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Geno woke up with Sidney's nasal sleep-breathing in his ears, and absolutely no idea where they were. He drowsed for a while, puzzling at the question, before memory slowly seeped back. Right. On the other side of the world, that's where they were.

He uncurled from a half-tuck, stretching out and sighing. He felt deeply satisfied and a little sore – he'd been asleep for a long time.

Geno rolled over and opened his eyes. Sidney was next to him, splayed out on his stomach with his arms over his head like Superman. Their two suitcases were stacked on a rack at the foot of the bed. The rolling bags for long road trips, not the smaller duffels. And over Sid's back, Geno could see out a pair of glass balcony doors to a stretch of beach and, beyond that, ocean to the horizon. Geno's internal clock had no fucking clue what time it was, but the sun was rising, and this he would get up for.

Sidney didn't so much as twitch, even when Geno rediscovered the giant black and purple bruise on his ankle by bumping it on the bed frame. Geno mouthed a number of profane things in Russian, then patted Sid's upturned ass because it was there and he could, and wandered downstairs in his boxers. They'd taken a brief tour last night in the five minutes between arriving at the villa and dropping unconscious. Geno poked through the kitchen just long enough to find the coffee and start the machine going. Then he went out on the back deck and straight down the half-flight of stairs to the beach.

He went to the waterline, intending only to dip his toes in. But the water was amazingly warm, and the sun rising over the sea was incredible, and it was a private beach anyway, he'd checked thoroughly before they'd left, so fuck it. Geno waded out until he was wet to the knees. A bigger wave caught him, splashing up to his ribs, and he spontaneously took a half dozen sloshing steps and dove shallowly into the next wave. He came up and shook himself like a dog, then paddled out far enough for the water to lap up into his armpits. Every few waves one was big enough to gently lift him off his toes. Geno let them, drifting with his head tipped back, eyes on the horizon. He breathed and watched the sun come up and didn't think of much at all.

Fragments of the half season floated disconnected into his head – the days after his concussion, watching the linesmen picking bits of Sid's teeth off the ice, the streak, the sweep. Geno let it all wash away with the next wave. This was exactly what he'd wanted.

Sidney had been blankly uncomprehending when Geno first broached the idea of going away somewhere after the playoffs. Geno had been nervous about bringing up the topic of the summer. They were both pretty settled in their offseason routines, and figuring out a compromise to spend at least some of the time together had seemed like a daunting litmus test of their commitment. But Sidney hadn't even noticed that when Geno finally brought it up.

"Sure," he'd said. "I figured we could go to California first, if that's okay. Then Russia. Or you could leave California before I'm done and I'll go meet you?"

"No," Geno had said. "Well – yes, good plan. But before California."

Sidney had frowned at him. "Sometimes I go up to Cole Harbour first," he'd said dubiously. "But, um."

Geno really, really hadn't wanted another conversation about Sidney's parents, and what they did and didn't know, and why, in the vaguest of terms, it was best to keep things that way. The first one had made Sidney so palpably unhappy that Geno still felt a little crazy just thinking about it.

"Not Canada," Geno had said firmly. "Not California. Not Russia. Go somewhere else."

Sidney tipped his head, baffled. ". . . Why?"

"Is good," Geno had said, realizing this was one of those things Sid was going to be weird about. "Going away, new place. Relax together. Find little island where no one knows us."

"I don't need to go somewhere new to relax," Sidney had said, which was a very positive spin on the fact that Sidney violently disliked changes in his routines. He was convinced that they'd lost a game against the Rangers last year because their usual hotel was undergoing renovations and they had to stay somewhere else.

"I help you relax," Geno had said. "Is good plan, I promise."

And there was the litmus test, after all, because Sid had pressed his lips together for a long moment, obviously struggling with the idea.

"But I like old places," Sid had burst out eventually.

Geno had nodded. "I know. But Pittsburgh was new once, yes?"

"Ye-es," Sidney had said.

Geno had taken him by the back of the neck and squeezed. "Come with me," he had said. "Please. I make it good. I promise."

And Sid had sucked in a quick breath and nodded fast.

Geno's stomach eventually became so insistent he couldn't ignore it anymore. He discovered that the current had carried him a few hundred yards down the shore, and quite a bit farther out than he'd realized. Geno swam most of the way in to the beach, then walked back towards the villa along the tideline, stepping around a lot of tiny fish stranded in shallow pools. It was already warm enough that wandering around in nothing but wet boxers was completely comfortable.

