Tennis rps fic: Art, Roger/OMC, NC 17
Jun. 16th, 2009 09:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
louiseluxHere is a fic, for the occasion of the lovely ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
morebliss's birthday.
Title: Art
Fandom: tennis rps
Pairing: Roger Federer/OMC
Rating: not worksafe, explicit m/m
Disclaimer: extremely fictional and made up
Notes: thank you toemungere for beta and for being gracious while she thought of titles for me. I actually began this nearly a year ago, but it stalled about one third because I couldn't decide on the point of the story. I mean, okay, teenage Roger has gay sex for the first time with-- entirely coincidentally-- a hot Spanish dude. That is a point of the story, but I had a lurking sense that there should be other points, which have to do with change and exploration and things like that. Lo, I ramble. I was galvanised to finish it recently, so here it is.
Summary: This is set just before Roger joins the ATP tour. He takes a short and entirely fictional holiday, where he has an affair with an older man, who is Spanish, pretty and hot.
"What d'you think of this one?" Roger said, holding up the necklace.
It was made from small curls of dusk pink coral, strung on a white leather cord. He did the conversion from Swiss francs to pesetas. It was easily affordable. He thought with some satisfaction of the money he'd won at his last tournament. His father was going to help him invest it. He could finally afford to pay for his own things, like this holiday.
"No, it's pink. And it's jewellery. You'll look totally gay," Gunter said, with hardly even a proper look. He was mostly concentrating on a pack of pornographic playing cards.
"Oh. Well. I like it."
Gunter was too narrow-minded, Roger had decided. Too Swiss. There'd been a man on the beach today whom Gunter had designated as gay. He'd come over to Roger's sunbed and had crouched down, smiling right into Roger's eyes. The scent of expensive sun oil had wafted off his skin, and his long brown hair was damp and curled into corkscrews on his brown shoulders. His trunks were cut low across his flat, tanned stomach. He'd asked Roger where the free beach showers were, and then he'd gone, leaving Roger with a memory of that slow, suggestive smile. It'd stayed with him all day.
Gunter had sniggered about it afterwards, and Roger had joined in but he still remembered the man's gaze drifting down his chest to his groin, and the tingling sense of shock. It was partly shock that it didn't feel bad.
Roger hung the necklace back on its hook.
"It's the foam party tonight," Gunter said, later. They were sitting on the tiny balcony of their small apartment, looking out over a view of squat white hotel blocks. Beyond the strew of concrete and mosaic tiles, black topped roads, swimming pools and palm trees, the sea shimmered dusty blue, growing darker in the sunset. The air smelled of salt.
"Foam parties are tacky," Roger said.
Gunter laughed. "This whole town is tacky."
"No, I saw some nice looking boutiques over in the old part of town, near the harbour. We could go there and look round, maybe. The bars looked quite nice," he added, as a concession to Gunter. Roger didn't go to bars.
"You're obsessed with shopping," Gunter said. His nose had gone red today and it clashed with his dark red hair. His hair went on to clash with his baggy red shorts. He was older than Roger by six months and he was planning on playing the adult tour soon. Roger was doubtful about Gunter's future success but he didn't like to mention it. Gunter was flicking through his porno cards for the third time.
"You're obsessed with those playing cards," Roger said, but really Gunter was right. His newly won money was burning a hole in his pocket, as his father often said.
"Anyway, foam calls to me," Gunter said, stretching. "Sorry, man." His freshly broken fingers were still wrapped with tape, grubby now around the edges. It was partly why they'd come away now. Gunter couldn't play and Roger had had a holiday due. His mother and father had enthusiastically agreed.
"Come to the foam party with me. There'll be mostly naked girls."
"I honestly think I'd prefer shopping," he said.
"Freak," said Gunter.
A few hours later, washed and dressed in his new white jeans—Calvin Kleins that he loved-- and a black t-shirt, he stepped off a bus and into the main square. The air smelled of car fumes and grit and sun-baked concrete. The square was busy, with a long colonnade on one side filled with chic looking shops. On the other side, bars and cafes spread out across the wide pavement. People were shopping and strolling about, eating and drinking. Everyone looked relaxed and elegant. Roger smiled. He liked it here. He wanted to fit in. He could. He was a man of the world.
There were some very expensive looking clothes shops off the square. He window shopped for a while. After an hour or so he found himself wandering down cobbled streets that wound down to the small harbour. They held craft shops; leather and jewellery and pots, distinctive clothing, shoes and hats. He'd buy a belt, he decided, to remember this place. A good leather belt. Maybe he could find a better necklace too. Pink wasn't so great.
He found a belt and some new t-shirts and a pair of new espadrilles. He bought a thin necklace made of pale bits of seashell strung next to polished wooden beads. He fastened it around his neck sitting on the sea wall, watching the ferry pull in. He wandered about for hours, until nearly midnight. The streets were filling with clubbers now, and people eating late. He picked a bar that looked nice. It had polished wooden tables, each lit with a small glowing oil lamp. Old mirrors hung on the wall, with red Chinese lanterns glowing above the bar. Traditional Spanish music played discreetly in the background. The men and women at the tables were all pretty and well dressed.
Roger got a beer and a table and sat back to watch the street life, wanting to fit in. This was not tennis. This was lovely. He sipped his drink and wondered if it was going to be safe to go back to the apartment. Foam parties were for casual sex, everyone knew this, and Gunter was bound to have met someone.
"Oh, hello again," someone said in heavily accented English.
He looked up. It was the man from the beach, the very same one who'd stared at Roger's chest. He was giving Roger a polite surprised smile.
"Oh, ahh," Roger said. "Hi."
"What a coincidence meeting you again," the man said. He gestured to Roger's bottle. "Can I buy you a beer?"
He looked older than Roger, maybe about twenty five or even thirty. He also looked very different now, dressed in a narrowly cut silver grey suit and a soft white linen shirt that made his dark hair look black. He looked like he'd just walked out the Armani shop.
"It is. Umh. Wow, yes, a coincidence."
"So, is that a yes?" the man said, smiling.
Roger blinked. "Yes?"
"A drink?"
"Yes. Please."
"My name is Alejandro," the man said, and held out his hand. "But you can call me Alejo."
"Hi, um. Thanks. I'm Roger," he said, feeling shy. Alejo's hand was warm and firm.
Alejo smiled. "Rogelio."
"That's Spanish for Roger."
