Anonymous tennis RPS kink meme

[louiselux]

I stole this idea from many others, but most memorably vom_marlowe (from who I quoted these guidelines). This is how it works:

You post –anonymously- a kink request that you’ve always wanted to see. Something you really want but don’t necessarily want to admit to.

Random people come by, read the request, and write a ficlet to order. And post it as a reply to the comment, also anonymously.

Multiple replies (ficlets) to requests are welcome, nay! Encouraged. Also, requesters do not have to say thank you and readers who enjoy the ficlets do not have to provide feedback, but it’s always loved.

About the requests:

A pairing is not enough. Please provide some sort of scenario, kink, detail, situation, that makes it special to you. A handy link to generate ideas should your pervy brain fail you.

About the replies:

If you need to, post “part 1”, “part 2”, etc.

In general:

Play nice. This is all anonymous and I will come down like Rafa on a bad day on anyone being mean.

Feel free to pimp this everywhere you wish.

If you accidentally have yourself signed in, please delete your comment and repost anonymously. If you don’t notice, I will try to do this for you.

Please, no underage characters having sex.

Request! If your request is filled, write another one!

Write! If you find a good prompt, write it, post it, and look for more!

Read! Everyone loves a reader!

I think that covers everything. So! Go forth and kink!

ETA: if you appear to be a troll I will delete your comments.

Comments

[theyellowmaster.livejournal.com]

Gasquet/Policeman - Richard has some explaining to do lol.

[(Anonymous)]

top!Stan, bottom is anyone you like ;)
locker room sex

Top!Stan/Gilles

[(Anonymous)]

Ever since Stan had started practicing doubles with Richie in preparation for Indian Wells a week ago, Gilles had been in his own personal hell. And it wasn’t like he could just stop hanging out with all his friends, because that would be even worse, and more obvious. As it was, if Gael teased him one more time he was going to punch him in that smug little face, or maybe even take a crowbar to that knee of his. Actually, he was pretty sure Richie had even done this all on purpose, with all those knowing smiles he shot Gilles as he and Stan chatted on the baseline of neighboring court where they were practicing.

“I think staring will make it worse.” Jo nudged his shoulder, his voice empathetic instead of mocking. Gilles just gave him a withering look. “Maybe you can use this as an opportunity? After practice?” The taller Frenchmen suggested, but Gilles expression hadn’t changed. “Just talk to him, start a conversation. The worst he can do is ignore you.” Gilles’s eyes widened and he looked like that was a horrible outcome he had not even considered. Jo mentally smacked himself. “Okay, how about this… you go start a conversation with him or I will go do it for you. And it won’t be pretty. I can’t deal with this anymore.”

Gilles gulped audibly, eyes sliding quickly to the other court then back to Jo, whom he knew would follow through with the threat. Ah shit. “Fine! Fine!” Gilles was tempted to stomp his foot, but he knew that would garner attention. “After practice. After we’re done. Can we get back to hitting now?”

“Of course.” Jo smiled and bowed a little, motioning for his friend to take his place at one side of the court.

“Fuck you.” Gilles spat at his friend, more riled than usual. He knew he would have to keep his promise, too, or Jo would come up with something terrible to make it all worse, like set the two of them up on a blind date.

It only took a well-timed look from Jo to get Richie to shuffle out of the locker room quickly after practice, leaving a perfect opportunity for Gilles, which he never got a chance to act on as Stan rounded on him right after the showers. “Hello Gilles, Richie said you wanted to talk to me?”

Oh, that bastard, he was going to pay for that. “Well, I did, but I did not realize that Richie knew about it.” Gilles turned to pull his fresh shirt out of his locker, but froze as he felt a hand on the bare skin of his lower back, a hand that slid around to the side of his waist.

Stan smiled as he leaned in close and whispered in Gilles’s ear. “I think that everyone knows about it.” Gilles looked at the Swiss warily and Stan chuckled. “Don’t worry, this is not a problem.” He turned Gilles so that they were facing one another, shoulders leaning against the locker, hand still on his waist. Stan stepped forward, face hovering over the Frenchman’s, eyes locked and breath heavy. “Not a problem at all.”

Gilles was surprised at his own gall as he grabbed the back of Stan’s head hard, pulling on the short hair there, and kissed him for all he was worth. Stan’s mouth opened quickly with a moan, but he easily took control of the kiss after that, slamming Gilles up against the lockers with a metallic clang.

