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Title: Underneath (3/4)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Roddick/Federer
Summary: Andy comes up with a dare for a shy Roger and decides to join in to make it easier.
Notes: Just a plotbunny that’s been gnawing at me for a while, kicked off I think by a certain guy-who-shall-not-be-named mentioning how often his flat hang out in their rooms with no clothes on. (Three words; students, expensive laundrette. Need I say more? ^__~) Pretty safe fluff and smut, I think, more than a little silly if you ask me. :) But all in good fun.
Disclaimer: Mine? Nope. Never have been, never will be.

Part One
Part Two


Wednesday 10:31am

“I can’t believe we fell asleep on the rug.”

“Can you move your arm yet?” Andy asks ruefully, glancing over his shoulder at Roger. The Swiss is perched stiffly on the edge of the bathtub, watching Andy shave over the sink. There’s the kind of tension that comes from sleeping on a floor all night in the hunch of his shoulders, one arm curled awkwardly across his knees as he waits for the pins and needles to fade but he still manages a smile in response to Andy’s questioning look.

“Almost. Your head isn’t that heavy.”

“Sorry.” Andy mutters for about the fifth time, still feeling guilty for unconsciously using Roger’s arm for a pillow. A second later he realises he should be watching what he’s doing when he almost cuts himself, hastily dragging his attention back to the mirror as he slides the razor more carefully along his jaw. The sunlight shining through the window sparkles on the glass but he can still see Roger’s reflection if he squints, watching the wincing frown that crosses the Swiss’ face when he shifts little.

“Don’t apologise.” Despite the frown Roger sounds insistent, echoing his reply to the first four apologies. “We should have thought to move before we fell asleep.” He sighs, swinging one leg over into the empty bath with another wince and sliding backwards until he can lean against the wall. “What do you want to do today?”

“Don’t know. Kick your ass on the Playstation maybe. Play cards.” Andy washes the razor in the sink, reluctantly taking his eyes off Roger’s naked reflection as he tilts his head back to reach under his chin. “We haven’t even been doing this for two days yet. There must be tons of stuff we haven’t done.”

“Yes, if your boyfriend has an attention span of longer than ten seconds,” Roger comments, all sweet innocence and Andy’s swift glare is met with a chuckle. “Maybe that was unfair.”

“Yes, it was.”

“Perhaps it’s more like five seconds.”

“You’re not too big for me to spank you Roger,” Andy warns, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice. There’s a creak from the bath and warm arms wrap around his waist as he turns to look, bare skin against him from his shoulders downwards. He can’t help a shiver of pleasure when Roger kisses the back of his neck. “Is this you trying to bribe me out of spanking you?”

“Maybe I’m trying to bribe you into it,” Roger says softly, his voice laced with suggestion. Andy’s shiver is harder this time, running icily down his spine despite Roger’s warmth and it takes a hard swallow before he can speak.

“Roger, I need to tell you something.”

There’s a soft exhalation against his neck, wet lips brushing his skin as Roger opens his mouth to reply but he doesn’t make it past the first syllable before he’s interrupted. “Wh-“

From downstairs, the doorbell rings.

Already tense, Andy flinches in surprise from the unexpected sound, Roger’s arms tightening around him to hold him steady. There’s a split second when their legs tangle together and they’re on the edge of falling, Andy feeling himself start to tip, then Roger’s fingertips catch the edge of the sink. He holds them upright almost by force of will until Andy’s found his balance, relaxing into the Swiss with a sigh of relief.

“Expecting someone?” he asks when his heart stops pounding, forcing lightness into his tone that he doesn’t feel. Roger holds on a second longer, as if checking Andy’s fully balanced before letting go and moving towards the door.

“No. I’ll get rid of them.”

“I’ll be down in a sec.” Andy manages to grin wickedly after the Swiss. “Remember, no clothes!” Roger waves a dismissive hand over his shoulder and he’s halfway down the stairs, well out of hearing distance, before Andy lets himself sigh.

“Guess I’ll just tell you some other time.”

Fishing the razor from the soapy water, he finishes the last patch under his chin and washes his face, reaching for a towel as he turns from the sink. His fingers have barely snagged the cotton before there’s a loud scream from downstairs.

“ROGER?!” Andy’s out the bathroom and down the stairs so fast his feet barely touch the floor, towel still clenched forgotten in his hand as he almost falls into the downstairs hallway. His heart is hammering in his chest and when he crashes into something warm and solid as he sprints into the kitchen, he can’t bite back his own yell of shock.

