Fic: In The Deepest Ocean
Title: In The Deepest Ocean
Pairing: Marat Safin/Carlos Moya(POV)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not true
a/n: definitely something new. the title is a work in progress, suggestions would be great!
for my 50lyricsfanfic table.
Prompt 46: I'd be crazy not to follow, follow where you lead;Your eyes, they turn me.
He’s extended the invitation to you. There’s no way you can say no, and if you’re truthful to yourself, you’ll admit that you’re thankful that he did. So you spend that extra half hour, which you’d usually spend to watch mindless television, to clean up. You make sure every piece of hair is neatly in place, slick and kept together with hair wax and a black hair tie. You look over your wardrobe with precise scrutiny. After much deliberation, you decide you can’t go wrong with black and choose an all black outfit, simple yet sophisticated.
When you enter the club, you’re taken back by the mere size and flash of the club. You expected the loud thumping music, but the bright lights blind you and you feel out of your element. For a second, or two, the thought of leaving crosses your mind but you quickly shake it off and tell yourself that you should at least find him and say hi before leaving altogether. You head to the bar and order a whiskey on the rocks, and lean back to take in the crowd. The beat of the music is predictable, electric and loud enough to move those who don’t dance. As your eyes wander, your head nods on its own accord. A girl, probably 20 with a petite frame and nice legs, walks towards you. She smiles and you find yourself returning it even though that’s not why you’re here. But you let her talk to you. Alicia leans into you into you in no time, perhaps to hear you over the noise but you know better. Even though you’re talking to her, your attention is else where, particularly on the reason you’re in the club in the first place.
A harem of women and men surround him, all looking like they belong there. You recognize a few. Dmitry’s half nude like he always seems to be, dancing like there is no care in the world. He’s got two women on him, a blonde and a brunette, one on the left the other on the right. He’s tonguing the blonde while groping the brunette quite obscenely. Dima is not known for his ability to be subtle. Then there’s Mikhail, sitting on the plush seats, looking like he wouldn’t be anywhere but in VIP. He’s reclining, drink in his hand, while he listens to a man you don’t know speak about something. He must be boring because Mikhail’s attention is on the swing of the hips of the boy dancing in front of him. You think that he has to be a boy; young with sandy blond hair falling into his eyes, lips pouty, eyes innocent. He may be young, but he knows exactly what he’s doing. Nikolay is off to the side, leaning against the bar that’s reserved for the VIPs. He’s laughing alongside Igor and Maria, who are wrapped around each other with possessive hands. They all look so comfortable, not straining at all to hear each other over the thump thump thump.
His sister’s here too. Dinara, clothed in a ruffled purple dress, looks fresh and airy. She makes you smile, almost as much as her brother. She’s dancing with a group of girls, Ana and Jelena being the only two you recognize. You can’t help but notice the two guys next to them, trying to get the girls' attention, especially Dinara. She looks, flirts with her eyes but doesn’t give the nod to allow either man to approach their group. And you know the men are just waiting, for anything, any type of signal. But you also you know that they’ll end up leaving by themselves tonight.
Your eyes finally settle on him, your sole purpose for being here tonight. He would look good wearing a paper bag, but tonight he’s chosen clothing that resembles yours; all black except for the white skinny tie. He’s got his own girl too, who’s too skinny, too orange and too blonde. His arm is around her loosely, making her look like an accessory. In his other hand is a drink: vodka , neat because ice just ruins the quality.
You’re about to push off the bar and walk over but a body crosses to Marat and sits down next to him. You see Rafa lean in and hug Marat before throwing back his head and laughing. You scan the area once more and see your fellow countrymen in the corner, slowly spreading out. You knew they were invited too but are a little disappointed when you think about it.
There’s a tug on your arm and you remember the woman that had approached you earlier. You feint interest as you nod and smile in the right places. Slowly, your attention shifts back to the VIP, to where you should be. Suddenly, Marat’s eyes focus on yours and he leans into whisper something into Rafa’s ear. In seconds, Rafa whips around and smiles widely when he sees you. He gestures for you to come over, like you are waiting for his approval. Bringing the drink to your lips, you down the remains before telling the girl that you recognize some people and have to go. She tells you to find her later on, but you’ve already forgotten her name. Allison?
You nod, as you get closer, and eventually find yourself standing in front of Marat. He gets up for you and envelopes you in a hug that makes you insanely happy. He sits back down, patting the seat next to him and tells you to sit. Rafa pouts and you accept. You have no idea where skinny orange blonde girl went, but it’s just the two of you now on the plush lounger and somehow you find a glass of vodka in your hand, neat. He leans into you, the smell of his aftershave strong in your nostrils, and he asks why it took you so long to get here.
You laugh like it’s absolutely natural for you to be here too, like you belong just like the others and lie that you didn’t know what to wear. He looks at you, up and down, assessing openly and nods.
