ch4mpagnedrought

[ch4mpagnedrought]

scope out the competition

[full series]

mdni ! patrick zweig (warning: public sex)

summary: feeling out your opponents, the ins and outs, is always important when improving your game.

tashi duncan’s tennis games thrive from her being the most self she can be. her strengths entirely come from improving herself, wanting to be the very best player she can be leaves no room for her to blame losses on lack of technique. she puts in everything she has to get everything back. you, however, consider yourself a team player; you like to analyse your opponent and play to their style. why would you exhaust yourself trying your hardest when you can pray on your competition’s weaknesses? it makes for an overall more fluid experience—to see them slip out of concentration and into panic, you inhaling their exhaled breath, giving you a perfect opening to land a winning shot.

tashi’s stubbornness for greatness makes her a strict player, with regimes and schedules that nothing is worth skipping for. except maybe you sometimes.

“where are you going?” she asks, stepping behind you to check herself out in the mirror in your dorm, cramping to fit into the reflection while you strip yourself of your shorts to put on a pair of grey sweats. “i told you, ITF tournament today.” you switch between a black cami and white tee in the mirror, then tie the drawstring of your pants. “i think you should come.” you add and tashi meets the eyes of your reflection, her brows lowering, “i have training.”

you sigh out, nodding and turning to your desk to grab a perfume bottle, giving it a couple spritzes. “patrick is playing today.” you say but tashi doesn’t seem to care, continuing to tie the laces of her shoes, soles scuffed black from the sheer amount of play they get, “i told you i have training.” it doesn’t even seem to register in her head that maybe she should be there, or that he might want her there, “he’s you’re boyfriend.”

it’s hard not to feel some sympathy for patrick who has no clue that putting him above tennis in tashi’s head is equivalent to trying to find some space in a room where an open flame is sucking up all the oxygen. “im training.” she says again and her carelessness begins to bother you, relaxed expression on her face as she runs a hand through her hair before tying it back. “why do you even care whether i go see patrick or not?” tashi turns around for a moment to read your expression whilst she pulls a black hair tie from around her wrist and to her hair. there’s a playful smile on her lips, a gentle calmness that makes it seem like you’re the crazy one for even suggesting seeing her boyfriend may be nice.

“i dont.”

“seems like you’re excited to see him.” she hums to you, a glint in her eyes. it’s not a warning sign or a threat, but more amusement. she wants you to be eager and she doesn’t care that it’s her boyfriend you’re eager about. you hadn’t even thought of patrick that way since they started dating, but your cheeks run hot at the feeling that she’s seen right through you.

you walk out without saying goodbye to her, it’s belittling to think that she can see you as another one of the pawns in her game too. after nearly fourteen years of friendship you’ve learnt to read her well, and there isn’t a doubt in your mind that she’s waiting for a competition to unfold. to have you both try and win patrick over to see who the better seducer is, because if tashi can’t beat you in tennis she’s going to try and give everything else a shot. you may play for the team, but you still play to win and tashi’s stupid ways of entertainment aren’t any different.

sitting at the side of the court in the stands like patrick did once for you, and meeting his eyes from your seat, watching him stretching his limbs, you wonder whether he had expected to see tashi, and not you. a smile spreads across his face, a pleasantly surprised one that shows no underlying desire to see her. you raise your hand to wave to him and he waves back, the sun hitting his face until he’s forced to squint.

his opponent didn’t actually stand a chance, even the way that he walked out with a meek hold on his bag told you and patrick everything that you needed to know. his serves were shy, barely making it past the net and his returns were even worse. the whole thing was unruly, like a battlefield where patrick has a sword and gun and his opponent lost all his armour. patrick was ferocious, the swing of his racket making a shrilling sound at every contact and his glistening arms straightening out to reach it, pulsating the veins in his hands. his biceps throbbed beneath the shirt sleeves that were blown upwards from the light breeze and your eyes seemed to burn into them. his dark hair swept away from his forehead every time he launched for the ball then falling back down to his face perfectly. and between the sets when he’d sit down at near the baseline and glance up at you with a smirk, hoping to get a small nod of approval, it felt like he knew exactly to what extent he’d been stirring up the feelings inside your stomach.

he leaned back into his seat after sucking up an energy gel and let the sun cast on his skin arrogantly while his opponent tried not to have a panic attack, seeing any chances of a professional career slip away from his calloused fingertips. patrick played it cool, he didn’t have to know his opponent to feel that he looked up to you, and every time you cheered for patrick, an endearing clap, it would take all his might not to throw his racket across the court at him.

the game was a blow out, of course, and patrick looked up at you once more before exiting the court, leaving his opponent to writhe in the loss.

you knew that after his game patrick would be out somewhere, lighting up a victory cigarette, and you purposefully glanced to every fire exit of the sports club and dark alleyway hoping you’d see him there until you found the one. he leans against the bricked wall cooly and his hair is still slightly damp, being dried by the gusts of wind when he takes a drag of the cigarette you knew he’d have.

