Dana refused to stock lube for them. “No fucking in the grooming area,” he said sternly, whenever Sid hinted around the issue, and after a while he started posting signs. They weren’t too effective at first, because Geno liked to pretend he couldn’t read, but then Dana added a version in Russian that made Geno squint and then glance guiltily over his shoulder, like maybe Dana would be hovering in the doorway with a disapproving look. Disappointing Dana merited a hefty fine.
The new sign deterred them for about a week. “We can’t,” Geno said, looking over at the sign when Sid cornered him by the sink and started kissing his neck. “Dana—”
“He’s not here,” Sid said, although he did turn around to make sure, and Geno wriggled away from him in the meantime and escaped to the showers.
Geno’s resolve crumbled pretty fast, and Sid had never had much in the first place. Wins got them both riled up, and waiting to get home or back to the hotel just… didn’t always happen. Especially on nights when Geno played well, and lately that was every night, so Dana’s signs were a noble but ultimately doomed attempt at maintaining decorum.
There wasn’t lube, but it usually wasn’t a problem. Geno was noisy enough even with just a couple of fingers that he provoked some vigorous chirping, and he got embarrassed and then mean to cover it up, so Sid tried not to fuck him at the rink for the sake of the poor rookies’ wallets and egos. They stuck to hands and mouths and sometimes Sid used hand lotion to fuck Geno’s thighs. Everyone went home happy.
Some nights called for a little extra, though.
When Geno came back to the bench after his second goal, early in the third, he plopped down beside Sid, grinning and victorious. He’d been on a tear all month, and Sid was so proud of him, playing some of the best hockey of his career and showing everyone how good he was, and Sid knocked his gloved hand against Geno’s knee and said, “I’ll do it tonight if you get a hat trick.”
Geno had been laughing at Horny yelling to himself in Swedish, still amped up after the goal, but now he focused in on Sid, instantly intent. His tongue dragged along his bottom lip. “Promise?”
“Get the hat trick,” Sid told him.
Geno was a competitive piece of shit and he wanted what Sid was offering. After he bagged the empty netter, he smashed Sid into his side on the ice and ducked his head to mutter, “You promise.”
“I promised,” Sid said, and Geno was flushed with more than exertion as they skated back to the bench.
Geno took off his gear and his shirt as soon as they were back in the locker room and started roaming around topless, sweaty and incredibly distracting. He never wanted to talk to the press after a win, and no way in hell was he going to do a post-game after a hat trick. He would never accept any credit for his successes, it was always luck or the team. It drove Sid crazy, but he had his own ways of rewarding Geno.
“Oh, shit,” Guentzy said, as Sid was taking off his pads before Jen let the media into the room. “You’ve got that look.”
“Better shower fast,” Sid said.
“Fuck,” Guentzy said, and then raised his voice and called out, “Guys! Code red!”
There was an immediate scramble for the change room. Sid rolled his eyes. He and Geno weren’t that bad.
Sid could do press with maybe a third of his brain. The remaining portion was devoted to thinking about Geno in the showers, which was probably where he had disappeared to: naked, wet, and soapy, scrubbing himself clean. He liked to shave after a game, standing at the sink with a towel knotted low on his hips, begging for Sid to untuck it and trail his fingers along the cut of Geno’s hip. Sometimes he liked to get Geno all worked up and leave him like that until later, but he wouldn’t do it tonight. He had promised.
Geno was there at the sink, shaving, when Sid finally finished with the press scrum. It was just how Sid had imagined: the towel scandalously low, Geno’s head tipped back as he got the spot right at the corner of his jaw. On the wall above the hand dryer, Dana’s sign banned all sex.
“Aw, God damn it,” said Rusty, who was doing his hair at the next sink over. “I need five more minutes—”
“Your hair’s fine,” Sid said. Geno had caught his gaze in the mirror and was busy giving Sid a slow onceover. Sid wasn’t wearing anything but his slides, and he knew Geno could see that he was interested.
“You horny assholes,” Rusty said, “this isn’t your—people are trying to—aw, come on,” because Sid had pressed himself against Geno’s back and gotten rid of the towel.