Sidney was out on the deck when Geno made it up the sand. His hair was damp and extra curly from the shower, but he still looked half asleep over his breakfast.

"Morning, beautiful," Geno said, leaving wet, sandy footprints up the steps.

Sidney rolled his eyes, but offered Geno his coffee cup without prompting. Geno took a gulp, then swiped a corner of toast and dipped it into the tub of hummus.

Sidney was reading something on his iPad; Geno leaned over enough to see that it was not, as he had feared, Sidney had gone alarmingly quiet when they'd gotten back from Boston. Then, after all the season-ending shit, he'd shown up for their flight looking like he hadn't slept since they'd cleaned out their lockers. He'd dropped his bag on the conveyer belt next to Geno's, pushed up his sunglasses, and said, "We'll talk about it on the flight, and then we won't talk about it again. Deal?"

Geno had made Sidney shake on it in the security line, because it was a hell of a deal, considering, and Sidney respected the handshake code. So they had talked about the sweep from Pittsburgh to New York, and from New York to Johannesburg, and from Johannesburg to Mahe, and from Mahe to Curieuse.

Still, Geno had entertained private doubts that Sidney was truly capable of putting it away. He still doubted, but with Sidney, Geno had always operated on a 'points for effort' system. Sidney put impressive effort in on most things. And Geno liked giving him points.

"Water is nice," he said, stealing another sip of coffee. "Swim later?"

"Yeah," Sidney said. "And I might as well get my sunburn out of the way at the beginning. It's going to happen no matter what I do."

Geno leaned over, making a show out of inspecting his legs, bared in cut-off shorts. It was true, Sid was downright pasty. "I put lotion on you," he said, patting Sid's thigh.

"Ugh, you're dirty," Sid said, shoving at him.

Geno beamed. "Glad you notice," he said.

"I meant you're sandy," Sidney said quellingly.

Geno laughed and went in for a quick shower. He came back down and puttered around the kitchen, eating a half dozen things at the same time but never bothering to put a plate together.

He wandered back out to the deck while eating a hard-boiled egg, and smiled to himself. There was a giant cushioned lounge chair at either end of the deck; Sidney had relocated to one. His coffee cup was on a low table beside him, his iPad was tipped carelessly against the arm of the chair, and he was utterly limp in sleep. It'd been a hell of a month. Hell of a season. Hell of an entire fucking year, really.

Geno finished his egg, then wandered over and tapped the button to unlock Sidney's iPad. Ha, it was that game with the dragons and eggs that Sidney swore he wasn't addicted to, he could stop playing it any time he wanted. Geno grinned to himself and climbed up behind him, fitting himself against Sidney's back.

The waves rolled and Sidney breathed steadily. Geno dozed, never quite falling into true sleep. He wasn't used to ocean sounds, and even the bird calls were different here. It was all just strange enough to keep him that little bit awake.

He felt the change in Sidney's body, tucked so close to his. A hitch in his breathing, the gradual uncurling of the hand folded under his chin, an increase in the heartbeat under Geno's palm. He lifted his head to look. Sunrise took forever here, but they were through it now and into true morning. The shade would vanish in another hour or two.

Sidney's eyes were still closed, his mouth soft, but Geno could tell the difference. He bent down, nuzzled Sidney's curls out of the way, and sucked a gentle kiss onto the sweet spot under his ear.

"Awake?" he asked.

"Mm," Sidney said. Then, huskily, "Geno?"

"Sidney," Geno returned, a little dryly. Sidney was weird about pet names. He put up with Geno calling him beautiful mostly because he thought Geno was kidding. Geno had called him 'baby' once, in bed, very early on, and Sid had looked so incredulous, Geno had asked if he wanted his face to stick like that. It was a battle Geno was determined to win, someday, but for now he kept his sappier impulses to himself.

He kissed Sidney's neck again, lower down, and felt the faint tremor of response under his skin. Sidney uncurled, straightening his bent legs and pointing his toes with a soft groan. Geno kissed his neck again, started to bite down, stopped himself reflexively. Then he paused, thinking about it.

"Sid," he said into the nearest ear. "I leave mark, is okay?"

There was a lengthening pause. Geno began to wonder if Sidney was awake enough to process the question, to remember the absolute fit he'd thrown on the one and only previous occasion when Geno had left a mouth-shaped bruise under his collarbone. But they were thousands of miles from the locker room now, and from anyone who knew them, for that matter. So maybe . . .

