Fic: The Inaugural Meeting of the Always-A-Bridesmaid Club
Title: The Inaugural Meeting of the Always-A-Bridesmaid Club
Pairing: Andy Murray/Novak Djokovic (implied Andy/Rafa, Novak/Rafa)
Rating: R
Wordcount: ~1500 words
Summary: Novak and Andy get together to watch Rafa and Roger play the World Tour Final and bitch. Crack.
"So I've got BBC, and I've got beer," Novak says. "What time are you coming over?"
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Andy says, blinking. It's 9:30, he's just woken up. He's already regretting answering the phone. "Why aren't you in Serbia?"
"Couldn't get flights til Monday. Come on, I don't want to watch this alone. Come over and we can drink and throw things at the tv and be bad losers together."
"I'm a great loser," Andy says.
"Liar," Novak says, and Andy can hear the grin in his voice. "You just sound like a good loser when you play him because your crush is so obvious."
"Oh," says Andy. "Because you're so much better."
"Of course not," Novak says, laughing now. "We're tennis players. We are all terrible losers. Wwhat time are you coming over?"
-
At five o'clock, Novak tosses Andy a beer and says, "So, who you think is gonna win?"
"Rafa," Andy says, reflexively. "So where's your entourage?"
Novak shrugs, his attention fixed on hopping channels until he hits on BBC2. "They go to dinner. Your people?"
"Same," says Andy. "I think they might be trying to give me 'space'. Kim keeps looking at me light I might fucking cry."
Novak twists to look at him. "How is it with Kim?"
"It's, yeah, you know." Andy shrugs. Novak nods, because yeah, he knows. Andy doesn't ask him how things are with Jelena; he asks, "So, what do you think, Rafa or Roger?"
"Rafa," says Novak, huffing, and then he quirks a knowing smile in Andy's direction, recognition of a shared predicament.
Yeah, Andy thinks, we're both fucked. Andy cracks his can of lager. It foams up over his hands and spills down his jeans.
His fucking luck, seriously.
-
They watch Roger and Rafa walk onto the court in clouds of dry-ice smoke to the screaming of twenty thousand people, the best fucking players in the world. Novak, sprawled next to Andy where they're leaning back against the headboard of his ridiculously huge bed, says, half-laughing, "Jesus, don't you fucking hate them?"
Andy snorts. "I hate losing to them." And then, because it's just Novak, and Novak knows anyway, adds, "I'm really fucking sick of losing to them."
Novak snickers. "What is that saying, you know, about the brides, bridesmaids, something like that?"
"Always a bridesmaid," Andy says. His mother had repeated it to him at Jamie's wedding, with a significant look towards Kim. "Never a bride."
"Always a bridesmaid," Novak repeats. He tilts his can of beer towards Andy and says, smiling, "To being always the bridesmaid, no?"
"Never the fucking bride," Andy finishes, and clinks their cans together with a hollow sound.
-
"You know what? Let's make this interesting," Novak says, after the tight first games of the opening set.
"You mean a bet?" Andy says, without taking his eyes from the screen.
"Sure," Novak says. "If you can handle it?"
Andy shrugs. "Twenty quid says he does it in two."
"More interesting than that," Novak says, with a sly grin, and goes on, brazen, "How about, if he win in two sets, I blow you. And if he win in three, you blow me. Like old times, no?"
"Nice," Andy says, sarcastically, as a cover for the sudden heat in his cheeks. "And if Roger wins?"
Novak quirks a hopeful eyebrow to go with the spreading smile. "Sixty-nine?"
-
"Sometimes I think he is a robot," Novak says, as Roger angles a backhand slice across the court with impossible precision. "I mean. Don't you think he is a robot?"
"Android," says Andy.
Novak swallows a mouthful of beer and gives Andy a quizzical look. "What?"
"Android's a robot that looks like a human," says Andy. "That's what he'd - Jesus, never mind," he finishes, at Novak's look. "Forget I said anything."
"All these years I know you, I never know you are a geek," says Novak, delighted. "Do you watch Star Trek? 'Beam me up, Scot'?"