“Rusty, go away,” Geno said. He rinsed his razor beneath the tap and wiped his damp hands over his face, clearing away the few remaining traces of shaving cream. Sid kissed his shoulder and waited impatiently, his dick nudging between Geno’s thighs.
“Christ, I’m fucking going,” Rusty said, and as soon as the door swung shut behind him, Geno widened his stance and bent forward, bracing his forearms on the countertop to either side of the sink, forcing Sid to move around to the side to make room.
Sid’s face flushed with heat. Geno looked so good, his round ass, the long curve of his back, the sly look he gave Sid in the mirror that Sid couldn’t wait to wipe off his face. Geno wouldn’t be smirking by the end of it.
He slid one hand over Geno’s ass and squeezed. Geno dropped his head down, baring the back of his neck, and that made Sid burn hotter. They didn’t do this a lot during the season, because no matter what Geno said it did affect his skating, but he deserved it for that hat trick. Sid wanted to make him cry.
“You’re gonna be first star this month,” he said. “I hope you know that.” Every game was a highlight reel: Geno playing his heart out every night.
“No,” Geno said. He demandingly shoved his ass into Sid’s hand.
“You’re so fucking good,” Sid said, and maybe he was getting a little sappy now, but his feelings weren’t a secret to either of them. “Every night I watch you and I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to have you on my team.”
Geno opened his mouth, probably to protest or say something self-deprecating, but Sid preempted him by drawing his hand back for the first hit.
Sid’s palm made contact with a satisfying crack. Geno flinched, the muscles in his back tensing and then releasing as he forced himself to relax.
“Good,” Sid said. He smoothed his hand over Geno’s ass again, the soft skin. He liked it best when Geno was face-down over his lap, the way the unflexed muscles shook with each blow, but this was great, too, Geno staying down because he wanted it, Geno waiting for the next strike.
He didn’t like to get into a rhythm until Geno was desperate for it. He started off with random blows that Geno couldn’t settle into, slow and spread-fingered against Geno’s upper thighs, quick and hard on the meat of his ass. Geno quivered with every blow, and his breath came fast and rough, but he wasn’t lost in it yet. Sid was just warming him up.
He drew back after a few minutes to take stock. Geno’s ass was pink all over, starting to get red high on his cheeks where Sid had hit him the most, and warm to the touch. Sid slid one hand between Geno’s legs and Geno groaned, his cock hard in Sid’s grasp. He loved this, and Sid didn’t really know why, but he was happy to help out.
“Don’t stop,” Geno complained. He raised his head to glare at Sid in the mirror. His face was the same color pink as his ass.
“Wasn’t planning to,” Sid said, and smacked him hard, to watch his mouth fall open and his eyes close.
He went for it then, hitting Geno hard and steady. Geno had stopped flinching at every blow, sinking down into the sensation. Sid loved him like this, pliant and limp, the private Geno here in this public place. Geno was quiet and almost perfectly still, and Sid kept going as long as he could, until his palm was sore and stinging, and Geno’s ass was a bright, tender red.
“You done?” he asked mildly: an offer instead of a challenge. He rubbed Geno’s ass soothingly and then spanked him again, right at the top of his thigh—and that, finally, was what made Geno cry out and throw his head back.
Sid waited, tracing patterns on Geno’s flushed skin. Finally Geno said, hoarsely, “Not done.”
“Tell me,” Sid said.
Another pause. Geno wasn’t shy about this, just out of it, dazed and maybe trying to remember the right word. “Hairbrush,” he said at last.
Sid exhaled shakily. That was what he had been hoping for.
Dana stocked three hairbrushes of varying—whatever, bristle length, who the fuck knew; Sid never used them. He grabbed one at random, with a square paddle. Geno was watching him in the mirror, eyes glassy, mouth wet. Sid kept thinking he had maxed out, he loved Geno the most, as much as one person could possibly love another, and every time he proved himself wrong.