Sidney tipped his face away, wordless, baring the full stretch of his neck. Geno sucked in a breath and lingered, spoiled for choice. He reached up and brushed a fingertip down Sid's throat. Sid twitched, obviously startled, then sighed in transparent impatience and thumped Geno in the shin with one heel.

Geno laughed and kissed him softly again, just to be a dick. "Maybe I not mean now," he said. Then, as Sid was inhaling in outrage, he bit down, right up under Sid's jaw. He sucked delicately at the salty skin, then harder when Sid twitched, and harder still, until he imagined he could taste the bruise forming and Sid was making quiet, suppressed vowel sounds. Geno let up, already breathless.

"Feels good?" he asked into Sid's ear.

In answer, Sid grabbed the hand Geno had spread over his chest and pushed it down. Geno grinned, delighted, and gripped Sid through his shorts. "Sid wake up hot," he said. "Good dreams? Hockey dreams?"

Sid hummed, and Geno realized he still wasn't entirely alert. "I was dreaming about fish," Sid murmured, then trailed off on a long sigh as Geno rubbed him through his shorts. He held Geno loosely around the wrist, keeping Geno's hand where he wanted it.

"Yeah," Geno said. "Sid." He nudged closer and worked his hand into Sid's shorts. He wanted to see, so he took the time to slide them down Sid's hips. Sid was relaxed and pliable; he sighed in quiet satisfaction when Geno closed a hand around his dick. Geno handled him carefully, long gentle pulls. Sid moved with him, hips shifting lazily.

Geno realized, after a minute, that they'd fallen into rhythm with the ocean: his loose-handed downstrokes matched the quiet inhale of water flowing out, the tighter upstrokes matched the rumble as it flooded back in. Geno laughed, deliberately messing up his timing. Sid giggled with him, because he had noticed too, or just because he wanted to laugh with Geno, it was hard to say.

"Here," Geno said, and pulled his hand away to touch Sid's mouth. "Make wet?"

Sid sucked his fingers, one at a time, then licked wetly across Geno's palm. He didn't make a big production out of it, which was actually part of why it was so sexy.

Geno gripped him again, hand slipping easily. He pressed up closer behind Sid, nudged a knee up between Sid's thighs, then worked his free arm under Sid's shoulders to hug him around the chest.

"Got you," Geno said.

Sid rolled farther into him, his face tipped up. His eyes were still closed. He was flushed, high up on his cheekbones, and breathing fast.

Geno got him off like that, pulling one out of him with his spit-slick hand while they lay folded together, cheek-to-cheek. Sid came quietly. Geno worked him through two long, shuddering exhales, and then kept at him until Sid squeezed his wrist. After, they lay together in the rising warmth of the day, with the wind off the ocean picking up, while Sid caught his breath.

Sid opened his eyes, eventually. It might have been the first time, judging by the dazzled way he blinked into the light. Or maybe Geno was just that good.

"Morning," Sid said, smiling. "Again."

"Sleepyhead," Geno said.

"Shut up," Sid said. He poked an elbow into Geno's ribs at the same time he twisted his neck for a kiss. "I was tired."

"Me too," Geno said. "Still tired."

Sid started to yawn on cue. He stopped himself with his mouth half open and then continued in slow motion; it would have been funny if Geno wasn't close enough to hear the series of clicks in his jaw.

"Ugh," Sid muttered, working his mouth closed again with equal care. He scowled into the dazzlingly blue sky. "One day, I will blow you again," he said in the tone of voice in which Geno was used to hearing phrases like, I'll win this faceoff, be ready.

"Look forward to it," Geno said sincerely.

Sid huffed his frustration out to the universe at large. He turned more fully onto his back, still in the crook of Geno's arm. Geno thought a number of unforgivably adoring things about his scowl, and kissed it until Sid's mouth relaxed under his.

"Hey," Sid said when they broke apart. Geno had tucked his wet hand high up between Sid's thighs. Sid was still holding his wrist. He used his grip to pull Geno's hand up to his face.

"I can manage this," Sid said, peeking slyly at him as he licked at Geno's fingers, then carefully sucked them clean, one by one.

"Dirty," Geno said admiringly. He did his best not to blink; he might miss something.

Sid hummed thoughtfully around his middle finger. "What do you want?" he asked, letting it rest on his lower lip while he talked.

