Fic: Bespoke
Title: Bespoke
Author: shana
Dedication: For liroa15 for all she does.
Disclaimer: They do not belong to me. Also, not true. I made it all up.
Pairing: Andy Roddick/Roger Federer
Rating: PG-13
A.N: For the netcord.
The first thing to cross Andy's mind when he sees Roger Federer face-to-face for the first time in months is that he looks amazing. It's the first thing he notices. Roger always looks amazing, and he's always been a little jealous of that fact. He can't remember a time when Roger didn't manage to looks suave and handsome.
Andy knows he can rock his own personal style. His Converse work with his suits. Still, every time he's around Roger and they aren't on court, he feels like a grubby child. It's always made it easier to fall into his assigned role. He's the funny one; Roger's the stylish one.
Sometimes he wishes he could show Roger up. He should be the stylish one and the funny one for once. Or maybe have the confidence to be around Roger without feeling like a teenager with no sense of what looks good.
"How have you been?" The question is out before he can stop it. "You look good. Actually, you look great."
"It's the suit. It's new, and it fits quite well. That's more than I can say for your suit. You look..." Roger trails off, obviously not comfortable with saying what he really thinks of Andy's style. It's such a Roger thing to do. Sometimes he's thought Roger was too polite for his own good.
"You can say it, you know? You think it looks awful."
"I think you look like a child in his father's clothes. Maybe his older brother's stuff," Roger admits.
"You think you can do better? Mirka dresses you," Andy returns.
"Be serious, Andy. I know I could do better for you than you have. You're too interested in what everyone around you is wearing."
"You're offering to be my stylist? Is it some sort of secret talent of yours? The ability to style retired tennis players? Make me look stylish and modern?"
"Not retired tennis players, no. Just you. I have no interest in Justin Gimblestob or Tim Henman or Bjorn Borg. The only one I care about is you, Andrew Roddick. I would like you to look as good as you can. For one day, I would like the world to see you the way I do."
"I'm not exactly in the best shape of my life here, Roger. I don't have the body of a 20-year-old with which you used so to be so familiar. I'm not hitting balls everyday anymore either."
"I do realize you've stopped playing professionally, Andy. I've noticed you're not on the tour anymore. I miss you. I also know what I'm doing. Trust me. I have a free day in New York, and I imagine you'll be here to cover the entire US Open. Surely you can sacrifice one day to an old friend."
"When I told Brooke I was doing this, she gave me a pass. Told me she understood. I didn't get it at first, but it's always been there between you and me. It's just gotten lost under Mirka, Brooke, girls, Wimbledon, and everything else that came with us competing against each other. We got lost."
"It's life, Andy. I don't regret it, and I hope you don't either. But it's also life to bring things full circle. Think of this like a very odd second chance. One that started with an interview; we can take it anywhere we want."
"Which for some reason appears to involve shopping on Fifth Avenue?" Andy knows that his voice is dry.
"That is not a good suit, Andy."
"It got the job done today," Andy protests.
"I can find you a better one. It will more than get the job done."
"What's in it for you? I mean it doesn't do anything for you.."
"For once, I will get to see you look like you should. That'll be enough for me."
"You're way too nice, Roger. I think you just want to watch my ass in a suit."
"First, you have to be in a suit that doesn't make your ass look flat and unfortunate," Roger returns, tone even.
"So what you're saying is that this suit does nothing for my ass?"
"Absolutely nothing," Roger agrees.
"Which means you've been looking at my ass?" Andy presses.
"I can't really. Not in that suit. I thought you understood."
"Fine! I'll give you one afternoon. You can dress me however you want. Within reason. There will be no French Maid outfits."
"I'll be your... personal shopper. I think that's what they call it when they do things like this. I promise no maid outfits, just a good suit."
"Roger Federer, personal shopper to the stars. Maybe that'll be your career after tennis. Like mine is interviewing you."
"Don't be ridiculous. I'll retire to Basel and design suits for someone, of course. I'll become a household name."
"You're just full of hidden talents," Andy teases.
"I'll show you some when I see you again," Roger promises.
~
Andy can't help but wish he was meeting Roger somewhere other than the Prada Store on Third Street. Not that he doesn't think he can rock Prada because he's sure he's done it before. It's just this place isn't really his speed. It's way more Roger's thing than it is his. And that's why they're here.
He's always been willing to go with the first suit that seems to fit and is more or less in style. It's always made suit shopping quick and painless. Usually, he can do it at one of the upper end department stores.
Roger talks to the assistant who meets them in the reception area. They talk about fabric and the style of suit Roger's thinking of for Andy. They're about the only words Andy understands among a bunch of fashion-type words about which Andy has no idea. Does he really care about weave? What is that even going to affect?
