It’s good, and right, Geno standing behind him.

***

More training. A podcast recording with Biz and Whit that actually ends up being a lot of fun. Just shooting the shit and swapping stories. 

They ask him about Geno, of course, angling for some dirt, some “ha ha he’s so Russian” and “what a bully” kind of shit. Sid doesn’t give them anything.

Geno, Sid has always thought, is more just like an enormous cat. A little moody and opinionated, liking things to be just so. Affectionate and friendly only on his own terms. He’s always wondered if that was mostly due to the language barrier, or if it’s just how Geno is. He used to watch whenever Geno spoke to Gonch, or his friends on other teams. Listen to the faster cadence of his voice, the expansive movements of his hands, the expressiveness of his face. Trying to figure out who Geno really was when he was comfortable and at ease.

He used to watch Geno way too much in those days.

It’s still a problem sometimes.

Geno always treated Sid a little differently. All of his brash pushiness is tempered a little. He always looks into Sid’s eyes when Sid is trying to tell him something, leaning in and listening with his whole body. Sid has never taken that deference and respect for granted, treating Geno’s fierce loyalty as the precious honor it is.Geno gives zero consequence to people he’s decided he doesn’t like or respect. He isn’t like Sid, he doesn’t bother to reign in his colossal emotions or attempt a veneer of politeness or charm. If he’s done with you he’s done with you. 

Geno is Geno, and Sid, god help him, has always loved him for it.

***

He has the dream again, and it’s accompanied by a creeping sense of dread. He and the Geno-presence take to the ice. In the middle of the lake, instead of smooth white, the snow is broken by a series of jagged cracks, dark water sloshing malevolently inches from Sid’s skates. 

“Fuck, look out–” he tells Dream-Geno, but Dream-Geno steps past him, for the first time.

“Geno!” Sid tries to scream, but he doesn’t have the air. In the disjointed way of dreams, Sid just knows that Dream-Geno is in the water now, even if he didn’t see anything happen. 

He drops to his knees, and reaches out. The water looks liquid, but his fingers scrabble along it like it’s ice. He claws at it, horror and desperation cresting over him. He’s trying to scream Geno’s name, but he can’t- he just can’t- 

When he wakes up, he’s gasping, heart trying to pound its way out of his chest. He’s disoriented for a split second, grief crushing, until he wakes up further and realizes he was dreaming. 

He sits up with a groan, shreds of the dream and its dread slowly fading around him. Fuck. He hasn’t had a nightmare like that in years. 

He checks the time on his phone, curses to see that it’s three thirty in the morning. He drags himself up, flinching as he flips the bathroom light on. He takes a piss, and splashes water on his face as if he can wash away the lingering awfulness of the dream.

So weird. He hadn’t really seen anything, but the emotions themselves had felt so real. 

Back in bed, he almost doesn’t want to go back to sleep. He feels wide awake anyway. What he wants to do, is. 

Incredibly stupid.

Good for a lifetime of shit-talking if Geno tells anyone.

He does it anyway. 

You up? He texts Geno. It’s nine-something am in Moscow, so who knows. Geno’s not exactly a morning person.

There’s no answer, for long enough that he starts to feel even more colossally lame than he already did. 

Then his phone rings, making him jump. Fuck.

“Sid?” Geno says when he picks up. “What’s happen? It’s night for you.”

God, his voice. Deep and rumbling right in his ear. Accent thick like it always gets over the summer when he doesn’t use his English for months. Sid feels something in him let go, soothed by a living, breathing Geno at the other end of the line. But, then, he realizes that he now has to come up with an explanation that isn’t just, “hey bud, just had a real bad dream, wish you were here to fucking tuck me in, eh?” 

“Uh. I’m okay it’s just… I was thinking.”

There’s a judgmental silence on the other end of the line. Sid pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

“You’re gonna chirp me forever, man. I, uh. I’ve been having this dream.” 

“Whaat?” Geno draws the word out, somehow conveying both amusement and disbelief. 

“I know, I know. But I’ve been having this stupid dream about skating on a lake, yeah? Just over and over. It’s fucking weird. And you were there? I think. The last few times, anyway. And this time there were these cracks in the ice, and you fell in. You know how even if it doesn’t make sense, for a second in a dream your brain doesn’t know the difference? Well. You, you were dead.” 