Geno sucked in a slow breath and tilted his head to make eye contact. "I fuck you?"

The color came up again on Sidney's cheekbones, and one side of his mouth tipped up. "Well," he said. "That is why we're here."

Geno scoffed. "Is not why," he said. "Need sleep, need time away."

Sidney's silence was extremely judgmental. And effective.

"Okay, not only reason," Geno said.

Sid giggled, looking smug.

Geno ducked his head, laughing a little, too. "Hey," he said, scraping his morning stubble against Sid's. "Last time, you remember? Was good?"

He'd been inside Sidney only three times, what with the compressed sprint of a season and his nagging injury, and then the small matter of Sid's broken face. The first time had been tense and a little anticlimactic; the second better, but still not quite good. The third time, though –

"Yeah," Sid said quietly. "I remember." He turned his cheek against Geno's, touched their mouths together, and murmured, "It was good," all low and sexy. Then he pulled back and added in his normal tone, "I told you we just needed practice."

"Sid right," Geno said. He had no problem admitting that, and did so as often as possible. The theory was, it would increase the odds of Sid actually listening to him when he needed to say something else. Jury was still out on that one. Geno wriggled an arm under Sid, grabbed a handful of his ass, and squeezed. "Practice now?"

"Where did you pack --?" Sidney said, starting to sit up.

"I get," Geno said, pushing him back down.

"Wait, we can't have sex out here," Sid said. He was probably going for scandalized, but he mostly read as intrigued. Geno knew the difference – Sidney was genuinely scandalized by shitty reffing, people who stood too close to him, and hotel breakfast buffets without sausage. Sex outside didn't even come close.

Geno kissed him quickly anyway. "Yes, right here," he said. "No one else around, Sid. Just us. And we already do, yes?"

"Well . . ." Sid said, in his talk me into it tone.

"Right back," Geno said, intending to do just that. Talking Sidney into things was Geno's second favorite activity, right after doing the things themselves.

He went up to the bedroom on the double. The lube was in his checked bag because yes, okay, he'd brought a lot. He grabbed the entire box of condoms, too, because today was shaping up to be pretty great, and maybe he could talk Sid into fucking him later. Sid had firmly declined every previous offer, and while Geno suspected they'd already hit upon the arrangement they would both like the most, he was also damn curious.

But mostly he suspected Sidney would keep saying no until he'd analyzed Geno's developing technique down to its constituent pieces. At which point Sid would finally take Geno up on the offer, blow his mind the first time out, and be unbearably smug for the rest of their lives.

Geno dropped his shirt on the bed, then the rest of his clothes at the bottom of the stairs. He made it back out to the deck to find Sidney wouldn't be needing much persuading after all, as he was in the process of stepping out of his shorts.

"Favorite," Geno said. He grabbed Sidney around the waist, groped him a bit, and pulled him close.

"Are you talking about me or my ass?" Sid asked tartly, though he looked pleased.

"Also favorite," Geno said gravely, taking that as an invitation. With both hands.

Sid hooked his arms around Geno's neck and stretched up for a kiss. "Last time," he said, dropping back to his heels. "You were paying attention, right? You kept track of what made it work?"

"Sid not paying attention?" Geno said.

Sidney scowled. "I got distracted."

Truth be told, so had Geno. He remembered a lot of tipsy foreplay, some awkward back-and-forth on positioning, and then it had all come together and he could only remember Sidney clawing at his back, biting into his shoulder and then yanking free to growl, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, like that," at him. He'd left an impressive set of teeth marks; Geno had worn them in the locker room with pride, enjoying the faces Sidney made, part horrified, part smug.

"I remember," Geno lied without a qualm.

Sidney narrowed his eyes. "Because the only way to improve on past performance is to isolate the variables that lead to success and –"

Geno kissed him. He kept at it until Sidney was leaning into him, the stiffness gone out of his shoulders.

"I am always paying attention to you," Geno said when he was good and done. And that was entirely true.

He nudged Sidney back to the lounge chair and got them down on their sides. Sidney slung a leg up around Geno's waist; he was surprisingly flexible, considering what they did to their glutes and their hamstrings.

They made out wet and messy, just the way Geno liked it. He had one arm tucked beneath Sidney's head; his free hand settled on Sidney's ass without volition.

Geno had been treated to several extended monologues by his friend Fio back home on the virtues of ladies whose assets were a perfect handful, no less, no more. Geno had listened vaguely and nodded along, because he was twenty-one and stupid and hadn't even come close to figuring out what truly did it for him.

