Fic: Comfort
Title: Comfort
Pairing: Roger/Rafa
Wordcount: ~650
Rating: G
Summary: Roger and Rafa take comfort in each other after crashing out of Madrid.
"Tough day at the office," Roger says, slumped in an armchair in Rafa's hotel room in Madrid, aching all over. From his position sprawled on his front on the bed, Rafa smirks sleepily. He'd been lying like that when Roger had got there - hadn't even got up to open the door, had just called Come in! and, when Roger had cautiously opened the door, Rafa had grinned and told him to come in and lock the door behind him, but he'd just kept on lying there, like it would have been too much effort to get up and welcome Roger the way he usually did, with kisses or even just a hug, even though it had been his idea to meet in the first place. Roger could definitely relate to that kind of tiredness, but even so he couldn't shake a little prickle of annoyance, and so he hadn't gone over to the bed to kiss Rafa hello as he might usually have done, but had sunk down into the armchair instead.
"It happens," Rafa says. "Is tennis, no? Win and lose."
Roger's not sure he was as philosophical at twenty-two as Rafa is. He's not sure he is now. But then, he's never thought it a weakness to admit when losing stings, so long as you don't let it make you bitter or angry.
"I really wanted to play you," he says. It aches a little bit to admit.
Rafa only smiles, his expression soft, and holds out his hand from the bed. "Come here."
"Rafa, I'm too tired."
"No sex. Just comfort, no? Come lie with me."
The chair where Roger's sitting is comfortable, and his body protests as he rises out of it, but Rafa's bed looks more comfortable still, with one very obvious advantage. Rafa scoots over as Roger approaches, making room for Roger to lie down. Roger toes off his shoes as he stands next to the bed, and takes off his jacket as well, conscious that creasing it by lying down will be conspicuous later, and difficult to explain. Rafa huffs while Roger does this, out of tiredness or impatience it's hard to say - probably a mixture of the both. Rafa's not very good at waiting for things. But he hums with satisfaction as Roger settles himself on the bed, like Roger's worth the wait, even though all they're going to do is lie together. Roger lies down on his back, letting himself stretch out easily. Rafa shifts a little closer, close enough that his body presses solid and warm all along Roger's side, and he slings an arm across Roger's midsection, not pulling Roger any closer, just anchoring them together. He rubs his cheek against Roger's shoulder and in return Roger turns his head and brushes his lips against Rafa's temple, breathing in the clean scent of Rafa's skin and hair. There's no passion in the embrace, just ease and tender affection. The warmth from Rafa's body seeps into his own, soothing tired muscle and aching joints, and Rafa's contented sigh seems to suggest that Roger's having the same effect on him.
"Nice," Rafa murmurs, so low that Roger almost feels the vibration of the word against his body more than he hears it.
"Mm." They lie still together, the slow rise and fall of their chests as they breathe the only movement in the room, which is growing dim as the light fades. Objects recede into the gathering darkness, so that it seems like the whole world has narrowed down to this: the soft press of their bodies together, the shared warmth between them, and time is measured not in minutes or hours but in slow, even breaths. Outside this room life goes on, but it can do without them for a little while longer while they lie here, taking comfort in each other.
Pairing: Roger/Rafa
Wordcount: ~650
Rating: G
Summary: Roger and Rafa take comfort in each other after crashing out of Madrid.
"Tough day at the office," Roger says, slumped in an armchair in Rafa's hotel room in Madrid, aching all over. From his position sprawled on his front on the bed, Rafa smirks sleepily. He'd been lying like that when Roger had got there - hadn't even got up to open the door, had just called Come in! and, when Roger had cautiously opened the door, Rafa had grinned and told him to come in and lock the door behind him, but he'd just kept on lying there, like it would have been too much effort to get up and welcome Roger the way he usually did, with kisses or even just a hug, even though it had been his idea to meet in the first place. Roger could definitely relate to that kind of tiredness, but even so he couldn't shake a little prickle of annoyance, and so he hadn't gone over to the bed to kiss Rafa hello as he might usually have done, but had sunk down into the armchair instead.
"It happens," Rafa says. "Is tennis, no? Win and lose."
Roger's not sure he was as philosophical at twenty-two as Rafa is. He's not sure he is now. But then, he's never thought it a weakness to admit when losing stings, so long as you don't let it make you bitter or angry.
"I really wanted to play you," he says. It aches a little bit to admit.
Rafa only smiles, his expression soft, and holds out his hand from the bed. "Come here."
"Rafa, I'm too tired."
"No sex. Just comfort, no? Come lie with me."
The chair where Roger's sitting is comfortable, and his body protests as he rises out of it, but Rafa's bed looks more comfortable still, with one very obvious advantage. Rafa scoots over as Roger approaches, making room for Roger to lie down. Roger toes off his shoes as he stands next to the bed, and takes off his jacket as well, conscious that creasing it by lying down will be conspicuous later, and difficult to explain. Rafa huffs while Roger does this, out of tiredness or impatience it's hard to say - probably a mixture of the both. Rafa's not very good at waiting for things. But he hums with satisfaction as Roger settles himself on the bed, like Roger's worth the wait, even though all they're going to do is lie together. Roger lies down on his back, letting himself stretch out easily. Rafa shifts a little closer, close enough that his body presses solid and warm all along Roger's side, and he slings an arm across Roger's midsection, not pulling Roger any closer, just anchoring them together. He rubs his cheek against Roger's shoulder and in return Roger turns his head and brushes his lips against Rafa's temple, breathing in the clean scent of Rafa's skin and hair. There's no passion in the embrace, just ease and tender affection. The warmth from Rafa's body seeps into his own, soothing tired muscle and aching joints, and Rafa's contented sigh seems to suggest that Roger's having the same effect on him.
"Nice," Rafa murmurs, so low that Roger almost feels the vibration of the word against his body more than he hears it.
"Mm." They lie still together, the slow rise and fall of their chests as they breathe the only movement in the room, which is growing dim as the light fades. Objects recede into the gathering darkness, so that it seems like the whole world has narrowed down to this: the soft press of their bodies together, the shared warmth between them, and time is measured not in minutes or hours but in slow, even breaths. Outside this room life goes on, but it can do without them for a little while longer while they lie here, taking comfort in each other.