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Title: Marshmallow (1/9)
Pairings: This part - Roddick/Fish, implied Haas/Safin, variations of all kinds later.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sometimes all it takes is a change of scenery to change everything else. Andy, Mardy and Roger might finally get what they think they want, even if it's not really what they want at all.
Notes: Set in an undefined timespace, though generally around the 2006 summer hardcourt season in America.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Totally made up, as you may be able to tell from the lack of, well, trying to make it seem realistic at *all*. They all own themselves and don’t, to the best of my knowledge, get up to naughty things in the locker room or indeed up mountains in tents.
Dedications: For [livejournal.com profile] kindoftrouble and [livejournal.com profile] lossi who wanted snuggling by the campfire with marshmallows. I blame this completely, utterly and entirely on them. ;)





It’s possible, Andy thinks, that marshmallows are tools of the devil.

Not as crazy as it sounds; he put thought into the theory on the road trip up here, five of them crammed into a rental car with stains on the seats he didn’t want to think about too closely and windows that were too clogged with dirt to close the final inch, wheezing breezes from the ancient air conditioning sucked out the gaps before the car’s interior cooled at all. Mardy pressed against him, shirtless, stuck together with sweat like glue in the heat and Andy had rested his head against his boyfriend’s with the laziness of being too hot and contemplated marshmallows.

Soft. Pink, white, occasionally a whole spectrum of pretty colours, the most innocent-seeming food imaginable with nothing to suggest their evil intent but Andy knew better. It was the marshmallows’ fault that he was here at all. This whole weekend totally the fault of tiny confections, sugar and syrup and pure evil sitting pretty in plastic bags at their feet. The reason he was hot, that he was squashed into a too-small car and wondering just *exactly* what that crunching noise in the engine was, oh god if it gave out then they’d left even the back end of nowhere behind a while ago and no one would find them before they starved to death, a week’s supply of marshmallows nowhere near enough. Five tennis players tragically lost in camping trip, headline news and the tennis world never quite recovering, perhaps him and Mardy expendable, perhaps Tommy and Marat but not the Swiss number one curled into the opposite end of the back seat, defiant air of misery hovering around him like a dark cloud.

Nevermind this was almost as much his fault as anything. That Andy had only opened his mouth to make the bet after Roger’s confession that he’d never done the camping thing, an innocent conversation about the perfectly toasted marshmallow leading to poker wagers and Andy picking out a trip into the mountains as forfeit if the Swiss lost, which he did in the face of Andy’s smirk and flush, cards laid out like trophies until he realised he’d included himself in the deal. Written his free weekend off in the space of a poker game, agreed to spend three days with a guy who wouldn’t know how to survive in the wilderness even if given neatly numbered instructions. Andy’s no expert but he can at least accomplish a simple camping trip. Did it all the time with Mardy back in high school and it had taken him all of five seconds to decide his boyfriend was coming along for the ride. Not to mention to help him keep Roger safe; he hates to think what the tennis world would do to him if he let anything happen to their adored number one.

Suspects Marat and Tommy are tagging along for exactly that reason. Roger had worn a distinctly pissed off look when he asked Andy if it was okay, the ‘I-just-got-yelled-at-by-my-friends-for-making-dumb-bets’ look. Andy’s seen it plenty of times, usually looking back at him from a mirror. He’d said yes of course, the more people to look after Roger the better even it did make the Swiss more of a third – or in this case, fifth – wheel. Andy’s pretty sure Marat and Tommy would’ve been up for a foursome, knows Mardy definitely would’ve, given some of the stuff they’ve tried in the past. With straight-sweet-and-innocent-Roger around though, they’ll all have to be on their best behaviour.

The whole thing, five people stuck in a tent together for three days, all because the Great God of tennis had never toasted a marshmallow. And if that doesn’t make the damn things evil, Andy’s sure he’ll have a whole list of grievances against them by the time Sunday evening and a return to civilisation rolls around.

First on said list will be how easy the damn things are to throw. The third one in as many minutes bounces off his forehead, leaving a smudge of sugar dust that itches and he idly flips Mardy off without bothering to lift his head or even open his eyes. It’s cooler in the mountains, just enough to make lying in the sun pleasant rather than akin to being roasted in an oven. Marat and Tommy disappeared to ‘collect wood’ – which he can see is going to be the weekend’s euphemism for ‘going to have sex’ – hell knows where Roger went, maybe to sulk somewhere, while Mardy volunteered himself and Andy on tent-erecting services. Only once Andy realised the blond had meant the actual tent and it wasn’t another secret having-sex code, he’d left Mardy puzzling over instructions and flopped down for a nap on the bank of the little lake they’d found.

