clo (clo) wrote in clofic, @ 2005-07-05 14:32:00 |
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Multi-part: Parisian Dreams (NC-17, Andy Roddick/Roger Federer/Mardy Fish/Mirka Vavrinec)
Title: Parisian Dreams (3/4)
Rating: (this part) PG-13
Pairing: Strong hints of Andy/Mardy and Roger/Mirka, Mardy/Roger, implied Andy/Roger.
Summary: Mardy and Mirka are pulling the strings while Roger and Andy are just trying to understand why they’re wandering, seemingly aimlessly, through the streets of Paris... and they’re not above a bit of manipulating of their own to try and get an explanation.
Notes: Sequel to Ficlet N, set in December 2004. Title from Charles Baudelaire's Parisian Dream.
Part One.
Part Two.
“No you don’t understand; I think he knows what we’re doing.” Mirka is leaning against a shop doorway, her eyes on Roger inside. He’s engrossed in the piles of dusty antiques and she’s trying to convince Mardy it’s time for a change of plan. “You know Roger, he’d never plain come out and say it but he knows, at least partly. We can’t keep them apart much longer Mardy.”
She listens for a moment, gaze flicking to the Seine, black water slipping sluggishly past the keels of passing boats. Everything is dimmed to shades of grey by the mist, the afternoon drifting purposefully away into evening and she shivers, shaking her head in response to what Mardy’s saying.
“No, that won’t be soon enough. We need to switch within an hour. It sounds like they both suspect something; at least we can start to give them a few more hints. It’ll bring them round gently to the idea.”
Inside, Roger glances up and she meets his eyes, smiles. He smiles absently in reply and moves on to the next battered antique, apparently fascinated. “Mardy I’m going to have to go. We’ll switch at the arranged places yes? In twenty minutes?” She seems to hear what she wants, nodding with satisfaction. “Good. See you then.”
She snaps the phone shut and tucks it out of sight in her bag, pushing the door open with a quaint jingle of bells. Roger looks up as she approaches, smiling guardedly.
“Who was that?”
“Oh just an old friend wondering where I am. Nothing important.” She smiles, dismissing it with a shrug. “So, found anything interesting?”
“No.” Roger’s flat response tells her that he doesn’t believe a word of what she just said but he’s not going to push it - he wants to find out exactly what’s going on and she knows that he knows alienating her at this point would be plain stupid. “It’s mostly junk.”
“You know Rog, sometimes I completely forget you’re a twenty three year old guy,” Mirka remarks, turning to examine a foot high wooden statue of a girl whose price tag she knows will have more numbers than she cares to count. “The finest antique shops in Paris and you sweepingly label it all as ‘junk’.” She sighs, tracing a fingertip along one perfectly carved and polished shoulder. “She’s beautiful and you call her junk. You’ve probably hurt her feelings.”
“If it makes you feel better, I’ll apologise to the solid block of wood,” Roger snaps back and Mirka flinches, turning to stare at him in amazement. She can practically count the number of times he’s ever spoken to her like that on one hand, which makes it sting all the more. Roger flushes, avoiding her eyes as he mumbles an apology which Mirka coldly brushes off by turning away. A few seconds later – she can almost feel Roger struggling with his pride, even though she can’t see him – a hand tentatively touches her shoulder.
“Sorry,” he says softly. “You didn’t deserve that.”
“I was only teasing.” Mirka can’t help the edge to her voice and she keeps her eyes down, toying with the sequined fringe of a lamp. There’s a shuffling of feet and Roger sounds genuinely apologetic as he answers.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Mirka sighs. She could keep this up all day – she and Roger can both play the ‘offended pride’ act word perfect but they don’t have time and it would be pointless. She looks back over her shoulder, letting herself smile a little at the guilt in Roger’s eyes. His temper always flared up quick and vanished quicker; he has too much self control for anything else. Her smile seems to reassure him because he smiles back, the expression filled with relief.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, shaking his head to stop her as she opens her mouth. He seems determined to explain, a frown creasing his forehead as he thinks. “It… it was the phone call. You don’t have to lie to me about who you’re talking to you know.”
