FIC: PENAAAANCE for crystaleyesd
Title: U’re no duck.
Pairing: Marat Safin/ ....(not difficult to guess^^)
Rating: adult-graphic
Summary: young Marat’s to his first time sex; some crack.
Author’s note: all this is the fault of crystaleyesd, to whom I owed a PENAAAAANCE for having forgotten zose ffffffcking capslocks. Naa, at least it forces me to write on an other pairing than Federinka.....[federinka fanatic mood:OFF for the fic oulalaa ].
A long, long, looong time ago, when Rodg was barely a fat little infant (OMG! naa), a very loooooong time ag indeed, there was a three year old boy learning to hold a tennis racket. He was already pig-headed and bad- tempered; his parents saw not without a deep joy his first breaking of racket: a future champion was born, ready to shot and to shout and to fffff all the obstacles on his way to victory and fame. This precocious monster was called Marat Safin.
At eleven, he was the best junior player of the country, fffffcking numbers of dejected fifteen year old players and harvesting titles after titles.
At seventeen, he was sent to a reputable American tennis training center, to benefit from the newest coach techniques and be confronted with some young American hopes .
Marat didn’t like the Americans the moment he made his first step on their soil. Hot head, he would have started a second Cold War if he could have done so. In the absence of massive destruction arms, he decided that ffffcking their prideness through their best junior players, would yet be a good point. He was extremely confident in his game, and even more arrogant. That’s why when he was beaten by a fifteen year old not even known for being one of the best of the school, the least to say is our Russian teen was quite upset.
“ Andy Roddick, yeah? I will make you suffer you’ll pray your fffcking mother to take you out of this school.....”
The young guy in question was a teen rather well-built for his age, and far from being disagreeable to see, but for the face he made when he served: in fact, poor Andy was burdened with a tendency to cross his eyes at this moment, which didn’t prevent him from succeeding his services though, by a mirale nobody ever understood. Under the effort, he would also pump up his cheeks; Marat evidently didn’t miss the point, and he meaningly started to nickname him “Rodduck” and to imitate the animal when Andy entered the court. The Russian enjoyed the more his two-year old bursts of sniggers that the young American couldn’t hide the fact he felt hurt. One day, Marat had attended to one of his matches, hissing all the time, loudly laughing when he was missing the point or failing on a service. Of course he should have gone to practise instead, but Marat had never liked it; he was not the patient type, labouring during hours on a single problem: what he craved for was competition, fight, and victory.
His average number of broken rackets had been dramatically increasing while he had faced some fffff young guys like Rodduck, but happily the fact those rackets were a lot more expensive and paid by the Russian
federation, to the disadvantage of the others Russian players, added some relief to his grief.
Andy Rodduck had lost the match. Marat followed him with some distance up to the locker room, with the fierce intention to abuse of his fresh loss to better oppress him. But when he entered, there was nobody in the wide room. Marat was going to search for another place, when he saw Andy’s tennis bags on a far bench. He discretly reached the showers, took off all the towels, and coming back to the lockers, took with it the bags, found in it the key of his locker, and took the spare clothes it contained. He heard the streaming of the shower stopping, so he hasted to the door, to hide the huge pile in some hideway.
Having comitted his deed, Marat waited some minutes behind the door, imagining with sadistic relish the anguish of the boy he heard through the door, apparently hastening through the room, in quest of some precious piece of clothes. Suddenly he opened the door, a huge smirk already on his lips, to find Andy huddled on a bench, his arms surrounding his knees, all wet and with a look of despair.
At this precise moment, two things he hadn’t expected overcame Marat:
A strong feeling of remorse, and a huge erection. He felt silly, in the frame of the door, stupidly staring at the young man who wouldn’t turn his head to see who had entered. Andy felt shameful and thought if he looked up, he would be laughed at.
Quite ironically, both had now the same part of their anatomy to hide from looks. Marat awkwardly came closer of the bench, lightly benting his head:
_”m...I.....Do....do you want help?”
......
Andy wouldn’t look up. He had too well recognized the voice.
_”I....I come back with your...er, some clothes...don’t move...”
Andy shrugged. As if he could go anywhere like it.
He came back to the locker room, too quick, the face flushed:
The “hideway” in which he had hastily thrown the clothes was in fact a trolley for dirty towels, and it had already been removed by the personal....
He was now restless on his feet, this big boy, and he needed more than ten minutes to find the evident solution: he took his tee shirt off and handed it to the other boy. Andy reluctantly grabbed the tee shirt, and, always huddled up, it between his legs. But he didn’t change his position.
Marat kept fidgeting on his feet, and finally found the courage to sit down aside him. He put his arms around his shoulders. Andy violently rejected it.
_”You bastard! That’s you who removed my clothes! “
Marat had an embarrassed countenance, and said nothing.
_”fuck off!!......you hear me? JUST. FUCK.OFF!!!”
As Marat wasn’t moving, he stood up and pushed him. The clothes fell down. Marat couldn’t prevent from looking at the very point he knew he had not to look. He felt his erection growing stronger. Andy stayed here, speechless, panting from anger . But Marat suddenly stood up in front of him and took his waist with one hand, and his nape with the other for a hungry kiss. Andy wasn’t long before responding: his erection Marat had seen was becoming firmer and firmer. Marat pulled the boy against him, as if he wanted his body to blend with his own. He put passionate kisses in his neck, slowly going down to the chest, relishing every part of Andy.
_”Andy.... ” he whispered, panting.
_”shut up” he answered; puting his hands on Marat’s ass, he pressed his cock against his one.
_”I...never...”
_”shut.up. and let me do.”
They laid down on the ground; the contact with the cold tiling barely refreshed their boiling blood. Andy topped Marat, and bent to whisper in his neck:
_” now, I’m gonna fuck you”
Marat had a terrified face. This big arrogant boy, the sexiest teen of the school, the most talented tennis player of Russia, had always considered girls like silly and noisy bees, buzzing around him with too high-pitched voices; the only one for whom he had tender looks was his sister, Dinara.
He had elluded the matter of sex. He indistinctively knew he didn’t looked at boys the way others did , but he wanted his desire to be simply hatred, and he took cold shower oor whatever he could whenever he had an erection. He couldn’t be a faggot.
When Andy slowly introduced one finger in his hole, he lightly started:
it felt weird, and it hurt. He tensed up.
_”relax...I’m gonna go very slowly” whispered the voice, softly breathing on his cheek. Andy took his lips, and began to slowly tease his tongue, while his finger was going deeper. Marat had a spasm: the pleasure was growing in him; his erection was stronger than ever.
Andy introduced his erect cock in him, and began to go forward and backward. Marat was moaning under him, he felt he could become mad with pleasure. He finally ejaculated in a long moan, tightening his hands in Andy’s back, his own back arching under the coitus.
After some moment, slightly panting, he put his hand on Andy’s cock.
_”you’ve not come..” he said.
He began to run his fingers up and down the penis, his eyes locked on Andy’s face, while the sensual pleasure was painting on it.
_”fuck, you’re so beautiful....” he whispered, fascinated by him.
They stayed there, on the tiling, Andy dozing off on Marat, his face now showing all the tiredness of the day. Marat kept him in his arms.
_”no, you’re no duck. You’re magic, Andy.” He whispered in his neck.
He believed he saw a half-smile on his lips.