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No Nut November

Summary:

The Penguins participate in no nut november in 2016.

 

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“Are we actually doing this?” Fleury asks eagerly, shit-eating grin on his face. He watches as Sid posts a copy of the roster to a board inside the locker room.

Sid sighs. “Dumo and Rusty convinced me we have to,” he says. “For, like, charity. Or something.”

Tanger raises an eyebrow. “How does not… you know. How does that help charity?”

Dumo steps in quickly. “It raises awareness! Prostate cancer kills!”

“Ok, but we’re not telling anyone about this,” Sid rushes to say. “Like, this absolutely has to stay in the locker room, you get that, right?”

Bryan rolls his eyes. “Obviously, Croz.”

“So how does this… whatever. You all want to do this, be my guest,” Sid says.

“No, no, captain must participate too,” Geno pipes in. “How else will team bond?”

“Fine,” Sid says unhappily. “I’ll do it too.”

Notes:

yes, I know it's february right now. I have no idea how I thought of this over the weekend, but here we are anyway.

this is set during the 2016-2017 season.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

October 31st

“Are we actually doing this?” Fleury asks eagerly, shit-eating grin on his face. He watches as Sid posts a copy of the roster to a board inside the locker room.

Sid sighs. “Dumo and Rusty convinced me we have to,” he says. “For, like, charity. Or something.”

Tanger raises an eyebrow. “How does not… you know. How does that help charity?”

Dumo steps in quickly. “It raises awareness! Prostate cancer kills!”

“Ok, but we’re not telling anyone about this,” Sid rushes to say. “Like, this absolutely has to stay in the locker room, you get that, right?”

Bryan rolls his eyes. “Obviously, Croz.”

“So how does this… whatever. You all want to do this, be my guest,” Sid says.

“No, no, captain must participate too,” Geno pipes in. “How else will team bond?”

“Fine,” Sid says unhappily. “I’ll do it too.”

“Are you gonna win?” Tanger asks. “Best hockey player in the world, but can he-”

“Of course I’m gonna win,” Sid cuts him off. “I don’t do anything halfway. I can get to December, no problem.” It’s definitely going to be a problem, but he’ll manage. His competitive nature takes over as the desire to win courses through his veins.

“What’s going on? Why are we having a players-only meeting?” Murrs asks as he walks into the room. Last to arrive, almost always. He and Geno are usually skirting the line of being late.

“All right, listen up everyone,” Sid says. “We’ve been playing so well this season. 6-2-1 in our first nine - I’m proud of you all. We already participate in Movember, so make sure you don’t shave again after today. A few of the guys,” Sid breaks off here and glares at Dumo and Rusty, “thought it would be fun to introduce some healthy competition into the locker room.” He stops speaking for a moment and sighs, wondering when this became part of his captainly duties. Motivational speeches, being a role model on and off the ice, stupid media responsibilities, taking care of the rookies, taking care of the older guys when they got too drunk… sure. He can do all of that, no problem. This is… entirely different.

“How many of you have heard of ‘no nut november’?” Sid finally manages to ask.

The guys dissolve into laughter at that. “You’re serious?” Sheary giggles. “We’re doing no nut november as a locker room?”

“Yes,” Sid says. “So… you know, have a good Halloween tonight, because starting tomorrow… yeah. Anyway, we have this list here, so just write down the date you fail… and, like, honor system. I’m not checking.”

Tanger and Flower lose it at Sid’s attempts to talk about not jerking off.

“Woah, woah, hold up,” Kuny says. “I have a wife. Is this just about,” he makes a vague jerking off motion with his hand, “or is this about any nutting?”

‘Nutting,’ Sid mouths to himself. Jesus Christ. How did he wind up here?

“It’s called ‘no nut november,’ not ‘only come in your wife november’,” Dumo says snarkily. “No nutting.”

“I’m out, boys,” Kuny says, getting up to cross his name off the list. Dumo and Rusty boo him the whole time, but Kuny just rolls his eyes.

“Boring,” Geno pipes up. “I have wife too. Can please in other ways,” he grins.

“Ok, well, if any of you have questions, ask Dumo. Or Rusty. Or anyone who isn’t me,” Sid says. “I’m done talking about this.” He silently thanks whatever gods exist that he’d played the Flyers two days ago and they weren’t set to see each other again until late February. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to be the best at it. Seeing Claude would have thrown a wrench in those plans.

“Aw, cap, you don’t want to tell us about how often you jerk it?” Flower asks, tears of laughter in his eyes.

“Make sure you don’t nut after midnight tonight,” Rusty says very seriously. “That’s against the spirit of the competition.”

Matt looks around nervously before cornering Flower for a quick whispered conversation that has Flower bent over at the knee, unable to breathe from laughing so hard. “The goalie contingent,” he giggles, trying to control himself. “The goalie contingent needs to request an exception for pre-game goalie rituals.”

Dumo and Rusty look at each other, unsure of what to do. They can’t take a chance on getting in the way of goalie superstitions. On the other hand, nutting is nutting.

“Um,” Dumo says. “Maybe whatever part of the goalie contingent that needs to jerk off before games can just… not participate?”

“Boo,” Geno says, throwing Murray a smirk that has the young goalie blushing bright red.

“Ok, no goalies and no Kuny,” Sid announces, sighing. “I’m not singling out any goalie in here, you’re both fucking weird. We can’t let this affect our play, I’m not letting this stupid shit stand between goalies and their rituals. Anyone else want out before we start?”

Bonino gets up and quietly crosses his name off this list.

“What gives, dude?” Rusty asks with a mildly irritated tone.