“Well firstly I didn’t – it was a friend and he was checking up on where I was.” Mirka shrugs. “And secondly, we aren’t married Roger. You don’t have to get upset every time I refuse to give you a running commentary on my life.” It’s a risky remark - she almost regrets it as it leaves her mouth, but it’s been said and Roger looks startled, opening and closing his mouth wordlessly. Mirka shakes her head and pushes past him towards the door.
“If you’re that bored I suppose we should find something else to do.” She’s about to suggest coffee, because she has to get him to the café to swap places with Mardy but Roger catches her wrist as she passes, refusing to move when she tugs at the hold and she pauses to look back at him. There’s a slightly desperate seriousness to his expression that’s odd and she frowns. “Roger?”
“I would’ve married you, you know.” The quiet earnestness to his tone twists her heart into knots. “If we… if I hadn’t…”
“I know.” This is a conversation she never thought she’d be having and she’s not sure how she feels about having it now. He ended it, not her and although he had good reasons she’s never quite got over the feeling he regretted it later. It’s sort of what she’s been banking on for the plan to work, at least partly. “Don’t worry about it Rog,” she tells him gently and he nods, releasing her wrist to tuck his hands uncomfortably into his pockets. It makes her want to hug him, simply because it’s such a childlike thing to do and for all his confidence, Roger always needed someone to look after him. She smiles, still a little confused about how the marriage topic came up but too aware of time passing to push it further. “My feet are killing me – want to stop for coffee?”
“Of course.” Roger links arms with her as they leave the shop, a comfortably familiar gesture and she leans into it a little, glancing up to meet his eyes but he’s staring into the distance, thinking hard from the look of his frown. For a moment Mirka wonders what’s really bothering him but they’ve got to be at the right café in ten minutes or Mardy will miss them. She takes a deep breath and pushes it to the back of her mind. The next couple of hours are going to be even more difficult than the morning and she’s going to have to concentrate to make sure she doesn’t do anything to ruin the progress they’ve made. Roger acting weird is the least of her problems.
Though perhaps she should warn Mardy to be careful, just in case.
~
“You are a walking trash can Andy, have I ever told you that?” Mardy comments, watching his best friend reduce a huge ham and cheese sandwich to crumbs in under a minute. Andy flashes him a broad grin around a full mouth and shrugs. Mardy sighs and looks away, glancing surreptitiously at his watch. Five minutes.
Andy swallows the last bit of sandwich and drains his coffee in one gulp, catching the discreetly lurking waiter’s eye for a refill. He looks almost apologetically over at Mardy when he has a full mug again. “Hey Fish, I’m sorry I dragged you up the Tower. I know you hate heights.”
“Oh it wasn’t that bad,” Mardy lies through his teeth, remembering clinging to Andy in the elevator on the way down, pale and shaking. As much as it was worth it for that look in Andy’s eyes when he realised Mardy liked them being practically wrapped around each other, Mardy still knows he’ll be having nightmares about falling for weeks. “At least I can say I’ve done it.”
“True.” Andy narrows his eyes over the rim of his coffee cup as he watches Mardy glance distractedly out the window. “What’s the matter Fish? In a hurry?”
“What? No.” Mardy shakes his head with a grin that’s more forced than not. “All the time in the world.”
“Good, because we need to talk.” Andy puts his coffee down but keeps his hands curled around the cup, warming his cold fingers. Mardy doesn’t want to meet his friend’s eyes so he keeps his gaze fixed on Andy’s hands, examining the bitten nails, the scar running diagonally across the right thumb from that time he caught his hand in the car door when they were both sixteen. There’s a shuffle of feet from under the table then Andy’s sneaker connects hard with his shin and Mardy yelps, head snapping up. Andy’s hazel stare meets his and Mardy swallows, looks down at his watch. Two minutes. He doesn’t have time for this.