"Si," Alejo said, with a pleased smile, and he sat. He waved a hand to the waiter, who came over at once. Alejo raised his eyebrows at Roger. "What would you like?"
"Oh, er." Roger wondered what men like this drank. He didn't want to come across as gauche. "Another beer, please." It was hard to go wrong with that.
"Then the same for me," Alejo said.
Alejo sat back on his chair when the waiter left. He was smiling. Roger sat and stared around him, wondering if people had noticed that Alejo appeared to be picking him up and what they were thinking if they had. He tugged at a cuticle and tried to relax. It was just a drink. Meeting new people was fun. He met Alejo's eyes, and Alejo smiled, soft and warm and like he was really happy to be sitting here with Roger.
Roger smiled back and felt himself relax a little.
"You're here on holiday, yes?" Alejo said.
"Yes, for a week."
"Alone?"
"No. With my friend. He's gone to a nightclub tonight."
"And you're not the clubbing type?"
"It's a foam party. Also, it's a seventies music night."
"Aha. I see. You have finer tastes than your friend."
Roger felt absurdly flattered. A sophisticated man like Alejo thought he must have good taste. "Well, perhaps. I don't know."
"Modest too. And handsome."
Roger clutched his beer bottle, staring down at the mouth. "Um. Thanks."
Alejo leaned forward, crossing his forearms on the table. His shirt fell away from his throat and chest slightly, revealing smooth and gleaming skin. He had thick dark lashes. "I hope you do not mind me saying it. I expect you have a lot of girlfriends, don't you?"
"I have—had some." He'd had two, both of which had lasted for about three weeks. Tennis had got in the way, as it usually did. Also, the whole business of the clitoris was a lurking worry during sex; something he didn't feel in control of. Andre nodded and seemed to be waiting for more. "How about you?" Roger said.
"Me?" Alejo shook out his curls and laughed. He had perfect straight teeth, very white. The line of his jaw was smooth and strong. "I don't have girlfriends, Rogelio. You know?"
Roger thought he did know, and also that Gunter had been more than right. He swallowed a mouthful of beer and desperately thought of something to say that would make him look cool and nonchalant, like he sat in cafes with gay men all the time.
"I don't mind," he said.
Alejo sat back and gave him a long slow look over, quite blatantly, and Roger felt himself blush. Alejo was playing in an abstracted way with his beer mat, touching each side to the table edge. His fingers were long and well shaped, with manicured nails.
"I wonder what else you don't mind?" Alejo said.
Roger opened his mouth in confusion. "I didn't mean it like that."
Alejo crossed his legs and his foot brushed Roger's leg under the table. It was more than an accidental touch. Roger gasped. Alejo's foot tapped his ankle. Oh god, this was really happening.
"You look very fit," Alejo said, meeting his eyes. "Do you work out?"
"I play tennis, in juniors." God, he made himself sound like a kid. "But nearly to professional level."
"How old are you?" Alejo said. He closed his lips around the slender wet neck of his beer bottle and took a drink, slowly, so that his throat flexed. He didn't break their gaze once.
"Eighteen," Roger said. It was a lie. Not a huge lie, but. He didn't question why he'd told it; it was just necessary.
"You should come to a club with me," Alejo said. "No foam, I promise. It's nearby. Lovely people."
"What kind of club?"
Alejo's mouth tilted in a smile. He had a low voice, kind of deep. "What sort do you think?"
"A gay club," Roger said, just because he knew it would probably amuse Alejo. Alejo laughed, tipping his head back.
"You're a nice guy, Roger." Alejo sipped his drink and watched him for a moment. "But maybe you're not the clubbing type."
"Not exactly, no," Roger said. "They are fun, but for a little while. I prefer places like this, or a good restaurant. Something with a bit of style."
"Perhaps we could go somewhere quieter," Alejo said. "What do you think?"
It had got busy, Roger thought, looking round. He hoped his sudden pulse of fear wasn't obvious.
"I could show you my apartment," Alejo said. Their eyes met. "It's near here."
"Okay," Roger said, and was unhappy that it came out half strangled, but Alejo smiled.
"You'll like it, I hope. Shall we?"
Roger had managed to drink all of his beer somehow, hardly noticing. "Sure," he said, and stood.
The streets and little plazas were busy with teenagers on scooters and parties of tourists. A hundred smells mixed in the air from the late night shops and cafes. Alejo led them a few blocks away, past a quiet district full of shiny glass-fronted banks until he turned down a side street. It was lined with old tall apartment blocks, faded yellow and brown stone with balconies and heavy swags of vines. The air smelled of some sweet flower smell, and the narrow street was cluttered with scooters and parked cars.
Alejo led him in through a huge door, and up two flights of marble stairs. Roger trailed his hand along the black curled iron banisters and watched how Alejo moved. He had balance and poise, would probably move well on a court. Stop it, he told himself. The stairs smelled faintly of disinfectant and more strongly of dust. Alejo's sandals had leather soles and they pattered softly on the stone. Roger's rubber soled sandals squeaked.
"We're here," Alejo said, and let Roger in through a huge elegant wooden door that had a gleaming brass knob and cracking green paint the colour of jade. He'd seen places like this in Basel, in the centre of the city, except that in Basel the paint would never be cracked and old. They were worlds away from his parent's comfortable modern home in the suburbs.
The first impression he took from Alejo's place was the amount of books. Shelves filled one whole wall. The floor was cool stone and the windows were bare, guarded by long wooden shutters. A pale grey sofa stood by the window. It looked antique, standing on clawed and gilded feet. There was an armchair near it, mismatched in battered and cracked dark green leather. A low glass table held more books. There was a sleek black stereo system and art on the walls. It looked so chic, like something out of a magazine.
Alejo ran a hand down his spine, to rest at the base, and Roger jumped. He hadn't even noticed him standing so close.
"Oh!"
"I didn't mean to startle you."
"No, I— You didn't." It was a rather obvious lie.
"You've got a beautiful body," Alejo said, in a low voice in his ear. His warm breath fanned over the back of Roger's neck.
Roger turned round and looked at him. No one had said anything like that to him before. It was a nice thing to hear. He wondered if Alejo wanted to have sex now. He stared into his eyes and had no idea what to say.
"You—read a lot?" was what came out.
Alejo gazed at him for a few seconds, then broke into a soft smile. He touched Roger's arm. "Come. Let us have coffee and we can relax. Please sit."
