Drabbles/Ficlets: K-O (NC-17, Roddick/Federer, Roddick/Federer/Fish) Title: Ficlets K-O Rating: NC-17 Pairings: Roddick/Federer, Roddick/Federer/Fish, Federer/Vavrinec(implied), Roddick/Fish (implied) Summary: Various ficlets. K is a ‘sequel’ to ficlet D, L is a ‘sequel’ to Watch Me Fall, M a semi-sequel to Catharsis and O is the next in the series of my Christmas ficlets. Phew. That was complicated. Disclaimer: Not mine, never have been, never will be. The plot bunnies made me do it and they’re lying little rodents, so it all never actually happened. That I know of anyway. Notes: There’s a hint to something that’ll happen in Bounty sequel somewhere in these ficlets – keep an eye out for it. ^_~ These are also surprisingly Mardy-centric which wasn’t intentional – it just sort of happened.
~ K ~
Roger knew Andy had something on his mind. The American had been distracted all evening, greeting Roger’s unexpected arrival at the door with a distracted smile and returning his kisses as if running on automatic pilot. Curled together on Andy’s couch in front of the TV, his fifth hint about heading to bed having just been ignored completely, Roger decided he’d had enough.
“ANDY!” he demanded sharply. Andy, who had been lying across his chest staring blankly at the black and white B-movie they were ‘watching’, jerked abruptly out of his daze.
“What?! What’s wrong?!” he asked hastily, sitting up. Roger folded his arms with an air of wounded pride.
“You don’t love me anymore,” he accused with a perfectly straight face, though his laughter was fighting to escape. Andy’s expression went from worried, to stunned, to outraged in the space of about three seconds. The Swiss silently wished he had a camera.
“What the hell…?!” Andy trailed off, opening and closing his mouth wordlessly for a moment. “What gave you that idea?!”
“You’ve hardly looked at me since I walked in the door,” Roger pointed out logically. “I have done everything apart from forcibly drag you by your hair to the bedroom and you’ve ignored me. Explain to me please why I flew halfway around the world to spend the night on your couch silently watching bad TV.”
Andy opened his mouth to argue - Roger could see the defiance in his expression. The American sat mutely for several long seconds, mouth open, then sighed, closing his eyes. Roger couldn’t help a tiny smirk at being proven right.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I just had a really bizarre afternoon. It threw me completely.”
“Didn’t the fund raising go well?” Roger asked with a small frown. Andy shook his head.
“It went fine. It was what happened after that which was bizarre.” He grabbed the remote, hitting mute so the screams of the leggy blond being terrorised onscreen went abruptly quiet. Roger sat up to listen, watching curiously as Andy frowned, deep in thought.
“Of all the guys on tour, who would you say was the most likely to ask me for a date?” he said slowly. Roger sat up straighter, his faint smile vanishing.
“Mardy asked you for a date?” he asked, the words leaving his mouth before consulting his better judgement. Andy blinked, glancing up in confusion.
“Wha- Mardy? No, it was Andre. But- Mardy? Do you know something you’re not telling me?!”
“Andre? As in Agassi?” Roger ignored the American’s shock, too busy dealing with his own. “You said no?”
“Of course I said no you daft prat, I said I was already taken. “ Andy sounded distracted again. “Why did you say Mardy? Is Mardy gay?” He paused, running it through his mind. “Did Mardy tell you he was gay?!!”
“He-“ Roger stopped abruptly. “So what did Agassi say?”
“Don’t change the subject,” Andy said sharply, then shrugged. “He sounded a little surprised that it was you.”
“You told him?!”
“Not in so many words.” Andy glared at the Swiss pointedly. “Mardy?!!”
Roger sighed and settled himself back on the couch, reaching for the remote. “I’m saying nothing. Call him tomorrow.”
“To hell with tomorrow, I want to know what the hell’s going on.” Andy jumped up, stomping out the room. Roger heard him muttering all the way down the hall and into the kitchen in search of the cordless phone. The Swiss sighed, shaking his head in quiet amazement.
“Agassi,” he muttered. “Unbelievable.”
~ L~
That went… well. I think. Lleyton frowned as he stalked down the corridor, deep in thought. He hadn’t walked into the locker room intending to sexually assault Roddick but the American should learn when to keep his mouth shut. He was only sorry Roddick’s boyfriend and Safin had walked in before he’d really had the chance to make the American beg. He smirked as he rounded a corner, remembering Andy’s desperate plea for more.