“What was all that about, up on the Tower?” Andy demands quietly. “I know I promised not to ask but… Mardy, something really fucking weird is going on here and I trust you, I do, only… you know I’m Roger’s.” Mardy’s breath catches painfully at the words and Andy hears it, reaches across the table to grip Mardy’s hand. The blond refuses to look up, misery suddenly a heavy weight on his shoulders. “Separating me from him doesn’t mean I’ll betray him Mards. No matter how…” Andy trails off as Mardy sucks in a harsh breath, eyes screwed tight shut. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a flirt all day; it was stupid-“
“I’ve gotta go.” Mardy pushes his chair back with a harsh scrape of wood on stone, unable to listen to any more. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Mardy-“ Andy starts in an exasperated tone, reaching for his friend’s hand. Mardy jerks away and hurt flashes across Andy’s face. “Look I’m sorry but if that was the point of this little trip then-“
“Andy!” Mardy stands up fast enough to knock his chair skidding a few inches across the floor. His head is spinning with a mixture of shock and hurt and the need to get out of the café, now. “Just- stop talking. We can discuss this later.”
“No!” Andy’s out his chair and following Mardy across the café towards the door, hand closing tightly around Mardy’s wrist. Mardy tries to pull away and fails, aware of the curious glances they’re getting from the other customers. Andy is oblivious, pinning Mardy back against the wall, fury written across his face.
“You’re playing me Mardy and I don’t fucking like it,” he hisses. “Just because I love you doesn’t mean-“
The world around Mardy slows as Andy breaks off, shock at his own words replacing the anger on his face. All Mardy can hear is his quick breathing; all he can feel is Andy’s warm breath, brushing across his cheek. Andy’s grip on him loosens as the younger American draws back and Mardy knows they’ve finally hit a turning point, after which nothing will be the same. He knows it and he knows the trip just finally proved it’s own worth but nothing seems to register beyond the giddy joy at Andy’s admission; he loves me, he loves me, he said he-
And abruptly he remembers he’s supposed to be in a different café entirely by now and if he doesn’t move even this will be wasted. He wraps an arm around an unresisting Andy, presses a brief, chaste kiss to his friend’s mouth. Andy doesn’t even flinch. His eyes are blank with shock and he seems stunned by his own admission. Mardy smiles and leans in to whisper in his ear.
“Later, I promise. For now, just… don’t do anything I wouldn't do.”"
And he leaves, pushing past Andy to disappear through the door and out onto the busy street. Andy doesn’t even turn to watch him go, just closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the wall, ignoring the hushed whispers from the other customers. He stays like that for almost a minute, motionless until a hand touches his shoulder and he turns, fast enough to lose his balance and stumble.
“Mardy!“ he starts desperately as someone catches his arm, keeping him upright. “I’m so sorry-“ He looks up only to meet hazel eyes instead of blue-grey ones he’s expecting, Mardy nowhere in sight.
“Sorry,” Mirka says softly. “Wrong person.”
~
“Hello Mardy.”
Mardy pauses beside the table, wondering how Roger knows it’s him when the Swiss hasn’t even looked up. “Hey Roger. Fancy meeting-“
“Don’t bother.” Roger does look up now, face expressionless, dark eyes unreadable in the dim café. “So where’s Andy?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mardy says cheerfully, sliding into the chair opposite the Swiss, still bubbling with excitement from Andy’s slip only minutes ago. “Us meeting like this, must be all a coincidence. Enjoying your trip?”
“I was.” Roger leans back and folds his arms, gaze levelled calmly at Mardy. “But all of a sudden I’m starting to feel a little suspicious. What’s going on here Mardy?”
“Well see Roger, this is a French café right? In order to procure the services and goods they offer you catch the eye of the waiter, ask generally for caffeine in some form-“
“I didn’t ask for a joke. I asked to know what the fuck is going on.”
Startled because in all the time he’s known the Swiss he’s never heard him swear, Mardy shrugs. Some of the happiness from earlier dissipates, just a little, because when Mirka warned him Roger was in a difficult mood she really hadn’t been joking. “I can’t tell you Roger and that’s the truth. You’ll just have to endure my company for a couple of hours.”
