Zheyna hasn’t spoken to Sid in more than a week.
Well, he supposes that isn’t entirely accurate.
He hasn’t spoken English to Sid in more than a week. Hasn’t spoken any English at all, except for the mandatory media encounters the team has made him do.
It’s just… easier this way, is all.
He can’t remember a time people weren’t asking him if he was going to bring home the gold in Sochi. He knows, rationally, that this isn’t the case. Zhenya lived twenty years of his life before Sochi was even chosen as an Olympic venue, and the pressure can’t really have ramped up until after Vancouver, but there’s just so much pressure, Zhenya feels like he’s going to collapse beneath it.
Sid would understand, Zhenya knows that. Sid does understand, lives it every day of his life just as much as Zhenya does, but while it might not be fair, Zhenya can’t help but feel like there’s something so much more about Russian pressure than there is about Canadian pressure. He’s already let down his country so much, he’s not sure he could bear it if there were another thing to add to the list.
It’s just easier then, not to speak to Sid. Not to speak to anyone outside of his Russian teammates and his family, and the few reporters he can’t escape. Easier to immerse himself completely in being at home, at playing for Russia, and just being the best he can be.
It’s not entirely accurate, however, to say he hasn’t spoken to Sid, because the two of them have crossed paths more than a few times at the arena or around the village, and every time they do Sid has the audacity to, well, to light up. He waves at Zhenya and trots over to him and asks him how he’s doing, calls him Geno, and maybe that kind of stuff was okay in Vancouver, but it’s not okay in Sochi, it’s just not going to work.
Zhenya needs to stay focused.
“Canada is going to lose,” Zhenya tells him viciously in Russian. “Crosby sucks.”
Sid obviously recognized his own name, but he only stared at Geno in confusion for a moment. “What, G?”
“Don’t worry,” Zhenya told him. “Russia will win all our games. Show you how real hockey is played.”
Sid stared at him for a long moment, and Zhenya did his best not to stare at Sid’s dark eyes, his lush mouth.
“Are you mad at me or something?” Sid asked.
Zhenya patted his cheek roughly a few times. He definitely did not notice the way Sid leaned into his touch, or the way his face was flushed from the sting of Zhenya’s hand.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Leave it to me, I got this.”
Sid stared after him as he walked away. Zhenya smirked.
It’s easy, after that to shout chirps at Sid, or any of his other teammates whenever he saw them. He took particular delight in shutting down the default, “No one understands you!” answer his teammates liked to give at home because well, actually everyone understood him for a change.
“What did you think of the real hockey game you saw today?” he shouted at Sid across the cafeteria.
Zhenya didn’t actually see Sid in the crowd at the arena, but after their loss, Ovechkin nudges him on the way to the locker room.
“Your boy was in the stands.”
“Fuck off,” Zhenya says, still stinging from the loss. It’s not over yet, but he can imagine what the crowd would feel like if they lose their next game.
“Did you come to see some real hockey?” Zhenya asks when he walked out of the dressing room to see Sid leaning against the wall.
“Geno,” Sid says, the hint of a whine in his voice. “Come on.”
Zhenya smiles sweetly at him, taking three steps across the hall. He’s not touching Sid, but their bodies are close. “We’ll show you what it’s like when we play next,” he says, leaning down a little to whisper in Sid’s ear.
Sidney shudders. It wouldn’t be obvious to anyone else, but Zhenya knows what he’s looking for. “I’ll show you real hockey when we play,” he promises. “Not this fucking piece of shit game.”
Sid reaches out and wraps his fingers around Zhenya’s wrist. “Geno,” he whispers, looking up at Zhenya through his lashes. It’s almost enough to break Zhenya’s resolve. Almost enough to make him want to dust off his rusty English vocabulary and tell Sid exactly what he wants in words Sidney would understand.
Instead, he shakes out of Sid’s grip, and smiles down at him as sweetly and obnoxiously as he knows out.
“See you soon,” he says.
To say that Zhenya wants to win is an understatement. He wants to win no matter what. But there’s a tiny part, almost negligible, that breathes a small sigh of relief when the seeding comes down and it turns out there’s no chance of Russia and Canada having a repeat in the semi-finals.
Zhenya wants to win. He wants to beat Sid and Canada, but he’s glad he doesn’t have to do it just yet.
Zhenya is no stranger to Sidney’s fame. Sidney can’t go anywhere without getting stopped by a fan who wants to say hello, or take a picture, or ask for his autograph.
The Olympic Village isn’t any different.
Zhenya sees him standing near the Olympic Flame, just staring up at it. There are two or three dozen people standing a respectable distance away, both athletes and not. Zhenya can easily make out the way some of them have the ‘holy shit, that’s Sidney Crosby’ expression on their face.
Sid, for his part, is doing his patent hands in pockets, shoulders hunched, nothing to see here look.
Zhenya sees him. Zhenya always sees him.
“You look dumb,” Zhenya says in Russian without preamble. It’s not like it matters.
