clo (clo) wrote in clofic, @ 2008-06-28 04:47:00 |
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Entry tags: | andy roddick, andy roddick/roger federer, nc-17, pcti series, roger federer, verse:pcti |
Series: To Love (verse:Pretty Close to Invincible, PG, Andy Roddick/Roger Federer)
Title: To Love (Pretty Close to Invincible series 9/10)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Roddick/Federer
Summary: Andy and Roger tie up some loose ends and start to work everything – or at least some things – out.
Notes: Part nine and the concluding part of The Pretty Close to Invincible series. That’s not to say it’ll be the last fic set in this ‘verse, far from it, but this concludes the original series.
Disclaimer: Definitely not mine, never happened, not claiming it did. The pretty boys own themselves.
“Maybe now, tennis fans can forget about the days of old when Sampras-Agassi and Connors-McEnroe were a big reasons people watched the sport.
Maybe now, Roddick has Federer.“
- From an article in the Cincinnati Post, 8/6/04
To Love
Sunlight was spilling through the open curtains when Andy woke, pooling across the bed and over his legs where he’d kicked the covers off. It painted the room in warm light, colouring the pale brown of the shape directly in front of him with soft shades of gold. Andy blinked and the shoulder, because that’s what it was he realised, came more clearly into focus. He followed the curve of it with his eyes, finding it attached to a slender neck which disappeared under a tangle of brown hair with a hint of curl. Letting his eyes slide down, he found a long, brown arm draped over his waist and the curve of a hip attached to a thigh furred with dark hair. He blinked, because he’d swear he was in bed next to…
“Roger,” he murmured softly, with a hint of disbelief. Last night came trickling back to him in pieces, the taste of beer from the bar and the fan trying to chat him up, Roger in the rain and those guys pulling the Swiss’ head back by his hair-
“Rog?” Worry at the memory had Andy untangling a hand from the sheets and reaching up, brushing the curls away from Roger’s face. The Swiss was fast asleep, cheeks flushed in the warm room and his lips slightly parted, the pink tip of a tongue just visible. He was beautiful, Andy realised with a sudden wave of affection. Unbelievably beautiful. As he thought the words, eyelashes fluttered and one, dark eye slid open. Roger blinked, making a softly sleepy sound as he focused on Andy.
“Hey,” the American murmured, a little apprehensively though he tried to keep his voice light. “You’re still here.”
Another blink and Roger brought his arm up to curl over Andy’s chest, wriggling close enough to rest his head against the American’s shoulder with a sigh. His voice was muffled and heavy with sleep when he spoke.
“Where else would I be?”
A smile tugged at Andy’s lips, softening as he kissed the warm hair against his mouth. “Don’t know. I can’t think of anywhere better.”
“Mmmm.” Roger snuggled down, pressing his face into Andy’s shoulder so his tongue left a wet trail across the American’s skin when he licked his lips. “Are you okay?”
“Okay?” Andy frowned, rearranging his arms so he could hug the Swiss closer to him. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“You hit that guy, you know.” Roger lifted his head to meet Andy’s eyes, the lightest of frowns creasing his forehead. “Last night?”
“Oh. Yeah.” Andy lifted his hand from the Swiss’ waist, lazily examining the bruising across his knuckles. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, not as bad as he’d had before and certainly not enough to hamper his play. “I’m good. What about you?”
“Good is about right,” Roger mumbled. He still looked and sounded half asleep, eyelids drifting closed and a wordless sound of contentment sighed through parted lips as he resettled his head on the pillow, Andy’s pillow. Andy watched him for a long minute, memorising every imperfection that made him perfect, every curl of hair and flutter of eyelashes. It was too real to be a dream; the sunlight was close to burning where it touched his skin and all he could smell was Roger, the tang of sweat mixed with a hint of sex from last night and a sweet, light scent that was all Roger, what Andy thought of when the Swiss’ face flashed through his mind and that made him smile whenever he caught a trace of it in the locker room. Less than twenty four hours ago, he’d have sworn he’d never wake up to that smell, ever.
He’d never been happier to be wrong.
“Rog?” he said softly. The dark eyes flickered quickly to his face, watching him intently. “You’ve really changed your mind? You’re here to stay?”
“I promise.” Roger looked at him for a long moment then leaned forward. He pressed a sweet kiss to Andy’s mouth and whispered “I’m sorry I’ve been so stupid.”
“I forgive you. On the condition you stop apologising,” Andy warned but he was teasing and Roger knew it, a smile flashing across his face. Andy saw it and couldn’t resist kissing him again, just to feel those lips curve against his.
“You’re too damn pretty for your own good,” he complained when they broke apart for air and Roger laughed, a happy little sound that made Andy smile. He’d never heard the Swiss laugh like that before but he thought he could get used to it, especially if hearing it meant he’d get to see Roger looking so happy more often. The Swiss’s expression was blissful as he laughed, dark eyes shining, hair falling over his face in a tangle of soft waves and, abruptly, Andy was terrified that it was too perfect to be real, that only a dream could be that beautiful. Suddenly enough to startle Roger into flinching, he wrapped his arms around the Swiss and pressed his face against a slender shoulder, an edge of desperation in the tightness of his grip.
“I love you Roger,” he whispered. “Please say we can make this work.”
A split second hesitation; then Roger relaxed into his arms, pushing him back far enough to kiss. Andy leaned into it as if by kissing Roger hard enough, he could convince himself it was real. It wasn’t quite enough until Roger broke it just long enough to murmur “I love you. We can make this work.”