Sidney was no lady, he was substantially more than a handful, and everything about him did it for Geno so much, it was honestly embarrassing.

"Here," Sidney said, fumbling behind Geno and then bumping him pointedly in the shoulder with the lube.

Geno rolled his eyes. "We go slow last time," he reminded him. Well, at least to start with.

Sid pursed his lips, apparently trying to look severe. It was one of the facial expressions he simply couldn't manage outside of a hockey context. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you didn't want to," he said.

Geno squeezed his ass, then walked his fingers into the cleft of Sidney's thighs, to the soft, secret skin behind his balls. "Know better," Geno said, pressing there. "Want to fuck you. Want it bad, Sid."

Sidney blinked like, teasing aside, maybe he hadn't known that. "Well, come on then," he said.

Geno did go slow. He was still figuring out what the hell he was doing, and the last time had been in March. Sidney hadn't wanted Geno to finger him the first time they'd fucked; he'd done it himself, which, okay, had been really hot to watch, but Geno was dead convinced Sid had rushed the job. Just like he rushed French toast when he really wanted it, or an interview when he was nervous. It hadn't been the best experience for either of them, but on balance, Geno had decided not to feel too awful about it.

Sid had let Geno try the second and third times, and Geno liked to think he'd acquitted himself well, though Sid's crabby commentary hadn't helped.

Sidney wasn't commentating now. He sighed at the first gentle touches, wriggling his shoulders and settling in with his head in the crook of Geno's arm.

"Deep breath," Geno said. Sidney responded well to coaching, applied correctly. He inhaled and nodded once, and Geno pressed in on the exhale, firm and steady.

Sidney relaxed into him, his eyes fluttering closed. Geno went slow, losing himself in Sidney's breathing and the flickers of expression on his face.

The second finger made Sid a little restless. He shifted his thigh up Geno's side, then slid it back down when that made Geno's fingers sink deeper. He tipped his face up, seeking a kiss, but withdrew quickly when Geno obliged.

"Okay?" Geno asked. "Not good?"

"No, it's just – keep going." Sidney turned his face into Geno's arm. His mouth worked against the skin, sucking and releasing until Geno knew there would be a hickey on the inside of his elbow.

"Three," Geno warned after a while, in case Sid wanted to veto. But Sidney just nodded, biting gently into Geno's biceps and taking it with a series of long, deep breaths.

Geno couldn't see what he was doing, and the angle wasn't great on his wrist, but he kept at it until he thought he could feel tension giving way in Sidney's thigh draped over his waist, in his hips and lower back.

"Okay," Sidney said eventually, "I think that's good. I'll do it," he added when Geno started to disentangle himself to get a condom.

Sidney put it on him with both hands and his patented look of concentration, like fucking Geno was a faceoff he was determined to win.

"Know someone who could do with mouth," Geno said. He'd meant it idly, following a random train of thought and blurting it out. But Sidney's eyebrows immediately drew together, his mouth pressing flat in what Geno called his "oh yeah?" expression. "Figure out later," Geno said hastily, because while he was in favor of Sidney commandeering his dick for a series of experiments involving his mouth, now was not the time.

Sidney huffed, but he finished unrolling the condom and settled back onto his side. Geno was about to ask what position they were going for, but Sidney just slung his leg up around Geno's waist again and tugged pointedly on his dick.

"Okay, okay." Geno shuffled closer, testing angles until he thought he had it. They were plastered chest-to-chest, faces nearly touching. Geno held on to the back of Sid's raised thigh and pushed.

Neither of them had much leverage, so Geno worked his dick in with excruciating slowness, hitching his hips, then resetting his hold on Sidney's thigh, and doing it again. Sidney was quiet. Geno knew him, so he could recognize the breathing exercises Sidney did sometimes before games. Geno had never asked whether they were supposed to settle Sidney down or work him up; he suddenly wished he had.

He couldn't actually get very deep, not in this position. Geno kept trying, but the best he could do was a couple of inches. It was maddening, like having half an itch scratched. All Geno could think about was shoving harder until Sidney took the rest of it. But he couldn't, not with that furrow still between Sidney's eyes and the heavy weight of his muscled thigh holding Geno in place. And weirdly, not being able to do it like he wanted to was really working for Geno. It was a confusing mess of impulses – frustration and impatience and restraint. It left Geno rolling his hips a little frantically, not thrusting but just working his dick where it was.

