Chapter Text
Sid wakes up hot, achy, and tired, which is unfortunately not unusual these days. Geno got up with Nikita in the night, and although he ran a hand over Sidney’s head when he blurrily lifted it from his pillow, and murmured, “sleep, Зайчик,” it took Sid a long time to obey. Geno is nowhere to be found - judging by the weak light creeping in around the edge of the blinds it’s still early, so he’s probably sleeping in Nikita’s room. He needs soothing after he’s wet the bed, wants Geno to lie down with him on the clean sheets and rub his back. Sid knows the feeling.
Sid kicks the covers off and manages to drift into a thin, semi-conscious doze. He’s woken again some time later by a big body sliding into the bed next to him, and a warm hand settling on his hip. Geno presses an open-mouthed kiss against the side of his neck, and Sid murmurs something nonsensical but approving. When Geno presses up behind him, though, Sid squirms away. “Too hot,” he complains, and Geno squeezes his thigh briefly and lets him go.
“Little chicken is up,” Geno tells him.
“Is he downstairs?” Sid forces his eyes open, knowing that Nikita won’t be happy amusing himself for long.
“Yes. Has iPad.” As usual, Sid forcibly suppresses the comment that springs to his tongue at the mention of that word. He’s not Nikita’s parent. It’s not his business how much screen time he gets. Even so, it’s all the more reason to get up.
“Breakfast?”
“Mm. Eggs no good, still?”
The thought of them - sloppy, smelly - makes the ghost of bile rise up in Sid’s throat. “No good,” he confirms, and Geno sighs sympathetically. He pats Sid’s arm.
“I make pancakes,” he says. “You sleep more.”
“Nah, it’s okay.” Sid rolls onto his back, somewhat awkwardly. Geno’s up on one elbow, watching him, and as Sid settles he leans down to gently kiss his mouth.
“You stay,” he insists. “Incubate.” It’s one of the most recent additions to Geno’s English vocabulary, courtesy of the petting farm they visited with Nikita last week. Geno’s smirking, but Sid bats at him, irritated.
“I’m not livestock,” he grumbles.
“No,” Geno agrees, his mouth curving into a wicked grin, “But I best stud.” He rubs a hand over Sid’s taut belly, and Sid rolls his eyes, amused despite himself.
They do get up, and Sid convinces Nikita to let him read him a story whilst Geno makes breakfast. They migrate to the dining table because Sid feels a little precarious on the breakfast bar stools these days, and eat pancakes with berries and whipped cream and lemon slices. There’s coffee for Geno, orange juice for Nikita, and a disgusting, sludgy prenatal smoothie that Sid chokes down.
It’s a lovely day outside, crisp and clear like the beginning of spring, but Geno becomes quieter and cloudier as the morning progresses. When Nikita’s finished eating Geno tugs him into his lap, putting his nose into his son’s fluffy blonde hair, and Sid’s heart twinges. Nikita’s more subdued than usual, too, but Sid’s not sure whether he really understands what’s happening or if he’s just picking up on Geno’s mood.
Sid cleans up the dishes, letting them have some time together, but when he catches sight of the clock in the kitchen he knows they need to get moving. Geno is murmuring to Nikita in Russian, but when Sid nudges his shoulder he falls silent. “Alright,” he says a moment later, tipping Nikita gently off his lap, “Time for clothes and bags.”
They make it to the airport a little later than planned, but it’s not disastrous. Nikita insists on shouldering his own tiny backpack, and marches into the terminal building with the confidence of a boy who’s done this journey many times before. Geno follows close behind, herding him, and Sid brings up the rear, trailing them at an embarrassing waddle. God, he can’t wait to walk like a normal human being again.
Anna is waiting at their usual meeting point, just outside the business class lounge, and when Nikita spots her he breaks into a run, crying, “мама!”. Her poised expression cracks into a grin at the sight of him, and she scoops him up, both of them chattering away. When Geno approaches, though, she sets him back down again.
