[Fic] Seasons (Roger / various)
Title : Seasons
Author : hiro_chan
Fandom : Tennis
Pairing : Roger/ Andy, Roger/Mirka, Roger/Marat, Roger/Stan
Rating : PG
Disclaimer : not true, not real. fiction.
Author's notes :
1, Just a short, experimental ficlet :). I quite like how the Roger/Andy and Roger/Mirka turn out, but I'm not sure I make proper sense with Roger/Marat (not sure I did well with the metaphors) and I think the Roger/Stan one is pretty weak. Comments on this is very appreciated :D.
2. For the cookie challenge in allez_federinka also if accepted/allowed :).
i.
When he thinks about Andy, Roger thinks of the summer. Of the smell of barbecue and the feel of cold beer and the hundreds of photograph to make the season last for eternity. He thinks of explosions of bright colours, of beaches in afternoon sunlight, of long and drawn out days, of hidden love affairs and stolen kisses. He thinks about how they all will live forever.
Andy to him is the poster boy of summer season, the type of boy that fashion retailers would use as the face of their summer trend campaigns, the kind of boy girls would have for their summer crush. The handsome face, the nicely muscled body, the clear eyes that twinkle mischievously and the lips that just can't stop smiling.
Sometimes Roger can't tell whether what exists between them is love between best buddies or love between lovers. At first it troubled him, because Roger likes clarity in every definition of things, likes to know where he stands, but then, it doesn't really matter. Andy's love is like the light summer rain that makes him want to throw his umbrella away and stand there under the dripping rain, letting it soak to his skin, making him want to fall backwards onto the puddle on the ground that slowly turns into mud and he would roll in it as the child in him comes forth. And then Andy would be there, covered with mud also, laughing and laughing and Roger wouldn't be able to do anything but join him and they'd mock wrestle with each other, their grips slippery and it would take some time to clean themselves later but it won't matter because they're alive, they are happy, they are in love.
Andy is summer and there are times when his love and attention is stifling like the heat in the height of the summer noon and all Roger wants to do when that happens is go to a shaded spot and cool down. But just like with the summer heat, Roger won't be able to stay away for too long, and he would step out and seek it again and when he does, Andy would turn to him and after a split while the smile would welcome him back and Roger would fall effortlessly back into his embrace, the skin sticky with sweat, their kisses sticky and sweet like the summer fruits.
Andy's love is easy and accommodating, a freeing feeling like running on the beach together towards the onrushing waves, feeling the soft sand under his feet, the laughter that spills from his lips and the exhilaration that bubbles in his vein, feeling the water splashing on his feet and the waves that crashes against him, drowning him for a split moment before washing him ashore and he lies on the wet sand opening his eyes towards the bright sun and all is well.
ii.
Autumn is the season of melancholy, of quiet retrospection after a mad summer, of moments of deep thinking as colours become muted and the days shorter. Roger likes doing a quiet stroll in a park in autumn, watching the greeneries turn into reddish brown, feeling and hearing the fallen leaves crunching under the soles of his shoes, inhaling the cool air deep into his lungs, melting into the world tinted with sepia.
Autumn is the season for his inner peace, of gathering of family and close friends, feasting on warm meals that make him long for home. Autumn makes him wants to bury himself into someone's embrace, makes him nostalgic as his mind goes back to the old country house that his family often visit when he was still a child, when the days were free of care and full of endless wonders.
Roger finds autumn in the form of Mirka, in her gentle smile and her womanly curves and her unconventional beauty. He finds autumn in her, in her quiet stare and immovable faith and soothing hands. But most of all, he finds autumn in her domesticity.
He loves the way she looks when she is all donned up, her make up perfect, her hair beautiful, her dress immaculate; but he loves her more when she is at home, her hair in a tousled ponytails, the lipgloss the only make up she wears, the apron covering her clothing, the house her kingdom, a content smile on her lips. He loves the way she smells with all kinds of most expensive perfumes money can buy - sometimes it's bold and confident, sometimes fresh and playful, sometimes elegant and discreet. But he loves more when she smells like home, like the talcum powder and body splash that she uses after shower, and most of all, like the tell-tale smell of home-made food that she loves to cook.