“you did good today.” you call out to him, approaching his frame that pushes itself off the wall to take in your presence fully. you smile kindly and he scoffs, you knew that was what patrick wanted to hear, and you gave it to him. the one thing that tashi can’t bring herself to do—support someone else’s game other her own. he breaks the eye contact you’ve been holding, glancing away abashedly, “coming from ‘ESPN Tennis number one upcoming female tennis star?’ im flattered.” he quotes an article written about you that he’s read more times than he’d admit to anyone.

your arms fold across across your chest and he hums a teasing note. “okay fuck you. i was being nice.” you say and he chuckles, his fingers grazing the skin of your arm when he leans forward. he looks down at you, trying to piece together your presence and why he’s never felt that kind of appreciation from tashi. “what are you even doing here?” he questions and you shrug your shoulders that he can’t stop himself from looking at, loathing the straps of your tank top that keep him from indulging into a further fantasy, “research. have to see how my competition is doing before my game at the open.”

he nods, taking another inhale of his cigarette and intentionally blowing the smoke away from your face. he continues to look away for a moment, seemingly lost in thought about what you’d presume was his game that in reality is nothing short of the ways that sleeping with you may be different than with tashi. it had been overwhelming his head since he had been with her, and he has been trying to stop himself from asking art every single minute detail of whatever exactly went down between you two. even in the dead of night when he’d jerk himself off and think of his girlfriend, it would often slip into the few moments that he’s had with you; the softness of your lips in the hotel room and the embarrassed look on your face when he’d caught you out with art.

“yeah whatever. or maybe you just missed me.”

you laugh but his face keeps the serious expression, lips that hold the cigarette between them turning up into a smirk. you look away from him, suddenly feeling shy as he remains looking at you from above, a heat circulating beneath your skin, reddening your cheeks and a heaviness in your chest.

he waits silently for the moment that you flick your eyes back to him, and from the glimmer within them he knows that you want him just as bad as he wants you. his two fingers take the butt of his cigarette and throw it to the ground to free up his lips that lean down to yours. he kisses you hard like he hasn’t felt the touch of a woman for a while, and you kiss him back.

there’s a smokiness to his lips that move passionately with yours, pushing themselves into you and immediately making them swell with a lustful redness. he hums into the kiss, vibrating against your lips and taking a handful of your hair into his hand to pull at it gently. however the guilt catches up to you quickly and you pull away from him, “what about tashi—your girlfriend?” he presses his lips together briefly at the absence of you, then chuckles, “you mean the one that isn’t here?” he doesn’t give you the time to respond before pressing his lips back to yours, his tongue pressing gently into your mouth. softly, his fingertips skim across the sun kissed surface of your arms, to feel the softness of your skin against his that he’s been having wet dreams about.

you let slip a soft whine, your hands that are cupped around his cheeks suddenly travelling to his chest to push him away again, “you know she has her own matches to train for.” his lips have a reddish tint from your desperate aggressiveness to have as much of him as possible and he sticks his tongue out to his bottom lip to taste the flavour of you while you defend tashi.

patrick has to lean backward, breathing heavily in your direction with a disbelieving look. his eyes scan your face to see if you’re being serious and his brows twitch upwards, hand already wrapping around your jaw delicately, “and you don’t?” he pulls your face towards him, leaning down to meet you in the middle.

he moves his firm grasp around your hips, each hand outlined with a paleness from the pressure, steadily drawing you into him until his stiff crotch is pressed against your front. the exchange of heat hazes his mind and the alleyway environment no longer becomes a concern as he twists you until you’re leant against the cold wall.

his fingers tediously untie the drawstring of your sweats, the real gift that he won the tournament for, eyes peering up at you for a green light. he had known since spotting you in the audience that he wanted to find out the way your eyes squint together in anticipation and your bottom lip is pierced by your teeth to beg more of him. to get the full experience art did and to give you what he may have missed out on. fingertips dancing around the hem of your trousers, and curling around it to give him the bit of space he needs to fully slip his hand into them, the heat inside leaking the precum out of him.

one of his fingers slides down between your folds over the top of your panties, sending the sensation to spread across your whole lower half. momentarily, he circles his index finger around the area of your clit to alert you of his presence and listen to your breath hitch.

you press your mouth shut, squeaking out high whines into the alleyway, patrick’s whole body positioned close enough to you that you can feel the expanding of his lungs. he shimmies your trousers a little further down until he can see the bareness of your legs and your fingers reach into his dark locks when he lowers himself down onto his knees. “what are you doing?” you ask, the cold cobblestone sends a shiver down his spine and his hands push you into the wall. he looks up at you, a reassuring smile on his face, cheeks rosy with excitement and brows lowered, “im thanking you for turning up to watch my game.” he says matter-of-factly, you can feel the hotness of his breath against your legs and it makes the rest of them feel numb. you want to tell him to stand back up, to not risk the both of you being kicked out of the court for the rest of your lives and ruining your careers, but the closer patrick inches to your soaking wet panties the less the thought is present in your head.