"It's Scotty, you ignorant twat," Andy says, shoving at Novak's shoulder, and, "Why don't you shut the fuck up and watch the match?"
-
The first set concludes with disconcerting rapidity. Andy, a slow drinker at the best of times, hasn't even finished his first beer.
"Hope you're getting ready to blow me," Novak says, with forced joviality.
-
"You know, at least you've got a fucking Slam," Andy says, while he leans across Novak to reach for more beers. Novak puts a hand on his back to steady him when he wobbles a little, the mattress dipping under their shared weight. "One's better than none," he declares, settling back into his proper place.
Novak's laughter is a little thin and brittle at its edges. He says, "Ask Andy Roddick if one is better than none."
Andy hands him a fresh can.
-
When Roger goes down, hard, legs and racket in opposite directions, Andy experiences a feeling somewhere between sympathy and schadenfreude.
"Look at that," he says, to cover it. "He can't even fall on his arse gracelessly."
"Robot," Novak says, nodding.
-
At the tail end of the second set, Andy says, "So if Roger's a robot, what's Rafa?"
"Obviously he is an alien," Novak says. "He comes from outer space. With superpowers, like what is his name, Clark Kent? His superpower is tennis."
"Robots and aliens and Superman," Andy says. ""Who did you say was the geek again?"
-
"Robot would explain the hair," Andy says, watching Roger toss back his perfect, silky curls. "Or else he sweats conditioner. Which is more likely, d'you think?"
"Poor Andy," Novak says. "I like your hair. Remember in juniors, when you have hair to here?"
He indicates a halo around his head that would seem to suggest that Andy had once sported an afro that would put a 70s disco king to shame.
"Twat," Andy says.
Novak laughs, and pats Andy on the head. "No, serious, I like your hair. Springy. I think you should let it grow again."
"Twat," Andy says again, batting Novak's hand away, biting his cheek to keep from smiling when Novak affectionately bumps their shoulders together, not complaining when he rests there, after.
-
It's the third set, and Rafa has just been broken when Andy says, "So if Rafa's Superman, do you think Roger's his kryptonite?"
He feels Novak's laugh as a low vibration through the place where his shoulder and Novak's rest warm against each other.
"Sure," Novak says. "Roger Federer, and underwear that fits."
Andy snorts beer through his nose. "Waterbottles in the wrong place," he offers, wiping stray foam with the back of his hand, glad that Novak's the one who saw it and not Kim.
Another rumbling vibration. "Hairdryer."
"Bad line calls."
"Robin Soderling."
They bat ideas back and forth like a friendly rally, until Rafa gets broken for the second time, and it starts to feel mean.
-
"Six-one," Novak says, low and almost disbelieving. "Man."
Andy says, "Do you think we jinxed him?"
"Shut the fuck up," Novak says. And, after a pause, "Oh my God. Did we jinx him?"
"Don't be so stupid," says Andy, but tennis players are a suspicious breed, and the idea gives him a definite, creeping unease.
"Maybe you tired him out," Novak says, so Andy punches him in the shoulder. "Ow, motherfucker! I play Davis Cup with this shoulder!"
-
"What I want to know is who chose the fucking music for this trophy ceremony," says Andy. "Who thought that Beautiful Day was a good idea for the runner up?"
"What do you want them to play," Novak says, "the Funeral March?"
"Yes," says Andy. "It would be more honest, you know, like, you lost so fuck your life."
Novak laughs, half watching Rafa make his short speech, half grinning at Andy. "What should they play for Roger?"
Andy waits until Roger gets up and starts making his way over to collect the trophy before he starts humming Darth Vader's theme music.
Novak laughs so hard Andy thinks he might actually choke.
-
"Okay," Novak says, muting the tv to a slideshow of confetti and camera flashes and slow-motion replays of Roger Federer's flawless backhand. He twists to face Andy. "So, what I want to know is, are you going to keep the bet?"
Andy meets his look, saying, "You mean the bet that neither of us won?"
"Ah," says Novak, slyly, "I think, if you remember, there was a third option."
"You cannot be serious," Andy says. He swallows the heavy sound of his heartbeat.
