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Sidney thinks, as much as she is loath to admit it, Geno does a better job at painting her nails than she does.
It’s a horrible thought, one she refuses to say out loud and give power to. If Geno found out she preferred when he painted her nails, he’d get the biggest head about it; she literally cannot deal with that.
They don’t always get a night in like this. With their busy schedules, it’s hard to find time to sit down and truly relax. But, thankfully, their schedules finally lined up, and they can have a quiet night on Sidney’s couch, vegging out on pizza and chips.
And also, nail painting. Which she’d rather them be doing than watching the movie Geno picked. It’s an action movie, one with a plot that’s easily guessed, and far too many deaths happening at once.
But Sidney let him choose it, because she’s pretty much in love with him and everything he does. She’s willing to suffer through a horrible action movie to simply hang out with him and eat pizza that’s too greasy for her liking.
But how could she not love him?
Geno is, beyond the shadow of a doubt, one of the best people Sidney knows. He's kind, he's gentle, and he's so fucking smart. It also doesn't help that he's really hot. Sidney was gone on him the first night they met.
It’s a problem, she’s aware.
“Sid,” Geno says, bringing her attention back to him.
Sidney focuses on her best friend and gives him a warm smile. It may be a grimace, instead. “What’s up?”
Geno holds up two nail polish bottles, one yellow and one dark green. He doesn’t comment on the state of her face. “Which one you like?”
She considers both colors carefully. With spring rolling in, yellow would look nice. But the dark green would go really well with her skin tone. She thinks about her clothes; while she wears a lot of athletic clothing, she does occasionally like to dress pretty.
“Green,” Sidney decides, wiping her hands on a paper towel to rid her fingers of pizza grease. “Matches my skin.”
Geno snorts. “Skin pretty,” he says, matter-of-fact. “Don’t need to match.”
Sidney blushes down to her chest, completely out of her control. She clears her throat and gestures to the basket of nail polish and tools. “Don’t forget the alcohol wipes.”
“I do nails better than Sid,” he responds snidely. “I know to use wipes.”
Sidney closes her mouth and holds a hand out, waiting for Geno to retrieve the wipes from the basket. Once he does, he prepares two, opening the little packets. He wipes over Sidney’s nails quickly, using one wipe per hand. After that, he reaches for the base coat and applies a thin layer over every nail.
The process of him painting her nails goes something like this: Sidney will take off her old polish before he comes over. Sometimes, the polish has been on for over two weeks. Other times, it’s only been a few days since the last time.
Geno will come over, he’ll choose a horrible movie, Sidney will agree because—again—she’s in love with him, and then they’ll eat. After eating, Sidney will go to her bathroom, grab the nail basket from under the sink, and bring it back out for Geno to look through. Normally, he’ll choose the color, since Sidney doesn’t really care what goes on her nails; when he doesn’t choose for her, Geno gives her a choice between two colors.
Sidney will sit back, spreading her thighs so Geno can sit between them. He always starts with an alcohol wipe, clearing the oils from her nailbeds. First, he applies a base coat to her nails, then two coats of color, and a top coat to finish the process.
That’s a lie—the real ending to the process comes when Geno leans down to blow on her nails to dry them faster. He’ll pat the top of her hands and then reach over for another bite of whatever dinner they’ve got for the evening.
It’s wonderful. It’s torture.
Tonight, Geno blows on Sidney’s nails to dry them, but he’s much closer than he normally is. Sidney’s heart is in her fucking ass when she finally notices.
That’s another lie—she always notices him.
He’s just got such nice hands. If he’d let her, Sidney would worship his hands. They’re big, with long fingers and nice, calloused palms. They might look rough, but when he holds Sidney’s hands to paint her nails, his skin is soft. Gentle.
Fuck, he’s just.
She’s in love with him.
“Sid,” he whispers. When she looks down at him from where she’d been focused on the curve of his eyebrow during her musings, he’s holding her hand like it’s something precious, lips so close to her knuckles.
This is definitely not part of the process.
Sidney’s breath gets caught in her throat, legs tensing from where they’re spread out around Geno’s thighs.
Geno leans in a bit closer and presses a quick, chaste kiss to her middle knuckle. His lips are a little dry, but the touch is electrifying all the same. He glances up and, after seeing no resistance on Sidney’s face, presses another, harder kiss to the top of her hand.
She has one terrifying moment where part of her wants to shrug this off, chalk it up to Geno being Geno.
But the other part of her wants.
So, Sidney reaches up with her other hand—wet nails, be damned—and hauls Geno in for a heated kiss.
It’s heavy from the get-go. He immediately crowds into her space, pulling her thighs up around his hips. His tongue delves into her mouth when she opens up for him, her hands scrambling to hold onto whatever piece of him she can grab.
“Sid,” he gasps when they break apart, breathing into each other’s mouths. “Sid, please.”
Sidney takes big, heaving breaths. “Geno. Fuck.”
Geno nods and claims her mouth again. This kiss is deeper, with his hands roving across her shoulders, her chest, her stomach. Anything he can get his hands on. His touch is enough to have her throbbing between her legs.
“Geno,” she groans, tilting her head back to breathe. He attacks her neck, leaving stinging kisses that light her up from the inside.
He groans against her skin, and she gasps, feeling herself get wetter and wetter just from kissing. The fact that he’s just as affected as she is does something to her.
Geno leans back and presses his forehead against his. “Sid. Love you so much.”
Sidney feels her eyes water stupidly. She cups his face with smudged nail polish all over her fingers, kissing him once, twice. How could she not love him back? With a shuddering breath, she says, “I love you too.”
The smile that lights up on Geno’s face is something she’ll remember years from now. His eyes brighten with immense pleasure, cheeks dimpling with the force of his grin.
Right now, though, she shoves him back on the couch and stands, giggling at his affronted expression. She starts walking toward her bedroom. With a look over her shoulder that she hopes is sexy, she asks, “Are you coming?”
Geno scrambles off the couch and follows her, only tripping over his feet once.
Later, they’ll have to talk about this: what they mean to each other, what they want, how life would continue from here.
But Sidney doesn’t want to talk. Instead, she pulls a happy Geno into her bedroom and shuts the door, content to spend the rest of their evening in bed.