#siddd

"You think I can’t take?” he snaps, and Sid feels his stomach sink. 

He forgets, sometimes, how long it took them to get here. How it was almost a year before Geno even let Sid try fingering him during a blowjob, and then made him stop halfway through because he almost had a panic attack over how intense it felt. Sid had very thoroughly stamped down his disappointment. He loves having sex with Geno, he doesn’t care how it happens—his disappointment was because Geno refused to talk about it afterward. And because it felt a little bit like a statement, that Sid was somehow wrong for liking it so much. 

He should’ve known better. Geno is a stubborn son of a bitch when he wants to be. 

Sid woke up a week later because a full-grown hockey player was thrashing all over his bed, trying to figure out the best way to get a finger into himself. Geno pouted when Sid gawked at him, huffed a stray curl out of his eyes and said, “How you do this? You made of rubber?”

Sid almost pulled something in his scramble to help, rolled Geno onto his back and shoved a pillow under his hips. “Better?” he asked, strangled when Geno slicked his finger again, reached behind his balls, and sunk it in himself up to the second knuckle with a quiet grunt of surprise. Sid ran his hands up the smooth, tender skin of Geno’s thighs, sparks going off in his chest and under his fingertips at the view. A whole year of Geno and he’d never seen him like this. ”Do you want any help?” 

Geno shook his head, frown tugging at his eyebrows as he worked his finger in and out. “This for me. With you I’m…” He said something in Russian that made him look away, not very happy considering he was almost ready to get a second finger into himself. “I know is dumb.” 

“Not dumb,” Sid said as hard as he could, because Geno is many many things but dumb isn’t one of them. “You do whatever you need to do. For you. If it’s not something you want, we don’t ever have to, I don’t…” He stumbled to a stop, mostly because Geno was grinning at him like the sun came out. 

"I want," Geno said, hooking his leg around Sid’s hips to pull him in until Sid’s clothed erection bumped against the knuckles of Geno’s moving hand. "Want Sid all ways. Think I will like. Maybe like too much," he said, but at least the flush on his cheeks this time looked happy. "Not today," he added, a little too quick like he was worried about Sid being disappointed. "But soon. Need practice. Now you jerk off on me, okay? Yes, Sid, now.” 

He’d been right about liking it. Geno liked it so much he put Sid to shame, rocked his hips up to fuck himself on Sid’s cock, pulled Sid between his thighs and kept him there, came so hard the first time Sid ate him out that he cried, dragged Sid up to kiss all over his face with tears still streaming down his face. “Sid best, Sid best," he’d murmured, and Sid felt stupid with loving him, like his whole chest would burst. 

Geno liked it so much Sid started to miss it. He missed, sometimes, the soreness of being fucked, the fullness of it. So they came up with the turn system, and soon after that the no-bottoming-on-game-days rule, because as much as Geno wanted to forget he was still new at this his body took odd times to remind him. 

But that was almost a year ago, now. A year of mostly sticking to their turns, and never once breaking the rule. Until today. 

"That’s not what I meant," Sid starts, meeting Geno’s glare with calm, open eyes. He drags his hands down Geno’s flanks, then back up, touch firm as he curves his fingers around Geno’s ample ass and digs in. "I know you can take me," he rumbles, shifting until he’s barely an inch from Geno’s parted mouth. 

Geno licks his lips, the quick swipe of his tongue that used to drive Sid crazy in the locker room before he knew Geno wouldn’t mind Sid sucking Geno’s plush lower lip into his mouth. “Then why…” Geno gets out, and Sid has to cast his mind back a long way to figure out what Geno’s asking. 

"Because it’s not a ritual, for me," he says, shaking his head. "It’s not a hockey rule. It’s an us rule. But if it’s a hockey rule for you then it might be better for me to break it—"

Geno kisses him, kisses him until Sid forgets any thought he ever had about moving this to the bedroom, they are going to fuck here, now, on their couch in their living room and whose dick goes where is the least important factor in the equation by a mile. 

"Not hockey rule," Geno pants against his lips. "Us rule, and I say is stupid. Now fuck me.”