Work Text:
Geno only lets Alex make him a Grindr profile that summer because Alex is still upset about Maria, because Alex's grin has a kind of manic, brittle quality that makes Geno sigh and hand over his cell phone with only a token protest.
Alex puts his name down as G. He adds a picture from one of Geno's fishing trips, one that he didn't post to Instagram because the angle is weird and most of his head is cut off, only the corner of a grin showing above his bare chest and some fat silver fish he doesn't remember the name of. Alex says he's athletic, loves animals and kids, is looking for Mr. Right as well as Mr. Right Now. It's weirdly sweet.
Then Alex tries to pick out some guys for Geno to message and Geno finally puts his foot down.
Geno doesn't open the app up again after that. He likes the anonymity of picking up in a bar, likes how language differences can be smoothed over with a filthy grin and some grinding on the dance floor.
(Sometimes he wonders what Sid does, if he uses Grindr, if he picks up guys in bars, or if his French-Canadians matchmake for him. Whatever he does, he's utterly discreet. They're friends, there's no one he would rather play hockey with, he would fling himself in front of a charging bull for Sid, but they don't talk about shit like this. They haven't since Sid was still the Kid and Geno could barely speak English, both of them too inarticulate to talk about any of the logistics but shyly pleased that they were not alone in this.)
Geno mostly forgets about it until they go to Washington to play the Caps. He has dinner with Alex and his Russian rookies, and he lets Alex talk him into one last drink at his house.
It starts with them sitting on Alex's couch, sipping good vodka from home, talking about hockey gossip and dogs and, then, somehow, Geno's love life. It ends up with Alex flipping through Grindr on Geno's phone, looking for guys he thinks Geno should message.
"Too young," Geno says, when Alex shows him the profile of a grinning, shirtless 19 year-old.
"Too old," he says to the grizzled beard of the next one Alex picks.
"Too boring," he says, even though the guy looks nice enough, silver-rimmed glasses and a blue button-down shirt.
Alex rolls his eyes and keeps flicking through photos. "Ah!" he says. "Perfect!"
He holds up the phone and Geno snorts. The guy hasn't included his face, just a shot of his chest, down to the tops of his thighs. He's wearing grey boxer briefs and the material clings to the outline of his -- all right, fine -- pretty impressive cock. He's holding his t-shirt up with one hand, baring the pale, cut muscle of his abs and chest. But it's -- there's something about it that catches Geno's attention, not just the fact that his body is exactly Geno's type, but the casual, easy confidence in the way he holds himself.
Alex waggles his eyebrows at Geno.
"Too cocky," Geno says, even if that's not quite the right word.
"So picky," Alex says with an exaggerated sigh.
"Not everyone has your low standards, Sasha," he says, without thinking, and then winces. But Alex just laughs and taps on another profile.
Geno doesn't let Alex message anyone. Alex calls him a cab before it gets too late. When he checks his phone in the cab, Geno realizes he still has the Grindr app open. He hesitates on that one profile again. Sam, it says. 27. 5'11", 200 lbs. Athletic, sports fan, history buff. Probably in your town for work.
Geno admires the utter self-confidence in Sam's picture. He thinks Sam probably knows exactly what he wants and isn't afraid to go after it. Also, he's hot. On a whim, Geno messages him. Nice dick, very handsome.
Then he taps out and checks his Instagram feed while they sit in traffic. He's not really expecting a response, but after a few minutes, he's got a new message notification.
Thanks, Sam says. Your chest isn't too bad either. ;)
Geno blinks, then remembers the picture Alex chose. Thanks, he says.
Sooooo. How bout those Caps? Sam says.
Geno makes a face at the phone. He doesn't want to talk about Alex and the Caps. Sorry, don't watch hockey.
Your loss, Sam says, with another smiley face. So what are you into?
Geno eyes the message for a minute. football fishing usual stuff, he says.
Cool, Sam says. You want to get a drink tonight?
Geno turns his phone over, lays it face down against his thigh and looks out the window. The cab inches forward. He takes a slow careful breath. He thinks Sam does not want to just talk about football over a beer. It's different from picking up a guy in a bar, it feels so much more deliberate.
Can't tonight, he says finally. Maybe just talk instead?
What do you want to talk about? Sam asks.
Well. Your cock.
Sam's response takes a minute, but it comes with a picture. Sam's wearing black boxer briefs this time, and he's gripping the line of his cock through the fabric.
Geno's dick gives an answering twitch. Nice, Geno says. Prettier without clothes yes?
Sam's naked in the next picture, gripping the base of his cock. He's not cut, the flushed head of his cock just peeking through his foreskin. Dark hair curls around his hand, trails away to nothing on his stomach. Heat washes over Geno's skin and he shifts, spreading his thighs wider.
Are you going to show me yours? Sam asks.
Can't, Geno says. In cab now.
Really.