“Andy?!” Familiar hands help him catch his balance for the second time in five minutes, Roger pulling the American against him in a half-hug. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I-“ Andy straightens up, gasping for breath. “You screamed and I thought-“

“It was my fault,” a voice says from across the room and Andy glances up in surprise, meeting the eyes of a very red Mirka who quickly turns away to stare fixedly at the wall. Andy can’t work our why for a moment until he shifts in Roger’s arms and the Swiss’ cock brushes his thigh. Oh right. Naked. He feels his own face start to heat up as Mirka swallows, her voice apologetic. “There was no answer when I knocked so I used my key.”

“And walked right into me.” Roger sounds unusually sullen and Andy glances at him in surprise, frowning at the stubborn set of the Swiss’ jaw, the look he only gets when he’s upset. Mirka’s seen him naked countless times before, so Andy wouldn’t have thought this would upset him so much. “I wasn’t expecting it so-“

“He screamed like a girl,” Mirka comments, her face still red but a hint of teasing in her tone as she sneaks a look their way. Roger flushes brighter red.

“So did you!”

“I am a girl! I’m supposed to scream like one.”

“That’s no excuse!”

“Um.” Andy interrupts, having witnessed Roger versus Mirka arguments before and having made a silent vow never to allow them to bitch at each other for longer than ten seconds from then on. He didn’t need to speak Swiss-German to know that the insults they screamed at each other were viciously rude - just listening to their tone of voice was enough. “Can we not have a screaming match today, for the sake of my sanity? Mirka, sorry Roger freaked you out. We’re kind of… in the middle of something.”

“I can see that,” Mirka remarks dryly. “I wanted to borrow my spare key, for a friend, but it’s not urgent. I will leave you to get back to…” She trails off, flushing a darker shade of red as she hurries past them without taking her eyes off the floor. “Ja. Um. I’ll go.”

Roger follows her, taking the towel hanging loosely from Andy’s hand as he passes and wrapping it around his waist. Andy’s still too stunned and embarrassed to do more than listen to their voices out in the hallway.

“Mirka, I’m sorry. We weren’t expecting anyone.”

“It’s my fault.” Mirka switches to Swiss-German for her next words and Andy frowns in annoyance, moving to the doorway to watch them. Roger’s staring fixedly at the floor while he listens, occasionally growling a response as he uncomfortably readjusts the towel and Andy starts to worry that this will put the Swiss off the naked-bet completely. Damn Mirka, having a goddamn key. Roger had just been starting to settle into the whole thing and then Mirka had to come along to remind him to be shy. Determined not to quit now, Andy moves up behind Roger and wraps his arms around the Swiss waist, resting his chin on Roger’s shoulder as Mirka finishes her sentence and tries to smile at him. Andy wonders about the strained edge to it and dismisses it as embarrassment as she switches to English.

“Again, sorry for the bad timing. Nice to see you Andy.” Abruptly she realises how that could be taken the wrong way and swallows hard. “I didn’t mean seeing-“

“I know.” Andy has to fight not to chuckle, especially now most of him is hidden behind Roger and he’s feeling less exposed. “It was nice to see you too. Sorry we shocked you.”

“I’ll call next time,” Mirka promises, turning to leave with an air of utter relief. “Bye Roger.”

“Bye,” Roger mutters and Andy feels his heart sink at the flat tone to the Swiss’ voice; Roger’s rethinking this whole thing, he can tell. Sure enough, when the door closes behind Mirka Roger stays where he is, head bowed and tension in the set of his shoulders.

“Rog?” Andy asks softly. He lets one hand slide up to the Swiss’ left shoulder, rubbing his fingertips soothingly over the tight muscles. “You okay?”

“Ja.” There’s a whole world of ‘no’ behind the positive. “Andy, I think--”

“No,” Andy shakes his head, tightening his grip around Roger’s waist. “We’re not giving this up Roger, not because of a little embarrassment.”

“A little embarrassment-!”

“No!” Andy’s tone is flat and determined. “You promised me a week Roger and it’s not exactly been hard so far. I’m not letting you quit all of a sudden.”

“You’re not letting me do anything. It’s just your stupid dare!” Roger snaps and ouch, the sharp edge to his voice hurts. Andy lets go of the Swiss like he’s been burnt, stepping back and unable to keep the sarcastic tone from his reply.

“Well I’m sorry. I thought we were having fun but clearly I was mistaken. I’ll leave you to people more on your level then shall I? Since my games are obviously too stupid for you.”

“I didn’t say that!” On the defensive, Roger raises his voice and it’s enough to shake Andy’s angry resolve. The Swiss only yells when he’s really upset and when Andy thinks about it, maybe he had overreacted a little. He’s opening his mouth to apologise when Roger’s next words, hissed as the Swiss turns, make him flinch. “Though you know, I didn’t call you stupid but if you’re going to act like this? Maybe I should have.”