She is his mother, his sister, his bestfriend, his lover, warm and sweet like a cup of hot chocolate in an autumn night, familiar and comforting like snuggling under the well worn blanket that he can't let go of, nostalgic and heart-aching in a sweet way like flashes of fond memories and most of all, she is like home, happy and content, painted in warm, earthy colours.
iii.
It takes him a while but in the end, he realises that winter is Marat. It is not so much the coldness of the winter that makes him realise such, afterall, Marat is nothing but passionate and alive. But it is the extremities of winter that reminds him of the Russian, the abrupt change of the situations that occur in winter. It could be harsh snow storm in one day, forcing people to hide away, taking shelter from its bitingly sharp wind as the sheer force of nature makes everything stop, the world frozen, and he can only watch, rendered helpless. But then the very next day it could be a winter wonderland, where the world is painted with brilliant white, and the thick snow sighs and shifts as he steps onto it, the coldness is somehow pleasant and everyone would go out of where they have been hiding from the storm, the world moves again as snowmen appear and children laughter sounding like bells all around the town.
Marat is like that, his abrupt shift of emotion from one moment to the next is an endless fascination to Roger. Sometimes it is like the snow storm, and Marat's mood turns so dark it actually scares him, scares him because he is helpless in the face of it, unable to do anything but let it pin him in place and devour him. And often times Marat's mood is a sheer winter wonderland, as the darkness turns to light and the smile is light and carefree and Marat will love him so sweet, sweetly, making Roger feel like melting, his knees buckling and he falls back onto the thick snow that welcome him down and when he looks up, everything is so white, so bright, so brilliant that it actually aches.
However strange it might sound to other people, Roger loves Marat because of the extremities of his emotions. The way he is plunged to the depth of the darkness one time and then lifted up to the height of sheer brilliance the next - sometimes he thinks he cannot take it anymore, but when he steps away to calm himself down, to tell himself that this would be the last ride, he would look back and realise how much he craves it, in a way like a boy cannot get enough of riding a roller coaster.
So he stays around in Marat's winter, him the small specks of colours against the backdrop of endless white, and he'll build fire and snowmen and make snow angels and hop on a sledge for a thrilling ride down the slope and if a storm should come, maybe he'd die a little but he would try to hold on, knowing deep in his heart that this white landscape won't actually want to get rid of him, and that when the storm has passed, he can marvel at the quiet stillness of everything, before the wonderland appears again and he'll get a ride of his life, each one better than the last.
iv.
When he falls in love with Stan, Roger knows in an instant that Stan is spring. Those shy smiles and the furtive glances and the overflowing energy and enthusiasm. Sometimes it amuses him how much Stan makes him think of doe-eyed bambi peeking from behind the bushes. Unsure but at the same time eager and Roger often can't fight the urge to pull him into a hug.
Spring, strangely, is one of a season that he often overlooks, comes and goes without him really realising it because often the winter drags on too long and the summer comes too early. Spring often does not hold any special meaning for him, but now he thinks it is because he has never died before.
But spring is a season of rebirth and after the year that he has been having, Stan is the first spring that he feels acutely. He think he will never forget that moment that started it all, in the quiet dressing room in Beijing, and when the day was over, he felt anew, he was reborn.
And then his senses are opened to spring, to the sight of reawakening of plants, to the smell of damp earth, wetted still by the melting snow and the long spring rain, to the sounds of birds chirping - he's still here, another second chance.
And Stan the catalyst of it all, holding his hand and pointing where to see, his voice whispering into his ear like saint blowing life into a body, his laughter the sweet sound in the air, and Roger is left wondering, where has he been all these time?
Roger likes the feeling of calm and tranquillity that spring gives him and so he buries himself in it, drowning himself in the soft smell of flowers and the gentle gust of wind, in the chirping of birds that welcomes the new life that springs from the earth. He immerses himself in the energy and positive feelings that spring brings, in the way the world is repainted with fresh and vibrant colours, and the way Stan loves him, adoring and warm, simple and sweet.
and to end this... fecking come on, marat!!! darn, this kremlin cup final is pretty entertaining.