Roger chose the armchair. Alejo went off to what must be the kitchen. Five minutes later he fetched coffee through on a tray, with cups and milk and sugar. The cups were fine white china, thin enough to glow softly. There were little cakes on a plate, small sticky things with nuts and honey.
"Did you study?" Roger said, looking at the books.
"Oh, yes," Alejo said. "For many years I studied to become a doctor of history."
"Is that what you do, teach?"
"Sometimes. More recently I began to collect and sell art."
He must be well off, thought Roger, looking about, and clever. "I left school when I was 16."
"To play the tennis?" Alejo said. "You can hardly do both, I guess."
"I suppose. My parents were upset, but they support me now."
"It was your idea?"
"Yes. I want to be the best in the world."
Alejo sat back on the sofa, looking as cool and elegant as everything else in here. He sipped his coffee. "Then it's admirable that you have such a passion."
"I want to win Wimbledon one day."
"Do you think you can?" Alejo said.
"Yes, I do," Roger said. "I won the juniors already."
"Congratulations." Alejo spread one arm along the back of the couch. He gave Roger a long look. His eyes were so dark, under thick brows. "You are an amazing young man."
Roger ate one of the little cakes, then another, aware that Alejo was still watching him. The coffee was good-- hot and strong in his stomach. On top of the beer he was beginning to feel almost high. When Alejo stood and walked over to him, his pulse ratcheted up. Alejo held out his hand, and Roger took it and stood.
Alejo stroked his hair back from his face and touched his jaw, and then kissed him on the mouth just once, tasting of coffee. The faint touch of stubble against his skin made him almost jump.
"Okay?" Alejo said, slipping his arm round Roger's waist and easing him closer. He kissed Roger's mouth again, cupping his jaw. "Do you like it?"
Roger nodded, unable to speak. It all seemed so right, as if he'd been waiting for this for years. His heart was hammering, and he was so getting so stiff in his underwear that it was becoming uncomfortable. Also, he was sure Alejo could feel it against his stomach.
"It's good," he whispered, and then Alejo kissed him more deeply, reeling him in, teasing open Roger's mouth with his tongue.
Nothing else seemed to matter then, only their lips and tongues sliding together. Roger moaned and let himself focus entirely on the sensations, copying Alejo's movements with his own, learning and experimenting. He put his arms around Alejo's strong, lithe body, holding on tight. When they parted, finally, Alejo was flushed and breathing hard. He stroked Roger's jaw and pushed his fingers up into Roger's hair. Roger did the same. Alejo's curls were soft and cool against his palm.
"Come to bed with me," Alejo said, and let his lips drift feathery kisses across Roger's jaw and down his neck. "I'll make it good for you."
Alejo was hard. It was sticking into Roger's stomach. Roger nodded, his mouth going dry. "I've never done it with a man."
It was better to get that clear, he thought, so that Alejo didn’t have expectations. He tried to visualise how they might look having sex, and could only conjure images of Alejo's bare stomach and the short line of dark hair that had disappeared into his swimming trunks.
Alejo just smiled at him and tugged him along a short corridor and through another door.
His bedroom had a window that looked out over a tangle of small courtyards and alleys. Tall shutters were painted black. The bed was huge and very low. A small polished black cabinet sat next to it. Books were the main decoration in the room, piled high along the walls. A huge foggy grey mirror with a gilded frame was propped against one wall. It was like no room Roger had ever been in before. He tried to imagine showing Alejo his bedroom in Basel, the one with the Basel FC duvet cover, the faded and torn tournament posters and the old wardrobe with the broken handle. The idea just gave him a sort of vertigo. He stood for too long, just looking at the books and their long complicated looking titles, ones he knew he'd never read. People were all so… different he thought.
"I really like your room," he said.
"Good," said Alejo, behind him. He kissed Roger's neck, sucking slightly. His hands were on Roger's jeans, pulling open his belt. "Do you want to stay all night?"
"Yeah," said Roger, with not even a moment of hesitation. Alejo's hands were pushing down into his underwear, exposing him, and thank god he'd chosen one of his new pairs. He looked down, hardly able to believe this was even happening as Alejo's hand closed tight around his bared stiff cock. Roger made a low strangled sound and thrust his hips forward.
"I really like your dick," Alejo said, and laughed softly against his neck. He pushed his other hand under Roger's t-shirt and pinched one nipple.
"Aahhh," Roger gasped. They were so sensitive. He hadn't even known.
"You like that?"
Roger nodded, and moaned when Alejo squeezed the other one, then rubbed over it with his thumb, stroking his cock at the same time. Roger leaned back against him. He hardly felt strong enough to stand.
"You make pretty noises," Alejo murmured in his ear. "I like it." He licked down the side of Roger's neck. "I want you to come like this."
Alejo was solid behind him. Roger reached back and touched where he could, stroking Alejo's hip and thigh and then finding the hard ridge of his cock under his trousers. It filled his palm, hot even through fabric. He rubbed his flattened palm over the head and heard Alejo say something soft and heated in Spanish. He moaned, leaning back completely into Alejo's body, moving his hips in time with Alejo's slow hard strokes, catching his rhythm.
"God," Alejo muttered, in English.
"What did you say before?" Roger managed. He had to know. He had to know everything.
"I want to fuck you." He sped up his strokes, doing something with his thumb around Roger's foreskin that made colours pop behind Roger's squeezed-shut eyes and made the breath catch in his throat. He was going to come; it was rushing up inside him unstoppably.
"You are so fucking beautiful," Alejo whispered, as he started to come. "Come on, baby."
No one had ever called him that before. He opened his eyes and watched himself jerking in streaks over Alejo's long pretty fingers.
The polished black cabinet turned out to contain tissues in one of its drawers. A silver box of condoms and a red plastic bottle rolled about in the drawer too. There were other things too: little brown glass bottles and a leather collar with a buckle, a large silver ring that looked like it opened and closed. Alejo kissed him and smiled again.
"Yeah, just some essentials," he said, as he undressed.
He tossed each piece down, where they crumpled in elegant little heaps on the wooden floor. Roger did the same, and then they were left staring at each other. Alejo was slim and very toned, with not much body hair except between his thighs. His arms and abs were defined as if he were an athlete too. His cock was flushed dark pink and it was pointing straight at Roger.
"I remember how good you looked on the beach," Alejo said, gazing. "Really you are a work of art."
Roger blushed. "It's from the training, you know. It's just… how I look."
