clo (clo) wrote in clofic, @ 2005-05-30 21:19:00 |
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Entry tags: | andy roddick, andy roddick/roger federer, andy roddick/roger federer/mardy fish, andy roddick/roger federer/mirka vavrine, drabbles/ficlets, mardy fish, mirka vavrinec, r, roger federer |
Drabbles/ficlets: F-J (R, Roddick/Federer/Vavrinec, Roddick/Federer, Roddick/Federer/Fish)
Title: Drabbles/Ficlets F-J
Rating: R
Pairing/s: Roddick/Federer/Mirka, Roddick/Federer, Roddick/Federer/Fish
Notes: All the things I don’t have time to write as longer fic… until some of them sort of turned into longer fic. They were meant to be drabbles, I swear.
Disclaimer: You know the drill. Not mine, don’t sue, never happened, at least as far as I know. I’m also not responsible for any allergic reactions to the sheer sugar-sweetness in the last ficlet.
Drabbles/Ficlets F-J
~F~
Roger’s watching Andy dance.
The American works hard enough at the moves to make them seem effortless, only the faintest hint of a frown suggesting his concentration. The leggy blond he’s dancing with was on the arm of a foreign diplomat a minute ago and if this wasn’t a party for charity there may have been a few uncomfortable moments – but in the interest of charity the blonde’s official partner is chatting to some friends over by the stage and Andy has his hands on the blonde’s red-silk clad hips, pressing closer as she leans back against him. Roger sees glistening red lips move, whispering, and there’s the sideways flash of white teeth and hazel eyes, Andy smiling without breaking his concentration on the moves he’s making.
Roger catches the slide of a hand venturing down a slender thigh and tears his eyes away, flushing in embarrassment.
Mirka’s sitting beside him with a drink in hand and he knows she loves dancing, wishes he had the nerve to venture out there where Andy seems so comfortable but he can’t dance, knows he can’t and doesn’t want to. Mirka understands – there’s a comforting hand resting on his thigh, close to where Andy’s fingers press into red silk as if… as if…
He hadn’t even realised his gaze had slid back to the dancers and his flush deepens as he forces himself to look elsewhere.
“Would the beautiful lady care to give me this dance?”
The voice is breathless but familiar and Roger’s head snaps round. He fixes his darkest glare on Andy who’s lost his suit jacket somewhere though his tie hangs on by the loosest of knots. Mirka’s hand is outstretched before Roger can open his mouth and she’s giving him the look that he knows means please-
“Thanks Mirka.” Andy catches the hand and brings it to his lips for a kiss before Mirka’s gone, whirled away to the dance floor with an apologetic glance from her and a wicked grin from Andy that dares Roger to follow, dares him not to sit alone and watch his girlfriend be seduced. Dares him to reclaim her before Andy’s touching her like he touched the blond and the thought has Roger off his chair and stalking towards them before common sense can intervene.
Andy’s still concentrating, spinning Mirka around the floor like he’s a natural at this. They’re smiling, laughing and Roger’s burning jealousy goes abruptly cold.
She’s having fun. He can’t-
- And then he catches the quickest glance of daring hazel eyes and Andy’s arms loop around Mirka’s waist, bringing her in close. Coldness is swallowed by anger and Roger’s on the dance floor with his hand on the American’s shoulder-
- And suddenly they’re dancing as a threesome, Andy’s hands as friendly as Mirka’s on Roger’s body, brushing bare skin to raise goose-bumps and sliding teasingly against practically indecent spots. The press of dancers around them hides the touches that make Roger’s breath catch, make him shiver and close his eyes because he doesn’t care which one of them is touching him anymore, as long as they don’t stop. There’s warmth pressed against his back and he knows Andy’s behind him, feels the American’s arms slide around his waist while Mirka presses close against his chest and Roger can hardly focus enough to wonder if they planned this. He doesn’t care.
Because he knows none of them will go home alone tonight.
~G~
Moonlight is bright enough to braid hair by. Andy knows that because it’s what he does when he can’t sleep, lies beside Roger or Mardy or both and plaits tiny braids into their hair, admiring sleek dark curls or sun-streaked blond. They’re asleep of course. Neither of them would really appreciate Andy’s efforts, which is why he carefully unwinds each braid again before morning.
It’s not morning yet, not for a long while and Andy’s on his third braid. Roger’s a dark heap of sheets and soft hair in front of him while Mardy’s a warm weight at his back. The natural curl of Roger’s hair is driving him crazy – as he lets each braid go it unravels, hard work gone to nothing. It’s making him tug a little harder than he usually does. If only he had some hair ties-
“Andy?”
