tennis slash - Free Coffee (6)
Title: Free Coffee (6)
Author: Kris S.
Fandom: Tennis RPS
Pairings: Richard Gasquet/Andy Murray; Marat Safin/Juan Carlos Ferrero
Other Character: Kim Sears
Rating: R
Disclaimer: This did not happen.
Summary: Richie is in hiding during the suspension so ends up at Andy’s London home. During Wimbledon. Yeah, that’s not asking for trouble.
Chapter 6 - Third Rounders
It is a good thing Kim knows just enough to stay on Richie’s side. No other reason Marat can think of in which she would willingly sneak him into the house. Kim is used to the crowds outside the house and he has to give her credit for having him blend in with two other guys, all wearing suits, derbies and sunglasses.
She leads him up to the bedroom and knocks on the door, three taps. No reply. Kim looks to Marat. “Richie has been closed off since their fight.”
Marat takes off he derby then looks down at the bag in his hand. “What about Andy?”
“Riled up, needs to blow off steam so he’s on the practice court. Miles has reported how Andy has never served harder.”
Marat nods, not at all surprised by that news. “I can handle him from here,” then bursts into the bedroom.
Richie had been asleep but is jolted awake by the door slamming against the wall. Then he sees Marat and narrows his stare. “What are you doing here? How did you even get in?”
“How did I get you in the house to begin with?” Marat says simply.
“You sweet talked Kim and got me really drunk.” But Richie is inspecting Marat’s suit, figuring that may have played a role.
Marat holds up a bottle of vodka, unsealed but still full. “So you already know the rest. I figured either you’d be all out by now or Andy would dump the rest because he’s afraid of the good stuff. You look like hell, by the way.”
“Thanks.” Richie lets out a deep sigh but accepts the bottle, unscrewing the cap.
“What the hell did you do?”
“Why are you so sure I did it?”
Marat stares blankly. “Because you always do.”
Richie shakes his head. “We’re too far gone.”
“He’s still going on about Roger?”
“Yeah, but it’s a little more than that. Andy essentially thinks I’m doing this only because of his recent success,” then gestures to himself then Marat, not quite sure how to phrase the whole thing.
It takes Marat a few seconds to catch on. “He thinks you’re a starfucker.”
“Basically, yes.” Richie turns to face the wall, downing a large mouthful. “But it’s not about that. I’ve been horrible to him for so long and he never deserved any of it. I wasn’t the tennis prodigy to him, just a fellow player, but I was obsessed with the best. Too bad the closest I got to the best was whenever Roger invited me to join him and Mirka.”
Marat closes his eyes, honestly not sure he wanted that visual of Roger’s sex life. “You need to get drunk. Badly. Because that is just weird. Not so much that you were with them but that you kept going back to them. Then you go off on Andy and tell him exactly how you feel, tell him to stop belaboring the past and get the fuck over it so he enjoy his wonderful life.”
“How about you get drunk and you tell Andy off? How about doing that right before his match, fucking him over and destroying your grand plan to help his career?” Richie sets the bottle on the carpet then retreats back under the covers, pulling them over his head. His voice is muffled as he continues, “I genuinely want him to do well but he’s better off not dealing with me at all.”
Marat grumbles, “You know, you are fortunate I’m not single or else I would be trying to pound you into the mattress.” Nonetheless, he sits down on the bed, hand resting on Richie’s back. “You’re right. You can’t tell Andy that way. He admits he can’t resist you, right? Why don’t you go along with that one instead? Since he can’t voice exactly what he wants from you, make it so you are even more enticing to him. Beyond anything you’ve done so far.”
* * * * *
Juan Carlos exclaims, “You told Richie that? Are you insane?” He’s lounging on the bed as Marat is changing out of a suit and tie while explaining the reason he’s wearing it.
Marat shrugs. “It made sense, dammit.”
“They clearly need to talk, not hide the issue with smoke and mirrors. Or nakedness and leather, as you’d prefer.”
