The Scars Give It All Away, Part Four

[calliotrope]

They rolled into Philadelphia the morning before the game for a chance to unwind and calm down before facing the Flyers. Tempers were never as high as when they played an away game in Philly, the only redemptive thing about playing was when they utterly annihilated the Flyers.

They were in need of some redemption.

Flower was vibrating in his seat, switching his attention back and forth between messing around on his phone and glaring out the window. From where he sat with Geno, Tanger wasn’t much better, bouncing his leg incessantly. Geno placed a hand on his knee, which only stopped him for a couple of seconds before he was back at it again.

Sid was antsy the moment the bus crossed into Caspar’s territory, and caught himself gnawing on his thumbnail without even realizing it. When the team went for dinner, he could feel eyes on him and Geno. The Philadelphia pack was twice the size of Mario’s and boasted more bitten wolves, since Caspar couldn’t be arsed to keep his wolves in check. The pack was on the hunt for him from the moment he stepped foot off the bus, waiting on the sidelines for the opportunity to get him alone and drag him in front of their Ferox. Even with Geno a constant presence at his side the unease threaded through him, impossible to escape and leaving him keyed up and nervous. He hated feeling like prey.

The fans showed up at their games looking for bloodshed-they had since the Game Three debacle-and from the first twenty seconds of the game it looked like Giroux was prepared to give it to them. He faced Sid across the ice, a smarmy lift to his lips. Their gazes met fleetingly before the puck drop, and Giroux flashed his eyes yellow in clear challenge. Sid withheld a snarl and lowered his stick. The scent of Giroux’s sweat and the almost-imperceptible subvocal growl he projected grabbed Sid like claws digging into the back of his neck and dragging him forward. Sid’s arms jerked and Giroux smirked when the lineman ordered him to switch with Kunitz.

Fucking Claude Giroux-the asshole was as charming as genital warts.

The puck dropped and they exploded into action.

Mostly-friendly chirping was the rule for most games. Sometimes, when one of the teams was behind the eight ball, things got slightly more hostile. But when they played the Flyers, lines got crossed. They tried to avoid having Tanger on the ice when Timonen was playing. And every fucking time Giroux opened his mouth, Sid wanted to put a fist in it.

The Flyers played like demons; the wolves on the team responding to Giroux’s heavy-handed aggression with their own brand of belligerence. Simmonds spent two-thirds of his time within millimetres of the crease, swaying in front of Flower and trying his best to distract him. The Schenns were dicks, constantly harassing Geno like pups nipping at an older wolf’s heels. The only Flyer who wasn’t completely obnoxious on the ice was Brière, but he played with an aggravating single-mindedness that got him a goal and an assist within fifteen minutes of the first period.

When they met in another faceoff, the score 2-0 Flyers, Giroux grinned. “Bad night, Crosby?”

“It’s always a bad night when you’re on the ice, asshole.”

Giroux’s eyes flicked over to the Pen’s bench and visibly scented the air. “I thought being Malkin’s bitch would cheer you up.”

The puck dropped and Giroux knocked it back towards his team. Before he could swing around to join them, Sid lunged, gloves hitting the ice seconds before he rammed into Giroux. The jeers of the crowd reverberated off the ice in a deafening unified roar, but not one loud enough to drown out Giroux’s voice.

“Couldn’t find a beta to bend over for you?” He grabbed Sid’s jersey and yanked it up far enough to catch Sid’s arms.

Sid jabbed two hard hits at his stomach area, grimacing when his knuckles scraped over bare pads instead. Giroux laughed, but only until Sid flailed upwards and managed to drive a forearm into his mouth. Before he could strike again, the linemen tore them apart. Giroux wiped a line of blood off his chin with his thumb, grimacing despite his laughing eyes.

When intermission started a few minutes later-seconds after he finished his time in the box-Sid kept his head down on the way back into the dressing room.

Duper scored one in the second period, managing to sneak it in past Bryzgalov while Hartnell was in the box for cross-checking. The goal on the power play made Sid feel a bit better about the state of things. He avoided Giroux for the rest of the game, and made no eye contact when they had to face off. Surprisingly, the other wolf didn’t try and instigate anything, which left Sid feeling slightly off-kilter and wary, constantly checking for the other’s wolf’s presence on the ice, expecting to find him sneaking up behind him. It threw off his game, and probably everyone else’s. Flower was looking rough, and Sid started counting down the seconds until it was over.

Miraculously, they eked out a 3-2 shootout win when Neal blew in a beautiful backhand and sealed the deal. The insufferable smirk dropped off Giroux’s face, and his brow pulled in a thunderous frown. Despite the win, and the cheerful mood that followed them into the locker room, the air from the ice stuck in Sid’s lungs, and his hackles remained up. Geno kept shooting him concerned looks out of the corner of his eye, and dawdled behind the others in the locker room until they were the last two left. The bus wouldn’t be leaving for an hour or so-after this sort of win, the team needed a chance to unwind-but Sid and Geno waved off the offers to join the rest of the team at a nearby bar.

After most Philly games, Sid remained close to the team. Caspar’s people wouldn’t try anything with so many human witnesses and numbers were really the best defense. But it didn’t feel right. Maybe because Giroux had gotten under his skin more than Sid had realized.