Roger’s voice, low and heavy with sleep and Andy’s jerked out his sleepy contemplation of the Swiss’ hair with surprise. If Roger realises what he’s doing Andy’ll never hear the end of it.
“Sssh love,” the American whispers, thinking frantically and sliding forward a little to plant a kiss on the back of Roger’s neck, curling a hand over the slender, muscled waist. Roger’s all hot skin and rough hair under his hands, better than a hot water bottle against the cold Swiss winter outside their chalet. “Go back to sleep.”
“Was- what’re you doing?”
“Nothing. Can’t sleep. Sssh or you’ll wake Mardy.”
There’s the rustle of body-warmed cotton and heavy blankets then Roger’s facing him, their noses almost touching. The Swiss’ dark eyes are closed and he makes a sleepy murmuring sound as he resettles himself in the new position.
“You’re doing something.” Most times Andy loves Roger half asleep like this. The Swiss is much more pliable in this state and Andy’s used it to his advantage many times, mostly for sex but it’s also a useful time to ask for permission to drive Roger’s treasured cars, get crazy holidays to the Caribbean agreed to and well… mainly sex. There’s never enough of that going on in Andy’s opinion.
Now Andy’s desperately wondering if he can use Roger’s sleepiness to hide his hairstyling efforts. Casually he slides a hand up the Swiss’ shoulder into his hair, combing his fingers through it. Roger shivers with pleasure and before Andy can loosen more than one braid he’s got a lapful of sleepy, aroused tennis player.
Oh… dammit.
“Do you ever sleep?” Roger murmurs, leaning in for a kiss, one hand sliding almost idly across Andy’s chest. The American fights distraction long enough to get his hand back into Roger’s hair and comb free the second braid. The last is the neatest, the hardest to loosen and before Andy can do more than find it with his fingertips there’s a third hand brushing lazily up his thigh and Mardy’s kissing him as Roger leans back, heat and friction in all the right places and Andy catches his breath, arcing up into the Swiss’s warm weight.
To hell with braids he decides in his last coherent thought. Right now, this is way more important.
~H~
Andy is sleeping on his side, face half hidden, one hand curled beside him on the pillow. Roger wants to take it, touch it, press soft kisses to the calloused palm and let Andy know he’s here.
Guilt holds him immobile because the half of Andy’s face he can see in the dim light is tear stained and Roger knows it’s because of him. Because of what he said and thought he meant until he woke up this morning to find Andy gone and the flight to Texas from Switzerland can be torture when you’re torn between wanting it to end and wishing you’d never get there because you have no idea what you’re going to say when you see him. ‘Sorry’ seems pathetic, ‘I didn’t mean it’ even worse. Roger can say ‘I love you’ in about six languages but getting Andy to accept it would take all the words in the world and then some, words Roger doesn’t have. So he just stands in the shadows by the door, a hand resting on the handle ready to leave but unable to tear himself away.
Andy’s beautiful when he sleeps. Roger’s watched him countless times; in beds, on planes, curled against Roger in the car or on the couch after crying himself to sleep when he lost at the US Open. After they’ve made love for hours when Andy’s flushed and tired but glowing with happiness or after tournaments, when they’re both exhausted and just glad to lie down, to not have to let go of each other anytime soon. Andy’s always different, always beautiful even when the shadows under his eyes are dark with tiredness, darker still in his pale face. Roger’s always terrified of Andy burning himself out; the American lives so much of life on a constant, bouncing high that when something brings him crashing down – like the US Open loss – he falls hard and each time the struggle to get back up is that little bit harder. Roger had always thought he’d be there to help pick up the pieces but now he’s not so sure. He wants to be there, he knows that now. Whether Andy will let him is another matter entirely.
He’s afraid if he’s not there next time there’ll be no one to make sure the pieces get put back together again.
Andy stirs with a sleepy moan and stretches out a hand across the bed. Roger watches the American’s expression unable to tear his gaze away. Something cracks inside his resolve as he sees the realisation that he’s alone in the bed flash across Andy’s face, visible in the tiny frown and the reaching hand curling into a fist, in the audible catch of breath. Roger knows he can’t do this, not now, and he turns hurriedly to leave, opening the door-
“Roger?”
Andy sounds confused and sleepy, sheets rustling as he sits up. Roger turns back again reluctantly and almost flinches from the hurt in the American’s hazel eyes, still red-rimmed and puffy.
