Wimbledon
A year passed.
One quiet, brutal, aching year.
After that night in New York—after the wine, the kiss, the hours that followed in Rory’s hotel room where everything unsaid finally found its voice in whispered moans and trembling hands—they went their separate ways.
There were no promises. No plans.
Just one look before Andrés left in the early hours, shirt wrinkled, lips bruised, socks in his pocket.
The next time they played each other, in Rome, they didn’t speak. Andrés beat Rory in three tight sets. The handshake was brief. A flicker of eye contact. A silence so loud it rang in Rory’s ears for days.
They both dated women again. More carefully now, with more distance. Rory even tried harder with Clara. He brought her to Ireland for Christmas, introduced her to his sister. But it was like reaching through fog. His body remembered something different now. His mind kept returning to the New York skyline, to Andrés’s laugh, to the feel of another man’s hand at the small of his back.
By the time Wimbledon rolled around again, Rory knew the draw by heart before it was even posted. If both men played to seed, they’d meet in the semifinals.
They did.
That day, Centre Court was sweltering under a rare London sun. Rory stood on the baseline, heart beating like a drum. Across the net, Andrés bounced on the balls of his feet, eyes focused and dark, shirt clinging to the definition of his torso.
Both men wore the mandatory all-white. Tight white polos. Short white shorts clinging to strong thighs. Sneakers bright against the green grass. White crew socks pulled high over calves honed by years of footwork and obsession.
It wasn’t just a match. It was a war fought through glances.
Rory’s serves came harder. Andrés’s returns sharper. Between points, they lingered with their eyes. There were gasps from the crowd, but none louder than the hum building between the two of them with each set.
Rory took the first. Andrés the second.
Sweat darkened the fabric at their backs. They stared at each other through the net, flushed and breathless, tennis gods and something more, something secret.
By the fifth set, the tension was unbearable. Not just on the court.
In the locker room afterward, they didn’t speak. Just showered. Dressed. Andrés passed Rory by the mirror, and for one split second, brushed fingers over the back of Rory’s hand.
That was all it took.
⸻
That night, Rory stood at the bar inside the Sky Garden, overlooking the lights of London. He wore a crisp white dress shirt, fitted tight around his arms and chest. The top buttons were open, revealing a hint of collarbone and that ever-present silver crucifix. His navy trousers hugged his thighs, and on his feet: black Italian dress shoes with thin black cotton crew socks visible just above the leather.
He sipped his whiskey slowly, eyes flicking toward the elevator every few minutes.
And then—he was there.
Andrés.
His pants were cobalt blue, immaculately tailored. His black Chelsea boots looked polished enough to reflect the skyline. He wore a dark button-up, sleeves rolled just enough to show the sinew of his forearms, his mustache trimmed, eyes soft. His argyle socks—blue and grey—peeked above the boots when he walked. He saw Rory, smiled with just the corner of his mouth, and made his way over.
“I half-expected you to leave early,” Rory murmured, raising his glass.
“I thought about it,” Andrés replied, eyes dropping for a moment to Rory’s chest, then lower. “But I wanted to see London at night.”
Rory’s smile curved. “Looks better from my hotel room.”
Andrés laughed softly, shaking his head. “Déjà vu.”
They talked over drinks. Not about tennis. Not about strategy or rankings or the reporters still chasing them with long lenses. They talked about childhood. About growing up on opposite coasts of Europe. About family, food, loneliness, faith, heat.
They leaned in too close. Their knees brushed under the high table. Rory’s foot slid forward once, just enough that his black sock grazed Andrés’s boot.
That did it.
They left together, walked out into the humid night without another word.
The elevator was empty.
The second the doors closed, Andrés pressed Rory gently but firmly against the mirrored wall. Their mouths met fast, teeth and heat, years of restraint igniting all at once. Rory groaned, hands gripping Andrés’s belt. Andrés kissed him like a man starved, hands running up under Rory’s shirt, sliding over his back, his ribs.
The doors opened to the hotel floor and they stumbled out, half-laughing, half-burning, trying to stay quiet.
They reached Rory’s door. He fumbled the keycard.
Andrés stood behind him, pressing close, lips brushing the back of his neck.
The door clicked open.
Rory stepped inside, turned back, caught Andrés by the collar, and pulled him in.
The door closed behind them. Rory kicked off his black Italian dress shoes, the leather scuffing lightly against the wooden floor. He glanced down at his feet, the black cotton crew socks clinging slightly to his calves, damp with a hint of sweat from the walk and the heat of the elevator. Andrés followed suit, pulling off his polished Chelsea boots with ease, revealing his argyle socks—blue and grey patterns stretched over his ankles. The room was warm, the air thick with anticipation, and the faint musk of their day lingered in the space between them.
