Fic: Fresh Air, Heavy Lungs
Title: Fresh Air, Heavy Lungs
Pairing: Marat Safin/Roger Federer/Andy Roddick
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not true
Summary: After the AO final, Roger can't sleep
A/N: i wanted to write just Marat/Roger (esepcially for the PotM) but Andy had other ideas.
There’s a soft yet rough touch caressing his hip, causing Andy to slowly become awake. Calloused fingers. It takes a moment for his eyes to open and adjust from the much needed sleep. He sees Marat smiling down at him and he cuddles a little closer. That’s when he realizes that there is a body missing in between them.
“Where’s Roger?”
The fingers continue their motion, sweeping across warm skin. Marat nods to something behind Andy. “I think he’s out on the balcony. The door’s open.”
Andy turns his head and sees that yes indeed the door is open. He places a kiss on Marat’s nose before getting up. “I’m going to check.”
On his way to the balcony, Andy tugs on his boxers and scratches his stomach, noticing that it is close to four in the morning. Off to the side, Roger’s naked back is facing him, hunched as he looks over the city. Andy comes close to him, slipping his arm around his waist, just above his white shorts and kisses Roger’s cheek. The sight and smell of a cigarette in Roger’s hand throws him off for a second that Andy has to do a double-take.
“Where the fuck did you get that from?”
Roger points a little convenient store tucked away on the street below.
“How long have you been up?”
Bringing the cigarette up to his lips, Roger breathes in, letting the smoke settle in his lungs. After an half an hour of doing so, he’s a pro and doesn’t cough in front of Andy. The smoke is released in a steady stream that floats and fades away. “I haven’t really slept. Got up about an hour ago. Been here for about half of that.” He doesn’t turn to Andy when he talks, just continues to stare out into the space in front of him. When Andy remains silent, Roger pulls out the pack of Marlboro Lights, along with a lighter and offers it to him. Andy takes it and has one in lit up in no time. They stand side by side, Andy’s arm still around Roger’s waist, his fingers dipping into the waistband caressing familiar skin and as the warm smoky air falls around them.
“So when did you start smoking, Rog?”
“30 minutes ago. You?”
Andy lets out a laugh. “This is your first time ever? I tried it when I was 16. Me and Mardy. He though it would be 'cool'.”
Roger turns, a smiling teasing his lips. “Yeah? So you got caught by the peer-pressure and all that?”
“Yeah, in a way. But then we realized that it was stupid and expensive.”
“So, why are you doing it now?”
The question catches Andy by surprise. He faces Roger and laughs when he sees that the Swiss is teasing. “Peer-pressure.”
“Am I not invited to the party?”
They spin around to see Marat standing in his boxers, hair nicely mussed up with a smile on his lips. He walks towards them, leans on the railing next to Roger, where he immediately takes the cigarette from his fingers and takes a long drag. “Ugh, Lights? Who got these?” He takes in a few more puffs before giving it back. Andy laughs.
“Only you would know the difference, Marat. Should we call you Smoky Safin?”
Marat laughs too. “When I was younger, I used to smoke until I realized tennis was more important. You could say I’ve smoked more than my share.”
Inhaling deep, Roger turns to look at Marat, slowly becoming mellow, reveling in the company.
“You should get some sleep, Roger. Quite a day you’ve had.”
Roger shakes his head as he releases the toxins. “Can’t sleep. Plus I’m fully awake now.”
Marat leans in for a kiss, a soft peck on the lips. “I’ll be right back.” He leaves Andy and Roger to watch Melbourne sleep.
“I agree with Marat, Rog. We should probably head back inside and at least lay down.”
Roger’s about to respond when Marat hurries back and not alone. In his hand, he holds a bottle of vodka; Stoli Elit with the cap already off. He settles next to Roger again, brings the bottle to his lips before passing it off to Roger. “Budem.”
The liquor burns the lining of his throat but Roger doesn’t flinch. He takes another swig before the bottle makes its way to Andy. Andy, though, decidedly does not withhold his distaste.
“Ah yuck. Warm vodka. That has to be the worst ever.”
Roger and Marat just chuckle, sharing the cigarette again. The smoke continues to fill their lungs just as the vodka does their stomachs; one cigarette becomes two, three and then four. Roger’s head leans against Marat’s shoulder now.
“'M sleepy.”
Marat looks at the other two and laughs. Andy’s barely standing on his feet, body swaying slightly. And Roger’s leaning on him for a reason. Light weights.
He takes the empty bottle and places it on the floor of the balcony before leading the three of them inside, a hand clenching onto each intoxicated body. Andy and Roger fall onto the mattress and automatically wrap around each other. Marat takes his time, watching both of them try to find the other’s lips to produce the messy kiss Marat’s ever seen.
“'Rat, hurry up!”
He slips in, settling on the unoccupied side of Roger’s body. Now he joins the heap of random limbs. After much shuffling and giggling, they settle down with Andy spooning Roger and Roger's front pressed against Marat’s chest. Roger scrapes Marat’s collarbone with his teeth before soothing it with his tongue.
“Thank you. Andy too.” For not brining up tennis. For not questioning me. For bringing vodka. For loving me.
The thoughts go unvoiced though. Marat simply brings his hand to rest on Andy’s back and pulls him in close, cocooning Roger and creating a world where only the three of them exist. Even if only until the morning.
