There are plenty of people in the world who are better at sex than Sidney, basically everybody who's tried to do it more than three times and got past handjobs, so when he decides he needs some help, he seeks out experts--or rather, sexperts.

Geno had arrived in Pittsburgh looking every minute of the nineteen hour flight from Helsinki, plus however long he’d been in transit between there and his run from the KHL. Sid had been standing next to Mario, watching the new arrival expectantly, even though he didn’t think Geno was a threat. The other wolf had spent too much time negotiating on his own behalf to be allowed into another pack’s territory, and even more to be allowed to play with the team. But all the same, new wolves made Sidney antsy.

Ringing the changes on phone sex.

Sidney’s wedding day doesn’t go quite as he’d planned. When he’d bothered to imagine it at all, he’d thought of a nice June wedding in Nova Scotia, outdoors with the sun streaming down. He hadn’t imagined this hurried affair on the tarmac on a rainy and unseasonably cool day in early September, a month after his twenty-fifth birthday.

Sidney Crosby gets hit on the head and wakes up with extra memories.

In an alternate universe where everyone is either a Dom, a Switch, or a sub, the NHL is one of the few major sports that allows co-dynamic teams. Sidney Crosby, Patrick Kane, and the other hockey-playing subs are happy of this fact, but dealing with the stress of being a professional hockey player on top of the stress of being a sub in a Dom-dominated world brings more complications then most of them expected.

After one scandal too many, Patrick Kane gets traded. Eventually it stops being the worst thing to ever happen to him.

Of all the things Sid expects to see Geno doing when he walks into his house, it certainly isn’t sitting on his couch knitting. (Or; the one where Geno is a secret stress knitter.)

There's a curse mark on the back of Sidney's neck.

In this rewriting of history, Sid gets an experimental treatment for his concussion that has some rather unusual side effects. Geno helps him out. There are complications.

Geno's not gonna lie, this is totally working for him. The idea of wearing this and standing over Sid in heels while Sid mouths his cock, elastic edges of the panties pulled down to slightly cut in under his balls, is so hot that he needs to put his computer down for a bit and go fetch some tissues.

"Sid," Geno said, jogging down the stairs two days later. "You not like jizz. Is like shoes thing, or like chunky peanut butter thing?" Sidney had strong feelings about his shoes, but he grudgingly acknowledged that manufacturers continued to issue updated models every few months, so his running shoes were never quite the same even though he always bought the same brand and style. Chunky peanut butter, on the other hand, was inviolate. You did not fuck with the chunky peanut butter. Or, as I titled the document, Jizz: a love story.

Everyone is concerned about Sidney and Geno. It takes awhile for Sidney to figure out what everyone is talking about, though.

The State of Marriage by iBear read aloud. 3hrs20mins. Geno will always love his country. Even if it doesn't always love him back.

In which Sidney Crosby discovers twerking and decides it'd be a good idea to add it to the Penguins' workout routine, and Paulie knows exactly who to blame.

The further adventures of Sidney Crosby, Professional Troll, as told by Beau Bennett. A sequel of sorts to Drop it Low, but it also stands alone.

Sidney grows up hearing about the types of soulbonds, and every time someone gets gushy about them Sid just rolls his eyes and goes back to whatever it was that he was doing. Does he want a bond? Yeah, of course, but - after hockey; only after hockey. Some of the guys are already bonded, and that’s awesome for them. Sid likes all of their bondmates, they’re all awesome. But for Sid, it’d just be something else to distract him from the game.

Sidney’s wedding day doesn’t go quite as he’d planned. When he’d bothered to imagine it at all, he’d thought of a nice June wedding in Nova Scotia, outdoors with the sun streaming down. He hadn’t imagined this hurried affair on the tarmac on a rainy and unseasonably cool day in early September, a month after his twenty-fifth birthday.

“Geno? Are you okay? Physically,” Sid asks, which is good, because Zhenya doesn’t think he can put into words how he’s feeling emotionally. He imagines saying, The person I’ve loved for ten years finally took me to bed last night, but it turns out he didn’t want to, and now I can read his mind. No, thank you. “Feel fine,” Zhenya answers. “Even head feel fine.” And suddenly he realizes how fucking odd that is: he was concussed, and the room is brightly lit – he should be hiding under a blanket right now. He narrows his eyes and asks, “Sid, why head feel fine? What happen to concussion?” Sid takes a halting step closer to the bed and says, “Our bond, it’s—it’s a healing bond.” “Holy mother of God,” Zhenya breathes. So. They’re definitely not breaking the bond, then.

