Fic: Para Tener Fuerza
Title: Para Tener Fuerza (To Have Strength)
Pairing: Marat Safin/Rafael Nadal (barely)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Fiction
Summary: Marat is taken back by Rafa's hands.
for somarem whose prompt was Marat's comment about Rafa's hands at IW. I tried something different with this, hun. I know with hands I could have made this hella smutty, but I didn't want to do that. I hope you still like it :)
Marat takes a quick but careful look around the table, assessing the situation around him. He wasn’t too worried; a pair of jacks has him sitting pretty but it doesn’t show on his face. The others around him though don’t have his ability to save face. Feliciano his sucking on his bottom lip, lines forming on his forehead. Novak, on the other hand, is grinning like the cat that got the cream. Then there’s Roger. He’s not so bad with his half smirk curling the corners of his lips ever so slightly. When he looks at Rafa, Marat is taken back a little.
With one hand cupping his chin, Rafa is bouncing his head to the beat of some lazy sounding song. The fingers of the remaining hand drum idly against his cards that are resting upon the table. The glint of silver on his thumb catches Marat’s attention. Marat can see that there is some kind of etching in the silver ring but he’s not close enough to find out. It intrigues him and he cannot understand why. The ring makes Rafa skin look darker, more golden and toned. Marat can see the heel of his palm and it looks muscular, strong enough to carry the whole world. There is a slight outline of a blue vein, evidence of blooding pumping to Rafa’s heart. The sight before him throws him off, like he is just seeing Rafa, the human for the first time.
{*}
The night has progressed and sees the men spread out along the house. Marat is leaning against the railing, his shoulders hunched, his body huddling into self. He has a drink in his hand, but remains barely touched. Monte Carlo, his home, plays in the background, soothing him with its familiarity. He wants to win this one, no different from every other tournament he plays. But this one, in Monte Carlo, this last one, is so important to him. However, he’s not going to kill himself by concentrating on its importance. That is why he invited the guys over for a few rounds of mindless, easy, fun poker and drinks. But then he had to go and discover Rafa’s hands and what it all means. Marat almost laughs, thinking he must be getting extremely old if that’s his new line of thinking.
A hand on his shoulder breaks Marat out of his musing and he throws his head back to take a look at his intruder. He almost lets out a groan when he sees Rafa and Feliciano but smiles instead as he straightens up. He leads them to the side where the patio chairs are and offers them a seat. Soon enough they’re conversing and laughing, and Marat allows himself to relax. The Spaniards are very animated but Marat’s been around them for a while now so he allows himself to be taken for a ride. Feliciano and Rafa go back forth about the littlest of things, bickering about absolutely nothing and Marat just laughs, easing into familiarity. When Rafa rests his hand on Marat’s leg, however, he’s back at where he started: confused yet highly intrigued. He lets it go unnoticed, letting the voices soothe him as he observes Rafa’s hand once again. His touch is warm, even through the thick layer of his jeans; warm but confident. It amazes Marat how his strength can still be felt even though Rafa just simply has his hand resting on him. Surprising not only the Spaniards but himself too, Marat lifts Rafa’s hand and brings it close enough to look at the details of the ring. Persevera y triunfaras.. Marat shifts his gaze to Rafa who smiles shyly before looking away. Marat lets go, feeling better with the knowledge that good, capable, and honest hands have a firm hold on the racquet.
**Persevera y triunfaras = If at first you don't succeed, try, try again/
Never say die
Pairing: Marat Safin/Rafael Nadal (barely)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Fiction
Summary: Marat is taken back by Rafa's hands.
for somarem whose prompt was Marat's comment about Rafa's hands at IW. I tried something different with this, hun. I know with hands I could have made this hella smutty, but I didn't want to do that. I hope you still like it :)
Marat takes a quick but careful look around the table, assessing the situation around him. He wasn’t too worried; a pair of jacks has him sitting pretty but it doesn’t show on his face. The others around him though don’t have his ability to save face. Feliciano his sucking on his bottom lip, lines forming on his forehead. Novak, on the other hand, is grinning like the cat that got the cream. Then there’s Roger. He’s not so bad with his half smirk curling the corners of his lips ever so slightly. When he looks at Rafa, Marat is taken back a little.
With one hand cupping his chin, Rafa is bouncing his head to the beat of some lazy sounding song. The fingers of the remaining hand drum idly against his cards that are resting upon the table. The glint of silver on his thumb catches Marat’s attention. Marat can see that there is some kind of etching in the silver ring but he’s not close enough to find out. It intrigues him and he cannot understand why. The ring makes Rafa skin look darker, more golden and toned. Marat can see the heel of his palm and it looks muscular, strong enough to carry the whole world. There is a slight outline of a blue vein, evidence of blooding pumping to Rafa’s heart. The sight before him throws him off, like he is just seeing Rafa, the human for the first time.
{*}
The night has progressed and sees the men spread out along the house. Marat is leaning against the railing, his shoulders hunched, his body huddling into self. He has a drink in his hand, but remains barely touched. Monte Carlo, his home, plays in the background, soothing him with its familiarity. He wants to win this one, no different from every other tournament he plays. But this one, in Monte Carlo, this last one, is so important to him. However, he’s not going to kill himself by concentrating on its importance. That is why he invited the guys over for a few rounds of mindless, easy, fun poker and drinks. But then he had to go and discover Rafa’s hands and what it all means. Marat almost laughs, thinking he must be getting extremely old if that’s his new line of thinking.
A hand on his shoulder breaks Marat out of his musing and he throws his head back to take a look at his intruder. He almost lets out a groan when he sees Rafa and Feliciano but smiles instead as he straightens up. He leads them to the side where the patio chairs are and offers them a seat. Soon enough they’re conversing and laughing, and Marat allows himself to relax. The Spaniards are very animated but Marat’s been around them for a while now so he allows himself to be taken for a ride. Feliciano and Rafa go back forth about the littlest of things, bickering about absolutely nothing and Marat just laughs, easing into familiarity. When Rafa rests his hand on Marat’s leg, however, he’s back at where he started: confused yet highly intrigued. He lets it go unnoticed, letting the voices soothe him as he observes Rafa’s hand once again. His touch is warm, even through the thick layer of his jeans; warm but confident. It amazes Marat how his strength can still be felt even though Rafa just simply has his hand resting on him. Surprising not only the Spaniards but himself too, Marat lifts Rafa’s hand and brings it close enough to look at the details of the ring. Persevera y triunfaras.. Marat shifts his gaze to Rafa who smiles shyly before looking away. Marat lets go, feeling better with the knowledge that good, capable, and honest hands have a firm hold on the racquet.
**Persevera y triunfaras = If at first you don't succeed, try, try again/
Never say die