“Wife,” he says.

“Boring,” Tanger says, echoing Geno from earlier. “Seriously, you guys can’t think of other ways to make sure your wives stay happy for a month?”

Bonino blushes. “It’s, uh, not about that.”

Dumo raises an eyebrow at him. “So then why not do it?”

Nick sighs. “We’re trying to get pregnant,” he says. “Kinda need to nut to do that. I’m not taking off a month from trying because of this idiotic competition.”

The guys cheer, slapping Nick on the back.

“Alright, alright. Are we good now? Ready to start this competition at midnight tonight?”

Everyone else quickly agrees before undressing to get into gear. Practice starts soon, and they can’t be late.

 

*****************************

 

“Hey,” Sid says as he picks up the phone. “I miss you.”

Claude laughs. “You saw me two days ago.”

“Still miss you,” Sid pouts.

“Miss you too, Croz. What’s new?”

Sid groans. “I hate being captain sometimes.”

“What happened? Rookie issues again?”

“No,” he whines. “The guys decided to do no nut november and apparently I need to be the one to judge who wins? Also, they’re making me actually do it, too.”

Claude laughs at him for a full minute until Sid hangs up on him. Sid’s phone rings again ten seconds later and he picks it up, huffing. “Stop laughing.”

“Sorry, it’s too fucking good. Seriously, you - no nut november? And you have to judge, too? Incredible. Aren’t you excited to hear about what your teammates are doing with their dicks?”

“No! Ugh. Why me? This isn’t supposed to be part of captaining.”

“How are you planning to hold out for a month anyway?”

“I can do it,” Sid says stubbornly.

“Yeah?” Claude asks. “Even if you have to listen to me? Won’t that drive you crazy enough to just give in?” His voice has gone a little breathy, Sid recognizing the little hitches in his breathing that start when Claude is touching himself.

“Fuck,” Sid moans. He gets a hand on himself quickly. “It’s still October, baby. Wanna come with you.”

“Love how easy it is to get you going,” Claude whispers into the phone. “God, I wish you were here with me. Want to eat you out til you cry again.”

“I didn’t cry,” Sid says.

“You absolutely did and I loved every minute of it,” Claude says. “It was so fucking sexy. Love how much you love my tongue buried inside you, fuck. Wanna do that again, tie you to the bed and eat you out until you’re begging and desperate.”

Sid groans, speeding up his hand. He’s leaking steadily now, easing the glide and making it feel so, so good. He loves jerking off, especially with Claude on the other end of the phone with him. “Claude, baby, please,” he says. “Want that.”

“Fuck, Sid. You wanna be good for me? Stop touching yourself,” he commands.

Sid immediately removes his hand from himself and whines. “Please,” he begs.

“No. Be good for me, want you to wait,” Claude says. “You drive me fucking crazy, Sid. Love hearing you like this, all whiny and desperate.”

“Claude, I want to come, please let me touch myself,” Sid says breathlessly. “Need to, please.”

“Not yet,” Claude says. Sid can tell he’s close, trying to make it last as long as he can before tipping over the edge. Sid can play dirty, though.

“Je t'en supplie,” Sid moans. [I’m begging you]

“Oh, fuck,” Claude groans. “Sid, fuck, I’m gonna come, feels so good.”

“Je veux t'entendre,” Sid replies, whimpering slightly with the effort it’s taking not to touch himself. [I want to hear you]

Claude cries out at that and Sid can picture the scene perfectly, Claude shooting all over his hand and chest as he falls off the edge into pleasure.

“Claude,” Sid whimpers.

“Touch yourself,” Claude says. “Make yourself come. I wanna hear you, too.”

“Oh, god,” Sid says as he gets a hand on himself, moving quickly. “Fuck, it’s so good, Claude. Want you here, wish you were inside me. I’m gonna - fuck, Claude, I’m coming,” he groans as thick ropes of come shoot out, covering his shirt and hand. He works himself through it, shaking slightly, until he’s panting.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Claude says. “I love when you listen to me.”

“You always make me feel amazing, even when you’re not here,” Sid says as he tries to catch his breath.

“Yeah, and now we have to go a month without doing this,” Claude grumbles.

“I’m not losing this dumb competition,” Sid says, grimacing. He has no idea how he’s going to last a month when he normally jerks off at least once a day. Sometimes more.

“I’m gonna make you listen to me anyway,” Claude says. “You’re going to be a mess on December 1st. Promise I get to hear your first orgasm after?”

“We can facetime so you can see it, too,” Sid promises.

“Fuck,” Claude curses. “I’m in Ottawa on December 1st. I was hoping I could rearrange things to let me come see you for the day, but that’s not gonna work out. Facetime it is.”

Sid is suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the depth of his feelings for Claude. It hits him randomly like this all the time - in the middle of phone conversations, when he wakes up to Claude making him breakfast, when he’s watching Claude score a filthy goal on TV. It fills him with desire and longing and hopes for the future.

“Miss you,” Sid says, yawning slightly, instead of trying to put words to his actual feelings. He hopes Claude understands anyway.

“I miss you too, Sid,” Claude says gently. “Hey, while I’ve got you on the phone, can I ask a few questions about the power play?”

“You can ask, but I’m not answering,” Sid says.

“Sid,” Claude whines.

“You’re on the Flyers. No.”

“Worst boyfriend.”

“Shoulda thought of that before you got drafted,” Sid replies.

“You’re seriously the worst,” Claude complains. “Fine. I won’t ask. What are your plans for tonight? It’s Halloween.”