he presses his lips onto your core over the fabric, only for you to jerk your hips upwards into his face at the sensation, sighing out loudly. he’s wanted to watch the way you react to his every touch, imagining this very moment when the tip of his finger pulls to get rid of the barrier between him and your entrance, where he can spread your own slick across your slit. he finds a pleasure that sends blood pumping into his cock knowing he’s the one to do this to you, and nobody else.

his tongue presses flat against your centre, lapping around the area only for a moment before you grasp onto his shoulders, spreading your legs open a little wider to adhere to his touch. his every single movement is calculated and deliberate, circling his tongue around your clit then pulling away to have you gasp for air; kneading the flesh of your thighs with his hands to soothe.

when you cup his cheek with your hand he moans into your pussy, feeling the warmth of your fingertips and his own cum that dribbles out prematurely into the shorts he changed into only half an hour earlier. although he’s the one to slide his index finger into you while his chin is dripping with your juices and his saliva, your slight touches enrapture him until every cell in his body is hypnotised and he knows nothing other than to keep ushering whimpers out of you. he glances up to your face, taking a mental image of your breath-taking frame that he has all to himself to devour.

the more his mouth works, nose deep into wetly sucking on your clit, the more intense the lustful fluttering in your bottom half grows, his tongue shamefully savouring you the faster he glides it across your slit and the finger that pumps into you turning into two.

patrick’s hair curls loosely across his forehead, eyes twinkling up at you with a drunk arousal that he’s only just discovered, taking the involuntary bucking of your hips into his face with a content smile of which the sensation is felt across your whole core. he notices how close you’re getting, hearing your heaving and sobs, and thoughts of art seem to frequent his mind, about how quickly he was able to make you come and if it was faster than him. it works him up until he holds you still against the wall, circling his tongue around your clit and plunging his fingers into you in a frenzied state, curling against every ridge of your g-spot until all the air out of your lungs in blown out.

you inhale back again to spread the feeling of climax across your whole body, hips twitching under his grip and eyes squeezing shut. patrick presses short pecks to your inner thigh, and stands up to watch the last few moments of your lips being parted open and hands reaching out to use him to balance before you come back down from your high. he looks down at your lips that are red from the way you’ve bit them, and the tears that well up at the corners of your eyes with a small smile, bringing himself down to kiss you with the remnants of your own orgasm. his lips are slow and meaningful, to share the flavour and let you remember it was his doing, while his hands gently pull your panties up your thighs, then your sweats.

“thanks again.” he says, pulling away to tie your drawstring again like it had never been undone, and you nod.

he smirks down at you again, the lingering taste of you in his mouth; chuckling out and bringing the strap of your top back over your shoulder innocently,

“you’re a terrible friend.” he says.

“you’re a worse boyfriend.”

he watches the way your legs move parallel to each other when you leave him in the alleyway, his mind not being able to get rid of this image of him being between them. he had taken in your expression at every moment, and he would do the same thing over a thousand times more to watch it again. and later that evening when he promised to call tashi, he instead stares at the ceiling of his room and replays the whole ordeal in his head; while tashi lets herself into your dorm room out of boredom and slips under the covers.

[ch4mpagnedrought]

compensation

[full series]

mdni ! art donaldson

summary: you and art cant help but try and compensate for everything you’re missing out on now that tashi and patrick are together.

ever since tashi had suggested a game of tennis for her number and patrick won, its left you and art to roam around the stanford campus like two little lost puppies, begging for their attention when patrick comes to visit tashi.

patrick has made it impossible to get a hold of the girl, her dorm room always locked and her absence in the daily work-outs the two of you usually have made very obvious. not to mention the betrayal art must be feeling, having his best friend be only in the adjacent building to him, but never coming to actually see him.

you’ve had to find ways to preoccupy yourselves, and stop you from going on an angry rampage, like;

hitting racket to ball in the middle of the court, not even bothering to play a real game. “my prof is making me rewrite my whole assignment this week.” you complain, aiming the ball at the green fencing at the sides and watching it bounce back in art’s direction for your own botched version of squash. he laughs loudly, “who knew you were so bad at everything besides tennis.” you shoot him a scowl and his eyes widen, shoulders shrugging unapologetically as he swings his arm once again.

spring fading into summer means that evenings still have a little light in them, and you fight the urge to lie straight down on the tarmac and look up at the greying sky. the light breeze washes through art’s strawberry blonde hair, swaying it to the side to expose his brows that furrow when you let the ball bounce away between your legs, looking at him with a tense expression. the thought that tashi and patrick were somewhere doing god knows what (you knew what) and completely ignoring you made a reappearance in your head suddenly, and it boiled your blood. “ugh! im gonna kill them!” you huff out, grabbing the ball from the ground and stomping to where you left your stuff. art’s arm finding the both of your shoulders, “ditto that.”