“Bullshit. Tell me now.” Roger swears like English is his first language and Andy has really been a terribly bad influence on the polite and proper Swiss. Mardy raises an eyebrow.
“If Andy’s teaching you to swear in English, why haven’t I heard him cursing me in German yet? Doesn’t seem fair.” The spate of furious German Roger hisses at him in response doesn’t even make him flinch. “Oh lighten up Roger, am I really that bad? Andy likes me.”
“He likes me better.” Roger leans forward abruptly, anger in his tone. “He’s mine Mardy. Whatever silly games you’re playing, don’t think for a moment it’ll make me give Andy up.”
“I never suggested you’d have to,” Mardy is already tired of Roger’s hostile attitude. “Though from the way you’ve been acting with Mirka all morning, I’d say it’s at least crossed your mind. Oh what,” he adds as guilt mixed with shock flashes through Roger’s eyes. “Didn’t think I’d know? Think again. Now come on.” He stands up, waiting patiently for Roger to follow suit. The Swiss moves slowly but stands without comment, following him towards the door.
“Where are we going?” It’s a cautious question, tinged with a hint of his earlier hostility. Mardy shrugs as they step out into the cold Paris air, the sky above beginning to darken into twilight.
“Somewhere I don’t have to listen to you ask questions. I like you Roger, I do but there’s a point when you should let other people be in control for once you know?”
“I can let other people be in control,” Roger mumbles defensively, walking a little faster to keep up with Mardy as they turn down a side street. “I do have a right to know why you’re trying to steal my boyfriend though.”
“For the last time, I’m not trying to ‘steal’ Andy!” Mardy’s voice rises in exasperation. “Can you not just let it go, for fuckssake! If Andy is that easy to take then you should be asking yourself if he was worth having in the first place!”
“Oh but he would be easy to take,” Roger replies softly. “If it was you taking him.”
Startled for the second time in the last five minutes Mardy stops, turning to look incredulously at Roger. The Swiss is hunched into his jacket against the winter chill, misery lurking in his eyes. Mardy sees it and softens, because all they’ve done all day is dance on the edge of truth and lies for their own benefit, Andy and Roger following blindly around the city in hopes of an explanation. Roger looks so defeated and forlorn that Mardy boldly slides his arms around the Swiss’ waist, pulling him in close. Roger lets him do it without resistance, surprise on his face as Mardy meets his eyes.
“I swear Roger,” he says softly, sincerely. “I would never and will never take Andy from you. Not like that. Okay?”
Roger shakes his head. “But if not that then why-“
“Ah!” Mardy lets go, stepping back. “That’s all you get for now. Come on.” He turns, continuing down the street, knowing Roger will follow. He’s a little shaken at the Swiss’ words – a day ago, hell an hour ago, he’d have said Roger was crazy, deluded, paranoid – he knew Andy only loved Roger. Period.
Now he isn't so sure. Which means the whole plan may work out simpler than they’d dare hope. If he can just convince Roger...
“Here,” he says, as much to drag himself out of his reverie as to alert Roger that he’s stopped. They’re standing outside a brightly lit doorway with a carefully placed bouncer, out of the way but clearly in evidence. Roger frowns, blinking at the thud of music coming from inside.
“I don’t-“
“Shut up,” Mardy tells him, producing a handful of euros to give to the bouncer who lets them pass without a word. The music gets louder as they go down a long corridor, hitting them full blast as they enter a huge room, packed with people. Roger backs up a step, Mardy wrapping an arm around his waist to stop him leaving.
“Mardy, this isn’t-“ Roger breaks off as he looks around, taking in the crowd and dim lighting, couples entwined together on sofas and against walls, lost in their own private worlds. “I don’t like this.”
“Tough,” Mardy yells back to him over the music. “We have a couple of hours to kill. Let’s go get a drink.”
He turns to push his way through the crowd, dragging Roger with him as he shakes off his last few nerves. He’s already hooked Andy - now to fish for much more difficult prize. As they reach the bar he leans on it and pulls Roger against him, wrapping his arms around the Swiss’ waist. Roger seems too dazed by the music and lights to protest and Mardy lets himself brush an open mouthed kiss across the dark curls.
