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It had been exactly two months since Sid last allowed Flower to drag him along to a bar with the guys after a game.
No, he hadn’t been obsessively counting each day. It was just pretty easy for Sid to remember how long ago he had been dumped. One didn’t necessarily feel like going out to party after being broken up with, and fortunately the guys seemed to understand.
Except today they had a shut-out against the Capitals. That was something to be celebrated. Sid couldn’t even pretend to be anything but happy, his chest much lighter than it had been in a while. If anything was going to help distract him, it was hockey. Well-played hockey. The beer in his hand might be helping with that, too. An obnoxious laugh left him at one of Neal’s stupid jokes, giving a rough shove to his younger teammate.
“Next round’s on the captain!” Flower announced, much too loudly, as his arm wound around Sid’s neck to give him a little squeeze. “Give your goalie his reward for the shut-out already!” And hey, who could blame him for being in such a good mood, with how hard he worked for that win? He’d made some amazing saves.
“All right, all right. I’ll go order us another round,” Sid nudged the goalie away so he could stand from the table they had crowded. There was even a little bounce in his step, showing just how content the win made him. The captain was still grinning as he leaned over the bar and asked for the waitress to bring them another round of whatever shitty American beer the boys were downing like water.
So when he turned around to head back, pretty much the last person he ever expected to see was Alexander Ovechkin. He nearly fell on his face mid-turn when he was face-to-face with the very grumpy looking Russian.
“Sidney Crosby. You steal game from us. Break my heart. Now you owe me drink, come.” A hand grasped at his shoulder, pushing him down into a near-by seat. Then Ovechkin’s arm swung around his shoulders to help keep him in place. Sidney wasn’t weak, but Ovechkin’s hold wasn’t easy to get out of.
This was not how Sid expected things to go. It wasn’t like he hated the guy. Ovechkin might not have been his favorite person in the world, but he never felt as strongly about him as the media tried to play up. And more recently Ovechkin had been pushing that the two of them were, in fact, the best of friends while on the red carpet. Still, this was awkward and Sid wanted a way out of it.
“Uh, I just bought the guys a round and was gonna get back, so..” He tried, face scrunching as he spoke. Sid lifted a hand to motion at the table of Pens players with his thumb.
“Your team can handle one round without captain. Bond with best buddy.” Ovechkin gave Sid a little shake and a bright, gap-toothed grin. There was no room left for argument, and the Russian lifted his hand and ordered something from the bar. He was quick to tell the bartender to put it on Sid’s tab.
Sid was so distracted looking back at the guys that it wasn’t until the vodka was pushed in front of him that he realized Ovechkin ordered three vodka shots for each of them. “I thought you said one drink,” The Penguin’s captain looked rather skeptical, lips twitching in annoyance.
“I forget,” Ovechkin gave a happy shrug, waving it off, not bothering to hide his smile. “Now drink. Don’t waste alcohol. Is rude.”
That made the Canadian politeness kick in. Sid frowned, but shot his goalie a text to say he’d be back in a few, then reached out for one of his shots. After doing his best to relax and be less awkward, he lifted the shot up for what he assumed would be a toast.
“To Capitals winning the Stanley Cup this year. And Russia gold.” Ovechkin tapped their glasses together and did his first shot before Sid could really argue.
It only made Sid laugh, shaking his head with an eye-roll as he did his own first shot. “Not if I have something to say about it.” There was a smile tugging on his lips despite himself. “We’re doing great this year. If we can keep everyone healthy, it’s ours.” It was obvious by the way Sid sat up that he was preening, always very proud of his team. In his eyes, there would never be anyone better. It was just that simple.
“Oh Sidney,” Ovechkin laughed out while the arm around Sid reached up so his fingertips could tug at the slight curls at the back of his friend’s neck. “So defensive when scared of Capitals. Is so cute.” His nose wrinkled in amusement, leaning a little closer to him so their faces were only a few inches apart and peering at him with wide, amused eyes.
There was not enough alcohol in his system for this. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Sid wasn’t a big fan of being touched. Especially by people he didn’t know that well. What made it confusing as hell was the fact that this was Ovechkin. Was he just screwing with him? Sid narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his fellow captain, leaning away from the touch.