"Leave the impressions to me," says Novak. "I know a better use for your mouth."
Pairing: Andy Murray/Novak Djokovic (implied Andy/Rafa, Novak/Rafa)
Rating: R
Wordcount: ~1500 words
Summary: Novak and Andy get together to watch Rafa and Roger play the World Tour Final and bitch. Crack.
"So I've got BBC, and I've got beer," Novak says. "What time are you coming over?"
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Andy says, blinking. It's 9:30, he's just woken up. He's already regretting answering the phone. "Why aren't you in Serbia?"
"Couldn't get flights til Monday. Come on, I don't want to watch this alone. Come over and we can drink and throw things at the tv and be bad losers together."
"I'm a great loser," Andy says.
"Liar," Novak says, and Andy can hear the grin in his voice. "You just sound like a good loser when you play him because your crush is so obvious."
"Oh," says Andy. "Because you're so much better."
"Of course not," Novak says, laughing now. "We're tennis players. We are all terrible losers. Wwhat time are you coming over?"
-
At five o'clock, Novak tosses Andy a beer and says, "So, who you think is gonna win?"
"Rafa," Andy says, reflexively. "So where's your entourage?"
Novak shrugs, his attention fixed on hopping channels until he hits on BBC2. "They go to dinner. Your people?"
"Same," says Andy. "I think they might be trying to give me 'space'. Kim keeps looking at me light I might fucking cry."
Novak twists to look at him. "How is it with Kim?"
"It's, yeah, you know." Andy shrugs. Novak nods, because yeah, he knows. Andy doesn't ask him how things are with Jelena; he asks, "So, what do you think, Rafa or Roger?"
"Rafa," says Novak, huffing, and then he quirks a knowing smile in Andy's direction, recognition of a shared predicament.
Yeah, Andy thinks, we're both fucked. Andy cracks his can of lager. It foams up over his hands and spills down his jeans.
His fucking luck, seriously.
-
They watch Roger and Rafa walk onto the court in clouds of dry-ice smoke to the screaming of twenty thousand people, the best fucking players in the world. Novak, sprawled next to Andy where they're leaning back against the headboard of his ridiculously huge bed, says, half-laughing, "Jesus, don't you fucking hate them?"
Andy snorts. "I hate losing to them." And then, because it's just Novak, and Novak knows anyway, adds, "I'm really fucking sick of losing to them."
Novak snickers. "What is that saying, you know, about the brides, bridesmaids, something like that?"
"Always a bridesmaid," Andy says. His mother had repeated it to him at Jamie's wedding, with a significant look towards Kim. "Never a bride."
"Always a bridesmaid," Novak repeats. He tilts his can of beer towards Andy and says, smiling, "To being always the bridesmaid, no?"
"Never the fucking bride," Andy finishes, and clinks their cans together with a hollow sound.
-
"You know what? Let's make this interesting," Novak says, after the tight first games of the opening set.
"You mean a bet?" Andy says, without taking his eyes from the screen.
"Sure," Novak says. "If you can handle it?"
Andy shrugs. "Twenty quid says he does it in two."
"More interesting than that," Novak says, with a sly grin, and goes on, brazen, "How about, if he win in two sets, I blow you. And if he win in three, you blow me. Like old times, no?"
"Nice," Andy says, sarcastically, as a cover for the sudden heat in his cheeks. "And if Roger wins?"
Novak quirks a hopeful eyebrow to go with the spreading smile. "Sixty-nine?"
-
"Sometimes I think he is a robot," Novak says, as Roger angles a backhand slice across the court with impossible precision. "I mean. Don't you think he is a robot?"
"Android," says Andy.
Novak swallows a mouthful of beer and gives Andy a quizzical look. "What?"
"Android's a robot that looks like a human," says Andy. "That's what he'd - Jesus, never mind," he finishes, at Novak's look. "Forget I said anything."
"All these years I know you, I never know you are a geek," says Novak, delighted. "Do you watch Star Trek? 'Beam me up, Scot'?"
"It's Scotty, you ignorant twat," Andy says, shoving at Novak's shoulder, and, "Why don't you shut the fuck up and watch the match?"