It ends up with the assistant bringing Andy three suits to the try on in the little room they've put him and Roger in. He dutifully takes them, not looking at the price tags because he doesn't even want to know, and heads behind the door to the change room in their little suite-thing.
He's a little bit surprised to hear the light rap on the change room door almost as soon as he's closed it. Roger is obviously the impatient type about this.
"Jesus, I'm not ready yet. Give me a moment to get my pants done up."
He tucks his dress shirt into his pants, tries to smooth everything down, grabs the jacket, and steps out to face Roger.
"Spin," Roger commands, doing the spinning hand motion with his fingers almost asbsently.
Andy turns. He feels dumb doing it. He knows they got his measurements. He was there when the assistant measured everything about him, but the suit doesn't seem to fit right. Maybe it's just that it doesn't fit like all the rest of his suits.
"It fits you better than most of your others, but I still don't think it's the right one. Can you try on one of the others?"
"This is your show," Andy mumbles. He heads back into the change room and starts changing into the second suit, but he struggles a bit with getting his shirt to sit right. It seems to be bunching up in his armpits, and he's got no clue why.
"You done, Andy?"
"Not quite," he calls back through the door, feeling like a kid shopping with his parents.
He steps out and does the spin thing Roger asked for with the first suit.. At this point, he figures it's best to just humour the other man.
"This is closer to what I imagined you in. It's not quite right though. Try the third one?"
"Third time's the charm?" He knows it's kind of mean because chances are Roger's not terribly familiar with English clichés that aren't immediately applicable to interview situations. That one might be okay though. It's got uses in the sports world.
"So you say." Roger's smile is fond.
He's standing in his shirt tails when Roger knocks again, then pushes into the change room without waiting for an answer.
He can't help but shoot Roger an incredulous look. "I can put on a pair of pants on my own, you know?"
"I just wanted to see you. I thought your shirt looked wrong last time."
"Well, let me put on these pants, and then you can fuss over it."
Andy feels Roger's eyes--almost as a caress--as he does up the pants, smoothes out his dress shirt, and shrugs into the jacket.
"What do you think? Is this the suit? The one you've always dreamed of?" Andy makes sure to keep his tone light, teasing.
Roger steps back, his back pressed against the door, giving the suit a hard-eyed, appraising look. It reminds Andy a little of standing across the net from Roger at Wimbledon.
"This is definitely the one. You look very good, just as good as I always imagined. A different shirt would work better, but this one will do."
Andy's a little shocked when Roger reaches out and tangles his fingers in the offending shirt. "You really do need a better shirt, but you look amazing, Andy."
He stumbles forward a little bit, pulled towards the Swiss by strong, talented fingers.
And they're kissing; it's overwhelming and completely unexpected. They're in a Prada change room for fuck's sake. That's like some sort of fashion temple for Roger or something. Even beyond that, Roger was never any good at letting their relationship wander anywhere near the PDA stage. He was always too worried about prying eyes.
He always liked that. He doesn't mind the idea of gay tennis players, but he has Brooke to think about and Roger's always had Mirka.
He lets himself fall into the kiss, feeling Roger's hands flatten against his shirt, almost like he's trying to erase the wrinkles. Andy responds by letting his hands creep around Roger's waist, pulling the other man even closer, so they can deepen the kiss.
Roger gently pushes back on Andy's chest after a moment, breaking the hottest kiss he's had in a while. After all, he and Brooke both lead busy lives.
"Not here. I don't want to wrinkle the suit, and we don't have long," Roger whispers when they break apart.
"Fine." Andy knows he sounds like he's pouting. He probably is; he doesn't care.
"We've got the rest of the day for that," Roger chides, slipping out of the dressing room before Andy can think of any arguments about why none of that actually matters.
He slips the suit off, carefully putting it back on the hangers, and feels a profound sense of relief to be back in the clothes he came in. Roger might be one hell of a personal shopper, and Andy's sure he'll look like a movie star, but it's still not his style. He's never going to be comfortable with it the way Roger is.
Because at heart, he's really just a kid from Texas and all this Prada, Gucci, and the rest of it isn't him. But he can pretend.
For Roger, every once in a while he can pretend to be a man for whom these type of suits are second nature.
Because if Roger's to be believed, one of Andy's favourite ways to spend the day is coming up next, as soon as they get back to the hotel. And Andy knows Roger Federer also has a not-so-secret talent for sex.
Fini.
Notes:
1. The interview referenced is a Fox Sports 1-on-1 piece. It was aired on August 28, 2013. It is unclear if it was filmed prior to that or day of. The interview can be found here.
2. For purposes of this piece, I am assuming the interview was filmed prior to air date but after the start of the US Open on August 25, 2013.
3. The Prada Store referenced is this one. There were several to choose from. I chose this one as it seemed less likely to be a tourist Mecca.