The bed was hard, and Alejo was warm and smooth above him, in his arms. So much skin, Roger thought, as he stroked and explored, watching his own hands run over Alejo's ass and hips and stomach. He got hard again as they kissed, winding tight together.
Alejo rolled above him and wound his fingers into Roger's hair, tugged it back from his face. He kissed him hard, almost greedily, then pulled back. He was breathing so intensely, and Roger had a dim flush of pride that he'd caused that.
"I want to feel you move on my cock," Alejo said, pushing his dick hard against Roger's stomach, rubbing it alongside Roger's own cock. "Gorgeous," then he kissed Roger again, licking messily into his mouth.
Roger couldn't honestly say he understood what Alejo meant. He didn’t know what it would feel like, and he couldn't imagine it, but he wanted to find out. Alejo pulled back and looked into his eyes. His pupils were dilated hugely. Release of adrenaline, Roger thought, dimly. Like before a match.
"Okay," Roger said, and it was just a whisper. "Yes. Yeah," and almost moaned at the slow, delighted, and filthy smile that spread across Alejo's face.
They spooned on the bed. Alejo finger fucked him, first, with slippery lube from the red plastic bottle. It was strange and invasive, even though Alejo was slow and careful. Roger lost his erection. There was too much else to think about.
"It's okay," Alejo said, smoothing a palm down Roger's side. "I promise it won't hurt." He got his fingers dripping wet with lube, and kept on stroking and touching and rubbing, slick and slow, pushing deeper gradually with his long gentle fingers. It made something inside Roger ache in an amazingly good way. Roger turned over to press his face against the cool sheets, and Alejo kissed the top of his spine. Roger felt him move behind him, between Roger's spread knees. He waited, hearing the rustle of foil and the snap of latex. This was really happening. Alejo stroked the backs of his thighs, and then there was a thick blunt cock pressing into him.
"Oh, my sweet god," Alejo said. "Roger." He moved carefully, his hips moving in slow thrusts, just rocking in and out until Roger's entire body was prickling with heat. Roger caught his rhythm, again, and began to move too, pushing back to get more. Alejo moaned in appreciation.
He'd expected something fast and hard, but instead Alejo was slow, letting everything build until Roger's stomach was tight, and every nerve in his body was thrumming with this new sensation. Alejo dragged fingers through his hair, tightening for a moment, fucking in hard for one stroke. It sent an electric jolt through his whole body, and he cried aloud into the pillow.
"Please. More," Roger said. "It's good-- It's good like that. Oh, fuck."
"My pleasure," Alejo said, low and intent.
He came with Alejo deep inside him, fucking him as hard as he could take it, jerking him off at the same time. He couldn't tell when Alejo came, not until he let out a long harsh moan and slowed, and stopped.
They lay together on the bed for a long time, tangled and lazy. Alejo told him in a sleepy voice about some galleries he was visiting the next day. Roger told him about how he was going to Miami in a few weeks, and how he hoped to win. Alejo kissed him and stroked his hair, and told him he was sure he would. He told Roger other things too, about films he'd seen, football matches he'd watched, random funny things that had happened to him. He teased from Roger details of his life, and then kissed and laughed him when Roger said his own life was mostly boring and spent in locker rooms.
Alejo's bathroom was very modern, with a slate floor and a brass plug hole in the middle. The shower spattered down into the room. There was showergel that smelled of mint. There were two bottles of aftershave - Gucci and Lanvin, and bottles of face scrub and moisturiser. He inspected it all closely.
"Are you hungry?" Alejo said, around the bathroom door. It was two am.
"Have you got any cornflakes?"
"Uhh, probably."
He ate three bowls while Alejo drank a beer and watched him, smiling to himself. Roger thought it would be really hard to sleep in this strange apartment, with a man he'd only met that day, but in fact it was easy. Alejo dragged him into bed and tucked an arm round his waist, and Roger slept till Alejo woke him in the morning with coffee. They dressed and Alejo walked him back into the town centre.
"Maybe I'll catch you at a tournament one day," Alejo said.
"I really hope so. But look out for my name in the newspaper," Roger said. "Sports section, probably. I'm going to be number one in the world, you know."
Alejo put his head on one side, and gave him an odd smile. "I have no doubt. Oh, hey, wait." He put his hand in his pocket. "You forgot this." In his palm lay Roger's new necklace. It must've come off in the bed. For some reason, it didn't look as stylish as it had yesterday. Alejo didn’t wear any jewellery.
Alejo didn't give it over immediately. He raised it to his mouth and pressed a kiss to it. "For luck, no?"
Roger took it and put it on. He thought for a moment that he might cry. "Thank you," he said. "I won't forget you," he blurted, meeting Alejo's dark and intense gaze.
Alejo pushed his hair out of his eyes, shrugging, half smiling. "Is okay if you do. It's life." His smile was only half convincing.
Roger realised that the moment had come to say goodbye. Alejo didn't look back as he walked away. That was important, somehow, Roger thought, because he wanted nothing more than to run after him. Alejo had kissed him long and slowly before they'd left his place, and he'd given Roger his number just in case he ever came back.
Roger stood for a moment, trying to process all the new things he'd learned since yesterday. He touched the thin cool band of beads around his neck. He wasn't sure luck had that much to do with his future.
"For luck," he said, anyway, and went to find the bus stop.
morebliss's birthday.Title: Art
Fandom: tennis rps
Pairing: Roger Federer/OMC
Rating: not worksafe, explicit m/m
Disclaimer: extremely fictional and made up
Notes: thank you to
emungere for beta and for being gracious while she thought of titles for me. I actually began this nearly a year ago, but it stalled about one third because I couldn't decide on the point of the story. I mean, okay, teenage Roger has gay sex for the first time with-- entirely coincidentally-- a hot Spanish dude. That is a point of the story, but I had a lurking sense that there should be other points, which have to do with change and exploration and things like that. Lo, I ramble. I was galvanised to finish it recently, so here it is.Summary: This is set just before Roger joins the ATP tour. He takes a short and entirely fictional holiday, where he has an affair with an older man, who is Spanish, pretty and hot.
"What d'you think of this one?" Roger said, holding up the necklace.
It was made from small curls of dusk pink coral, strung on a white leather cord. He did the conversion from Swiss francs to pesetas. It was easily affordable. He thought with some satisfaction of the money he'd won at his last tournament. His father was going to help him invest it. He could finally afford to pay for his own things, like this holiday.