The Russian ponders that possibility. “While I think Richie would do that, I don’t think whips is exactly Andy’s kink.”
Juan Carlos shudders, then returns his focus to the match on the television: Marin Cilic vs. Tommy Haas. “I don’t understand why Richie even listens to you.”
“Why do you?”
“The sex is good.”
“See, you do understand.” Marat turns to the match. “How is it going?”
Juan Carlos tries not to smile. Marat is pretending not to care about the result, even though at this point Juan Carlos knows. He is certain this is the match that Mario would care about. “Fourth set just started. Tommy won the first two, Marin won the third 6-1.”
Marat nods, taking in the information. “Must be rough. Marin played a five setter against Querrey while Tommy finished early because of Llodra’s injury.”
Juan Carlos raises an eyebrow at the knowledge Marat let slip but focuses on the other part. “Really? Hasi got lucky?”
Marat shrugs. “Yeah. Reversal of fortune. Couldn’t happen to a better person.”
“Mario is watching this match, isn’t he?”
“He’s having trouble staying up late so I kind of doubt that...”
“Yeah. Right. Well, whatever the hell Mario is doing, at least he’s not wearing the kid out. He seems ready for this to go to a fifth set.”
“Proof that my ways do work.” Marat joins Juan Carlos in bed, snuggling under the blanket to watch the match. Juan Carlos kisses Marat on the forehead before Marat letts his hand rest on Juan Carlos’ knee, for now. “You need to wind down. I refuse to have you blame me for wearing you out and then losing to Gonzo tomorrow.”
Juan Carlos settles against Marat’s shoulder, muttering sarcastically, “It’s nice to know you have such confidence in my abilities against a top 10 player.”
While Marat enjoys the closeness, the fact Juan Carlos has no idea he picked Mario’s guy wrong makes Marat even happier.
* * * * *
Andy returns home from practice. While he would rather not deal with Richie at all, he realizes reluctantly it’s dumb to dodge him completely in his own home.
When Andy walks into the bedroom, the first thing he notices is the music. Some slow jazz number is playing and Richie is lying down on the bed, eyes closed as if sleeping.
The second thing he notices is that Richie is definitely not asleep. He is humming along to the music. Dressed in a white dress shirt and a new pair of jeans, Richie clearly has a plan - for a change.
Andy leans against the wall watching him. There’s no reason to ruin Richie’s tranquil mood. Andy hasn’t seen Richie cleaned up in what feels like a very long time. Richie had worn a faded t-shirt and either shorts or a ratty pair of jeans every day since he’s been in this house, probably even before that. But when Richie actually made even a little effort, Andy found him impossible to refuse.
Richie stays with his tune for a few minutes, even though he has to be aware that the door opened. Finally, eyes still shut, he says softly, “Good evening, Andy.”
“Hi. No movie tonight?”
“Tonight’s selection was While You Were Sleeping. Sandra Bullock is a creepy stalker, not romantic. I had something else in mind.” Richie opens his eyes and sits up. His voice sounds so harmless when he speaks next but it’s the words themselves that are jarring. “Dance with me.”
“Say what?”
“Remember, the original point of this was for you to relax.” Richie gets up from the bed. “I can still do that. Please, Andy.” Richie cautiously approaches, his arms out in a peace offering.
As a reply, Andy halfheartedly pushes himself off the wall and creeps closer until they’re at arm’s length.
“Good start,” Richie says, placing his hands on Andy’s hips to bridge the rest of the gap. “I’m not saying we have to do much. Just sway to the beat.”
Andy’s posture is initially rigid as Richie tries to get him to move back and forth to the music. It is in Andy’s head that Richie is playing the innocent act until moving on to more down and dirty measures.
When several, equally slow in tempo, songs pass and all Richie has done is rest his forehead against Andy’s shoulder, Andy tries to relax and go along with the plan. Andy places a hand on Richie’s neck.