having lunch at the food hall together: waiting in line for the same exact salad that you get every day, curtesy of your game-preparation meal plan and taking a seat on the bar stools that overlook the rest of the campus. stabbing your fork into the frail pieces of lettuce in your plastic bowl, art taking another bite of his churro in silence and licking away all the rouge sugar particles from his lips. “you know, patrick didn’t even bother to call me about his visit.” art says, taking off his red baseball cap just to put it back on his head again. “what a dog.” you scoff, shaking your head and taking a sip of your smoothie that tastes a little grainy from the protein powder. you would’ve continued to rant if you hadn’t spotted tashi and patrick walking hand-in-hand in the distance, all smiles and giggles; it makes you sick. “look.” you point it out to art and he mocks patrick in a high-pitched voice, “hey tashi aren’t i so cool? i play pro and i’m totally not cheating on you.” you chuckle, leaning over to snag a bite of his churro.

and confiding in each other in art’s dorm late at night, when the haunting noises coming from the other side of your wall get too much.

his room is surprisingly so…boyish. a couple posters of tennis stars on the walls that seem so out of place, like he put them there for the sole purpose of taking up space. his medals are hung up on the corner of his wardrobe, tinkering on the edge and there is an unidentified pile of clothing in the corner.

his sheets are a deep maroon colour and you lie flat across them, both of your heads leaning on the single flat pillow he owns, legs crossed. his ceiling has remnants of a water leak the university tried to paint over and you study it from below. “i wonder what they’re doing right now.” art hums, putting his hands behind his head, and letting you rest your head on his bicep.

you shoot up, glancing down at him, one brow lifted and eyes narrow, “i can tell you exactly what they’re doing right now,” you say, scrambling up onto your knees, “’patrick i need your racket right now!’’’ you moan tauntingly, rolling your eyes back and crossing your arms over your chest. art cackles, stomach contracting and grabbing onto your shoulder for support. his hand is pumping warm with blood, hovering over your skin for longer than socially acceptable, and his fingers caressed by the long strands of your curly hair that fall at your sides.

running over to his room meant that you hadn’t had enough time to grab a change of clothes to sleep in, so he graciously lent you one of his t-shirts, a navy one with white embroidered writing that you hadn’t bothered to read, which prods at the aching in his head to see you without it.

“when was the last time you slept with someone?” your question catches art off guard, lying back down next to him and watching the blush creep up onto his cheeks, eyes darting away somewhere to think of an answer. “oh come on, was it that unforgettable?” you laugh. he knew when exactly when the last time was, but the thought that him sleeping with someone had crossed your mind, putting the idea of the two of you together into his own had clouded his head, making it unbearably difficult to think, or speak.

“maybe last month” art estimates when the last time he saw the girl in one of his classes that he casually slept with from time to time, your expression remaining unchanged, which whirls something inside of his stomach. you nod, smile spreading across your lips, and eyes glancing down to art’s partially parted ones. art adjusts himself, propping his head up with his hand and looking down at you, “when was the last time that you slept with someone?”

its unclear to him whether you're joking with your response. “ask me that tomorrow.” it spins his head until he sees double, having to shut his eyes for a second to regain consciousness. your nonchalant smile quite frankly irks him, because you seem so unaware of how he is sliding the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip, preparing just incase you decide that you want to kiss him. or the fact that he moved his leg upwards along the bed to cover his raging boner at just the mere idea of you and him together.

the shirt he lends you rides up on your hips, obviously showing off the black panties that you’re wearing and the neck-line hangs low enough to show the indent of your collarbone that he imagines licking a stripe over.

you thrum, looking up at art through dark eyelashes, “isn’t it so unfair how tashi and patrick can ignore us just to get at each other?”

he got the hint, every crumb you’ve put down he’s followed and scooped up all in one go, sighing out a weak, “yeah” that sounds more like a whine, and leaning down to kiss you on the lips.

the taste of your lip gloss he had missed sweetens his mouth immediately and the faint smell of a chocolatey lotion on your skin sends him into complete overdrive, left hand desperately reaching for the side of your face to take you deeper into him. he sinks himself down, pressing his chest into yours and disconnecting his lips to breathe out a groan at the sensation of your boobs against him like a boy who's never felt them before.

his face is burning hot, lips even hotter as they move simultaneously with yours, covering the perimeter of your mouth with long and drawn out movements to fully get the taste of you hes been dreaming of ever since that hotel room. his hands roam down to the curvature of your waist, taking a strong grip to it to make sure his fingerprints forever remember it, then down to your hips, kneading the flesh.

with him over you, he pulls away from your arms that are wrapped around his neck, pulling the hem of his shirt to unveil your midriff and the black lace that frames your lower waist, your thighs pressed together to catch the heat that he manifests within you, “oh my god.” it might just be the lewdest sight he has ever seen, along with your swollen lips that are glistening with his saliva.