“Now,” he breathes in Roger’s ear. “Time to enjoy my company.”
~
“So you’ve always liked guys?”
“No.” Andy’s cute when he blushes and Mirka makes a mental note of it for future reference. “I never even thought about it until Roger asked me… well okay I’d been thinking about him a while before that,” he adds at Mirka’s sceptical look. “But nothing serious. Nothing… nothing that I thought would turn into this.”
“Hhhm.” Mirka twirls her half-full wine glass between her fingers, watching the candlelight shine through the red. The restaurant they’ve found is small and tucked away, busy enough to be comfortable without being overwhelming. There’s a woman in a black dress at the other end of the room, crooning into a microphone in French, something about a lover and packed suitcases, another relationship going up in flames. It’s irritating, especially when she’s trying to concentrate on the blond, more-than-slightly-nervous American sitting across from her. “So is it all guys, or just Roger?”
“What’s this, the Inquisition?” Andy jokes, leaning back in his chair. Mirka knows she’s making him uncomfortable but doesn’t take the question back – if she can push enough she knows he’ll slip; he doesn’t have Roger’s control. “I don’t know. It made me-“
He pauses, bites his lip and Mirka almost smiles. When this plan was first devised months ago, she never realised she’d be getting Andy along with Mardy and Roger, and at the time would have probably been quite upset about it – she’d had this image of a loud, obnoxious man that it seems was completely wrong. He’s been almost sweet, ever since they finished trading barbed remarks about what was going on.
“It made me aware of them more than anything.” Andy relaxes having found the words, rubbing a hand over his shaved hair that Mirka knows will be the first thing to go if this plan works – both she and Mardy hate it. “I’d see a hot guy walking down the street and appreciate it on more levels than I used to. Took me a while to stop freaking at the idea though.” He grins self-consciously. “I’m surprised Roger didn’t push me under a bus, I was so annoying about it.”
“He has the patience of a saint.” Mirka sips her wine, enjoying the heady flavour sliding over her tongue. She knows Andy’s watching her and licks her lips, not overtly provocative but more than simply an unconscious reaction. Despite the music, the singing and the murmur of the other diners, she hears his breath catch.
“So what about you?” It’s an awkward change of subject and he’s shifting in his chair, covering for the fact he was staring at her not five seconds before. “Ever batted for the other side?”
It’s enough to make her choke on her wine, all undignified spluttering and watering eyes for a moment until he thrusts a napkin in front of her. She takes it gratefully, pressing it to her mouth while she composes herself. When she looks up again his smile is wicked.
“Is that a yes?”
“No, actually.” She has to sip her wine before she continues, still hoarse from coughing and a little amused by the turn in the conversation. “I’m about as heterosexual as they come.”
“Shame. I’m sure Roger would’ve agreed to a foursome,” Andy remarks and oh Christ she’s going to run out of napkins at this rate. Andy’s low laugh stings until she realises it was an innocent joke and really, she should know anyone Roger loves couldn’t be that deliberately cruel. It still takes her a few long minutes to calm her racing heart and by the time she can meet Andy’s eyes again, he’s looking concerned.
“Whoa, I’m sorry. Did I just break some major Swiss rule that Roger hasn’t told me about yet?” He looks mortified, twisting his fingers nervously together like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I was only joking.”
“No, no, I’m fine.” She takes a deep breath. “You surprised me, that’s all.”
“Roger says I do that all the time.” The wicked smile is back and she’s realising she could love this man with ease - underneath the thin veneer of confidence he’s childlike; sweetness and light with a mischievous streak a mile wide. “But don’t change the subject. Has it never even crossed your mind?”
“Um…” She knows she’s hesitated too long when he laughs again. “Fine, so maybe it has occurred to me at some point but it only made me more certain of my preferences. I’m simply not interested, nothing more. Isn’t it exhausting, to look at both men and women as potentially more than friends?” She frowns, watching him think the question over. “I know I couldn’t do it.”
