words: 2300ish
rating: R
warnings: um. tennis slash. cracky premise (although uncracky fic in general). slightly/overtly fetishistic behaviour (mileages may vary). masturbation. I AM BLUSHING SO MUCH.
extra warning: no actual physical federer in this fic.
a/n: this fic stems from some ridiculous and hysterical post-wimbledon chat between myself
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God, I love this so much. I just adore how you approached the whole thing - very intense and immersive. The perfectness of Rafa's speech was so good as to be almost creepy. There is some lovely realism going on all through this, with the awful conflict of his feelings, but I especially liked this line a lot:
When he comes, he doesn't think about anyone, any hands, but feels his head thumping with effort and anger.
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i know! it would be too bizarre if i didn't know that in rafa's position, i'd do exactly the same. :D
also, thank you! coming from you, this is really flattering. i am reading and re-reading this comment, and then stuffing it down my top. <3
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thank you so much. it was a bit nervy posting this - an odd fic to post as a first offering - but i am so completely reassured, i'll definitely try to write more.
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I hope to see more fic, maybe even a sequel? xD
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i did think about a sequel. canon is so fast-paced in this fandom, though, and so potentially devastating. i think it'll take some thought.
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you mourn all you like for roger. i mourn for him constantly, though more asa result of my wild sexual attraction than from a sense of duty. oh rogelio. <333
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