The fourth marshmallow hitting his chin with force is probably a sign that his boyfriend’s not exactly impressed.

“ANDY! Get your ass over here or you’ll be sleeping outside for the bears to eat!”

“And you’ll be cold and lonely in your sleeping bag without me,” Andy yells back, tucking a hand under his head as a makeshift pillow. He doesn’t bother opening his eyes, knowing Mardy will be pulling faces at him but comfortable with putting off revenge until he’s less sleepy, less comfortable. “If you want to get any ever again, you won’t let anything happen to me.”

Silence. Lasting beyond a pause to shape a comeback, beyond what’s normal, lasting so long in fact that Andy starts to worry. He doesn’t really think there’re bears, at least not nearby and anyway Mardy would’ve yelled or at least said something, maybe, unless… Unless he didn’t and Andy’s lifting his head to check, Mardy’s name hovering anxiously –- until lips touch his, catching it unsaid.

So. Definitely not eaten by bears then. Something of a relief, not letting on just how much as he leans his head back for Mardy to trail wet, slightly marshmallow-sticky kisses down his throat, because he’d never hear the end of it if he admitted he’d believed the bear thing.

Not that he had, of course not, he’s not – okay, maybe a little bit. Better keep on Mardy’s good side so he can sleep inside the tent tonight, though there’s no bad side in sight as weight settles across his legs, heavy and welcome and oh god, hand down his jeans, rough, a little awkward under restricting denim but damp sweat and hot, callused skin the best thing he’s felt since climbing into that damn car. This could make this whole dumb trip a lot better, if— if Mardy would just keep doing that with his tongue, hot breath on wet skin and Andy moans a little, squirming as the blond passes over a ticklish spot on his neck.

“You know, I’d still get sex even if you did get eaten by bears,” Mardy whispers, teasing, thumb rubbing over the head of Andy’s cock through his underwear. “I’m sure Tommy and Marat wouldn’t let me get cold.”

Bastard, insult coming out as strangled vowel sounds only, Andy throwing his head back and writhing hard enough that he knows the grass stains will still be there when they go home. Sun overhead too bright for comfort through screwed-shut eyelids, hot on his face until Mardy’s shadow blocks it out. Lips touch his again, soft kisses that taste like sugar and the soda he was drinking in the car and he thinks, knows that he’ll never get tired of kissing Mardy though they’ve made out countless times since they were teenagers. (Whether they were dating each other or not; there’s a reason Andy’s other relationships tend not to last.) The air around them feels heavy, slow and thick like syrup as he breathes in against Mardy’s mouth, even that an effort with the lazy rock of hips against his and nothing mattering but the hand on his dick and Mardy kissing him somewhere other than behind locked doors.

They used to do this on their camping trips, find a hidden spot and make out beside their tent, no one for miles who might see them. Andy hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it.

“Fuck me,” he murmurs when he can get the words out, wondering briefly how Mardy can reduce him to begging without so much as trying and then dismissing it, no one to see him moaning beneath the blonde’s hands so it doesn’t matter. It matters more that Mardy goes still at the request, heat close to burning where their hips press together, hotter where his fingers curl against Andy’s cock.

“The others—“

“Aren’t here.” Andy opens his eyes, hard when they’re heavy with arousal and heat and it takes a few lazy blinks to focus on Mardy’s face above him. The other American is blushing, ducking his head to avoid meeting Andy’s questioning look. “Mardy, we’re in the middle of the most deserted mountain range we could find. Marat and Tommy are off fucking like bunnies already. They wouldn’t care if they saw us, that or they’d thank us for the free show.” Reaching up, Mardy’s cheek hot against his fingertips as he traces the scattering of freckles along one cheekbone, feeling the flush of warmth as the other American blushes harder. “I dare you.”