4. Roger really doesn't seem to like Andy's suit. Evidence
Author: shana
Dedication: For liroa15 for all she does.
Disclaimer: They do not belong to me. Also, not true. I made it all up.
Pairing: Andy Roddick/Roger Federer
Rating: PG-13
A.N: For the netcord.
The first thing to cross Andy's mind when he sees Roger Federer face-to-face for the first time in months is that he looks amazing. It's the first thing he notices. Roger always looks amazing, and he's always been a little jealous of that fact. He can't remember a time when Roger didn't manage to looks suave and handsome.
Andy knows he can rock his own personal style. His Converse work with his suits. Still, every time he's around Roger and they aren't on court, he feels like a grubby child. It's always made it easier to fall into his assigned role. He's the funny one; Roger's the stylish one.
Sometimes he wishes he could show Roger up. He should be the stylish one and the funny one for once. Or maybe have the confidence to be around Roger without feeling like a teenager with no sense of what looks good.
"How have you been?" The question is out before he can stop it. "You look good. Actually, you look great."
"It's the suit. It's new, and it fits quite well. That's more than I can say for your suit. You look..." Roger trails off, obviously not comfortable with saying what he really thinks of Andy's style. It's such a Roger thing to do. Sometimes he's thought Roger was too polite for his own good.
"You can say it, you know? You think it looks awful."
"I think you look like a child in his father's clothes. Maybe his older brother's stuff," Roger admits.
"You think you can do better? Mirka dresses you," Andy returns.
"Be serious, Andy. I know I could do better for you than you have. You're too interested in what everyone around you is wearing."
"You're offering to be my stylist? Is it some sort of secret talent of yours? The ability to style retired tennis players? Make me look stylish and modern?"
"Not retired tennis players, no. Just you. I have no interest in Justin Gimblestob or Tim Henman or Bjorn Borg. The only one I care about is you, Andrew Roddick. I would like you to look as good as you can. For one day, I would like the world to see you the way I do."
"I'm not exactly in the best shape of my life here, Roger. I don't have the body of a 20-year-old with which you used so to be so familiar. I'm not hitting balls everyday anymore either."
"I do realize you've stopped playing professionally, Andy. I've noticed you're not on the tour anymore. I miss you. I also know what I'm doing. Trust me. I have a free day in New York, and I imagine you'll be here to cover the entire US Open. Surely you can sacrifice one day to an old friend."
"When I told Brooke I was doing this, she gave me a pass. Told me she understood. I didn't get it at first, but it's always been there between you and me. It's just gotten lost under Mirka, Brooke, girls, Wimbledon, and everything else that came with us competing against each other. We got lost."
"It's life, Andy. I don't regret it, and I hope you don't either. But it's also life to bring things full circle. Think of this like a very odd second chance. One that started with an interview; we can take it anywhere we want."
"Which for some reason appears to involve shopping on Fifth Avenue?" Andy knows that his voice is dry.
"That is not a good suit, Andy."
"It got the job done today," Andy protests.
"I can find you a better one. It will more than get the job done."
"What's in it for you? I mean it doesn't do anything for you.."
"For once, I will get to see you look like you should. That'll be enough for me."
"You're way too nice, Roger. I think you just want to watch my ass in a suit."
"First, you have to be in a suit that doesn't make your ass look flat and unfortunate," Roger returns, tone even.
"So what you're saying is that this suit does nothing for my ass?"
"Absolutely nothing," Roger agrees.
"Which means you've been looking at my ass?" Andy presses.
"I can't really. Not in that suit. I thought you understood."
"Fine! I'll give you one afternoon. You can dress me however you want. Within reason. There will be no French Maid outfits."
"I'll be your... personal shopper. I think that's what they call it when they do things like this. I promise no maid outfits, just a good suit."
"Roger Federer, personal shopper to the stars. Maybe that'll be your career after tennis. Like mine is interviewing you."
"Don't be ridiculous. I'll retire to Basel and design suits for someone, of course. I'll become a household name."
"You're just full of hidden talents," Andy teases.
"I'll show you some when I see you again," Roger promises.
~
Andy can't help but wish he was meeting Roger somewhere other than the Prada Store on Third Street. Not that he doesn't think he can rock Prada because he's sure he's done it before. It's just this place isn't really his speed. It's way more Roger's thing than it is his. And that's why they're here.
He's always been willing to go with the first suit that seems to fit and is more or less in style. It's always made suit shopping quick and painless. Usually, he can do it at one of the upper end department stores.
Roger talks to the assistant who meets them in the reception area. They talk about fabric and the style of suit Roger's thinking of for Andy. They're about the only words Andy understands among a bunch of fashion-type words about which Andy has no idea. Does he really care about weave? What is that even going to affect?