“Oh how the mighty fall,” he muttered to himself. “Just wait till next time Roddick. I’ll…”
“You will do what?!” a heavily accented voice demanded from right behind him. Before the Australian could turn a hand closed fiercely around his shoulder and spun him round, slamming him back against the wall. Lleyton started to yell but a hand clamped over his mouth and Marat leaned threateningly towards him, tightening his grip painfully on the Australian’s shoulder.
“Scream, you will regret it,” the Russian promised. Lleyton swallowed and shut his mouth, feeling Marat’s calloused palm press to his lips. He’d seen the Russian angry before, everyone had, but there was a hard edge to Marat’s tone that he’d never heard before now. He ignored it, trying to glare furiously at the other man despite the hand over half his face.
“Matfphntifnf?!” he demanded angrily, struggling to free himself. Marat only tightened his grip and Lleyton froze, realising for the first time exactly how big the six foot-plus Russian really was.
“What did you do?” Marat demanded, removing his hand to let him speak. Lleyton shrugged angrily, trying again to wriggle free.
“None of your fucking business mate. You gonna let me go or what?”
Marat’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing. “What. Did. You. Do?” he repeated, growling each word slowly. Lleyton hesitated then shrugged, unable to help a faint smirk.
“He practically begged for it,” he hissed. “No w will you get the fuck off me?”
Marat paused for a long moment, staring down with distaste at the Australian who was head and shoulder shorter than him. Lleyton glared back, catching the change in the Russian’s expression just before a huge fist hammered into his stomach, right where Andy’s had not so long ago. Lleyton doubled up with a choked cry, Marat half catching him as he started to fall.
“You must understand,” the Russian whispered in his ear, icily calm as Lleyton gasped for air. “I respect Roger. He is a good friend – Andy means much to him. Hurt either of them and I shall hunt you down. Understand?”
“You make a habit of threatening people?” Lleyton hissed between gasps. Marat smiled coldly, gripping the Australian’s chin and forcing it up. Lleyton met his gaze, seeing fury and determination mixing with disgust.
“When they deserve it,” Marat answered and let the Australian go. Lleyton slid down the wall, holding his stomach as he closed his eyes. He heard Marat turn and leave, footsteps growing fainter as the Russian headed back to the changing rooms. After a long minute of catching his breath Lleyton forced himself to sit up, eyes still closed as he leaned back against the wall.
“Can’t hunt me down if you don’t know what I’ve done,” he hissed to himself. “Watch out Roddick – your little Russian friend just earned you what you were begging for.”
~M~
“Hey,” Mardy said softly, turning his head to meet Andy’s worried eyes. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“He’s right.” Roger reached over Mardy to twine his fingers through Andy’s. “Moya was too good. I couldn’t have beaten him.”
“Liar,” Andy told him affectionately but he smiled for the first time since the Spaniard had defeated him that afternoon. The three of them were tangled together on Mardy’s bed in their Seville hotel, bare skin glowing softly in the light of the candles Roger had lit earlier. Empty champagne bottles were scattered around the room and the sheets had been pushed into a crumpled heap on the floor during Roger’s and Mardy’s efforts to cheer Andy up. Mardy smiled back at Andy, wondering if they ever really had to move again. He could quite happily have stayed in bed with his two lovers forever.
“Hey Fish, I never said congratulations for winning your match,” Andy said softly, freeing his hand from Roger’s to run it through Mardy’s hair. The younger American was sandwiched between the two of them, enjoying the double attention. He closed his eyes with a moan of pleasure as Roger started to trace invisible patterns across his stomach with teasingly light fingertips.
“I only won because there was no pressure. If I’d had to go first I’d have lost.”
“All the same,” Andy insisted, grinning across at Roger who was wearing a tiny frown of concentration as his hand drifted purposefully lower. “You’ve spent far too much time this week looking after me. I should return the favour.”
“Mmmm,” Mardy murmured as the Swiss’ hand skimmed lower still, across the Olympic rings tattoo they’d both bribed him into getting. Andy, grinning wickedly the whole time, had insisted it was tradition and who was Mardy to defy an unwritten Olympic rule? Mardy had never really had a choice in the matter. “I like the sound of that.”
“Good, because I was going to do it anyway,” Andy teased, propping himself up on his elbows and leaning over to kiss the other American. Distracted, Mardy didn’t realise Roger was replacing his hand with his mouth until shockingly warm heat closed around him and Andy was laughing into the kiss.
“Bastards,” Mardy gasped before Roger started to put his very talented tongue to good use and he decided maybe he’d forgive them both after all.
~N~
Mardy checked the piece of paper in his hand for the fifth time. Around him New York was filled with people chatting, rushing, shopping, yelling to friends across the street - all blithely ignoring the lost tennis player in their midst. Mardy was grateful for the anonymity. He had a feeling this meeting was going to be uncomfortable enough without having to dodge hundreds of interested fans to get there. That is it would be uncomfortable… if he could find the damn restaurant.
