Log in

No account? Create an account
Previous Entry Share Next Entry
Doctor's Orders, 1/1
Title: Doctor's Orders

Fandom: NHL RPS

Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin

Summary: "He’s doing the usual post-game media scrum, happy with the win over the Islanders, when a couple of the reporters suddenly look a little uncomfortable and Sid realizes his nose is bleeding again. He laughs it off, wiping his nose on his sleeve."

Length: 1,800 wordsish

Warnings: what do I know about medical science even

Notes: So, Sid really did take a puck to the face last night, and after I finished dying over the Hawks/Sharks game, I immediately wrote this. With love for the Hoyden, who betaed it before she told me she liked it, for asleepunderpurpleskies, who said DUH when I asked her if she'd stay up to audience it, and for Moonklutz, who told me I had to title it thusly. Etc etc <3 <3 <3

He’s doing the usual post-game media scrum, happy with the win over the Islanders, when a couple of the reporters suddenly look a little uncomfortable and Sid realizes his nose is bleeding again. He laughs it off, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

"Sorry, guys. Am I still gushing? I can't tell," he says. They ask a few more questions, easy enough to answer with the right and conveniently true soundbites, giving Flower his props, the PK team. They're pretty eager to wrap up and Sid's grateful. It's not too bad- his nose isn't broken, and the trainers had just kept passing him gauze in handfuls, which, more than anything he's grossing himself out. Bleeding might be part of the game, but Sid's not overly fond of it.

But still, he wants to get packed up quickly, since they're trying to get them back to Pittsburgh before one, which is a thing he can get behind whole heartedly. Short road trips are always worse than long ones in his opinion- it's all starts and stops and forgetting things, unlike the really long road stretches where it's second nature to double check for chargers and razors and socks under the bed. He's ready for his own bed.

"Hey, Sid," one of the trainers says, right at his elbow.

He glances up and there's a giant ziploc bag of gauze rolls and a couple of pop-and-shake cold packs. "Oh, thanks," he says, reaching for it.

"No problem," Phil says. "If you're a restless sleeper, maybe put some pillows around your body tonight, keep yourself from rolling over, smashing your face into the pillows, you know."

"For sure," Sid agrees automatically, though he's pretty sure once he gets to bed he's going to be dead to the world, no worries about that.

Geno comes over and sits next to Sid, peering at his face. "Sid okay?" he asks, though there's a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth that suggests he thinks it's maybe a little funny. "Tough guy, bleeding, playing anyway."

Sid rolls his eyes at Geno. "I'm fine," he says, for the hundredth time.

"We're all just worried about your beautiful mug," Duper coos at him. "Captain Handsome."

Sid can't help but make a face, his nose wrinkling up in distaste, instinctively, and he winces immediately. Not a thing he can do right now, got it.

"Okay?" Geno asks, and whatever smile was on his face before is gone.

"Yeah, yeah, fine," Sid says.

Geno stares at him like Sid's trying to pull a fast one on him or something. "Sid have to be careful, can't make funny face," he says finally.

"All of his faces are funny, G," Flower chirps, walking by.

"Big words from a man with a soul patch," Sid mutters, gingerly rubbing at his nose while Geno looks at him disapprovingly.

They load onto the bus to the airport, and Sid doesn't think he's imagining the way Geno keeps... hovering over him.

Well, not literally, they're all sitting, but he'll just keep catching Geno watching him, eyebrows knit together. Maybe his nose i's starting to bruise, and he just looks really weird, is all. He catches his reflection at the airport though, and it's still just kind of red, like he's been out in the cold. But Geno is sort of always to the right, hand just shy of Sid's elbow, a step behind. And granted Sid took a shot to the head tonight, but it was a puck- all totally superficial damage. But he remembers Geno being right there, close enough to touch, close enough to see the blood hit the ice, and Sid can imagine what it would have been like the other way around, Geno flat on the ice, the bright splash of red under him. Sidney's stomach clenches, and he thinks maybe he'd be a little... protective too, a little less likely to let Geno out of his sight.

It's actually a little nice, because Geno puts out heat like a furnace, and at this distance, it's like there's just a hint of temperature difference between the sharp, cold air on the tarmac and how he feels, imperceptibly warmer. It's probably all in his head, anyway.

Sid sort of thinks Geno is going to offer to switch with someone, but he doesn't, just keeps going toward the back of the plane, and Sid tells himself that that's only to be expected.

It's hardly a moment from New York to Pittsburgh, the time easily taken up by three old episodes of Friends, as Sid methodically works his way through a re-watch, trying not to laugh too loudly as Phoebe screams that she needs more bandages. He just shoves one of the gauze rolls up what seems to be the leaky side of his nose and does his best to ignore it. It more or less works.

It's about a quarter to one when they touch down at the airport, and despite still being pretty pumped up about a four win streak, no one's talking about doing anything other than crashing, hard. Sid is all about this plan, not really thinking about anything more than sleep when Geno falls into step with him.