If Ovechkin noticed Sid looking uncomfortable, he didn’t act like it. He just pat Sid’s shoulder and pushed another one of his shots closer to him. Sid was starting to think Ovechkin must have had too much to drink, or maybe he was just aiming to make Sid squirm, but now the Russian was leaning in even closer and muttering things into his ear. Sid couldn’t even make out what was being said; his Russian was severely limited. He was definitely squirming now, confused and somewhat uncomfortable by the sudden closeness and the warm breath on his neck. Ovechkin’s tone hinted that whatever he was saying wasn't innocent. Some part of him can’t help but enjoy the attention when it had been so long since he’d had that sort of feeling. Two months of being by himself.
The worst part was that Sid was sure the guys were staring, trying to figure out what the hell was going on at the bar. His ears started to burn red at the tips and he reached forward to grab one of the other shots, downing it quickly and hoping the buzz would cut through the awkward twinge in the pit of his stomach.
---
All Geno wanted was an evening out with the guys to cut the edge off. They’d had an amazing game against the Capitals and on-ice he had an unmatched focus and determination. It was once he’d gotten off ice, after the long showers and play fights with the guys, that nagging feelings started to pull at the edges of his mind.
Geno had definitely done the right thing, though. He was sure it was his only option at the time. Except none of this really felt right. He wasn’t sleeping as well, he didn’t laugh as much. Some part of him had hoped it would just stop bothering him with time.
He didn’t say a word when Sid moved off to order a round of drinks for everyone. The Russian just busied himself with picking at Lazy and downing the shitty American beer the guys had ordered. After a while, he started to notice just how long it was taking Sid to order another round. His eyes lifted to look over the bar, trying to see where the captain could have wondered off to.
Was that… Sasha?
Geno's grip tightened on his mug hard enough to risk it cracking under the pressure (at least he swore it was about to). What the fuck did Sasha think he was doing, draping over Sid like that? He tried to ignore what was going on, narrowing his eyes and clenching his teeth hard enough to send shots of pain along his jaw. But Sasha kept getting closer and there was bile burning in the back of Geno’s throat. His mind flashed with images of the two of them together -- of Sasha getting to see what Sid looked like when he was wrecked.
And god, if Sid wasn’t gorgeous after he’d been thoroughly fucked; his lips swollen, covered in bite marks, muscles glistening, hair a mess, staring up at Geno under those long eyelashes with a cute, pleased little smile.
No, that was his.
Fuck.
Sasha knew everything, knew about every single event as it unfolded. He was one of Geno’s closest friends these days. So what the hell was he doing?
Geno’s legs started to move faster than his brain, sending the large angry Russian bear over to the two without working out exactly what he wanted to say. His hand reached out to Sasha’s shoulder, grip tight enough to keep the Capital’s captain from getting out of his grasp.
“Get off of him,” Geno half growled out in thick Russian, eyes narrowing once more when he saw the playful grin he was receiving from Sasha.
“Oh Zhenya! I didn’t realize you were here too.” Sasha hummed despite the look in his eyes saying otherwise, patting the empty spot on his other side. “Sit. Sidney and I are sharing some Vodka. It’s not as good but Russia’s, but still, very tasty. Right, Sid?” Only the last two words were in English, accented by a playful pat to Sid’s pert backside. The way the Penguins captain’s eyes went wide was enough to make Sasha cackle.
Geno didn't share his amusement. He was seething. He’d always swore he’d never hurt Sasha off the ice, but he was pretty sure he’d never been this angry at him before. Still, he wasn't capable of punching his lights out, no matter how deserved it might be. So he settled for just a glare. “Knock it off, Sasha. He’s mine; you can't have him,” Geno bit out, continuing the use of their native tongue despite any confusion it might have caused Sid.
Sasha didn’t look the least bit upset. If anything he looked tickled pink, glancing between Geno and Sid like he was watching one of those crazy Russian dramas. No, it was Sid that was looking furious now. He had the same expression as he did whenever Geno drew a stupid penalty that could cost them the game.