“Excuse me,” he said politely to a smartly dressed passing woman, sipping a Starbucks coffee. She paused with a friendly smile. “Do you know how to get here?” He showed the address, scribbled in neat cursive across the scrap of paper. The woman thought a moment then nodded, turning to point back down the street.
“You’ve missed it. Walk back that way, take the first left then a right. It’ll be across the street from you.”
“Thank you very much,” Mardy smiled in relief. “I was totally lost.”
“No problem.” The woman smiled back. “Good luck with your match tomorrow.” She carried on, oblivious to Mardy’s open-mouthed stare. She’d shown absolutely no sign of recognising him when he’d stopped her.
He’d never get used to this city. It was insane.
Recovering from the shock he followed the directions, unspeakably relieved when he turned right and the Saga restaurant was indeed across the street from him. When she’d suggested it on the phone he’d just assumed it would be easy to find but he always forgot how overwhelmingly confusing New York was. He was already ten minutes late; he broke into a jog as he crossed the street and hesitated outside the door, taking a deep breath. She hadn’t said when she called what this was about but he had a pretty good idea.
Nothing to do but get it over with. Pushing open the door, Mardy went in.
Inside it was busy but not overcrowded, the warm buzz of conversation washing over him. He threaded his way through the crowd at the bar to order a beer before spotting her at the table in the corner, staring at her drink as if deep in thought. He had to look twice; he’d seen her around at tennis related events and on tour of course but he’d hardly spoken to her before. She’d had to say her name twice when she called before he realised who he was talking to. As he made his way over to her table she glanced up, something like relief flashing through clear hazel eyes.
“Thought you weren’t coming,” she said lightly, her accent hardly noticeable. Mardy smiled apologetically as he sat down.
“Sorry, I got completely lost. How are you?”
Mirka looked at him levelly across the table and Mardy silently marvelled at her confident attitude. “I’m okay. You? Nervous?”
“About the Open?” Mardy shrugged. “Maybe a little but it’s Andy’s tournament more than mine. Can I get you another drink?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” Mirka glanced down at her martini, swishing it a little from side to side. “Thanks for coming.”
“No problem.” Mardy let the silence linger a moment as he sipped his beer, watching her stare at her own drink. She was pretty, beautiful even, with the warm glow of the lights making her chestnut hair shine as loose strands of it tumbled across her eyes, slender fingers tapping nervously against her glass as she drained it.
“”You know why I asked you to meet me?” she asked quietly as she put the empty glass down, folding her empty hands under her chin as she looked up. Mardy hesitated before he nodded, slowly.
“It’s about Roger right?”
“And Andy,” she added, watching for his reaction. Mardy managed not to noticeably flinch but he saw the change in her expression and knew she’d caught it. She was smarter than he’d given her credit for and idly he wondered if Roger had any idea what he was dealing with.
“I saw the way you looked at him in Athens,” she remarked softly. “I wanted to be sure- I wanted to know someone else was in the same position as me.” Her gaze flickered to his hands, locked in a white-knuckled grip around his drink, before returning to his face. “Unrequited love is a lonely thing to have.”
“I don’t-“ the denial was almost automatic by now and Mardy made a conscious effort to stop himself as Mirka frowned. “Sorry, I haven’t- I don’t go around admitting it very often.”
“I don’t blame you.” She half-smiled, sympathy and understanding in her eyes. “I guessed before Roger could tell me. He was afraid of how I’d react.”
“I’ve never told Andy,” Mardy confessed, hardly able to believe he was having this conversation. He’d kept it all locked up inside him for years and to get it out in the open, even with someone he hardly knew, felt strangely uplifting. “I never could, and then…”
“He found someone else,” Mirka finished for him. Mardy’s smile had an edge of bitterness.
“Yes.”
“He found Roger,” she added quietly. Mardy briefly shut his eyes as if he could block the words out.
“…Yes.”
They were quiet for a minute, avoiding each other’s eyes while Mardy steeled himself to ask something that had been bothering him. Mika glanced up as he cleared his throat.
“I don’t want to pry but… how does it work?” he asked in a rush. “You and Roger and… and…”
Her answering smile was as bitter as his had been a few minutes before. “I go to his matches. I do interviews with him. I act as his manager. Then we go home to separate rooms, separate houses. I only stay to fool the press. If they ever suspected…”
Mardy nodded, a little relieved. Over the last year in his craziest dreams he’d thought just maybe the three of them were together, maybe Andy had just never mentioned it although he talked about Roger none-stop. It had hurt to think he may be the only one getting left out but it was cold comfort to hear Mirka admit she’d been just as abandoned. A threesome had given Mardy hope that eventually, perhaps Andy would realise he was a third wheel and come to Mardy for comfort. Just him and Roger… it seemed to give the whole relationship a more serious edge.