Author : hiro_chan
Fandom : Tennis
Pairing : Roger/ Andy, Roger/Mirka, Roger/Marat, Roger/Stan
Rating : PG
Disclaimer : not true, not real. fiction.
Author's notes :
1, Just a short, experimental ficlet :). I quite like how the Roger/Andy and Roger/Mirka turn out, but I'm not sure I make proper sense with Roger/Marat (not sure I did well with the metaphors) and I think the Roger/Stan one is pretty weak. Comments on this is very appreciated :D.
2. For the cookie challenge in allez_federinka also if accepted/allowed :).
i.
When he thinks about Andy, Roger thinks of the summer. Of the smell of barbecue and the feel of cold beer and the hundreds of photograph to make the season last for eternity. He thinks of explosions of bright colours, of beaches in afternoon sunlight, of long and drawn out days, of hidden love affairs and stolen kisses. He thinks about how they all will live forever.
Andy to him is the poster boy of summer season, the type of boy that fashion retailers would use as the face of their summer trend campaigns, the kind of boy girls would have for their summer crush. The handsome face, the nicely muscled body, the clear eyes that twinkle mischievously and the lips that just can't stop smiling.
Sometimes Roger can't tell whether what exists between them is love between best buddies or love between lovers. At first it troubled him, because Roger likes clarity in every definition of things, likes to know where he stands, but then, it doesn't really matter. Andy's love is like the light summer rain that makes him want to throw his umbrella away and stand there under the dripping rain, letting it soak to his skin, making him want to fall backwards onto the puddle on the ground that slowly turns into mud and he would roll in it as the child in him comes forth. And then Andy would be there, covered with mud also, laughing and laughing and Roger wouldn't be able to do anything but join him and they'd mock wrestle with each other, their grips slippery and it would take some time to clean themselves later but it won't matter because they're alive, they are happy, they are in love.
Andy is summer and there are times when his love and attention is stifling like the heat in the height of the summer noon and all Roger wants to do when that happens is go to a shaded spot and cool down. But just like with the summer heat, Roger won't be able to stay away for too long, and he would step out and seek it again and when he does, Andy would turn to him and after a split while the smile would welcome him back and Roger would fall effortlessly back into his embrace, the skin sticky with sweat, their kisses sticky and sweet like the summer fruits.
Andy's love is easy and accommodating, a freeing feeling like running on the beach together towards the onrushing waves, feeling the soft sand under his feet, the laughter that spills from his lips and the exhilaration that bubbles in his vein, feeling the water splashing on his feet and the waves that crashes against him, drowning him for a split moment before washing him ashore and he lies on the wet sand opening his eyes towards the bright sun and all is well.
ii.
Autumn is the season of melancholy, of quiet retrospection after a mad summer, of moments of deep thinking as colours become muted and the days shorter. Roger likes doing a quiet stroll in a park in autumn, watching the greeneries turn into reddish brown, feeling and hearing the fallen leaves crunching under the soles of his shoes, inhaling the cool air deep into his lungs, melting into the world tinted with sepia.
Autumn is the season for his inner peace, of gathering of family and close friends, feasting on warm meals that make him long for home. Autumn makes him wants to bury himself into someone's embrace, makes him nostalgic as his mind goes back to the old country house that his family often visit when he was still a child, when the days were free of care and full of endless wonders.
Roger finds autumn in the form of Mirka, in her gentle smile and her womanly curves and her unconventional beauty. He finds autumn in her, in her quiet stare and immovable faith and soothing hands. But most of all, he finds autumn in her domesticity.
He loves the way she looks when she is all donned up, her make up perfect, her hair beautiful, her dress immaculate; but he loves her more when she is at home, her hair in a tousled ponytails, the lipgloss the only make up she wears, the apron covering her clothing, the house her kingdom, a content smile on her lips. He loves the way she smells with all kinds of most expensive perfumes money can buy - sometimes it's bold and confident, sometimes fresh and playful, sometimes elegant and discreet. But he loves more when she smells like home, like the talcum powder and body splash that she uses after shower, and most of all, like the tell-tale smell of home-made food that she loves to cook.