he can barely keep away the moans that try to escape his mouth when he lowers himself down to you, eager lips pressing into your hip, lapping at the surface of your skin with a desperation only art could have, along the hem of your panties, and back up your stomach while your fingers entangle with his blonde locks.

your pulse quickens, exhaling his name out when his finger pulls your underwear to the side, letting the air hit your leaking core, a smile playing at art’s lips. “please, please art.” you moan out, squeezing your eyes shut and letting the sensation of one of his digits swiping through your folds overcome you.

he nibbles at your inner thighs, soft licks soothing the area as one of his fingers slides inside you, while the other gropes at your breast through your shirt. his mind is completely consumed by you, watching every change in your expression with his fingers pumping in and out of you, flush on your face and brows knitting every time he draws back.

your legs instinctively move over his shoulders, trapping him around you to continue the motion and giving him the chance to tilt his head to the side, pressing a kiss to the thigh that is thrown over him. “is this okay?” he asks, caressing a hand down your calf and watching the way your hand reaches out to grab him by the wrist.

“lie down art” you keen, his eyes narrow and he pulls back with a sense of confusion that is overrode with your impatience, ushering him below you. so he does, leaning against the headboard whilst you throw yourself onto his hips, his jaw tilting upwards to unconsciously fulfil the want of his lips devouring the whole of your figure.

the shirt he lent you doesn’t last long, ending up in the pile on his floor and letting him ravish in the sight of your bare torso. he gasps out your name, wandering hands reaching out to massage your breast, flesh filling out the gaps between all five of his fingers. “take this off” you strangle out, gesturing to the shirt he is wearing, disheveled hair falling back into his face that burns hot when you let your eyes roam down to his abdomen. even the weight of your ass pressing into his dick through his shorts is teetering him to climax, hands not knowing where to put themselves when he wants to grab a hold of all of you.

your fingers wrap around the waistband of his shorts that he is wearing, pulling down his boxers at the same time and freeing his erection to slap back onto his stomach, recalling something patrick said about the time he taught art to jerk off. the palm of your hand ghosts his cock, restraining yourself from taking it into your hands there and then, “can i?” even the way you sigh out the question has the hairs on art’s arms standing up and mouth swallowing saliva in anticipation. “yes, yes.” he whines, brows furrowing up at you and all of his muscles tensing.

with a gentle touch, he guides you above him, his hands at your sides as you spread yourself open for him, sinking down only to the tip before he grabs your waist and pauses in the position. he looks like a little helpless, bottom lip between his teeth and an alarmed look in his face that says if you go any further he’ll come right now. “i’ll go slow,” you whisper, a small smirk on your face that’s hard to resist when his shimmering eyes try to find the last slither of dignity within him, “i promise.” you smile reassuringly and he glances away, the flush in his cheeks getting a little deeper.

you keep your promise, slowly lowering yourself down onto him, goosebumps fevering your skin and palms laying flat across his abdomen to steady yourself.

taking him in completely, you whimper out his name and his hands journey to graze your back, up to your shoulder blades where he presses them into you to pull you into him, mouth suctioning down the valley of your breasts. his moans vibrate back into your skin when you pull back up from him, stimulating every single nerve ending in his length like it never has before. you set a pace, slow and steady for art, snapping your hips down onto his in a way that knocks the wind out of you each time, gasping for air. he keeps you close to him, rolling his hips to meet you in the middle and put some of that athlete stamina to use and murmuring your name with every movement.

his finger moves your hair from your shoulder, so he can press soft pecks onto the surface, whilst you clutch the wooden headboard, growing impatient and consequently pounding him into you. his moans purr into your ear, grabbing onto your ass to keep you still as he thrusts himself into you from below and shakily calling out an, “im gonna come.”

you nod, clasping around his biceps and leaning down to nip at his neck, losing composure the more your walls contract around him. you ignore the muscles in your legs that ache and your lungs that can’t seem get a hold of the air that is shared between you to continue to mercilessly plunge him deeper into you until it feels like you’re melting into one another, a shudder sending itself down your bare back and deepening the heat that builds in your core.

art is panting, popping your tit into his mouth one last time before falling still, twitching inside of you and releasing all of his seed into you until it overflows from below. your name echoes out of his mouth, whimpering and whining it out until he can open his eyes back up and centre his vision on you burning every last bit of energy to bounce on his dick.

you lean forward onto him, eyes rolling back into your head when reaching your climax and pressing your burning cheek against his face to feel all of him. he brushes his hand down your back comfortingly, you heaving into the crevice of his neck that glistens with sweat and feeling your walls contract around him the last couple times.

art sighs your name out, pressing his lips into your cheek and letting a smile spread across his face when you brush the dampened hair out of his forehead to get a better view of his eyes.

your body feels limp, falling back down next to him with a post-sex fatigue that follows you all the way into the next morning, where you sit at a table in the food hall, thanking art for bringing you some breakfast and trying to ignore the echoing of all the noises he made last night in your head.