He pauses, realizing he’s babbling, how stupid this is. Shame washes over him. 

“Okay…” Geno says, clearly trying to take all of that in. “Sorry for dream?”

“Not your fault,” Sid says automatically. “So, yeah. Pretty much I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Geno huffs out a laugh. “Okay. I’m doing good, so.” There’s a pause, like he’s considering something. 

“It’s little bit cute, you know? Call me for scared.” His tone is amused but not as teasing as Sid would expect.

Still. Cute.

“Oh my god,” Sid groans, and flops back into his pillows.

“So stupid,” he says, more to himself then to Geno.

“No, no,” Geno says, and he’s definitely laughing now. “It’s fine, most cute. Can call me, I can give you some story, for sleep. Maybe some song.”

“Fuck off,” Sidney gripes, but he’s kind of smiling at the ceiling now, like a dweeb. 

Geno yawns, then audibly settles back into the bed or couch he’s probably lounging on. “So, keep having dream?”

“Yeah, over and over. No idea why.”

“Stress?”

Sid is quiet for a moment, wondering how to answer. “Maybe. My birthday, the season coming up. You know.”

“You captain,” Geno says. “Lots things for worry.” The matter of fact way he says it is comforting, somehow. “You need come here. Have fun in Russia.”

“Naw. The visa would take too long to get,” Sid says, wondering if Geno means it, if he’d really like to show Sid around Moscow.

“You know how long it’s take?” Geno sounds amused again, like he’s smiling. “You think about?” 

“Oh, off and on,” Sid answers. “Over the years, you know.”

“Should do, Russia best.”

Sid laughs. “Oh, for sure.”

“You do, you come. We go to banya, we eat Russian food. You can go to some museum, so boring.”

It sounds… really good. It makes an old ache start up behind Sid’s ribcage to think about it, but it sounds good. Especially if…

There’s always been an expiration date on Geno’s time in the US. And if this season is as bad as the last–

Sid tamps down the urge to surrender to the loss he can sense hovering on the horizon. 

“That sounds amazing, G. I want to, I really do. What about next summer? I can make sure the paperwork is all set up ahead of time.” Something to look forward to in that summer, no matter what. A way to delay Geno from slipping through his fingers if Geno decides he’s finally had it.

He’s being irrational, he knows. Geno has a contract. And yet.

“Yes, we do,” Geno says, with finality. “You come.”

They’re both quiet for a moment. Then there’s a bit of rustling on Geno’s end, like he’s sitting up. He sounds more awake when he speaks again.

“I can come early, now. Go to Canada first.”

Sid blinks, his lips parting in surprise. “Come here? To Nova Scotia? You’d want to?”

“No more bad dream,” Geno coos mockingly, and Sid has to laugh.

“You gonna tuck me in at night, eh?” Fuck, no, what is he doing. That sounds like he’s trying to flirt, or something. He needs to backpedal. 

“For real though. I’d always love to have you visit, you know that. I just thought, it’s a little quiet, maybe. Boring.” His voice, damn it, is a lot softer than he meant it to sound. Maybe revealing a little too much. He hopes Geno isn’t paying attention.

“Mooost boring,” Geno drawls. Then, firmly: “I come. You can show me fishing. No golf.” 

Something stupid and anticipatory flutters in Sidney’s gut. “Sure, okay. Let’s uh, work out the details.” Fuck.

***

Geno plans to go to Miami for a week, then to Sid’s, then to fly together down to Pittsburgh for training camp. He grouses a little at needing to be early because Sid is the captain and always shows up in town first. 

He grumbles but then he’s there in a week and a half, tanned and insolent with a backwards SnapBack on his head, rolling a lollipop stick between his teeth and disturbing Sid’s whole universe.

He pulls Sid in for a one armed hug and a backslap, right there in the terminal. He smells like airplane and very nice cologne, and Sid wonders why the hell he allowed this to happen.

He’s exhausted but looks around avidly as they take the 102 down to Dartmouth.

“Flat,” he says thoughtfully. “Big sky. Like Russia.”

Sid feels disproportionately pleased about that. 

It’s so strange, looking at home through Geno’s eyes, or trying to. He wants him to like it. 

“Halifax is across the harbor from where we are now,” Sid explains. “We can take a look around tomorrow.”

“I’m look Google Earth,” Geno says. “Little bit. Pretty.”

