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The wind had picked up by the time Sid got on the bus to the arena, and the trip uptown to the Garden was a miserable crawl through gridlocked, snowy streets. He checked the weather on his phone. The forecast had gone from a few inches to more than a foot.
“The weather guy said the storm turned at the last minute,” Dana told him as he sharpened Sid’s skates. “I doubt we’ll fly out tonight.”
“Snow day,” Sid said. “You think they’ll cancel Boston?”
Dana shrugged. “We’ll find out tomorrow.”
The stands were emptier than usual for the game, but there were still plenty of die-hards who had braved the weather and the trains. The arena started emptying out partway through the second, though, and at intermission, Sully made the extremely unusual move of turning on the TV in the locker room, and they all watched the nor’easter’s projected track coming right for Manhattan. Heavy snowfall, poor visibility; storm surge likely.
“Too bad we didn’t bring Murr’s dog,” Cully said. “Hitch him to a sled and he could haul us all
the way down 6th Avenue.”
“Win the game before you make plans to race the Iditarod,” Sully said, and turned off the TV.
They did manage to win, and they even made it back to the hotel before the worst of the storm hit, thanks to Horny shouting orders in the showers like a drill sergeant. Stinging snow and wind whipped against Sid’s cheeks as he stepped off the bus, but in thirty seconds he was inside the hotel lobby where it was dry and warm.
Arrangements had been made while they were still on the ice. They ate dinner in one of the ballrooms and speculated about the storm. Outside, faintly, the wind howled.
Sid glanced at Geno, who was eating steadily, his head lowered over his plate. If he noticed Sid watching him, he didn’t give any sign.
With no warning, the lights in the room flickered and went out. “What the fuck?” someone said into the sudden darkness. A few seconds later, the emergency lights came on. Everyone sat blinking at each other in confusion.
“All of you stay here,” Jen said, and got up from her seat.
She was back within a few minutes, holding a flashlight and a big shopping bag. “Power’s out all over lower Manhattan,” she said, which they had already learned from Twitter. “The generator will keep the elevators running, but there won’t be hot water, and it’s going to get cold tonight. I’ve got flashlights for everyone, and housekeeping will send up extra blankets.” She sighed. “Sorry, guys. This sucks, but there isn’t much we can do.”
“One night without power won’t do us any harm,” Sid said. “Good excuse to hit the sack early.”
“You’re boring, Crosby,” Bones said, tossing a balled-up napkin at him. Sid batted it out of the air before it made contact.
Some of the guys stayed in the ballroom to play cards and bullshit around, but Sid went up to his room when he was done eating. He really did plan to turn in early. He hadn’t slept well the past few nights. Too much on his mind.
He set the upended flashlight on the washroom vanity as he brushed his teeth. His face looked eerie in the low light, lit from below.
Before he got in bed, he checked his phone one last time, just in case Geno had replied to his message. He didn’t have any notifications, though.
Sid didn’t ever have much trouble falling asleep after a game. An hour to do press and shower, another hour to eat something and go home or back to the hotel, and he was ready to pass out. The hotel room was even darker than usual, and he fully expected to close his eyes and be asleep within five minutes.
But sleep didn’t come for him. He kept wanting to turn over and check his phone. He tried counting down backward from ten thousand, but he lost track and was still awake. He tried some of the relaxation stuff Andy had taught him, tensing and relaxing each of his muscles one at a time. That didn’t work, either. He turned from his left side to his right and onto his back. Finally, still unbearably restless, he slid his hand into his shorts and cupped his soft dick.
He mostly watched lesbian porn, and it was easy to summon a generic scene, kind of a mishmash of the highlights: big, soft tits, a wet and neatly trimmed pussy. A lot of pink flesh, a lot of moaning. His dick started to swell. Then his brain took a sharp sideways jog and presented him with the image of Geno sprawled out on the leather couch in Sid’s basement, well-kissed and smiling, and Sid wrenched his hand from his shorts with a curse.
It had only been a few days. It was okay that Sid hadn’t responded to Geno’s texts until that morning. They were both busy.
He lay there for another ten minutes. Sleep didn’t come. He rolled out of bed and got dressed.