When it was just the two of them left, Sid sighed and sat heavily on the bench, dropping his head into his hands.

“Do not listen to Giroux,” Geno told him.

“I know.”

“He is jealous.”

“I know.”

“And his hockey only okay.”

“I know.”

“And probably has tiny cock.”

Sid cracked up. The laugh sounded brittle to his ears, but Geno grinned anyway. He slung an arm around Sid’s shoulders and Sid leaned heavily into his side. Before they’d climbed into bed together, Geno’s very presence had carried comforting packscent. Now the subtle flavor of ‘mine’ sat in the back of Sid’s mouth. He leaned into Geno’s embrace and quickly pressed his nose against Geno’s neck. They’d have to be careful in public spaces; he didn’t want to be caught guiltily springing apart if someone walked in. But he couldn’t deny how good it felt to have Geno touching him-even casually-or the way his scent caught on Sid’s tongue and lingered like a kiss.

“We should go. It’s not a good idea to stay in Caspar’s territory too long,” Sid murmured.

Geno tightened the one-armed hug for a second and then pulled away. The rest of the guys were already long gone, but he and Geno could hide out on the bus for a while.

He came to an abrupt halt when they stepped foot outside the arena and caught the smell of otherpack in the air. Otherpack and Giroux. Sid’s lips tightened in a snarl, and he whipped his head around to follow the frigid twist of wind that carried the smell.

A few moments later, Giroux and Brière emerged from around the corner of the arena. Sid and Geno were downwind and went unnoticed for a moment before an involuntary growl slipped free from Sid’s chest. Giroux spun around to face them, his eyes flashing and as his fangs descending. Brière placed a hand on his shoulder, but Giroux shook it off.

Crosby dropped fang and eased his weight onto the balls of his feet in case he had to jump.

“I thought our Ferox made his feelings clear, Crosby,” Giroux snarled. His accent was heavier when his fangs were out. “You’re asking for trouble, being alone in our city.”

“Sid not alone,” Geno pointed out.

Giroux’s eyes narrowed. “Caspar’s not to keen on you either, Malkin.”

“Claude,” Brière whispered. He replaced his hand on Claude’s shoulder. “C’mon. The boys are waiting on us, and I’m not in the mood for blood tonight.”

Claude glanced at Brière incredulously and replied in rapid-fire French. Sid couldn’t follow the conversation-his understanding of French consisted of perfunctory greetings and a few common words listed beside their English translations on Canadian sign posts. He let his fangs ease back and waited as the increasingly heated conversation escalated.

Finally, Danny snapped, “Because he’s the reason Carson is safe at home!” Brière heaved out an aggravated breath. “He ran away to Pittsburgh and Crosby brought him back. No demands. No bargains.”

Claude stared at Brière for a second, his eyes flitting to Sid just once or twice before he growled. “Câlice de tabarnac, fine!” He turned towards Sid and Geno. “Crosby…” His jaw tightened like it physically pained him to continue. “You won’t have any problems from me. Off the ice.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked pleadingly at Danny.

“Thank you, Claude,” Danny replied. He looked back towards Sid. “You should know, there was a rogue alpha in the city a few days ago.”

Giroux smirked and licked his lower lip. “He’s gone, now.”

“He showed up on Caspar’s doorstep trying to get himself a place in the pack. Claude sent him off, but not before Caspar told him that if he really wanted to join up, he needed to do him a favor.” Danny only met Sid’s eyes for a moment before looking down and away. “I think the favor had something to do with you.”

Sid frowned. “Was the alpha named Dale?”

Brière nodded. “He told Caspar about your fight. Keep an eye out.”

With a few gentle nudges to his shoulder, Danny turned Claude and steered him in the direction of the parking lot. Sid kept one eye on them until they disappeared from sight, just in case Claude decided that being in Caspar’s good graces was more important than being in Danny’s.

They made it back to the bus safely, and the rest of the team filtered on over the next couple hours. The ride back was filled with cheer fuelled by liquor and good company. Sid was half asleep by the time they pulled back into Pittsburgh, but roused himself enough to drive home to Geno’s.

He didn’t ask before heading over. The other wolf had beaten him there, of course. Geno still viewed speed limits as suggestions. Sid let himself in, pausing to scent the air before following the sound of running water upstairs. Geno’s master bathroom was truly a thing of glory, and Sid paused in the doorway to watch Geno through the glass shower doors.

Wolves didn’t scar like humans did. A shift to their wolf skin healed most flesh wounds-though in cases such as his concussion, being unable to shift properly forced them to heal the normal way and he may have exacerbated the problem more than once when he tried to shift against Mario’s advice-and very few injuries lingered long enough to permanently mark them. Some wolves chose to shift around their injuries and allow them to scar over; symbols decrying their victories in battle. Or, in the case of some betas, their alpha’s bite. If they stayed unhealed long enough, they translated to both skins.

Geno’s scars were deeply traditional; a rake of claws on Geno’s right shoulder dug in by his mother before he left Russia to remind him of his heritage. They’d faded into barely-there white lines, but Sid had found his eyes returning to them over and over again since Geno’s arrival. Rumors on the team as to how he acquired them ranged from speculations of kinky ex-girlfriends to Geno fighting Siberian tigers in his youth.

“You are lifeguard? Think I will drown?”