“Then it’s ok to be late. You look the best, Carlos. Muy hermoso.”
His comment has you blushing or is it the vodka? You remind yourself that you’re not a vodka-drinker unless it’s mixed with something. You smile and whisper your thanks. But he doesn’t hear and leans in even closer, breathing “What?” against your neck. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up but you fight the urge of shivering. You look into his eyes. His lips are only curved slightly but you know he’s smiling. He closes that that last inch between you two and brushes his lips over the skin of your cheek, his eyes never leaving yours. When he pulls back just a little, you reach up and wrap your fingers around his neck, dragging him back to close proximity, lips pressing against his ear. “I said thank you.”
You can feel his smile against the side of your face, against your skin. He pulls you in close once again, tucking you into his side, holding on you to like a lifeline. You stay like that for a very long time, bobbing your head to the music, fingers drumming on his thigh. It’s hot and stuffy, but you fail to care because in the end this is exactly where you want to be.
Time passes and you find yourself being dragged off the couch. Marat’s smiling and holding your hand, so you don’t mind much. When you begin to question his intentions, he shakes his head and leads you a little forward, just enough so you won’t bump into the loungers when dancing. Dancing… Now that’s something you definitely did not see yourself doing, tonight, with him. But when he offers out his hand, you cannot refuse, will not refuse. Your body comes into contact with his again and you know your head is definitely spinning now. He grins when he places his hands at your waist and you have to return it. Your body begins to sway, to move with the music although you can’t focus on the beat. But that’s ok. Marat’s guiding you both, so you don’t mind letting yourself go, even if it’s just for the moment.
It’s not long before someone’s interrupting you. A tap against Marat’s shoulder forces him to let go of you, of your hips and you instantly hate Nikolay for doing so. But when you get a proper look at him, you notice that his forehead is wrinkled, his speech rapid, even though you don’t understand a word of it. He’s gesturing to another part of the club, his Russian becoming harsher. You notice Marat frowning and decide right then and there that you never want to see that look on his face again. He nods before dismissing Nikolay and turns back to you. He takes your face in his hands and kisses the sides of your cheeks tenderly before reaching into his pocket and pulls out what looks like a hotel room key. He tells you that he has to deal with some foolishness but doesn’t want this night with you to end just yet. When he walks away with one last kiss to your forehead, you’re left standing in the middle of VIP dance floor, multiple pairs of eyes on your figure. Suddenly, the lights are too bright, the music too loud and you feel like a intruder, the old guy, with a piece of plastic left in your hands.
Pairing: Marat Safin/Carlos Moya(POV)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not true
a/n: definitely something new. the title is a work in progress, suggestions would be great!
for my 50lyricsfanfic table.
Prompt 46: I'd be crazy not to follow, follow where you lead;Your eyes, they turn me.
He’s extended the invitation to you. There’s no way you can say no, and if you’re truthful to yourself, you’ll admit that you’re thankful that he did. So you spend that extra half hour, which you’d usually spend to watch mindless television, to clean up. You make sure every piece of hair is neatly in place, slick and kept together with hair wax and a black hair tie. You look over your wardrobe with precise scrutiny. After much deliberation, you decide you can’t go wrong with black and choose an all black outfit, simple yet sophisticated.
When you enter the club, you’re taken back by the mere size and flash of the club. You expected the loud thumping music, but the bright lights blind you and you feel out of your element. For a second, or two, the thought of leaving crosses your mind but you quickly shake it off and tell yourself that you should at least find him and say hi before leaving altogether. You head to the bar and order a whiskey on the rocks, and lean back to take in the crowd. The beat of the music is predictable, electric and loud enough to move those who don’t dance. As your eyes wander, your head nods on its own accord. A girl, probably 20 with a petite frame and nice legs, walks towards you. She smiles and you find yourself returning it even though that’s not why you’re here. But you let her talk to you. Alicia leans into you into you in no time, perhaps to hear you over the noise but you know better. Even though you’re talking to her, your attention is else where, particularly on the reason you’re in the club in the first place.
A harem of women and men surround him, all looking like they belong there. You recognize a few. Dmitry’s half nude like he always seems to be, dancing like there is no care in the world. He’s got two women on him, a blonde and a brunette, one on the left the other on the right. He’s tonguing the blonde while groping the brunette quite obscenely. Dima is not known for his ability to be subtle. Then there’s Mikhail, sitting on the plush seats, looking like he wouldn’t be anywhere but in VIP. He’s reclining, drink in his hand, while he listens to a man you don’t know speak about something. He must be boring because Mikhail’s attention is on the swing of the hips of the boy dancing in front of him. You think that he has to be a boy; young with sandy blond hair falling into his eyes, lips pouty, eyes innocent. He may be young, but he knows exactly what he’s doing. Nikolay is off to the side, leaning against the bar that’s reserved for the VIPs. He’s laughing alongside Igor and Maria, who are wrapped around each other with possessive hands. They all look so comfortable, not straining at all to hear each other over the thump thump thump.