-
The first set concludes with disconcerting rapidity. Andy, a slow drinker at the best of times, hasn't even finished his first beer.
"Hope you're getting ready to blow me," Novak says, with forced joviality.
-
"You know, at least you've got a fucking Slam," Andy says, while he leans across Novak to reach for more beers. Novak puts a hand on his back to steady him when he wobbles a little, the mattress dipping under their shared weight. "One's better than none," he declares, settling back into his proper place.
Novak's laughter is a little thin and brittle at its edges. He says, "Ask Andy Roddick if one is better than none."
Andy hands him a fresh can.
-
When Roger goes down, hard, legs and racket in opposite directions, Andy experiences a feeling somewhere between sympathy and schadenfreude.
"Look at that," he says, to cover it. "He can't even fall on his arse gracelessly."
"Robot," Novak says, nodding.
-
At the tail end of the second set, Andy says, "So if Roger's a robot, what's Rafa?"
"Obviously he is an alien," Novak says. "He comes from outer space. With superpowers, like what is his name, Clark Kent? His superpower is tennis."
"Robots and aliens and Superman," Andy says. ""Who did you say was the geek again?"
-
"Robot would explain the hair," Andy says, watching Roger toss back his perfect, silky curls. "Or else he sweats conditioner. Which is more likely, d'you think?"
"Poor Andy," Novak says. "I like your hair. Remember in juniors, when you have hair to here?"
He indicates a halo around his head that would seem to suggest that Andy had once sported an afro that would put a 70s disco king to shame.
"Twat," Andy says.
Novak laughs, and pats Andy on the head. "No, serious, I like your hair. Springy. I think you should let it grow again."
"Twat," Andy says again, batting Novak's hand away, biting his cheek to keep from smiling when Novak affectionately bumps their shoulders together, not complaining when he rests there, after.
-
It's the third set, and Rafa has just been broken when Andy says, "So if Rafa's Superman, do you think Roger's his kryptonite?"
He feels Novak's laugh as a low vibration through the place where his shoulder and Novak's rest warm against each other.
"Sure," Novak says. "Roger Federer, and underwear that fits."
Andy snorts beer through his nose. "Waterbottles in the wrong place," he offers, wiping stray foam with the back of his hand, glad that Novak's the one who saw it and not Kim.
Another rumbling vibration. "Hairdryer."
"Bad line calls."
"Robin Soderling."
They bat ideas back and forth like a friendly rally, until Rafa gets broken for the second time, and it starts to feel mean.
-
"Six-one," Novak says, low and almost disbelieving. "Man."
Andy says, "Do you think we jinxed him?"
"Shut the fuck up," Novak says. And, after a pause, "Oh my God. Did we jinx him?"
"Don't be so stupid," says Andy, but tennis players are a suspicious breed, and the idea gives him a definite, creeping unease.
"Maybe you tired him out," Novak says, so Andy punches him in the shoulder. "Ow, motherfucker! I play Davis Cup with this shoulder!"
-
"What I want to know is who chose the fucking music for this trophy ceremony," says Andy. "Who thought that Beautiful Day was a good idea for the runner up?"
"What do you want them to play," Novak says, "the Funeral March?"
"Yes," says Andy. "It would be more honest, you know, like, you lost so fuck your life."
Novak laughs, half watching Rafa make his short speech, half grinning at Andy. "What should they play for Roger?"
Andy waits until Roger gets up and starts making his way over to collect the trophy before he starts humming Darth Vader's theme music.
Novak laughs so hard Andy thinks he might actually choke.
-
"Okay," Novak says, muting the tv to a slideshow of confetti and camera flashes and slow-motion replays of Roger Federer's flawless backhand. He twists to face Andy. "So, what I want to know is, are you going to keep the bet?"
Andy meets his look, saying, "You mean the bet that neither of us won?"
"Ah," says Novak, slyly, "I think, if you remember, there was a third option."
"You cannot be serious," Andy says. He swallows the heavy sound of his heartbeat.
"Leave the impressions to me," says Novak. "I know a better use for your mouth."