Sid started and flushed. “Sorry.”

Geno shot him a knowing smirk and tilted his head in invitation. Sid stripped down efficiently and joined him under the spray. The shower stall was large enough to fit them, but Sid tucked them against the tiled wall, angling them to keep them under the steady spray. He kept himself pressed against Geno’s body and the world slowly faded away until all he knew was Geno and wet. Their bodies slid against each other, deep arousal building in his lower abdomen, stoked by the heat of Geno’s skin where it touched his.

“I want to mark you,” Sid admitted, whispering into the hollow of Geno’s throat. Had Geno been a beta, would’ve already sunk his teeth in and kept them there until there was no doubt as to whom Geno belonged.

Geno cupped Sid’s cheek and tilted his head up to meet his eyes. “Only if I mark you too.”

Sid pulled back. He should’ve expected it, of course. Geno was an alpha. The same desires and instincts would be clawing at his mind. But the thought of being marked made him recoil, even though part of him was howling yes-yes-yes. Geno must’ve seen it in his eyes, because his hand fell from Sid’s face. Fast emotions flitted through his eyes. Warmth. Affection. Disappointment. But the one that stuck was resigned acceptance.

“We are equal, Sid. Must be, for this to work.” He brushed his lips across the corner of Sid’s mouth and then followed with the press of his own forehead against Sid’s.

He maneuvered himself around Sid and stepped out of the shower. Sid listened to him, following his heartbeat as he toweled off and headed back into the bedroom. Sid remained in place, the water sheeting down around him as he stared blankly at where Geno had been. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the feeling of Geno digging teeth into his neck. Not even Feroxes demanded that sort of supplication from their alphas.

But he’d asked it of Geno; why was it inconceivable for Geno to want the same?

He killed the water and stepped out. The mirror on the opposite wall was fogged up completely and he took a second to swipe his hand across it. He looked pale. He looked at his neck and tried to imagine what it would look like with a scar. He’d seen betas flaunt their scars like wedding rings, their alphas constantly reaching out to touch. Sid couldn’t imagine wanting to show off like that. This thing between him and Geno was private. And if he did let Geno mark him…

Steam collected on the mirror again and he grabbed a towel to dry off. He was unsure of his welcome when he entered the room, but Geno pulled back the covers on the bed and Sid eagerly slid in beside him.

“Taylor gets in the day after tomorrow,” Sid said.

Geno nodded. If he was disappointed that Sid hadn’t continued the conversation, he made no sign. “Bring her here. We run.”

Sid smiled. “She’d like that.” And spend most of the evening being horribly smug. Moreso than usual. “Geno…?”

“Hmm?”

“I want to be with you. I do. And I think I want everything that goes with it. Just, give me some time, okay?”

Geno sighed, but the sound was fond instead of exasperated, like Sid probably deserved. “Always thinking too much, Sid.” He stroked his fingers through Sid’s damp hair and kissed the back of his head. “I will wait.”

Sid sought Geno’s hand with his own and squeezed tightly. Whatever hurricane of thoughts rampaged through his mind, he felt better knowing Geno was there. Would be there and had been there.

It made it easy to relax into his embrace.



Taylor’s flight was scheduled to land at six in the evening, but Sid showed up at five-chronically early and overeager. The airport wasn’t especially crowded, but he did get roped into signing more than a couple of autographs while he waited in Arrivals for her flight to disembark. He smiled, stood still for a few photos and-when he finally spotted her coming through the gate-broke away to sweep her up in a tight hug.

“Hey hawkbait,” he whispered into her hair.

No matter how long they’d lived apart, Taylor carried his parents’ packscent; a tangible taste of home. He had the irrational desire to push her over and chew on her ears.

“Missed you,” Taylor said into his shoulder. She stepped back to look at him. “Ugh, I forgot how stupid your face is.” She wiped the heel of her hand across her eye. The barest taste of salt laced the air and Sid allowed for another slightly-more-awkward hug across her shoulders before steering her towards the luggage carousel.

She’d told him all about her season through regular calls, emails, texts and Skype, but it was good to get the recap. She’d barely finished railing about one of her defense players when they pulled onto Geno’s street. He knew she noticed when she cocked an eyebrow, even if she took the time to finish her rant about how Naomi Reginald was a waste of skin.

“Soooooo, you’ve done an awful lot of not talking. Very clever, by the way, getting me to rant about Naomi. Now tell me what you’re hiding.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

“Whenever you lie to the press, you look like an unconvincing mannequin and you’ve had that same, fake waxy thing going on since we left the airport.”

“Taylor-”

Taylor tucked her chin in towards her neck and squinted. “‘We played well. We controlled the period. It was a good game.’”

“I don’t sound like that.”

“Please. You sound like that right now. When did you hook up with Geno?”

Sid blanched, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.

“Holy shit! Really? Like, really?! He totally had to say something, didn’t he? And I bet you were all, ‘Oh, I’m Sidney Crosby and I don’t know how to process human feelings. Sex me up, Geno, I want to be a real boy.’”

“I’m telling Mom and Dad to take you out of hockey. You’ve been spending too much time in the locker room.” He pulled into Geno’s driveway, disgustingly relieved to be home. At least if Geno was around, Sid’d have a buffer. And Taylor couldn’t talk when she was in her wolf skin.