“fuck i really need to work on that assignment today” you groan, taking a bite into a slice of honeydew with your head in the palm of your hand. art watches and nods, a false portrayal of an active listener when what he’s really focusing on is the way your lips curl around the slice, biting off a chunk and closing your lips around it in a way that makes him reminisce that he was right there too only a couple hours ago. “i can help.” he offers, truly from the kindness of his heart that kindly wants to spend the rest of his life looking at you.

“you wish.” you scoff, “i’m not allowed to be alone in a room with you anymore.”

art takes a swig of his water to hide the grin that spreads on his face, and when he makes eye contact with a random student from across the hall he feels like they heard that too. he wishes they could hear, and know that you, the best tennis player stanford has probably ever had, are having to physically restrain yourself from him.

“what are you smiling about?” the familiar voice of patrick calls out from a few strides away, in a pair of indigo levis and a white tee, grabbing onto arts shoulders and lowering himself down to his level to grab his chin playfully. art swats him away immediately, pushing patrick down into a chair. and tashi grazes your shoulders softly with her hand when taking a seat next to you and stealing a piece of your fruit from your bowl, “good morning.”

“morning.” you sigh out, taking a sip of your tea and hoping that it isn’t totally obvious that you slept with your friend. but tashi takes notice of the slight frizz in your hair, a dishevelled-ness that is never usually there, so it wasn’t her intention to call you out in front of the four of you when she asks, “why do you look hungover?” she even moves a piece of your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear to get a better look at the colour under your eyes. your brows furrow, eyes glancing to the left of you at the two boys whose expressions couldn’t be anymore different. art’s poker face is awful, he’s trying to keep his face composed but his posture slumps under the weight of patrick’s hand that spreads across over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth turned up into a smirk.

you shrug nonchalantly, taking another bite of your breakfast to act like your lungs aren’t constricting and you aren’t going into fight or flight, “late night i guess.”

theres a moment of silence, everyone in their heads peacefully while you wish you could get into art’s and find out what he’s thinking about your pathetic lie.

“nice shirt.” patrick says.

“thanks." you reply, swiping over the embroidered ‘mark rebellat tennis academy’ with a finger and looking up at patrick, who meets your eyes with a knowing smirk that makes you feel silly for not assuming that patrick would have memorised art’s whole closet, or recognise the school they went to.

and when patrick squeezes art’s shoulder and asks whether he is “up for a game?” you suddenly become hyper aware of how much his gaze slips past art’s eyes and down onto you as they stand up from the table, eyes squinting and a stupid smile on his face. the combination is so piercing you’ve become aware that even if tashi believed your lie, and art thinks he’s got away scott free—he knows, and he’s letting you know.

his hand ruffles the hair on art’s head, arm falling over his shoulders and drawing him into himself, “we have a bunch of catching up to do, art.” he keeps art close to him as they walk away towards the tennis courts, leaning in to whisper something into his ear after the both of them briefly turned around to wave you and tashi goodbye.

tashi seems unphased by their behaviour, continuing to braid a small of piece of your hair that she unconsciously started. “you know patrick’s about to tell art all about your get together.” you chuckle and tashi scoffs, leaning back into her chair, “he wouldn’t say anything” she reassures, “also we didn’t even do anything.” she adds in quickly, stealing another piece of watermelon from your bowl and taking a bite to avoid talking about the topic like you hadn’t just done that. you smile at her, and she widens her eyes to let you know that she’ll tell you all about last night later.

“i wouldn’t be so sure.” you shake your head, stealing back the half-bitten melon from in between her fingers and finishing it off.

[ch4mpagnedrought]

friendly game

[full series]

mdni ! art, tashi, patrick

summary: pinning two of the greatest tennis players of our future will not work with you and tashi, in fact, you’ve learnt to share your prizes.

deep breaths. you take deep breaths when taking your racket out of its bag, all five fingers wrapping around the grip tightly, that is so intensely watched by two pairs of curious eyes from above in the stands, inaudibly gawking at the way your black tennis dress, sporting a small nike logo above your left breast, flourishes from around your thighs to expose the surfaces of your skin that don’t see the sun very often.

maybe the single most important game at the 2006 US open, between two upcoming tennis prodigies that also happen to be best friends. an oxymoron on the court really, tashi’s in white, you in black, her in adidas, you in nike, her hair in a tight braid, yours slicked into a low bun. eyes are torn completely apart as the both of you travel across the court, rebutting every single one of each others moves like a choreographed dance, the jaws of your audience slacked open. everybody remains paralysed, leaving the squeaks of your shoes and the heavy grunts of your labour to echo across the stands—until hands grip onto neighbouring knees and the final shot is swung.

