tennis slash - Free Coffee (11)
Title: Free Coffee (11)
Author: Kris S.
Fandom: Tennis RPS
Pairings: Richard Gasquet/Andy Murray; Marat Safin/Juan Carlos Ferrero
Other Players: Mario Ancic, Tommy Haas, Jamie Murray
Rating: NC17
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.
Author’s Note: I am just glad to get this chapter done, as it was tough writing about Andy losing at Wimbledon with the AO final still fresh in mind.
Chapter 11 - Favors
As soon as the door opens to the hotel room, Marat yells, "If you think I want anything to do with you after you remove the handcuffs, forget it."
"I'll be sure to let him know," Mario says, trying to figure out what the hell he agreed to when he said he'd retrieve Marat for Juan Carlos. Tommy wanders in, to see the television on with Marat blindfolded and handcuffed to the bed. Tommy is trying not to laugh at the Russian's predicament, to no avail, but Mario is too busy averting his eyes upon hearing the word 'handcuffs'.
"Oh, it's you and, someone laughing, must be Hasi. Juanqui is a chicken?"
"I suppose so." Off Tommy's reaction, Mario dares a look. "I can see why."
"That has been playing all night." Marat bobs his head toward the television. "Please tell me one of you has the key."
Mario and Tommy exchange looks. "No," Mario replies but does at least decide to remove the scarf.
Marat blinks as his eyes adjust to the light, then sees the movie for the first time. Sure enough, he spots Simone but Juan Carlos is nowhere to be seen, though the audio tells a different story. He must be behind the camera. "Can you please shut that off?"
Tommy grabs the remote and clicks the television off, then says idly, "I remember these handcuffs." Mario turns around, shock written on his face, to which Tommy corrects, "No, it's not... okay, maybe it is what you think but it was years ago. The point is there's no key to these and, Marat, you should have remembered that since you're the one who'd been using them." Tommy focuses on the handcuffs, having his hair fall in his face so Mario can't see his face turning red at the admission. "Okay, Marat. Relax your arms."
Marat obliges, then Tommy reaches over Marat's body to push in the cuff and having it release. Marat can finally see the pair that was in use and, Tommy is right, he really should have known how to escape even if it would have taken awhile to actually accomplish that. "Thank you. Now, where is he hiding?"
"We're not supposed to say..." Mario begins.
Tommy finishes with a wide grin, "But he is certainly not in my hotel room, building a barricade out of Mario's textbooks."
Marat rolls his eyes. "Tell him he will have to face me eventually so it's not worth hiding." He shakes his head. "If he doesn't come back here before I leave London - and he knows exactly when that is - it's officially over. For good this time. You can quote me on that."
Tommy chuckles. "Yeah, right. You say that every time you two break up. You said that when we hooked up. When you were Richie's rebound from the Roger situation. When you..."
"Oh shut up." Marat is leading them to the door, a rush of words streaming from his mouth as his mind is now on payback, "Good luck in your match against Roger, if I don't see you before then. Mario, very nice work indeed - I think he'll want to keep you on for the rest of the year. Though you really need to work on your stories. I don't buy your relaxation techniques for a second, Ancic."
* * * * *
Andy steadfastly refuses to let his defenses down. This is a rather desirable trait when it comes to the tennis court. Casual fans - and fellow players for that matter - think that Andy is cold.
The problem with this is that Richie used to be unable to tell when Andy is pushed too far. It explodes, as evidenced by their fight last fall or the words hurled last week. When Richie first arrived, Andy had said that he needed to stay away from the Frenchman because he didn’t want to get hurt again. That Andy had even admitted that early in Richie's stay that he’d been hurt before was something Richie had only just noticed.
Still, that is not the same as the way he presents to the interviewers. A typical Andy interview is one in which he rarely smiles while the fiery intensity that appears on the court is nowhere to be found, making his voice sound monotone and, to the casual observer, dull.
The morning of Andy’s semifinal match against Roddick, Andy had been excited. He’d never been this close to winning this particular slam and it showed. Maybe it was about the Queen announcing she’d rearrange her schedule, or the numerous commentators who thought this really was his time but there was a sense that this day could change everything. Andy could claim all he wanted that the US Open title would be the most significant but that was a lie and today made that crystal clear.
Too bad the match didn’t turn out the way he'd hoped. It had seemed ready to go to a fifth set and then, suddenly, Roddick was the winner. His Andy lost.
Maybe it was almost fitting, given the amount of torture Marat and Mario had inflicted by placing the American in the middle with the guessing games (not to mention how both Andy and Richie had knocked Roddick out in previous years at this tournament). The crowd was quite appreciative of the performance but they know it means they must wait another year.