Taylor grinned. It was entirely too feline for a wolf. Then her face sobered. She turned in her seat and waited until he met her eyes. “But Sid, in all honesty.” She touched the back of his hand where it still rested on the gearshift. “Did you cry after? Because there’s no shame in that.”

“Get out.”

Taylor cackled and slid out of the car. Sid waited until the door slammed behind her before allowing a small laugh. Tucking his keys into his pocket, he followed her out of the car. Geno opened the door before they got there and smiled, huge and generous. Despite everything, Taylor flushed a bit and her voice dropped into this weird, softer cadence that Sid wasn’t expecting. It wasn’t until Geno placed his hand on the right side of her neck that Sid even remembered that she was a beta and Geno was-for all intents and purposes-a strange alpha.

“We go running?” Geno asked, dropping his hand and accepting an embarrassed hug.

Taylor spun and gifted Sid with the biggest smile he’d seen from her since he’d gotten her a set of professional quality pads last Christmas.

Instead of heading to the pack’s common area, Sid jumped on the highway and took them out to Hillman. The drive was short, and filled with Taylor playing with the radio and swinging around to pick Geno’s brain about some of the goalies he’d scored on. Geno was halfway through a surprisingly complimentary appraisal of Varlamov when Sid pulled into one of the public parking areas. The sun was close to setting, the late winter air carrying a chill in with it that snuck under the clothes and stuck to the skin. It reminded Sid of home.

They took one of the hiking trails and made their way into the park to put a decent distance between themselves and the chance of getting caught. Once they’d gotten far enough away from the parking area to feel the press of nature and lose the scent of concrete and exhaust fumes, they ducked into the bushes to change.

Although Taylor had buffed up for hockey, she was still pocket-sized in her wolf skin. She was half Geno’s size, and promptly ran under his legs, twisting around to jump on him and nip at his scruff. Geno took it with good grace, but Sid felt jumping on her head was probably an appropriate response. He pinned her to the ground and grabbed an ear, gnawing on it affectionately until she began wiggling. Geno huffed in amusement, but joined in, sweeping down on them and tackling them both the ground.

The tussled in the snow until the scent of rabbit caught Sid’s attention. He yipped and took off, running through the loose-packed snow and letting it fly behind him, Geno and Taylor fast on his heels. There were a lot of rabbits in Hillman. Too many to pick a proper trail or scent to follow. And rabbits were so frustratingly fast. And wily. One would spring out from hiding and put distance between itself and the threat, counting on another to dart out and provide a distraction so it could get away. Back and forth, like the most irritating game of tag ever.

Taylor darted out and away from him and Geno, tearing off into the tight-packed press of snow-covered bushes. He followed the sound of her yipping, trailing after her as best he could until a small group of rabbits all darted out at once. Sid lunged at one and it jumped, escaping the snap of Sid’s jaws by flying right into the path of Geno’s.

One rabbit wasn’t enough for three normal wolves, but for them it was about the game. The hunt and the chase. Back home, Taylor had been an expert duck-worrier. Sid would regret the rabbit in the morning-the stringy bits were impossible to get out of your teeth-but sharing it with Geno and Taylor was perfect; he even forgot to avoid the bones.

When they finished, Sid pinned Taylor to the ground against to groom her, and happily accepted it when Geno did the same to him-long strokes of his tongue swiping blood off Sid’s maw.

Sated, they loped off at a slower pace, happy to enjoy the wide range and labyrinthine passages between the leafless trees. As the night grew longer and the air colder, they stopped to rest. They tucked themselves over an overhang of latticed pine branches, protected by thick-packed snow and a heavy weave of bows. The brittle, frozen needles littering the ground and the igloo-like insulation offered by the snow was almost warm. Sid nudged Taylor towards the trunk and curled himself around her, putting his back between her and the entrance they’d dug through the snow. He settled when Geno wrapped around him, tail reaching far enough to help hide Taylor from the world.

An overwhelming feeling of rightness settled in his chest near his heart, warming him even more than his fur. Taylor’s scent combined seamlessly with Geno’s, as though they were always supposed to be together. It went beyond packscent, as though Geno had folded himself into their parents’ packvelt and taken up room in Sid’s soul. It shouldn’t have been possible. Unrelated alphas weren’t supposed to be able to feel each other this way. But there was a foreign sensation of bone-deep satisfaction creeping through him, one that didn’t belong to him or Taylor. He should’ve been terrified of it, but all he wanted was more.

Trapped between two heartbeats as familiar as his own, Sid allowed himself to be lulled into restful slumber.



Geno, surprisingly took his coffee sweeter than Taylor did. Or maybe it wasn’t surprising, since Geno had made a habit of defying Sid’s expectations from the moment he’d offered Sid that first, tentative smile. Taylor’s coffee was a typical SSM student mix; equal parts sugar and milk to coffee so she could mask the fact she didn’t actually like it all that much. Geno’s had less milk but more sugar. Kissing him afterwards left an overly saccharine curl in the hollows of Sid’s cheeks, the only really sweet thing he’d ever truly enjoyed guilt-free.