“yes!” you shriek, throwing your racket to the ground in ecstasy, letting it bounce back behind you and the strings to shrivel from the force. from across the court, tashi heaves with squinted eyes, watching your celebration with parted lips and stepping closer to the net where you meet her—your arms wrapping around each others glistening shoulders and chests pressing firmly against one another, “good game” she tilts her head to whisper her appraisals and you hum a sweet note, flashing her a smile while the two men blink down at you. their minds completely empty apart from a state of euphoria, seeing two of the most beautiful women they had ever laid their eyes on embrace after a game that was essentially life or death. already replaying the erotic extensions of your legs at every side step, hips swivelling and slender arms extending to shape an image from within the deepest depths of their minds.

the same way that they stood completely still and fixated onto the images of you at the celebratory party hosted for you and tashi. the blonde haired boy taking sips of his drink between all the thoughts that expel from the image of you, mid underhand serve, and run through his mind. while the other faces an image of tashi, mid overhead, and tries not to make it obvious that his gaze slips into imagining anything other than what is underneath those clothes she endorses.

even when you notice their toying eyes, approaching you sat knee-to-knee with tashi at a table having just spent the last twenty minutes dancing with one another that hadn’t gone unnoticed by them either, “art donaldson and patrick zweig, right?” their eyes are momentary frozen wide before art exhales an exasperated breath, choking up on nothing. “in the flesh” patrick mumbles, fidgeting with the rim of his coke bottle. your eyes dart from one boy to another, left to right, both of their shoulders tensing as they watch tashi’s lips uncurl from the pink straw of her orange drink, guiding the bottle towards your own lips, pressing the straw into your mouth nonchalantly to share a sip of the beverage, and the sweetness of her lip gloss.

“that, that game…it was seriously breathtaking” art chokes out to the both of you, looking down admirably at you and noticing the small freckles the sun has peppered on your nose that hadn’t been visible from the top of the stands. tashi thanks him, putting the straw back into her own mouth and projecting a mental image of you and her swapping more than saliva into patrick’s mind.

his feet shuffle on the spot, shaking away the thought, “you dealt with the loss much better than i would’ve.” lightheartedly he jokes, gesturing towards tashi and sending her a small smile, “how do you two stay friends?”

“we’ve been friends since childhood,” tashi takes a glance at you, but you’re already looking back, “there’s no bad blood, we learn from eachother.” the palm of her hand flattens on your thigh momentarily, leaning back further into the couch. patrick and art huff, elbowing one another, “just like us.”

they flatter the two of you, showering you with compliments, all while trying to make it seem as if they hadn’t been discussing what exactly they would say to you for the past couple hours, until you and tashi were standing in front of their hotel room door, silently leaning closer to hear whatever was going on inside. “they don’t have time to come here” a muffled voice speaks from behind the door, and another groans loudly.

you and tashi share a small smirk, holding back laughter when she knocks on the door to hear a sudden ruckus.

“hi” “hey” they sing simultaneously, mouths agape like two little dogs, panting at the sight of a treat, or drooling at the ring of a bell. neither you nor tashi even have the time to greet them, patrick opening the door a little wider and beckoning you inside, coming together on the floor of the questionably coloured carpet with a single can of beer in the middle.

patrick leans back onto his hands. “so, when did you two become friends?” tashi points a finger between the two, wrapping her arms around her knees and tilting her head in curiosity. “we’ve been bunkmates since we were twelve” he answers, and art glances down at his crossed legs with a nervous smile. you nod your head, whispering a small “cute” under your breath and brushing patrick’s wrist with your fingers when taking the beer he offers, making the hairs on his arms stand upright. the beer is warm and bitter, and you pass the can to tashi after leaving a wet imprint of your lips that art would try to discreetly swipe his tongue over only moments later.

“you share girls often?” you ask and patrick’s brows quirk up, corner of his mouth tilting upwards. “this is our first time.” art says, pinkish blush spreading across his nose and the apples of his cheeks that implies his mind is drifting somewhere else. “why? are we not your type?” tashi laughs, leaning over towards art and tucking her hair behind her ears, his eyes following her closely, “aren’t you two everybody’s type?”

the boys shift in their positions, patrick lifting his hips up into the air briefly to get a little more comfortable and art pressing his hands into his knees, sharing a glance between them. all of the breath you exhale meshes into a palpable energy, and your gaze switches between art and patrick in a way they’ve already grown to love, their faces twitching with an eager awkwardness, “are you each other’s type?”

art chuckles out, “no…no.” he denies with a head shake, patrick peering over his shoulder at him silently, “no, we’ve never done anything like that.”

your’s and tashi’s eyes meet briefly, lips turning up into a smile.

“well…” patrick begins and art immediately jerks his head towards him, hoping that he wasn’t about to say the one thing he didn’t want to share, “i mean…”

“patrick, no.”

“don’t be shy, you have to tell us now” you tempt, a playful glint in the glance you give art.

patrick clears his throat, “you know, i just, taught art how to jerk off” he explains casually art’s right of passage while he holds his head in shame, painting an image of him being covered in his own ejaculation, over his stomach and legs like he had just “spilled milk” all over himself.