“I’m so proud of you,” he told Geno, and Geno dropped his head down again, because of all the things they did together, this was what Geno still struggled with: accepting Sid’s praise.
He started on Geno’s thighs, the sensitive crease right below his ass, not easing it at all but going straight into the sharp, constant blows Geno preferred. Once Sid was using anything other than his hand—a paddle, sometimes a belt—Geno didn’t like surprises. Sid followed the same routine every time, starting low and working his way up, touching Geno lightly with his free hand before he moved to a new spot. It was second nature by now, and the way Geno responded made Sid feel simultaneously powerful and utterly powerless. Geno was so relaxed and turned on, melting into it, starting to make little soft noises each time Sid hit him, and Sid still couldn’t quite believe that Geno trusted him to do this.
“You’re doing great,” he said quietly, pausing for a moment to run his hand over Geno’s skin, trying to gauge how much damage he was doing. The brush might leave some minor bruises, but no worse than that. He would make Geno spend some quality time with an ice pack later, once they were home. Geno’s ass was a perfect blushing red all the way to his upper thighs, the fat curve all pinked up and sore from Sid’s work. Sid couldn’t wait to see him wince around tomorrow, delicately lowering himself into his chair at breakfast.
“Keep going,” Geno pleaded.
Sid’s arm was starting to get tired. He switched the brush to his other hand and shifted around to get Geno from the other side. This was what Geno wanted, his reward, and Sid would keep going as long as he could, or until Geno told him to stop. He loved being able to give Geno what he wanted.
He deliberately lightened his blows after a while, because they had another game in three days, and he had a pretty good idea of what Geno could recover from in that time. The lighter, stinging strikes made Geno groan and reposition his feet, shifting around, and Sid wasn’t surprised when Geno reached down to start touching himself.
“I can keep going,” Sid said. He paused his blows and shook out his hand. “Or—”
Geno’s shoulder flexed as he stroked his dick. “Or?”
“Let me finger you,” Sid said. He wanted to do it so much, and listen to Geno’s noises. “Please. I’ll make it good. I won’t let the guys give you hard time.”
Geno sighed and put his hand back on the counter: giving in.
Sid, triumphant, ditched the hairbrush and pumped out a generous handful of lotion from the communal bottle by the sink. He smeared it all along the cleft of Geno’s ass, down to his heavy balls and back up, running his thumb firmly over Geno’s hole and then pushing in when Geno made an encouraging noise. The lotion was nice and greasy, and his thumb sunk in easily, Geno opening up for him so sweetly. He slid in as far as he could and scraped the nails over his free hand over the reddened skin of Geno’s ass.
Geno hissed and flinched away from him, dragged back out of whatever quiet mental place he’d gone to, back here with Sid. “Hey! Sid—”
“Okay,” Sid said. With his thumb sunk deep in Geno’s ass, he stroked his fingers behind Geno’s balls, and Geno gasped and clenched down on him, just perfect. “How’s it feel? More lotion?”
Geno shifted his hips, pulling away and then pushing back. “Maybe a little bit.”
Sid pumped out some more lotion and coated his hand, and pushed back in with two fingers, palm down, his thumb on the soft tender stretch behind Geno’s balls. He worked his fingers in and out, eyes on the pink stretch of Geno’s hole, listening to the little sounds Geno made, a gasp when Sid pushed in and a sigh when he drew out. Sid crooked his fingers downward, searching for the right spot.
“Up,” Geno said, “higher,” and then cried out when Sid finally found it.
“There,” Sid said, with a hot rush of self-satisfaction. He rested his free hand on Geno’s lower back, not really trying to hold him down, just wanting to touch him, and curled his fingers again.
Geno’s noises started off obscene and quickly veered into pornographic. He was going to be mad at Sid, probably, when he wasn’t so busy rocking back onto Sid’s fingers, because everyone could definitely hear him. Sid loved how loud he got and wasn’t sorry at all. He had made Geno come like this before, simply from getting fingered, and he knew that he wasn’t actually that awesome in bed, that Geno just really liked it, but he was still happy that he could make Geno feel so good.