Andrés stepped closer, his hand sliding up Rory’s chest, fingers brushing against the open collar of his shirt. The touch was electric, sending a shiver down Rory’s spine. His breath hitched as Andrés leaned in, his mustache grazing Rory’s jawline, the coarse hairs tickling his skin. Rory turned his head slightly, capturing Andrés’ lips in a deep, hungry kiss. Their mouths moved together with a slow intensity, tongues sliding against each other, savoring the taste of whiskey and heat.
Andrés’ hands moved to Rory’s waist, unbuttoning his navy trousers with practiced ease. Rory stepped out of them, leaving himself in just his black socks and unbuttoned white shirt. Andrés pulled back for a moment, his eyes raking over Rory’s body, lingering on the tented boxers beneath the shirt. “You’re a fucking vision,” Andrés murmured, his voice low and rough.
Rory smirked, reaching for Andrés’ belt buckle. “You’re not so bad yourself.” He undid the clasp, sliding the belt free and tossing it aside. Andrés’ cobalt blue trousers pooled at his feet, revealing black boxer briefs that hugged his lean hips and thighs. Rory’s hands gripped Andrés’ waist, pulling him closer until their bodies pressed together, the heat between them almost unbearable.
Andrés kissed Rory again, slower this time, biting gently at his lower lip before trailing kisses down his neck. His mustache brushed against Rory’s skin, sending waves of pleasure through him. Rory tilted his head back, his hands fisting in Andrés’ dark curls as he licked and sucked at the sensitive spot just below his ear. “Fuck,” Rory breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.
Andrés grinned against his skin, his hands sliding down to grip Rory’s ass through the thin fabric of his boxers. He squeezed firmly, pulling a low moan from Rory’s throat. “You like that?” Andrés teased, his breath hot against Rory’s neck.
“You know I do,” Rory gasped, his hips rocking forward instinctively.
Andrés backed him toward the bed, their movements slow but deliberate. Rory sat down on the edge, his black socks stark against the pristine white duvet. Andrés knelt between his legs, hands sliding up Rory’s thighs to the waistband of his boxers. He hooked his fingers under the elastic, pulling them down slowly, revealing Rory’s hard cock, already leaking at the tip.
“Christ,” Andrés muttered, leaning forward to lick a stripe up the length of Rory’s shaft. Rory groaned, his head falling back as Andrés took him into his mouth, heat enveloping him in one swift motion. Andrés’ mustache tickled the base of Rory’s cock as he worked him, bobbing his head with a rhythm that made Rory forget how to breathe.
“Fuck, Andrés,” Rory moaned, tangling his fingers in Andrés’ curly hair. “Your mouth—God, your mouth.”
Andrés hummed in response, the vibration sending jolts of pleasure through Rory’s body. He pulled back slightly, swirling his tongue around the head of Rory’s cock before taking him deep again. Rory’s hips bucked involuntarily, and Andrés chuckled lowly, his hands gripping Rory’s thighs to keep him steady.
After a few minutes of this exquisite torture, Rory tugged at Andrés’ hair, pulling him away. “My turn,” he rasped, standing and pushing Andrés onto the bed. Andrés landed with a soft laugh, his boxer briefs tented obscenely. Rory climbed onto the bed, straddling Andrés’ hips, and leaned down to kiss him deeply. Their tongues tangled together, the taste of each other mingling with the salt of sweat.
Rory broke the kiss, trailing his lips down Andrés’ chest, pausing to nip at the faint trail of hair leading to his waistband. He pulled Andrés’ boxers down, freeing his cock, which stood hard and ready against his stomach. Rory took him into his hand, stroking slowly as he leaned down to kiss the tip. Andrés’ breath quickened, his hands gripping the sheets as Rory swirled his tongue around the sensitive head.
“Rory,” Andrés groaned, his hips lifting off the bed.
Rory smiled around him, taking him deeper into his mouth, savoring the weight and warmth of him. His hand continued to stroke what he couldn’t take, working Andrés with a steady rhythm. Andrés cursed under his breath, his fingers tangling in Rory’s red hair as he thrust up into the heat of his mouth.
After a few minutes of this blissful torment, Rory pulled back, leaving Andrés panting and flushed. He moved lower, kissing down Andrés’ thighs, over the curve of his ass. Andrés shifted, spreading his legs wider as Rory’s hands gripped his hips.
“You sure about this?” Rory asked, glancing up at Andrés with a smirk.
Andrés laughed breathlessly. “Don’t fucking tease me.”