For a moment, Andy can’t breathe through the hurt. Then his mouth is taking over and he’s snapping back before he can stop to think. “Alright, I get it! Humour the stupid American until you decide playing along is beneath you right?” Bitterness sharpens the words to razors; he’s always wondered, deep down, if Roger thinks himself the smarter of the two of them but there’s no satisfaction in having his fears confirmed. He’s just mad, so mad he can’t think straight because everyone thinks he’s stupid, the press, the fans, most of the tour. He’d thought – hoped – Roger had a better opinion of him. Guess not. “Fuck, at least I’m smart enough to know when I’m not wanted! I’ll leave his highness to his intellectual solitude, shall I?”


“WHAT?” Andy shouts the word as he turns sharply round, catches a flash of what he thinks is shock but it’s gone instantly as Roger’s expression hardens from whatever it was into blank fury.

“All you’re doing is proving me right,” he points out icily, the calm worse than yelling because it means he’s beyond angry, into disgust. “You’re being stupid.”

“You think I didn’t hear you the first time?” The part of Andy that’s begging him just to swallow his pride and apologise fades to almost-nothing under a fresh surge of angry humiliation. Roger’s staring at him in open disgust and Andy refuses to notice the tears shining in dark eyes, the smear of red where the Swiss has bitten his lip. He’s not going to stick around to hear that Roger never really respected him, to ruin all the good moments – and there’ve been more than he can count – from the last few months. Turning on his heel, he stalks towards the stairs and if he hears a sniffle from behind him, he dismisses it; it’s not like he can look back anyway, not without risking meeting that dark, disgusted glare again. Deep down he knows that if Roger’s standing there, drawing in on himself as he always does when he’s upset with shoulders hunched and arms crossed defensively over his bare chest, there’s no way he could keep walking. He’d be back there with his arms around the Swiss in seconds and his pride won’t let him even consider it. Climbing the stairs, he tells himself the bitter taste in his mouth isn’t guilt, because he’s got nothing to be guilty for.

Nothing at all.

Wednesday 1:54pm

Sitting on the floor almost two hours later, clothes and shoes scattered around him in various states of packing, Andy’s still mad. Roger hasn’t come upstairs since the fight; from past ones, Andy’s willing to bet the Swiss is curled up on the sofa with the fluffy blanket, sniffling. With every shirt he tossed into the case, he’d promised himself it would be the last one before Roger came to apologise. Any minute now he’d told himself, Rog would walk through the door with tears in his eyes and begs forgiveness. Andy’s even stayed naked so they won’t have broken the dare.

But he’s packed all his shirts and he’s starting to get a little desperate. They’ve never stayed mad at each other for this long before.

Reaching out to grab some jeans from half under the bed, a corner of bright cloth catches his eyes and he leans over further, dragging the rest of it from under a heap of clothes. It’s the t-shirt that started this and Andy’s breath catches in his throat as he tentatively buries his face it in, smelling Roger and sex and everything he’s come to think of as ‘comfort’. For a moment he just breathes in hard, cotton becoming damp against his mouth and then the tears spill over. He presses the shirt harder to his face as his shoulders shake with silent sobs. He loves Roger. It would be the stupidest thing in the world to let a single argument break them up, especially when he’s starting to see Roger’s point about him acting stupid. They’d both been tired after sleeping on the floor, Mirka had surprised them, they hadn’t been thinking straight… Excuses to apologise with his pride intact and Andy’s half standing up when he realises Roger’s already standing at the door.

“Hey.” The Swiss’ voice is cracked and his eyes are red-rimmed, arms crossed uncomfortably across his chest. He’s still naked and Andy wants to take that as a good sign, an involuntary shiver running through him at the sight of the body he’d thought – a little dramatically, this close to apologising he can admit it - he might never see again. Roger’s as gorgeous with shoulders hunched and a tearstained face as he is dressed up for one of his many award ceremonies and when faced with the reality, Andy suddenly can’t care as much about a half-imagined insult. Roger’s barely opened his mouth, an apology clearly on his lips, before Andy’s off the floor and across the room, t-shirt still in hand as he wraps his arms around the shaking Swiss.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers before Roger can speak. “I’m so stupid.”

A choked sob is his only answer and then Roger’s kissing him desperately, apologising without words as he lets Andy harden the kiss until the American can feel his lips stinging, teeth scraping along soft skin. Neither of them breaks away as Roger pushes Andy back towards the bed; at the edge he turns them, so when they fall, it’s him who lands underneath. Andy braces himself above the Swiss and grinds his hips down, an instinctive move that has the both of them gasping at the friction of skin on skin.

“Fuck me?” A pleading note to Roger’s voice and Andy hears what he wants, means to say, I’m sorry, and nods. The lube is a quick scramble in the top drawer away and he slides back to sit between the Swiss’ thighs to prepare him. A second before his slick fingers touch Roger, the Swiss’ hand is gripping his wrist.