"Sid going home?" Geno asks him.

Sid stares for a second, because he's actually a little confused here. "Yeah?"

Geno huffs under his breath. "To Sid's house or Mario's house?" he tries instead.

Oh. "The guest house, I mean, there are beds in my house, I just don't think they have like, sheets or anything," Sid explains.

Geno hums to himself, then nods decisively. "Sid comes home with me."

"What?" Sid asks, eyebrows going up.

"Sid bleed to death from nose in guest house, take days to find body. Big mess," Geno says, earnestly and it honestly takes him a second or two to realize Geno's fucking with him.

"Oh, ha ha," Sid says, rolling his eyes and elbowing Geno. "Very funny."

"But I take Sid to my house. Will drive if you get black eyes." Geno says, gesturing at Sid's face.

Sid frowns, because he hadn't thought the bruising would be that bad as to affect his vision but- no sense in taking a chance, he supposes. "Okay. If you're sure."

"Of course sure," Geno says and so Sid lets him drive them both to Geno's house, and even as tired as he is, there's a certain something to Jeffrey greeting them both, delirious with joy. Geno takes the brunt of the affection, but Sid gets a big, drooly, effusive lick to the hand, too.

"Go, change," Geno says, divesting Sid of the bag full of gauze and cold packs and shooing him upstairs.

Sid goes, willingly enough, just barely done brushing his teeth, watching the bruise on his nose purpling, when Geno knocks on door of the guest bedroom Sid sort of thinks of as his.

"Come in," Sid says, poking his head out of the bathroom.

"Sit," Geno says, patting the edge of the bed next to where he sits himself. In his hands are one of the cold packs and a washcloth that looks damp. "Sid need to ice."

"I'm fine," Sid insists, even as he obediently sits down next to Geno.

Geno just gives him a look and proceeds to carefully dab at Sid's face, the washcloth warmer than he thought it'd be, even if it's not exactly warm anymore. There are a few little pink streaks on it when he finally pauses in his work.

Sid has meekly let Geno push him around to ease Geno’s mind for long enough though, when Geno tries to hold the totally unnecessary ice pack to Sid's face for him.

"Geez, Geno, quit it, seriously. I'm fine," Sid says, trying to lean away. "You'd think it was your face, not mine."

Geno just reaches up to hold the back of Sid's neck, keeping him still, his hand warm and huge resting over the nape of his neck, the pad of his thumb resting just behind Sidney's right ear. Sid feels a little breathless for no good reason when that thumb strokes down the column of his neck softly.

"I like Sid's face best," he says, shrugging, that inviting hint of a smile in the corners of his mouth. "Making sure is okay."

Sid can feel his cheeks flush. "Oh," he says, dumbly. Because maybe he's been reading this- been reading them wrong for a while now. Because this is-

"Yes," Geno agrees. He takes away the ice pack, and slowly, purposefully, leans in to kiss Sid.

Geno’s not tentative, but he is careful, and under that Sid can feel an honest, deep stirring of want, of need that's echoed by the hot, dizzy clutch somewhere behind his navel that means Sid wants this too, without a doubt.

"Oh," Sidney breathes out, when Geno lets him up for air and Geno smiles, warm and perfect- Sid is... Sid is a goner.

Geno kisses Sid's forehead, letting his lips linger there. "Good," he whispers. "You agree."

"I do," Sid says, because he wants more, he wants Geno.

"But tonight," Geno says, a little regretfully, and-

Puts the ice pack back on Sid's face.

"What, no," Sid whines, reflexively.

"Yes," Geno says again. "Fix Sid's nose, then kiss."

Sid wants to insist they can do both, but reluctantly, he can see Geno's point. But he can't stand the idea that Geno will go to his own bed and Sid will stay here, with the ice pack, when he suddenly remembers.

"You know, Phil said I should make sure I didn't roll over in my sleep," Sid says, biting his lip, watching the way Geno's eyes go dark and heavy-lidded watching him do it. "He said I could use pillows to help me stay on my back, but you know, I can think of a more effective way, right?"

Geno takes a second to puzzle it out, but he huffs out a surprised, amused laugh and Sidney knows he won't be sleeping alone tonight.

"If Phil say so," Geno says, like he's just deferring to medical science, like he doesn't have any ulterior motives here

"Doctor's orders," Sid adds, as innocently as he can, even though he can hardly hold back a giggle.

He's not planning on telling Phil, but he can confirm that a 6'3" hockey player is just as, if not more, effective than pillows, because when he slips under the covers, Geno's arm keeps him still and warm, tucks him against Geno's side.

"Good?" Geno checks, and Sid can't hold in the pleased sigh.


Yo dawg, why don't you comment on the dw. Because you can do that. And I want you to do that. Right here. http://twentysomething.dreamwidth.org/30427.html?mode=reply <3.

Comments Disabled:

Comments have been disabled for this post.