[(Anonymous)]

girl!Roger/Rafa. Caught having sex in a semi-public place. Bonus points if it's Roger's idea and he's been rebuffing Rafa's advances until this point.

[(Anonymous)]

Aga/Ula Radwanska: bruises and bandages

[(Anonymous)]

I approve of your femslash hurt/comfort and will work on it :D

[(Anonymous)]

Roger/Rafa. Or Feli/Nando. (Or both! XD) Any sort of AU will make me happy.

[(Anonymous)]

Younger Roger/Andre Agassi with Andre taking advantage of Roger's awe of him.

One of Only Two (1/3)

[(Anonymous)]

Roger had been practicing without his shirt. He hadn't expected it to be that warm -- late afternoon especially, his was the last practice -- in Shanghai in mid-December.

But half a season past his first Wimbledon win, he wasn't really used to the screaming yet.

More room to work the swing, less distractions. The only other problem, he guessed, was the skin exposed where his shorts dipped low on his waist.

Plyometrics kept him "packed in back, for such a tall slim thing", as a gushing fan once put it - Roger blushed remembering - so they stayed up okay back there.

Peter's new training had broadened his shoulders, but slimmed his hips, so his shorts' waistbands were starting to die a lot after whole matches full of his graceful, relentless movement.

He wasn't going to quit practicing with his shirt off just because the world press tweaked him about the odds of his shorts falling down mid-match. They didn't like his hair either, grooming or ponytail.

He shrugged, shaking its richness from the elastic. He was a tennis player, not a fashion plate. He'd get a belt or something.

Besides, Andre did it.

"You looked really good today."

Roger turned around. He lounged in the doorway, bare-chested, long white shorts, a near-mirror of Roger, just with ten years' more practice honing champion's focus.

I've been working hard on the visualization, but this is ridiculous, Roger thought.

Andre lifted himself out of the doorway but didn't move from the frame till the door swung shut behind him. Roger thought he heard a click. Did he lock it?

He tried not to react as Andre came closer -- smile radiating, soft walk camouflaging genius reflexes, champion's focus beaming out of soft brown eyes, aimed straight at Roger.

Zen rockstar?

Roger called Edberg his idol, but Andre had … something else.

Reflexes like rockets, hair flying behind like afterburners. Tanned, line-engraved muscle, heavy silky body hair in the same places Roger had his. After watching Andre practice, Roger decided it might be okay someday to practice with his shirt off.

He turned half-away, not to be rude, but hopefully far enough that the heavy curtain of his own hair might hide his blush, at least on that side.

"Thanks, Andre. I just try to do my best, you know? And - and live up to, you know, what … what you're doing."

The rocket-head hair was buzzed to near-nothing, but the shave itself had of course been timed for maximum buzz, to draw all focus to, or at least around, Andre. Just like now.

"I think you're the most complete player I've ever seen." Andre kept coming. He didn't make any noise, he focused on nothing but Roger. It made Roger sweat. But that was okay, yes? He'd just stopped practicing. But that was … how long ago was that? He shouldn't still be sweating. So he …

Just shut up, Roger, he told himself. Just don't say anything.

"Ever watched." Andre's attention and voice poured over Roger.

Roger tried to keep the surprise off his face, but kind of made a mess of it.

"Sure I've watched you." Andre lowered his voice and, for a minute, his eyes. "I think you watch me too, once in a while."

Roger did. Especially if they might be playing each other in a tournament. He watched, mesmerized, from streams of glances to just shy of plain ogling, till he forced himself to quit so as not to get caught staring -- which, he guessed now, hadn't worked that well.

Andre looked back at Roger again, full-on. "You know you're good." He put a hand on Roger's shoulder by his neck, man-to-man, then lifted two fingers to push back - again - again - the long thick swatch of Roger's hair that kept falling in his face.

Roger swallowed, changing colors again. He hoped his beard hid it -- he mostly didn't think about shaving at tournament till his first match -- but he figured it didn't, especially with Andre stroking his hair out of his face. His heart was thudding, like he hadn't been off court for at least half an hour. "I can swing a racquet."

Andre slid his hand down from Roger's shoulder, rested it at his waist. It was another kind of older-to-younger-brother gesture, except there was a kneading pressure on the muscle that surprised Roger. Not exactly, um, brotherly.

[(Anonymous)]

roger/rafa: roger and rafa (as a couple) spends christmas with the Nadal's...rafa had a bit too much to drink and gets touchy/gropey and very affectionate with roger in front of everyone...

[(Anonymous)]

Roger/girl!Rafa. Either genderswap, or Rafa was always a girl, I do not care.

