Memories (Goran/Mario), PG-15
Title: Memories
Pairing: Mario/Goran
Rating: PG-15
Word Count: 1, 206
Disclaimer: I do not own these people!
Notes: This fic is the first of a few I've written up for
nastasie for her birthday which was...at the beginning of September. T_T. I hope it was worth the wait, dear. Lots of inspiration came from this interview. I dont know what the exact date Goran retired or Mario turned pro were, though, so I just made that up. Betaed by
etainosheronai (Thank you muchly!)
The truth is, you don't really know the exact date that you first fell in love with Goran.
You know that the two of you go way back, that you'd met Goran when he was a star and you were only in your teens. That the other Croatian was, in your eyes, a role model, an idol; and when the two of you started talking and growing closer Goran became like an alternate older brother whenever Ivinca drove you up the wall.
You have no idea when you had even considered yourself gay. You know that more than a few glances came your way from the girls and sometimes the boys, and okay, perhaps there were a few drunken kisses, less sober ones, and a handful of gropes in the dark locker rooms, but that was it. Nothing like what you now have with Goran.
{C}
You remember when you suddenly fell for another boy. Hard. You were terrified and the only person you could trust with such information was Goran because the rest of your family would slaughter you. You remember ringing Goran every second day to freak out about it and you remember Goran calmly telling you every time to relax; telling you to be true to yourself and go with the flow; the love stars will align for you one day. To which you would smile because it was so fucking ridiculous, but you were so completely head-over-heels for this guy and Goran's words were so, so comforting that your heart would feel like bursting every time those attempts at making you smile seeped through the telephone line and into your ear.
As expected, those damned love signs didn't align and you stayed in your room for two whole days. Goran proceeded to tell you, finally, to get a grip and watch him play at Wimbledon, because he was going to kick ass, and only then did you decide that moping around was for softies and damn he plays like an insane maniac - a really good one! You glued yourself to the television screen and became sort of insane yourself when you started yelling at the it (Ace him! or sometimes break-back-break-back-break-back-COMEON…) and then you couldn't stop shouting and jumping up and down and getting teary when he lifted up that Golden Trophy.
Then your world came crashing back down after two glorious weeks because all you were left with was this strong urge to start moping again and you really wanted to phone him but you kept getting his voicemail. ARGH. Of course when you've literally lifted the phone up above your head ready to smash it against the wall because you can't believe he's forgotten you at a time like this that it rings, and you blink, put the phone up to your ear and he's talking so fast, so breathlessly, and you have to tell him through your laughter to slow down before you're left stunned when he wants you to come to his Wimbledon celebrations. A grand total of three days of partying and sitting by Goran's side, being led through journalists and diplomats, Goran's hand always on your shoulder or the small of your back like a silent message that he's there if you wanted to talk.
You can't even remember how many times you cried on Goran's shoulders.
It was after Goran's Wimbledon that you were inspired to work harder at your tennis. You practiced hard before this but you knew you could do better. Practice harder. You turned Pro in 2001 and was kind of shocked when Goran told you he'd retire after that year's Wimbledon. And you wouldn't tell him about the tears you shed over it because it would just upset him and you weren't able to convince him to change his mind anyway, the stubborn man.
Instead you settled for playing doubles with him every time he asked. It wasn't so bad, with Goran there to lay the blame on when the match screwed up (okay, half the blame) and you loved joking about tactics and what you'd do together when you won (you once exclaimed Karaoke!!! to which Goran replied er. No.) You were so happy to be starting out and doing well and having Goran with you all the time that sometimes you allowed yourself to forget the fact that he would soon be gone.
And suddenly that was it: Goran wasn't going to be on the tour anymore and you'd be alone on the tennis circuit. One of the things that made you get up at crazy hours of the morning (7am is insane, you always told him, and he'd always say that given his way he'd sleep till two in the afternoon) was gone. You knew on the night of his last match that there would be no way you could sleep peacefully, so when Goran called and asked you over to his hotel room you obliged.
The two of you didn't say much; comforting a friend was barely your forte. When you knocked he just opened the door and looked at you with those big, brown eyes of his and asked you in this sort of fake cheeriness if you wanted to play ProEvolution Soccer with him. You said yes, of course, but by the third time he beat you, he just put the player down, glared at you, and stalked off to his room.
You remember cursing under your breath, remember going after him thinking that letting him win three times in a row was perhaps not the best way you could cheer up a guy that's just retired from something he loves doing. The door was ajar and you walk in and close the door behind you. He's looking at the lights outside and he probably heard you, because he turned and you lost whatever sort of apology you had attempted to formulate in your mind.
You remember him walking towards you, kind of paralysed standing there by the door. You are unable to read his eyes when he put both his hands on your shoulders; You know, Mario, he said, being off the tour has one plus side. And before you could ask what is it? he continues by saying at least now I could do THIS, leaning in and suddenly his lips are on yours and you gasp and step backwards because hell, Goran's kissing you and you can't think properly when you're up against the door you just closed, can't think properly when all you tasted in your mouth was Goran and there were lights underneath your closed eyelids (and when exactly did you close them?). And it's not too soon before you realised you were kissing him back and your hands were wandering unashamedly through Goran's thick hair. He moaned first, this slow, deep rumble from the bottom of his throat and suddenly you were trembling, you couldn’t breathe; and it hit you that your insides were screaming it’s about time! and you really had no idea when you started feeling this way.
No, you think, you really have no idea when you first fell in love with Goran. But does it matter, really, when you definitely know you love him now?