“Don’t,” Roger whispers. Andy glances at him, startled and a little worried, only to be met with steely determination in the dark eyes. “Please Andy I—I need to feel it.”

Andy hesitates a moment longer. He’s not mad anymore although it doesn’t matter, he’d never take his anger out on Roger. He doesn’t want to hurt the Swiss but if Roger wants it…

Roger makes the decision for him; letting go of the American’s wrist, he swipes the heap of lube from his hand and starts to stroke Andy’s cock, just hard enough to draw a whimper from him. Before Andy can recover the ability to think, Roger guides his now lube-slick cock into place and his heels are digging into the small of Andy’s back, pulling him in.

It takes an immense effort to resist, panic flashing through Andy briefly until he focuses hard enough to remember it’s Roger underneath him and not someone else. Mardy’s blue eyes flash quickly across his mind and he starts to pull away from the tight grip of Roger’s legs around his waist. “Roger, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Andy, please.” He’s never heard Roger that close to begging, not even during sex and it’s enough to make him pause. Roger’s staring up at him with wide, frantic eyes. “I need something, I need to know—“

I need to know you’re still here, another sentence he doesn’t need to finish because Andy gets what he can’t voice and resistance is melting away. It’s been years since Mardy and this is more than a playful want to try rough sex. Means more than that and Andy’s never been able to withstand looks like the one Roger’s giving him now, desperation and need and lust in the slight frown, in the press of his teeth to his bottom lip. There’s nothing Andy can do when faced with a determined, desperate Roger and he bends down to kiss the bitten-ragged lips, tasting the tang of blood with concern as he pushes his hips forward. Roger arcs up beneath him with a surprised gasp and the move slides Andy in faster than he meant to, stretching Roger the hard way. The Swiss’ moan is loud in the quiet room.

“You okay?” Andy asks anxiously, fighting instinct to keep his hips still and Roger nods, tension shivering through him. Andy almost whimpers as muscles clench tight on his cock. “Rog, babe… please relax. Sssshhh.” He keeps up a stream of whispered comfort until Roger’s relaxed into the tangled sheets, exhaling a long breath and then kisses him, starting to rock his hips gently. With a whimper, Roger tenses again until Andy purposefully angles his thrust to hit his prostate, all the tension suddenly gone as Roger’s hips buck up beneath him and Andy’s laugh is a little breathless. Roger growls at him in German but Andy’s only other response is to speed up, movement easier now the Swiss is relaxed and looser, heat still wrapped wonderfully tight and slick around his cock. This isn’t like the last time he fucked someone with no prep at all; Mardy had been into it but Andy could see how much it hurt, blue eyes fluttering painfully shut with every movement. His rhythm falters at the thought but Roger jerks his hips up and Andy gasps, balls tightening and thoughts of Mardy gone as he comes, pleasure shuddering through him. The Swiss comes a second later with Andy’s hand on his cock and a groan that could be Andy’s name into the American’s mouth when they kiss.

It takes them both long minutes to wind down, Andy sliding out inch by cautious inch, pausing every time Roger catches his breath sharply. It’s only when they’re side by side, cleaned up and snuggled together in the bed, that he lets himself ask the question that’s been on his mind.

“So what was that about?”

“Nothing. Everything.” Roger’s got his head pillowed on Andy’s shoulder, already more than half asleep. “I felt like I deserved it. I didn’t mean to call you stupid.”

“I didn’t mean to overreact, so I guess we were both in the wrong.” Andy’s voice lowers, taking on an odd edge of seriousness. “But Rog, please don’t make me hurt you. Because in future I won’t , understand?”

Roger raises his head to see Andy’s face, surprise in his eyes. “You didn’t really hurt me.”

“I know, and I never want to. Don’t ask okay?” Andy shifts uncomfortably as Roger keeps staring at him, a tiny frown creasing the Swiss’ forehead. “What?”

“You were going to tell me something,” Roger says softly. “Earlier, before Mirka called. “What was it?”

“Nothing.” It doesn’t even sound like the truth and Roger raises an eyebrow, frown deepening. “Look Rog, I’m really tired and it wasn’t important. Let’s just sleep.”

Studying him a few moments more, Roger finally drops his head back to Andy’s chest, closing his eyes. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Relief makes Andy dizzy for a moment and he’s glad to close his eyes, sinking into sleep. He thought he wanted to explain but today has taught him to be careful. If he tells Roger now, he’ll never be able to take it back and if he waits till he’s sure, it'll be less likely to backfire. He lets himself drift, last remnants of the orgasm shivering through him and he’s relieved they made up. Roger’s—well. He’s not sure how he’d cope without Roger to cling to now. Maybe he’ll tell the Swiss someday or maybe not.

He’s too asleep to form an answer by the time Roger murmurs, “Whenever you want to tell me, I’m listening.”

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