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They don't really talk about the thing. Sometimes, when Zhenya is so worked up all he can do is tear at his own skin, Sid will shrug off his shirt and offer up his body instead, so sure that Zhenya won't actually hurt him that it tempers Zhenya's anger into something better, something useful. Sometimes, when Sid's been pulled too far apart by the team, by the press, by everyone constantly demanding his time and attention, he'll ask Zhenya to hold him down, to anchor him in place until he can get his head back on straight.

It's definitely a thing, and they should probably talk about it sooner rather than later, but it doesn't come up that often. They don't have the time or energy most of the time, and this late in the year there aren't enough recovery days for Zhenya to really go at- whatever without making Sid pay for it on the ice, and that's never an option. Hockey first. Their relationship- as solid and unshakable as concrete- second. Their thing a last resort.

It's been a long week- it's been a long season, if Zhenya wants to be honest- and both of them are sharp and irritated. Zhenya's house is big, but he and Sid have always gravitated to one another in some way or another, and it feels like all they've done for weeks is talk hockey or argue. It sparks that nasty, mean place in Zhenya that wants to draw blood.

"Stop," Zhenya says as Sid starts bitching about fucking Dubinsky again. Zhenya agrees- Dubinsky is garbage and Zhenya wants to pound his teeth in- but he's so sick of hearing about him. It doesn't even matter anymore. The Jackets are done and the Penguins are going forward. "Stop."

"What?" Sid asks, pushing into Zhenya's space. He'll never be taller than Zhenya, but his presence has always taken up so much room. It makes him a good captain. It makes him a terrible boyfriend. "Am I wrong?"

"You poke like bad tooth," Zhenya says. His shoulder is still sore and Sid's cheek has had an almost permanent red mark on it since the playoffs started. He's lucky it's just been sticks; Zhenya stared straight into Werenski's face, saw the total ruination of his cheek and nose and eye after the puck had smashed into it. They're lucky, but he knows they've still got blood to pay out. "Stop."

"I just need to fucking-" Sid clamps his mouth shut, his jaw twitching as he grinds his teeth. It's bad for his head and bad for the falsies, but Zhenya knows better than to point that out. It's not worth the shouting match. Instead, he puts one hand on Sid's chest to feel the steady, angry thump of his heart. "I'm going crazy here."

"You always crazy," Zhenya says. He'd known three things when he'd come to America: the Penguins needed him, English was a terrible language littered with improbable rules, and Sidney Crosby was a total whack job. The first might not be as true as it used to be, the second is still definitely a truth, and the third has become softened with affection and comfort. Sid narrows his eyes, his lips pressed together. Zhenya taps his forehead against Sid's and turns toward the stairs. "Come. I'm sick of fight. We're fix now."

"Your dick isn't the cure to my anxiety," Sid says, even as he follows along two steps behind.

"You like anyway." Zhenya pulls his t-shirt over his head and throws it toward the laundry room. He doesn't have to look to know that Sid's making a face at him. He'll pick it up later. Right now, he's got a plan to alleviate his own stress and Sid's inherent brattiness and that is so, so much more pressing than dirty laundry.

"What are you going to do?" Sid asks as he closes the bedroom door. No one ever visits during the day without notice, but Sid refuses to do so much as dry hump with the door open. Zhenya doesn't get it- the idea of someone seeing how good Sid is for him, of seeing definitive proof that Zhenya belongs so thoroughly to Sid, gets Zhenya hot- but he never bothers to argue against it.

"Make you cry," Zhenya says. It takes a lot of work to make Sid cry, but Zhenya thinks they both need it. Sid stands by the door for a moment, his head tilted to the side, lips pursed. Zhenya shoves his shorts off his hips and kicks them into the corner of the room. He rolls his shoulders to loosen them up before grabbing one of the ties from the dresser.

"Yeah, alright." Sid pulls his own shirt off, pointedly dropping it into the hamper. "How do you want me?"

Those words never stop being head. Something in Zhenya settles down. Everything else might be spinning too fast to catch up with, but Sid is Sid, as solid and sure as a mountain.

"Get naked and lay down," Zhenya says. He digs through the nightstand for the bottle of thin, watery lube that's only really good for jerking off. It's all he'll need, but he always feels like he's forgetting something whenever he starts the thing with Sid. There's no way to ever be fully prepared, but he tries.

When Zhenya turns around, Sid's laying on his side, head resting on one hand, watching. His fingers twitch a little against his stomach, his pent up energy as present as ever, but he just waits for Zhenya to catch up. Zhenya reaches down to palm his dick. It's going to have to wait a while to get any attention, but seeing Sid naked and confident is always going to get him going.