“It is,” Sid agrees. 

There’s a strange little smile playing around Geno’s lips as he takes in his surroundings. Sid isn’t quite sure what it means.

When they get to Sid’s place, Geno unfolds his long legs from the car and shoves his sunglasses up on his head. He just stands there for a minute, looking at the house, the sliver of lake visible through the trees. 

Then he looks at Sid, like he’s fitting Sid into this place in his mind. That wry little smile is back.

“Looks like you,” he says, and Sid isn’t quite sure what he means. 

***

Sid takes Geno out on the lake to fish. He takes him to the rink for training, where Geno imperiously nods once at Nate and then proceeds to ignore him for the rest of the drills. He stands in the lobby for a long time, looking at the display of Sid’s jerseys and photos. He takes a picture of one of Sid’s Timbits photos with his phone. 

Sid takes him around Halifax, as promised, then to his parent’s house, where Geno is all charm and bashful politeness, helping Sid’s mom in the kitchen and talking hockey with Sid’s dad. 

In every place, it’s a strange collision of worlds. Sid has to stop himself from just, staring all the time. Geno, here in his life. Lying on the floor of his parents’ living room to fuss over Sam. Rifling through Sid’s cabinets to judge his lack of acceptable tea. Strapping on his pads in the locker room of the rink where Sid learned to skate. 

He fits easier than Sid had imagined, and that ache seems to sit in his chest all the time now.

***

Geno’s been there nearly a week when Sid has the dream again. Same thing, with Geno disappearing into the dark water. 

Sid wakes up drenched in sweat, and swears before stumbling as quietly as he can to his kitchen for cold water from the Brita in the fridge. 

“Sid?”

Sid yelps, sloshing water all over the counter. “Fuck!” 

Geno’s lying on the couch in the living room, awash in the blue light of the muted television. 

“What are you doing up? Did I wake you?” 

“Still little bit jet lag. What’s happen? Dream, again?” 

Sid takes his glass of water and stands pointedly by the couch until Geno pulls up his knees and frees a space for Sid to sit. 

“Yeah.” Sid sighs. “So stupid.” He rubs at his eyes. 

“I’m die?” 

Sid stares ahead at the silent TV. It’s showing an ad for Canadian Tire. He’s not sure how he feels about talking about this, least of all talking about it with Geno. “Uh huh.” 

Geno scoots partially upright, and regards Sid with a surprising amount of gravity. 

“What you worry about, Sid?” he says, and it’s quiet, his voice low. 

Sid can’t look at him. He takes a long swallow of water and sets his glass carefully on the coffee table, trying to decide how honest to be. 

He’s too tired, on too many levels, to say anything other than the truth. 

“That if we have another season like we did, you’ll decide you’re done.” 

Geno whole face seems to go soft, his mouth dropping open a little. 

“I know,” Sid says quickly. “I know, this is so stupid, but I just—” 

Geno swings his feet to the floor, and suddenly he’s right there next to him, so close their thighs are almost touching. 

“Sid,” Geno says, and waits to continue until Sid looks over at him. 

“Until I’m hurt or you leave, I’m not leave Penguins.” 

His voice is softer and more reassuring than Sid has ever heard it before. What is happening. 

He can’t speak for a moment. 

“I, uh. Fuck, G.” 

Geno is just. Sitting there so close Sid can feel the heat of his body, looking at Sid with dark, serious eyes. 

Sid wants to kiss him. Wants to push him back onto the couch and mark him up. Something must have shown in his face because Geno tilts his head, brows drawing together in puzzlement. 

“Sid?”

Sid shakes his head. He has to get It together, in so many ways. 

“No, yeah, sorry I just.” He sighs. “Thank you, G. I can’t tell you how much that means.” 

Geno makes a hum of agreement, and stands, extending a hand to Sid. Sid shouldn’t take it but he does, let’s Geno haul him to his feet, and lets Geno…pull him in for a hug apparently. Oh no. 

This time Geno smells like the body wash Sid keeps in the guest bedroom, and his worn t shirt is soft against Sid’s cheek. 

It’s a curiously long embrace, and when Geno’s arms tighten Sid allows himself the indulgence of relaxing, letting himself melt into it. 

Geno raises one hand and lays it heavily on the nape of Sid’s neck. He eases back so he can look into Sid’s face. 

