tennis slash - Free Coffee (9)
Title: Free Coffee (9)
Author: Kris S.
Fandom: Tennis RPS
Pairings: Richard Gasquet/Andy Murray; Marat Safin/Juan Carlos Ferrero
Other Characters: Tommy Haas, Mario Ancic, Kim Sears
Rating: R
Disclaimer: This did not happen.
Summary: Richie is in hiding during the suspension so ends up at Andy’s London home. During Wimbledon. Yeah, that’s not asking for trouble.
Author's Note: I am taking fic requests, if you're interested.
Chapter 9 - Determination
“Hel-” Richie coughs, having been awakened by the phone. “Sorry. Hello.”
“Very fucking funny, Richard.”
Richie settles in under the blanket, glad to finally hear this voice. “Good morning, Tommy.”
“So you’ve been in London all along?”
“But of course. Where did you think I was?”
“Roger’s top secret location, actually.”
Richie straightens his posture, startled by the harshness of the blow. “Why would I be there?”
Tommy is taken aback by Richie’s tone and is apologetic. “I don’t know. Just that you and Roger… I figured Marat came up with the idea of stashing a player because of you and Roger.”
“What?! Exactly what did Marat say to convince you to let Mario stay?”
“Just that Roger is so calm and that you clearly had some influence…” Richie slumps down on the bed, staring blankly at the television. He knows that Tommy isn’t trying to be cruel - he is Roger’s friend but has been understanding regarding Richie. That doesn’t change the feeling of these words. “I mean I knew about you two of course but I never considered that you were such a help to his career.”
“I’m not with Roger,” Richie says softly. “I certainly wouldn’t want to help him at this point.”
“Yeah, I spoke to Roger. I know that now. Did you agree to Andy Roddick but Marat pulled a bait and switch?”
“Do I seem that stupid to you?”
“Sorry.” Tommy then changes the subject. “Do you know that Mario had me playing guessing games involving your whereabouts?”
Richie laughs, though it does sound hollow, having not yet recovered from the previous subject. “Really? I thought Marat was doing that to Juan Carlos regarding Mario.”
“I assumed you were with Roger and that Mario was being a prick. Once I talked to Roger and realized that wasn’t the case, I had to pull out brackets to figure it out! The clues were your guy had his best run at the French this year and that he’s looking in fine form on grass. I really did think you were with Roddick but that guy did not appreciate my questions about you.”
“Mario and Marat are truly two of a kind. Even the wording. Juan Carlos was told his guy did better than expected at the French and in fine form on grass. He might head to Roddick as well.”
“He will assume everyone is crazy.”
“He would be right.”
“We need to head this off now. Keep the crazy within this group before it screws around with the entire tournament.”
* * * * *
“Juan Carlos?”
Juan Carlos has just defeated Gilles Simon and is stunned to look up to see Mario, wearing a baseball cap, a baggy sweatshirt and shorts that seemed too short yet too big. He looked vaguely like someone he’d seen on the practice court, probably his new man’s clothes. “How did you get into the locker room?”
“Marin left a gym bag behind. Or, at least, that’s what he told security when he called them.” He raises the brim of his cap. “They think I’m his cousin.”
“Okay.”
“I hear that Marat is using me to tease you. So typical.”
“How do you… he’s been giving you play by play?”
“Yeah. I guess he figured, why should I study when he can entertain me.”
“Study?”
Mario narrows his eyes. “What do you think I’ve been doing in a hotel room all day?”
Juan Carlos really wants to laugh in Mario’s face but tries to be polite yet skeptical instead. “Honestly?”
“Not during the tournament! What am I, a sex slave?”
“You’re not?”
“No!” Mario is muttering obscenities in another language.
Juan Carlos scrunches his face, trying to figure out what’s going on. “What language is that? Doesn’t sound Croatian.”
“How would you…” Mario lets out a deep sigh, then replies, “Goran.”
“Yeah...” Juan Carlos is thinking and Mario stands still, hoping he’s just given his location away.
Juan Carlos continues, “That is not English or Spanish, obviously. Not French, either, so Richie isn’t helping you.”
“German. He curses a lot when he’s frustrated.”
Frustrated. So not Roger at all. Juan Carlos sees several players enter the locker room at this point so he whispers, “Tommy?”
Mario nods. “I’ve been helping him calm down. But he tried to fool me by using German. I told him that tricking me will not help him on the court. He’s gotten better.”
Juan Carlos shakes his head. “So Marat, and by extension Richie, think that this is…” He whispers the end of the sentence, “a sexual release.”
“As far as Marat is concerned, everything is a sexual release. It wouldn’t take much to convince Richie, given… You are plotting revenge, aren’t you?”