About a girl part one

[(Anonymous)]

She liked him. He knew she liked him; she gave it away with quick glances at his bare chest or his legs when he was changing on the practise courts. She never spoke to him though, and he knew from newspapers that in theory she was seeing some guy from her home town. Xavier, or something. They'd been papped on the beach; Rafaela's round ass had been on display, hugged tight by a tiny bikini. Roger had kept the newspaper around for a few days, down by his bed.

Rafaela Nadal wasn't exactly graceful, but there was something about the way she moved that caught Roger's eye every time he saw her move. He thought it was time he did something about that.

Roger admired her tennis too, her single minded focus, and sometimes wished she was a man so he could play her in matches that mattered. Much more often, he wished that she wasn't constantly chaperoned by her stern-faced aunt. But tonight, amazingly, the scary aunt was missing.

The music at the party was loud and exciting. Rafaela was here, dancing in a corner with a couple of the other Spanish players. She was giggling at something they'd said. Her dark hair hung around her face, framing her high cheekbones and the almost too strong line of her jaw. Her hair was actually a mess, like she'd barely brushed it after the shower. Roger watched her for a few minutes, considering his chances. She had a boyfriend, but… Well, screw Xavier. He wasn't here.

"Hi," Roger said, going over with two cokes. One of them had an umbrella in, with a glossy red cherry speared on its little wooden shaft. "I brought this one for you."

She blinked twice, at the drink and at him, then she looked at her two friends and said something sharp and fast in Spanish.

"Ah, farewell," one of them said. She was pretty too, with pale eyes and wide mouth. They laughed and walked away.

"Where's your aunt tonight?" Roger said.

"In bed with the back," said Rafaela, promptly. She was staring into his eyes. Her mouth was slightly apart. "Very bad."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Roger said. "I hope she recovers soon."

Rafaela nodded.

"So, ah, Rafaela—Rafa—"

"No, no. No call me that. Same as my uncle. I not a man. Call me Rafaela." She had a silky blue dress on that managed to show the full curve of her cleavage and lots of long tanned leg. It clung to her small waist and the flaring curve of her ass. Amazing, Roger thought, trying to keep his eyes on her face. Girls like that. Rafaela touched her hair and smiled at him. "You can kiss me if you like that," she said.

"Oh god, What?" The music seemed to get fainter. "You —really?"

"Is why you come over, no?"

"Uh. Well. I like you." His throat had gone dry. She was actually asking him… This was so amazing.

"I like you also. A lot. I watch you around all the time." She took a sip of her drink. She made short work of the cherry, plucking it off the umbrella and biting down on it. He watched the slender column of her throat flex. "We dance?"

"I don't dance."

She grinned rather sweetly and tugged him onto the dance floor. Roger put his hands on her shoulders, until she moved them to her hips. Then she pressed close, so that he could feel the hard and soft curves of her, all the way down. Her breasts pushed against his chest and her thigh slid between his, and then she leaned up, not very far, and kissed him. God.

[(Anonymous)]

Because I liked how Nando said Roddick

Feli/Nando/Andy - they get him drunk and take advantage

[(Anonymous)]

bottom!Stan, top is, well, i'd love to see either Roger, JMDP, Nole, Marat, Feli.

kink, uumm, the use of sex toys of your choice, please. as kinky as possible.

this anon would like to thanks in advance to whoever take on this request :).

[(Anonymous)]

gah. yes, please?

[(Anonymous)]

Roger/Rafa, Roger has a secret sub kink but is too ashamed to admit it. Rafa finds out and likes it.

Slip of the hand

[(Anonymous)]

Like many good things, the first time had been a complete accident.

They had been in a hurry, clothes strewn everywhere, fucking in another anonymous hotel room. Roger's back had been acting up again lately, so he was lying flat with Rafa riding him, going fast and hard, slippery with sweat and out of breath and so good - Rafa had just needed something to hold onto, to ground him.

He actually had been trying for the headboard when he pitched forwards, grabbing for purchase, but he had underestimated the distance and ended up nearly falling on his face - well, smashing his face in Roger's chest, really - but Roger's arms had come up automatically, trying to keep Rafa upright and failing to take the sudden weight, but it had been enough for Rafa to regain some kind of balance with his hands pressing Roger's arms down into the mattress over his head. They had laughed a little awkwardly, both a bit annoyed at the hold up but too far gone to not just hurry and get on with it.

