My Muse, I Missed It So.
Title: Show Of Hands
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Roger Federer/Stanislas Wawrinka
Disclaimer: Not mine. Pity.
Summary: Shameless hand-porn
A/N: I blame nilhenwen and
hiro_chan
Stan watched wide-eyed as Roger picked up his racquet, fingers flexing as he changed his grip. He licked his lips nervously and forced himself to turn away. God! Roger’s hands! They made all sorts of tingly things happen to Stan, even when they weren’t touching him.
Trying to act normal, he went back to watch Roger practice. It was torture, and before long Stan was holding his head and thinking unsexy thoughts to calm himself.
“Are you all right?” Fingertips brushed the back of his hand and he jerked, looking up. Roger was crouched in front of him, smiling and concerned. “Do you have a headache? You have been sitting like that for a while.”
“No, no. I’m fine,” Stan croaked. Roger’s hand hadn’t moved and it was like Stan could feel every tiny ridge of the man’s fingerprints against his skin.
“You do not sound fine. I’m taking you home.”
Stan started to protest, but stopped abruptly. Roger was taking him home. There was a bed at home. He stood up. “Lead the way.”
They barely got inside the door - Stan had been forced to watch Roger’s fingers curled around the steering wheel of his car for the entire drive home, and enough was enough. He pushed him to the floor as soon as the door closed behind them.
“Stan! What-“ Roger bit his lip as Stan pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand, tracing the calluses with his lips. To Stan, they spoke of determination and strength, the power obvious when Roger’s other hand closed on his shoulder.
He kissed each fingertip in turn, before letting one finger slide into his mouth. Roger groaned as the other man sucked on the digit with a knowing glint in his eyes.
“God, Stan... Clothes...” Roger fumbled with his lover’s shirt with his free hand. Stan let the other hand go reluctantly to help rid both of them of the unnecessary layers. Skin to skin, they lay together, Stan’s fingers entwined with Roger’s, pulling them back to his mouth.
“Your hands...” he muttered throatily, licking a warm palm, nipping the rough skin gently. “God, I love your hands.”
He knelt back, groaning as his cock pushed against Roger’s, already slick and smooth. Roger’s hand came down to wrap around Stan’s cock, and the man swore, fighting to keep his eyes open so he could watch.
Roger’s fingers - long and strong around his racquet and the steering wheel - were gorgeous around Stan’s throbbing erection. Warm and perfect, his hand slid up and down only a few times before Stan slid his own hand around Roger’s cock and the man jerked, whimpering.
Stan groaned, bringing his other hand to drag down Roger’s chest, teasing a nipple and then just bracing himself. He was shaking with need, eyes flickering from Roger’s beautiful flushed face to that gorgeous hand pulling on his cock. Roger’s other hand tightened on Stan’s shoulder, pressing nails into the muscle, clenching and unclenching.
He dragged his hand over the head of Roger’s cock, laughing thickly when Roger cries out, mouth falling open, eyes squeezing closed. He ground down against his lover, struggling into a rhythm finally, and god, he was giving this man a hand job on the hall floor and it was perfect. It was insane, there was a bed not far away and they were doing it down here like a pair of horny teenagers. But this was what Stan wanted, needed, and Roger didn’t seem to object.
He jacked Roger quicker now, feeling the other man shudder, his grip faltering for a moment. Roger jerked, back bowing up, gasping Stan’s name in a breathy voice. Stan looked down, seeing Roger’s hand still wrapped around his lover’s cock, fumbling in the aftershocks. He pushed himself against Roger’s grip once more and comes hard.
Still trembling, Stan rolled himself to the side, nearly collapsing on the floor. Roger muttered something inaudible and snuggles closer, face tucked against Stan’s neck, one lovely hand resting on his lover’s hip.
Stan took Roger’s hand in his own, and smiled.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Roger Federer/Stanislas Wawrinka
Disclaimer: Not mine. Pity.
Summary: Shameless hand-porn
A/N: I blame nilhenwen and
hiro_chan
Stan watched wide-eyed as Roger picked up his racquet, fingers flexing as he changed his grip. He licked his lips nervously and forced himself to turn away. God! Roger’s hands! They made all sorts of tingly things happen to Stan, even when they weren’t touching him.
Trying to act normal, he went back to watch Roger practice. It was torture, and before long Stan was holding his head and thinking unsexy thoughts to calm himself.
“Are you all right?” Fingertips brushed the back of his hand and he jerked, looking up. Roger was crouched in front of him, smiling and concerned. “Do you have a headache? You have been sitting like that for a while.”
“No, no. I’m fine,” Stan croaked. Roger’s hand hadn’t moved and it was like Stan could feel every tiny ridge of the man’s fingerprints against his skin.
“You do not sound fine. I’m taking you home.”
Stan started to protest, but stopped abruptly. Roger was taking him home. There was a bed at home. He stood up. “Lead the way.”
They barely got inside the door - Stan had been forced to watch Roger’s fingers curled around the steering wheel of his car for the entire drive home, and enough was enough. He pushed him to the floor as soon as the door closed behind them.
“Stan! What-“ Roger bit his lip as Stan pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand, tracing the calluses with his lips. To Stan, they spoke of determination and strength, the power obvious when Roger’s other hand closed on his shoulder.
He kissed each fingertip in turn, before letting one finger slide into his mouth. Roger groaned as the other man sucked on the digit with a knowing glint in his eyes.
“God, Stan... Clothes...” Roger fumbled with his lover’s shirt with his free hand. Stan let the other hand go reluctantly to help rid both of them of the unnecessary layers. Skin to skin, they lay together, Stan’s fingers entwined with Roger’s, pulling them back to his mouth.
“Your hands...” he muttered throatily, licking a warm palm, nipping the rough skin gently. “God, I love your hands.”
He knelt back, groaning as his cock pushed against Roger’s, already slick and smooth. Roger’s hand came down to wrap around Stan’s cock, and the man swore, fighting to keep his eyes open so he could watch.
Roger’s fingers - long and strong around his racquet and the steering wheel - were gorgeous around Stan’s throbbing erection. Warm and perfect, his hand slid up and down only a few times before Stan slid his own hand around Roger’s cock and the man jerked, whimpering.
Stan groaned, bringing his other hand to drag down Roger’s chest, teasing a nipple and then just bracing himself. He was shaking with need, eyes flickering from Roger’s beautiful flushed face to that gorgeous hand pulling on his cock. Roger’s other hand tightened on Stan’s shoulder, pressing nails into the muscle, clenching and unclenching.
He dragged his hand over the head of Roger’s cock, laughing thickly when Roger cries out, mouth falling open, eyes squeezing closed. He ground down against his lover, struggling into a rhythm finally, and god, he was giving this man a hand job on the hall floor and it was perfect. It was insane, there was a bed not far away and they were doing it down here like a pair of horny teenagers. But this was what Stan wanted, needed, and Roger didn’t seem to object.
He jacked Roger quicker now, feeling the other man shudder, his grip faltering for a moment. Roger jerked, back bowing up, gasping Stan’s name in a breathy voice. Stan looked down, seeing Roger’s hand still wrapped around his lover’s cock, fumbling in the aftershocks. He pushed himself against Roger’s grip once more and comes hard.
Still trembling, Stan rolled himself to the side, nearly collapsing on the floor. Roger muttered something inaudible and snuggles closer, face tucked against Stan’s neck, one lovely hand resting on his lover’s hip.
Stan took Roger’s hand in his own, and smiled.