Sidney made a noise, a quiet groan as he breathed out. Geno had screwed his eyes shut; he opened them to see a flush spreading down Sidney's neck and onto his chest. Geno tracked it with his fingers, not actually processing what was going on until he realized that – yes – Sidney was getting hard again between their bellies.

"Sid," Geno said, delighted. He'd wanted to make this good for Sidney, but he'd been preparing himself all along to fail. But the furrow between Sidney's eyes was gone, his lips were parted, and this did not look like failure.

"Shut up," Sidney said, turning redder. "Just – just keep. Doing. That."

"I do whatever you want," Geno said. He clutched at him, trying to get closer, rolling and rolling his hips. "Fuck you good, promise."

"Yeah," Sidney said. He'd gone breathless and soft-spoken. "Yeah, Geno, that's so good."

Sidney's commitment to positive feedback was one of the things that made him such a good leader. And he'd been leading Geno around by the dick for a long, long time, since way before they'd gotten together, so that was nothing new. Still, right at that moment, Geno felt like a fucking superhero.

He didn't have any leverage, and keeping it up was killing him from the core muscles out, but Geno still said, "Deeper better?"

"Yeah," Sidney said, catching the play immediately. "Here, like this." He slung his full weight onto Geno, rolling them over. He got Geno on his back, then sat up slowly, working himself down onto Geno's dick.

"Slick moves," Geno said, holding him by the waist.

Sidney was sweating by the time his weight settled solidly astride Geno's hips. He sat there a moment, his head bent and hands splayed on Geno's stomach. Then he rocked his hips, brow furrowed in thought.

"Knees," Geno said, tapping Sidney's bent calf. "Put – under –" Fuck, his English was fracturing into single word sentences.

Sidney got it, though. He readjusted, untangling his legs and getting his weight centered over his heels. Geno slipped out of him in the process, and there was another heated interval of slow, slow, slower penetration once Sidney was set.

"Better, yes?" Geno said at last. "Do what Sid likes."

"I don't know what I like," Sidney whined.

"Find out," Geno said. "Is okay. My dick here for you."

Sidney rolled his eyes, but he smiled, too. "Such selflessness," he said.

Geno would have chirped back, but Sidney – Sidney was riding him. Cautiously, with a lot of starts and stops. He spent a long time seated fully on Geno's dick, just rolling his hips in place and chewing on his lip.

"Is okay?" Geno said, because he knew that face. That was the face Sidney made when he was trying a new food and feeling really indecisive about it.

Sidney flexed his thighs, pushing up and sinking down again. Geno gritted his teeth and tossed his head, but Sidney frowned.

"Maybe . . . more lube?" Sidney said.

"Hurt?" Geno reached for the bottle.

"No. But it's not like last time." Sidney broke off, pushing up onto his knees.

Geno resisted the urge to dump the entire bottle over his dick, if only to get that dissatisfied look off Sidney's face. He slicked himself up, even more generously this time, then urged Sidney to scoot up so he could finger him again. Sidney bent forward, exhaling hard as three of Geno's fingers slid into him right up to the knuckle.

"Yeah," he said, letting his head hang forward. "Not wet enough."

Geno flashed abruptly on the idea of licking him. He'd seen it in porn, but never wanted to try it before. But if Sidney wanted to be wet, Geno could do that for him, fuck Sidney with his tongue, and then his fingers, and then his –

"Okay," Sidney said, breaking into his train of thought. "I think that's good."

He edged backwards, reaching for Geno's dick with a determined nod.

It did get better after that. Sidney was incredibly slick inside, and he seemed to like pushing up and down more, instead of just grinding in place. He switched off for a while, slowly beginning to smile as his confidence grew. Geno hung on to his thighs, digging in to feel the muscles flexing, and tried not to whine for faster – harder – more.

He lost track of time, just working his hips up into Sidney and watching Sidney's teeth digging into his plump lower lip. Geno was so hyper-focused on that, it took him a while to realize that Sidney was smiling, and he looked pleased, but that he wasn't flushed anymore, wasn't breathing hard. He looked like he was having a good skate. Not like he was having the fuck of his life.

And okay, Geno had known this might happen, but what the hell, it had been going great. A wave of frustration rolled through him. Jesus Christ, this couldn't be so hard. Idiots made it work all the time. They'd made it work, and Geno refused to believe that it had been a fluke.