Somehow, Rafa had kept that hold on Roger's arms, pressing down heavily, hands digging into the wiry forearms, hard enough so he wouldn't slide on the sweaty skin, being absently grateful for the dark hair that would hopefully help to hide the surely forming bruises.

Roger had gotten loud. The man was normally always so controlled, almost reserved, even in bed - Rafa had come to think of it as just Roger, this muffled passion, harsh breath and low sounds, careful movements even during the heights of lust - he would bet his shiny new car that Roger wouldn't have missed the headboard if it had been him in that position. But now, all of a sudden, the Swiss had been moaning, trashing a little, looking almost helplessly aroused. Rafa had gripped his arms even harder, and Roger had positively mewled. That day, Rafa had come as hard as never before.

Afterwards, while they had been dressing, still in a hurry, always in a hurry to go, get back to their functions, their images, their teams, Rafa had said: "You like it, no?"

"What, sex with you?" Roger had sounded a bit incredulous. "Yeah, sure, you know I do." But he hadn't looked up from tying his spotless brown leather shoes.

"No, the holding - me holding you. “ Rafa had insisted, sliding easily into his sneakers, still staring at Roger's bowed head.

"Uhm, yeah, sure." but there had been a pause. Roger's cheeks had been flushed, which, sure, could have been from all that exertion, but, well... Roger had gotten up and taken Rafa into his arms. "I always like you holding me, just how I like holding you." He had smiled at Rafa and kissed his forehead tenderly, which was a bit unusual.

"Is not what I meant!", Rafa protested. Roger had tucked Rafa's wild hair behind his ear with a featherlike gentle touch. He usually didn’t show quite as much tenderness, either. It hadn't felt right to Rafa. "I'm not a woman!", he had protested. Roger had laughed. "No, you're really not."

"Roger, you like it, just say so. You no girl either, is okay to like it... how you say... hard? rough?"

Again, Roger had just smiled, but his blush had still been there, and he had been continuously tugging at the hair falling around his temples. "Yeah, you know, I don't really. I like you, that's all." And Roger had slipped into the suit jacket he had left carefully hanging over the back of a chair and grabbed his cell phone quickly off the bedside table, switching it on and listening to the beep of missed messages even as he was walking towards the door. "Gotta go, my people are looking for me. Later, Rafa, good luck for your game!", and he was gone.

It had seemed like he was fleeing out of the room to Rafa. He was left feeling rather annoyed at Roger - and also very, very curious.

(TBC?)

[(Anonymous)]

I hardly ever think of high-class whores when I see 'rentboy'. Nice.

[(Anonymous)]

Sorry, meant for the comment above to be a comment for another fic, but LJ's being a bitch. >.<

[(Anonymous)]

I'd like to see Marat's whole head in Mardy's ass.

[(Anonymous)]

Marat looked in the mirror, frowning slightly. He'd shaved his hair again; so much so he was almost bald, but his head was still too big! He would have to do something more drastic if he was ever going to live out his lifelong dream; fitting his head into Mardy Fish' ass. The American was a former whore, so his ass was nice and loose, but even so, Marat was sure he still wasn't going to fit.

Suddenly, Mardy came bouncing in.

"Are you ready? Are we finally going to do it??" he jumped up and down on the spot like a retard.

Marat turned to him with tears in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Kotik. My head is still too big! I'm afraid you'll just have to have my cock in you for now."

"But I want your head!" Mardy pouted. "Isn't there another way?"

"The only option is surgery" Marat sighed, punching the wall.

Mardy suddenly grinned, his sulking forgotten.

"Well let's do some surgery!" he said, rummaging about in his bag for scissors.

"Mardy, no!" Marat protested, but his voice lacked conviction.

"Oh come on, what's the worst that could happen?" the American said, pulling down his pants and thrusting his ass in Marat's face. The Russian licked his lips when he saw that hole - the biggest he'd ever seen, but still too small for his huge head. Taking the scissors, he carefully started to cut away the skin on Mardy's ass, widening the hole. Mardy was screaming in pain, but soon the hole was wide enough to accommodate a human head.

"Should I wait for the bleeding to stop?" Marat asked, licking his lips in anticipation. He was so hard; he needed Mardy now.

"No! Just get in me!" Mardy grunted.

Marat didn't need asking twice. Grabbing hold of his cock and rubbing furiously, he put the crown of his head in the hole, enjoying the moist feeling on his skin.

"More!" yelled Mardy.

