Fic: Eyes Closed
Title: Eyes Closed
Pairing: Richard Gasquet/Marat Safin
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: not true
Song: I Ran Away by Coldplay
Everyone I know
Says I am a fool to mess with you
The air is warm, not too hot and not a touch of chill either. It’s a few days before the tournament starts and some of the players are lounging around in the practice courts, practicing, of course, and socializing simultaneously. They are buzzing, waiting for their chance to hoist up the championship and be loved worldwide. Along with his fellow countrymen, Ritchie is sitting in the stands, waiting for his turn on the court… Well sort of. He’s staring at one of the men who are occupying the space. The workout and humidity play to Ritchie’s favor, as the man’s bare chest is on display for everyone to see. He loves to gaze at the tattoos, loves to wonder about the history behind them. Did he choose them because they have some sort of significance? Ritchie longs to trace his fingertips over each line, each curve; perhaps retrace them with his lips.
Sighing, Ritchie bends forward to rest his elbows on his thighs and his chin on his palms, eyes never leaving the Russian’s figure. He remembers that night two weeks ago. They were both in the locker room, finishing up and ready to leave when Marat came up to Ritchie, really close, close enough that Ritchie could see the detailed work on the cross that hangs from his neck. If Ritchie had any indication what Marat was about to do, kiss him, he’s not sure if he would have moved away or not. Nonetheless, it took him by surprise when Marat pressed his soft lips against Ritchie’s. It wasn’t as though it was horrible. It was… different, a good different. As shocking as that was, it was more unbelievable when Ritchie lunged forward to capture Marat’s lips again. The smile against his lips as they continued to kiss is something Ritchie will never forget, as well as the utter softness, gentleness, Marat showed with him. His big hands cradled Ritchie face delicately, as though he is something to be cherished. Much to Ritchie’s dismay, the kiss was broken when they heard footsteps nearing and the creak of the door opening. Marat had smiled and patted his cheek affectionately before slinging his bag over one shoulder and exiting quietly, leaving Ritchie to stare after him. They haven’t had much of a chance to communicate after that.
“… if it’s likely. What do you think, Ritchie? Ritchie!” The shout of his name breaks his reverie. He shifts back, turning to face a frowning Paul-Henri.
“Um… Say that again?” He shrugs, smiling shyly.
Paul-Henri doesn’t look too happy, along with Gael and Michael. He throws an arm around Ritchie’s shoulders. “Look, how many times have we told you that he’s no good for you?”
Shrugging again, Ritchie looks down at his hands. “He’s nice. We’re just friends.”
Paul-Henri raises a brow, snorting. “Yeah since when? I didn’t know kissing meant friendship.” The others laugh too.
“I don’t know… It’s not like that.” He finds his the lines on his palms utterly fascinating. “We have spoken a few times before that. He means well.”
“I’m sure he does,” Paul says with sarcasm. “I say this only because I care. You’ve heard the stories and you know some of them are true.” He shrugs and decides he’s had enough of this talk. “Anyway, I was saying that we need to get together more often on our time off.”
He continues to listen, or tries to anyway but when he looks up, he sees those Russian eyes smiling at him. Ritchie can’t help up blush a little and smile shyly back. Everything his friends have said and continue to say fall into the background.
Everyone I know
Says it’s a stupid thing do to
Pairing: Richard Gasquet/Marat Safin
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: not true
Song: I Ran Away by Coldplay
Everyone I know
Says I am a fool to mess with you
The air is warm, not too hot and not a touch of chill either. It’s a few days before the tournament starts and some of the players are lounging around in the practice courts, practicing, of course, and socializing simultaneously. They are buzzing, waiting for their chance to hoist up the championship and be loved worldwide. Along with his fellow countrymen, Ritchie is sitting in the stands, waiting for his turn on the court… Well sort of. He’s staring at one of the men who are occupying the space. The workout and humidity play to Ritchie’s favor, as the man’s bare chest is on display for everyone to see. He loves to gaze at the tattoos, loves to wonder about the history behind them. Did he choose them because they have some sort of significance? Ritchie longs to trace his fingertips over each line, each curve; perhaps retrace them with his lips.
Sighing, Ritchie bends forward to rest his elbows on his thighs and his chin on his palms, eyes never leaving the Russian’s figure. He remembers that night two weeks ago. They were both in the locker room, finishing up and ready to leave when Marat came up to Ritchie, really close, close enough that Ritchie could see the detailed work on the cross that hangs from his neck. If Ritchie had any indication what Marat was about to do, kiss him, he’s not sure if he would have moved away or not. Nonetheless, it took him by surprise when Marat pressed his soft lips against Ritchie’s. It wasn’t as though it was horrible. It was… different, a good different. As shocking as that was, it was more unbelievable when Ritchie lunged forward to capture Marat’s lips again. The smile against his lips as they continued to kiss is something Ritchie will never forget, as well as the utter softness, gentleness, Marat showed with him. His big hands cradled Ritchie face delicately, as though he is something to be cherished. Much to Ritchie’s dismay, the kiss was broken when they heard footsteps nearing and the creak of the door opening. Marat had smiled and patted his cheek affectionately before slinging his bag over one shoulder and exiting quietly, leaving Ritchie to stare after him. They haven’t had much of a chance to communicate after that.
“… if it’s likely. What do you think, Ritchie? Ritchie!” The shout of his name breaks his reverie. He shifts back, turning to face a frowning Paul-Henri.
“Um… Say that again?” He shrugs, smiling shyly.
Paul-Henri doesn’t look too happy, along with Gael and Michael. He throws an arm around Ritchie’s shoulders. “Look, how many times have we told you that he’s no good for you?”
Shrugging again, Ritchie looks down at his hands. “He’s nice. We’re just friends.”
Paul-Henri raises a brow, snorting. “Yeah since when? I didn’t know kissing meant friendship.” The others laugh too.
“I don’t know… It’s not like that.” He finds his the lines on his palms utterly fascinating. “We have spoken a few times before that. He means well.”
“I’m sure he does,” Paul says with sarcasm. “I say this only because I care. You’ve heard the stories and you know some of them are true.” He shrugs and decides he’s had enough of this talk. “Anyway, I was saying that we need to get together more often on our time off.”
He continues to listen, or tries to anyway but when he looks up, he sees those Russian eyes smiling at him. Ritchie can’t help up blush a little and smile shyly back. Everything his friends have said and continue to say fall into the background.
Everyone I know
Says it’s a stupid thing do to