Sid can’t tell what he’s thinking. And he himself can’t think at all, not with Geno’s hand pressing onto his neck and his everything so, so close. 

He realizes, slowly, that Geno’s hands are shaking. 

“G?”

“Sid,” Geno says, husky and so low. 

Sid feels outside of his body, incredulous that this is really, actually happening as Geno, very slowly, leans in, pausing just a hairsbreadth from Sid’s lips. 

“Sid?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, and tilts his head up to cross that final bit of separation. 

Geno’s kiss is soft lips and hot mouth, gasped breaths and possessive sweeps of those huge hands. 

Sid shudders in his arms as Geno moves to his neck, trailing kisses across his jaw and down to the skin bared by the vee of his sleep shirt. 

Sid tugs them backwards, folding when the couch hits the back of his legs and pulling Geno down over him. 

He’s greedy, he’s starving. He can’t touch enough skin, he can’t get Geno close enough. He sets his teeth where Geno’s neck meets his shoulder and nearly keens when Geno moans and responds with a slow, devastating roll of his hips. 

“Geno, is this— are you—“

Geno pushes himself upright enough to look Sid in the eyes. 

“Won’t leave, Sid. Can’t.”

“I’ve wanted this,” Sid confesses. “I’ve wanted this for a really long time.”

“Good,” Geno says, and rolls his hips again. 

“I can’t just do a, a one time fuck or—“ 

“No,” Geno says sharply. “No.” He leans on one elbow so that he can lay a hand on Sid’s cheek. “We’re like this, you know? Mine.” 

Sid feels too bright and expansive for his skin. He fists a hand in Geno’s t-shirt and tugs him closer. 

“Mine,” he echoes, and Geno groans, responding to another tug and taking Sid’s mouth in a deep, demanding kiss. 

Hands and mouths and the greedy rocking of their bodies bring them to completion within moments of each other. 

Sid lies there after, stroking his hand over Geno’s head where he’s laid it on Sid’s chest. He’s sprawled over Sid like a gigantic, clingy octopus, and Sid is feeling the kind of incredulous elation he normally associates with Cups and Olympic gold. 

“Thanks for coming, G,” he says, and although he meant “coming to Canada,” 

Geno snorts. 

“You know what I mean, dickhead,” Sid says, laughing. 

“I mean it,” he says a few minutes later. “I’m just, yeah.” 

Geno smiles at him like that made perfect sense, and doesn’t protest when Sid prods him upright and tugs him along into Sid’s bedroom. 

***

Jet lag or not, Geno falls asleep with Sid spooned up behind him, and is still asleep when Sid wakes up to the mid-morning sun streaming in the windows. Heart impossibly full, the old ache released and gone, Sid presses a kiss to the sun-gilded skin of Geno’s shoulder. 

He had dreamt of the lake again, but this time, as happened for him only rarely, he’d lucid-dreamed. 

“No,” he’d told Dream-Geno, and turned his back on the lake. Which suddenly was a completely frozen Monongahela River. 

He points up the bank, towards the arena. “We’ve got a game to get to.” 

Dream-Geno put his hand in Sid’s, and leaned down to kiss his hair. 

“Let’s go,” he tells Sid, and they walk up the bank together.

[d3ndroica]

Big Apple Part 6

Part 1     Part 2    Part 3     Part 4     Part 5

Gale 12:02am 🖕⛄️🐸   you ok?