It was a tight squeeze, but slowly but surely, Marat pushed his entire head into Mardy's ass, until finally all that was visible was his neck. The feeling of being filled so much was too much for Mardy, who came harder than he ever had before, even when he had been gang banged by the other Americans. Marat wasn't long after, the feeling of Mardy's ass constricting around his face pushing him over the edge.

When it was over, they lay back on the bed, Marat still in Mardy. After a while, the Russian began to struggle.

"Err Mardy?" his voice was muffled. "I think I'm stuck!"

-fin-

[(Anonymous)]

Rafa/Roger - I'd love something about how them playing tennis is like sex, or one of them feeling powerfully attracted to the other while actually playing.

Roger/Rafa - It's The Tennis

[(Anonymous)]

A/N to Requester: *crosses fingers*

Roger can't watch that new Mercedes commercial. The one with audio of Rafa's on-court grunt behind every frame where the coupe blazes by. It's near-subliminal - if you don't listen for it, you won't hear it - but threads of time and energy have leashed that sound right to Roger's crotch. He flips away to another channel.

Too late. He's already hard.

Rafa can't watch Roger's Rolex commercial. He's caught off-guard the first time it airs, early morning on ESPN Vivo. He watches the long elegant line of Roger's service motion.

He bites his lip like that in bed shoots through Rafa's head. He didn't mean to think it.

He watches the slow-motion closeup of Roger's immaculate watch hand, fingers folding one by one around the ball for what feels like a voluptuous hour. He pushes his own breath out, long, quiet, a little shaky.

He watches Roger leave the earth for his backhand.

He's suddenly aware it's very warm, and a little slick, between his thighs even though he's sitting legs open.

He looks down and shakes his head.


They always watch each other practice.

Usually on neighboring courts, somehow. Shirts off, sweat glistening, bare-chested, forearms gleaming, they thrust, anticipate, strike, follow-through. Roger wears colors he looks best in, pretending it's not so Rafa will notice. Rafa plays tennis football striker, in tight shorts, legs angled in the air, acting like Roger's not there at all. Rome, Toronto, Cincinnati, Paris.

Riveted. Unashamed of it.


They've had enough Wimbledon finals to have a ritual now.

In 06 it starts with Rafa stroking Roger's palm with the same finger they used in that on-court salute and pauses after Rafa sucks Roger to orgasm twice.

Once Roger recovers, he starts to touch Rafa back. He stops all Rafa's protests with a smiling "I won. You have to let me." And he rubs Rafa down, all over - hands, forearms, biceps, chest, shoulders, back, thighs - till Rafa quivers and his skin shimmers, and he's making little yearning noises, and then Roger wraps an arm around his waist and slowly pushes his cock straight and flat up against the crack of Rafa's ass. He rocks their hips together and strokes Rafa till he comes.

Roger fucks Rafa for the first time after the 07 final. Thrashing, sweaty, naked. Lost in it.

Rafa doesn't want to let Roger in his suite at first. Roger tells him through the door that's fine, you know, he'll just stay there, then, till people start wondering what he's doing just hanging out by Rafa's suite, and, oh, someone who might be security looks like he's just about to ask.

When he finally opens the door, Rafa's eyes are still a little red. Roger grips him gently at the waist, steers him firmly backward to the sofa, sits them both down, and just holds him. Then he holds his face on both sides, so Rafa can't look anywhere but at him, and kisses him - just one lip, then the other, his tongue running lightly over them both, sucking the tip of Rafa's tongue, then more of it, softly, slowly, slowly.

It gets very late.

Rafa quietly decides he wants all the lights on and the mirrors angled, so wherever he looks, he can see Roger fucking him.


Something clicks in place for Rafa when he finally sits down to watch one of his DVDs of their - breathless, people falling out and screaming, suspense and resulting hysteria near-unbearable, Rafa chewing his hand remembering - 08 final.

It comes clearest when, at 8-7, deuce in the 5th, the commentator booms, "Three match points Nadal has had - three times he's been on the brink - and three times Federer has said: 'No.'"

Rafa thinks of their bodies, twined up, near-spent, suspense close to causing hysteria, on the brink, and Roger holding back, clamping down, shifting position, challenging Rafa with his hands, his mouth … three times in a night trying to push Roger to orgasm, three times Roger telling Rafa "No."

Or "Not yet."

Or "You first."

Some things are the same.

Reading your opposite's response to what you just did, and everything telescoped - like he can see right into Roger's eyes from a distance of 76 feet.

Intimate response.

No wonder playing tennis with Roger feels like they should be having sex.