Andy’s quiet for a long moment, gaze fixed on his wine glass. Mirka knows better than to push for an answer on this and waits patiently. Finally he expels a long breath and sits back in his chair with a shrug.
“I don’t know. It’s not an exact science. I don’t look at every person I meet as potential, I have platonic guy friends just the same as I did before Roger, just like you probably do. Going out with a guy hasn’t changed the way I feel about them. They’re just friends.”
It’s an opening but Mirka hesitates, unwilling to risk shattering the easy camaraderie they’ve built up. Andy looks at her and she knows he’s waiting for her to say what’s on the tip of her tongue, so she asks it anyway.
“Friends like Mardy?”
“How did I know that one was coming?” Andy murmurs. “No, not quite like Mardy. Mardy is… Mardy’s…”
“Special?” Mirka suggests and gets a fierce hazel gaze directed at her, Andy frowning with thought and abrupt suspicion.
“Unique,” he corrects guardedly. “Is that why we’re here? Because of Mardy?” He answers his own question, shaking his head. “No because then how does Roger-“
Mirka sees the exact moment he gets it and holds up a warning hand. He’s half out his chair already, mouth open ready to accuse and a couple of people glance curiously towards them. “Andy sit down. We’ll explain it all soon, I promise.”
“But that’s what you’re doing right?” Andy sinks back into his chair, suddenly pale and his knuckles go white as he grips the arms of his chair. “Fuck. Fucking hell. I can’t believe-“
“Andy,” Mirka warns. “I don’t want to know right now. Save it for later.”
Andy pins her to her chair with his eyes, accusation and shock mingling in his expression. “But you- you planned-“
“Not. Now.” There’s a note of finality to Mirka’s tone and she can see Andy’s defiance collapse as he sinks down into his chair. His voice and expression are unreadable when he asks the question she’s been expecting all night.
“Where’re Roger and Mardy?”
~
Mardy and Roger are curled up on a couch in a corner of the club, far enough away from the band that they can hear themselves speak without shouting. They aren’t touching, not quite but Mardy wants to, wants to so badly he’s practically sitting on his hands to stop himself. They’re facing each other, legs drawn up and heads resting on the cushions, intimate with enough space between them to pretend it isn’t. Roger hasn’t taken his eyes off Mardy for the last half hour. The dark, level stare is sending shivers down Mardy’s spine and he’s about half a minute from forgetting the plan entirely and just kissing Roger senseless.
“So you never told Andy you’re gay?” the Swiss is asking curiously. Mardy drags his mind out the gutter and tried to pay attention.
“What? Oh, no, though after today…” He shrugs. “I’ve known since I was eighteen but I never found a way to bring it up. After I stopped living with his family when we graduated, it was easy to hide.” Mardy smiles with a hint of bitterness, staring down at his drink. “I don’t know why I thought it would be a problem, Andy’s never been homophobic even before… but I guess maybe I was just never brave enough.” Mardy glances quickly up then away again, not wanting to see pity or sympathy in Roger’s eyes. Half of him is amazed that he’s sitting here pouring his heart out to Roger Federer of all people but the other half is relieved; not even to Mirka has he told the finer details of the years spent loving Andy from a distance. Roger’s a quiet and patient listener, asking the occasional question to keep Mardy talking and the American is surprised to look back and realise he’s basically covered the last few years of his life while they’ve been sitting here. Surprised and a little horrified; he never meant to let Roger know that much but it was talk to him or kiss him, and Mardy isn’t sure Roger will let him do the latter yet.
A hand brushes his thigh, fingertips a teasingly light touch and Mardy blinks, looking up to see Roger watching him with something… Mardy can’t pin down the look in the dark eyes but if he didn’t know better, he’d have said it was want, the slender hand a warm, trembling touch through Mardy’s jeans and fuck, he started this whole thing to get Andy but right now he’s wondering how he’d forgotten Roger would be thrown into the mix too. The Swiss swallows noticeably but the hand stays, thumb rubbing small circles across faded denim.