“Um, cook dinner and watch hockey, probably,” Sid says. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” Claude says. “What are you cooking? I’ll make the same thing. It can be like we’re having dinner together.”

Sid smiles. He’s so lucky to have Claude.

 

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November 1st

 

Sid gets to the locker room about a half hour before practice starts. He likes to take his time getting ready, carefully examining his equipment and making sure everything looks and feels perfect. Part of being the best is attention to detail, and Sid wants to be the best. They’ve only got a short practice today before flying to the west coast for a long roadie, and Sid also needs to come up with some ways to keep spirits high during their road trip. Going to California is usually rough - it’s warm and sunny and all, but halfway through, the guys usually end up missing home and morale drops. It’ll only be about a week-long trip, but it’ll still be tough. They’re also all desperate to beat San Jose while they’re there just to cement last year’s win even further.

The guys filter in around Sid as he sits in his stall, fiddling with his equipment and trying to think of fun things to do while they’re away.

Olli walks into the locker room, face red, and immediately goes to the roster on the board. He takes the pencil hanging next to it and writes “Nov 1” next to his name before sitting down. The guys who are there whoop and whistle at him, asking if he really couldn’t make it even a full day.

“That might be new levels of porn addiction,” Tanger says, laughing.

Olli rolls his eyes. “I was at a party last night and met a hot chick there. Took her home, made sure to nut before midnight, but she woke me up with my dick in her mouth this morning. Wasn’t gonna say no to that.”

“OOOOHHH! Look at our little Finn, getting lucky with the ladies!” Phil shouts happily as the guys slap Olli on the shoulder.

“Croz! Make sure you bring our list to California with us. Can’t have anyone forgetting,” Dumo says.

Sid groans. “Why is this my responsibility?”

“You have the C, dude,” Rusty says.

“I didn’t realize being an NHL captain meant I had to be responsible for our list detailing when our teammates last nutted.”

Of course, Sully chooses that exact moment to walk into the locker room. He stares around at everyone then turns his attention back to Sid. “This better not be a weird hazing thing,” he says slowly.

Sid turns bright red. “Of course not. It’s sort of related to Movember.”

“...right. Well, I’ll let you deal with your weird list about the guys, then, and I’ll see you all on the ice in five.”

Sully leaves the room and the entire team bursts into laughter. Sid buries his face in his hands. Only him.

 

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November 2nd

The list makes it to Anaheim, and the Pens destroy the Ducks 5-1. Which is good, because the Ducks are looking like they could win it all this year, and a win like that is always a good boost for the team. Murray looked unstoppable, only allowing one goal on 33 shots, and it was a power play goal anyway so it barely counts.

“Murrs!” Conor excitedly crows in the locker room after. “Incredible game, bud. How’d you do it? What are all your goalie secrets?”

Flower snorts from his seat beside his goalie partner. Matt shoves him then turns his attention back to Conor.

“I don’t let the puck in the net,” he says slowly. “That’s it. That’s the secret.”

“Mhmmm,” Tanger says. “Sure. And also you jerk off before every game you start.”

“What the fuck,” Matt hisses at Flower. “I told you that in confidence!”

“I didn’t say anything!” Flower replies.

“It’s kind of obvious,” Tanger says. “Anyway, weird goalie rituals work, good for you. I’m proud of everyone else on the team so far - aside from Olli getting his dick wet, no one else has caved yet.”

“It’s only a matter of time,” Dumo says, trying to act wise. “It’s clear who’s going to win this little competition.”

“Hey, did we put money on this?” Hags pipes in. “We should make it more than just a status thing.”

“Hmmm, good idea,” Rusty says. “$500 each to the winner?”

The guys quickly agree, even Olli. Nick, Kuny, and the goalies are all declared exempt because they’d removed themselves from the competition before it had started.

Sid shoots a quick text to Claude before he undresses to go shower - My team is fucking insane. On second thought, he adds another message. Beauty of an assist on that OT goal. Fuck the flyers.

He receives back the exact message he was expecting - Fuck the Pens. Already knew you were all insane, though.

Sid grins at his phone, fiercely wishing he could hug Claude through his phone. He tosses it aside and goes through his post-game routine, eager to get back to the hotel and sleep.

 

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November 4th

 

The Pens have today off, coming off a rough back-to-back. Sure, they’d beaten the Ducks, but they fell to the Kings in OT last night and the guys are exhausted. They’d already flown to San Jose, so a chill beach day in southern California isn’t in the cards right now. Instead, Sid organizes team bonding for them by renting out an entire laser tag arena. Nearly everyone shows up, and the guys are already chirping each other before they get to the place.

Phil corners Sid quietly on their way there. “Where’s the list?” he whispers.

“The list?” Sid asks. “Oh. The list. Um, I’ve got it in my pocket, why?”

“I need it,” Phil says. Sid hands it over and Phil quickly writes “Nov 4” next to his own name. He tries to give it back to Sid discreetly, but he’s not quick enough.

“I did not peg you for being the next to lose,” Flower announces loudly. “What happened?”

Phil turns bright red. “Shower this morning,” he mumbles quietly.

“Ha!” Geno says, smile bright on his face. “You so old. I thought would be Shearsy or Rusty - young guys.”

“I’m a full year younger than you!” Phil half-shouts while Conor and Bryan start defending their age and self-control.

“Old,” Geno says with a small smile. “Me and you and Sid and Tanger. Old.”

“Hey!” Tanger interjects. “If I’m old, so is Flower. And Kuny.”

“Everyone old except for babies,” Geno says.

“I feel like there’s probably some in-between,” Sid says.

“You old,” Geno says happily. “Almost 30. Ancient.”