Richie shifts his head at the gesture, looking up and straight into Andy’s eyes. His eyebrows scrunch up, apparently noticing Andy’s uncertainty. “Don’t fight this.”
Andy shuts his eyes as he states what’s been lingering in his head for days. “I’m afraid of trusting you.”
“No. You're just being defensive.”
“Richard, I can’t forget. Why should I? This is a plan concocted by you and Marat to get me to fuck you… or is it you to fuck me? Either way I’m the one who is screwed.”
Richie furiously shakes his head. “Marat’s intentions are carnal. Pure and simple. Mine, no. I want you to be happy.”
“That’s very interesting because you’ve made me anything but. Why don’t you just return to being Roger’s side dish?”
Andy stumbles backwards. It takes a few seconds to realize that Richie shoved him away and Andy has successfully managed to enrage the normally easygoing Frenchman. Richie is trying not to shout but he’s backing toward the door, needing to get as far away from Andy as he can. “I cannot believe you’re back on the Roger thing! He’s your fucking rival, not mine. Frankly, I don’t have a rival right now, though it would be nice for one to exist since that would mean I’m back on the tennis court. I am so sick of you dredging fucking Roger Federer up! I hope you lose next round to Troicki, tell everyone everything then throw me out so I can get the hell out of your life.”
The door slams shut and Andy finds himself alone in the room, the faint sound of the saxophone filling the air. He sits down on the floor, pulling his knees to his chest as he watches the door, hoping for answers. It does seem that Richie really has been trying to help the entire time but Andy can’t seem to stop fighting him.
One thing Richie is right about is Andy needs to get past the past. He’s just not sure how he can do that.
* * * * *
Kim watches from the living room couch as Richie storms past her and heads for the recreation room. She shakes her head then pulls out her cell phone, a call she’d been trying to hold out on.
Hopefully, Richie and Andy can manage to not kill each other until after Andy’s third round match tomorrow night. She needs Middle Sunday to get her plan into action.
Chapter 7 - Pushing For Information
Author: Kris S.
Fandom: Tennis RPS
Pairings: Richard Gasquet/Andy Murray; Marat Safin/Juan Carlos Ferrero
Other Character: Kim Sears
Rating: R
Disclaimer: This did not happen.
Summary: Richie is in hiding during the suspension so ends up at Andy’s London home. During Wimbledon. Yeah, that’s not asking for trouble.
Chapter 6 - Third Rounders
It is a good thing Kim knows just enough to stay on Richie’s side. No other reason Marat can think of in which she would willingly sneak him into the house. Kim is used to the crowds outside the house and he has to give her credit for having him blend in with two other guys, all wearing suits, derbies and sunglasses.
She leads him up to the bedroom and knocks on the door, three taps. No reply. Kim looks to Marat. “Richie has been closed off since their fight.”
Marat takes off he derby then looks down at the bag in his hand. “What about Andy?”
“Riled up, needs to blow off steam so he’s on the practice court. Miles has reported how Andy has never served harder.”
Marat nods, not at all surprised by that news. “I can handle him from here,” then bursts into the bedroom.
Richie had been asleep but is jolted awake by the door slamming against the wall. Then he sees Marat and narrows his stare. “What are you doing here? How did you even get in?”
“How did I get you in the house to begin with?” Marat says simply.
“You sweet talked Kim and got me really drunk.” But Richie is inspecting Marat’s suit, figuring that may have played a role.
Marat holds up a bottle of vodka, unsealed but still full. “So you already know the rest. I figured either you’d be all out by now or Andy would dump the rest because he’s afraid of the good stuff. You look like hell, by the way.”
“Thanks.” Richie lets out a deep sigh but accepts the bottle, unscrewing the cap.
“What the hell did you do?”
“Why are you so sure I did it?”
Marat stares blankly. “Because you always do.”
Richie shakes his head. “We’re too far gone.”
“He’s still going on about Roger?”
