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Entry tags:
Tennis rps fic: Devotion, Roger Federer/Rafa Nadal, NC 17
There are just some ideas that move into your head and won't go away until you write them. This is one of those. Perhaps I can move on now. Please.
Title: Devotion
Pairing: Roger/Rafa
Warnings: explicit m/m, mildly kinky belt action, pwp
Disclaimer: a work of fiction
Notes: thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
emungere for beta.
Summary: Roger loves belts and Rafa
Rafa yanked open the door and checked his watch. They had about an hour.
"Quick," he said.
Roger stared at him, wide eyed, like he was surprised to find himself at Rafa's place. A baseball cap shaded his eyes. He had no bag or anything with him; he was just here on his own like he'd dropped out of the sky. Rafa's stomach did what felt like a couple of minor somersaults as Roger came in. His height made the narrow hall feel cramped. Rafa pushed the door to, and it closed with a creak of hinges and a thunk.
"Hey," Roger said. His voice was hoarse, like it was rusty, and he was staring at Rafa, his gaze going from Rafa's face down to his feet and back up again. He did that twice, like he hadn't been able to see enough the first time.
"Hey," Rafa said. "You okay?"
His throat was too dry to make more words, because Roger had moved closer and now they stood chest to chest. Roger nodded. He had his hands at his sides, fingers curling up into his palms. The walls still smelled faintly of paint, from when this place had been redecorated. Everything was new.
"I'm fine," Roger said, and moved to put his arms around Rafa, hands sliding down his back, warm and strong. The shock was immense, even though Rafa had been ready. "Oh, God," Roger said. He slid his hands down further, smoothing down over his ass and then staying there. "Oh, God."
Rafa put his arms around Roger's neck and held him. His mouth was near Roger's ear, and his nose was in his hair. He'd been out in the sun all day; Rafa could smell it on his skin along with a trace of soap and of sweat. He tightened his arms, too much probably. Roger groaned and pushed him up against the wall with the full force of his body. It was a lot of force. The print on the wall rattled.
He tangled his fingers into Roger's hair and pressed his mouth against skin. Caught between the wall and the hard planes of Roger's body, he didn't want to move. They were so close that Roger's erection was a hard and obvious ridge against Rafa's thigh, so hot he could feel it through their clothes. He was sure he could feel the pulse of it, or maybe that was just his own pulse. It was everywhere; in his temples and his fingertips and shaking his chest. Roger's belt buckle dug into his stomach.
"Oh, Roger," he said.
"What do you want?" Roger said, keeping his voice low, as if there might be other people in. As if Rafa would do that. "Do you want to fuck?"
His accent made the last word sharp and raw; it made Rafa think of Roger's cock inside him, hot and thick, and Roger grinding it deep the way that he liked and Rafa almost bent double under him. The rush of blood at that thought made him dizzy. Roger's hands pushed up under the legs of his shorts at the back, sliding up to grope between his thighs.
"Yeah," Rafa said. He almost stopped breathing at the heat in Roger's eyes. "That."
Roger kissed him all the way to the bedroom, his tongue sliding slick and deep, walking him backwards with both hands cupped across his ass. He was gripping it hard enough to be on the edge of pain.
"Son of a bitch," Rafa said, his new English phrase, and heard Roger's breathless laugh. Going backwards, it was hard to be kissed and groped and to get his hand into Roger's jeans all at the same time. He clawed the belt open. The metal buckle banged against his knuckles. Roger moaned against his mouth. They reached the bed, finally, and broke apart to undress. They watched each other, and Rafa nearly tripped and broke something he was staring so hard.
When they were both standing naked, and Rafa was almost shaking with arousal, Roger pushed him down across the bed, and then followed, kneeling over him. His cock stuck out and he stroked himself as he looked at Rafa. His chest was rising and falling quickly. He had his belt in his other hand. It was brown leather, soft and worn.
"Hey," Rafa gasped.
"There's something I want," Roger said, and let the belt fall to the bed, where it curled, cool and heavy against his thigh. Rafa's eyes followed it. "Rafa."
Rafa looked back up at him, then put both hands on Roger's hips and just held him tight, probably too tight. His fingernails were digging in. Rafa shook his head and swallowed, feeling like he was sinking rapidly out of his depth. They hadn’t had sex often enough to have anything like a routine, or a pattern. They hadn't talked about-- anything.