Several hours later, Richie is making sure to stay awake to hear a commotion that would indicate a car pulling up. The television is on but it is nothing but faint noise filling the room. Richie isn’t focused on either that or the book he’s haphazardly been reading the entire time he’s been in this house, just the noise outside.
Richie is amazed when he finally hears something at seven in the morning, soon followed by the back door opening. There are two pairs of footsteps, then mild rustling, a door or two open and shut but no words exchanged. It then is down to one person walking around. Richie isn’t sure what’s going on so he figures it’s better to stay where he is until he can get a clue as to who has entered.
Nearly a half hour passes before there is a soft knock on the bedroom door then someone sneaks in. Richie sees a mop of red hair instead of the cleaner haircut so he lets out a cough to not scare the crap out of Jamie.
Jamie mutters, “Thought you’d be asleep.” He heads for Andy’s dresser to pick up a bunch of papers and a folder.
Even though Jamie doesn’t appear to want to kill him anymore, Richie wonders if that’s only because it’s so early in the day. Still, small talk is safer in this situation. “Sorry about yesterday. I thought you’d make the finals.”
Jamie shrugs. “I haven’t played well this year so that we even made the semis… then again, Liezel did expect us to win so… yeah, um, thanks.” He fiddles with the papers, more focused on that than Richie when he says, “If you want to leave, I can sneak you out. Andy probably won’t be back until tonight so you have time.”
“How’s he dealing with everything?”
“It’s tough.” Jamie shakes his head. “Even growing up, he would take the losses too seriously. You want to shake him and make him realize it’s not the end of the world if he loses a match, even if the press says otherwise. I mean, you push and push and eventually you’re going to crack. Not everyone deals with the same problems the same way. Both you and I have won Grand Slam titles in our home countries…”
Richie understands what Jamie is trying to say but he can’t help but snicker at that particular similarity. “That seems like ages ago in my case.”
Jamie tries not to smile, realizing even within that context, their lives are very different. “The point is he looks up to you. Even now, for some inane reason.”
It is something that Richie had thought but it feels weird to have that justified by someone else. He knows what he must do, stating definitively, “I’m not going with you.”
“Really? I’m giving you an escape. I will promise not to say a word en route! Even if you’re heading to wherever the hell Safin is.”
“I need to see Andy. I do have to return to France but I’m not rushing out. My flight isn’t until Tuesday morning and I’m not interested in changing the departure time.”
“You planned to stay the entire two weeks?” Jamie says incredulously. Richie shrugs in response, there never being a doubt regarding staying in England. Staying in the house had been the question mark. “You are certain? There’s a clear path to leave.”
“How exactly could I make it past the photographers anyway? You came alone so they’d notice if two left…” Richie stops talking as Jamie turns back to the dresser. “No, wait. You didn't come alone. You had... security?”
The longer it takes for an answer, the more Richie is certain it wasn't just anyone who entered with him. Finally, Jamie admits, “I didn’t want you to feel you had to deal with him. They saw a driver enter the house before me, supposedly to check to make sure it was safe. They never would have guessed that Andy was wearing that hat, having gotten practice in for his road test. He’s in the rec room.”
Richie inquires, “What changed your mind?”
“We were alone in the car so I asked if you had influenced his play. He said that he wished you could be blamed because that would be so much easier than the truth.” Jamie cringes, then admits, “I wasn’t going to tell you that unless you decided to stay. The fact is he’s been around family and crew all night. He’s alone in that room, no longer distracted from beating himself up. Be careful.”
Once Jamie leaves, Richie tries to decide what would be the best way to approach. It takes some time to hit upon the correct answer but it isn't as if Andy will be making a move up here any time soon. He gathers a few items and gets ready, then heads for the rec room.
There is no noise in the room, just a pile of driver's clothes in the corner and a guy in a t-shirt and shorts staring up at the ceiling in confusion. Andy has matured quite a bit in the last couple of years and usually hangs around a crew whose members are significantly older than him so it is easy to forget that Andy is not as old as he acts most of the time.
What Andy really doesn’t need is for Richie to bring up the match itself. Even though he must have heard the door open, Andy hasn’t acknowledged the sound. Richie sets everything down on the mat and presses play. It’s the same music they had danced to upstairs, hoping Andy is clued in that nothing he’s done in the last twenty-four hours has changed what could happen between them.
Andy tilts his head Richie’s way, trying to piece together what’s going on. Richie had also decided on the same outfit from that day: a since-cleaned dress shirt and the new jeans, noticing the effect it'd had on Andy then. Andy tries to ask questions but the words aren’t there this time. Richie approaches the couch and holds out his hand, asking, “May I have this dance?”