They hit up a restaurant close to home for breakfast, bundled up in their mostly-frozen clothes from the previous night. Taylor sat across from Sid, tucked in against Geno because apparently Sid was as useful as cuddling with a snowman. Geno didn’t seem to mind. He threw an arm around the back of the booth and sprawled across a generous two-thirds of the seat, watching Sid across the table with hooded eyes and occasionally taking a sip of coffee from the too-small cups they’d left beside a carafe on the table.

Taylor looked content, occasionally topping up her coffee with a bit more milk and sugar, relaxed and easy. Shifting and going for a run together as pack-packpackpack-had been a good idea. Taylor’s packscent was still firmly entrenched with their parents’, but there was a new undertone as well that stuck in his mind, reminiscent of pine and Geno.

He felt suddenly awkward and wished he hadn’t handed back his menu quite so quickly after ordering…he felt like hiding.

Taylor looked at him with a knowing, familiar fondness warming her eyes. She remained silent, however, until the waitress brought her a frankly obscene stack of pancakes. Geno looked enviously across his own plate of scrambled eggs and multigrain toast. He looked beseechingly at Sid, who shrugged and offered him a slice of pineapple from his fruit cup.

Muttering something not-very-nice sounding in Russian, Geno rolled his eyes, but took it anyway.

“I made sure to get you into the box tonight, Taylor,” Sid said, fighting back the urge to comment on the half-bottle of syrup she poured over her pancakes. She was on vacation. And if he said something, there was a chance that he’d find her fork embedded in his hand.

“Awesome. Do you think I’ll have some time to talk to Flower and Vokoun?”

“Probably, if you come along to optional skate tomorrow.”

They both pointedly ignored Geno swiping a piece of pancake off Taylor’s plate.

Halfway through breakfast, Sid paused when the barest whiff of a scent caught his attention. It licked along the outside of his senses, frustratingly vague in its familiarity and gone within a heartbeat. Whatever it had been lacked the comfort of packscent and set his teeth on edge. It followed them when they left the restaurant, sitting on his periphery but not close enough to identify.

It had dissipated by the time they reached Geno’s, but the unease remained. Geno noticed the lingering tension-Taylor probably did too, he wasn’t all that subtle when he flared his nostrils and scanned the parking lot-and pulled him aside when they got back home.

“What?”

“I don’t know. Something. Keep an eye out.” Geno nodded. He was stronger as a wolf, but his nose wasn’t as keen as Sid’s; Sid wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t picked up on the alien smell. “Stay with Taylor, okay? Just in case.”

Geno cupped his cheek, his fingertips flitting over Sid’s skin for half a second before dropping to the left side of his neck and skimming atop the vein. “Protect you both, if I can.”

Sid’s lip quirked upwards. “We’ll protect each other.”

Geno pecked his forehead. “Good. Should be this way.”

He began to pull away and Sid caught his arm. Geno tilted his head, looking at him expectantly. Sid opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words. He searched Geno’s eyes, wondering if he’d felt the packvelt still thrumming between them like an invisible string winding through the air and pulling them inevitably closer.

Sid leaned his forehead against Geno’s chin. He closed his eyes to block out everything else and focused on the packvelt and budding connection between them. When he traced it back to Geno, he could feel suffusing warmth and affection. More than he’d ever thought could be meant for him.

Geno’s eyes softened. “What I say? Thinking too much. Again.”

“I have been thinking,” Sid agreed. “And I do want… I…” He thought about Geno’s teeth digging into his neck and marking him, leaving behind a scar for everyone to see. Overwhelming want followed quick on the heels of the thought and he tried to pass that through the ‘velt to share with Geno.

Geno choked and he pulled back from Sid for just a moment, long enough to align their lips and press his mouth hungrily to Sid’s. Sid gasped and Geno swiped his tongue demandingly into Sid’s mouth. It was easy-so easy, too easy-to give in and let Geno press him against the nearby wall, barely managing to keep from tripping over the oversized sneakers littering the path. It felt natural, another step on the road leading to them. Letting Geno crowd him and graze teeth over his neck and follow the trail with his lips.

They broke apart when embarrassed amusement threaded into the space between them. They’d forgotten about Taylor. The packvelt was stronger when packmates were close. And unless you had proper warning, it was hard to stop the feelings and emotions of your family from sneaking through.

“Tonight,” Geno whispered. “I mark you.”

Sid pressed his thumb to the left side of Geno’s neck. “I’m going to mark you, too.” He traced a circle with his thumbnail. It was still an intimidating prospect, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember why.

“And I’m going to stay at Mario’s. Because that? Was mortifying,” Taylor shouted from the kitchen. “Oh my god, you guys. Seriously? You couldn’t have waited until I was gone and saved me from accidentally eavesdropping? I hate you, Sid.”

“Not hate me?” Geno shouted back. His grin bled into his voice and Sid couldn’t help his lips twitching into a generous smile.

“Not yet,” Taylor muttered under her breath, almost too low for them to pick up on, even with their senses peaked. “Steal any more pancakes and we’ll talk.”

Geno pressed another, fleeting kiss against Sid’s lips and pulled away. It took Sid a few minutes to gather himself together and properly brace himself to face what he was sure would be smug smirks from Taylor as well as Geno’s tantalizing scent. One game and then another off day to spend with his two favorite people in the world. One game and then allowing himself to be marked by Geno. In a forever sort of way.

In that moment, he could’ve taken on the entire visiting team himself.