"No, it's pink. And it's jewellery. You'll look totally gay," Gunter said, with hardly even a proper look. He was mostly concentrating on a pack of pornographic playing cards.
"Oh. Well. I like it."
Gunter was too narrow-minded, Roger had decided. Too Swiss. There'd been a man on the beach today whom Gunter had designated as gay. He'd come over to Roger's sunbed and had crouched down, smiling right into Roger's eyes. The scent of expensive sun oil had wafted off his skin, and his long brown hair was damp and curled into corkscrews on his brown shoulders. His trunks were cut low across his flat, tanned stomach. He'd asked Roger where the free beach showers were, and then he'd gone, leaving Roger with a memory of that slow, suggestive smile. It'd stayed with him all day.
Gunter had sniggered about it afterwards, and Roger had joined in but he still remembered the man's gaze drifting down his chest to his groin, and the tingling sense of shock. It was partly shock that it didn't feel bad.
Roger hung the necklace back on its hook.
"It's the foam party tonight," Gunter said, later. They were sitting on the tiny balcony of their small apartment, looking out over a view of squat white hotel blocks. Beyond the strew of concrete and mosaic tiles, black topped roads, swimming pools and palm trees, the sea shimmered dusty blue, growing darker in the sunset. The air smelled of salt.
"Foam parties are tacky," Roger said.
Gunter laughed. "This whole town is tacky."
"No, I saw some nice looking boutiques over in the old part of town, near the harbour. We could go there and look round, maybe. The bars looked quite nice," he added, as a concession to Gunter. Roger didn't go to bars.
"You're obsessed with shopping," Gunter said. His nose had gone red today and it clashed with his dark red hair. His hair went on to clash with his baggy red shorts. He was older than Roger by six months and he was planning on playing the adult tour soon. Roger was doubtful about Gunter's future success but he didn't like to mention it. Gunter was flicking through his porno cards for the third time.
"You're obsessed with those playing cards," Roger said, but really Gunter was right. His newly won money was burning a hole in his pocket, as his father often said.
"Anyway, foam calls to me," Gunter said, stretching. "Sorry, man." His freshly broken fingers were still wrapped with tape, grubby now around the edges. It was partly why they'd come away now. Gunter couldn't play and Roger had had a holiday due. His mother and father had enthusiastically agreed.
"Come to the foam party with me. There'll be mostly naked girls."
"I honestly think I'd prefer shopping," he said.
"Freak," said Gunter.
A few hours later, washed and dressed in his new white jeans—Calvin Kleins that he loved-- and a black t-shirt, he stepped off a bus and into the main square. The air smelled of car fumes and grit and sun-baked concrete. The square was busy, with a long colonnade on one side filled with chic looking shops. On the other side, bars and cafes spread out across the wide pavement. People were shopping and strolling about, eating and drinking. Everyone looked relaxed and elegant. Roger smiled. He liked it here. He wanted to fit in. He could. He was a man of the world.
There were some very expensive looking clothes shops off the square. He window shopped for a while. After an hour or so he found himself wandering down cobbled streets that wound down to the small harbour. They held craft shops; leather and jewellery and pots, distinctive clothing, shoes and hats. He'd buy a belt, he decided, to remember this place. A good leather belt. Maybe he could find a better necklace too. Pink wasn't so great.
He found a belt and some new t-shirts and a pair of new espadrilles. He bought a thin necklace made of pale bits of seashell strung next to polished wooden beads. He fastened it around his neck sitting on the sea wall, watching the ferry pull in. He wandered about for hours, until nearly midnight. The streets were filling with clubbers now, and people eating late. He picked a bar that looked nice. It had polished wooden tables, each lit with a small glowing oil lamp. Old mirrors hung on the wall, with red Chinese lanterns glowing above the bar. Traditional Spanish music played discreetly in the background. The men and women at the tables were all pretty and well dressed.
Roger got a beer and a table and sat back to watch the street life, wanting to fit in. This was not tennis. This was lovely. He sipped his drink and wondered if it was going to be safe to go back to the apartment. Foam parties were for casual sex, everyone knew this, and Gunter was bound to have met someone.
"Oh, hello again," someone said in heavily accented English.
He looked up. It was the man from the beach, the very same one who'd stared at Roger's chest. He was giving Roger a polite surprised smile.
"Oh, ahh," Roger said. "Hi."
"What a coincidence meeting you again," the man said. He gestured to Roger's bottle. "Can I buy you a beer?"
He looked older than Roger, maybe about twenty five or even thirty. He also looked very different now, dressed in a narrowly cut silver grey suit and a soft white linen shirt that made his dark hair look black. He looked like he'd just walked out the Armani shop.
"It is. Umh. Wow, yes, a coincidence."
"So, is that a yes?" the man said, smiling.
Roger blinked. "Yes?"
"A drink?"
"Yes. Please."
"My name is Alejandro," the man said, and held out his hand. "But you can call me Alejo."
"Hi, um. Thanks. I'm Roger," he said, feeling shy. Alejo's hand was warm and firm.
Alejo smiled. "Rogelio."
"That's Spanish for Roger."
"Si," Alejo said, with a pleased smile, and he sat. He waved a hand to the waiter, who came over at once. Alejo raised his eyebrows at Roger. "What would you like?"
"Oh, er." Roger wondered what men like this drank. He didn't want to come across as gauche. "Another beer, please." It was hard to go wrong with that.
"Then the same for me," Alejo said.
Alejo sat back on his chair when the waiter left. He was smiling. Roger sat and stared around him, wondering if people had noticed that Alejo appeared to be picking him up and what they were thinking if they had. He tugged at a cuticle and tried to relax. It was just a drink. Meeting new people was fun. He met Alejo's eyes, and Alejo smiled, soft and warm and like he was really happy to be sitting here with Roger.
Roger smiled back and felt himself relax a little.
"You're here on holiday, yes?" Alejo said.
"Yes, for a week."
"Alone?"
"No. With my friend. He's gone to a nightclub tonight."
"And you're not the clubbing type?"
"It's a foam party. Also, it's a seventies music night."
"Aha. I see. You have finer tastes than your friend."
Roger felt absurdly flattered. A sophisticated man like Alejo thought he must have good taste. "Well, perhaps. I don't know."
"Modest too. And handsome."
Roger clutched his beer bottle, staring down at the mouth. "Um. Thanks."