“Andy.” His voice is quiet and after all those miles and all that thought he still doesn’t know what to say. “I need… May I talk to you?”
Andy looks at him for a long moment, gaze blank and unreadable. Roger fights the impulse to close his eyes against the implicit accusation in that stare and waits instead, waits for the chance to explain something he doesn’t even understand himself or to be ordered out, hope shattered. It’s the longest wait of his life
Andy leans back against the wall, folds his arms and levels his gaze coolly at the Swiss. Roger knows how much effort it’s taking for the American to stay calm and has to fight back the urge to run across the room to kiss him as Andy nods slowly, once.
“I’m listening.”
~ I~
Mardy knows exactly how his two lovers are different.
It’s not just looks though he loves to compare Roger’s dark curls to Andy’s fuzz of blond; loves the way their eyes are a million shades of brown apart but still similar and he even loves how they tease him for being the blond-blue-eyed golden boy of their threesome. The slender strength in Roger’s body when they’re pressed together contrasts the heavier build of Andy, holding Mardy down when he’s pushing slowly into him, gasping for air but still holding lightly enough not to bruise. The way they look when coming, Roger’s half-frown of concentration relaxing into loose-limbed bliss, Andy with head thrown back and teeth sunk into his bottom lip, both of them gasping Mardy’s name in the moment before they lose control. His lovers look as different as it’s possible to be but in some ways they’re still similar.
It’s not just the way they act, though he’s never seen two people so unalike in their behaviour. Andy’s all hyperactivity and caffeinated energy, bouncing and whirling his way through life with blithe disregard for things like sleep and eating the right food, though he burns off all the junk he eats almost as soon as it’s swallowed. Roger’s calm personified in comparison, his ability to focus almost spooky when it’s concentrated on you exclusively, like it is on Mardy or Andy when they’re writhing in bed beneath his careful hands. Unlike Andy Roger loves to sleep in but will forget to eat completely unless he’s forcibly sat down and handed the food. Andy yells at him, saying he’s too thin as it is but Roger just smiles and kisses him until the American shuts up. Neither of them will ever change and Mardy loves them for it.
Mardy knows exactly how his lovers are different. He knows that if he nips the skin in a certain spot at Andy’s hip he’ll get cries of pleasure whereas with Roger he has to run his tongue along the Swiss’ inner thigh to draw out pleas for more. Andy loves his kisses fierce and laced with the sting of teeth while Roger likes softness, likes to be coaxed to pleasure instead of having it forced out of him. It’s taken Mardy months to learn the right places to touch to make both his lovers gasp, which of them likes what and when they like it. It’s a subtle art and Mardy finally thinks he’s learnt it as completely as anyone ever could - sometimes he thinks with pride that he’s an expert in Andy Roddick and Roger Federer, an honour no one else in the world can claim. It isn’t until he’s half-screaming with pleasure, Andy inside him and Roger’s mouth around him that Mardy realises he hasn’t been the only one learning these past few months.
Mardy’s lovers may be different from each other but they both know him exactly the same.
~J~
Christmas is candy canes and Santa hats, sitting beside the Christmas tree with family and pulling crackers. Its brandy in crystal glasses and carrots left out beside crimson stockings, hung beside the chimney with care though Andy’s houses never had chimneys and they improvised with whatever door handles and hooks they could find. Christmas is shining paper and curling streamers, dreams of snowfall and reindeer and kisses under the mistletoe, old movies on TV and carollers at the door. It’s waking up Christmas morning with that old familiar excitement that never quite fades, no matter how old you get.
Andy used to think Christmas was all those things but now he knows differently. Now he thinks Christmas is being in love, walking through a small Swiss village in the mountains and listening to the snow crunch beneath his boots. There’s a dark pinkish-grey sky overhead that Roger woefully says means more snow to come, leaving Andy and Mardy sneaking hopeful glances upward every other second. The houses they pass are decorated with fairy lights and the night is alight with what Andy could only describe as Christmas spirit, couples and families wandering down to the small church or singing carols at each wreath-hung door.
Andy doesn’t know how it’s possible to feel this happy. He wants to jump up and down, throw snowballs and hug everyone they pass. It’s the type of fizzy, bubbling happiness that gives everything a rosy glow of wonder and if he thought Roger and Mardy would let him he’d be turning cartwheels in the street. Perhaps they sense his energy, because their grip on his arms, linked through Mardy’s on his left and Roger’s on his right, tightens just a little.
