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Sid felt both buoyant with happiness, to the point where he could hardly feel his skates on the ice, and hot and heavy with the looks that Geno keeps throwing his way. It was possessive, leaving him heady with arousal. He almost forgot himself when he pulled Geno into a hug. The heat in Geno’s eyes, so close to his own, made him want to touch, to kiss him, devour his mouth. He caught himself just in time, pulled back to reality by Betman going on and the crush of teammates around them, Carl’s face so close to theirs, making him pull back.

He was mollified for a while, content to revel with his team. He was struck by the perfect thought, and he dragged Geno over for a picture of them and the cup. He underestimated how he would feel, to see Geno’s lips caress the metal. He couldn’t take his eyes off of him if he tried. Settling for the next best thing, he leaned in unison with Geno, kissing the cup between them.

Fuck, it had never felt so right before. Geno, him, and the cup. This is where they were meant to be.

The rush of the media, the crush of the locker room, the sticky sweet smell of champagne, it all was a blur, until the team unloaded at the hotel, and Sid found himself bundled into an elevator with Geno, still clutching the cup close.

Sid’s not sure how he did it, but they were alone in the elevator.

All he could get out was a soft, “G -” before Geno had him crowded up against the wall, Cup snug between them. Geno’s hands pressed to the wall on either side of Sid’s head, caging him in. He dipped his head down, catching Sid’s lips in a chaste, yet perfect, kiss. Their lips were their only point of contact, connected only otherwise by the Cup. Always by the cup, by hockey.

The elevator dings at the floor that Geno had punched, and he wasn’t surprised to see the Geno had picked the floor with Sid’s room. He fell in behind Sid, hands on his hips, head bent to lick and suck at Sid’s neck. Sid held the Cup in front of him, concentrating on keeping it in his hands, even as Geno’s went wandering, dug deep into Sid’s pocket for the key card.

They stumbled as the door opens, not wanting to be far from each other, and stopped beside the open bathroom door. Sid drops the cup as gently as he can to the carpet as the door swings closed behind them. Geno’s hands caught on his sticky skin when he drags his shirt up over his head. A harsh breath left him when Geno’s hands slip into his loose trousers, his hips shuddering up into his touch as Geno palmed his dick, naked against in his hand.

Geno held him there, only his mouth moving on Sid’s neck, his tongue dragging over his muscles. Sid’s hips thrust up into Geno’s hand, and back onto the bulge of Geno’s dick.

“Fuck, G,” he gasped. “I can’t - I need you now.”

Sid can feel the smug smirk before Geno bit him hard, all along his shoulder blade.

“Go get clean,” Geno said, nudging Sid into the bathroom. “Shower.”

Sid went willingly, shoving his trousers and underwear passed his thighs as he goes, stepping out of them and into the shower stall. He turned the water on, stepping into the spray. He felt Geno move behind him, but was surprised to feel cold metal instead of warm skin.

Geno grinned at his baleful look.

“We’re going to get it messy. Now have easy clean up.”

Sid’s not sure how he could feel scandalized and so incredibly turned on at the same time. He left the decision too long, because Geno maneuvered the cup in front of Sid, out of the spray, and slid himself back behind Sid, rubbing his hard length into Sid’s ass. He reached around Sid, fondling him into complete hardness, before he slid his hands up Sid’s abs, thumbing a moment at his nipples, before smoothing down to his hands. He entwined their fingers and guided Sid’s hands to the wall, making him brace himself over the cup, his ass thrusting out invitingly. Geno was strong and firm at his back.

Geno guided his dick to thrust snuggly between Sid’s cheeks and nudge up against his balls. Geno’s left hand held firmly onto his hip and the other came around to pull at Sid’s dick. He tugged down and away from Sid and started to thrust in time with his hand.

The friction was intense. It was too much almost at once, but Sid didn’t want to stop. Geno’s pace was fast and brutal, and Sid quickly found the edge of his release.

He was almost there, teetering on the edge, when Geno leaned forward and grumbled into his ear.

“Gonna fuck you into the cup, Sid,” he growled, panting as arousal made his voice deep and horse. “Gonna make our come fill it up. Ready?”

And Sid, he was just a man, and he couldn’t hold back in the face of the image, the thought of filling the cup up with their come.

“Fuck,” he gasped out, his orgasm hitting him hard and fast. It crested in a hot wave, and he forced open his eyes from when they had closed out of reflex of his pleasure, not wanting to miss how his come hit the bowl of the cup. Geno came with a shout, seconds after, and Sid watched as his come covers his thighs and the cup in one go.

Sid leaned his head back to rest on Geno’s shoulder, savoring the moment. Geno took his mouth in a lazy kiss, tongues caressing as Geno’s arms slide around him, and his hands settled over them. For a few moments, they rested in each other, trading kisses and breaths.

They cleaned up slowly, rinsing off the cup, savoring their time together and the feeling of another Stanley Cup win after a long and hard season.