"What? You want what? Tell me."
Roger breathed out shakily and lowered himself to rub against Rafa's thigh. "Turn over."
Rafa almost swallowed his tongue, but he rolled over. When he tried to kneel onto all fours, Roger's hand at the base of his spine kept him flat.
"No," Roger said, sounding a little distant now. Rafa felt his weight and heat as Roger settled on the backs of his thighs, the slide of his palm as he stroked the line of Rafa's hip and across over his buttock. "Just like this."
He heard the musical chink of the belt buckle and the whisper of leather on skin. He didn't quite believe Roger was going to--
"Roger—"
The first stinging touch made him swallow anything else he was going to say. Roger made a low sound and hissed out a breath. He rubbed his palm over the place he'd just hit with the belt. Rafa craned around, almost scrambling up.
"Roger. Roger— What are you—"
The belt landed again, not very hard, but sure and precise, and with a loud smacking sound. Rafa moaned with shock. God, Roger wanted this.
"It's okay?" It was barely a question. Roger stroked down his spine.
"I—I think so… Ahh! Fuck."
The belt landed again, harder. Roger wanted this. It turned him on. Rafa's hips jerked all on their own.
Roger bent over him, his hand following the path of the sting, smoothing it away. Rafa's skin felt too hot everywhere, not just there. Roger bent so far forward that his lips brushed Rafa's ear when he spoke. His cock slid between Rafa's cheeks, pressed tight. "Your skin's gone red." Roger was heavy on him; it felt so good. He kissed the back of Rafa's neck. "You should see yourself—how it makes you move."
Rafa pushed his face into the pillow. The belt was in Roger's fist and it was lying against his lower back in a cool stripe. The clock on the small table next to the bed said they had forty minutes left.
"Don't—don't leave a mark," Rafa said. "God, please."
"I won't." Roger sat back. His dick brushed against Rafa's body? as he moved, sliding against hot skin. He brushed hair from Rafa's neck and kissed there again. "I promise, Rafa."
Rafa closed his eyes. They trusted each other with a lot.
The belt landed with force. Rafa heard himself snarl into the pillow. Roger's hand followed, caressing and stroking. His mouth followed his hand, and then his tongue, licking long wet stripes over stinging skin. The belt licked him twice more, stinging, making him groan and raise himself to take it better, to get more. Everything was narrowing down just to that one sensation.
"Enough," Rafa said. He heard the belt land on the floor, and Roger's deep shaky breath.
He rolled over and sat up, grabbed Roger's arm and pushed him down. Roger caught him by the back of the neck and pulled him into a kiss. Their mouths met hard, and there wasn't time for any finesse. He spat in his palm, watched Roger lick his own hand, and they jerked each other off. Roger's callused palm dragged over his skin.
It was the way Roger sounded that made him come, after about two minutes. An embarrassingly short time. He didn't care. Roger was moaning his name and his head was tipped back and his eyes were wide open.
They broke apart finally, and looked at each other. Roger was stroking the place where the belt had landed, fingers running back and forth over it. His hair was spilled across the pillow, gentle curls rolling in against his neck. Rafa leaned on his elbow, spread half on Roger's chest, and touched them. The seconds hurried by, each marked by a faint tick.
"You like that stuff?" he said, unrolling a curl with his finger. It sprang back when he let it go.
"It's not like I'm a pervert," Roger said. He looked heavy-lidded, like he could fall asleep right here in Rafa's arms, pressed close to him. "But-- yeah." He ran his hand up into Rafa's hair and met his eyes with a earnest expression. "Maybe I thought you'd like it."
"Pervert, huh," Rafa said, rolling the R too much. His stomach was fluttering. He probably shouldn't be thinking that another man was actually beautiful.
They didn't have time to have any proper conversation about it. Rafa was privately glad. It had taken his head to a strange place; somewhere maybe he recognised from playing. He didn't even want to think about that too hard.
"I like it," he said. Then, "You have to leave in ten minutes. They'll be coming."
"I know."