Madge 12:04am 👣🍿🎵 Sorry. Been home awhile. All good You? Gale 12:04am yeah ok Madge 12:05am Thanks for the 🌮🌮 Next time it’s on me ;-) Gale 12:06am deal 😎 Stay warm this wkend - looks like snow sleep well princess Madge 12:08am Thanks Goodnight Madge checked the weather forecast - temperatures were dropping and snow was predicted for Saturday night, but the predicted amounts were mostly 1-2 inches. Madge flipped back to her convo with Delly. Madge 11:38pm He’s PAN Delly 11:44pm Who is what now? Madge 11:47pm PAN. Gale. The gay guy. He’s not gay. He’s pansexual. Delly 11:53pm Ooooohhhhhhh How does he lean? Did you kiss him? Madge 11:54pm No! I don’t know. He mentioned old girlfriends. Delly 11:58pm Did you ask him out? Madge 11:59pm No Delly 12:00am But he told you he was pan? Madge 12:01am He sort of mentioned it when I asked him about coming out. Delly 12:04am What did you do? Madge 12:08am Nothing. Pretended I already knew. Delly 12:11am WTF Girl Madge 12:12am I KNOW I dont know Wtf I think he thought i knew?? Delly 12:13am You text all the time Madge 12:15am I guess Delly 12:18am You flirt? So what more do you need? Madge 12:19am HEY I’m still processing ok I thought he was GAY I did let him pay though. Again. Delly 12:22am I thought you got paid this week? Madge 12:24am Yeah well Oops I guess I forgot to mention that to him ;) Now I owe him another meal Delly 12:25am I like it Madge was of the opinion that there were few good exercise options in the winter. It was too cold outside. Before she moved, she and Delly had played racquetball every week. She’d thought about joining a gym; she’d even asked both Thom and Gale if they had any gym suggestions. They weren’t very helpful, and she had put off the idea. The postdoc researcher supervising her lab work, Bea, had invited her contra dancing. She intended to go sometime, but wasn’t sure about it. And that would take money too. So for now she resorted to early morning bedroom kickboxing. It was a small enough space that she actually had to be in control of her movements and kicks or she’d run into something, usually the bed or the dresser. She used online videos. If she already knew the sequences, she’d mute the video and listen to music instead. On Sundays, if she didn’t have other things going on, she liked to change it up and try out a new video. 

Sunday morning Madge woke up to a snowstorm. The predicted 1-2 inches was already on the ground and there was no sign of the storm stopping any time soon. It was her first snow in the city and it was falling fast. She always thought of snow as quiet and serene but today the sounds from the street invaded her room. 

After watching the snow fall outside her window for awhile, she decided it was time to expend some energy. So Madge waited for the laptop to boot up and checked her feeds on her phone. Then she found a new video and did the quick workout. Afterwards she went to the kitchen to refill her water bottle. Her roommate Cressida Martinez was at their itty bitty kitchen table eating breakfast when Madge came out of her room. 

“With all that thumping around our neighbors are gonna think you’re gettin’ some nasty,” she commented playfully, making a crude pumping action with her arms. Madge laughed. “Really? It must be some pretty disappointing action if those are the only sounds I make.” Cressida smiled conspiratorially and shrugged. “Maybe they’ll just think you’re trying to be discreet.” They talked for a bit. Cressida was getting ready to go film the snow-covered city. By day Cressida worked in the city’s health and mental hygiene department (Madge was not yet sure what mental hygiene really was). Off-hours, Cressida was an aspiring filmmaker. Madge hadn’t seen any of her film work, and that was okay with her. Madge wished her luck and hopped in the shower. Madge spent awhile peeking outside and watching the snow swirl, working on the latest word puzzle book from her dad, and following the online news about how much snow was falling. She caught up on the Sunday Puzzle podcasts she’d let lapse. She was tempted to spend the whole day curled up at home with hot cocoa and a book, but Thom called (!) and essentially ordered her to meet him in Central Park. He insisted she had to get out and enjoy the snow now, while it was fresh and still falling, before everyone else trampled it first. She threw some things in her backpack (book to read on the train, gloves in case she got cold, ...) and took off, happy to see that the trains were still running.   She got off her train at 68th Street. There was a bookstore with a coffee shop right by the station, so Madge picked up a latte to take with her before walking over to the park. The sidewalks and roads were well traveled and slushy, but as she entered the park Madge looked wide-eyed around at the frosted trees. It was a stunning sight, especially since Madge had spent little time around nature since her move. The park was probably always pretty, she thought, but she hadn’t come much yet. She’d been too busy working out her new life in the city. She met Thom and some of his friends at the Balto statue. She wanted to grill him about Gale, but not with everyone else around. Rue was there, and Madge got to meet the somewhat infamous Annie & Finnick, Thom’s neighbors. Seeing them reminded her of Cressida’s joke. She had to stop herself from asking them some innocent question about their exercise routines. For awhile they waited around to see who was coming, stomping their feet in the snow and drinking various hot beverages. Some people had brought their own thermoses, others had stopped somewhere along the way like Madge. Eventually they’d tracked down everyone who they could by text and took off through the snow, heading north through the park. Madge snapped pictures on her phone and sent one to her dad with a quick message. They walked past Pilgrim Hill and saw scores of sledders careening this way and that. It felt like a completely different city. Rue found a clear spot and they made snow angels. When they stumbled on a massive snowball fight, they joined in without hesitation. Madge gave up on her gloves when they impeded snowball making. Her fingers froze, and she regretted not having better winter gear, but it was worth it. 