When Taylor is old enough, her dad starts making noises about getting her a bond. He's apparently found someone who is willing to "discreetly" get her an asymmetrical bond and forge reciprocal paperwork for it. When Taylor mentions it to Sid, too excited to pull off sounding anything but, he lets slip a plaintive "No."

Beyond that door is a boy Sid has skated with six times, and spoken to twice. He’s a year older than Sid is, and drugged out of his mind on Bonding agent.

Sidney doesn’t realize it’s a new superstition when it happens; there’s no reason he would. It’s just the team on an outing before their fifth game against Ottawa, everyone loose and easy and ebullient. When they’re heading out to get some sleep, Geno gathers Sidney close, even closer than his usual, and Sidney can’t help smiling back, basically happy about everything. Geno’s an affectionate guy, and if he tends to get a little extra affectionate with Sidney, well, Sidney never minds.

Ninety percent of everyone's problems could be solved by a robot that just texted NO to hockey players on a regular basis. Unfortunately, Sidney didn't have a robot.

On the government's classified mutant register—and on the NHL's records—Sidney is listed as Sidney Patrick Crosby, Nova Scotia, Canada: Class Two. Death visions, skin contact required.

On the one hand, it's pretty much the weirdest turn of events to ever hit the world in the history of ever. On the other hand, at least it happened during the off-season.

“So I say, before I’m thinking through, I say am getting married,” Geno says and glances up at Sid and then back down again. “They say to American?” Geno seems reluctant to continue. Sid’s stuck on trying to figure out who Geno is marrying and why he didn’t tell Sid about it. “I say, ‘no, to Canadian.'” Sid makes a face. Because seriously, Sid feels like he would’ve heard if Geno was dating someone that seriously. But then again, he had no idea Geno had a kid until he was sitting in a hotel room in fucking Finland. “Who?” Sid finally asks when Geno seems like he’s not going to continue. Geno takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “You.” “Me what?” Sid asks stupidly. or The summer Russia invaded Ukraine and Geno had to marry Sid: a love story.

“Geno? Are you okay? Physically,” Sid asks, which is good, because Zhenya doesn’t think he can put into words how he’s feeling emotionally. He imagines saying, The person I’ve loved for ten years finally took me to bed last night, but it turns out he didn’t want to, and now I can read his mind. No, thank you. “Feel fine,” Zhenya answers. “Even head feel fine.” And suddenly he realizes how fucking odd that is: he was concussed, and the room is brightly lit – he should be hiding under a blanket right now. He narrows his eyes and asks, “Sid, why head feel fine? What happen to concussion?” Sid takes a halting step closer to the bed and says, “Our bond, it’s—it’s a healing bond.” “Holy mother of God,” Zhenya breathes. So. They’re definitely not breaking the bond, then.

Some people get mean when they drink. Some people get quiet, or loud, or weepy. Sid gets… well.

Sid had been simmering all day and now he was ebullient, a full boil, about to spill over. set after the October 12th, 2013 Lightning game

Four dreams Geno accidentally shared.

Conor's not exactly sure what the protocol is when the namemark on your wrist belongs to best player in the world (and your new captain), and you're an undrafted kid out of UMass. Do you wait for him to say something first? Yeah, better wait for him to say something first.

Sidney takes care of his wolves.

“You know how I said I, uh. Spend a lot of time in the lake? Back home?” “Yes,” Zhenya said cautiously. Yes, Sid had told Zhenya that he was an inhuman fish creature. Zhenya had mostly recovered.

Very occasionally, the captain of a hockey team goes into heat and needs to be lovingly gangbanged by his team to knock him up with as many babies as possible. This year it's Sid's turn.