She is his mother, his sister, his bestfriend, his lover, warm and sweet like a cup of hot chocolate in an autumn night, familiar and comforting like snuggling under the well worn blanket that he can't let go of, nostalgic and heart-aching in a sweet way like flashes of fond memories and most of all, she is like home, happy and content, painted in warm, earthy colours.
iii.
It takes him a while but in the end, he realises that winter is Marat. It is not so much the coldness of the winter that makes him realise such, afterall, Marat is nothing but passionate and alive. But it is the extremities of winter that reminds him of the Russian, the abrupt change of the situations that occur in winter. It could be harsh snow storm in one day, forcing people to hide away, taking shelter from its bitingly sharp wind as the sheer force of nature makes everything stop, the world frozen, and he can only watch, rendered helpless. But then the very next day it could be a winter wonderland, where the world is painted with brilliant white, and the thick snow sighs and shifts as he steps onto it, the coldness is somehow pleasant and everyone would go out of where they have been hiding from the storm, the world moves again as snowmen appear and children laughter sounding like bells all around the town.
Marat is like that, his abrupt shift of emotion from one moment to the next is an endless fascination to Roger. Sometimes it is like the snow storm, and Marat's mood turns so dark it actually scares him, scares him because he is helpless in the face of it, unable to do anything but let it pin him in place and devour him. And often times Marat's mood is a sheer winter wonderland, as the darkness turns to light and the smile is light and carefree and Marat will love him so sweet, sweetly, making Roger feel like melting, his knees buckling and he falls back onto the thick snow that welcome him down and when he looks up, everything is so white, so bright, so brilliant that it actually aches.
However strange it might sound to other people, Roger loves Marat because of the extremities of his emotions. The way he is plunged to the depth of the darkness one time and then lifted up to the height of sheer brilliance the next - sometimes he thinks he cannot take it anymore, but when he steps away to calm himself down, to tell himself that this would be the last ride, he would look back and realise how much he craves it, in a way like a boy cannot get enough of riding a roller coaster.
So he stays around in Marat's winter, him the small specks of colours against the backdrop of endless white, and he'll build fire and snowmen and make snow angels and hop on a sledge for a thrilling ride down the slope and if a storm should come, maybe he'd die a little but he would try to hold on, knowing deep in his heart that this white landscape won't actually want to get rid of him, and that when the storm has passed, he can marvel at the quiet stillness of everything, before the wonderland appears again and he'll get a ride of his life, each one better than the last.
iv.
When he falls in love with Stan, Roger knows in an instant that Stan is spring. Those shy smiles and the furtive glances and the overflowing energy and enthusiasm. Sometimes it amuses him how much Stan makes him think of doe-eyed bambi peeking from behind the bushes. Unsure but at the same time eager and Roger often can't fight the urge to pull him into a hug.
Spring, strangely, is one of a season that he often overlooks, comes and goes without him really realising it because often the winter drags on too long and the summer comes too early. Spring often does not hold any special meaning for him, but now he thinks it is because he has never died before.
But spring is a season of rebirth and after the year that he has been having, Stan is the first spring that he feels acutely. He think he will never forget that moment that started it all, in the quiet dressing room in Beijing, and when the day was over, he felt anew, he was reborn.
And then his senses are opened to spring, to the sight of reawakening of plants, to the smell of damp earth, wetted still by the melting snow and the long spring rain, to the sounds of birds chirping - he's still here, another second chance.
And Stan the catalyst of it all, holding his hand and pointing where to see, his voice whispering into his ear like saint blowing life into a body, his laughter the sweet sound in the air, and Roger is left wondering, where has he been all these time?
Roger likes the feeling of calm and tranquillity that spring gives him and so he buries himself in it, drowning himself in the soft smell of flowers and the gentle gust of wind, in the chirping of birds that welcomes the new life that springs from the earth. He immerses himself in the energy and positive feelings that spring brings, in the way the world is repainted with fresh and vibrant colours, and the way Stan loves him, adoring and warm, simple and sweet.
and to end this... fecking come on, marat!!! darn, this kremlin cup final is pretty entertaining.