Zhenya pushes him onto his back and crawls on top of him, leaning down to kiss him. They've been fighting for weeks about the stupidest things, but Sid still kisses him back, sweet like he's forgotten all the arguments already. Zhenya lets Sid take his weight, pushing Sid's arms over his head. He kisses one bicep then the other before looping the tie through the slats of the headboard and binding Sid's wrists together.

"Okay?" Zhenya asks as he slides two fingers under the silk. There will be marks left over on Sid's wrists when they're done, there always are, but anyone stupid enough to comment on them will be quickly and humiliatingly brought down.

"Yeah," Sid says, tugging against the tie to test it. "What are you going to do?"

"Make you cry," Zhenya repeats. "You don't listen." Sid makes a face but doesn't ask him again. It's easy enough to rearrange them so that Zhenya's sitting on the mattress between Sid's thighs, Sid's ass in his lap. He runs a hand over Sid's chest, thumb flicking over a peaked nipple idly.

"Don't come," Zhenya says. He presses the edge of his thumbnail against the Sid's sac, dragging it down the soft skin just hard enough to leave a faint trail of white behind. Sid's soft cock twitches, fattening up in little jumps and starts. "You have to come, you tell me and I stop, okay?"

"Okay," Sid says. His adam's apple bobs, but he still tilts his chin up. A pang of affection hits Zhenya square in the chest. His Sid, always up for a challenge, no matter how ridiculous.

Zhenya spends a moment rubbing his hands over Sid's thighs, the cracks in his dry palms catching on the dark hair there, just feeling the familiar tense and relax of muscle as Sid settles down. When Sid seems to be as comfortable as he's going to get, Zhenya moves between them, wrapping his fingers around Sid's balls and tugging gently. He watches Sid get hard, his own cock responding eagerly to the shifting of Sid's hips over it.

"This isn't going to make me cry," Sid says. Zhenya flicks the tender spot right under the head of Sid's dick and Sid hisses.

"You gonna be bratty for whole time?" Zhenya asks. Sid presses his lips together and closes his eyes. "Good."

Zhenya flips the cap on the lube and slicks his hand, waiting a moment for it to warm before curling his fingers around Sid's cock. Sid lets out a soft breath that makes Zhenya's chest ache. Sid trusts him too much.

As a general rule, Zhenya isn't a big fan of handjobs. If Sid's naked and willing, Zhenya wants to rub all over him, wants to touch and taste and feel him everywhere. Usually, Zhenya has better things to do with Sid's dick. But a handjob forces him to take his time. It forces him to keep himself focused on his task. Sid deserves that, at least.

Zhenya sets an even, slow rhythm, his free hand wandering across Sid's chest. He runs the corner of his thumbnail around a nipple and is rewarded with a sharp gasp. Sid is possibly the most disciplined person Zhenya has ever met. He holds himself so tightly, so far apart from even his closest friends. Zhenya doesn't understand- if he feels something, there's no shame in sharing it, good or ugly- but he doesn't try to challenge it either. It gives him these bright, shining moments that are for him and Sid alone. Zhenya is aware enough of his selfishness to be glad of it.

"You're insufferable and bull-headed and sometimes I want to punch you in the mouth, but mostly I love you so much it hurts," Zhenya says, swiping his thumb over the sticky head of Sid's cock. Sid might know a word or two of what he's said- he's learning as they go, but Zhenya will speak fluent English before Sid even reaches basic comprehension in Russian- but he's said before that he likes Zhenya's voice more than what he's saying.

Zhenya watches the slow progression of Sid getting off; redness in his cheeks that spreads down his neck and fans out over his chest, the tiny shifts of his hips that rub his ass over Zhenya's dick, the sweat that sticks his hair to his forehead in tight curls. When he feels Sid's balls drawing up, he slows down even more.

Sid is quiet, his eyes dark as he watches. Zhenya leans forward and presses two fingers to his lower lip. Sid scowls at him, always so bratty, but opens his mouth and takes them in. Zhenya presses them to Sid's tongue, forces his mouth open farther. Sid's cock jerks in his hand and Zhenya gives it a tight squeeze at the base, his knuckles pressing into Sid's balls.

Sid reacts to pain beautifully. Zhenya doesn't understand that either- they're hit enough in their day jobs, spend most of their lives sore in one way or another- but he's more than happy enough to provide it if it means getting to see the way Sid's eyes glaze over, the way his whole body arches into it. Zhenya slides his fingers from Sid's mouth and drags them over his chin, over the bobbing peak of his adam's apple.