Or like they are.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

[(Anonymous)]

roger/andy - cock ring

[(Anonymous)]

I'd love a fic with Dinara Safina pegging someone, maybe one of the Spanish Armada? Or on of the Russian fed cup squad.

[(Anonymous)]

Roger/Mirka - tit fucking. Um, can't believe I'm asking for this but I think it's because of her amazing pregnancy boobs.

[(Anonymous)]

seconded.

[(Anonymous)]

Xisca/Mirka fucking their brains out. Mirka going down on Xisca.

Fic: Just Like A Prayer, I'm Going to Take You There; part 1 of 5

[(Anonymous)]

Posting this in 5 parts, 'cause I just can't figure out exactly how many words LJ will allow in a comment post.

Roger lay on the bed of his hotel room. He'ld drawn the curtains. The room was cool and semi-dark. He liked the illusion of it being evening, even though it was actually mid-afternoon in Paris. He stripped down to his boxers and ran a hand down the front of the silky material. Anticipation welled up inside of him and he squeezed gently at his growing cock. He bit at his lower lip and smiled. These quiet moments on the tour were rare, particularly during a Slam. He was going to relish this one. His first match would be in two days. This might be the only time they had for this. He gathered up his laptop and cell phone and started getting everything set up.

* * *

roger_text: Want you. Be here at 2.

Rafa had sworn silently when he got the message. During a Slam, for fuck's sake! What was Roger thinking?

He wasn't sure how he had made it through practice, except on sheer auto-pilot. A quick shower. A mumbled excuse to Toni as he slipped
away. He was afraid that Xisca might not be so willing to let him go. Down time together on the tour was especially hard to come by. But she had kissed him and smiled and sent him on his way. And now he was bounding up the hotel stairs, two at a time, towards Roger and Mirka's room.

Mirka. She wouldn't be there. Roger had asked him to come over, which meant that Mirka would be out. Not that long ago Rafa
had made the mistake of confessing to Roger that he thought Mirka was beautiful and that she had the best set of tits he had ever seen. He had blurted it out and immediately regretted it. He'ld blushed furiously and tried to back-peddle. Roger had cocked his head and smiled.

"Yes, she is beautiful. And yes. They are nice." Roger then proceeded to describe, in vivid detail, exactly what he did to those breasts every chance he got.

Rafa had squeezed his eyes tight shut, "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!", he had groaned, all the while picturing Roger's mouth encircling one of Mirka's nipples, sucking and licking it. He had shoved his hand down his pants and stroked himself hard and fast, his cum soaking through the thin material.

Roger had laughed and collapsed on the bed. Rafa had tackled him and they fucked for hours.

So, yeah, Mirka wasn't there. Rafa's mouth went dry as he slipped the key card into the door.

* * *

[(Anonymous)]

Toni Nadal/Rafael Nadal. Punishment.

Scare me?

[(Anonymous)]

Can I ask for femslash with former players?

If so, would someone consider Gabriela Sabatini/Steffi Graf, please?

I was too young when they were still playing, but I used to imagine them hating each other. So, hate!sex would make me happy. As would some mention of finger-fucking... But really, anything with them would be good!

[(Anonymous)]

Feli/Nando/Ana.

Nando's torn between the two of them, but Feli and Ana prove that they don't mind sharing.

[(Anonymous)]

Inspired by the girl-requests above: Would someone consider transvestite!Rafa/anyone?

...preferably with the other person getting a nasty shock when he realizes that the pretty girl he has been flirting with and kissing all night is in fact not a girl at all. Bonus points if Rafa is mean and likes to go as far as he can before letting them find out his true identity, and therefore makes the shock even worse.

[(Anonymous)]

I'd like to see Marat's whole head in Mardy's ass

[(Anonymous)]

Viking Roger/ Slave Rafa
Slave Rafa is probably a prince himself and is kidnapped by roger and brought by sea(Rafa is very scared of water) to Roger's home. Roger is all babarian and tries to break very very stubborn (and a lot younger than him) Rafa but ends up falling in love with him and marrying him (and uhm ehm mpreg).
hehehe okay sorry any ROGER/RAFA slave fic

[(Anonymous)]

bottom!Rafa/someone totally unexpected (i.e. not someone who is usually seen with Rafa or who classically tops - like Roger, Feli, Marat, Carlos, etc.). Rafa's teasing with all the banana-eating on court finally gets him into a boatload of trouble... the good kind of trouble. Bonus points for actually using said fruit (or any other food item) in sex.