i know coach geno commercial led to sid basically tackling geno and begging to get sid pregnant
mmmmmhm.
Sid has spent most of his professional career pretending that he doesn't have omega instincts.
Not that he isn't an omega—he couldn't avoid that if he wanted to, not with the emphasis every coach, teammate, team employee, and member of the media has put on it since he was old enough to be worth paying attention to.
Omega Breaks Oceanic Scoring Record.
First Omega Drafted First Overall.
Omega Captains Team Canada to Gold.
It's never just about Sid and his accomplishments, there's always a qualifier attached. When he didn't win the Calder, it was treated as a given, even by his parents, that it would go to an alpha instead. When they won the Stanley Cup the first time, it was because the alphas on the team were led by their instincts to push the team to victory after Sid got hurt. On and on, for well over a decade now.
Some omegas, the younger guys that have broken into the league in the intervening years, lean into it. They bat their eyelashes at reporters after bad games and inject their voices with just the slightest omega coo; it's not as effective at deflecting criticism now, but it still works.
Sid manages by pretending he's made of plastic.
He doesn't like to buy into his own hype, but he's pretty sure it's an objective fact that he was subject to far more scrutiny than any other player in the league right now, from a much younger age. People used to try to go through his parents' trash cans to figure out his heat cycles, and his first few years in the league he couldn't so much as go out for lunch with teammates without IS CROSBY READY TO SETTLE DOWN—WITH AN AMERICAN??? headlines being plastered all over Sportsnet.
It was easier to act like he had no interest in alphas at all, no desire to settle down, nothing on his mind but hockey 24/7. It didn't make the attention go away entirely, but it helped a lot.
It's also a lie. But just because Sid keeps his bond bite hidden doesn't mean he doesn't have one, and it doesn't mean he doesn't get swept up by his biology on a semi-regular basis.
Like now.
Sid and Geno had been basically frog-marched into attending Ovechkin's Cup party in Moscow. They were both licking their wounds after losing their shot at a three-peat, but politics in Russia are indifferent to personal pride, so Geno had been required to show his face—and Sid was not about to let him deal with that alone. They decided to spend a few weeks there, let Geno manage some business in town with his Russian sponsorships, then escape to the private island they've been renting for a few weeks annually since they bonded to sweat out Sid's heat in the sunshine and privacy.
Sid hadn't anticipated what watching Geno skate around with a bunch of kids for a commercial would do to him, though.
Sid squeezes his thighs together and thanks whatever made him decide to sit far back in the stands when they got here this morning. He stinks of pre-heat, strongly enough that even he can smell it, and if he were any closer to the ice he's not sure he'd be able to stop himself from barreling out there and bodily dragging Geno back to the locker room.
He should text Geno what's going on and get back to the apartment somehow. His Russian isn't great, but he's pretty sure he could find the nice omega coordinator they met earlier today and ask her to call a beta driver from the car service for him.
Instead, though, Sid sits and watches as Geno play-wrestles with the kids between takes, chasing them around and tickling them when they get too close. A few of the little boys gang up on him and Geno lets them take him down to the ice, yelling about boarding as he flails around amid a pile of giggling children.
Christ.
Sid must zone out a little bit, because suddenly the coordinator is tapping urgently at his shoulder. "Mr. Malkina?" she asks, and Sid has to suppress a full-body shudder. The Russian habit of referring to omegas like their bondmates' property had grated at first, but with Sid in pre-heat it sounds like the best thing he's ever heard. "Evgeni Vladimirovich is done, he changes now. I can take you to the room?"
Sid clenches his jaw and resists the urge to run down to the locker room. If he does that, they'll never leave, and Sid knows it's better for both of them if they make it back to Geno's apartment. "Can you take me to the car?" he manages, swallowing as images of Geno showering flash in his mind's eye. "Tell him I'm waiting for him, I—"
The coordinator's eyes widen as she flares her nostrils and inhales. "Oh, of course," she says hurriedly, rising to her feet and gesturing for Sid to follow. "I will call for, ah, safe driver."
Sid's not sure how long he waits in the car, but by the time Geno slides into the seat next to him and barks something at the driver he's starting to sweat.
The drive back to the apartment is a blur, but Sid remembers Geno hustling him out of the car, his hand hot at the small of Sid's back as he rushes them through the lobby and onto an elevator. Geno's in the penthouse, all the way at the top of the building, and by the time the door chimes and slides open Sid's dizzy with their combined scents rising in the enclosed space.
When Geno practically throws him onto the mattress, Sid whines and bares his neck, spreading his thighs in invitation.
"Fuck," he hears Geno mutter. "Sid, malysh, what's wrong? You're not due for, like, week and a half I think, when we're on vacation."
Sid gathers his thoughts together through force of will alone. "Watching you," he replies, the purr under his words drawing Geno closer until Sid's practically flattened into the mattress under him. "You're so good with the kids today, and...fuck, Geno, I need you to put a baby in me."
It can't happen. Sid doesn't really want it to happen, and neither does Geno. Sid's on industrial-strength birth control, and they'd agreed years ago to wait until they were done playing.
His words still hit Geno like a lightning bolt.
"Oh, you want baby," he croons, pulling back to tug Sid's sweatpants down. "You want I give you my knot until you're knocked up, yes? Make you take until you're full, keep you that way?"
"Fuck, yes," Sid gasps, fumbling at the drawstrings of Geno's joggers until Geno takes pity on him and undoes his pants.
They're both still more than half-dressed. But when Geno pins Sid's knees up by his shoulders and pushes into him, sinking his teeth into Sid's neck with a sub-vocal growl that knocks through Sid's brain and sends him down so fast his muscles practically go liquid, it hardly matters.
Sid's last coherent thought is that they're probably going to need to reschedule their flights.
i KNOW people have lives and i know its not practical and blah blah blah but as someone who loves constantly talking to people even when im busy it SUCKS when so many of the people i wanna talk to just dont respond or when they do its like every 10-15 business days
Sooooo, I'm in need of a little socialisation and creative outlet before my sanity disappears. And seeing as I still have five days before I have to go back to work. . . did anyone want to send me their thirsty thoughts, or thoughts in general, questions also, about our bald-headed demon of a boyfriend Feyd-Rautha?
Or any of the boyfriends I write for. . .
anons are welcome, as are gifs and links if that you think i need a visual to truly understand your thoughts xD
also totally no pressure just tagging people that might be interested
@peggyao3 @sandwormrp @psycheetamore @houserautha @jjubilee-fluff @moonbeammist
