Roger/Andy, PG
08. Hot
“I think my skin is melting off,” Andy declares, panting and sunburnt bright red around his t-shirt, “how the hell can you practice here all the time? I think I have heatstroke!”
“I thought Texans were supposed to be tough.”
“That, my friend, is a cleverly crafted lie, passed on from generation to generation,” Andy says, “we’re all actually big whiny babies.”
Roger smiles at him, ducks his head, “I’d noticed.”
“I’d resent that, but it’s too hot out.” Andy says. “Let’s go get something to drink, like a bathtub.”
“I don’t think you actually have heatstroke,” Roger says, “usually its accompanied by throwing up everywhere.”
“Believe me, I know. Why do you think I ran off to the washroom in the middle of a game?”
“You were sick?” Roger asks, eyes wide, “why did you keep playing? We could have stopped.”
Andy shrugs. “You were enjoying yourself.”
posted to tennisslash
“I think my skin is melting off,” Andy declares, panting and sunburnt bright red around his t-shirt, “how the hell can you practice here all the time? I think I have heatstroke!”
“I thought Texans were supposed to be tough.”
“That, my friend, is a cleverly crafted lie, passed on from generation to generation,” Andy says, “we’re all actually big whiny babies.”
Roger smiles at him, ducks his head, “I’d noticed.”
“I’d resent that, but it’s too hot out.” Andy says. “Let’s go get something to drink, like a bathtub.”
“I don’t think you actually have heatstroke,” Roger says, “usually its accompanied by throwing up everywhere.”
“Believe me, I know. Why do you think I ran off to the washroom in the middle of a game?”
“You were sick?” Roger asks, eyes wide, “why did you keep playing? We could have stopped.”
Andy shrugs. “You were enjoying yourself.”
posted to tennisslash