Even with everyone bundled up, Madge could keep track of her friends. Thom had a practically neon yellow coat on. Annie was wearing a bright pink pussy hat. Finnick was never far from her. Rue was a little harder to find, but even she was recognizable when you spotted the blue boots and white coat. At one point she saw Thom on the sidelines. She snuck up on him and crushed two snowballs onto his beanie hat. Laughing, she watched him curse and reach up to brush the snow off.  After he had shaken off most of it, he grabbed as much snow as he could and attacked her, which landed them both in the snow laughing. Later he griped that he’d been looking for her before she had ambushed him. Madge realized her snow clothes were all black just like half the crowd. She made a mental note to wear something more distinctive next time. Eventually the group split up, but Madge stuck with Thom, Annie, and Finnick. They stumbled to a nearby diner to warm up and get food. At the door, Madge pulled Thom aside. “‘Scuse us,” she said in a singsong voice to Annie and Finnick. “We’ll be there in a sec.” Turning to Thom she groused, “You could have told me Gale was pan.” Thom looked askance. “Of course he’s pan. You know that.” “I do NOW,” She grumbled .

Thom crossed his arms in front of him. “I told you after we split I saw him with a bitch. You really gonna give a shit he’s pan instead of bi? ”

“Thom you called everybody bitch back then,” Madge ranted. “Half the guys you dated you said were your bitch. You even called Mister Tompkins bitch.”

Thom cackled. “I stand by that one. That man was such a little bitch -”

“I thought you wanted to hook up with him again,” she explained. Lamely she added, “Gale, not Tompkins.”

