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“Come back with me,” Benoit shouts in his ear over the loud music blasting in the club, grinning like a lunatic. “C’mon, Richie, live a little!”
“Are you serious?” Richard shouts back, stumbling back a little when Benoit lurches forward in what Richard is pretty sure is one of those dances from that video game.
Benoit only smirks at him, and grabs at Richard’s hip with the hand not holding a can of beer. He says something else, but the music is too loud, and Richard can’t stop staring at him long enough to actually decipher what he’s said anyway.
Richard knows this is a bad idea, especially when they’re both down a couple of cocktails and stewing over the Davis Cup selections. He knows that he’s definitely going to regret this the morning-after, when they have to show up to Stade Pierre Mauroy and sit on the sidelines to watch their team lose miserably. He should shake his head at Benoit and go home now; he knows the younger man would accept it for what it is.
He smirks back, albeit a little awkwardly, and snags the beer can out of Benoit’s hand, tilting his head to chug the rest of the contents.
When he lowers the can, he catches a glimpse of Benoit’s face, and finds his mouth abruptly dry. Benoit’s eyes are dark, clear even in the dim lighting of the bar, and they’re focused straight on Richard’s throat.
“Ready?” Benoit says, still with the same stare.
Richard nods, hoping he doesn’t look as nervous as he feels.
-------
The club is walking distance from the hotel, luckily, and Richard spends the entirety of it trying not to trip over his own feet or vomit. Benoit walks quietly beside him, and occasionally his arm brushes across Richard’s side, and he has to force himself not to shiver. It’s late enough that there are only a few stragglers on the street, and luckily none of them seem to have recognised them.
Richard’s certainly...not a stranger to Benoit’s many affections. He’s witnessed them in person multiple times, when he walks into unused corners of the locker rooms on accident, or sometimes when he just plain walks into locker rooms. He’s pretty sure Benoit’s fucked his way around the entire portion of the tour that’s been willing, non-French speakers included. He swears one time he saw Rafa walk by Benoit and grab his ass.
And, well, it’s certainly not as if Benoit hasn’t offered. He’s definitely offered. Multiple times, in fact. Richard’s always turned him down gently, and Benoit’s always just smiled at him brightly and went on his way. He’s not sure what feels different this time; maybe it’s the alcohol, or the way Benoit’s been acting around him the whole night (that fucking Instagram video, murder him please), or maybe just a combination of everything that’s happened this season. Something’s just...shifted, in the air, and Richard finds it a little hard to breathe.
The hotel lobby is well lit and warm, a sharp contrast to the biting cold outside. A young woman is sitting at the reception desk, trying her hardest not to yawn. She smiles tiredly at them as they walk in, but fortunately does not seem to possess telepathic abilities and does not react at all to Richard’s ridiculously clear vision of Benoit laid on the bed, undressed.
As the elevator doors begin to slide shut, Richard starts finding it a bit difficult to keep his stomach within his body again. He can’t believe he’s about to do this, finally, after all those years of carefully restraining himself.
Benoit exhales next to him, and turns. “I can hear your heart beating,” He says, exasperated. “If you didn’t want this all you had to say was no. Not like you haven’t said it before.” He adds, a little bitterness seeping through.
“No, I…” Richard swallows, turning to him too. “I want this. I want you.” He admits into the quiet of the elevator.
Benoit’s breath hitches. “ Fuck , Richie, don’t say shit like that. If I jump you here now and someone walks in…” He leans in slowly, and Richard unconsciously gravitates towards him too.
They jump apart abruptly when the elevator dings, signalling their arrival on the French Davis Cup team floor (because they get their own floor, really), and Benoit laughs breathlessly, slinging an arm over Richard’s shoulders as they move to his room.
“Want something to drink?” Benoit murmurs, closing the door behind them as they finally enter the dark room. Richard flips on the light switch as Benoit fidgets with the door lock, and can’t help but smile wryly at the distraught state of the floor, with clothes carelessly strewn across.
Richard turns, and looks up at Benoit through his eyelashes. “Yeah.” He says softly, and leans up, capturing Benoit’s mouth with his own.
Benoit starts to say something, surprised, but Richard pins his arms against the door, and whatever he was about to say turns into a moan instead.
