The bedroom is Sidney’s safe place, his escape, where the weight of being a captain and meeting expectations of the NHL is pulled from his shoulders with the strong, warm and welcoming arms of his husband of whom he can always surrender himself to. He can let Geno take the lead for a while and relax, let himself be held and kissed and touched and loved, Genos hand pressing his into the mattress as he meets his eyes and sighs his name like it’s sacred. 1/?
2/? The incoherent Russian falling from Genos lips is grounding, and his breath is hot against Sidney’s neck. He raises his free hand and grasps the back of Genos shoulder, closing his eyes, moaning into the empty room. He can’t pay attention to hockey, can’t worry or stress, every sense he has says “Geno Geno Geno.” Overwhelmed in the best way with his lover, whos rocking steadily into him, still squeezing his hand. It might hurt, but Sidney can’t feel it, his mind repeats “Geno Geno Geno.”