“Yeah, but it’s a little more than that. Andy essentially thinks I’m doing this only because of his recent success,” then gestures to himself then Marat, not quite sure how to phrase the whole thing.
It takes Marat a few seconds to catch on. “He thinks you’re a starfucker.”
“Basically, yes.” Richie turns to face the wall, downing a large mouthful. “But it’s not about that. I’ve been horrible to him for so long and he never deserved any of it. I wasn’t the tennis prodigy to him, just a fellow player, but I was obsessed with the best. Too bad the closest I got to the best was whenever Roger invited me to join him and Mirka.”
Marat closes his eyes, honestly not sure he wanted that visual of Roger’s sex life. “You need to get drunk. Badly. Because that is just weird. Not so much that you were with them but that you kept going back to them. Then you go off on Andy and tell him exactly how you feel, tell him to stop belaboring the past and get the fuck over it so he enjoy his wonderful life.”
“How about you get drunk and you tell Andy off? How about doing that right before his match, fucking him over and destroying your grand plan to help his career?” Richie sets the bottle on the carpet then retreats back under the covers, pulling them over his head. His voice is muffled as he continues, “I genuinely want him to do well but he’s better off not dealing with me at all.”
Marat grumbles, “You know, you are fortunate I’m not single or else I would be trying to pound you into the mattress.” Nonetheless, he sits down on the bed, hand resting on Richie’s back. “You’re right. You can’t tell Andy that way. He admits he can’t resist you, right? Why don’t you go along with that one instead? Since he can’t voice exactly what he wants from you, make it so you are even more enticing to him. Beyond anything you’ve done so far.”
* * * * *
Juan Carlos exclaims, “You told Richie that? Are you insane?” He’s lounging on the bed as Marat is changing out of a suit and tie while explaining the reason he’s wearing it.
Marat shrugs. “It made sense, dammit.”
“They clearly need to talk, not hide the issue with smoke and mirrors. Or nakedness and leather, as you’d prefer.”
The Russian ponders that possibility. “While I think Richie would do that, I don’t think whips is exactly Andy’s kink.”
Juan Carlos shudders, then returns his focus to the match on the television: Marin Cilic vs. Tommy Haas. “I don’t understand why Richie even listens to you.”
“Why do you?”
“The sex is good.”
“See, you do understand.” Marat turns to the match. “How is it going?”
Juan Carlos tries not to smile. Marat is pretending not to care about the result, even though at this point Juan Carlos knows. He is certain this is the match that Mario would care about. “Fourth set just started. Tommy won the first two, Marin won the third 6-1.”
Marat nods, taking in the information. “Must be rough. Marin played a five setter against Querrey while Tommy finished early because of Llodra’s injury.”
Juan Carlos raises an eyebrow at the knowledge Marat let slip but focuses on the other part. “Really? Hasi got lucky?”
Marat shrugs. “Yeah. Reversal of fortune. Couldn’t happen to a better person.”
“Mario is watching this match, isn’t he?”
“He’s having trouble staying up late so I kind of doubt that...”
“Yeah. Right. Well, whatever the hell Mario is doing, at least he’s not wearing the kid out. He seems ready for this to go to a fifth set.”
“Proof that my ways do work.” Marat joins Juan Carlos in bed, snuggling under the blanket to watch the match. Juan Carlos kisses Marat on the forehead before Marat letts his hand rest on Juan Carlos’ knee, for now. “You need to wind down. I refuse to have you blame me for wearing you out and then losing to Gonzo tomorrow.”
Juan Carlos settles against Marat’s shoulder, muttering sarcastically, “It’s nice to know you have such confidence in my abilities against a top 10 player.”
While Marat enjoys the closeness, the fact Juan Carlos has no idea he picked Mario’s guy wrong makes Marat even happier.
* * * * *
Andy returns home from practice. While he would rather not deal with Richie at all, he realizes reluctantly it’s dumb to dodge him completely in his own home.