“They love each other you know,” Mirka said softly. Mardy nodded again, the now-familiar misery washing over him.
“I know. Still hurts though.”
“It never stops.” Mirka rested her head in her hands with a sigh. “You have no idea how good it is to find someone I can talk to about it all.”
“Same here.” Mardy was silent for a moment, contemplating a thought that flashed through his mind. Mirka noted his silence, looking over at him with a faint frown.
“What?”
“It would be wrong to break them up,” he said softly. “If they love each other.”
“Very wrong,” Mirka agreed slowly. “We couldn’t…”
“No.” Mardy sighed, dismissing the idea but Mirka was still frowning thoughtfully.
“We can’t break them up but I know Roger has a very big bed…”
Mardy caught on instantly to her plan, feeling a thrill of excitement. “Big enough for four people?”
Mirka’s answering smile was wickedly satisfied. “More than big enough. All we need to do is decide how to get them to agree.”
“Could be difficult,” Mardy mused but already he felt better than he had in months. Lonely and miserable everything had seemed impossible. With Mirka to help, he suddenly felt far more optimistic.
“Okay. First we need a plan…”
~ O ~
Christmas is being with the people you love. It’s also about the bright lights and presents and too much chocolate of course, I’d never dare suggest anything else in hearing range of Andy but deep down, those things don’t seem to matter so much. Not when I’m curled around Roger on Andy’s couch, half listening to the pair of them argue about, of all things, eggnog.
“It’s American,” Andy yells from the kitchen where he’s making popcorn. Roger lifts his head sleepily from my shoulder, soft curls tickling my bare skin. We’d all lost our shirts some time ago at Andy’s insistence and I’m enjoying the feel of semi-naked Roger snuggled against me. I reach up to lazily tangle my fingers in his dark hair as he looks towards the open kitchen door.
“It actually came from Europe,” he calls. We both hear Andy’s snort of disbelief and exchange amused glances.
“You won’t get him to admit he’s wrong,” I murmur, bending my head to press a kiss to his forehead. He wriggles himself into a better position so he can kiss me on the lips and I can taste the whiskey he’s been drinking, sharp and delicious and I pull him closer, following the taste with my tongue. There’s a soft sound from the kitchen door and we break apart to see Andy, leaning against the doorframe and watching us with a smile that fades when he realises he’s been spotted.
“Don’t stop,” he complains. “I thought Christmas had come early.”
I laugh. “You’ll get your present at midnight and not before brat,” I tease and Roger grins, knowing exactly what we’ve got planned for later. Andy pouts as he crosses the room to the couch and drops down on the other side of Roger, hugging the popcorn to his chest.
“If I don’t get a present, you don’t get the popcorn,” he threatens hopefully. I trade grins with Roger and we pounce, everything descending into a chaos of flying cushions, popcorn and yells of outrage for a minute. Andy emerges flushed but triumphant, sitting across Roger’s thighs while I’m half trapped between the Swiss and the arm of the couch, reaching helplessly for the bowl Andy holds above his head.
“Present!” he demands gleefully, moving it just out of reach of my outstretched hand. Roger struggles ineffectually to sit up but Andy puts a hand on his shoulder, holding him down. “Or if not a present then I want Roger to admit he’s wrong about eggnog.”
“But-!” Roger starts to protest. Andy shakes the bowl warningly.
“Admit I’m right!” he insists, grinning. Roger glares up at him and I recognise the look that flashes across the Swiss’ face. It’s the look that means nothing, not torture or persuasion or bribery, will get him to back down. Andy sees it too and lifts an eyebrow, smirking.
“Oh, so it’s going to be like that is it?” He leans over to put the bowl down on the coffee table, evading my futile grab for it with ease. “What do you want to bet I can persuade you to admit I’m right?”
Roger tries again to sit up but only succeeds in making me gasp as he inadvertently presses back between my legs which are currently tangled around his waist after the popcorn-fight. A specific part of my anatomy is abruptly very interested and I bite my lip, meeting Andy’s eyes as he smiles suggestively.
“Mardy thinks I should try to persuade you,” he says softly. “Don’t you Fish?” My eyes track his hands as they slide with deliberate slowness up Roger’s thighs towards the top of his jeans, pausing pointedly when he reaches the zip. My moan echoes Roger’s.