Sid shoves him which accidentally starts a pushing war as the team slowly makes their way to the laser tag place. Well, Geno might think they’re all old, but sometimes it seems like maybe they haven’t matured past 12 years old.

 

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November 9th

 

Fresh off a win over the Oilers, Sid is in an excellent mood in the morning. He wakes up slowly, stretching his back and aching muscles out. He’s hard, feeling a little desperate in the way that he only gets when it’s been too long since he’s seen Claude. Too long being anywhere over a week, of course. He brings a slow hand down to himself, rubbing gently. It’s too early to call Claude unless he wants to get yelled at, so he figures he’ll just take care of it himself and call Claude later to tell him about it.

Sid’s mind drifts to one of his favorite memories of this past summer, one of those hot, slow days where they felt like they’d had all the time in the world. Sid had taken Claude apart on his bed in Nova Scotia, slowly fingering him until Claude was a sweaty, whining mess. By the time he’d gotten inside of Claude, they were both so close to the edge, but Sid managed to maintain control, thrusting deeply into his boyfriend until they were both about to come and then stopping suddenly. He’d done that a few times until Claude was scratching Sid’s back, legs tight around Sid’s waist as he tried to get the little bit more he needed. The scratches had turned Sid on more than he’d thought possible - the feeling of Claude’s nails digging into Sid’s skin as they’d both turned desperate, lighting up every nerve in his body.

Sid strokes himself faster as he remembers how it felt, the way Claude had howled with pleasure when Sid had finally let them both come, the way Claude had felt so tight around him as Sid fucked him through his orgasm. He’s close to the edge when he suddenly remembers and stops jerking himself off with a bitten off curse.

It’s still November. Not even ten days in. He can’t come. Not if he wants to win the competition, which he very much does.

His body protests, dick aching and leaking. Sid tries to think of something else, anything else so he’s not tempted to get a hand on himself again, but it’s not working. Fuck. He wants to come so badly - he had been so fucking close. He punches the pillow next to him a few times before getting out of bed. He turns on the shower as cold as he can and steps inside, shivering slightly as the cold water peppers his body. It works, drawing him back from the edge of insanity, directing the blood flow away from his aching cock. He stands there for a long time until he feels like he can trust himself to get out and get dressed without touching himself again.

Sid texts Claude to tell him about what happened, figuring Claude will enjoy Sid’s predicament, and then eats a quick breakfast before going to the rink to practice. The list has been reposted in the locker room with only Olli and Phil having dates next to their names still.

Well. That doesn’t last long.

Conor enters the locker room, looking slightly ashamed, and makes a beeline for the list, writing a quick “Nov 8” next to his name. Schultzy does the same a few moments later, and Ian ends up with a “Nov 9” on his.

“Wow, three of you in one night?” Dumo asks. “What happened?”

“Picked up after the game,” Schultzy says, grinning. “She was hot and I couldn’t say no.”

“I scored twice last night,” Conor mumbles at the ground. “So, like. You know.”

“You picked up, too?” Tanger asks.

Conor shakes his head and the locker room explodes in laughter. “That turned on by your own hockey, bud?” Horny asks.

“Shut up,” Conor says without any real heat behind it.

“Colesy, how about you?” Hags inquires.

Ian shrugs without embarrassment. “Woke up with my dick in my hand and didn’t feel like stopping.”

The guys laugh again, this time more understanding. “Rough one, bud,” Tanger says as he undresses.

“How’s Catherine feeling about this whole thing?” Sid asks his friend.

Tanger smiles widely. “She’s loving it. She was skeptical at first, but she’s gotten very, very into it.”

“How the hell did you get your wife on board?” Horny demands. “Mine is not happy.”

“Gotta get creative,” Tanger says with an exaggerated wink. “You know. Fingers, mouth, toys.”

“Are you saying that your wife is happier with your performance in bed when you’re not using your dick?” Conor asks slowly. “That’s kind of a self-burn, yeah?”

Tanger opens his mouth angrily, then closes it again. He looks confused, standing frozen in his stall. “Fuck off, Shearsy,” he says. Sid bursts into laughter and the rest of the team follows suit.

Maybe Dumo and Rusty had a point. There are some fun parts of this dumb competition.

 

*****************************

 

Fuck everything about this fucking competition, Sid thinks a couple hours later. Claude had facetimed him, completely naked, stroking himself while he stared at Sid’s face and told him everything he’d do to him if they were together in explicit detail. Sid is achingly hard again as he watches his boyfriend come; Claude makes it even worse by shouting Sid’s name as his orgasm hits. Fuck. Sid has to keep reminding himself to stop stroking himself, to stop running his fingers up and down his hard length through his sweats. He’s leaking enough to make a dark mark on the gray pants and the only thing he wants right now is to follow his boyfriend over the edge.

“You touching yourself, Sid?” Claude asks as he regains control of himself. “You’re not supposed to be doing that.”

“Not supposed to come,” Sid pants out. “No one said I can’t touch myself.”

“I don’t think you have enough self-control to stop before you come,” Claude says. “So you should stop now. Don’t wanna lose the competition, right?”

Sid whines as he takes his hand off the front of his pants where he’d been rubbing himself through the material. “Felt good, though. Fuck, I wanna come so bad, Claude. Want you here, wanna come on your face,” he groans.

“Yeah, baby? Did you get all wet for me?”

Sid blushes but angles the camera to show Claude the front of his sweatpants, tented where his hard cock is leaking through.

“Oh, fuck. That’s so hot, Sid. Wish I could be there to taste you.”