“Having fun?” Roger’s smile is mischievous, since he already knows what Andy’s answer will be. Andy grins and leans over to brush a kiss across the Swiss’ lips.
“We’re doing this every Christmas from now on. It’s perfect.”
“Except we need more snow.” Mardy was gazing mournfully upwards – they’d been here two days and had yet to see snow actually falling. Andy and Roger sighed in unison, for very different reasons. Roger, used to snow and a beach-lover at heart didn’t seem to understand the American’s fascination with the ‘cold white stuff’. Andy had threatened to stuff his shirt with snow to stop him being such a humbug and after Mardy had seconded the threat Roger had backed down with a smile and a sigh. Andy thinks the Swiss secretly loves snow but refuses to admit it, just to tease him and Mardy.
“It will snow Mardy. Just wait.” Roger glances upwards and Andy takes a moment to admire him, the golden skin flushed pink with cold, dark eyes searching the heavy clouds overhead. A tug at his other arm has him looking over at Mardy, all golden-blond hair and bright blue eyes, smile excited and childlike as he drags them across to a sweetshop window, pressing his nose to the glass. Andy laughs and lets the discussion of gingerbread houses versus candy canes wash over him as he looks around.
Switzerland never fails to amaze him with its quaint houses, like a fairytale come to life and up here in the mountains it’s even more apparent, to the point where he expects Red Riding Hood to come skipping through the snow or Cinderella to run past with one slipper. It’s magical and special and he’s glad Roger won the bet of where to spend this Christmas. They’d done all the silly little touristy things like going on a sleigh ride and drinking hot chocolate with heaps of fresh cream and sugary marshmallows at the little corner café. They’d spent all the first day in the chalet, decorating it with fresh holly in between pauses to make love in front of the roaring log fire. They’d done everything they could possibly think of and now on Christmas Eve Andy wants to try something he’s been thinking of since they arrived.
“Roger,” he says casually, too casually he realises as dark eyes fix on him suspiciously, a smile tugging at the corners of the Swiss’ mouth.
“Yes Andy?” Roger answers patiently, knowing he is about to be begged into doing something. Mardy grins and wraps his arms around Andy’s waist.
“I know that tone. What’re you thinking of?” He rests his chin on Andy’s shoulder, narrowing his eyes in mock suspicion. “If it’s your Christmas present tough. You’ll have to wait.”
“No, it’s not that.” Andy had spent the last week begging for a hint of what his present was and had got nowhere. “Its… I want to do that.”
He points down the street. Roger is already shaking his head in denial as he follows the American’s gaze.
“Nein Andy, it’s too dangerous. If you break something… it’s Australia next month. You can’t.”
“Yes I can and so can you.” Andy grins, grabbing Roger’s hand and looping an arm around Mardy’s waist, dragging both his lovers off towards his aim. “It’s Christmas Eve. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“I left it at home in your stocking,” Roger says mournfully but lets himself be dragged along the street. “Andy have you done this before?”
“Sure, who hasn’t?” Andy shoots an amused glance at Mardy who’s looking resigned. “Remember that time in New York Fish?”
“Yes – I remember you landing on your ass a lot.” Mardy smirks and Andy just has time to stick out his tongue before they’re there, standing abruptly hesitant by the entrance.
The outdoor ice rink is lit up with a mixture of fairy lights and small floodlights, a glistening circle of brightly dressed couples skating arm in arm and children hand in hand with parents, laughing and singing along to the carols playing through the crackling old stereo system. It’s a picture for the front of Christmas cards with the snowy village as a backdrop and Andy can’t think of a better way to spend Christmas Eve.
“You’re absolutely sure?” Roger asks a final time, a smile suggesting he knows he’s wasting his breath. Andy nods firmly.
“Positive.”
Roger shakes his head and leans over the counter of the ramshackle wooden ticket booth, asking the man something in Swiss-German. Seconds later they’re swapping their shoes for the ice skates he hands over and Roger’s paying for all three of them, waving away Andy’s offer of money. It isn’t until they’re laced up and wobbling over to the ice that Andy feels a little nervous.
“Roger-“ he starts and he doesn’t need to finish before slender fingers lace through his. Roger smiles at him, balancing easily on the skates.
“It’s okay. Hang on to me.”
“Can I do that too?” Mardy’s having even more trouble than Andy and Roger catches one flailing hand, gripping it tightly until the American rights himself. They exchange glances then Roger’s stepping out onto the rink, sliding a little with perfect balance. Andy follows and almost falls over with the unexpected loss of friction.