He had been standing near Geno in the lobby when they got their room keys—deliberately near, hoping to catch Geno’s eye. It hadn’t worked, but he had overheard Jen tell Geno his room number, and he had carefully committed it to memory, just in case. Geno was on the same floor as Sid, down at the other end of the hall. Sid shone his flashlight at each door he passed, looking for the right number, and when he found it he knocked quietly. Maybe Geno was still downstairs. Maybe Geno was asleep and wouldn’t answer. He knocked again, and then he heard the chain sliding, and Geno opened the door.
“I thought you might be cold,” Sid said, and then immediately wanted to either die or melt into the floor, a feeling he hadn’t experienced much since high school. Well, might as well shoot his shot.
Geno stared at him. He was wearing sweatpants and socks and his hoodie with the space bear on it, so he probably was cold. Sid folded his arms over his chest and tried not to look as nervous as he felt.
“Yes, it’s cold,” Geno said after a few moments. “So. You keep me warm, Sid?”
He said it challengingly—sneeringly, almost. He wasn’t taking Sid seriously.
“Let me come in,” Sid said. “Please.”
In the half-light, Geno’s expression softened. The Russian Bear was gone. Here was the guy who had blushed when Sid asked to kiss him: Sid’s mercurial and tender-hearted friend.
“Okay,” Geno said. He turned and went into the room.
With the door closed, there was absolutely no light in the room that didn’t come from Sid’s flashlight. He held it awkwardly in one hand and then the other as he took off his shoes. Geno had climbed back into bed and lay curled on his side beneath the blankets, his eyes shadowed in the semi-darkness. Sid hesitated, standing there shoeless in his own sweatpants and T-shirt, not sure what Geno wanted him to do.
Geno flopped over onto his back with a loud sigh. “Get in.”
Okay. Sid went around the other side of the bed and climbed beneath the covers. He turned off his flashlight and set it on the nightstand. The darkness pressed against his eyeballs. He couldn’t see a thing no matter how much he blinked and strained. The sound of Geno’s breathing was the only sign Sid wasn’t alone in the world.
“Did you get my text message?” Sid asked.
The mattress shook as Geno shifted around. Sid couldn’t tell what he was doing. “Yes, I get.”
“You’re mad at me,” Sid said, not asking, because he could tell that Geno was, and justifiably. Sid hadn’t handled the situation well. He had kind of panicked.
Geno didn’t say anything. Sid scooted closer. Geno had let him in and told him to get in bed, so he wasn’t too mad, but he also wasn’t going to make this easy. Sid reached out beneath the covers until his fingers brushed Geno’s sleeve. He curled his hand in the soft fabric and tugged gently.
Geno let out a long breath. “You don’t reply to me. For three days. So I think, okay, I make bad mistake, he’s sorry we do, maybe we’re not friends now, maybe it’s bad with team, maybe I leave Pittsburgh—”
“You wouldn’t have to leave Pittsburgh,” Sid said, shocked. “G. Come on. I’d never let things get that bad between us.”
Geno grunted noncommittally.
“I was just. You didn’t want to stay over,” Sid said. “And then I was lying there in bed thinking, like. Why the fuck did I do that, I’m not even—I’m not gay, I’m not bi, I’ve never. I haven’t ever.”
“So why you do,” Geno said.
That was the question he’d been asking himself for three days. “I don’t know. I just wanted to. You’re always flirting with me, and I guess I thought, like. I wanted to know if you meant it. And.” He drew a breath. Geno paid so much attention to him, and Sid liked it, more than was probably normal. He liked it when Geno hung around after team events instead of going home right away. He liked it when Geno sat beside him at dinner and draped his arm over the back of Sid’s chair and smirked at Sid over the top of his beer glass. Geno had never officially come out to anyone as far as Sid knew, and he was discreet, but it wasn’t a secret that he was gay, and his focused attention had an edge of flirtatiousness that always felt a little illicit.
Sid liked it. He liked Geno a little bit drunk at Sid’s Super Bowl party, ganging up with Horny to rag Sid for his picture of Nate. He liked Geno a little bit drunk on Sid’s couch after everyone else had gone home, laughing about nothing, eating the last crumbs of muddy buddies from the bowl. He had just wanted to.
“And?” Geno prompted.
Sid moved a little closer, so he could nestle down into the blankets and press his forehead to Geno’s shoulder. He wanted Geno to touch him. The darkness gave him shelter: he could say things that were true but too frightening to say by daylight. He said, “I think I’ve started to have feelings for you.”