Sid’s gotten pretty used to total strangers asking him what he’s trying to prove, or telling him he wasn’t raised right, and they always expect it to bother him. He doesn’t tell them he hears much, much worse on the ice. When shit gets even worse than usual—when a ref calls him a brat when he’s arguing a call, when another team’s goon tries to put him on his knees five times a game—he sits on the bench and presses down on his chest protector, feeling the shape of the captain’s ring on its chain around his neck, until he doesn’t feel like throwing up anymore. Sid’s never had a dom, not even for a night, but he has his team, and that’s enough. That’s more than enough.

“Is normal,” Geno says firmly. “Nealer has stupid hair, Tanger has dumb tattoos, Sid has no dick.” Sid laughs. “I have six dicks, I don’t wear them for hockey,” he says.

Sid came over for dinner a few nights later with an unanticipated bouquet of pink roses and hovered by the kitchen island while Zhenya put the flowers in water. Zhenya’s heart pounded in his chest. Flowers were a clutching gift; pink flowers— “Geno, uh,” Sid said, and Zhenya’s hands trembled slightly as he fussed with the blossoms. “I know it’s way too soon, but. Do you want to?”

sea_salt_waves said: I've been having all these feelings lately about a human Geno falling for sexually-repressed incubus!Sid who pays sex workers to jerk off for him and has never been in a relationship before, with all kinds of insecurities and pining… ... I didn't stick to the prompt perfectly, but it was definitely my inspiration. I hope you enjoy!

Geno was in pre-heat when he showed up at the rink: Sid could smell it on him. Geno swanned into the locker room with his head held high, kind of glowing with self-satisfaction, and smelling ripe with it, right on the edge of tipping over.

The package arrives the day after Sid gets back to Pittsburgh. Sid recognizes the discreet wrapping, and the lack of a return address is so obvious they might as well have printed Sex Toys R Us all over the damn box.

“Sid,” Geno says. “Team lonely.”

Peters clapped him on the shoulder. "Try to find a way to...if not relax, then decompress. Take a day for yourself once in a while, don't worry about hockey or school or anything." Sid hesitated. "Is that an order, or...?"

Geno and Sid are stuck missing the All-Star Game because they've had their genitals temporarily rearranged. It happens. They make the breast of it.

Geno doesn’t quite understand why Sid likes to keep sex to a minimum during the pre-game period. Sid claims that he likes to focus on just feeling his muscles move and thinking about getting his head in the right space to play. Geno would much rather just get off. As a result, Geno can’t really commiserate with Sid about how his sex drive picking up is a problem, which might make him a bad boyfriend, except for the fact that he totally accepts being cut off for a lot of the play-offs so he’s an excellent boyfriend, thank you very much.

Sid’s been dropping subtle clues for years, it feels like, but Geno’s never picked up what he’s thrown down. So when the perfect opportunity presents itself—well, he’d have to be an idiot not to take advantage. The conversational topic is Things That Have Disappointed You in the Bedroom. Sid has this all wrapped up, to be honest. “Guys with big dicks,” he says flatly, and Tanger spits his beer all over the table. (OR: The Bedroom Adventures of Sidney Crosby, Troll)

In which Geno is a famous porn star and Sid needs money to pay for hockey gear. “Did you just introduce yourself to my ass?”

Tipping back in the chair, Sid craned his neck to look up at him. He inhaled through his nose and caught the warm-metal scent of Geno’s post-heat bleed. “I can help you with that, too,” he murmured.

"I think I have to get bonded," Sid said in a hollow voice, cutting off Geno's building outrage. "Wait, what?" Geno asked, mind jumping like a car on a blown tire. "To who?" "Anybody." Sid's eyes were unfocused, staring through the wall in front of him. "I don't know. I just need to bond." "That's a story," Geno scoffed. He had always thought they had good sex education in Canada, but apparently, the rumors persisted there, too. "You don't stop heat if you bond." "Heat?" Sid asked, eyes squinched up curiously. "G—I'm not. You know I'm an alpha, right?" *** Or five times Sid couldn't bond with an omega and one time he did.

“Sid, I’m so—I’m sorry,” Geno said. “My stupid—I’m ruin everything, I—” “Shut up, Geno,” Sidney said, already intensely weary of listening to Geno’s self-recrimination. “You’ve barely even done anything.” Geno’s voice dropped what sounded like an entire octave. “But I want to.”

The first Zhenya heard about it was an email from Sidney in the middle of August.