“You’d better believe it.”
* * * * *
Richie is glad Andy didn’t find the second bottle of vodka because this day will only get worse from here. He needs to know his fate and time is going too slow. Andy is the last match, of course, so there’s a lot of waiting.
If Richie had finished off his match against Andy at last year’s Wimbledon, he wouldn’t be in this situation. He can’t even say it mattered that it was Andy on the other side of the net because he honestly didn’t pay the Brit any attention. The end result with that match was that Roger tracked Richie down, for once, and returned the favor.
Roger made promises and Richie believed all of them, no matter how many times they were broken. Mirka was supposed to be the manager who was friends with Roger but was dating him for appearances. She knew all about Richie, hell she participated with them a few times.
Still, Roger and Mirka are now actually the happily married instead of just acting. Roger is wonderfully perfect and now he has his stupid French Open title so he could officially be called the greatest of all time.
The world gushes over Roger enough. Roger is supposed to be the great one. Well, that perfection is fake. Every hair has to be in place, every move has to be practiced thousands of times so that it seems spontaneous. Richie imagines Roger standing in front of a mirror reciting victory speeches to ensure each sounds different.
He is watching Dinara and Amelie’s match when the rain interrupts play, allowing everyone to finally see the unveiling of the roof. Richie settles in under the blanket, preparing for the delay. His arm reaches down for the bottle every so often to take another gulp.
Andy is not perfect, far from it. Then again, Richie knows Andy in the unpolished version: the skinny kid with the clown hair who often says the wrong thing to the wrong people. The person today has definitely matured, both outside and in. Andy would like nothing more than for people to stop nagging him about the imperfections.
Richie hasn’t been able to watch Andy play for the last few years. Andy says it’s because Richie can’t stand to see him succeed. It isn’t exactly that.
Sometimes Richie still sees the kid, the one who would latch on and follow him around. It is difficult to compute that Andy may be younger but he’s already having a more successful career. An opponent underestimating Andy’s game is exactly the way he wins but Richie suspects it’s more about underestimating him as a person that’s the main obstacle.
Andy deals much better with the pressure than Richie does - and he certainly now has more of it to deal with. When the television is off, Richie can hear the commotion outside whenever a car pulls up to the driveway. He may be too far away to catch the words but he’s seen the exasperated look on Andy’s face when he wants to head for training and has to answer their questions instead.
Marat had told Richie prior to dropping him off here that Andy’s biggest problem is being overly obsessed over things he can’t control. Richie does believe Marat is correct; why else would Andy still be interested in Richie after everything.
Andy deserves better than this nonsense. As if there isn’t enough pressure from his nation, now his play determines whether he’ll have to handle the barrage of baggage from Richie’s mess.
* * * * *
Andy glares at the bottle of vodka then the sleeping, though more likely passed out, body under the covers. A sense of déjà vu, as this was exactly how this adventure started.
Still, Andy grumbles, “It figures. You’ll probably claim to have watched, when reality is you had on Never Been Kissed and switched back and forth during commercials to see if the scroll changed.”
From under the blanket comes a muffled reply: “I’ve seen that movie too many times.”
Andy rolls his eyes then replies sarcastically, “Good for you.”
“I fell asleep after Dinara won so I only saw the fourth and fifth. Very impressive. Thought you were done after Stan broke back. Seemed like you were begging for some way to squeak it out. Guess your prayers was answered. Can’t get that from the commercial breaks.”
On one hand, Andy realizes Richie is telling the truth. On the other, the words are slurring together. “You’re still drunk.”
“I’ve only been asleep about an hour so, yeah probably right. But you won so I guess I have time to recover.”
It is at this point that Andy realizes Richie has yet to lower the blanket and that’s a bit worrisome. “Are you feeling okay? I mean beyond the drunkenness.”
“I didn’t really help your game any but it’s good that you won. It is smart of you not to give in to my advances. You wouldn’t want to get involved.”
Since Richie is refusing to show his face, Andy is taking advantage by changing clothes. “We do need to talk when you sober up. Until then, you would be better off not telling me what I should do.” As proof of that, Andy slips under the blanket and rests a hand on Richie’s shoulder to pull him close. “There’s something more going on and I am sick of the doubts.”
* * * * *
Andy enters the kitchen the next morning and immediately heads for the coffeemaker. Kim watches him from the table, puzzled. “Andy, what are you doing? I thought you were going for a run.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” by ‘anyone’ including his family, she’s sure, “but Marat snuck liquor in.”
“What would possess you to get drunk…” She stops when she realizes the coffee isn’t for him. “Fine, I won’t tell. Did you talk to him?”