It ends up with the assistant bringing Andy three suits to the try on in the little room they've put him and Roger in. He dutifully takes them, not looking at the price tags because he doesn't even want to know, and heads behind the door to the change room in their little suite-thing.
He's a little bit surprised to hear the light rap on the change room door almost as soon as he's closed it. Roger is obviously the impatient type about this.
"Jesus, I'm not ready yet. Give me a moment to get my pants done up."
He tucks his dress shirt into his pants, tries to smooth everything down, grabs the jacket, and steps out to face Roger.
"Spin," Roger commands, doing the spinning hand motion with his fingers almost asbsently.
Andy turns. He feels dumb doing it. He knows they got his measurements. He was there when the assistant measured everything about him, but the suit doesn't seem to fit right. Maybe it's just that it doesn't fit like all the rest of his suits.
"It fits you better than most of your others, but I still don't think it's the right one. Can you try on one of the others?"
"This is your show," Andy mumbles. He heads back into the change room and starts changing into the second suit, but he struggles a bit with getting his shirt to sit right. It seems to be bunching up in his armpits, and he's got no clue why.
"You done, Andy?"
"Not quite," he calls back through the door, feeling like a kid shopping with his parents.
He steps out and does the spin thing Roger asked for with the first suit.. At this point, he figures it's best to just humour the other man.
"This is closer to what I imagined you in. It's not quite right though. Try the third one?"
"Third time's the charm?" He knows it's kind of mean because chances are Roger's not terribly familiar with English clichés that aren't immediately applicable to interview situations. That one might be okay though. It's got uses in the sports world.
"So you say." Roger's smile is fond.
He's standing in his shirt tails when Roger knocks again, then pushes into the change room without waiting for an answer.
He can't help but shoot Roger an incredulous look. "I can put on a pair of pants on my own, you know?"
"I just wanted to see you. I thought your shirt looked wrong last time."
"Well, let me put on these pants, and then you can fuss over it."
Andy feels Roger's eyes--almost as a caress--as he does up the pants, smoothes out his dress shirt, and shrugs into the jacket.
"What do you think? Is this the suit? The one you've always dreamed of?" Andy makes sure to keep his tone light, teasing.
Roger steps back, his back pressed against the door, giving the suit a hard-eyed, appraising look. It reminds Andy a little of standing across the net from Roger at Wimbledon.
"This is definitely the one. You look very good, just as good as I always imagined. A different shirt would work better, but this one will do."
Andy's a little shocked when Roger reaches out and tangles his fingers in the offending shirt. "You really do need a better shirt, but you look amazing, Andy."
He stumbles forward a little bit, pulled towards the Swiss by strong, talented fingers.
And they're kissing; it's overwhelming and completely unexpected. They're in a Prada change room for fuck's sake. That's like some sort of fashion temple for Roger or something. Even beyond that, Roger was never any good at letting their relationship wander anywhere near the PDA stage. He was always too worried about prying eyes.
He always liked that. He doesn't mind the idea of gay tennis players, but he has Brooke to think about and Roger's always had Mirka.
He lets himself fall into the kiss, feeling Roger's hands flatten against his shirt, almost like he's trying to erase the wrinkles. Andy responds by letting his hands creep around Roger's waist, pulling the other man even closer, so they can deepen the kiss.
Roger gently pushes back on Andy's chest after a moment, breaking the hottest kiss he's had in a while. After all, he and Brooke both lead busy lives.
"Not here. I don't want to wrinkle the suit, and we don't have long," Roger whispers when they break apart.
"Fine." Andy knows he sounds like he's pouting. He probably is; he doesn't care.
"We've got the rest of the day for that," Roger chides, slipping out of the dressing room before Andy can think of any arguments about why none of that actually matters.
He slips the suit off, carefully putting it back on the hangers, and feels a profound sense of relief to be back in the clothes he came in. Roger might be one hell of a personal shopper, and Andy's sure he'll look like a movie star, but it's still not his style. He's never going to be comfortable with it the way Roger is.
Because at heart, he's really just a kid from Texas and all this Prada, Gucci, and the rest of it isn't him. But he can pretend.
For Roger, every once in a while he can pretend to be a man for whom these type of suits are second nature.
Because if Roger's to be believed, one of Andy's favourite ways to spend the day is coming up next, as soon as they get back to the hotel. And Andy knows Roger Federer also has a not-so-secret talent for sex.
Fini.
Notes:
1. The interview referenced is a Fox Sports 1-on-1 piece. It was aired on August 28, 2013. It is unclear if it was filmed prior to that or day of. The interview can be found here.
2. For purposes of this piece, I am assuming the interview was filmed prior to air date but after the start of the US Open on August 25, 2013.
3. The Prada Store referenced is this one. There were several to choose from. I chose this one as it seemed less likely to be a tourist Mecca.
4. Roger really doesn't seem to like Andy's suit. Evidence