Once they reached the rink, Taylor insisted she was fine getting to the box on her own and waved them off to prepare for the game. They’d arrived earlier than most of the team; Kunitz might be there already, going through the half-dozen pregame rituals he’d taken to performing. Sid had his own, and despite wanting nothing more than to push Geno up against the wall and have his way with him, hockey took priority. No one understood that better than Geno.

But despite the itch beneath his skin calling for him to get his ass in gear and start his pregame prep, he couldn’t help pulling Geno aside into one of the back hallways near the dressing room.

“Play a good game, all right?”

Geno chuckled. “Always.” He touched Sid’s neck again, as though he couldn’t keep his hands off. “I score for Taylor, yes?”

Sid quirked an eyebrow. “Not for me?”

Geno winked. “All for you. Don’t you know?”

Sid grinned and pressed forward to kiss him, not registering the nearby door swinging open until their lips were already touching. Sid’s first impulse, when he heard the quickened heartbeat hammering nearby, was to spring away. Instead, he grabbed Geno’s hand and squeezed once, hard, before slowly stepping back and turning his head.

It was Nealer. Of course it was Nealer. He stood stock-still in the doorway, his eyes wide enough to make his upper lids twitch. Sid looked at him expectantly. Nealer met his eyes, looked away, met his eyes again. And his jaw flapped like he was trying to find something to say. Finally, he mutely pointed behind him and turned to half-run back into the dressing room.

Geno sighed. “Nealer fine. Surprised, maybe. Will not make problems.”

“Hope you’re right,” Sid replied.

Sid wanted to shake off the hammering worry about Nealer’s reaction, but it stuck like a bone in the back of his throat during his pregame prep and right through to puck drop. He had to focus on the packvelt-the subtle but present pulse of Geno’s heartbeat next to his-to stay centered on the game.

He wasn’t the only one with a problem, either: Geno’s line was a mess.

Geno tried to play like nothing was off, but Nealer was obviously distracted and Sunshine was so confused by the lack of chemistry between his linemates that it threw off his game completely. They were down 3-1 by first intermission. Geno, trapped by a reporter in the tunnel, offered a flimsy “bad first period” before escaping to the dressing room.

Nealer, usually chummy with the team in general and Sunshine in particular, stood near the door with his arms crossed defensively over his chest. He smelled like sweat, blue Gatorade and the acrid sting of something bitter. Anger? Sid couldn’t put his finger on it, and despite his attempts, Nealer wouldn’t meet his eyes. Everyone noticed-hard not to when Nealer was usually the first to jump into enthusiastic conversation, no matter how bad a game was going.

There were questioning looks passed back and forth, but no one said anything, and they headed back to the ice for the second period. As the time ticked down, Nealer seemed to revive somewhat, but was still hesitant with the puck. He missed what should’ve been an easy in, hitting the side of the net when Bobrovsky was on the opposite side of the blue. Still, he managed to give Sunshine an assist and thanks to Orpie and Tanger, they tied up the game going into the third period.

It came down to OT. Voker approached the extra time with steely determination and blocked every shot that came at him. Adams and Vitale managed to slip the puck in between Bobrovsky’s legs with seconds remaining. Instead of the soul-fulfilling feeling of victory, Sid was glad it was over. Nealer escaped before anyone had a chance to talk to him, leaving Sunshine behind looking sad and confused as a puppy denied a car ride.

And yet, once the dressing room was empty save for him and Geno, Sid was hard-pressed to let the weight of the night continue pulling him down.

Geno emerged from the shower, thrumming with the satisfaction of a win and smirked when he caught Sid watching him.

“Still want my mark?” he asked as he approached his stall.

“Yes,” Sid answered immediately. He blinked and frowned, sudden uncertainty biting into his lungs and stealing his breath. “Do you still want mine?”

Geno sighed, an exasperated yet fond noise, and leaned over to drop a kiss on Sid’s forehead. Sid smiled to himself and settled on the bench to wait. Taylor had hitched a ride back to Mario’s. It was just them.

They went to Geno’s, of course, and Sid spent half the ride wondering if they shouldn’t bother selling his place. It was big, empty and lacked everything from perishable pantry items to packscent. He only really used two of the rooms-the den and his bedroom-and other than that it was just space. Space he’d always meant to fill with pack and family, before Geno had crept in and changed everything. Deep down he knew that after Geno marked him, he wouldn’t want to spend too many nights apart. He’d have to get used to Russian summers.

“Thinking again?” Geno asked.

Sid’s lips twitched, though he wrestled back a smile. He was not encouraging Geno’s habit of questioning his thought process. “Yes.” At Geno’s huff, he allowed the smile to creep through. “Good things.” Geno didn’t seem convinced and Sid laughed. “Promise.”

Geno replied with a noncommittal ‘hmm’ but at least seemed somewhat mollified.

They got home about half an hour later. Promise hung heavy in the air between them. The friendly squabbling about the radio station eased to silence as they drew closer, and Sid found himself touching his neck again and again-he didn’t even notice he was doing it until Geno groaned and grabbed his hand and held it down and away.

Once they were in the house, Sid pulled Geno close and began mouthing at his neck, pulling his tie free with a few efficient tugs. He struggled with Geno’s buttons, growling against Geno’s throat in frustration until he finally managed to undo the top couple and expose the long lines of Geno’s neck.