“No. That’s what the coffee is for. Hopefully, he’ll wake up soon so I can finally deal with him when I return. He has no reason to stay at this point so I’ll arrange for him to leave if he wants… after.”
* * * * *
Richie stays perfectly still while Andy is rustling around the house. His eyes are open but his face is buried in the pillow, the world spinning when he sees even a little light. He has been wanting not to move since Andy joined him in bed. Even now that Andy is out of the room, Richie is afraid to do anything until he’s really out of the house.
His mood hadn’t been helped when Andy’s arm had traveled down, settling on Richie’s waist, by the time he’d fallen asleep last night. Andy also had been muttering words of encouragement in hopes Richie would react but he wouldn’t oblige. Besides, any movement probably would have ruined everything either because of the alcohol in his system or convincing Andy this is a dangerous move.
Just as he begins to move the blanket, the door flies open, the breeze hitting him like a jolt. “Rise and shine,” Kim says too brightly, then drops a coaster and the coffee on the dresser before slamming the door shut. Soon after, from another end of the house, she announces, “I did your delivery,” then a murmured thanks from Andy.
“He’s serious,” Richie mutters, but reluctantly rises and gladly accepts the coffee.
* * * * *
Tennis players are set in routines. Even ones not currently playing. This is the explanation for why Andy times a short run on the outside chance that Richie will drink that coffee and then immediately take his shower.
Sure enough, he can hear the water running when he passes the bathroom. Andy opens the door quietly and enters.
"Who is that?" Richie sounds alarmed. It takes a few seconds, apparently to calculate that he’d heard all three residents leave the house. “Marat, if that’s you, I swear…”
"Still taking requests?"
Richie stops the water and pops his head out. “Er, yeah. Though I thought we were talking.”
“We are. Turn the water back on.” Andy waves him to return to what he’s doing.
"You thought of something?"
"I almost pushed you back into the bathroom the other day, when you only had the towel on. If my mum hadn't been calling...” Andy trails off, then goes a different direction. "Go back to your shower and I'll continue."
Richie appears confused but does as told, turning the knob back. "What would you have done?" he shouts over the water.
Now that Richie safely can’t see him, Andy sits down on the cold tile, knees against his chest and his forehead resting on his knee. "There was this dream I first had a few years ago. I would wait for everyone else to leave, maybe you played the last match of the day, then stand at the opposite end of the shower, still in my tennis gear. Just watching and waiting to see if you'd make a move. I would figure that you wouldn't think I was worthy, for many reasons at that point in time. You were the better player, everyone knew you were the next big thing, everyone wanted you. I was just the skinny weird-looking kid who only caught everyone's attention during Wimbledon."
"Andy..."
"You already turned me down once at that point, big shot, so don't try to rewrite that bit of history."
"I shouldn't have..."
"Right now, I just want you to shut up because I need to finish." The water beading on the tile is the only sound in the room. "I wanted you to notice me. Not as the kid you were friends with when it was convenient. Notice me. In the dream, you pull me under the water and I slip on the wet floor, ending up on my knees looking up at you. From that position, you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen. Pellets of water dripping down your naked body that is so close to my mouth that I try to reach out to bring you closer. But you disappear." Andy stares at the tile, deciding if he still wants to do what he had in mind before entering. “I just wanted you to notice me… the way I saw Roger notice you after I beat him.”
The water shuts off and Richie is muttering in French. His palm hits against the tile several times, each time harder than the last with a louder colorful phrase.
“Richard?”
Richie takes a deep breath. Even so, he sounds so small when he asks, “Are you saying that you witnessed me giving Roger a blowjob?”
“Yes.”
When Richie returns to talking in muffled French to himself, Andy finally looks up. He can see a faint silhouette from the shower door, appearing as a ball on the floor. It is several minutes before Richie says in English, “Yet you had that dream? Are you a masochist or just delusional?”
“That’s why I couldn’t, no can’t, really accept your offer. I don’t want you to fulfill my wishes. I want you to see you don’t need to do that. You can hide from the truth for only so long. No amount of distraction will change the fact you are in a serious jam. Forget about the suspension, since that seems more about bad timing and your lawyers can figure that one out. You need to deal with how you ended up agreeing to hide here in the first place.”
Richie isn’t listening at this point, his words responding more to the dream. "The roles are reversed now. I notice - this isn't about a stupid plan. I shouldn’t have been so selfish… I want you to notice...” Andy hears the pain in that last word and stands up to get a large towel then enter the shower. He sits down next to Richie on the wet floor and wraps him in the towel. Richie doesn’t face him, burying his face in Andy’s shoulder as he says tearfully, “I messed up so badly. I’m sorry I messed you up too.”
Chapter 10 - Retribution