Sidney Crosby isn't the only omega playing in the NHL, but he is the only one suffering from heat-delay.

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.

Zhenya checks everything one last time: the artificial slick goes in the pocket of his jeans, and yes, the bottle of wine for Sid’s collection is nestled in a wood box in the back seat. He’d actually gone out and bought cream cheese to make a cheesecake on autopilot before he’d remembered – food is an alpha’s courting-gift, not an omega's. He'd thrown the cream cheese out, and bought the wine the next day.

“Here’s the key,” Gonch said after they got Sidney’s luggage out. “The doorman knows who you are. Are you going to be okay?” “I’ll probably be more than okay,” Sidney admitted. “Forget I asked.” In which Sidney spends his heat in Russia with his long-distance boyfriend, Geno.

“Sidney comes highly recommended,” Zhenya hears at the edge of his consciousness.

The inside of the car is hot. Someone should crack a window. Instead, Zhenya curls closer to Sid’s side. “Did you hear me?” “Hm?” Zhenya rubs his cheek against Sid’s hair. It’s damp and curling, almost soft. Sid huffs, sending fresh eddies of his scent whirling. “I asked why your heat suppressants stopped working.”

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.

“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.”

"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.

At the 2014 Olympics, Russia injected Zhenya with a bond blocker, same as the last two times he'd been to the games. Only this time, it brought him to his knees and left him gasping, feeling like his soul was ripped from his body. As an unbonded omega, the shot should have no effect. It should have only targeted an active bond. Unbeknownst to Zhenya, Sid collapsed on the ice at the same time.

In which Evgeni Malkin comes to America as one of the few omegas in pro hockey, lights up the NHL, and spends a lot of time wondering why Sidney Crosby is so damn weird.

“I deserve to suffer.” “Sorry to hear American alphas aren’t good enough for your fussy little Russian asshole,” Seryozha says. “Now, stop pouting. Just because you think you need to suffer, doesn’t mean I’m going to suffer through all your drama with you. God knows you’re already insufferable enough on normal days.” Zhenya spends a few more seconds definitely Not pouting, no matter what the sullen purse of his lips might suggest.

Geno is a beta. That doesn't mean he isn't the team's omega.

Sid growls. He can’t help it. It’s wrong. Malkin is whimpering and crying and struggling against his restraints. His scent is all fear and chemicals and something deeper, something dark and oppressing. Sid thinks it’s anger but it’s too bitter to try and get a proper read on.

Evgeni Malkin goes into rut on the ice in North Dakota.

Sid has had a lot of strange meetings as the captain of the Penguins but this is by far the strangest. “You want to me to do what?” Sid asks, hoping he’d misheard Mike. ***** Sidney Crosby goes off his suppressants for a chance at the Stanley Cup and love.

It was hot, and Sid felt kind of weird about thinking it was hot. This guy was screwing himself on camera for money. That wasn’t really Sid’s scene. He closed the browser window. Fine for other people, but not his thing.

“You’re an investment,” Pat had told Sid over and over. “You’re a talent, and we’re not letting the league freeze you out for this.” The NHL demands omegas be bonded to play. Sid, unwilling to lose hockey, agrees to enter into a bond with the Penguins' draft prospect Evgeni Malkin. It does not go as they planned.

It’s been decades since a Switch was of enough importance and interest to society to be documented so no one cares much anymore. But also, no one really knows how to handle it. All the doctors he’s ever been to just caution him to be careful as he grows and learns.

Jonny's not expecting his heat to come on so suddenly. And he's definitely not expecting to be in a broken elevator when it does.

Kissing and dentata.

Geno has always been up in Sid’s personal space. Geno has been known to delight in the fact that he’s accepted there before when most people aren’t, so it isn’t a surprise to have Geno plastered to his back while they are waiting on an early morning flight.

Sidney holds out his hand and they shake. They don’t bond then, although people like to think that’s when it happened.

As a prince and an alpha, Geno needs to get bonded before he turns thirty. With his birthday fast approaching, he returns to Russia to find a suitable omega. The only problem is that Sid has secretly been in love with Geno for years.

If it's a choice between bonding and hockey, Zhenya is going to choose hockey every time.

Sidney would really like to be able to draw the line at being sexually attracted to his breath mints. Or, when Sidney was forced to do a whole lot of growing up

"The lawyers have found a pretty good loophole," Pat said. "It's not a loophole, it's a long-standing cultural tradition," Mario said, glancing at Sidney. "It's a fucking loophole," Pat reiterated. "But it's a great one."

“What is it that you do, Omega Malkin?” Sid says eventually, tired of the guessing game. Apparently, he’s asked a controversial question. There’s a tension in the air. Mrs. Malkin starts giving a very particular look to her son and Omega Malkin shifts in his seat and straightens his spine like he’s gearing up for a fight. “Hockey,” Omega Malkin says evenly. Sid’s fork slips from his grip and clatters against his plate. He looks up and across the table at Omega Malkin. -- or; Sidney Crosby is an unbonded werewolf. So is Evgeni Malkin.

Geno is too injured to go to the 2017 All-Star Game, which would be bad enough if that wasn't also the weekend of Sidney's scheduled heat. Luckily, Alex Ovechkin is more than willing to help Sid through it.

“What happened?” Sid croaks to the nurse. “Can I play hockey?” She pauses where she’s fixing the heart rate monitor on his finger. “The doctor will be in to see you in the morning,” she tells him. “It’s good you’re awake, sweetheart. Your alpha was very worried about you.”

Geno’s ready for his rut. Sid isn’t.

Going into heat during the Stanley Cup Finals, Geno only needed a way to get through one game, so he turned to Sid. If Sid could get him off between periods, Geno was certain he could resist his greater need until they were done.