Andy gives a perfunctory smile then reluctantly accepts help up. Richie rests a hand on Andy’s hip and pulls him in close; any hugs or condolence will be pushed away but just dancing is perfectly acceptable. Andy seems to give in to Richie leading the way because he's too tired to fight, but at least he is giving in.
The stiff posture eventually relaxes, eventually evolving into Andy resting his forehead against Richie’s shoulder, humming a tune that has no relation to the jazz music. They have been in this otherwise comforting position for several songs before Andy hesitantly interrupts it to ask, “Do you enjoy teasing me?”
“I’m not teasing you. Just thought you’d want to relax.”
“Does it matter that I didn’t give in?”
“Andy, you never needed my help. You are set to win a major eventually. You knew I would interfere with your plan. It cannot be helped if your opponent is suddenly in a zone.”
“Maybe I didn’t need your help regarding my play but I do need you.” Andy wraps one arm around Richie and fingers work on unbuttoning Richie’s shirt. “I fucking need you to not mess with my head. If you were only leading me on because of this fucking tournament, I will never speak to you again and will rip you to shreds…” Andy sounds so close to breaking as he lets go briefly to make quick work of both of their shirts.
“If I was really doing that, I wouldn’t be here now…” but he’s distracted as he realizes Andy is trying to get his jeans off. Richie stills Andy’s hand and asks, “Are you sure…”
“Yes, dammit.” Their mouths smash together, Andy desperately not wanting to talk any more as he moves his hand onto Richie’s waist and walks backwards. Andy guides Richie along until a heel hits the leg of the couch, then he sets a knee down so he’s now looking up.
Richie cannot help but be captured by those pleading eyes, showing what Andy can’t say. He says softly, “Don’t hesitate to speak up, okay?” Andy nods, taking deep breaths while keeping eye contact. Richie lowers Andy down onto the couch, a hand sliding down Andy’s thigh until fingers hit the hem of the shorts.
Andy points behind him to the pile of driver’s clothes. “In the pocket.” At Richie’s confused look, Andy shrugs. “Rather not know.” Richie reaches over to the pile while Andy undoes Richie’s jeans. Andy pulls him down into a kiss while Richie works on ridding them both of any remaining material.
Richie backs away to rip the condom out of the packaging and is heading to sheath Andy when something makes Richie stop. Sure enough, Andy is shaking his head slightly and Richie gives an unsure grin. "Okay then," and slides the condom on himself instead.
Richie has to admit he is unaccustomed to his current position. He has been saying to Andy this whole time that he'd do whatever the Brit wants but it isn't until he started reading the quieter signals that he finally sees the answer: Take control of the situation and stop letting everyone else get away with pushing him around.
Once covered, Andy hooks a leg around Richie's waist while Richie fumbles with the lube and prepares him. Andy tries to get him to stop but Richie snaps, "There's a distinct difference between pleasurable pain and severe pain." Andy lets out an airy laugh but nods along.
It would be nice to say that their first encounter was something earth-shattering but the sad truth is that it was a rush from that point to a too-quick conclusion and it's all a blur. Richie has his head resting against Andy's chest, listening to his breathing even out.
Until, that is, he's startled by a strange sound. It sounds like a cough at first but it turns into laughter. Richie uses his hands to raise his weight off of Andy to glare at him. Andy's eyes are shut but he is definitely struggling (and failing) at not laughing. "What the hell?"
"I'm not... I'm sorry," but he's laughing louder now. "It's not about this... well, it is but not that..."
"You had better explain quickly because it isn't really a good sign to be laughed at right after having sex. Especially that kind of sex."
"I'm not laughing at you specifically." Andy holds a hand up to regain control of his breathing, then continues, "It's the buildup, all this time we've been around each other and having gone a year... and this situation! There are all these reporters outside the house, Jamie is probably still milling around, my mum is going to murder you because I'm sure she's figured it out by now but is keeping silent at the moment, two weeks of stress needing to get out... it's all so fucked up."
Richie smiles, then says, "Wimbledon is over. Well, except for Roger and Roddick." He stands up, looking down how relaxed Andy is right now. Richie picks up the blanket from the pile he brought down. "Jamie actually left so we have the house to ourselves. I'm heading for a shower. Care to join me?" He unrolls the blanket and holds it as a cape for Andy.
Reluctantly, Andy stands up and Richie wraps them both in the blanket before they head to the bathroom.
Chapter 12 - Last Request