When Zhenya pinches a nipple between his fingers, his chewed nails sinking in hard enough to turn the skin pale, Sid moans. A bead of precome gathers at the tip of his cock and Zhenya smears it into his hot skin. The lube has gone a little tacky, a little dry, but Sid pushes up into Zhenya's hand anyway, his knees digging into Zhenya's sides. Zhenya presses the edge of his nail into the slit of Sid's cock and Sid jerks away from him.

"I'm gonna-" Sid takes a deep breath when Zhenya stops touching him, blinking up at the ceiling. If his arms weren't tied down, he'd have one of them hiding his face. Zhenya likes it better this way.

"Good," Zhenya says, petting Sid's hip. Sid's shaking in his lap, little twitches of his thighs and his arms that vibrate right into Zhenya's skin. He waits, stroking his thumbs over Sid's knees as he comes down.

"Fuck." Sid thumps his head against the mattress takes a deep breath. Zhenya runs the backs of his knuckles over Sid's stomach, soothing him. "Fuck. Okay. I'm good."

"So good," Zhenya croons in agreement and runs his fingers gently up the underside of Sid's cock. The skin is so warm that the heat lingers even as Zhenya moves away to grab the lube again. "Just little bit longer."

"Liar," Sid says. Zhenya laughs and slides out from under him, pushing Sid's legs together. He sits himself on those thick, hard thighs and slicks his hand again. They're almost there, and no matter how good Sid wants to be for him, there's only so much either one of them can handle. It's his job to make sure they both make it to the end.

He circles his fingers gently around the base of Sid's cock and drags them up, stopping just under the head. Zhenya is mean, but he isn't cruel. He keeps his rhythm slow and even, keeps his hand tight. When he looks up, Sid's mouth is open, his throat bared as he pushes his head back against the pillows. He's pink all the way down to his navel, his sweaty hair sticking to his cheeks. He's beautiful.


Zhenya stops and waits until Sid nods. He picks the pace back up, mumbling nonsense about how good Sid looks like this, how strong he is, how hard Zhenya wants to fuck him. It doesn't matter what he's saying- Sid's not in a place to pay attention, and it's the wrong language in any case- but he needs to remind Sid who he's with and where he is. The next time Sid stops him, his voice cracks. Zhenya moves his hand back to Sid's thigh and waits again.

He loses time going back and forth, torn between watching Sid's face and the slick, shiny head of Sid's cock. It's gone from soft arousal pink to almost purple, dark against his pale belly, swollen and thick. Zhenya licks his lips and does his best not to lean down to suck on it for a moment. He's got a plan. He has to stick to it.

The sixth time Sid stops him, it's barely been seconds. He's so tense, all of those hard-earned muscles so tight Zhenya can see the definition of them. Every hitched, uneven breath Sid takes highlights the shape of his abs in stark relief, makes the cut of his hips look like etched marble. Zhenya tugs at Sid's balls and Sid jerks, barely held down by Zhenya's weight.

"Almost there," Zhenya says. "Soon."

Sid swears each time Zhenya touches his dick, his hands clenching and unclenching against the tie. Zhenya keeps his touches light- the pad of his thumb against the sticky slit, the backs of his knuckles over the underside, a sharp flick of nails against Sid's balls. Sid lets out cut-off moans in short burst, too breathless to do anything else.

"Good, Sid," Zhenya says. He slicks his hand again and wraps his fingers around Sid's cock. Sid's thighs shake, his voice cutting off into a whine. "Is okay. You come now."

"Geno, fuck-" Sid bucks under Zhenya, trying to push into the pressure of Zhenya's hand. Zhenya barely gets three strokes in when Sid comes. He strains against the tie, against Zhenya's weight holding him down, his cock jerking as he comes and comes and comes. It splashes onto his stomach and onto Zhenya's hand, pooling in his navel and sliding down the cut of his hip.

The trick is to not stop. Zhenya locks his knees against Sid's thighs and keeps his strokes quick and tight. He doesn't kid himself that Sid's trapped. If he wanted to, really wanted to, Sid could easily shake Zhenya off. He doesn't, even as his hips twist in an attempt to get away. Zhenya plants his free hand on Sid's chest and holds him down, squeezing the head of his cock just hard enough to make Sid shout.

Sid thrashes underneath him, his knees crashing into Zhenya's ass, his biceps straining as he pulls against the tie. There aren't words for the sounds he's making. They echo off the walls, loud and filthy and wonderful. They break off with a sharp sob and Zhenya feels a smug rush of victory as tears leak from the corners of Sid's eyes.

"Make you cry," Zhenya says. His wrist aches- he's going to pay for all of this tomorrow- but he still speeds his hand up and rides Sid's bucking. The headboard creaks as Sid pulls against the tie. The effort leaves his biceps bunched, makes the tendons in his forearms stand out. Zhenya leans down and bites the strained line of Sid's neck, digging his teeth in. When he pulls back, he can see the indent of each tooth, the mark undeniable proof of what they've done.