Alejo leaned forward, crossing his forearms on the table. His shirt fell away from his throat and chest slightly, revealing smooth and gleaming skin. He had thick dark lashes. "I hope you do not mind me saying it. I expect you have a lot of girlfriends, don't you?"
"I have—had some." He'd had two, both of which had lasted for about three weeks. Tennis had got in the way, as it usually did. Also, the whole business of the clitoris was a lurking worry during sex; something he didn't feel in control of. Andre nodded and seemed to be waiting for more. "How about you?" Roger said.
"Me?" Alejo shook out his curls and laughed. He had perfect straight teeth, very white. The line of his jaw was smooth and strong. "I don't have girlfriends, Rogelio. You know?"
Roger thought he did know, and also that Gunter had been more than right. He swallowed a mouthful of beer and desperately thought of something to say that would make him look cool and nonchalant, like he sat in cafes with gay men all the time.
"I don't mind," he said.
Alejo sat back and gave him a long slow look over, quite blatantly, and Roger felt himself blush. Alejo was playing in an abstracted way with his beer mat, touching each side to the table edge. His fingers were long and well shaped, with manicured nails.
"I wonder what else you don't mind?" Alejo said.
Roger opened his mouth in confusion. "I didn't mean it like that."
Alejo crossed his legs and his foot brushed Roger's leg under the table. It was more than an accidental touch. Roger gasped. Alejo's foot tapped his ankle. Oh god, this was really happening.
"You look very fit," Alejo said, meeting his eyes. "Do you work out?"
"I play tennis, in juniors." God, he made himself sound like a kid. "But nearly to professional level."
"How old are you?" Alejo said. He closed his lips around the slender wet neck of his beer bottle and took a drink, slowly, so that his throat flexed. He didn't break their gaze once.
"Eighteen," Roger said. It was a lie. Not a huge lie, but. He didn't question why he'd told it; it was just necessary.
"You should come to a club with me," Alejo said. "No foam, I promise. It's nearby. Lovely people."
"What kind of club?"
Alejo's mouth tilted in a smile. He had a low voice, kind of deep. "What sort do you think?"
"A gay club," Roger said, just because he knew it would probably amuse Alejo. Alejo laughed, tipping his head back.
"You're a nice guy, Roger." Alejo sipped his drink and watched him for a moment. "But maybe you're not the clubbing type."
"Not exactly, no," Roger said. "They are fun, but for a little while. I prefer places like this, or a good restaurant. Something with a bit of style."
"Perhaps we could go somewhere quieter," Alejo said. "What do you think?"
It had got busy, Roger thought, looking round. He hoped his sudden pulse of fear wasn't obvious.
"I could show you my apartment," Alejo said. Their eyes met. "It's near here."
"Okay," Roger said, and was unhappy that it came out half strangled, but Alejo smiled.
"You'll like it, I hope. Shall we?"
Roger had managed to drink all of his beer somehow, hardly noticing. "Sure," he said, and stood.
The streets and little plazas were busy with teenagers on scooters and parties of tourists. A hundred smells mixed in the air from the late night shops and cafes. Alejo led them a few blocks away, past a quiet district full of shiny glass-fronted banks until he turned down a side street. It was lined with old tall apartment blocks, faded yellow and brown stone with balconies and heavy swags of vines. The air smelled of some sweet flower smell, and the narrow street was cluttered with scooters and parked cars.
Alejo led him in through a huge door, and up two flights of marble stairs. Roger trailed his hand along the black curled iron banisters and watched how Alejo moved. He had balance and poise, would probably move well on a court. Stop it, he told himself. The stairs smelled faintly of disinfectant and more strongly of dust. Alejo's sandals had leather soles and they pattered softly on the stone. Roger's rubber soled sandals squeaked.
"We're here," Alejo said, and let Roger in through a huge elegant wooden door that had a gleaming brass knob and cracking green paint the colour of jade. He'd seen places like this in Basel, in the centre of the city, except that in Basel the paint would never be cracked and old. They were worlds away from his parent's comfortable modern home in the suburbs.
The first impression he took from Alejo's place was the amount of books. Shelves filled one whole wall. The floor was cool stone and the windows were bare, guarded by long wooden shutters. A pale grey sofa stood by the window. It looked antique, standing on clawed and gilded feet. There was an armchair near it, mismatched in battered and cracked dark green leather. A low glass table held more books. There was a sleek black stereo system and art on the walls. It looked so chic, like something out of a magazine.
Alejo ran a hand down his spine, to rest at the base, and Roger jumped. He hadn't even noticed him standing so close.
"Oh!"
"I didn't mean to startle you."
"No, I— You didn't." It was a rather obvious lie.
"You've got a beautiful body," Alejo said, in a low voice in his ear. His warm breath fanned over the back of Roger's neck.
Roger turned round and looked at him. No one had said anything like that to him before. It was a nice thing to hear. He wondered if Alejo wanted to have sex now. He stared into his eyes and had no idea what to say.
"You—read a lot?" was what came out.
Alejo gazed at him for a few seconds, then broke into a soft smile. He touched Roger's arm. "Come. Let us have coffee and we can relax. Please sit."
Roger chose the armchair. Alejo went off to what must be the kitchen. Five minutes later he fetched coffee through on a tray, with cups and milk and sugar. The cups were fine white china, thin enough to glow softly. There were little cakes on a plate, small sticky things with nuts and honey.
"Did you study?" Roger said, looking at the books.
"Oh, yes," Alejo said. "For many years I studied to become a doctor of history."
"Is that what you do, teach?"
"Sometimes. More recently I began to collect and sell art."
He must be well off, thought Roger, looking about, and clever. "I left school when I was 16."
"To play the tennis?" Alejo said. "You can hardly do both, I guess."
"I suppose. My parents were upset, but they support me now."
"It was your idea?"
"Yes. I want to be the best in the world."
Alejo sat back on the sofa, looking as cool and elegant as everything else in here. He sipped his coffee. "Then it's admirable that you have such a passion."
"I want to win Wimbledon one day."
"Do you think you can?" Alejo said.
"Yes, I do," Roger said. "I won the juniors already."
"Congratulations." Alejo spread one arm along the back of the couch. He gave Roger a long look. His eyes were so dark, under thick brows. "You are an amazing young man."