Benoit tastes like alcohol and fries, and Richard can’t resist. He deepens the kiss, feeling Benoit’s beard scratch against his own stubble as Benoit easily grants his tongue access. The younger man shudders as Richard explores, swiping across his bottom teeth before sliding across his tongue. Benoit makes to struggle under Richard’s hold, but his grip simply tightens, and Benoit slackens in response, moaning again into Richard’s mouth.
“Jesus fuck, Richie.” When they finally break apart, Benoit says breathlessly. “Where’d you learn that from? Why didn’t we do that sooner?”
Richard can’t help but shake his head in amusement. “You’re impossible. Do you want me to fuck you or no?” He says, more bravely than he feels.
Benoit groans, drawn out, and Richard feels his dick twitch with revitalised interest. “ God , yes please, you’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that. C’mon.” He grabs Richard’s hand and leads him to the bed eagerly, before stripping off his t-shirt and sweatpants. He stands in front of the older man in only his boxers, smirking knowingly as Richard’s gaze trails down from his chest to the trail of hair that disappears under the fabric.
Richard surges forward and kisses him again before he can think to much on it, and they fall back on the bed, Benoit’s hands scrambling to unbutton his shirt. It’s a tangle of limbs made heavy by arousal for a few moments, but Richard emerges sans a shirt, still furiously kissing Benoit.
He flips them over, so Benoit’s on top, and lets his hands roam across his back. Benoit moans again, shifting as he thrusts against Richard, and Richard hisses, nails leaving stinging scratches across his back. Benoit arches in response, almost mewling.
“Do that again.” He begs, detaching himself from Richard’s mouth to focus on his neck instead, ignoring Richard’s desperate keens as he sucks blooming bruises, trailing down to his chest. Richard’s hands flail desperately, leaving more marks in their wake, which only further motivate Benoit’s efforts.
“Do you want to fuck me?” Benoit pants, and Richard almost chokes with want.
“Not now.” Richard says, because he’s a tennis player above all else, and he’s not going to risk any injuries even though the thing he wants the most right now is to bury himself deep within Benoit and make him come untouched. He lets Benoit unbutton his pants and lifts his hips so he can take them off and messily throw them off the bed, before he gives the same treatment to Benoit’s boxers. He grabs at Benoit’s ass for a moment, marveling at the smoothness before pulling back and giving it a sharp smack. Benoit groans into the crook of his neck, helplessly arching up and grinding into Richard’s groin.
“Get me off, yeah?” Richard growls, thumbing at the tip of Benoit’s leaking cock. Benoit scrambles to comply, kneeling between his legs eagerly. He mouths at the tenting fabric, and Richard hisses, his cock jumping at the long awaited attention. He lifts his hips so Benoit can remove his boxers, and then Benoit begins his assault genuinely.
He knows in theory that Benoit is famed on tour for his tantrums, his dropshots, and his blowjobs, but to actually experience it in person is another feeling entirely. Benoit circles his tongue around the head of Richard’s cock at first, flicking over where precum has gathered, before lowering his head and taking in three-quarters of his cock at once, throat contracting to make room.
Richard barely manages to steady himself on his elbows, letting out a shuddering moan as Benoit bobs up and down, tongue applying steady pressure to the underside of his dick. “Fuck, merde , Benoit, keep going, fuck-”
Benoit pauses for a second to shoot him a smug grin, lips shining with saliva and precum (and fuck if that isn’t a beautiful sight, Richard thinks blearily), before diving back in, using his hand to pump whatever his mouth can’t reach at the same furious pace.
“Can I come in your mouth?” Richard gasps out, feeling his orgasm building. In response, Benoit only increases the pace, drawing another moan out of the older man.
Richard growls as he comes, and Benoit just kneels and takes, swallowing through the convulsions until Richard sags, thoroughly worn out.
“C’mere,” Richard mutters, “Wanna get you off too.”
Benoit grins at him. “I’ve been waiting to hear that all night.”
———
“You can’t post that on Instagram! Are you crazy?” Richard demands, attempting to take the phone away from a giggling Benoit.
“I am a man of the people, Richie.” Benoit blows him a kiss and presses post.
Richard likes the photo anyway.