Flash of blue as Mardy glares at him, looks away. “Roger? Thought we were keeping this all innocent for him. It can’t be fun Andy, being here with two couples—“

“Yeah well, he’s gone to sulk somewhere other than here,” Andy says firmly, ignoring a tug of guilt because he knows, under the burn of arousal making it hard to think straight, that Mardy’s right. Roger’s in the most awkward of positions this weekend but really, it’s not like the Swiss will mind a little sex. He’s been with Mirka long enough, rumoured break-up or not; the guy can’t be totally naïve and Andy knows he won’t be able to keep his hands off Mardy for the next three days. Not even the next three minutes if he’s honest, not for the sake of Roger’s comfort. “C’mon Mardy, we’ll be stuck in a tent with everyone else tonight and this might be the only chance we get.”

A pause, blue eyes thoughtful for all of a second before Mardy softens, Andy seeing the tension ease from his boyfriend’s face as a smirk replaces the frown. Hint of wickedness in the curl of his mouth, rare for Mardy; he only smirks when he’s about to break the rules or be a tease, when he knows a silently furious Andy is watching him flirt with other players and is planning just how hard to spank the older American as punishment as soon as they’re alone. There long enough for Andy to catch it, breath catching in the knowledge of what’s coming before Mardy slides, slowly, downward.

Roger briefly crosses Andy’s mind, the thought of what he and Mardy look like enough to raise a flush but it’s too late, request made, and he closes his eyes against the bright sun and rationality as he writhes under Mardy’s touch.

“Stay still,” Mardy warns, making it a demand. Andy bites his lip and tries, everything in him screaming for more contact, more anything as the fingertips of the hand not around his cock skate the strip of skin between t-shirt and jeans, slowly, Mardy pausing teasingly as he reaches the button. Drawing it out, waiting for Andy’s growl of desperation before popping the button with a laugh and Andy can’t keep his hips from pushing up at the sudden easing of tight denim around his cock, back arcing off crushed grass only for Mardy to pin him down.

“Andy,” Mardy whispering it against the curve of Andy’s hip, warning tone despite the kisses he trails along sweat-beaded skin. His mouth’s close, so very close to where Andy wants it. “Keep moving and I’ll go back to the tent.”

“Fuck you Fishy,” Andy gasps out. Everything around them is as good as gone, the smell of crushed grass, the splash of the lake on the beach, a stick cracking nearby, none of it matters as much as what he knows is coming, Mardy curling a finger around the waistband of his underwear. “Ple—please Mardy, I want—“

-- this, cotton barrier yanked away and wet heat where it counts, wrapping tightly around his cock until he knows he won’t last long. Mardy’s tongue flicking at the head, drawing patterns over heated skin and Andy’s hands fist in the grass, moan ground out through his teeth with every slide of mouth and lips, occasional grate of teeth only making it better, each jerk of his hips prompting another, harder. It’s hard to believe they’re doing this again, something extra added by the breeze ghosting along damp skin, the sun hotter now with the flush of holding back orgasm as long as he can, wanting to make this last. The hand that isn’t pressing bruises into his hip slides underneath him, callused skin on his balls with sure, firm grip just the way Andy likes and it’s too much. With a gasp that’s more than half a whimper he comes in a mind-numbing rush, barely aware of Mardy swallowing around him as he rides out the high before relaxing limply back into the flattened grass.

“Told you it was good idea,” he mutters hoarsely after a minute.

Mardy pulls off him with a wet sound, starting to laugh and reply before the words catch in a strangled hiss. Startled, Andy cracks an eye open to see what’s wrong.

“Mardy, what—“

“Roger!” Mardy interrupts him, voice high and strained. There’s a look of mortification on his bright-red face that lets Andy know he’s not joking, though oh god he hopes it’s not true as he twists round to follow the direction of his boyfriend’s stare. He flushes as red as Mardy when he meets Roger’s wide eyes, the Swiss blushing as hard as them and starting to back hastily away.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—I was just—I’ll go, I—

“Roger!” Andy starts to scramble out from under Mardy, trying to tug his jeans back up as he closes his eyes in utter humiliation. He’s never going to be able to face Roger on court again. “Roger we were just—I mean we didn’t mean to, we thought you’d gone somewhere. Um. We’re really sorry—“

“Don’t worry, it—“Roger’s voice cracks and he turns. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Wait Roger, don’t—“ Too late as the Swiss breaks into a run, fast disappearing into the trees and Andy sinks back to the ground, resisting the urge to hide his face in hands. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so humiliated in his life.

“Well,” Mardy says flatly after a long silence. “This is going to be a fun weekend.”

Fumbling over the grass without looking, Andy finds a discarded marshmallow and throws it at him.



* * *

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