"Fuck. Fuck." Sid goes ramrod straight and shouts as he comes again in weak, watery pulses that leave Zhenya's fingers sticky. Zhenya smooths his palm over Sid's twitching, hot cock one last time before reaching up to undo the tie around his wrists. Sid is still crying, tears running down his temples and disappearing into his hair, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

"So good, Sid," Zhenya croons, carefully lowering Sid's arms and checking his wrists. They're red, a little raw, but they bend easily and Sid's fingers curl gently when Zhenya presses on his palms. Zhenya slides off of Sid's thighs and onto the mattress, helps him roll onto his stomach. Sid wipes a hand over his eyes, still twitching a little as he lets Zhenya push one leg up.

"If you," Sid starts, his voice throaty in a way that makes Zhenya's already impatient dick throb. It's not going to take him much to get off.

"If I what?" Zhenya asks. He presses his thumbs into the thick muscles at the base of Sid's neck and Sid moans.

"Huh?" Sid turns his head, his eyes hazy. Zhenya lets himself have a moment to feel smug about crashing Sid's brain entirely. Mission accomplished.

"Shh," Zhenya says, shoving his briefs off before taking settling back onto Sid's thighs. He strokes the obscene curve of Sid's ass, pleased as always that he's allowed to look, to touch. Sid tucks his arms under one of the pillows and faceplants into it, pushing his hips back just a little.

He's so loose, whole body given up. Zhenya rubs the head of his cock over Sid's hole, pushing just a little against the weak resistance. If he wanted to, he probably could fuck Sid like this, just the smeared, leftover lube to ease the way. Sid would let him, would enjoy it. Instead, Zhenya moves his hips just enough to get the tip of his cock in, Sid's hole stretching wide around the flared head. Even that much is enough to make Zhenya go a little dizzy.

"Fuck," Sid groans, his hand weakly grasping at the sheets.

"Okay?" Geno asks. It comes out husky, more vowel than word, but Sid still nods. "Don't move. Don't move."

It's a warning to both of them. Zhenya braces himself with one arm on the mattress and reaches down to jerk himself off, his knuckles smacking against Sid's ass on each upstroke. He stares at the broad plane of Sid's back, winter white except where the sheets had rubbed red spots into his skin. He wants to bite down on the skin just above Sid's necklace and rut against him like an animal. Sid would let him. Sid would fucking let him.

"I'm gonna-" Sid shifts, just a little, and very deliberately squeezes all of those glorious muscles around the head of Zhenya's cock. He's so tight it almost hurts. Zhenya strokes himself faster, shaking with the total body effort of keeping his hips still.

He swears when he comes, the hand on his dick shooting down to grab Sid's hip. He's holding on too hard, his fingertips digging into sharp bone, but if he lets go he's going to drive all the way in until he can't go any more.

When Zhenya pulls out, most of his come spills out after his dick. It's like porn, filthy and so hot that Zhenya's cock lets out another pitiful spurt. Sid flexes his hips, probably trying to get out of an uncomfortable position, and Zhenya tears his eyes away. The sweat hasn't even cooled, but Zhenya wants to fuck him again right this second, no matter what his body is capable of.

"My dick fix anxiety?" Zhenya asks, flopping onto his back. He wipes his arm over his forehead and then onto the sheets. A little sweat is the least of problems their sheets are currently facing. Sid knees him in the thigh.

"Yes, you asshole," he says. He rolls over and fits himself neatly against Zhenya's side, resting his head on Zhenya's chest. Sid doesn't like a lot of physical affection out in the world, but he's like an octopus at home, making up for lost time. Zhenya doesn't mind at all. He kisses Sid's sweaty curls and closes his eyes.

"Good," he says. "We rest now."

"I should-"

"We rest now," Zhenya repeats, wrapping his arm around Sid's shoulders and holding him a little tighter. "I give you ten minutes be bitchy about Blue Jackets when we done with shower, then I don't hear anymore until after game. Deal?"

"Those better be ten active listening minutes," Sid says. Zhenya pats him. He probably won't pay any attention at all, but Sid has to know that already. It's what's not said between them that defines them, short attention spans and all.

"Of course," Zhenya says anyway. Sid hums and kisses Zhenya's collarbone. He'll complain about the dried jizz and his raw dick in a few minutes. Zhenya will coax him into the shower and rub the soreness from his muscles, and the bickering and shouting will stop for awhile.

They should probably talk about the thing someday, but it already works.