Roger's hand was still on him. Rafa would feel it later, tomorrow too, when they played. He swallowed, wondering if Roger had done it on purpose, just for that reason. He didn't ask. He didn't waste any more breath on talking.
Title: Devotion
Pairing: Roger/Rafa
Warnings: explicit m/m, mildly kinky belt action, pwp
Disclaimer: a work of fiction
Notes: thank you to
emungere for beta. Summary: Roger loves belts and Rafa
Rafa yanked open the door and checked his watch. They had about an hour.
"Quick," he said.
Roger stared at him, wide eyed, like he was surprised to find himself at Rafa's place. A baseball cap shaded his eyes. He had no bag or anything with him; he was just here on his own like he'd dropped out of the sky. Rafa's stomach did what felt like a couple of minor somersaults as Roger came in. His height made the narrow hall feel cramped. Rafa pushed the door to, and it closed with a creak of hinges and a thunk.
"Hey," Roger said. His voice was hoarse, like it was rusty, and he was staring at Rafa, his gaze going from Rafa's face down to his feet and back up again. He did that twice, like he hadn't been able to see enough the first time.
"Hey," Rafa said. "You okay?"
His throat was too dry to make more words, because Roger had moved closer and now they stood chest to chest. Roger nodded. He had his hands at his sides, fingers curling up into his palms. The walls still smelled faintly of paint, from when this place had been redecorated. Everything was new.
"I'm fine," Roger said, and moved to put his arms around Rafa, hands sliding down his back, warm and strong. The shock was immense, even though Rafa had been ready. "Oh, God," Roger said. He slid his hands down further, smoothing down over his ass and then staying there. "Oh, God."
Rafa put his arms around Roger's neck and held him. His mouth was near Roger's ear, and his nose was in his hair. He'd been out in the sun all day; Rafa could smell it on his skin along with a trace of soap and of sweat. He tightened his arms, too much probably. Roger groaned and pushed him up against the wall with the full force of his body. It was a lot of force. The print on the wall rattled.
He tangled his fingers into Roger's hair and pressed his mouth against skin. Caught between the wall and the hard planes of Roger's body, he didn't want to move. They were so close that Roger's erection was a hard and obvious ridge against Rafa's thigh, so hot he could feel it through their clothes. He was sure he could feel the pulse of it, or maybe that was just his own pulse. It was everywhere; in his temples and his fingertips and shaking his chest. Roger's belt buckle dug into his stomach.
"Oh, Roger," he said.
"What do you want?" Roger said, keeping his voice low, as if there might be other people in. As if Rafa would do that. "Do you want to fuck?"
His accent made the last word sharp and raw; it made Rafa think of Roger's cock inside him, hot and thick, and Roger grinding it deep the way that he liked and Rafa almost bent double under him. The rush of blood at that thought made him dizzy. Roger's hands pushed up under the legs of his shorts at the back, sliding up to grope between his thighs.
"Yeah," Rafa said. He almost stopped breathing at the heat in Roger's eyes. "That."
Roger kissed him all the way to the bedroom, his tongue sliding slick and deep, walking him backwards with both hands cupped across his ass. He was gripping it hard enough to be on the edge of pain.
"Son of a bitch," Rafa said, his new English phrase, and heard Roger's breathless laugh. Going backwards, it was hard to be kissed and groped and to get his hand into Roger's jeans all at the same time. He clawed the belt open. The metal buckle banged against his knuckles. Roger moaned against his mouth. They reached the bed, finally, and broke apart to undress. They watched each other, and Rafa nearly tripped and broke something he was staring so hard.
When they were both standing naked, and Rafa was almost shaking with arousal, Roger pushed him down across the bed, and then followed, kneeling over him. His cock stuck out and he stroked himself as he looked at Rafa. His chest was rising and falling quickly. He had his belt in his other hand. It was brown leather, soft and worn.
"Hey," Rafa gasped.
"There's something I want," Roger said, and let the belt fall to the bed, where it curled, cool and heavy against his thigh. Rafa's eyes followed it. "Rafa."
Rafa looked back up at him, then put both hands on Roger's hips and just held him tight, probably too tight. His fingernails were digging in. Rafa shook his head and swallowed, feeling like he was sinking rapidly out of his depth. They hadn’t had sex often enough to have anything like a routine, or a pattern. They hadn't talked about-- anything.