"Hey," he said, squeezing Sidney's thighs. "Try something different?"

Sidney stopped moving and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Sorry, sorry," he said. "You can get off, it's fine."

"Not fine," Geno said, because okay, yeah, he was taking this personally all of a sudden. He had made Sidney promises about this vacation and – blurted in the moment – about how good the sex would be. And Geno was suddenly not in the mood to be reasonable about fulfilling them.

And seeing Sidney give up on this pissed him off. That just wasn't how Sidney operated. Except with strange new things, and to be fair, Geno's dick was a strange new thing. Geno was a strange new thing, edging his way deeper into Sid's life like he had. But to hell with that. "Was good before," he reminded.

"I know," Sidney groaned, dropping his hand. "It was really good, why can't I--?"

"Drinking, last time," Geno said. "Is vodka in the kitchen. Help you relax?"

"I'm relaxed," Sidney snapped. "And we are not stopping sex so I can settle my nerves. Which I don't have."

"Do," Geno said mildly. Sidney opened his mouth, and Geno cut him off. "Is okay. Me too. I think, Sid trust me, Sid come all this way with me. Counting on me, maybe shouldn't."

"Of course I can count on you," Sidney said, imperious in outrage on Geno's behalf.

Geno smiled, touched. "Okay," he said, squeezing his waist. "You and me are team. We figure it out."

That apparently was the right thing to say, because Sidney took a deep breath and squared his shoulders and nodded. "Okay," he said. "You're right. Um. Last time I was on my back."

"We try that," Geno said firmly.

They switched places again. It was kind of hard to be really into it when Sidney wasn't, but Geno still wanted to get back in him. He paused for a kiss, though, holding Sidney's face in his hands.

"Still best," he said, because that was the closest he could get in English.

"You're ridiculous," Sidney said, but he was smiling again. "Come on."

Geno held him by the hips and thrust. He was looking down, watching his dick go in, so it was a surprise when Sidney grabbed his wrist.

"Wait, do that again," Sidney said. He caught hold of Geno's waist, suddenly and marvelously bossy. "No, not like – pull out, and then – oh."

Geno withdrew completely, following Sidney's urging hands. Then he pushed back in, all the way. Sidney's lips parted on a silent word, and his back slid into a curve. Geno didn't need to be told to do it again. Sidney liked the withdrawal, too – Geno watched his eyes close at the drag of Geno's crown just inside him. So Geno lingered there, rocking gently. There was something about it, the clutch at the very tip of his dick, the visual; it was more obscene than being balls deep in him.

Geno pulled all the way out again, held him open with two fingers, and thrust. Sidney shivered under him, his flagging dick beginning to harden once more.

His hands tightened on Geno's waist. "Not so deep," he said, his shoulders moving restlessly. "I think if you just—" He broke off, but the guiding pressure of his hands was easy to follow. Geno sank into a slow rhythm of shallow thrusts, working the first few inches of his dick in and out.

After a minute of that, Sidney was fully hard again. A few minutes more and he was tipping up his hips, letting out a quiet, breathy "oh, oh, oh." Geno caught him under the thighs, hitching him up and holding on. Sidney bent his legs, his knees dropping to the sides, and Geno felt the soles of his feet walking up his lower back.

"Yes?" Geno asked.

"Keep going," Sidney said.

Geno's arms were starting to get tired, so he paused long enough to lean over and grab a cushion off a nearby chair. He wedged it under Sid's hips, and there was a brief interval of weird angles and dissatisfied complaining from Sidney before Geno figured out he needed to stop again and fold the cushion in half.

But then they finally had it. Geno felt like he'd just hit the highway after hours of residential driving. He held Sid by the thigh, and worked the other hand beneath him to grab his ass. Not to hold him up, but just because.

And Geno fucked him, shallowly but fast, snapping his hips in controlled bursts until the sweat ran down his back and the lounge chair creaked beneath them.

Sidney came unspooled, agonizingly slowly. He went heavy-lidded and breathless, and then Geno saw goose flesh prickle up the delicate skin inside his thighs. Sidney's hands moved restlessly, clutching at Geno's forearms, his waist, Sidney's own hair which he tugged, making a series of escalating noises.

Geno reached for his dick, but Sidney pushed his hands away.

"Focus," he said, exactly like he did when someone was trying trick shots in practice.

"Can do two things at once," Geno defended himself.