He nipped at the juncture of Geno’s neck and shoulder, worrying at it until he could practically taste the blood welling up beneath the skin. “Right here, Geno. I’m going to put my mark right here.”

Geno tangled his fingers in Sid’s hair, murmuring Russian profanities under his breath.

Finally, Sid stepped back and caught Geno’s hands with his own. He gently tugged until Geno followed him upstairs to their bedroom. They undressed along the way, leaving suit jackets, shirts and pants in a messy trail from the stairs down the hallway. Practically naked once they stepped into the bedroom, Sid attached himself to Geno’s neck once again. Geno’s breath punched out in a few short spurts of half-English, half-Russian nonsense and he grabbed Sid’s ass to haul him in closer.

Sid licked a stripe from his shoulder to just under his ear and then moved his mouth to the bruise he’d left behind earlier. He waited, his teeth hovering over the skin, until Geno nodded.

“Please.”

Sid slid hid canines out and buried them in Geno’s neck.

The coppery slide of blood flowed in a smooth line over his tongue, and Sid lingered instead of pulling back right away, allowing bloodlure and the packvelt to twist up inside him until he felt like he could die happy, driving through him with the force of a high velocity shot aimed dead-center. Geno whined and Sid forced himself to withdraw, he licked the area until the bleeding eased to a sluggish welling and allowed Geno to push him over onto the bed.

His arousal-and Geno’s-seemed like an afterthought until Geno settled on top of him and their cocks rubbed together. It hit him all at once and he thrust his hips against Geno’s.  He wanted more.

“Geno, now.”

He threw his head to the side, exposing his throat and offering it to Geno. Geno’s fingers encircled Sid’s cock and he thumbed the slit. Sid loosed an unintentional whine and Geno brushed his teeth against Sid’s throat.

“Next time,” Geno promised, “I fuck you.”

He dropped fang and sank his teeth in. Sid saw white. His breath punched free of his lungs and the packvelt flared strong and intimate, opening Geno to him more than he’d ever believed possible. He felt a foreign well of deep and barely-restrained arousal, and tasted his own blood welling up in Geno’s mouth, Geno’s orgasm following quick on its heel. Sid remained as still as he could; a millimeter difference and Geno would sever his jugular. Sid trusted him not to.

The thought brought Sid up short. He trusted Geno. Trusted him. Wanted him. And, through some miracle, got to have him.

Geno pulled back from Sid’s throat. Blood smeared around his mouth and Sid craned his neck upwards to kiss it away. His mark stood stark and bold on Geno’s neck, and Sid ducked his chin to run his tongue across it. Their blood mingled in Sid’s mouth and he dropped to the bed, completely done in.

Geno leaned over him and kissed him again before settling beside him.

“I love you, Geno.”

Funny, he’d thought it would be hard to say, but it came easier than anything he’d ever admitted before.

Geno whispered in Russian and rolled over to stretch out over Sid. “Love you, too.” He kissed Sid’s lips, then his mark and then let both of them drift off to sleep.



His phone was ringing.

Why was his phone ringing?

Sid left it to go to voicemail, rubbing his cheek against Geno’s shoulder to freshen their combined scents. Not that he needed to. His mark was sitting stark on the curve of Geno’s neck, visible to anyone. Everyone. A small amount of dried blood clung to the area and Sid leaned over to lick it clean. Geno murmured in sleepy Russian, but didn’t wake. Sid took his time, pressing his tongue against the broken skin, reveling in the sensation of Geno’s exhausted satiation and the bloodlure.

Or at least he was, until his phone started ringing again.

He pulled away from Geno, leaving a brief kiss on his shoulder, and slid out of bed to find his pants. His phone had quieted and started ringing a third time when he finally fished it out of his pocket.

“What?”

That had probably come out as more of a snarl than he’d intended.

There was silence on the other end, and then, “Sid? Umm…it’s James. Neal?  I’d, umm, I’d really like to talk to you.”

Sid glanced at the clock on Geno’s nightstand. “It’s one in the morning.” Nealer took a shaky breath on the other end. “Are you drunk?”

“I think I was, maybe? The cab left, but you’re not answering your door.”

“I’m at Geno’s.”

There was an abortive whine. Sid wouldn’t have been able to hear it if he hadn’t been a wolf. “Oh.”

Sid sighed. “Look, Nealer…” He glanced back at Geno. Maybe it would be better to get this over with. “I’ll be there in twenty, okay? Don’t freeze.”

He hung up and pulled his pants on, forcing his foot through one of the balled legs. Once he’d yanked on the closest shirt-Geno’s, Metallurg ‘04-he leaned over and kissed Geno’s forehead.

“Sid?”

“Nealer’s at my place. I’m going to go talk to him. See if I can’t get the bee out of his bonnet.”

“Bee?”

Sid chuckled. “Go back to sleep.”

Geno muttered nonsensically and dropped off.

The streets were mostly empty in their part of town and the drive to his house took barely any time at all. Every so often, he’d lean over to catch a glimpse of his neck in the mirror as he passed under a streetlight. The t-shirt collar covered the left half of Geno’s mark, but it was thrilling to see the deep indentation over his jugular.