Geno takes a picture of the back of the cab and sends it. The driver gives him a dubious glances in the rearview mirror, but says nothing.
So you want me to jerk off while you tell me what you want to do with my cock, Sam says, and you try not to come in the back of a cab?
Geno swallows. He's getting hard now, and Sam's right, this was maybe not the best plan. But it's hot, too, the idea that he can't touch himself but Sam can do whatever he wants. And fuck it, they've got to be close to the hotel, he can take care of himself when he gets back to his room.
Yes, he says.
OK, I'm into it, Sam says. So what do you want to with this?
He sends another picture, this time with his fist squeezed up under the head of his cock, a drop of precome beading up at the tip.
Geno licks his lips. Want to suck you, he says. Sam's cock is long and thick, and can picture the weight of it on his tongue, the stretch of his lips around it.
Mmmm yeah, Sam says. Can I fuck your mouth or should I be gentle.
Gentle first, Geno says. So I can go down whole way.
Shit really? Sam asks.
It's been a while since Geno's done that, but he wants it now, wants to take his time, wants to be on his knees with nothing to do but focus on taking Sam's cock all the way down his throat. Yes, he says. It's too hard to put that thought into English, to type out all the right words. Wish I could show.
Me too, Sam says. God that's so hot.
The cab darts forward to take advantage of an opening in the next lane, and it's a jolt to be reminded where he is. He's completely hard now, and he wants to reach down and adjust himself but he's afraid it would be too obvious.
You touch yourself? he asks.
Yeah, Sam says. He sends a picture from about hip level, one knee drawn up to brace his heel on the bed, his cock curving back against his stomach, his hand a blur.
Geno wishes he knew what Sam looked like, because he's got Sid's build, Sid's interests, and Geno keeps picturing him as Sid. Which is -- it's something he shouldn't do.
Can I come on your face? Sam asks, and Geno bites his lip so he doesn't make a noise.
Yes, he says.
Fuck, Sam says.
There's a long pause, and Geno thinks he should say something, but he can't think of anything hot or clever.
Sam sends a picture just as the cab pulls up in front of the hotel. Geno gets a flash of bare skin before he fumbles the screen off and digs out his wallet. He shoves money at the driver, not even bothering with change.
He opens the picture again in the elevator. It's Sam's body from his collarbones down to his thighs. His chest is flushed pink, and he's trailing his fingers through the come on his stomach. It takes Geno a minute to realize Sam's wearing a necklace, an 87 resting in the hollow of his throat.
Geno stomach swoops, and it feels like the world tilts a little on its axis. He goes back to Sam's profile. He's less than fifty feet away. Geno's heart is beating strange and fast in his chest.
The elevator doors open and Geno steps out automatically.
You owe me one now. ;) Sam says. Sid says.
He walks down the hall almost blindly. He finds Sid's door, knocks hard. Nothing happens. He knocks again, and finally Sid yanks the door open.
Sid's cheeks are red and his hair is a mess. He's wearing those black boxers and a t-shirt that's inside out.
"What?" he says.
A tiny, rational corner of Geno's mind says, Okay, but what if you're wrong? Geno doesn't listen to that part. He walks past Sid, turns at the foot of the bed to face him.
"You don't take necklace off," he blurts, holding out the phone with the last picture Sid sent.
Sid's face goes from confused to utterly blank. His straightens his shoulders and back like he's bracing for a hit, and Geno's heart sinks.
"I'm not know," he says.
Sid looks from the phone to Geno, and some of the hardness goes out of his expression. He takes Geno's phone, scrolls back through their conversation.
Geno feels like they're balanced on the edge of something, that it could become just one more thing they don't talk about, or--
"I owe you," he says.
He can hear Sid's sharp inhale. Sid's eyes go dark and he looks Geno up and down, lingering on the line of Geno's hard-on, pressed against his slacks.
Sid starts smiling, slow but genuine. "All right," he says, "show me yours."
Geno unbuckles his belt and shoves his pants and underwear down. He reaches for his cock, but Sid says, "Shirt, too."
Geno makes a frustrated noise, but he unbuttons it as fast as he can. He peels it off, and then he's standing naked in front of Sid. Sid is watching him, and Geno has to sit down, because his knees feel weak.
He spreads his thighs wide and wraps his hand around his cock. He can't bite back a groan at how good it feels. He's leaking all over his hand as he strokes himself, fast and rough. He watches Sid watch him, and he knows he's not going to last long at all.
Sid meets his eyes, and Geno comes. His eyes fall shut, the hot rush of orgasm turning his muscle to liquid. He feels more than hears Sid come to stand in front of him. He blinks his eyes open and looks up at Sid.
"I thought -- it sounded like you a little," Sid says. His mouth curves, a small, wry smile. "I wanted it to be you, I guess."
"Me, too," Geno says hoarsely.
Sid's smile gets wider and brighter, and Geno can't help smiling back.
He's still smiling when Sid cups his jaw and kisses him.