When Andy walks into the bedroom, the first thing he notices is the music. Some slow jazz number is playing and Richie is lying down on the bed, eyes closed as if sleeping.
The second thing he notices is that Richie is definitely not asleep. He is humming along to the music. Dressed in a white dress shirt and a new pair of jeans, Richie clearly has a plan - for a change.
Andy leans against the wall watching him. There’s no reason to ruin Richie’s tranquil mood. Andy hasn’t seen Richie cleaned up in what feels like a very long time. Richie had worn a faded t-shirt and either shorts or a ratty pair of jeans every day since he’s been in this house, probably even before that. But when Richie actually made even a little effort, Andy found him impossible to refuse.
Richie stays with his tune for a few minutes, even though he has to be aware that the door opened. Finally, eyes still shut, he says softly, “Good evening, Andy.”
“Hi. No movie tonight?”
“Tonight’s selection was While You Were Sleeping. Sandra Bullock is a creepy stalker, not romantic. I had something else in mind.” Richie opens his eyes and sits up. His voice sounds so harmless when he speaks next but it’s the words themselves that are jarring. “Dance with me.”
“Say what?”
“Remember, the original point of this was for you to relax.” Richie gets up from the bed. “I can still do that. Please, Andy.” Richie cautiously approaches, his arms out in a peace offering.
As a reply, Andy halfheartedly pushes himself off the wall and creeps closer until they’re at arm’s length.
“Good start,” Richie says, placing his hands on Andy’s hips to bridge the rest of the gap. “I’m not saying we have to do much. Just sway to the beat.”
Andy’s posture is initially rigid as Richie tries to get him to move back and forth to the music. It is in Andy’s head that Richie is playing the innocent act until moving on to more down and dirty measures.
When several, equally slow in tempo, songs pass and all Richie has done is rest his forehead against Andy’s shoulder, Andy tries to relax and go along with the plan. Andy places a hand on Richie’s neck.
Richie shifts his head at the gesture, looking up and straight into Andy’s eyes. His eyebrows scrunch up, apparently noticing Andy’s uncertainty. “Don’t fight this.”
Andy shuts his eyes as he states what’s been lingering in his head for days. “I’m afraid of trusting you.”
“No. You're just being defensive.”
“Richard, I can’t forget. Why should I? This is a plan concocted by you and Marat to get me to fuck you… or is it you to fuck me? Either way I’m the one who is screwed.”
Richie furiously shakes his head. “Marat’s intentions are carnal. Pure and simple. Mine, no. I want you to be happy.”
“That’s very interesting because you’ve made me anything but. Why don’t you just return to being Roger’s side dish?”
Andy stumbles backwards. It takes a few seconds to realize that Richie shoved him away and Andy has successfully managed to enrage the normally easygoing Frenchman. Richie is trying not to shout but he’s backing toward the door, needing to get as far away from Andy as he can. “I cannot believe you’re back on the Roger thing! He’s your fucking rival, not mine. Frankly, I don’t have a rival right now, though it would be nice for one to exist since that would mean I’m back on the tennis court. I am so sick of you dredging fucking Roger Federer up! I hope you lose next round to Troicki, tell everyone everything then throw me out so I can get the hell out of your life.”
The door slams shut and Andy finds himself alone in the room, the faint sound of the saxophone filling the air. He sits down on the floor, pulling his knees to his chest as he watches the door, hoping for answers. It does seem that Richie really has been trying to help the entire time but Andy can’t seem to stop fighting him.
One thing Richie is right about is Andy needs to get past the past. He’s just not sure how he can do that.
* * * * *
Kim watches from the living room couch as Richie storms past her and heads for the recreation room. She shakes her head then pulls out her cell phone, a call she’d been trying to hold out on.
Hopefully, Richie and Andy can manage to not kill each other until after Andy’s third round match tomorrow night. She needs Middle Sunday to get her plan into action.
Chapter 7 - Pushing For Information