Pairing: Mario/Goran
Rating: PG-15
Word Count: 1, 206
Disclaimer: I do not own these people!
Notes: This fic is the first of a few I've written up for
nastasie for her birthday which was...at the beginning of September. T_T. I hope it was worth the wait, dear. Lots of inspiration came from this interview. I dont know what the exact date Goran retired or Mario turned pro were, though, so I just made that up. Betaed by
etainosheronai (Thank you muchly!)
The truth is, you don't really know the exact date that you first fell in love with Goran.
You know that the two of you go way back, that you'd met Goran when he was a star and you were only in your teens. That the other Croatian was, in your eyes, a role model, an idol; and when the two of you started talking and growing closer Goran became like an alternate older brother whenever Ivinca drove you up the wall.
You have no idea when you had even considered yourself gay. You know that more than a few glances came your way from the girls and sometimes the boys, and okay, perhaps there were a few drunken kisses, less sober ones, and a handful of gropes in the dark locker rooms, but that was it. Nothing like what you now have with Goran.
{C}
You remember when you suddenly fell for another boy. Hard. You were terrified and the only person you could trust with such information was Goran because the rest of your family would slaughter you. You remember ringing Goran every second day to freak out about it and you remember Goran calmly telling you every time to relax; telling you to be true to yourself and go with the flow; the love stars will align for you one day. To which you would smile because it was so fucking ridiculous, but you were so completely head-over-heels for this guy and Goran's words were so, so comforting that your heart would feel like bursting every time those attempts at making you smile seeped through the telephone line and into your ear.
As expected, those damned love signs didn't align and you stayed in your room for two whole days. Goran proceeded to tell you, finally, to get a grip and watch him play at Wimbledon, because he was going to kick ass, and only then did you decide that moping around was for softies and damn he plays like an insane maniac - a really good one! You glued yourself to the television screen and became sort of insane yourself when you started yelling at the it (Ace him! or sometimes break-back-break-back-break-back-COMEON…) and then you couldn't stop shouting and jumping up and down and getting teary when he lifted up that Golden Trophy.
Then your world came crashing back down after two glorious weeks because all you were left with was this strong urge to start moping again and you really wanted to phone him but you kept getting his voicemail. ARGH. Of course when you've literally lifted the phone up above your head ready to smash it against the wall because you can't believe he's forgotten you at a time like this that it rings, and you blink, put the phone up to your ear and he's talking so fast, so breathlessly, and you have to tell him through your laughter to slow down before you're left stunned when he wants you to come to his Wimbledon celebrations. A grand total of three days of partying and sitting by Goran's side, being led through journalists and diplomats, Goran's hand always on your shoulder or the small of your back like a silent message that he's there if you wanted to talk.
You can't even remember how many times you cried on Goran's shoulders.
It was after Goran's Wimbledon that you were inspired to work harder at your tennis. You practiced hard before this but you knew you could do better. Practice harder. You turned Pro in 2001 and was kind of shocked when Goran told you he'd retire after that year's Wimbledon. And you wouldn't tell him about the tears you shed over it because it would just upset him and you weren't able to convince him to change his mind anyway, the stubborn man.
Instead you settled for playing doubles with him every time he asked. It wasn't so bad, with Goran there to lay the blame on when the match screwed up (okay, half the blame) and you loved joking about tactics and what you'd do together when you won (you once exclaimed Karaoke!!! to which Goran replied er. No.) You were so happy to be starting out and doing well and having Goran with you all the time that sometimes you allowed yourself to forget the fact that he would soon be gone.
And suddenly that was it: Goran wasn't going to be on the tour anymore and you'd be alone on the tennis circuit. One of the things that made you get up at crazy hours of the morning (7am is insane, you always told him, and he'd always say that given his way he'd sleep till two in the afternoon) was gone. You knew on the night of his last match that there would be no way you could sleep peacefully, so when Goran called and asked you over to his hotel room you obliged.
The two of you didn't say much; comforting a friend was barely your forte. When you knocked he just opened the door and looked at you with those big, brown eyes of his and asked you in this sort of fake cheeriness if you wanted to play ProEvolution Soccer with him. You said yes, of course, but by the third time he beat you, he just put the player down, glared at you, and stalked off to his room.
You remember cursing under your breath, remember going after him thinking that letting him win three times in a row was perhaps not the best way you could cheer up a guy that's just retired from something he loves doing. The door was ajar and you walk in and close the door behind you. He's looking at the lights outside and he probably heard you, because he turned and you lost whatever sort of apology you had attempted to formulate in your mind.
You remember him walking towards you, kind of paralysed standing there by the door. You are unable to read his eyes when he put both his hands on your shoulders; You know, Mario, he said, being off the tour has one plus side. And before you could ask what is it? he continues by saying at least now I could do THIS, leaning in and suddenly his lips are on yours and you gasp and step backwards because hell, Goran's kissing you and you can't think properly when you're up against the door you just closed, can't think properly when all you tasted in your mouth was Goran and there were lights underneath your closed eyelids (and when exactly did you close them?). And it's not too soon before you realised you were kissing him back and your hands were wandering unashamedly through Goran's thick hair. He moaned first, this slow, deep rumble from the bottom of his throat and suddenly you were trembling, you couldn’t breathe; and it hit you that your insides were screaming it’s about time! and you really had no idea when you started feeling this way.
No, you think, you really have no idea when you first fell in love with Goran. But does it matter, really, when you definitely know you love him now?