“that was a really adorable story” tashi hums, placing a hand on your shoulder to hoist herself up from the floor, and reaching out to help you up too. two pairs of eyes follow you around intently, admiring the tips of your fingers that swipe over various objects in their hotel room and feeling a little embarrassed about how obvious it is that they cleaned it only around 10 minutes ago. random pairs of boxers making an appearance from underneath the two single beds that they had pushed together, and an alarming amount of cigarette ash on the surface of the drawers.

tashi’s hand finds your wrist and guides you onto their bed where you take a seat patiently, criss-crossed, waiting for one of the boys to catch on and join you, while they are utterly immersed in the idea that the two of you are real and really in their bed.

silently, you usher them towards you with a tilt of the head, both of them jumping to their feet, basically leaping onto the bed so all four of you make a square, knees very slightly brushing against one another. theres a silent anticipation, tension weaving around all of you and luring your bodies closer. you take a quick look at each of their faces, their dilated pupils and irregular breaths, and move your lips closer to art’s, watching him inhale deeply like he wants to take all the air from your lungs for himself. then patrick, that selfishly attempts to lean his face closer before you can pull away.

you look towards tashi, who inches her face closer to yours, lips parted slightly and meeting in the middle for a kiss. in your peripheral vision, it’s hard not the notice the way that art and patrick are restraining themselves from punching a fist into the air out of joy, loud and shallow breaths caressing your cheeks. your mouth opens wider, leaning in deeper to consume every part of tashi’s lips in a hungry craze while her hand reaches into your hair to pull you closer. the two other men that keenly wait had slipped out of mind, still staring with a captivated stillness when you pull away from one another.

all you have to do is lean back onto your hands for art to pounce onto the side of your neck that becomes exposed, while patrick leans in to plant a kiss onto tashi’s jaw. on the surface their lips travel across the curve of your necks, heads fallen back, suctioning until they can taste the flavour of your perfume that lingers on your skin, while your hands exchange messily beneath; art’s touch feathering on your arm and reaching for tashi’s shoulder, and patricks arms intertwining with art’s to extend and touch your’s and tashi’s thighs.

patrick nuzzles his lips into divot the beneath tashi’s ear, journeying across her shoulder and onto your own in one smooth line, nearly head-butting with art when he shuffles to grace tashi with the same tender attention.

your hands scrunch into patrick’s dark hair, body involuntarily aching until you draw him closer to your face by the chin to connect with his lips. he balances himself in front of you, planting his hands at your sides to allow him to move even closer to you all while tashi hums into art’s gently mingling lips.

pulling back from patrick, you move onto art’s swollen mouth that glistens with lip gloss, tasting the remnants of tashi and yourself on them. all four of your faces coming together in the middle, so close that there is a dangerous lack of oxygen.

tongues pressing flat on top of another, swiping over bottom lips to feel every ridge and an accumulation of hot air. you become lightheaded at the different hands that grope over your figure, being pulled in by the back of your neck. there’s a contrast in the way each one of them kisses; tashi’s lips are familiar and firm, patrick’s are similar in their starved manner, and art’s yearn to take every molecule you are made of and ingest it.

tashi catches on immediately to the way that your left hand squeezes hers and pulls back to leave only art and patrick breathlessly grasping onto the others torso, noses pressing against each other at every tilt of the head and tongues slipping astray. the moment is only short, you and tashi glancing at one another, unbothered at whether they have noticed that you’re gone or secretly fulfilling a guilty hankering.

“okay.” tashi says, slapping her palms across her legs and sending a smile at the two boys. bottom lips slicked with one another’s saliva they remain frozen, only inches apart.

“goodnight, we have an early morning tomorrow.” you buzz, patrick and art separating only to let you slide past them on the bed, tashi following close behind and you wrapping your arms around her bicep absentmindedly.

neither one of them are able to make a sound, mouthing a “goodnight” that isn’t audible, admiring the way both of your curly brown hair sways behind you, walking out in the matching shorts they wonder if you ever swap.

they look at one another, then at the imprints in the floral blanket that your bodies left, scrunches where exactly you sat that they are both ready to smush their faces into. all while you and tashi stand outside of their hotel room once again, tuning in to the muffled dialogue about art’s grandmother before scurrying down the hotel hallway—hand in hand.

[ch4mpagnedrought]

doubles ! challengers

“ tennis. guys. girls. sex. tennis…what else does an upcoming sports star need in her life? childhood best friends turned prodigies face more than their issues of being pitted against each other, struggling to share their position, but also their unfamiliarity in sharing love interests. if tennis is a relationship, then their’s is a double bagel ”

summary: a series of (fem) reader-insert imagines, retelling the messy and toxic webs of challengers at stanford university.

chapters !

friendly game - a x p x t

compensation - a (mdni)

scope out the competition - p (mdni)

fours a bunch - a x p x t (mdni)

take it easy - t (mdni)

night light - a

rehabilitation - a (mdni)

rift - t (mdni)

egoist - p (mdni)

(3/9)