“You think,” Geno said, with that same faint edge of mockery to his tone, like he was daring Sid to mean it.
“Look, this is really new for me.” Sid walked his hand down the sleeve of Geno’s sweatshirt until he came to the cuff. He tentatively curled his fingers around Geno’s wrist, and Geno didn’t shake him off. “I’m kind of—scared, I don’t. I don’t know how any of this works. But I really liked kissing you.”
“Ah, Sid,” Geno said quietly. He moved, and Sid didn’t know what he was doing until he felt Geno’s fingers brush against his jaw.
Sid’s breath caught. He wanted Geno to kiss him. He had been thinking about it so much.
Was he too old to realize he was bi? Maybe he was bi. Straight guys probably didn’t want to kiss other guys this much. He had never wanted to kiss any guy except Geno.
In the absolute private darkness of the hotel room, Geno’s fingers gently slid over Sid’s face. His thumb pressed against Sid’s lower lip and dragged along his cheekbone. He traced each of Sid’s eyebrows in turn. “Sid, I have feelings,” he whispered.
Sid’s heart slammed against his breastbone. “Please fucking kiss me,” he said, and Geno laughed and bumped their noses together and then got the angle right and pressed his mouth to Sid’s.
Kissing him was so good. Sid wrapped an arm around Geno’s neck, and Geno sank down on top of him, pressing him into the bed. Geno’s lips were a little rough but his tongue was soft and Sid had a lot of feelings, more than he knew how to say. He slid his fingers into Geno’s hair and felt the breath moving through both of their bodies, their hearts beating together, and Geno’s hand creeping up beneath the hem of Sid’s shirt, warm on his bare skin.
“Sid, oh Sid,” Geno whispered to him between kisses. Geno had been cautious at first when they made out after the party, and then pushy and smug, but now he seemed—reverent, although even thinking the word was embarrassing. Sid was just some asshole. But if Geno wanted to kiss him like that and cup his face so gently, Sid wasn’t going to protest.
“Hey, G,” he whispered back, because he felt pretty reverent, too.
Geno’s kisses deepened and slowed. Sid started to wonder at the back of his mind where this was going, if they were going to—how far this was going to go. He felt okay about kissing—he felt great about kissing—but more than that… maybe not yet.
But Geno drew back slightly and kissed Sid’s cheeks and his forehead and said, “Stay here tonight. Keep me warm.”
Sid’s stomach clenched with happiness. “Okay, yeah. I can do that.” He lifted his head from the pillow for a final kiss. “I’m gonna roast to death if I don’t take off these sweatpants, though.”
Geno laughed. “Okay. You take off,” he said, and rolled aside to let Sid maneuver.
+ + +
He woke in the dark to the mattress shifting and a warm pressure against his back. “Sorry,” Geno said quietly, and Sid remembered then where he was. “I’m cold.”
No hint of light leaked around the edges of the blackout curtains. It was still the middle of the night. “Here, turn over,” Sid said, and they shifted around until Sid was spooned up behind Geno with his chin hooked over Geno’s shoulder. Geno shivered a few times and then sighed and relaxed.
“Better?” Sid asked. He pressed his mouth against Geno’s neck, almost a kiss.
“Yes,” Geno said. He snuggled back against Sid’s chest and tugged Sid’s arm until it was situated just so around Geno’s waist. “Warm.”
“I’m here to help,” Sid said. The tip of his nose was a little cold. He rubbed it against Geno’s neck and Geno shivered again. The novelty of having Geno in his arms overcame Sid’s sleepiness. He slid his hand down Geno’s belly until he found the hem of Geno’s hoodie and hiked it out of the way, and the T-shirt Geno was wearing underneath. Geno’s bare skin was warm and soft and hairless under Sid’s palm.
He rubbed circles on Geno’s belly and held him close and breathed in the smell of his skin and his hair. He kept waiting to feel weird or uncomfortable, but being this close to Geno only felt right and good. He didn’t want to lead Geno on and had spent a lot of obsessive time since the party trying to decide if he actually wanted to have sex with Geno, but so far all systems were a go.
He tucked his fingers inside the waistband of Geno’s sweats and moved his hand south until he encountered wiry pubic hair. He stopped there, heart pounding. Here was the moment of truth.