***Budem is the Russian equalivent to "cheers" or "good health" (if that's not right, i appologze in advance!
Pairing: Marat Safin/Roger Federer/Andy Roddick
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not true
Summary: After the AO final, Roger can't sleep
A/N: i wanted to write just Marat/Roger (esepcially for the PotM) but Andy had other ideas.
There’s a soft yet rough touch caressing his hip, causing Andy to slowly become awake. Calloused fingers. It takes a moment for his eyes to open and adjust from the much needed sleep. He sees Marat smiling down at him and he cuddles a little closer. That’s when he realizes that there is a body missing in between them.
“Where’s Roger?”
The fingers continue their motion, sweeping across warm skin. Marat nods to something behind Andy. “I think he’s out on the balcony. The door’s open.”
Andy turns his head and sees that yes indeed the door is open. He places a kiss on Marat’s nose before getting up. “I’m going to check.”
On his way to the balcony, Andy tugs on his boxers and scratches his stomach, noticing that it is close to four in the morning. Off to the side, Roger’s naked back is facing him, hunched as he looks over the city. Andy comes close to him, slipping his arm around his waist, just above his white shorts and kisses Roger’s cheek. The sight and smell of a cigarette in Roger’s hand throws him off for a second that Andy has to do a double-take.
“Where the fuck did you get that from?”
Roger points a little convenient store tucked away on the street below.
“How long have you been up?”
Bringing the cigarette up to his lips, Roger breathes in, letting the smoke settle in his lungs. After an half an hour of doing so, he’s a pro and doesn’t cough in front of Andy. The smoke is released in a steady stream that floats and fades away. “I haven’t really slept. Got up about an hour ago. Been here for about half of that.” He doesn’t turn to Andy when he talks, just continues to stare out into the space in front of him. When Andy remains silent, Roger pulls out the pack of Marlboro Lights, along with a lighter and offers it to him. Andy takes it and has one in lit up in no time. They stand side by side, Andy’s arm still around Roger’s waist, his fingers dipping into the waistband caressing familiar skin and as the warm smoky air falls around them.
“So when did you start smoking, Rog?”
“30 minutes ago. You?”
Andy lets out a laugh. “This is your first time ever? I tried it when I was 16. Me and Mardy. He though it would be 'cool'.”
Roger turns, a smiling teasing his lips. “Yeah? So you got caught by the peer-pressure and all that?”
“Yeah, in a way. But then we realized that it was stupid and expensive.”
“So, why are you doing it now?”
The question catches Andy by surprise. He faces Roger and laughs when he sees that the Swiss is teasing. “Peer-pressure.”
“Am I not invited to the party?”
They spin around to see Marat standing in his boxers, hair nicely mussed up with a smile on his lips. He walks towards them, leans on the railing next to Roger, where he immediately takes the cigarette from his fingers and takes a long drag. “Ugh, Lights? Who got these?” He takes in a few more puffs before giving it back. Andy laughs.
“Only you would know the difference, Marat. Should we call you Smoky Safin?”
Marat laughs too. “When I was younger, I used to smoke until I realized tennis was more important. You could say I’ve smoked more than my share.”
Inhaling deep, Roger turns to look at Marat, slowly becoming mellow, reveling in the company.
“You should get some sleep, Roger. Quite a day you’ve had.”
Roger shakes his head as he releases the toxins. “Can’t sleep. Plus I’m fully awake now.”
Marat leans in for a kiss, a soft peck on the lips. “I’ll be right back.” He leaves Andy and Roger to watch Melbourne sleep.
“I agree with Marat, Rog. We should probably head back inside and at least lay down.”
Roger’s about to respond when Marat hurries back and not alone. In his hand, he holds a bottle of vodka; Stoli Elit with the cap already off. He settles next to Roger again, brings the bottle to his lips before passing it off to Roger. “Budem.”
The liquor burns the lining of his throat but Roger doesn’t flinch. He takes another swig before the bottle makes its way to Andy. Andy, though, decidedly does not withhold his distaste.
“Ah yuck. Warm vodka. That has to be the worst ever.”
Roger and Marat just chuckle, sharing the cigarette again. The smoke continues to fill their lungs just as the vodka does their stomachs; one cigarette becomes two, three and then four. Roger’s head leans against Marat’s shoulder now.
“'M sleepy.”
Marat looks at the other two and laughs. Andy’s barely standing on his feet, body swaying slightly. And Roger’s leaning on him for a reason. Light weights.
He takes the empty bottle and places it on the floor of the balcony before leading the three of them inside, a hand clenching onto each intoxicated body. Andy and Roger fall onto the mattress and automatically wrap around each other. Marat takes his time, watching both of them try to find the other’s lips to produce the messy kiss Marat’s ever seen.
“'Rat, hurry up!”
He slips in, settling on the unoccupied side of Roger’s body. Now he joins the heap of random limbs. After much shuffling and giggling, they settle down with Andy spooning Roger and Roger's front pressed against Marat’s chest. Roger scrapes Marat’s collarbone with his teeth before soothing it with his tongue.
“Thank you. Andy too.” For not brining up tennis. For not questioning me. For bringing vodka. For loving me.
The thoughts go unvoiced though. Marat simply brings his hand to rest on Andy’s back and pulls him in close, cocooning Roger and creating a world where only the three of them exist. Even if only until the morning.
***Budem is the Russian equalivent to "cheers" or "good health" (if that's not right, i appologze in advance!