Roger ate one of the little cakes, then another, aware that Alejo was still watching him. The coffee was good-- hot and strong in his stomach. On top of the beer he was beginning to feel almost high. When Alejo stood and walked over to him, his pulse ratcheted up. Alejo held out his hand, and Roger took it and stood.
Alejo stroked his hair back from his face and touched his jaw, and then kissed him on the mouth just once, tasting of coffee. The faint touch of stubble against his skin made him almost jump.
"Okay?" Alejo said, slipping his arm round Roger's waist and easing him closer. He kissed Roger's mouth again, cupping his jaw. "Do you like it?"
Roger nodded, unable to speak. It all seemed so right, as if he'd been waiting for this for years. His heart was hammering, and he was so getting so stiff in his underwear that it was becoming uncomfortable. Also, he was sure Alejo could feel it against his stomach.
"It's good," he whispered, and then Alejo kissed him more deeply, reeling him in, teasing open Roger's mouth with his tongue.
Nothing else seemed to matter then, only their lips and tongues sliding together. Roger moaned and let himself focus entirely on the sensations, copying Alejo's movements with his own, learning and experimenting. He put his arms around Alejo's strong, lithe body, holding on tight. When they parted, finally, Alejo was flushed and breathing hard. He stroked Roger's jaw and pushed his fingers up into Roger's hair. Roger did the same. Alejo's curls were soft and cool against his palm.
"Come to bed with me," Alejo said, and let his lips drift feathery kisses across Roger's jaw and down his neck. "I'll make it good for you."
Alejo was hard. It was sticking into Roger's stomach. Roger nodded, his mouth going dry. "I've never done it with a man."
It was better to get that clear, he thought, so that Alejo didn’t have expectations. He tried to visualise how they might look having sex, and could only conjure images of Alejo's bare stomach and the short line of dark hair that had disappeared into his swimming trunks.
Alejo just smiled at him and tugged him along a short corridor and through another door.
His bedroom had a window that looked out over a tangle of small courtyards and alleys. Tall shutters were painted black. The bed was huge and very low. A small polished black cabinet sat next to it. Books were the main decoration in the room, piled high along the walls. A huge foggy grey mirror with a gilded frame was propped against one wall. It was like no room Roger had ever been in before. He tried to imagine showing Alejo his bedroom in Basel, the one with the Basel FC duvet cover, the faded and torn tournament posters and the old wardrobe with the broken handle. The idea just gave him a sort of vertigo. He stood for too long, just looking at the books and their long complicated looking titles, ones he knew he'd never read. People were all so… different he thought.
"I really like your room," he said.
"Good," said Alejo, behind him. He kissed Roger's neck, sucking slightly. His hands were on Roger's jeans, pulling open his belt. "Do you want to stay all night?"
"Yeah," said Roger, with not even a moment of hesitation. Alejo's hands were pushing down into his underwear, exposing him, and thank god he'd chosen one of his new pairs. He looked down, hardly able to believe this was even happening as Alejo's hand closed tight around his bared stiff cock. Roger made a low strangled sound and thrust his hips forward.
"I really like your dick," Alejo said, and laughed softly against his neck. He pushed his other hand under Roger's t-shirt and pinched one nipple.
"Aahhh," Roger gasped. They were so sensitive. He hadn't even known.
"You like that?"
Roger nodded, and moaned when Alejo squeezed the other one, then rubbed over it with his thumb, stroking his cock at the same time. Roger leaned back against him. He hardly felt strong enough to stand.
"You make pretty noises," Alejo murmured in his ear. "I like it." He licked down the side of Roger's neck. "I want you to come like this."
Alejo was solid behind him. Roger reached back and touched where he could, stroking Alejo's hip and thigh and then finding the hard ridge of his cock under his trousers. It filled his palm, hot even through fabric. He rubbed his flattened palm over the head and heard Alejo say something soft and heated in Spanish. He moaned, leaning back completely into Alejo's body, moving his hips in time with Alejo's slow hard strokes, catching his rhythm.
"God," Alejo muttered, in English.
"What did you say before?" Roger managed. He had to know. He had to know everything.
"I want to fuck you." He sped up his strokes, doing something with his thumb around Roger's foreskin that made colours pop behind Roger's squeezed-shut eyes and made the breath catch in his throat. He was going to come; it was rushing up inside him unstoppably.
"You are so fucking beautiful," Alejo whispered, as he started to come. "Come on, baby."
No one had ever called him that before. He opened his eyes and watched himself jerking in streaks over Alejo's long pretty fingers.
The polished black cabinet turned out to contain tissues in one of its drawers. A silver box of condoms and a red plastic bottle rolled about in the drawer too. There were other things too: little brown glass bottles and a leather collar with a buckle, a large silver ring that looked like it opened and closed. Alejo kissed him and smiled again.
"Yeah, just some essentials," he said, as he undressed.
He tossed each piece down, where they crumpled in elegant little heaps on the wooden floor. Roger did the same, and then they were left staring at each other. Alejo was slim and very toned, with not much body hair except between his thighs. His arms and abs were defined as if he were an athlete too. His cock was flushed dark pink and it was pointing straight at Roger.
"I remember how good you looked on the beach," Alejo said, gazing. "Really you are a work of art."
Roger blushed. "It's from the training, you know. It's just… how I look."
The bed was hard, and Alejo was warm and smooth above him, in his arms. So much skin, Roger thought, as he stroked and explored, watching his own hands run over Alejo's ass and hips and stomach. He got hard again as they kissed, winding tight together.
Alejo rolled above him and wound his fingers into Roger's hair, tugged it back from his face. He kissed him hard, almost greedily, then pulled back. He was breathing so intensely, and Roger had a dim flush of pride that he'd caused that.
"I want to feel you move on my cock," Alejo said, pushing his dick hard against Roger's stomach, rubbing it alongside Roger's own cock. "Gorgeous," then he kissed Roger again, licking messily into his mouth.
Roger couldn't honestly say he understood what Alejo meant. He didn’t know what it would feel like, and he couldn't imagine it, but he wanted to find out. Alejo pulled back and looked into his eyes. His pupils were dilated hugely. Release of adrenaline, Roger thought, dimly. Like before a match.
"Okay," Roger said, and it was just a whisper. "Yes. Yeah," and almost moaned at the slow, delighted, and filthy smile that spread across Alejo's face.
They spooned on the bed. Alejo finger fucked him, first, with slippery lube from the red plastic bottle. It was strange and invasive, even though Alejo was slow and careful. Roger lost his erection. There was too much else to think about.
