Fic: Burnt (Fedal, PG-13)
Title: Burnt
Author: dargai
Rating: PG-13 (I didn't think it merited a higher rating but I could be wrong...)
Pairing: Roger/ Rafa
Disclaimer: Real people lies. None of this has any bearing on reality.
Summary: Roger and Rafa talk about the Cincinnati Masters. Hurt/Comfort.
A/N: For touchshriek who wanted to be comforted after their losses as well. *pets fedal fandom*
~~
“So this sucks.”
Rafa didn’t say anything, just shrugged, because what was there to say? The man across the table from him already knew every response, every reaction - he’d had them all himself.
He focused on his right hand instead, staring at the patches of dark, shiny skin. “So stupid,” he breathed and didn’t bother looking at Roger. “Now I cannot go to a restaurant before I play. How much more stupid…”
He didn’t say anything when Roger reached across the table and took his hand, didn’t say a word when the callouses on Roger’s hand rubbed against his fingertips.
But Roger’s voice was loud in the stillness and he jumped a little when hot breath flashed against his palm. “What were you doing?
“It was the hot plate.”
He felt the huff of laughter rather than heard it and gritted his teeth, awkward and angry. “I sorry,” Rafa said, pulling his hand back. “I just come to see how you are. Say sorry you are out also. Not to complain or-”
“Yeah, I know.”
Roger was giving him that look, the one that said ‘Can we skip all this shit now?’ and Rafa very, very much wanted to but it had been over a year since they’d been alone in a hotel room together and longer than that since they’d agreed this was all a very bad idea.
Roger said, “Give me your hand,” and his voice was soft and careful. He didn’t meet Rafa’s eyes.
And Rafa had never quite understood what magnetic pull Roger had over him because he obeyed, without question, and watched Roger’s fingers trace over his palm again.
Whatever Rafa had expected it was not for Roger to bend his head suddenly and press light kisses to the burned patches of skin on his fingers.
“Rogelio.” The lightweight shirt he had put on a few hours ago felt tight and restrictive when he tried to breathe.
“It’s the end of an era,” Roger said softly, almost indistinctly, and he held Rafa’s gaze while his mouth slipped over the middle and index fingers he was holding.
“Dios,” Rafa said on a cut-off gasp. Saliva burned where it touched sore skin, and Rafa was caught between the edge of pain and then the need travelling up his arm and across the rest of him.
Roger’s mouth began to move in earnest, and Rafa stared at him, watched the curve of his lips, the way his cheeks hollowed before he really felt the pressure against his fingers. It had been years since they’d done this and if he wasn’t careful he was going to come in his pants faster than he’d ever anticipated.
The unexpected moan shot all his control. Roger paused for a second, staring at him and then Rafa felt his tongue slide between his fingers, trailing across the skin, and all that was left in his mind was Roger’s mouth and Roger’s tongue and Roger.
He pressed the heel of his free hand firmly against his groin and bit back the curses.
“Roger. Bed. Now.”
Roger nodded. Rafa was pulled along, out of his chair, almost manhandled towards the bedroom.
“We have two hours,” Roger said against his neck. “Ich vermissä di*. It’s been so long, Rafa.”
Rafa touched the fingers still wet with saliva to Roger’s lips and cupped his head. “We do not think now,” he said gently and kissed him. Roger tasted the same, bitter coffee and sugar, slightly sweet, slightly sour. It was their whole life, their whole relationship, every victory and loss against each other. Except Roger opened his mouth, touched his tongue to Rafa’s and this was the one thing they did together and nobody lost.
*I missed you.
Author: dargai
Rating: PG-13 (I didn't think it merited a higher rating but I could be wrong...)
Pairing: Roger/ Rafa
Disclaimer: Real people lies. None of this has any bearing on reality.
Summary: Roger and Rafa talk about the Cincinnati Masters. Hurt/Comfort.
A/N: For touchshriek who wanted to be comforted after their losses as well. *pets fedal fandom*
~~
“So this sucks.”
Rafa didn’t say anything, just shrugged, because what was there to say? The man across the table from him already knew every response, every reaction - he’d had them all himself.
He focused on his right hand instead, staring at the patches of dark, shiny skin. “So stupid,” he breathed and didn’t bother looking at Roger. “Now I cannot go to a restaurant before I play. How much more stupid…”
He didn’t say anything when Roger reached across the table and took his hand, didn’t say a word when the callouses on Roger’s hand rubbed against his fingertips.
But Roger’s voice was loud in the stillness and he jumped a little when hot breath flashed against his palm. “What were you doing?
“It was the hot plate.”
He felt the huff of laughter rather than heard it and gritted his teeth, awkward and angry. “I sorry,” Rafa said, pulling his hand back. “I just come to see how you are. Say sorry you are out also. Not to complain or-”
“Yeah, I know.”
Roger was giving him that look, the one that said ‘Can we skip all this shit now?’ and Rafa very, very much wanted to but it had been over a year since they’d been alone in a hotel room together and longer than that since they’d agreed this was all a very bad idea.
Roger said, “Give me your hand,” and his voice was soft and careful. He didn’t meet Rafa’s eyes.
And Rafa had never quite understood what magnetic pull Roger had over him because he obeyed, without question, and watched Roger’s fingers trace over his palm again.
Whatever Rafa had expected it was not for Roger to bend his head suddenly and press light kisses to the burned patches of skin on his fingers.
“Rogelio.” The lightweight shirt he had put on a few hours ago felt tight and restrictive when he tried to breathe.
“It’s the end of an era,” Roger said softly, almost indistinctly, and he held Rafa’s gaze while his mouth slipped over the middle and index fingers he was holding.
“Dios,” Rafa said on a cut-off gasp. Saliva burned where it touched sore skin, and Rafa was caught between the edge of pain and then the need travelling up his arm and across the rest of him.
Roger’s mouth began to move in earnest, and Rafa stared at him, watched the curve of his lips, the way his cheeks hollowed before he really felt the pressure against his fingers. It had been years since they’d done this and if he wasn’t careful he was going to come in his pants faster than he’d ever anticipated.
The unexpected moan shot all his control. Roger paused for a second, staring at him and then Rafa felt his tongue slide between his fingers, trailing across the skin, and all that was left in his mind was Roger’s mouth and Roger’s tongue and Roger.
He pressed the heel of his free hand firmly against his groin and bit back the curses.
“Roger. Bed. Now.”
Roger nodded. Rafa was pulled along, out of his chair, almost manhandled towards the bedroom.
“We have two hours,” Roger said against his neck. “Ich vermissä di*. It’s been so long, Rafa.”
Rafa touched the fingers still wet with saliva to Roger’s lips and cupped his head. “We do not think now,” he said gently and kissed him. Roger tasted the same, bitter coffee and sugar, slightly sweet, slightly sour. It was their whole life, their whole relationship, every victory and loss against each other. Except Roger opened his mouth, touched his tongue to Rafa’s and this was the one thing they did together and nobody lost.
*I missed you.