“окей, цыпочка,” Geno says, and Nikita looks at him with huge eyes. “время прощаться.” Nikita rushes back to him, wrapping his thin arms around Geno’s legs, and Geno bends to pull him into a final hug. “веселись со своей мамой,” Geno says into his hair.
Sid finally catches up to them properly. “Hi, Sidney,” Anna says. “You look healthy.” Anna’s dressed in an impeccably chic set of caramel cashmere, her hair is long and bouncy, her face looks like it might have been carved out of marble, and even from a few feet away she smells like expensive perfume. In contrast, Sid is sweaty, out of breath just from the walk through the terminal, and wearing sweatpants that he’s pretty sure have a hole in the back of the knee. Sid feels like some sort of pathetic little mud creature next to her - a worm, maybe, or a slug.
“Thanks,” he says, grimacing.
Geno and Nikita finish their goodbyes, and Sid clumsily crouches to give Nikita a hug as well. “See you later,” Sid tells him, and Nikita rubs his face against Sid’s thigh. Then Geno is handing over his suitcase, and Anna’s taking his hand, and Sid’s shuffling over to Geno to lean against his arm. As Anna leads Nikita away he looks back at them over his shoulder, his little face mournful, and Geno waves cheerfully back. When they turn a corner Geno’s whole body sags towards Sid.
Sid rubs his back. “It doesn’t get easier, does it,” he says quietly, and Geno tips his head onto Sid’s shoulder.
“No,” he says, and then he’s silent until they’re back in the car.
Later that day, after Geno’s been to the practice rink and Sid’s suffered through his lamaze class, and they’ve gently argued over whether to order Chinese or Thai for dinner, they both curl up on the sofa to watch the Avs get slaughtered by the Panthers. Sid makes it to the second intermission before he has to pee - a miracle, really - and when he gets back he throws his legs over Geno’s lap, and Geno makes a comedic “ooft!” sound, like Sid’s weight has knocked the wind out of him.
And maybe it’s from seeing Anna looking so poised and perfect that morning, or maybe it’s leftover emotion from the airport, or maybe it’s Sid's old insecurities about his thighs and his ass, the years he spent getting chirped over them - or, most likely, it’s some combination of all these things and the fact that Sid is eight months pregnant. Regardless, Sid’s horrified to realise that his eyes are stinging, that he’s actually welling up over Geno’s joke.
He blinks the tears back furiously, and turns his face into the couch cushions so that Geno won’t see. Geno doesn’t notice - he’s talking about the Avs’ power-play, absent-mindedly rubbing Sid’s legs as he speaks. Sid takes a moment, and then he swallows, and turns his head back around. If his face is a little red for the rest of the game, then he can blame it on righteous indignation over the high-stick that Nate takes in the 54th minute.
That night Sid gets dressed for bed in some long paternity pyjama pants and an ancient Pens t-shirt, size XXL. Geno is still showering when Sid gets under the covers - he turns off the overhead light and reads a few pages of a Tiger Woods biography, but the words are swimming in front of his eyes, so he quickly gives up and puts the book on the side table. Geno comes out of the ensuite a few minutes later looking damp and pink, wearing nothing but a towel that hangs low around his hips. Sid watches him as he dries off and potters around the bedroom - his strong arms, his narrow waist, the elegant curve of his back when he bends to towel his legs. Sid feels nauseous and miserable, desire warring with jealousy in his stomach.
Geno smiles at him, all tender, as he clambers naked into bed, and reaches for Sid immediately. Sid feels his hands still when he touches cotton. “You cold, Зайчик?” He asks softly.
“No,” Sid mumbles, but Geno still says decisively, “I warm you up”, and slips his hands underneath Sid’s t-shirt.
Sid sighs through his nose, more of a huff than anything, and shuffles away as best as he can. “I’m not in the mood, G,” he says.
Geno’s fingers stop stroking. After a moment, he says, “Maybe I rub your back? Nice massage?”
Sid turns, with difficulty, onto his side, and Geno’s touch recedes. “I just want to sleep,” Sid says, muffled by the pillow.