Geno made a sleepy noise, kind of a groan. “Sid, it’s late.”
Sid laughed against Geno’s neck, charmed by this middle-of-the-night Geno who would rather sleep than have Sid touch his dick. “I know. I’m not starting anything. I just want to, uh. Feel.”
Geno huffed. He curled his fingers around Sid’s wrist and pushed Sid’s hand lower, until Sid had a palmful of Geno’s soft dick.
It didn’t feel so different from Sid’s own dick: roughly the same size and shape, the same texture. Geno’s foreskin completely covered the head with enough extra to make a wrinkly tip. Sid pinched it gently between his fingers until Geno grunted. He could imagine doing this when Geno was hard: touching Geno until he moaned, touching Geno until he came into Sid’s palm, wet and slippery. Could he imagine sucking it? Yeah: the round head sliding over his tongue.
“What you think?” Geno asked him. He squeezed Sid’s wrist, not hard.
“I like it,” Sid said. He saw no reason to dissemble. He liked the shallow breaths Geno was taking now, and the soft warmth of Geno’s ass tucked into the bowl of Sid’s pelvis. He craned his neck to kiss the back of Geno’s ear. “Stay over next time.”
“When’s next time?” Geno asked. His fingers lingered around Sid’s wrist, his thumb stroking over the pulse point. “Next Super Bowl?”
“Next week,” Sid said. “When we’re home.” His pulse raced. Was he really telling Geno to come over for sex? Kind of, but he needed to work his way up to actual sex, and what he really wanted at this point was another night sleeping next to Geno, and a morning with Geno in his kitchen, half-awake the way he often was at team breakfasts but even sleepier than that, a few degrees closer to the way he would be when he first woke up, which Sid was suddenly dying to see. Did Geno usually sleep in underwear, or naked, or in multiple layers of clothing like he was now? Sid really wanted to know.
Geno exhaled. “You curious. I know. You want, like—maybe try, maybe see how you like—”
“No,” Sid said. “It’s not that. It’s—we should probably wait a while to have sex. I just want to be with you.”
Geno shifted in his arms, pulling away and sitting up, and Sid’s heart dropped for a moment before he realized Geno was just turning over. Geno wrapped an arm around Sid’s shoulders and drew him close and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You cook Russian food for me. Then I come over.”
“It might not be very good,” Sid said. “I’ve never made Russian before.”
“I eat anyway,” Geno said.
+ + +
Sid woke to a room filled with light. He heard water running: Geno in the washroom, brushing his teeth or washing his hands. The room was still cold. Outside, through the open curtains, he could see the snow falling.
Feeling a little foolish, he rolled over and buried his face in Geno’s pillow. The pillowcase smelled like Geno’s hair. Sid curled his toes and tensed all the muscles in his feet to try to offload some of the feelings he was having. It didn’t really work.
“Sid, you up?” Geno called from the washroom, and Sid hastily rolled back to his own side of the bed so he wouldn’t get caught being embarrassing.
“Yeah, I’m awake,” he called back.
Geno appeared in the doorway, dressed in the clothes he’d slept in, but with his hair damp and tidied. “You check messages?”
Sid shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Maybe we take bus to Boston,” Geno said, and rolled his eyes. “Stupid. It’s snow so much, I think maybe it’s too long to drive. But they decide after breakfast.”
“Whose idea was that?” Sid got out of bed and went over to the window to peer down at the street below: completely covered in snow, which meant the city hadn’t plowed at all or at least hadn’t plowed within the past hour or two. No way were they making it out of Manhattan. “Seems more likely we’ll be here another night.”
“Good,” Geno said. Sid turned toward him; he had his hands in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie and his shoulders were raised toward his ears. He was smiling: sheepish, pleased. “We play cards, take nap. Be together.”
“Yeah,” Sid said dumbly. Geno lifted his eyebrows and gestured with his head. Sid crossed the room and slid his hands into the pocket to join Geno’s, their fingers interlacing. His vague fears that their nighttime confessions would seem foolhardy or overwrought by daylight vanished in the face of Geno’s smile.
Geno’s big hands encased Sid’s. The whole world was muffled by snow, but nothing could dampen the happy pounding of Sid’s heart.
“Good morning, Sid,” Geno said.