Shaking his head Thom answered, “Woman what are you talking about? That is ancient history. Come on.” He shook his head and went inside to rejoin the others, leaving Madge speechless in the snow. By the time they left the diner, the city was as dark as it would get in those conditions - orange city lights reflecting off the carpet of clouds above them. By the time Madge made it home, she was exhausted. She pried off her boots and changed into dry comfy clothes, hanging her wet garments wherever she could. Then she took a cup of tea to her room. Flipping open her computer, she glanced through the pictures of the day that had been posted. Thom had already posted a few good ones. She couldn’t help glancing at Gale’s feed, but there wasn’t anything new. Okay, she was thinking about him. On a whim, she logged onto her dad’s web account and looked up The 100. It started at season 2. She checked the other services, but couldn’t find season one without paying for it. Instead, she flipped on one of her standbys, Sex and the City. Later she called her dad and told him about her day. Tuesday, Madge’s alarm went off bright and early for kickboxing. Madge spent a couple minutes luxuriating in the warm blankets wrapped around her, convincing herself to leave bed before the sun was up. She flipped through her internet feeds. Pretty quickly she stumbled on a late night post from Gale: two pictures - one, of a snowy hillside captioned “stopping here  / To watch his woods fill up with snow” and one through a windshield, showing rows of cars’ tail lights and captioned “And miles to go before I sleep.” The words sounded vaguely familiar to her, so she googled the first caption and found the Robert Frost poem he was quoting. She liked the line, “the woods are lovely, dark and deep.” After considering it as a comment, she decided to simply like the first picture. But on the second she wrote “definitely NOT the road less traveled by ;-).” Feeling pleased with herself, she pulled up a familiar kickboxing routine and a playlist of upbeat tunes. “Shut up and dance [with me],” started on her headphones as she strapped her phone to her arm.   She was finishing up the warm-up section, “stupid girls” reverberating in her ears, when a text arrived. She almost ignored the message, but since people didn’t usually try to contact her at such an early hour, her curiosity won and she paused the kickboxing. Even though she was barely warmed up, she could feel her heart thudding swiftly along. She downed some water and opened her phone. Gale 6:26am you awake? Madge 6:30am Yeah What’s up? Gale 6:31am slept like crap when do you have to be at work? Madge 6:32am Around 9? Gale 6:33am want to grab some coffee? 8ish? She wanted to say yes. Madge looked at the time and did some slightly optimistic mental arithmetic. Madge 6:35am Is midtown ok? Gregorys, Mad SQ Park? Gale 6:37am deal Madge looked at the clock again. Shit, she had to get moving. She shut down the kickboxing video and got ready for the day as quickly as she could. Nothing has changed, she told herself. He’s the same guy. Which was true, except now her rock solid reasoning that had limited their relationship to friends had become shifting sands and she hadn’t found her footing. Already the remaining snow had been transformed into gross gray slush. By the time Madge got there, Gale was sitting at a table by the window, to-go coffee cup steaming in front of him. He was reading something on his phone, so Madge joined the line at the register. She pulled out her phone and sent: Madge 8:07am In line Gale 8:07am ok She looked up and caught his eye, then lifted her hand, not really a wave but enough. He returned the gesture, looking mildly amused. Then the line moved forward and Madge shifted her attention back to her phone so she’d have something to do. Once she had her dirty chai (in the travel mug she had remembered to bring with her no less, score one for saving the planet) and a pastry (nothing too decadent), she made her way over to the seat across from him. He looked tired. “Hi,” she said brightly. “Hi.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t tell me - you’re a morning person?” Madge frowned. “‘You’re the one who wanted to get coffee,” she pointed out. “Because coffee,” he explained, “is the only way I’m coherent most mornings. And I was up way too early.” “Okay.” She sipped her drink. “So are you caffeinated enough to be sociable yet?” “Getting there,” he admitted grudgingly before taking another drink himself. “Sorry you didn’t sleep well. Anything you … um, want to talk about?” “Not really.” When he didn’t say anything else, Madge decided not to prod him further. Instead she watched his hand with the coffee cup and asked, “So what’d you do this weekend?” “I went out to harriman with a friend,” he said. “We thought we’d be clever and get out of dodge before the first snow of the year. It was crawling with snow tourists though. Kind of a let down.” “Harriman?” “It’s a state park,” Gale clarified. “An hour out of the city if there’s no traffic - which is never. Not as good as the mountains but still. It at least has woods enough you could get lost if you tried.” “Do you?” Madge was intrigued. “Try to get lost?” “No,” Gale laughed. Sipping his drink he thought for a minute. “But sometimes I try ...  to lose myself. It’s different. We did hit the AT.” Seeing her puzzlement he added. “Appalachian Trail. That was good. It was a slog getting home though.” “Oh, yeah, the traffic. I saw your post,” Madge acknowledged. “I guess we missed the turn for the road less traveled by,” Gale agreed drily. Madge smiled in commiseration. “Still, it must have been nice to get out of the city? You managed a peaceful picture at least. And I like the poem you quoted.” “Yeah…” he answered distractedly. “I guess it just wasn’t was satisfying as I expected. It’s nothing. So, what about you? It looked like i missed a good snowball fight.” “You did,” she heartily agreed. “Central Park was ah-mazing. I mean, it was packed with people but so much fun.” She gave him a quick recap of their time in the park. “Nice,” Gale nodded. “We’re lucky it hit on the weekend.” His phone chimed at him and he quickly checked the screen. “I gotta get going. what about you?”

Madge looked at her phone. “Shit!” she said “Yeah, me too.”

Walking out onto the busy street together, they both turned North. Gale returned to his earlier thought. “Well, at least it snowed on the weekend. It sucks when it snows on a Monday. And you know it’ll just be dirty slush or gone before you can enjoy it.” He paused and glanced to her. “Unless you’re crazy enough to be awake at 6 am.”  

”It’s not that early,” she argued playfully. “Besides it’s not like I’m going out at that hour. Believe me I’ve seen enough law & orders to stay out of the city parks when it’s dark.”  

“Hey, don’t say that. Oh - which way are you?” They had reached the corner. Madge pointed East. Gale nodded and pointed North. “Anyway, the parks are great at night. You just gotta use the buddy system.” 

“The buddy system?” she repeated incredulously.

“Well yeah,” he said. “You do know it, right?” 

“Yes,” she scoffed. “I know the buddy system.” She looked up at his teasing eyes and wished she could just skip work and spend the day with him and see where it went. But she couldn’t, she had cell cultures to go check on and he had work too.“I guess I just ... need a buddy.”

“You know how to find me,” he answered, winking at her. With a wave, he hurried across the street to continue North. Reluctantly Madge turned toward work.