His sister’s here too. Dinara, clothed in a ruffled purple dress, looks fresh and airy. She makes you smile, almost as much as her brother. She’s dancing with a group of girls, Ana and Jelena being the only two you recognize. You can’t help but notice the two guys next to them, trying to get the girls' attention, especially Dinara. She looks, flirts with her eyes but doesn’t give the nod to allow either man to approach their group. And you know the men are just waiting, for anything, any type of signal. But you also you know that they’ll end up leaving by themselves tonight.
Your eyes finally settle on him, your sole purpose for being here tonight. He would look good wearing a paper bag, but tonight he’s chosen clothing that resembles yours; all black except for the white skinny tie. He’s got his own girl too, who’s too skinny, too orange and too blonde. His arm is around her loosely, making her look like an accessory. In his other hand is a drink: vodka , neat because ice just ruins the quality.
You’re about to push off the bar and walk over but a body crosses to Marat and sits down next to him. You see Rafa lean in and hug Marat before throwing back his head and laughing. You scan the area once more and see your fellow countrymen in the corner, slowly spreading out. You knew they were invited too but are a little disappointed when you think about it.
There’s a tug on your arm and you remember the woman that had approached you earlier. You feint interest as you nod and smile in the right places. Slowly, your attention shifts back to the VIP, to where you should be. Suddenly, Marat’s eyes focus on yours and he leans into whisper something into Rafa’s ear. In seconds, Rafa whips around and smiles widely when he sees you. He gestures for you to come over, like you are waiting for his approval. Bringing the drink to your lips, you down the remains before telling the girl that you recognize some people and have to go. She tells you to find her later on, but you’ve already forgotten her name. Allison?
You nod, as you get closer, and eventually find yourself standing in front of Marat. He gets up for you and envelopes you in a hug that makes you insanely happy. He sits back down, patting the seat next to him and tells you to sit. Rafa pouts and you accept. You have no idea where skinny orange blonde girl went, but it’s just the two of you now on the plush lounger and somehow you find a glass of vodka in your hand, neat. He leans into you, the smell of his aftershave strong in your nostrils, and he asks why it took you so long to get here.
You laugh like it’s absolutely natural for you to be here too, like you belong just like the others and lie that you didn’t know what to wear. He looks at you, up and down, assessing openly and nods.
“Then it’s ok to be late. You look the best, Carlos. Muy hermoso.”
His comment has you blushing or is it the vodka? You remind yourself that you’re not a vodka-drinker unless it’s mixed with something. You smile and whisper your thanks. But he doesn’t hear and leans in even closer, breathing “What?” against your neck. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up but you fight the urge of shivering. You look into his eyes. His lips are only curved slightly but you know he’s smiling. He closes that that last inch between you two and brushes his lips over the skin of your cheek, his eyes never leaving yours. When he pulls back just a little, you reach up and wrap your fingers around his neck, dragging him back to close proximity, lips pressing against his ear. “I said thank you.”
You can feel his smile against the side of your face, against your skin. He pulls you in close once again, tucking you into his side, holding on you to like a lifeline. You stay like that for a very long time, bobbing your head to the music, fingers drumming on his thigh. It’s hot and stuffy, but you fail to care because in the end this is exactly where you want to be.
Time passes and you find yourself being dragged off the couch. Marat’s smiling and holding your hand, so you don’t mind much. When you begin to question his intentions, he shakes his head and leads you a little forward, just enough so you won’t bump into the loungers when dancing. Dancing… Now that’s something you definitely did not see yourself doing, tonight, with him. But when he offers out his hand, you cannot refuse, will not refuse. Your body comes into contact with his again and you know your head is definitely spinning now. He grins when he places his hands at your waist and you have to return it. Your body begins to sway, to move with the music although you can’t focus on the beat. But that’s ok. Marat’s guiding you both, so you don’t mind letting yourself go, even if it’s just for the moment.
It’s not long before someone’s interrupting you. A tap against Marat’s shoulder forces him to let go of you, of your hips and you instantly hate Nikolay for doing so. But when you get a proper look at him, you notice that his forehead is wrinkled, his speech rapid, even though you don’t understand a word of it. He’s gesturing to another part of the club, his Russian becoming harsher. You notice Marat frowning and decide right then and there that you never want to see that look on his face again. He nods before dismissing Nikolay and turns back to you. He takes your face in his hands and kisses the sides of your cheeks tenderly before reaching into his pocket and pulls out what looks like a hotel room key. He tells you that he has to deal with some foolishness but doesn’t want this night with you to end just yet. When he walks away with one last kiss to your forehead, you’re left standing in the middle of VIP dance floor, multiple pairs of eyes on your figure. Suddenly, the lights are too bright, the music too loud and you feel like a intruder, the old guy, with a piece of plastic left in your hands.