“Geno. Let’s go outside.” Sid was using that captain tone, the one that held no room for argument. Pushing himself out of his chair, he grabbed for Geno’s wrist and didn’t say a word to Ovechkin as he pulled Geno towards the door. Sid was fuming. The last thing they needed was for some stupid bar fight to get to the press. He was silent, lips pulled tight, until they got out into the fresh, cold air. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The angry Russian bear looked a lot more like a kicked puppy as he stared down at Sid, having not expected this sort of anger out of him in response to his actions. “Sasha, not allowed to touch—“
“No.” Sid lifted both of his hands in front of him, between the two of them and forcefully pausing Geno’s words. “No, Geno. You broke it off with me, remember? I wanted to try to make things work and you refused. You don’t get to tell anyone what they’re allowed to do with me anymore. You lost the right to do that.”
The words made his stomach twist a little, and Geno was struggling to come up with the English words he needed to respond. This would be much easier if Sid spoke Russian, damnit. “Thought of him—anyone—seeing you like me, touching you like me.. Makes me angry.” Geno’s own lips pulled into a frown, frustration clear on his face.
At first, all Sid could do was shrug. “I have no idea how I’m supposed to respond to that,” He admitted after a moment, his eyebrows furrowing with confusion. There’s a flutter of hope in his chest, like maybe this could mean something, but he was quick to try to stomp it down. Only, he really can’t. The feelings he’d had for Geno hadn’t gone anywhere. But he wasn't going to give in too easily. He couldn’t.
For once, Geno looked more awkward than Sid. His hands were pushed into his pockets and he seemed to be trying to look anywhere but at his captain’s face. “Maybe I make mistake.” He finally said as he released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Maybe I got scared, ran. Brain got all messed up, just ran.” His hand lifted to point at his ear with his pointer finger before swirling it in little circles.
“What?” Now there was a wrinkle in Sid’s nose, staring up at Geno under long lashes and trying to understand exactly what was going through his head. He knew what he wanted it to be, what he hoped Geno meant. But he also knew that he was terrible at understanding feelings. He doesn’t want to have a misunderstanding and make things any worse.
Geno was getting more frustrated. Words weren't coming easily enough, but he tried again. “I miss Sid.” He offered with a shrug of his shoulders, reaching out to very gently brush his fingertips along one of his captain’s cheekbones.
And even though Sid really didn’t want to give in too easily, he found himself leaning into the touch a little. No one touched him the way Geno did. It’s the only physical contact Sid found himself completely comfortable with. “Are you sure you’re not just drunk and pissed off at Ovechkin?” His tone was a little wary, even as his tension visibly bled out of him.
“Sasha did on purpose,” Geno insisted as he slid his hand to cup Sid’s right cheek, thumb brushing gently along his skin. He made sure to speak again before Sid could frown too much. “He knows I make mistake, thinks he’s helping.” Then he realized that wasn’t really the question, so he shook his head and gave it another shot. “Am sure, Sid. So sure.” He still didn't give his captain a chance to speak, instead leaning down to brush their lips together in the faintest of kisses.
For a second, Sid wasn’t sure he could breathe, but he was quick to press right back up into Geno, letting their kiss deepen instantly. He could feel Geno whispering apologies against his lips and busied himself with kissing them all away. All he wanted in that moment was for this to last, for it to keep chasing away the loneliness that rooted in his chest two months ago.
Nealsy must have been voted by the team to check and make sure that Sid and Geno hadn’t vanished, or worse, killed each other after seeing how pissy Sid looked as they stepped outside. Nealsy ran one of his hands through his hair as he peeked outside. “Oh,” He blinked owlishly, then grinned like an idiot as he turned to yell loudly over the music. “Flower you owe me twenty bucks, pay up!” He trotted back over to the table to collect his winnings.
Sid could only laugh, shaking his head and pressing his forehead against Geno’s neck. “Let’s just go home. Um. To your place?” His fingers curled childishly into Geno’s shirt, wanting to keep some sort of hold on him. They would have more to talk out, work on, but for now he was content just to enjoy this closeness that he’d missed so much.
“Yeah,” Geno breathed, licking his lips and nodding his head. “Home.”