Rory chuckled, leaning in to press a kiss to the sensitive skin just below Andrés’ balls. He licked a slow stripe up to his hole, making Andrés jerk beneath him. “Shit,” Andrés hissed, his hands fisting in the sheets.
Rory didn’t let up, circling Andrés’ rim with his tongue before pressing inside. Andrés moaned loudly, his hips lifting off the bed as Rory worked him open with wet, slow strokes. Rory’s hands gripped Andrés’ thighs, holding him steady as he licked and sucked at him, savoring every sound that fell from Andrés’ lips.
“Rory—” Andrés gasped, his voice trembling. “I can’t—”
Rory pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a wicked grin. “Can’t what?”
Andrés glared at him through hooded eyes. “You know damn well.”
Rory chuckled, lowering his head again to give him one last firm lick before sitting up. He reached for the nightstand drawer, pulling out a small bottle of lube and a condom. Andrés watched him with hungry eyes as Rory slicked up his fingers.
“Ready?” Rory asked, teasingly circling Andrés’ rim with one finger.
Andrés nodded quickly. “Yes. Fucking—yes.”
Rory pushed one finger inside slowly, watching Andrés’ face intently as he adjusted to the stretch. He worked him open carefully but steadily, adding a second finger when Andrés started to rock back against his hand.
“More,” Andrés demanded, his voice strained.
Roy complied, curling his fingers just right and earning a sharp cry from Andrés. “Like that?” he asked smugly.
“Don’t fucking stop,” Andrés replied through gritted teeth.
Rory added a third finger soon after, stretching him open thoroughly while Andrés writhed beneath him, his cock dripping onto his stomach. When Rory was sure he was ready, he pulled his fingers out and reached for the condom.
Andres watched him roll it on with an impatient groan. “If you don’t get inside me right now—”
Rory cut him off with a kiss, silencing Andrés’ impatience with the press of his lips. The kiss was deep and hungry, their tongues sliding together as Rory settled between Andrés’ legs, his cock brushing against Andrés’ entrance. He pulled back slightly, looking down at him with a smirk. “Such a brat,” Rory murmured, his voice low and teasing. “Always so demanding.”
Andrés glared up at him, though the effect was ruined by the flush spreading across his cheeks and the way his chest heaved with each breath. “You love it,” he shot back, his hands gripping Rory’s hips tightly.
Rory chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down Andrés’ spine. “Yeah, I do,” he admitted, leaning down to nip at Andrés’ lower lip before kissing him again. His hands slid down to Andrés’ thighs, spreading them wider as he positioned himself more firmly against him.
The tip of Rory’s cock pressed against Andrés’ rim, and both men groaned at the sensation. Rory moved slowly, teasingly, just barely pushing inside before pulling back again. Andrés’ patience snapped, his hips lifting off the bed in a desperate attempt to take more of him. “Rory—” he gasped, his voice breaking. “Stop fucking around.”
Rory grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “You want it that bad?” he taunted, his breath hot against Andrés’ ear. But even as he spoke, he inched forward, his cock sinking deeper into the tight heat of Andrés’ body.
Andrés let out a sharp cry, his fingers digging into Rory’s shoulders as he adjusted to the stretch. “Fuck,” he breathed, his head falling back against the pillows. “Yes—just like that.”
Rory stilled for a moment, giving Andrés time to catch his breath before he began to move. His thrusts were slow and deliberate at first, each one drawing a soft moan from Andrés’ lips. But as the pace quickened, their breathing grew ragged, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony.
“God, you feel incredible,” Rory murmured, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. His hands gripped Andrés’ hips tightly, guiding his movements as he plunged deeper with each thrust.
Andrés could only nod in response, his words stolen by the pleasure coursing through him. His body seemed to come alive under Rory’s touch, every nerve ending sparking with electricity. He stared up at Rory, his dark eyes filled with a mix of desire and something deeper—something neither of them dared to name.
ething electric. Andrés’ arms wrapped around Rory’s neck, pulling him closer as their lips crashed together in a kiss that felt like fire and desperation and everything they'd been holding back. Rory’s hands slid down to grip Andrés’ ass, lifting him slightly, adjusting the angle so each thrust hit harder, deeper, exactly where it needed to.
Andrés moaned into Rory’s mouth, a low, guttural sound that sent shivers down Rory’s spine. His body trembled, every muscle taut with anticipation, as Rory moved faster, his rhythm unrelenting. The friction between them was almost unbearable, a delicious ache that built with every stroke. Andrés’ fingernails dug into Rory’s shoulders, leaving faint red marks as he clung to him, his breathing ragged and uneven.