Sid whimpers again. “Three more weeks,” he says. “I can do three more weeks.”

“You’re struggling this much nine days in,” Claude says. “Imagine how desperate you’re going to be on December 1st. I can’t wait to watch you.”

They talk for a little while longer, but Sid begs off pretty quickly. He has to take another ice cold shower if he’s got any hope of lasting until December.

 

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November 12th

 

Sid is going through his pre-game routine very carefully when Hags enters the locker room. They’d already had morning skate and no one new has been added to the list since three days ago, so Sid figures nothing will have changed since then. That is, until Hags carefully writes “Nov 12” next to his own name.

“Dude,” Dumo says sadly. “What happened?”

Hags sighs. “I was trying to take my pre-game nap but it’s been so fucking long. I wasn’t even touching myself. Just got too fucking turned on and then next thing you know…”

“Dude,” Rusty says. “That’s rough.”

Hags shrugs. “I did my best.”

“Without even touching yourself?” Tanger asks. “That’s actually kind of impressive.”

“Yeah, I was just laying on my back trying to think about anything else and then it just kind of happened.”

Rusty squirts some of his gatorade onto the floor of the locker room before drinking it.

“Did you just pour one out for Hags?” Sid asks, laughing.

“Dude. You heard him. What more could he have done? Of course I did.”

Sid keeps giggling through his entire pre-game routine. They beat the Leafs 4-1, and Sid wonders if maybe they can win it all again this year.

 

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November 17th

Sid is still a mess after the loss last night. 7-1. How the fuck did they let that happen? This team is supposed to be better. They’re supposed to be the best in the league. They can’t lose to their division rival Capitals 7-1 and expect to be taken seriously. Sid was a -3 and he’s furious at his awful performance. He needs to do better.

“You good?” Tanger asks tentatively, sitting next to Sid in the locker room of the Islanders’ practice rink.

“Fine,” Sid grits out. He picks up his stick and tears the tape off it for the fourth time. It wasn’t perfect and it needs to be perfect if he’s going to have any chance at being an ok hockey player.

“Come on, cap,” Tanger says gently. “No one’s gonna win all 82, remember?”

“Losing 7-1 isn’t just ‘not winning’, Kris. I played like trash last night.”

Tanger winces at Sid using his first name. He almost never does that.

“Every team has off days. It’s gonna be ok. We’ll get them next time. We can beat the Islanders tomorrow night.”

Geno is also moping in his own stall. He’d accidentally hit Matt in the head last night near the end of the first, and Matt had left the game in concussion protocol. Geno brought in coffee, chocolates, a breakfast pastry, and, oddly, a penguin stuffed animal that he places carefully in Matt’s stall. Sid’s not sure where he got all of it, but he also knows Murray isn’t going to blame Geno for the hit last night. Especially when Murrs is totally fine.

As expected, when Matt walks into the locker room and sees the collection of things in his locker, he sighs. “Geno,” he says. “I told you, it’s fine. I’m fine. You didn’t have to do this.”

“Have to take care of baby goalie,” Geno says sadly.

Matt takes a bite of the pastry, smiling gently through the crumbs. “It’s good, Geno, thanks. But seriously, I’m ok. It wasn’t your fault, I don’t blame you at all.”

Sid is taping his stick for the fifth time when Dumo walks in. He doesn’t say anything, just approaches where Sid had hung the list and writes “Nov 16” next to his name.

“Dumo?” Rusty says. “We were no nut november buddies! We were gonna split everyone’s money!”

Dumo still won’t make eye contact with anyone. “Last night was rough,” he mumbles. “I let the team down. I’m sorry.”

Sid drops his stick and walks over to Dumo. He wraps an arm around the defenseman, holding him close. “Hey, bud, it’s not your fault. We play as a team, we lose as a team. Nothing you did made us fuck up so badly yesterday. The team just had an off night, ok? It happens sometimes.”

Dumo faceplants into Sid’s shoulder. He’s shaking a little, so Sid wraps him into a real hug. After a minute, he seems to calm down, pulling away from Sid.

“Sorry,” he whispers. Sid sees now that Dumo’s eyes are puffy and red rimmed, like he’d been crying all night. He also can tell that Dumo’s doing his best to not cry in the middle of the locker room right now.

“It’s fine,” Sid says. “That’s what I’m here for. Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” Dumo says. “Just - it was a rough night. And I guess I was feeling sorry for myself and in the middle of my pity party I figured, since I suck at everything else, this whole competition might as well be one more thing I suck at.”

“Ok, first of all, you don’t suck at anything,” Sid says sternly. “Don’t say that about yourself. Second of all, it’s fine. It’s a silly competition, ok?”

Dumo nods before turning away from Sid to go sit in his own stall and get ready for practice. Sid resumes taping his stick. Tanger gives Sid a few pointed looks until Sid finally snaps. “What?” he whisper-shouts.

“Just - what you said to Dumo. It applies to you, too, you know.”

“Dumo’s not the captain,” Sid whispers angrily.

Tanger sighs. “Come on, Sid. No one here plays a full 60 minutes, not even you. It’s a team sport. We lost as a team. This isn’t on you.”

Sid sighs and glances down at his stick. Fuck. The tape is slightly off, bubbled in one small spot. That won’t do. He goes to rip it off again but Tanger grabs his hand before he can.

“It’s fine, Sid. It’s practice. Your stick is fine.”

“I need to be better. I need to be perfect.”

“No one’s perfect,” Kris reminds him. “You’re doing a great job. Your stick looks good, it’ll be fine for practice. It would be fine for a game, too.”