Sid looks over, smile breaking out on his face.
“Still not talking to me, eh?” he says.
“I’m talking,” Zhenya says. “It’s not my fault you’re not listening.”
Sidney just looks at him, like he thinks he knows what Zhenya is saying, but he can’t prove it.
“How do you say, ‘you’re a dick,’ in Russian?” Sidney asks him.
“You’re a dick,” Zhenya says immediately.
“Hm,” Sidney says noncommittally. For all he knows, Zhenya has told him that the sky is green or that Canada smells like bears.
Zhenya wants to put his arm around Sid’s shoulders, or his hand on the flat of his lower back just above his ass. But if that instinct is a bad idea in Pittsburgh, it’s criminal here. Instead, he reaches out and shoves at the side of Sid’s head none too gently. Zhenya has seen Sid take hits on the ice at full speed and stay on his feet, but here he steps back, letting Zhenya lead him wherever he wants.
Zhenya kicks lightly at the heels of Sidney’s feet, herding him toward Canada house. He can’t help it, it’s been a long week, a hard week, and there’s so much Zhenya wants, so much he’s afraid he’s not going to get.
This, however. This he can have.
The beauty of Olympic Village is that no one really pays attention to athletes coming and going. Sure, people stay with their teams, stick to country loyalties, but there’s also a sense of intermingling and international goodwill that seems if not false, than at least a result of circumstance. So many athletes, not just the hockey players train and compete side by side throughout the year.
The world seems small inside the Olympic Village.
It seems safe in a way that Zhenya knows that the world is not. Knows that Russia is not.
Still, the illusion allows them to walk to Canada House together unconfronted. Sid’s talking the entire time, telling Zhenya about a game of pingpong he played against some curlers. Zhenya has a few choice words to say about the sport of curling, but Sid ignores him. Well, Sidney doesn’t know what Zhenya is saying, but he gets noticeably closer as they walk through the village, to the point where their arms are brushing every other stride.
The back of his neck is pink, a stark contrast to the dark curls there. Zhenya wants to put his teeth into Sid’s skin and bite.
Canada House is quiet in the middle of the afternoon, but Zhenya doesn’t take a lot of time to pause and look around. In fact, he keeps walking with purpose although he has no idea where Sid’s room is. That’s okay. Sid knows why they’re here.
“This way,” Sid says with a jerk of his head.
Sid locks the door behind them, and Zhenya crowds up behind his back, pressing his hips against Sid’s. He puts his hands flat on the door by Sid’s head and bites down on the back of his neck like he wanted to earlier.
“You miss me?” he asks.
“Geno,” Sid gasps out.
Zhenya ignores him. “I’m gonna fuck you so good, Sid,” he says, and palms Sid’s hips.
He slides his hands around and rests them on the flat of Sid’s belly, scratches a little before reaching down and cupping his dick. Sid is hard already, and Zhenya squeezes once.
“Russian get you hot?” he asks. “You like to listen to me talk shit about you when you can’t understand?”
Sid shudders and leads his head back so it’s resting on Zhenya’s shoulder. With an invitation like that Zhenya can do nothing but turn his face into the crook of Sid’s neck, suck a bruise there, bite down a little on his earlobe.
“You love it,” Zhenya whispers. “Doesn’t even have to be Russian, does it? No matter what I say gets you hot, doesn’t it?”
Sid gasps. Zhenya slides one hand up over his chest, pinches his nipple through the thin fabric of Sid’s team Canada t-shirt. He curls his hand around the front of Sid’s neck and presses his thumb into the soft vulnerable skin under his chin.
“Answer me,” he says.
“Geno,” Sid gasps.
That’ll do for Zhenya. He turns them both around and shoves Sid in the direction of the bed. He stumbles a little before recovering and sitting down on the edge of the bed. Zhenya has to take a moment to just look at him.
“Geno,” Sid says again. “Come on.”
Zhenya crosses the room, and grabs Sid, sliding his fingers into Sid’s hair, and tilting his face up with a thumb on Sid’s jaw. He watches as Sid’s pupils dilate and Sid licks his lips. Zhenya can’t wait another moment to kiss him, opened mouthed and wet and dirty. He fucks his tongue into Sid’s mouth, and Sid immediately sucks on it, humming happily.
“Yeah,” Zhenya breathes out when he pulls back. “You love something in your mouth, don’t you?”
Sid can only look up at him, eyes wide and unfocused. Zhenya smirks at him for a moment before reaching for the hem of Sid’s shirt, and pulling it up and over his head. He strips his own Russia shirt off quickly before settling his body down over Sid’s on the bed.
Sid immediately grinds his hips up against Zhenya’s.
“No,” Zhenya tells him, and punctuates it with a firm press of his palms, pinning Sid to the bed. “Be good, Sidney,” he says.
Sid whines loud on the back of his throat, but immediately stills.
