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bronze_ribbonsTitle: Private Feelings
Pairings: background Roger/Rafa; octopus/Rafa
Rating: It's not really explicit, but there's definitely tentacle sex, y'know?
Disclaimer: Fic is fictional, even when I use the names of real people.
Wordcount: 500 even
Summary: Curiosity doesn't kill Andy Roddick, but...
Note: I blame meretricula. (Quote: "You know what tennis fandom needs? moar tentacles!" I hate my brain.)
As he slings his duffel bag into the cabin assigned to him, Andy privately wonders if he's going to end up feeling like a third wheel all week, even though it's just him and Rafa on the boat. It doesn't take a PhD in math to figure out that it'd be Roger instead of him if it weren't for the new baby, but Andy had been too curious not to accept Rafa's invitation.
The days speed past, and Andy is enjoying himself. Rafa does seem wistful at times, but only when he thinks Andy isn't looking, and he never mentions Roger. There is a lot of fishing and swimming and napping. Especially napping. Both of them are feeling battered from all the tournaments they played, and Brook's on an extended shoot in Tokyo, which, great city, but this is definitely way more restful.
During the second half of the week, Rafa disappears for longer stretches of time, looking significantly more relaxed whenever he rejoins Andy for meals, conversation, and plain stupid fun. Andy thinks to himself, well, Rafa has his quirks, maybe he's one of those guys who can't jerk himself off within earshot of anyone who knows him. Even as he comes up with it, Andy's aware that it's a weak theory, but the only other scenario he can dream up is that Rafa's been sneaking away to indulge in two-hour BlackBerry sex chats with Roger, and while that's actually more likely than the other theory, it's even more lame, if it's true. Ok, maybe "lame" is harsh, but if he lets himself think that Rafa is really that sappy and lovesick, Andy will have to strap himself to one of Rafa's dumbbells and throw himself over the side of the boat, because it will mean he got his ass handed to him at the Open by someone with the romantic sensibility of a sixth-grader. (Roger doesn't count. If Roger wasn't an athlete, he'd totally be one of those emo singer-songwriters at SXSW.)
When he does stumble upon Rafa's secret, Andy nearly flings himself overboard anyway, his first impulse being to rush to Rafa's rescue: at first glance, it looks very much as though Rafa is on the verge of becoming the dinner of a giant octopus. But Andy's brain halts him just before he jumps into the sea with, "Grab a weapon first, you moron!" and the pause is just long enough for Andy to register that Rafa might be moaning in pleasure rather than distress. Squinting into the afternoon sun, Andy makes out two. . . three.. . good God. There is no way that even one tentacle could have penetrated Rafa by accident.
Andy watches Rafa and the cephalopod wrestle, writhe, and loll against the bank of the cove. There is a good deal of splashing and shoving, and Andy even fancies he hears a squeak now and then.
When he finally tears his eyes away, he texts his wife: "I now know what really happened to Rafa's knees."
Pairings: background Roger/Rafa; octopus/Rafa
Rating: It's not really explicit, but there's definitely tentacle sex, y'know?
Disclaimer: Fic is fictional, even when I use the names of real people.
Wordcount: 500 even
Summary: Curiosity doesn't kill Andy Roddick, but...
Note: I blame meretricula. (Quote: "You know what tennis fandom needs? moar tentacles!" I hate my brain.)
As he slings his duffel bag into the cabin assigned to him, Andy privately wonders if he's going to end up feeling like a third wheel all week, even though it's just him and Rafa on the boat. It doesn't take a PhD in math to figure out that it'd be Roger instead of him if it weren't for the new baby, but Andy had been too curious not to accept Rafa's invitation.
The days speed past, and Andy is enjoying himself. Rafa does seem wistful at times, but only when he thinks Andy isn't looking, and he never mentions Roger. There is a lot of fishing and swimming and napping. Especially napping. Both of them are feeling battered from all the tournaments they played, and Brook's on an extended shoot in Tokyo, which, great city, but this is definitely way more restful.
During the second half of the week, Rafa disappears for longer stretches of time, looking significantly more relaxed whenever he rejoins Andy for meals, conversation, and plain stupid fun. Andy thinks to himself, well, Rafa has his quirks, maybe he's one of those guys who can't jerk himself off within earshot of anyone who knows him. Even as he comes up with it, Andy's aware that it's a weak theory, but the only other scenario he can dream up is that Rafa's been sneaking away to indulge in two-hour BlackBerry sex chats with Roger, and while that's actually more likely than the other theory, it's even more lame, if it's true. Ok, maybe "lame" is harsh, but if he lets himself think that Rafa is really that sappy and lovesick, Andy will have to strap himself to one of Rafa's dumbbells and throw himself over the side of the boat, because it will mean he got his ass handed to him at the Open by someone with the romantic sensibility of a sixth-grader. (Roger doesn't count. If Roger wasn't an athlete, he'd totally be one of those emo singer-songwriters at SXSW.)
When he does stumble upon Rafa's secret, Andy nearly flings himself overboard anyway, his first impulse being to rush to Rafa's rescue: at first glance, it looks very much as though Rafa is on the verge of becoming the dinner of a giant octopus. But Andy's brain halts him just before he jumps into the sea with, "Grab a weapon first, you moron!" and the pause is just long enough for Andy to register that Rafa might be moaning in pleasure rather than distress. Squinting into the afternoon sun, Andy makes out two. . . three.. . good God. There is no way that even one tentacle could have penetrated Rafa by accident.
Andy watches Rafa and the cephalopod wrestle, writhe, and loll against the bank of the cove. There is a good deal of splashing and shoving, and Andy even fancies he hears a squeak now and then.
When he finally tears his eyes away, he texts his wife: "I now know what really happened to Rafa's knees."
(no subject)
19/6/09 10:22 (UTC)