Sid tries to draw in a deep breath. “Yeah,” he finally says. “This is probably ok.” His hands shake slightly.

“You won’t even notice once we get on the ice,” Tanger tells him. “Come on, come out with me now. We can play keep-away until everyone else is ready for practice.”

Sid nods shakily and stands, following Tanger out to the ice. His friend is right, of course - once he’s got hockey to focus on, trying to outwit Tanger up and down the ice, he doesn’t notice the tiny bubble in the tape anymore. By the time practice starts, he’s feeling a lot better.

“Thanks,” he mumbles to Tanger.

“Any time, bud,” Kris replies easily.

 

----------------------------------------

 

November 26th

“Ok, ok, good job tonight boys!” Sid crows after the game. “Murrs, incredible showing in the shootout. We’re so lucky to have you in net. And Tanger - that shootout goal was pure filth. Love you all!”

The team cheers.

“Let’s go out tonight!” Dumo says happily. “Drinks on Tanger!”

“Fuck off,” Kris says cheerily. “How about the guys still in the competition don’t have to pay for their drinks tonight?”

“Who’s left anyway?” Rusty asks. “Aside from me.”

“Hmmm, let’s see,” Sid says going over to the list. “Me, Geno, Tanger, Rusty. Horny lost a couple days ago, so it’s down to just us four.”

“Guess we’re getting free drinks tonight!” Rusty crows excitedly. The rest of the guys roll their eyes but eagerly agree to go out to celebrate the win. Their next game isn’t for a few days so it’s the perfect night for a little team bonding. Especially after a hard-fought shootout win.

They end up at some club in Pittsburgh that’s too loud and crowded for Sid’s taste. He texts Claude about it and receives a picture in response. Claude, shirtless in bed. Of course. Claude also tells Sid he wishes Sid was in Philly instead. Goddamnit.

Sid’s been so keyed up lately that the littlest things get him halfway there, and he’s hard in his jeans just from the picture and a few words. He wills himself to get under control as he takes a shot offered to him by Phil. Half the team is on the dance floor, either dancing with each other or a girl they’ve found to have fun with tonight.

“Look at Rusty,” Kris whispers in Sid’s ear. “No way he’s still in this competition tomorrow.” Sid glances towards where Kris is pointing and spies Rusty dancing with a beautiful woman, pausing to whisper something in her ear every now and then. Sid turns back to Kris and shrugs.

“Guess it’ll be down to you, me, and Geno, then. Although I guess we shouldn’t count him out before the night ends.”

“I’m guessing you’re on edge all the time, like me? It’s been… hard,” Tanger says, laughing at his own pun. “No way he gets through the night without coming, not when he’s pressed up against her like that.”

Sid shrugs, but glances back at Rusty. He’s dancing happily when he suddenly freezes on the dance floor. The girl spins around to stare at him and she looks pissed as hell. Rusty looks like he’s trying to apologize when she storms off. He comes back to the table, looking dejected.

“I’m, uh, gonna go home,” Rusty tells them.

“You good?” Flower asks.

“Yeah, I just, ah. Yeah. I’m fine. I’ll see you all in a couple days.”

Tanger bursts out laughing. “On the dance floor in public? Now that’s some kinky shit.”

Rusty turns bright red. “I didn’t mean to! Obviously.”

Sid laughs as he realizes what just happened. “Guess you’ll have to take yourself off the list at practice.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you,” Rusty says, still bright red. Sid takes a couple more shots over the course of the evening, then gets driven home by a much more sober Kris.

“Claude!” Sid says happily as the call connects. He’s in his bed and he can’t stop smiling. Everything is great.

“I have a game tomorrow, Sid,” Claude reminds him wearily. Sid frowns. Is it late? He has no idea what time it is.

“Miss you,” Sid says.

“Miss you too, bud. Can I go back to sleep now?”

“No, I mean, I really miss you,” Sid says, trying to put emphasis on the right words so that Claude understands better. He doesn’t think he succeeded.

Claude laughs. “Are you horny, baby? Is that why you’re calling?”

Ok, so Sid did succeed. Succeed. That’s a fun word. Hard to say.

“Mhmmm,” Sid says. “Want you to touch me.”

“I wish I could,” Claude says. “Are you touching yourself?”

“Yeah,” Sid sighs. He’s not sure when his hand found his dick, but he’s jerking off slowly. “Wish it was you. Love when you tease me.”

“You’re so drunk, baby. You should stop - remember your competition?”

“But I wanna come with you,” Sid whines. “You should jerk off with me.”

“Sid, I’m tired. It’s 2am and I have a game tomorrow. And I jerked off three hours ago.”

“You’re the worst,” Sid groans. “Fuck, why am I so horny?”

“Because you haven’t let yourself come in so long,” Claude reminds him. “And you shouldn’t right now. It’s technically the 27th - you’ve only got a few more days. You can do this.”

“Feels so good,” Sid gasps. “I’m already close, Claude, please.”

“No, baby, don’t do it,” Claude says. “Don’t come.”

Sid takes his hand away, groaning. He was so close to the edge - a few more strokes and he would have been there. Why does Claude have to be so mean?

“Did you listen to me?” Claude asks.

“Yes,” Sid complains. “I want you. Please. Fuck, Claude, I was so close, I need to come.”

“Be good, Sid,” Claude chides him gently. “You can hold out a few more days.”

“I can’t,” Sid says, nearly sobbing. His hand is on his dick again and he doesn’t think he can stop. “It feels too good.”

“Stop touching yourself,” Claude commands. Sid immediately obeys without a second thought. “Good boy,” Claude says and that makes Sid’s entire body shiver. “Now, go to sleep, ok? No more touching yourself. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Sid says, tears springing to his eyes. “Claude, I don’t know if I can - please.”