“So?” Andy asks wickedly, his thumb rubbing lazy circles around the swiftly-growing bulge in Roger’s jeans. I can feel the Swiss trembling against me and know what Andy’s doing must be driving him crazy - it’s affecting me enough and I’m only watching. “Am I right?”
His hand slows, presses down harder and I can feel it in the way Roger arcs back against me with a choked gasp, his eyes screwed shut and hair falling across his face. I wrap a supporting arm around his waist and grind my hips against him, desperate for any sort of touch at this point. A choked cry escapes Roger, trapped between the two of us and unable to move unless we let him which, right now, isn’t high on our list of options. I tilt his head back to kiss him as Andy makes short work of his jeans, unzipping them and pushing them impatiently down. Roger makes a soft noise of desperation and kisses me harder.
“Roger?” Andy asks breathlessly, waiting for me to break the kiss so Roger can look at him. The Swiss lifts his head just slightly and I steal the chance to reach across to the coffee table and grab his forgotten glass of whiskey without him noticing. Andy slides forward to kiss Roger himself and the Swiss moans. I shiver at the sound, taking a sip of whiskey and wincing when it burns all the way down.
“Ready to admit defeat yet?” Andy breathes, leaning back a little. Roger can’t seem to speak but the determined shake of his head makes Andy’s grin widen. He sits back and slides all the way down, taking Roger’s briefs with him. The Swiss starts to look down to see what he’s doing but a quick glance from Andy begs me for a distraction. I gulp the whiskey which burns my tongue as I hold it in my mouth, pull Roger’s head back and kiss him, fiery whiskey and tongues and Roger’s half-scream as Andy’s mouth closes over his cock. The sounds and the alcohol make me dizzy as I tighten my grip on a shaking Roger, swallowing the last of the whiskey in my mouth so I can soften the kiss. This wasn’t supposed to happen until after midnight, but since it’s Christmas Eve, I guess Andy decided Roger could have his present early. I’m not arguing – it means I’ve still got whatever they’re planning to ‘give’ me to look forward to.
Roger’s writhing under Andy’s practiced mouth and I gasp as he grinds back, sending pleasure spiking through me. There’s no way I can touch myself; Roger’s on top of me and Andy’s pushing him down, both of them too engaged in what they’re doing to help me out. I push my hips up against Roger and somehow he understands, pressing back against me as Andy moves up a gear, his hand on Roger’s thigh gripping tight enough to leave bruises. I can feel that Roger’s close and force myself to take a deep breath, taking another mouthful of whiskey from the glass clenched tight enough to break in my hand as I lean down. Roger moans as the whiskey floods his mouth and I swallow hastily when I feel him go tense, wanting to give him room to breathe when he comes. He cries out in protest a second later as Andy sits up, leaving him begging for release in a mixture of German, English and what sounds like some very rude French. I glare at Andy, flushed and smirking.
“For fuck’s sake Andy, do you want to kill him?”
“Am I right?” Andy demands, a little hoarsely. Roger falls silent, gritting his teeth and I stroke the dark hair back from his face, damp with sweat. “Am I?”
“Ja, yes! Please!” Roger bucks his hips up, begging and I press a kiss to his hair, whispering soothing nonsense. “Please… Andy…”
Having won the argument – though I’m fairly sure not the war – Andy ducks back down again, moving fast in a tacit apology for making Roger beg, blond head beautifully golden against the darker coffee-brown of the Swiss’ skin. I’m still admiring the sight when Roger goes tense, arcing back against me with a choked cry as he finally comes, Andy swallowing with the ease of long practise and bringing him down gently, eventually sliding off with a softly wet pop.
There’s a brief silence as we all wind down, Roger’s breathing slowing as he turns on his side, eyes still closed as he uses my chest as a pillow. Andy looks a little guilty as he reaches out to run a hand through the Swiss’ dark curls.
“Rog?” he says quietly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”
“Shut up.” Roger sounds amused, if still a little out of breath. “I should argue with you more often if that’s how you try to win.”
Andy looks up at me, surprise and relief in his smile. I try to smile back but Roger’s still between my legs and it’s doing nothing to diminish my erection. Andy glances down and when he spots the problem his smile turns wicked.
“Hey Roger?” he asks. “You feel up to some more early present-giving?”
Roger looks up at him then at me, his smile widening into a grin as he realises what Andy means. I open my mouth for a half hearted protest before I’m pinned back against the cushions and Andy’s kissing me, the salty tang of Roger still lingering in his mouth. I decide it’s not worth struggling and kiss him back.
After all, Roger had his present early. It's only fair I get to have mine too.