“Sid,” Geno said after a while, and pushed up onto his elbows. He was trembling and his eyes were dark and he looked like he was pretty close, like it wouldn’t take much more to get him off. He pushed back onto Sid’s hand. “I need…”
“Tell me,” Sid said. He rubbed his erection against the back of Geno’s thigh, where the skin was red and swollen, too light to be more than a tease for himself, but Geno moaned. He would make Geno come and then maybe jerk off on Geno’s ass and rub his come into Geno’s sensitive skin, and he shoved his fingers in hard, thinking about it, the way Geno’s ass would look all wet and shiny with Sid’s come.
“Fuck me,” Geno said. He licked his lower lip and held Sid’s gaze in the mirror. “Okay?”
Jesus. Sid’s cock twitched. “We don’t have, uh.”
“It’s good enough,” Geno said. “Please, just a little bit—”
“What, just the tip?” Sid asked dryly, but Geno nodded and said, “Yes, okay, give me,” and Sid only had so much willpower.
Geno felt slick and soft from the lotion, and Sid slathered himself up as well as he could and pushed in slow, watching Geno’s body for any signs of discomfort. It was an easy glide. Sid bottomed out in the familiar tight heat of Geno’s ass, listening to Geno groan outrageously, and then pulled out all the way to add more lotion, just in case.
“Please,” Geno said, either trying to manipulate Sid or so far gone he was genuinely begging, and Sid didn’t really care which. He was pretty far gone, too.
“Okay, hold on,” he said tensely, biting his lip at how good his own greased-up hand felt, and then he was inside again, where Geno was so hot and soft and amazing, and squeezing the well-spanked flesh of Geno’s ass to make him sob.
Sid fucked him with slow rolls of his hips, his hands on Geno’s ass, squeezing him, holding him open to watch his cock sink in. Geno liked the feeling of Sid pushing into him, opening him up and sliding in all the way, liked the friction more than the fullness, and he moaned with each thrust, loud and shameless. Everyone out in the change room could hear him, everyone knew Sid was in here giving it to him good, and Sid could admit to himself that there was an element of masculine pride at work. He was good at two things: hockey, and getting Geno off.
Geno was easy, which helped. He came right away, bent over the sink and moaning, clenching almost uncomfortably on Sid’s dick. Sid fucked him through it, shallow thrusts until Geno was limp and spent, and then he pulled out again, because Geno would complain if he had to put on his suit pants while he was still leaking Sid’s come.
“Sid,” Geno said, making a long, satisfied groan of that one syllable. He pushed up onto his hands and glanced back at Sid over his shoulder. “You don’t come?”
“I will, just, uh.” Sid popped the head of his dick back into Geno’s ass—just the tip—to enjoy the sight of Geno stretched around him, pink all over. God. He was going to be hearing about this from the team for the rest of forever, and it was absolutely fucking worth it. Screwing Geno was practically a religious experience.
“Sid, my pants,” Geno said predictably, and Sid rolled his eyes and pulled out to stroke himself off until he did just what he’d imagined and came all over Geno’s magnificent ass.
“Now I need another shower,” Geno said, when the only sound in the room was Sid’s harsh breathing.
Sid laughed. “You can shower with me, and then we’ll get out of here.” He smeared his hand across Geno’s ass, making a mess out of him.
“Go home, ice my butt. Put lotion.” Geno straightened up and turned around to pull Sid into a kiss. Sid wrapped his arms around Geno’s neck and let Geno enjoy himself. There was probably come all over the sink. Dana was definitely going to be disappointed.
“I love you,” Sid said, because he told Geno every day, but he didn’t ever feel like he said it enough.
Geno pulled back to give him the fond look that still made Sid’s heart go pitter-patter, even after all this time. “Love you, Sid. How much we get fined?”
“Probably a whole lot,” Sid said. “Better stop getting hat tricks.”
“Maybe you get hat trick next,” Geno said. “What we do then?”
“Not sure, but Dana’s definitely gonna need a new sign,” Sid said, and Geno laughed and kissed him again.