“No, Sid. Sleep.”

“Ok,” Sid says, a few tears leaking out. “I’m so hard. Fuck, I don’t know how I’m gonna fall asleep.”

“Think about how the Flyers beat you in the playoffs in 2012. Losing in the first round - so embarrassing, Sid.”

Sid grimaces. “Ew.”

Claude laughs. “Exactly. Can I go back to sleep now? Promise you’ll keep thinking about the Flyers and not your dick?”

“Yeah,” Sid sighs. “I can do that.”

“Love you, Sid.”

“Love you more, Claude,” Sid replies, eyes already slipping shut as the exhaustion of the game and drinking at the club catch up to him.

 

----------------------------------------

 

November 29th

Tanger walks into the locker room and writes “Nov 29” next to his name on the list.

“Catherine finally broke you?” Sid asks as the guys all stare at them.

“No,” Tanger says, annoyed with himself. “I fucking - Jesus. It’s like I’m 13 again.”

Sid looks at him. “What? So you just jerked off for no good reason two days before the competition ended?”

“No,” Tanger says emphatically. “I had a fucking dream, ok?”

Dumo grins. “So you’re like Colesy then? Woke up with your dick in your hand and didn’t stop?”

“Ugh. No. I didn’t wake up until after.”

Flower laughs. “Wow, you are like a 13 year old,” he says. “Is going through puberty rough for you right now?”

The team laughs at that as Tanger turns red. “It’s not my fault! 29 days, man, it’s fucking impossible when I’m trying to make sure my wife is taken care off and I can’t get off.”

Geno walks into the locker room at that point, nearly late as usual. He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as he writes “Nov 28” next to his own name. He glances at the list and notices Tanger also broke.

“Oh, shit, Sid’s the only one left?” Rusty asks.

“Looks like it,” Sid says smugly.

“What happened to G?” Dumo asks.

Geno curses in Russian. “Anna surprise me last night,” is all he says.

“Oh, come on, I know you’ve been doing stuff with her this whole time,” Flower says. “Why’d you give in and actually nut two days before November ended?”

Geno glares at Flower. “She put on pretty panties and my jersey. What I’m supposed to do?”

Flower falls into a laughing fit, followed quickly by the rest of the team.

“So I guess Sid wins, then. Everyone pay up!” Dumo instructs. They all pull out their phones, grumbling as they send their captain $500 each. Sid smiles broadly the whole time. He’s pretty grateful Claude didn’t let him break the other night - it was worth it for this.

Plus, now that the competition is officially over, he can call Claude later today and finally get off.

 

*****************************

 

“What do you mean ‘not yet’!” Sid exclaims. “I won. The competition is over.”

“Last I checked, it’s still November,” Claude teases. “Two more days, Sidney. You can hold out that long, can’t you?”

Sid groans in frustration. He’s already hard, turned on so much by the idea that he’d be able to call Claude and jerk off with him. And now Claude is telling him he has to wait. He takes his hand off his cock with a low whimper.

“Oh, baby, I know it’s not easy,” Claude says. “But it’ll be worth it in two days. Promise.”

“I’m so horny. Please, Claude,” Sid begs.

“December 1st.”

 

----------------------------------------

 

November 30th

 

Sid rushes through his post-game routine. The loss to the Islanders stings, but he barely cares right now. He wants to get out of here, board the plane, and be home as quickly as he can. He thinks it’ll be just about midnight by the time he gets home and he is certainly going to facetime Claude immediately. Claude might bitch about it, but Sid can’t wait any longer.

“What’s the rush, cap?” Dumo asks.

“Wanna get home,” Sid says.

“Got some big plans for midnight on Wednesday night?” Tanger teases.

“Yes.”

“Woah, hold up,” Rusty says slowly. “Have you still not… you know.”

“It’s still November, isn’t it?”

The guys look at him with surprised expressions.

“But… you won. Yesterday. You could have done it at any point and you still would’ve been the winner,” Conor says.

“It’s no nut november,” Sid says. “Not ‘no nut until I outlast everyone else’.”

“Dude,” Hags says, shaking his head. “You are way too competitive.”

“How are you alive right now?” Kuny asks. “Thirty fucking days. That’s insane.”

“Tanger and G lasted almost as long,” Sid reminds him.

“They had the spirit of competition to help them out,” Phil says. “You just had… whatever weirdness wouldn’t let you jerk it yesterday for no good reason.”

Sid turns bright red and shrugs. “It’s no big deal. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you’re just trying to get out of here as quickly as humanly possible because you’re so fine,” Tanger says.

“I have plans,” Sid says.

“With your right hand,” Olli teases.

“Hey, maybe he jerks it lefty,” Schultzy says. “He shoots lefty.”

“So do I, but I definitely still jerk it righty,” Dumo says.

“Ok, we are not having this conversation,” Sid cuts him off. “I really, really, really don’t need to know which hand everyone uses to jerk off. Now, can we please get ready so we can get on our plane?”

“Seems like someone’s a little wound up,” Flower says giggling. Sid rolls his eyes and finishes everything he needs to be able to leave. He sits in his stall, leg jiggling, as he waits for his teammates to finally get their shit together.

Finally, after what feels like 27 hours, he makes it back to his house. It’s just after midnight and he bursts through the door, dropping his suitcase in the foyer and making a beeline for his bed. He strips his clothes off and calls Claude.

“Can we please - now, Claude? I know it’s late but I need to. Please.”

Claude doesn’t respond, just switches over to facetime.