"Later." Sidney grabbed his waist again, pushing back whenever Geno got overenthusiastic and tried to thrust deep. He slid down the chair, his hips tilting.

"Don't stop," he said, and grabbed his dick with both hands.

"Sid, so hot." Geno watched him working himself, one hand jerking hard and the other rolling back and forth over the head. Geno could feel his mouth hanging open a little, but he didn't care.

"Don't come," Sidney snapped, "don't you dare--"

"Can't last," Geno said, jerking his hips erratically. They had been fucking for a long time; his orgasm was a heavy weight in his belly, and he couldn't carry it for much longer.

"Don't," Sidney said, and his voice crackled down Geno's spine. "Just fuck me."

Geno put his head down and gritted his teeth and did what he was told. Sidney took it, his head thrown back and his hands working. His hips pressed into Geno, and every few thrusts they would jerk with a shocky, electric jolt. Geno fucked him until he thought he was seeing spots, until the sweat dripped into his eyes and he was about ready to start begging. Sidney had commandeered his dick after all, and he was using it to his own ends ruthlessly.

Then Sidney came, his body locking into silence and stillness, except for his jerking hands. Geno watched him come all over his belly, saw his eyes shut so tightly that a single drop of moisture squeezed out of one to run down his temple. Geno kept thrusting, slowing down as the tension in Sidney's body broke and he started to shake.

"Holy shit," Sidney said.

Geno moved, a helpless jerk of the hips, and Sidney yelped, his body curling up.

"Wait, fuck, no, I can't," Sidney said.

Geno recoiled from him, pulling out fast enough to make Sidney cry out again. He tried to apologize, but his brain simply would not channel back into English.

And suddenly Sidney was there, sitting up and reaching for him even though he was still shaking.

"Oh my God," Sidney was saying. "Here, let me." He yanked the condom off, jerking Geno's dick and leaning down. Geno hissed at the friction of his dry hand, but Sidney's mouth would be wet and soft, so he arched up, seeking.

They were half out of their minds, and both forgot why that wasn't a good idea. All Geno knew was that he could feel Sidney's breath on the head of his dick, and then his lips, but Sidney's mouth wouldn't open for him. He heard himself make an embarrassing, questioning whine.

"Fuck, ow, sorry," Sidney said. "I can't – here, I got you." He licked, rolling the flat of his tongue over the head of Geno's dick and then working the clever tip of it under his foreskin.

"Wait," Geno said, belatedly remembering why Sid wasn't blowing him. "You could hurt jaw."

"I told you I got it," Sidney said huffily. "You are not going to break my face with your dick. You're coming in my mouth and you're going to like it."

He sealed the restricted circle of his lips over the tip of Geno's dick in a long, sucking kiss, jerking him off steadily. And why the fuck was Geno arguing, again?

He messed up Sidney's face, coming between his lips and into his mouth and down his chin. Geno could distantly hear himself making some really stupid noises, but fuck if he cared.

He folded forwards onto the lounge chair when he was done, making vague grabby hands at Sidney.

"Hang on," Sidney said, "Just a second." He evaded Geno's arms and padded off across the deck. Geno heard the water in the kitchen running, and a minute later Sidney was back, face scrubbed clean. He submitted himself to being comprehensively hugged, even pushing and wriggling to get underneath Geno's weight.

"We're doing that again," he said, poking Geno in the side. "Later," he added magnanimously, off Geno's pathetic groan.

"Swimming first," Geno said, not moving. Sidney hummed in agreement, and they lapsed into silence, listening to the ocean.

Geno felt like he was operating on a time delay. A few minutes later he said, "Was definitely paying attention that time. Should take notes."

"Shut up," Sidney said.

"Told you, I fuck you best," Geno said happily. And apparently 'best' meant not very deep but as hard as he wanted. He could work with that.

"Shut up," Sidney said.

There was another silence, during which Geno thought dreamily about how hard Sid had come, and Sid thought about unknowable things.

"Hey," Sid said finally. "Thanks. This was a good idea."

Geno was tempted to ask which idea he meant, because there were quite a few good ones to choose from recently, in his opinion. Sid was a creature of the present, though, so he probably just meant not giving up on mutually satisfying fucking. But privately, Geno didn't have a problem taking it to mean leaving Pittsburgh, coming out here, or even that first kiss in Sidney's kitchen, so tired from distance and travel that he couldn't remember why he shouldn't until he was convincing Sidney that they should.

"Welcome," Geno said.