“Rory—” Andrés gasped, breaking the kiss for just a second before diving back in, his lips hungry, insatiable. His hips moved in time with Rory’s, grinding against him, chasing the edge that was so close now he could taste it.
Rory’s hands slid up to grip Andrés’ shoulders, holding him steady as he pounded into him with a ferocity that left them both breathless. Their bodies were slick with sweat, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the room. Every thrust was a revelation, a raw, unfiltered connection that stripped away everything except the pleasure coursing through them.
“You feel—” Rory started, his voice rough, strained, but he didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. The way Andrés looked at him, his dark eyes wild, his lips parted as he panted, said it all. You feel like everything.
Andrés’ head fell back, his throat bared as a broken moan escaped him. His body clenched around Rory, tightening with each thrust, and he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. “Close,” he managed to choke out, his voice barely audible over the sound of their labored breathing.
Rory nodded, his own control slipping. He reached between them, wrapping a hand around Andrés’ cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. The added sensation pushed Andrés over the edge, his body arching as he came with a cry that reverberated through the room. His release spilled over Rory’s hand, hot and messy, as he shuddered through the waves of pleasure.
The sight of Andrés coming undone was enough to push Rory to his own breaking point. With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside Andrés, his own orgasm crashing over him with an intensity that left him gasping for air. His body trembled as he spilled into Andrés, the pleasure so overwhelming it almost hurt.
For a moment, they stayed like that, their bodies still connected, their breaths mingling as they came down from the high. Rory rested his forehead against Andrés’, his hands still gripping his shoulders, as though letting go would mean losing something he couldn’t name.
Andrés’ fingers brushed lightly against the back of Rory’s neck, a soft, almost hesitant touch. “That was—” he started, but words failed him. Instead, he leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to Rory’s lips. It was softer than before, less frantic, but no less intense.
When they finally pulled apart, Rory shifted slightly, easing himself out of Andrés with a quiet groan. They both winced at the loss of contact, the emptiness left behind almost palpable. Rory collapsed onto the couch beside Andrés, their legs tangled together, their bodies still humming with the aftereffects of what had just happened.
Andrés turned his head to look at Rory, his dark eyes searching his face. “You okay?” he asked softly, his voice still a little shaky.
Rory let out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rough. “More than okay.”
Andrés smiled, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on Rory’s chest. “Good,” he murmured, leaning in to press another kiss to Rory’s shoulder.
They lay there in silence for a while, the world outside forgotten as they basked in the warmth of each other’s bodies. But eventually, Andrés’ hand began to wander lower, his fingers tracing the lines of Rory’s abs before dipping into the waistband of his briefs.
Rory’s eyes shot open, surprise flickering across his face before giving way to a slow smirk. “Again?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.
Andrés grinned, his hand teasingly brushing against Rory’s growing erection. “Why not?”
Rory’s breath hitched as Andrés’ fingers wrapped around him, stroking him with a firmness that made his spine tingle. He bit back a groan, his hips instinctively bucking into Andrés’ touch. “You’re insatiable,” he muttered, though there was no real complaint in his voice.
Andrés chuckled softly, his other hand sliding up Rory’s chest to trace the line of his collarbone. “Can you blame me?” he asked, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief as he tightened his grip slightly, drawing a sharp gasp from Rory.
“Fuck,” Rory breathed out, his hands fisting in the sheets as Andrés continued to stroke him. His body was already responding eagerly despite the fact that they had just finished moments ago. There was something about Andrés—his touch, his confidence—that set Rory on fire in a way nothing else could.
Andrés leaned in closer until their faces were just inches apart from one another again; warm breath fanning across each other's lips before closing whatever distance remained between them once more with another deep kiss filled equally parts tenderness & hunger alike! "Let me take care..." He whispered against those same crimson locks... "of you this time."
Before Rory could respond (not that he had any objections), Andres slid down Rory's body & took him into his mouth without warning - swallowing every inch whole until there wasn't anything left unseen nor untouched!
"Ahhh..." Rory groaned loudly while throwing back both arms above headboard desperately trying hold onto something stable amidst all chaos surrounding them now too intense ignore anymore!! His toes curled tightly beneath covers too overwhelmed sensations coursing entirely throughout entire frame currently being worshipped like some kind god amongst men right here within bedroom walls tonight!!
Meanwhile down below everything happening seemed move even faster speeds than prior experiences shared beforehand thus far cause soon enough another release imminent unavoidable fate awaiting patiently behind closed doors ready explode upon slightest provocation provided next few seconds pass by silently unnoticed yet again.