“Fuck, you look so good,” Sid groans.

Claude laughs. “It’s just my face. My face definitely doesn’t turn you on this much.”

“It does when I haven’t fucking come for a month,” Sid says. “God, I want… fucking everything.”

“Think you can tease yourself for a little while?” Claude asks. “Not too long. Just a few minutes before I let you come.”

Sid whines as he jerks off quickly. “No,” he admits. “I’m already so close. I don’t know how much longer I can draw this out for.”

“Ok, well, first of all, stop touching yourself and set up your phone so I can see you,” Claude commands. Sid complies, putting the phone on his nightstand before getting his hand back on his dick as quickly as he can.

“Fuck, Sid, you’re gorgeous like this. So needy right now, I love it. Maybe I should do this to you over the summer… not let you come for a full month until you’re this desperate.”

“No way,” Sid says. “Not happening. I’m never doing this again. It fucking sucked.”

“Not even if you…,” Claude trails off knowing how superstitious his boyfriend is. “You know. In June.”

Sid bites his lip as his desire to never do this again for a full month competes with his superstitious nature. “We’ll see. But that’ll be November again. Not this summer. The only thing I want this summer,” Sid says, breaking off into a moan. “Fuck, god, Claude. I want you. Want you to make me come so many times, keep me in bed the whole time and just fucking use me.”

“Yeah?” Claude says, breath hitching. God, Sid is so turned on as he watches his boyfriend start touching himself too. “Baby, stop touching yourself, just for a minute.”

Sid whimpers, hips hitching upwards as he takes his hand off his aching dick. “Please,” he whines. “I need. Claude. Don’t do this to me.”

“Just for a minute, baby, and then I’ll let you come. Promise. It’ll be better if you tease yourself first, you know that.”

“I’ve been teasing myself for an entire fucking month,” Sid complains.

“I know,” Claude replies. He’s still touching himself, the bastard. “Just be good for me a little while longer and then I’ll let you come.”

Sid whines again. His hands keep moving to touch himself of their own accord and Sid has to work hard to stop it from happening. Claude is watching him struggle, clearly getting off on it.

“Ok, ok, you’re amazing, baby,” Claude coos. “You can touch yourself again, get yourself off. I want to see what you look like when you come after so long.”

Sid groans as he gets a hand on himself, slowly at first and then speeding up. He wouldn’t be able to stop for anything now, so close to the edge and so turned on. His hand feels incredible as he brings himself closer and closer, stroking quickly as his precome makes the glide easy. “Oh god, fuck, Claude,” he moans. “I’m gonna - it feels so fucking good. Fuck, fuck, Claude,” he cries out, body arching up as the first spurts hit him right in the chin. His whole body is lost to pleasure, pulsing rhythmically as ropes of come cover his abs. He’s loud, louder than usual, crying out wordlessly as his orgasm keeps going as his fist keeps up its pace around his dick, milking more come out of him. Finally, the last few dribbles slide over the head of his cock as his body collapses back down on the bed, hand slowing to a stop. His eyes are closed as he tries to bring his brain back online, but he can hear Claude’s voice still.

“Holy shit,” Claude says. “Sid, fuck. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Fuck, I’m coming,” he groans and Sid opens his eyes just in time to watch Claude fall over the edge. Sid whimpers quietly, too wrung out from his orgasm to say anything meaningful but loving the view of his boyfriend.

Sid lays in bed unmoving, not caring about the drying come all over his face, chest, abs, hand. He just wants to drift off here, finally satisfied after a long month.

“I love you,” Claude murmurs to him.

“Love you, too,” Sid replies. “That was fun.”

“Yeah, it really was. Hey, it’s only a few weeks til Christmas… do you think you can-”

“No!” Sid cuts him off. “Absolutely not. We’re going to jerk off on facetime every day between now and Christmas and then I’m gonna blow you the second I see your dumb face in person.”

“Aw, Sid, how sweet,” Claude says with a laugh. “Fine, fair enough. I love watching you anyway.”

“I know,” Sid says. “I love watching you, too. We should probably both get some sleep,” he yawns.

“Yeah, probably. I don’t wanna leave you yet, though,” Claude whispers.

“Sleep with me over facetime?”

“K,” Claude says, wiping the last remnants of come off himself before pulling the blankets over his head. “You’re gross, by the way. You’re going to regret not cleaning up in the morning.”

“Whatever,” Sid mumbles as he slowly falls asleep to the sounds of Claude’s breathing in a hotel room in Ottawa.

 

----------------------------------------

 

October 31st, 2017

 

“No,” Sid says sternly. “We’re not doing that again.”

“But-” Rusty says.

“No,” Sid repeats himself. “Last year was a fucking nightmare.”

“You won!” Dumo insists. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“Not. Happening.”

“But we won the Cup! Maybe we need to do it for good luck,” Rusty says, trying to poke at Sid’s superstitious side.

“I won the Cup two other years without torturing myself. I don’t need to hear about our teammates’ sex lives again. Nope.”

“Fine,” Dumo groans.

“Does this have something to do with our game against the Flyers November 27th?” Tanger asks innocently.

Sid turns bright red. “Shut up. We’re still doing Movember, guys, so remember, shaving is forbidden but jerking off is allowed and encouraged this November.”

Sully walks in right as Sid is saying that. “What the fuck goes on in this locker room?” he asks.

The whole team bursts into laughter as they shuffle onto the ice for practice. Sid grins as he follows them. Yeah, being captain comes with some weird responsibilities sometimes, but he really can’t complain about his team. They’re pretty great.

Notes:

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