“Okay, baby. You get good sleep.” Geno’s voice is puzzled, maybe even a little hurt, but sincere nonetheless, and Sid’s chest aches. He squeezes his eyes shut, and hears Geno shuffling around, turning off the light. Sid lies there, as curled up as he can get in his current state, feeling clenched and sick and rancid. He doesn’t realise he’s started sobbing until Geno makes a pained sound behind him.
“любимая, любимая, no, what’s wrong? Please, tell me.” Sid feels Geno’s hands hovering around his back, the ghost of a touch, and he gives into himself and wriggles back into Geno’s arms. Geno tucks his face into the space between Sid’s neck and his shoulder, nuzzling softly at him.
When Sid’s got his breathing under control he opens his mouth to offer some reassurance, but instead what tumbles out is, “I’m a big lump now.” It’s not what he meant to say at all.
“What? Lump?” Geno sounds baffled.
“I’m all - huge,” Sid blurts out, “And heavy, and - and. It’s not. Y'know. Sexy.” He cringes at himself, but Geno just gives a low sound of distress and pulls Sid in firmly against his chest.
“Baby, my baby. Should not say these things. Not true, not at all. I love you this way. You not know? So sexy to me, love so much. Just want to -” he squeezes Sid tight “- all the time.”
Sid presses his face into the mattress. It’s so hard for him to say these things, usually, but right now it feels like he has no control over them, like they’re just spilling out of him. “I’ll never look like Anna.” It feels sour and small coming out of his mouth, but Geno just mouths wetly at Sid’s neck, his big hands creeping around to cup Sid’s stomach.
“I not want you look like Anna… I not want you look like anyone else. I want my Sid. My Зайчик. So soft, so good for hold. Such a good papa for our baby, hmm? Keep so safe.” In this position, Sid can’t turn his head far enough for a proper kiss, but Geno’s tongue laps across his jaw, his ear, his throat. Geno smells so good, like the tropical shampoo he likes to use, and his deodorant, and their bed, the bed that they sleep in together, every night. Sid loves him so much.
“Sorry for being pathetic,” Sid mumbles, and Geno shushes him.
“Is good you tell me, when you feel these things.” His teeth catch at Sid’s earlobe, and Sid shudders. Despite the lingering remains of his tension, he can feel himself getting warm between his legs. He shifts his thighs, and after a moment, nudges his hips back against Geno. Geno knows him well enough to take it for the invitation that it is.
Usually Geno would tease him, but right now he’s treating Sid like something fragile, so he just moves his long fingers to the crease of Sid’s hip, curling the tips underneath his pyjama pants. “You want?” He breathes into Sid’s ear, low and silky.
“Yes,” Sid admits, and those clever fingers wander down. Geno strokes Sid gently at first, but when he slips a finger into him and realises how wet Sid is, he makes a low, pleased noise and crooks two inside. The heel of his palm grinds against Sid’s cl*t as he f*cks those fingers into him, setting a brisk, steady pace, and it’s embarrassing, really, how quickly he has Sid squirming and panting.
Sid can feel Geno’s co*ck hardening against the back of his thigh, and he moans and spreads his legs wider. He realises after a second that he’s still wearing the stupid pants, and he struggles to wriggle them down. As soon as they’re around Sid’s knees Geno adjusts himself to slide his co*ck between Sid’s thighs.
“My Зайчик, my Sid, so beautiful.” Geno switches to Russian, breathing hard now, and something in Sid preens at the knowledge that he can still make Geno fall apart, even in his current state.
Sid comes first, shuddering and clenching around Geno’s knuckles, black stars twinkling behind his clenched-closed eyelids. Geno croons at him, and Sid squeezes his legs together closer as Geno’s hips pick up their pace, giving Geno something tight and wet to f*ck into. It’s not long before Geno’s thrusts become jerky and erratic, and then he stills altogether, groaning as he adds to the damp patch beneath them.
Even though he’s sweatier than ever, Sid somehow feels more comfortable than he’s been all day, lying there in the musky burrow that they’ve made together, with Geno’s hand still cupping his crotch. He’s dimly aware that he’s drifting off to sleep. “I clean up,” Geno says, “I take care.” Yes, Sid thinks, you always do.