Andy nodded, swallowing against an inexplicable urge to cry because he’d never thought he’d find everything he wanted so soon. He’d never thought he’d be so willing to throw away his ideal of a pretty wife, of beautiful kids, the dream of an easy life and a house with a white picket fence in a ‘nice’ neighbourhood. He still had no idea what they were going to tell the world but he didn’t care. He’d found the perfect guy and nothing else mattered.
Except maybe that Mardy was going to be smug about being right for years.
There was a sudden exclamation of German from Roger and his warmth was gone, a thud making Andy blink as the Swiss’ feet hit the floor. A little confused and a little hurt, he sat up to watch Roger searching for something under the bed.
“What’s the matter?”
“The match!” Roger emerged from under the bed with his jeans in one hand and a balled up sock in the other. “Is this mine or yours?”
Andy inspected the sock. “Mine. What match?”
Roger threw the sock at him as he headed across the room for his shirt, tossed carelessly over a chair. “The match, our match! We’re in the final, remember?”
“What?” Andy frowned. “What fi-“ The answer hit him before he could even finish the question and he yelped, trying to untangle himself from the sheets and only succeeded in falling out of bed. Laughing, Roger came to help him up, giving him a quick kiss before heading towards the bathroom almost at a run.
“Quick!” he called over his shoulder. “We overslept.”
“They can’t exactly start without us,” Andy called back, digging faster through his suitcase anyway. Roger poked his head back into the room.
“Well no, but they might wonder what we’ve been doing if we’re both late. Can I use your toothbrush?”
“Then we’ll tell ‘em we had a crisis. Or got abducted by aliens or something, I don’t know. And yes, of course.” Andy frowned, throwing clothes out his suitcase right and left. “Have you seen my blue shirt?”
“On the chair,” Roger yelled back, sounding like his mouth was half full of toothpaste. With a sigh of relief, Andy snagged his shirt from the chair and slid it on, promising himself that he’d use the locker room showers before the match. He was just wriggling into his jeans when Roger emerged from the bathroom, dressed and looking a little more awake as he searched his pockets worriedly.
“Have you seen my phone?” he asked. Andy paused in buttoning his jeans to glance around the room.
“I think…” He pushed a heap of shirts that he’d emptied from his suitcase off a chair and found the phone, tossing it across to Roger before going on a hunt for his shoes. By the time he’d found one sneaker by the door and the other by the window, Roger was sitting on the unmade bed staring at his phone in silence.
“Any messages?” Andy sat beside him to lace his shoes, concentrating on knotting them tight to avoid thinking about the flutter of nerves in his stomach. Roger’s expression, or rather his lack of one, was worrying and a heavy sigh from the Swiss didn’t do anything to reassure him.
“Yes. From Mirka.”
“Oh.” Suddenly Andy’s sneakers were fascinating, fraying laces something to play with, anything to keep his eyes away from Roger’s expression and his mind off the sinking feeling that he didn’t like at all. “What did she say?”
“She just hopes I’m okay, since I wasn’t answering last night.”
“And?” Andy asked quietly, sensing Roger still had more to say. The Swiss sighed.
“And… she’d like to meet later today, after the match, to discuss what we’re going to do.”
“Oh.” The laces were getting really interesting now, Andy’s fingers pulling at them until he could tie the loose threads in knots, hard to do when his hands were trembling. “What’re you going to do?”
“I have to meet her.” Roger sighed again. “We’ve had too much - been through too much - for me not to.”
“Yeah.” Andy swallowed hard as he stood up, still not looking at Roger as he walked towards the bathroom. Getting his hopes up, he should’ve known better by now. It wasn’t fair to ask Roger to throw everything away. “You should call her. You don’t want to lose her for good.”
“Andy?” Roger sounded startled. The bed creaked and suddenly arms were around Andy’s waist, Roger pressed fiercely against his back. “Idiot. Did you actually think I meant I’d leave you for her again?”
“Well you sounded so-“ Andy paused. Now he thought about it Roger had sounded more resigned than anything, reluctant rather than happy and yet Andy had still jumped to conclusions. “Oh god Rog, I’m so sorry. I just assumed…”
“I know.” Roger turned him round, resting his forehead against Andy’s and smiling a little as the American blushed. “I know I haven’t given you much reason to trust me, but I’m here to stay Andy. I promise you that.”
“Okay.” Andy took a deep breath, tried to smile. “Are you going to meet her right after the match? We can get together later, maybe go for dinner then?”
“Um.” Roger looked down. “Actually I was hoping you would come with me to see her. I haven’t told her I’m… She doesn’t know it’s you. If you could be there maybe, I’d…”
“You want my support?” Andy suggested carefully. Roger nodded, still without looking at the American until Andy tilted his chin up with gentle fingertips, brushing the lightest of kisses across Roger’s mouth.
“I’ll be there. Thank you for asking.”
“Thank you for saying you’ll come.” Roger managed a smile before letting go and turning to pick up his phone. Andy watched him dial, taking a deep breath. Somehow he couldn’t see this meeting being any fun at all.
And he still had a tennis match, which he had no doubt that he was going to lose, to get through. Oh boy.
“We just should’ve stayed in bed,” he murmured mournfully to himself as he went to brush his teeth, giving Roger some privacy for his conversation with Mirka.