“Am I right in thinking you and Mirka have a plan for tonight?” he asks and Mardy can’t help smiling. Even having worked it out Roger’s trying to be subtle; it’s endearing and cute and words he never thought he’d be applying to Roger Federer before tonight. Still, they’ve planned these last few hours down to the finest detail and breaking it now will ruin their hard work.
“I’m not allowed to say. Patience,” he adds as a look of frustration crosses Roger’s face, “Is a virtue you know.”
“That’s not fair Mardy.”
“Let me have my fun. It’ll be worth it.” Mardy tilts his head to one side as the band launches into a new song, recognising the slow beat. “I love this song. Come on.”
“What?” Roger isn’t fast enough to take his hand away before Mardy grabs it and hauls the Swiss to his feet. “Mardy no, I can’t-“
“Roger you’re the most graceful tennis player I’ve ever seen. If you can’t dance then there’s no hope for the rest of us.” Mardy flashes a bright smile back through the gloom of the club, air hazy with heat, heavy with too many people in too small a space. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“But-“
Too late; they’ve reached the ‘dance floor’ - which is really just a space empty of tables and sofas where dancers have congregated - and Mardy’s turning, pulling Roger in close and for a moment it’s awkward, too many hands with nowhere to put them until they settle around waists and shoulders. Roger lifts his head with a shuddering breath and they’re too close not to kiss. Mardy keeps it brief and innocent, a simple brush of lips because really they’re not supposed to be doing this until later but a day of Andy’s flirting hasn’t done anything for his self-control. Roger’s tongue darts out, wet and hot and Mardy draws back.
“Later,” he promises and it’s hardly audible, breathed more than spoken but Roger nods understanding, shivers and Mardy tightens his arms around the slender Swiss. Around them dancers spin in a riot of bright clothes and bare skin, a few more-than-friendly touches skimming over them both and Mardy glares at an approaching blond over Roger’s shoulder, narrowing his eyes in warning until she backs down, vanishing into the crowd. Everything is hazy and the thump of the music vibrates through Mardy, a dull counterpart to Roger’s trembling as they sway against each other and really, the Swiss had nothing to worry about with dancing because there’s hardly room to move anyway, people all around them absorbed in each other. Mardy rests his forehead against Roger’s and watches the Swiss close his eyes, bottom lip caught between his teeth as they dance. He would rather this was Andy but he knows Andy wouldn’t dance like this, wouldn’t let Mardy touch him so possessively without demanding explanations first, ruining the mood and the night. He loves that Roger is letting him do this, letting them do this. Andy may always be first for him, but he thinks - no, knows - that given time Roger will be a close second, so close he may as well be first and Mirka, with her sparkling eyes and intelligence, almost hidden under layers of designer clothes and jewellery will be right there too. The four of them are as different as it’s possible to be but he thinks they’ll work because of it rather than in spite of it.
The song ends and they’re left standing together in the crowd, pressed together hard enough that Mardy isn’t sure he can let go. He doesn’t smile at how well the plan has worked; they’re too close, too much heat between them and Roger’s trembling in his arms, eyes still shut. His heartbeat is a quick pulse against Mardy’s tongue as he bends to kiss the Swiss’ throat.
“Come on Roger,” he whispers, loosening his grip enough to turn and steer the Swiss towards the door. The sound Roger makes is more a moan than a word but Mardy catches it. “We’re going to meet Andy and Mirka,” he replies, hands still casually possessive on Roger’s hips, one of Roger’s hands still fisted in his shirt as if the Swiss can’t convince himself to let go. The flash of dark eyes is a surprise because they’re sharp and alert, everything Roger’s stumbling steps and rough breathing suggest he isn’t. His smile is quick if a little shaky.
“Time for ‘later’?”
Mardy grins and leans in to steal a quick kiss, Roger eagerly opening his mouth to it as they step out into the cold winter air. It’s wet and messy, harder than the chaste kisses of earlier and Mardy likes it, letting himself enjoy before pulling back far enough to speak.
“Yeah. It's definitely time for ‘later’.”
~
Part Four