"What? You want what? Tell me."
Roger breathed out shakily and lowered himself to rub against Rafa's thigh. "Turn over."
Rafa almost swallowed his tongue, but he rolled over. When he tried to kneel onto all fours, Roger's hand at the base of his spine kept him flat.
"No," Roger said, sounding a little distant now. Rafa felt his weight and heat as Roger settled on the backs of his thighs, the slide of his palm as he stroked the line of Rafa's hip and across over his buttock. "Just like this."
He heard the musical chink of the belt buckle and the whisper of leather on skin. He didn't quite believe Roger was going to--
"Roger—"
The first stinging touch made him swallow anything else he was going to say. Roger made a low sound and hissed out a breath. He rubbed his palm over the place he'd just hit with the belt. Rafa craned around, almost scrambling up.
"Roger. Roger— What are you—"
The belt landed again, not very hard, but sure and precise, and with a loud smacking sound. Rafa moaned with shock. God, Roger wanted this.
"It's okay?" It was barely a question. Roger stroked down his spine.
"I—I think so… Ahh! Fuck."
The belt landed again, harder. Roger wanted this. It turned him on. Rafa's hips jerked all on their own.
Roger bent over him, his hand following the path of the sting, smoothing it away. Rafa's skin felt too hot everywhere, not just there. Roger bent so far forward that his lips brushed Rafa's ear when he spoke. His cock slid between Rafa's cheeks, pressed tight. "Your skin's gone red." Roger was heavy on him; it felt so good. He kissed the back of Rafa's neck. "You should see yourself—how it makes you move."
Rafa pushed his face into the pillow. The belt was in Roger's fist and it was lying against his lower back in a cool stripe. The clock on the small table next to the bed said they had forty minutes left.
"Don't—don't leave a mark," Rafa said. "God, please."
"I won't." Roger sat back. His dick brushed against Rafa's body? as he moved, sliding against hot skin. He brushed hair from Rafa's neck and kissed there again. "I promise, Rafa."
Rafa closed his eyes. They trusted each other with a lot.
The belt landed with force. Rafa heard himself snarl into the pillow. Roger's hand followed, caressing and stroking. His mouth followed his hand, and then his tongue, licking long wet stripes over stinging skin. The belt licked him twice more, stinging, making him groan and raise himself to take it better, to get more. Everything was narrowing down just to that one sensation.
"Enough," Rafa said. He heard the belt land on the floor, and Roger's deep shaky breath.
He rolled over and sat up, grabbed Roger's arm and pushed him down. Roger caught him by the back of the neck and pulled him into a kiss. Their mouths met hard, and there wasn't time for any finesse. He spat in his palm, watched Roger lick his own hand, and they jerked each other off. Roger's callused palm dragged over his skin.
It was the way Roger sounded that made him come, after about two minutes. An embarrassingly short time. He didn't care. Roger was moaning his name and his head was tipped back and his eyes were wide open.
They broke apart finally, and looked at each other. Roger was stroking the place where the belt had landed, fingers running back and forth over it. His hair was spilled across the pillow, gentle curls rolling in against his neck. Rafa leaned on his elbow, spread half on Roger's chest, and touched them. The seconds hurried by, each marked by a faint tick.
"You like that stuff?" he said, unrolling a curl with his finger. It sprang back when he let it go.
"It's not like I'm a pervert," Roger said. He looked heavy-lidded, like he could fall asleep right here in Rafa's arms, pressed close to him. "But-- yeah." He ran his hand up into Rafa's hair and met his eyes with a earnest expression. "Maybe I thought you'd like it."
"Pervert, huh," Rafa said, rolling the R too much. His stomach was fluttering. He probably shouldn't be thinking that another man was actually beautiful.
They didn't have time to have any proper conversation about it. Rafa was privately glad. It had taken his head to a strange place; somewhere maybe he recognised from playing. He didn't even want to think about that too hard.
"I like it," he said. Then, "You have to leave in ten minutes. They'll be coming."
"I know."
Roger's hand was still on him. Rafa would feel it later, tomorrow too, when they played. He swallowed, wondering if Roger had done it on purpose, just for that reason. He didn't ask. He didn't waste any more breath on talking.
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