“Good,” Zhenya tells him, nibbling on Sid’s jaw and neck, his collarbone. “So good for me. Think I’m going to fuck your pretty mouth, then maybe we’ll think about doing something with this,” he reaches down between their bodies and squeezes Sid’s dick.
Sid pants but stays still. There’s no way he knows what Zhenya is saying, but he’s reacting to the sound of Zhenya’s voice like he does. Like he knows what kind of dirty shit Zhenya is promising is to come.
They’ve done this enough that maybe he does.
Zhenya pushes his track pants down and over his hips and shuffles a little until he’s completely nude. He leaves Sid’s bottoms on and straddles Sid’s waist.
Sid licks his lips again, his gaze flickering down to Zhenya’s cock and then up to his face, like he can’t decide which he’d rather give his full attention. Zhenya makes the decision for him by shuffling up Sidney’s body until his knees are in the crook of Sid’s armpits, and then he smirks down at Sid.
Sidney’s lips are wet and red, and Zhenya wishes he could lean down and kiss them redder and wetter. Instead he strokes his cock a few times before pressing his thumb to Sid’s full lower lip.
“Open,” he says harshly.
Whether it’s the thumb on his mouth or the tone of Zhenya’s voice, Sid obeys.
Zhenya runs the head of his dick across Sid’s lips, just watching for a moment before pushing in to the warm heat .
“God,” he says. “Oh fuck, Sid, you’re so good. So perfect for this. Love your fucking mouth, made for my cock.”
Sidney groans, and Zhenya can feel the vibrations. He can’t help but thrust forward, can’t help but shudder at the way Sidney just opens up for him and takes it. It’s so beautiful. Sid’s beautiful.
Zhenya keeps up a litany of dirty praise as he fucks into Sidney’s mouth. Sid’s hands run up and down Zhenya’s thighs and back around to his ass. He feels the tips of Sid’s fingers dip into the crease of his ass, and that’s it, he’s coming down Sid’s throat with no warning whatsoever.
Sid takes it, knows how to take it, and only coughs a little. Zhenya can’t help then but to move down and kiss and lick the come right off his face. Sid hums happily.
Zhenya props himself up on his elbow and looks down at Sid’s sweaty, flushed face. He smiles before pushing at the elastic band of Sid’s pants and pushing them down Sid’s hips. Sid kicks his legs a little until they’re off completely. His cock his hard and red, and twitching against his belly. He looks so good.
“What about you, hm?” Zhenya asks him. “You want a chance to come?”
“Geno,” Sid pants. “God fucking dammit, you know I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”
Zhenya smirks. “I know,” he says soothingly, and runs his hand down Sid’s chest, grabs his cock. “But you’re still going to be good for me, aren’t you?”
Sid gasps and thrusts up into Zhenya’s hand.
“That’s it,” Zhenya tells him. “You’re going to come like this, my hand on your dick, my voice in your ear.”
He shifts so he’s lying half on top of Sid, and presses a thigh between Sid’s legs, thrusts down a little to give Sid something to rub up against.
“God,” Sid moans. “Oh fuck, Geno. I miss you so much, I hate that you’re being like this, oh god, oh fuck.”
“Shh,” Zhenya whispers. “Don’t lie, Sid. You love it.”
He punctuates his words with a twist of his wrist at the head of Sid’s cock. Sid gasps and writhes beneath him and it’s amazing. Zhenya leans down and licks Sidney’s neck, sucks a little on the sensitive spot beneath his ear.
“That’s it, Sidney,” he whispers. “Come now. Come for me.”
Zhenya smiles down at Sid, rubs the mess of come on his belly around, getting it everywhere.
Sid makes a face at him. “Really?”
Zhenya can’t help it--he laughs.
Sid shoves at his shoulder. “You’re such a fucking asshole. I don’t know why I like you at all. I really don’t.”
“Liar,” Zhenya tells him fondly, and kisses his shoulder.
Sid sighs and rolls over on his side so he can snuggle up against Zhenya. It feels nice. Zhenya wants to close his eyes for a little, wants to rest, wants to forget where they are and the amount of pressure that’s on him. Wants to be home in Pittsburgh.
“It’ll be okay,” Sid whispers.
Zhenya wants to believe him.
He must doze for a little, because the next time he opens his eyes the natural light in the room has changed.
Sid is awake next to him, scrolling through his phone, and he smiles down at Zhenya when he sees he’s awake.
“Time to go?” Sid asks.
It is, even though Zhenya wishes he could continue to hide out here.
The two of them slowly get out of bed and gather their clothing. When they’re dressed Sid walks him to the door, but pauses before unlocking it and letting them out.
He wraps his arms around Zhenya’s waist and hugs him tightly. Zhenya buries his face in the top of Sid’s head and hangs on.
“I’ll see you soon,” he says. The words get pressed into Zhenya’s chest like Sid is willing them to sink in.
After a long moment, Zhenya pulls back. Sid smiles at him and leans up on the tips of his toes to press a soft kiss against Zhenya’s mouth.
“Удачи,” Sid says.