"It's okay," Alejo said, smoothing a palm down Roger's side. "I promise it won't hurt." He got his fingers dripping wet with lube, and kept on stroking and touching and rubbing, slick and slow, pushing deeper gradually with his long gentle fingers. It made something inside Roger ache in an amazingly good way. Roger turned over to press his face against the cool sheets, and Alejo kissed the top of his spine. Roger felt him move behind him, between Roger's spread knees. He waited, hearing the rustle of foil and the snap of latex. This was really happening. Alejo stroked the backs of his thighs, and then there was a thick blunt cock pressing into him.
"Oh, my sweet god," Alejo said. "Roger." He moved carefully, his hips moving in slow thrusts, just rocking in and out until Roger's entire body was prickling with heat. Roger caught his rhythm, again, and began to move too, pushing back to get more. Alejo moaned in appreciation.
He'd expected something fast and hard, but instead Alejo was slow, letting everything build until Roger's stomach was tight, and every nerve in his body was thrumming with this new sensation. Alejo dragged fingers through his hair, tightening for a moment, fucking in hard for one stroke. It sent an electric jolt through his whole body, and he cried aloud into the pillow.
"Please. More," Roger said. "It's good-- It's good like that. Oh, fuck."
"My pleasure," Alejo said, low and intent.
He came with Alejo deep inside him, fucking him as hard as he could take it, jerking him off at the same time. He couldn't tell when Alejo came, not until he let out a long harsh moan and slowed, and stopped.
They lay together on the bed for a long time, tangled and lazy. Alejo told him in a sleepy voice about some galleries he was visiting the next day. Roger told him about how he was going to Miami in a few weeks, and how he hoped to win. Alejo kissed him and stroked his hair, and told him he was sure he would. He told Roger other things too, about films he'd seen, football matches he'd watched, random funny things that had happened to him. He teased from Roger details of his life, and then kissed and laughed him when Roger said his own life was mostly boring and spent in locker rooms.
Alejo's bathroom was very modern, with a slate floor and a brass plug hole in the middle. The shower spattered down into the room. There was showergel that smelled of mint. There were two bottles of aftershave - Gucci and Lanvin, and bottles of face scrub and moisturiser. He inspected it all closely.
"Are you hungry?" Alejo said, around the bathroom door. It was two am.
"Have you got any cornflakes?"
"Uhh, probably."
He ate three bowls while Alejo drank a beer and watched him, smiling to himself. Roger thought it would be really hard to sleep in this strange apartment, with a man he'd only met that day, but in fact it was easy. Alejo dragged him into bed and tucked an arm round his waist, and Roger slept till Alejo woke him in the morning with coffee. They dressed and Alejo walked him back into the town centre.
"Maybe I'll catch you at a tournament one day," Alejo said.
"I really hope so. But look out for my name in the newspaper," Roger said. "Sports section, probably. I'm going to be number one in the world, you know."
Alejo put his head on one side, and gave him an odd smile. "I have no doubt. Oh, hey, wait." He put his hand in his pocket. "You forgot this." In his palm lay Roger's new necklace. It must've come off in the bed. For some reason, it didn't look as stylish as it had yesterday. Alejo didn’t wear any jewellery.
Alejo didn't give it over immediately. He raised it to his mouth and pressed a kiss to it. "For luck, no?"
Roger took it and put it on. He thought for a moment that he might cry. "Thank you," he said. "I won't forget you," he blurted, meeting Alejo's dark and intense gaze.
Alejo pushed his hair out of his eyes, shrugging, half smiling. "Is okay if you do. It's life." His smile was only half convincing.
Roger realised that the moment had come to say goodbye. Alejo didn't look back as he walked away. That was important, somehow, Roger thought, because he wanted nothing more than to run after him. Alejo had kissed him long and slowly before they'd left his place, and he'd given Roger his number just in case he ever came back.
Roger stood for a moment, trying to process all the new things he'd learned since yesterday. He touched the thin cool band of beads around his neck. He wasn't sure luck had that much to do with his future.
"For luck," he said, anyway, and went to find the bus stop.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-06-16 08:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-16 08:44 pm (UTC)The OMC is perfect - so distinct from R's future partners, and yet so believable as someone Roger would be attracted to, enough to trust and to emulate. Love the hints and foreshadowing of the elegant, cosmopolitan, and yet sometimes-still-dorky Roger we've come to know. And the not-looking-back -- oh, that hit me right in the gut, in a good way. Lucky
no subject
Date: 2009-06-16 09:13 pm (UTC)"Aahhh," Roger gasped. They were so sensitive. He hadn't even known.
"You like that?"
Roger nodded, and moaned when Alejo squeezed the other one, then rubbed over it with his thumb, stroking his cock at the same time. Roger leaned back against him. He hardly felt strong enough to stand.
"You make pretty noises," Alejo murmured in his ear. "I like it." He licked down the side of Roger's neck. "I want you to come like this."
ohh the contrast of the two of them is so intense and sexual and emotional and just bluuuuuugh, I can't make words. it's just perfect.
this whole thing was beautiful and painful, just like growing up, and so very very Roger.
*loves*
no subject
Date: 2009-06-16 09:33 pm (UTC)That was so involving and well written. So good on. . . what it's like to be young. And a nice take on Roger's slightly hippyish style before he suddenly smartened up a few years back. . .
Not to mention super hot.
Awesome.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-16 10:15 pm (UTC)So much giggling, and blushing, and UNF-ing!
Also, thank you Alejo, for teaching Roger what he will one day pass on to another handsome Spanish boy. :D
I LOVE YOU LOU! ♥
no subject
Date: 2009-06-16 11:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 12:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 01:13 am (UTC)Mmmh!
You know, it's very special, how you do your OCs. I usually don't care for fic with them at all, but the ones you've done for these fics are very good - I get caught up in them.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 04:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 09:02 pm (UTC)And I Thank You For That!
Puca shell wearing, virgin!Roger = totally hot
You have such a gift for setting a scene and making it seem so real. Such a great talent you have.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 09:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-18 05:26 am (UTC)Foam party (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foam_party). I've been to one. It was pretty fun! Didn't met anyone called Gunter though. And OMC = original male character.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-18 12:25 pm (UTC)alejo, you creep. take me to bed!
no subject
Date: 2009-06-20 12:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-26 02:25 pm (UTC)Thank you so much :)