The streetlamp next to his driveway was out, and small shards of broken glass caught the reflection of his headlights as he passed. Apparently the neighborhood kids were being deliberately delinquent again.

Nealer was curled up on the second step of his front porch when he pulled in, and Sid gave himself a second before climbing out of the car. Nealer was a good guy. A great player, a reliable teammate and-Sid thought-a good friend. As good as Sid allowed himself to have anyway, besides Geno. And Sid would’ve been surprised if he’d walked in on a couple of his teammates kissing. He might’ve reacted the same way.

With that bracing thought, Sid climbed out of the car.

Nealer was already standing and shifted between one foot and the other as Sid approached. His scent lacked the bitter notes it had at the rink. There was the obvious overlay of Crown Royal and worried sweat. Sid paused a few feet away to give them both room to breathe.

“I’m not an asshole,” Nealer started. If he had been drunk, he’d sobered up quick. There wasn’t the barest trace of a slur in his words. “I swear to god, Sid, I’m not.”

Sid blinked. “Okay.” He watched Nealer expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t want to make excuses. I was surprised. I acted like an asshole. But I’m not. I don’t have a problem with you and Geno. I just…I got blindsided and a little jealous and things got a bit crazy in my head.”

Jealous? “What?”

“There’s…okay, I used to be involved with a teammate-”

The wind changed, enough that Sid caught the barest hint of scent. The same smell from the restaurant earlier, yet once again without context. Sid’s hackles rose. It didn’t sit well. Not when he combined it with the broken streetlight.

“-and all I could think was if it works for you, it should’ve worked for me.”

Sid snapped back to attention. “And you let it interfere with your game?!”

Nealer sighed in relief, the tension easing out of his shoulders at Sid’s tone, like he’d been expecting things to be any different. “I don’t compartmentalize very well.”

“That’s something we’ll need to work on,” Sid told him. “Meanwhile-” He stopped as realization hit him-he knew the scent.

Dale.

He threw his keys to Nealer. “My house key is attached to the Iceburgh charm. I need you to go inside. Now.”

Across the packvelt, he felt Geno wake-startled into consciousness by Sid’s sudden surge of anxiety.

“What? I don’t-”

“Now, Nealer!” He threw all his years of captaincy into his voice, and added enough growl to drive the point home. Nealer tripped on the stairs as he turned and sprinted up them, cursing when he banged his knee on the top step.

Sid swung around, scanning the street. The wind had picked up, carrying the scent on enough ice to sting his nostrils.

Dale wasn’t very good at hiding downwind.

He spun towards his neighbor’s yard and dropped fang, but not quick enough to do himself any good as Dale-already in his wolf skin-leapt from behind a snow-covered hedge.

Dale anticipated Sid’s knee-jerk instinct to thrust his arm out and dodged under Sid’s elbow, going for his throat. Sid stumbled back and hit his porch, sprawling across the bottom steps. He managed to get his hand up just in time to catch Dale before he got too close to his neck, but the angle was awful-unsustainable. Sid slapped at Dale’s head to no effect, punching awkwardly at his eye. Dale’s teeth stabbed through the back of his hand and his fingers went limp. Dale’s teeth ground down against his bones, getting a firm hold before whipping his head. White-hot agony shot straight though Sid and wrenched a scream out of his throat.

Dale released him and started to spring for his head when he was hauled backwards. Sid pushed himself up with his uninjured arm in time to see Nealer struggling to get a decent grip on Dale. Nealer yelled in pain when Dale’s head snapped back and sank his fangs into Nealer’s bicep, snapping his jaws three times with staccato speed.

Sid tore off his shirt and pants and willed his body into the shift.

Dale twisted and contorted violently in a bid for freedom and Nealer dropped him, hitting the ground when Dale kicked backwards. Dale spun on him, crouching down and tensing for the killing blow. Before he could lunge, Sid threw himself forward.

They collided and Sid lashed out with his back paws to claw at Dale’s stomach even as his teeth fought to find purchase in Dale’s coat. He could barely hear his own heartbeat over the sound of snarling-vicious growls traded back and forth as they tried to find each other’s weak points. Half-standing on his rear legs, Sid threw his weight into Dale and knocked him to the ground. The force threw his head backwards and Sid went for his neck.

Abby would have to forgive him, because this time he didn’t hesitate.

He stood over Dale’s body, listening as his heart slowed and finally stopped. Blood pooled outward from around Dale’s neck, painting a sinister red-black and sinking into the snow. Sid limped backwards, away from the tangy-metallic scent. He wanted to howl-for his pack, his Ferox, his sister and his mate-but it would draw too much attention. He knew Geno was coming and beneath their connection he could feel Taylor’s worry spurring her to his side. That had to be enough.

“Sid?”

Sid whined and turned towards Nealer. The man was still sitting in the snow, clutching his injured arm. The scent of his blood tangled with that of Dale’s. Bitten. The wound was deep, probably to bone. He’d turn, no doubt about it. That made him pack.

Sid limped over to him and collapsed at Nealer’s side, pressing close to offer some comfort and warmth. Hesitantly, Nealer placed a hand between Sid’s ears. Sid rested his chin on Nealer’s leg. He was tired. So tired.

Nealer choked out a helpless laugh, shock colouring his tone. “Sid, I think this is the kind of thing that might impact my game.”

Sid huffed. They’d see about that.