Fic: Eyes on Fire
Title: Eyes on Fire
Pairing: Rafa/Nole (Rafa/Roger)
Rating: PG
Wordcount: ~370 words
Summary: For hollabee, who requested both Rafa/Nole, jealous!Nole after a Slam and Rafa/Nole, something at the World Tour Finals, which I mashed together shamelessly :D
Rafa was not made for wearing suits, Novak thinks, biting back a smile as he watches Rafa struggle with his tie across the room. They're milling around before all the press craziness starts up in earnest, and Rafa looks sort of like he stumbled out of the shower and into his suit about five minutes ago, his hair damp and curling at the ends and his jacket sitting oddly on his shoulders, as though he'd thrown it on in a hurry. It's kind of adorable, in the way that Rafa's inability to be an adult is always adorable. And apparently, Novak's not the only one to have noticed.
Rafa glances up as Roger approaches, holding one end of his tie in each hand and looking helpless and bemused. "These things," Novak hears Rafa say, over the low hum of the other players' conversation, "I never can do properly."
Roger smiles, soft and affectionate, and Novak hears him say, "Here, let me," and then he watches as Roger takes the ends of the tie out of Rafa's hands. Roger ties the complicated knot surely, slowly, lingering over the motions with care. "It only takes a little practice," Roger says, absently, looking down at the tie, but Rafa isn't watching the movements of Roger's hands at all - his eyes are fixed on Roger's face, his expression something that twists cold in Novak's gut. Roger lingers over the knot at Rafa's throat, tiny unnecessary adjustments, his fingers brushing the cloth and the collar of Rafa's shirt, and Novak watches Rafa swallow tightly when Roger's fingertips ghost almost imperceptibly over the soft skin at his throat - the skin Novak knows, where he's pressed hidden kisses.
"There," Roger says, so quietly that perhaps Novak only imagines he hears him say it. He feels disconnected, almost more present in the secret space between Roger and Rafa than he is here in his own body. Roger smoothes his fingertips down the length of Rafa's tie; a fond, proprietary touch, that scratches through Novak sharp as nails. Then Roger looks up, catches Rafa's gaze, holds it steadily for a moment so long that Novak looks down and away, feeling his cheeks flush warm, as though he's intruding.
Pairing: Rafa/Nole (Rafa/Roger)
Rating: PG
Wordcount: ~370 words
Summary: For hollabee, who requested both Rafa/Nole, jealous!Nole after a Slam and Rafa/Nole, something at the World Tour Finals, which I mashed together shamelessly :D
Rafa was not made for wearing suits, Novak thinks, biting back a smile as he watches Rafa struggle with his tie across the room. They're milling around before all the press craziness starts up in earnest, and Rafa looks sort of like he stumbled out of the shower and into his suit about five minutes ago, his hair damp and curling at the ends and his jacket sitting oddly on his shoulders, as though he'd thrown it on in a hurry. It's kind of adorable, in the way that Rafa's inability to be an adult is always adorable. And apparently, Novak's not the only one to have noticed.
Rafa glances up as Roger approaches, holding one end of his tie in each hand and looking helpless and bemused. "These things," Novak hears Rafa say, over the low hum of the other players' conversation, "I never can do properly."
Roger smiles, soft and affectionate, and Novak hears him say, "Here, let me," and then he watches as Roger takes the ends of the tie out of Rafa's hands. Roger ties the complicated knot surely, slowly, lingering over the motions with care. "It only takes a little practice," Roger says, absently, looking down at the tie, but Rafa isn't watching the movements of Roger's hands at all - his eyes are fixed on Roger's face, his expression something that twists cold in Novak's gut. Roger lingers over the knot at Rafa's throat, tiny unnecessary adjustments, his fingers brushing the cloth and the collar of Rafa's shirt, and Novak watches Rafa swallow tightly when Roger's fingertips ghost almost imperceptibly over the soft skin at his throat - the skin Novak knows, where he's pressed hidden kisses.
"There," Roger says, so quietly that perhaps Novak only imagines he hears him say it. He feels disconnected, almost more present in the secret space between Roger and Rafa than he is here in his own body. Roger smoothes his fingertips down the length of Rafa's tie; a fond, proprietary touch, that scratches through Novak sharp as nails. Then Roger looks up, catches Rafa's gaze, holds it steadily for a moment so long that Novak looks down and away, feeling his cheeks flush warm, as though he's intruding.