“Whoa.” Roger locks his grip tighter around both American’s hands, standing firm as they slide a few, wobbling inches. A young girl, no more than seven years old whizzes past and Andy resists the urge to stick out a tongue at her departing back. “Andy relax. I thought you said you’d done this before?”
“Once,” Andy mutters. “I don’t know what you were worried about; you’re a natural.”
Roger grins. “Nein - long, painful practice. Now relax. If you stand stiff like that you’ll fall. Mardy-“ The Swiss turns to the other American patiently. “You do the same.”
“Okay, okay.”
“And open your eyes.”
“Why?”
“It will help. Trust me.”
“Oh right.” Mardy cracks one eye open cautiously. “Do we have to move now?”
“Ja. Bend your knees a little.” Roger demonstrates, pushing them gently forward with one skate. Andy tries to copy him and actually succeeds in sliding a short distance.
“I did it!”
“Want to try by yourself?” Roger suggests and Andy nods, lets go of the steadying hand. There’s a brief second when he’s moving on his own and upright then the world tilts and he lands with a thud. There’s a snort of laughter, abruptly cut off as Mardy’s feet go from under him and he ends up on the ice beside Andy.
“It’s not funny Roger,” Andy remarks pointedly. The Swiss is doubled up with laughter, clutching his ribs and yet still balancing with ease. “Can you help us up?”
“Ja, of course.” Roger wipes tears from his eyes. “Ah you’re right. This is a good way to spend Christmas Eve.”
It takes them several falls before they can skate more than a few feet without Roger’s help. Andy thinks ruefully of the bruises he’ll have tomorrow but he’s having too much fun to care. Roger sails past, as graceful as if he was on a tennis court hitting backhands.
“Show off,” Andy calls teasingly after him then Mardy’s hand catches his. Andy turns to smile at his best friend and lover.
“Having fun Fish?”
“Yeah, when I’m not on my ass,” Mardy replies smirking then trips, almost falling before Andy catches him and they wobble crazily for a moment. When they finally regain their balance they try to skate hand in hand, keeping each other upright through the wobbly patches before sliding to a halt at the far end of the rink to wait for Roger to catch up. Andy leans back on the barrier and wraps his arms around Mardy’s waist from behind, pulling the other American against him. The other skaters waltz past, happily oblivious to the couple half in the shadows a few feet away.
Roger arrives in a shower of ice, almost skidding to a neat halt before his skate hits a rough patch and he loses his balance. Surprise flashes across his expression and he’s sitting down on the ice before Andy or Mardy can reach out to catch him.
“Revenge is sweet,” Andy remarks in amusement as they help the Swiss back up. Roger grumbles something good naturedly as he brushes the powdered ice off his fleece jacket and joins them at the barrier, one arm going around Andy’s waist, the other around Mardy who leans back against the both of them. The only sound is the distant hum of music and the hiss of skates as the other skaters flash past.
“Mmmm,” Andy murmurs contentedly, his chin resting on Mardy’s shoulder and his free arm going around Roger to hold the Swiss’ hand. “I love you both you know.”
“”Love you too.” Mardy turns his head far enough for Andy to kiss him, warm tongues a shock after the cold air. Andy breaks it long enough to glance over at Roger, who’s looking upwards.
“Roger? Anything you want to say?”
“Wait,” the Swiss breathes, almost inaudibly. Andy frowns, following his gaze up to the low clouds. All he can see is an endless expanse of pink-tinted grey and nothing to catch Roger’s attention.
“What’s the matter?” Mardy cranes his neck back to see. “There isn’t anything…”
The snow begins with a single large flake, drifting almost lazily down to alight on Roger’s hair. Andy and Mardy’s eyes follow it in awed silence, watching until it melts, vanishing into the soft strands. It’s followed by another and another until a whole crowd of snowflakes are falling, filling the air with whirling, glistening snow that dances in Andy’s clouds of breath as he laughs. Mardy laughs with him, sticking out his tongue to taste the falling flakes and Roger smiles, wrapping his arms around his two laughing Americans.
“I love you both,” he murmurs sincerely. Andy kisses him then leans back, watches Mardy lean in to take his place. He can’t think of anything more beautiful right now than his two lovers kissing in the falling snow until they break apart and glance at him, shining eyes and smiles and Andy smiles back because it’s Christmas and he’s here with them, which makes it the best place to be in the entire world.
“Merry Christmas,” he whispers and thinks that everyone else can keep their candy canes and mistletoe and prettily wrapped presents.
He has everything he needs for this Christmas and all future ones right here.
~ Fin ~