Fic: Perfecting Our Game Faces
Title: Perfecting Our Game Faces
Pairing: Richard Gasquet/Stan Wawrinka
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Fiction
Summary: Somewhere along the way, it changed and Richard has never questioned it.
Somewhere along the way, it changed and Richard has never questioned it. He used to be in the center of the hubbub, the cause of it usually. He was reckless and shamelessly blamed it on his youth. But he’s still young, so where did it all go awry? For example, he is sitting next to his countrymen, his good friends and does nothing but flash his charming smile and laugh in the correct places. There’s no feeling behind, no emotion, mechanical as it could ever be. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy the company because he does. These men are like his brothers, like an extension of himself but those relationships too, have changed. He feels like he’s hanging on them, a third wheel of sorts, at times. Like now, they carry the conversation and add to it while he nods and smiles. But he doesn’t brood, not in front of them anyway. Richard’s not stupid though, and neither are they. He knows they can sense his newfound un-comfort but it remain in silence, not wanting to disturb the status quo.
He lets his gaze wander as the banter and familiarity fill the space around him. Beside the actual noise, it’s a quiet night; he can feel it in the air, on his skin. Suddenly his eyes catch the attention of a smiling Swiss, another good friend. He lifts his wine glass and salutes, smiling when it’s returned. The whole gesture is genuine, catching Richard off guard and he’s not sure if he likes the feeling.
{*}
“What are you afraid of, Richard?”
He throws a look over his shoulder as he continues to button up his shirt, faltering a little at the sight before him. The white sheets are haphazardly thrown over Stan’s thighs, his hair mussed up, a look of serenity on his warm features. The perfect picture and Richard wonders for about a split second, why he always leaves immediately when the morning arrives. He mumbles something as he comes around the bed to the nightstand and reaches for his watch. Instead of the piece of jewelry adorning his wrist, it’s Stan’s fingers that wrap around the flesh.
“I just want to know, that’s all.” Stan’s voice is quiet but Richard can feel the words, each syllable loud and clear in ears and on his skin. But instead, he leans down and kisses Stan firmly before moving away and out of his grip.
He reaches the door and turns the knob, a million thoughts plaguing his mind. You. Us. Not knowing what I want. Wanting too much. He’s halfway through the door when he throws a whispered “Spiders” over his shoulders, not able to stop or look back.
Pairing: Richard Gasquet/Stan Wawrinka
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Fiction
Summary: Somewhere along the way, it changed and Richard has never questioned it.
Somewhere along the way, it changed and Richard has never questioned it. He used to be in the center of the hubbub, the cause of it usually. He was reckless and shamelessly blamed it on his youth. But he’s still young, so where did it all go awry? For example, he is sitting next to his countrymen, his good friends and does nothing but flash his charming smile and laugh in the correct places. There’s no feeling behind, no emotion, mechanical as it could ever be. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy the company because he does. These men are like his brothers, like an extension of himself but those relationships too, have changed. He feels like he’s hanging on them, a third wheel of sorts, at times. Like now, they carry the conversation and add to it while he nods and smiles. But he doesn’t brood, not in front of them anyway. Richard’s not stupid though, and neither are they. He knows they can sense his newfound un-comfort but it remain in silence, not wanting to disturb the status quo.
He lets his gaze wander as the banter and familiarity fill the space around him. Beside the actual noise, it’s a quiet night; he can feel it in the air, on his skin. Suddenly his eyes catch the attention of a smiling Swiss, another good friend. He lifts his wine glass and salutes, smiling when it’s returned. The whole gesture is genuine, catching Richard off guard and he’s not sure if he likes the feeling.
{*}
“What are you afraid of, Richard?”
He throws a look over his shoulder as he continues to button up his shirt, faltering a little at the sight before him. The white sheets are haphazardly thrown over Stan’s thighs, his hair mussed up, a look of serenity on his warm features. The perfect picture and Richard wonders for about a split second, why he always leaves immediately when the morning arrives. He mumbles something as he comes around the bed to the nightstand and reaches for his watch. Instead of the piece of jewelry adorning his wrist, it’s Stan’s fingers that wrap around the flesh.
“I just want to know, that’s all.” Stan’s voice is quiet but Richard can feel the words, each syllable loud and clear in ears and on his skin. But instead, he leans down and kisses Stan firmly before moving away and out of his grip.
He reaches the door and turns the knob, a million thoughts plaguing his mind. You. Us. Not knowing what I want. Wanting too much. He’s halfway through the door when he throws a whispered “Spiders” over his shoulders, not able to stop or look back.