Fic: Love Was Such an Easy Game to Play
Title: Love Was Such an Easy Game to Play
Pairing: Roger/Rafa
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~2500
Summary: Written for the Fedal Winter Ficathon at fedal_slash, for kohee's prompt: Roger and Rafa, after all the records are broken, and all the rivalry comes to an end on court, what is it going to be off-court? Without tennis to hold them together, is it going to work?
Roger woke with a sore neck and a wet nose - both side-effects of another night on the couch in the living room. Sore neck from the stupid cushions, wet nose courtesy of the six-month Labrador puppy enthusiastically licking at his nose.
"Coco, leave," he murmured, half-muffled against the fabric of the couch, which was rough and brand new and on which he had - he realised, as he raised himself up slowly - actually been drooling. Fantastic.
Coco sat back, whining high in her throat and thudding her tail against the floor as Roger eased himself up gingerly. His back protested as he rose, muscle pain spiking. The mattress in the master bedroom was made of some special chiropractic foam that didn't leave him feeling as though he had been brutalised during the night, and he thought about it longingly as he pressed a hand to the small of his back, the warmth of his palm almost like a heat pad against the sore muscles.
"Where's Rafa, Coco?" Roger asked, putting his other hand out for the puppy to but her glossy head against and then lave thoroughly with her hot tongue. The house was quiet, but the sun streaming across the floor from the high windows was rich and gold, mid-morning sunlight, and Rafa never slept that late. "Where's Rafa?"
Rafa, as it turned out, was not in the house at all. In the kitchen there was a note on the countertop, scrawled over with his messy handwriting: gone fishing. might be late.
No kisses, Roger thought, turning the note over in his hand. No smiley face. Bad sign. He crumpled the note and tossed it into the trash can, annoyed with Rafa and himself in equal measure.
"Just you and me today, Coco," Roger said to the puppy, who was sitting at her empty food bowl, watching Roger with expectant eyes. "Looks like I am literally in the dog-house."
-
After breakfast and a long, hot shower to ease away the aches of the night's bad sleep, Roger clipped a wriggling, hyperactive Coco onto the leash and walked her down to the short stretch of sandy cove that belonged to the house and made up its private beach. For a dog whose symbolic purpose in the lives of her owners was a commitment to settling down, Coco was a particularly unsettled sort of dog, and had yet to master the art of walking to heel, coming to call, or even walking obediently on the leash. She dragged the leash out to its absolute length, wheezing and straining at it until Roger was half-afraid she would choke in the struggle. His back ached with the effort of reigning her in. Rafa's damn fault, he let himself think, for spoiling her. It was a relief to reach the beach at last, where he could unleash the swirling chaos that was Coco into a flurry of flying sand and water splashing up under her paws as she raced the waves along the shore and chased them out, barking, as they receded.
Roger sat down on the sand and watched her chase the waves. After a while she tired, chasing up to shove her salt-wet nose against Roger's face before she raced back out again, throwing up glittering arcs of water as she splashed about with infectious joy in the shallows, and Roger laughed and got up to join her.
He waded out a little way into the sea, just enough that the perfectly warm water touched his calves, and surged up to his knees on a particularly strong wave. The sun beat down hot and strong, and he shaded his eyes with one hand as he looked out to sea, searching for the small white shapes of boats far out on the sparkling water.
-
When Coco had exhausted herself with chasing the waves out to sea (here was a dog that didn't know when she was beat), they ambled back up to the house together in the early afternoon, Coco off-leash and drooping with exhaustion, ready for her afternoon nap, and Roger loose-limbed and relaxed from the sun and the calming effect of the sea's slow rhythm. Rafa wasn't back yet, of course, so he made himself a quick sandwich while Coco sprawled out underneath the table on the terrace and passed out in the shade it provided, limbs twitching as she chased imaginary waves along the shores of her dreams.
For Roger, there were business emails, and an email from his sister that needed replying to before she started threatening to call. He made himself a cup of coffee and took the stupid slimline laptop that he'd already dropped three times out onto the terrace to enjoy the late afternoon sun while he struggled through the clogged inbox. He left his sister's email until last.
The problem wasn't that it was a particularly difficult email to respond to - there was a draft copy in his account with a full and funny account of Coco's latest and most destructive exploits, how the house was finally finished and decorated to Roger's satisfaction, how he was adapting to the easier pace of life in Mallorca. The problem was replying to the innocuous question: How are you and Rafa doing?
Fine was an impossible response. Fine was an invitation for Diana to call and start interrogating him on what exactly he meant by it, was he okay, what was the matter?
Rafa and I, Roger typed out, are not doing fine. I have slept on the couch for two nights running and he's gone fishing because he isn't speaking to me, presumably because last night we argued over how he overcooked the steak for dinner except that what we were really arguing about was the fact that we are both miserable and we have no idea why, only that we are driving each other crazy.
Well, Roger thought, staring at the screen, it was a more truthful response than fine, although not one that was any less likely to have Diana calling him up. He deleted it with a sigh, replaced it with: Rafa and I are great! He's out fishing because it's such a beautiful day, and I am left at the house to mind Coco, who is crashed out after a strenuous morning chasing waves on the beach.
Coco snuffled in her sleep, as if in response, and Roger reached down to pat her smooth flank.
"It's not exactly a lie," he told her, fondling one velvety ear between his fingers. She huffed, half-opening one eye to look up at him, almost as if to say, who are you kidding, mister?
-
It was dark and Roger was drowsing on the couch in front of a very bad and incomprehensible movie dubbed in Spanish when he heard the jangle of keys in the lock and the sound of the front door being opened and shut with care. He turned onto his back and lay still in the darkness, staring up at the high ceiling and listening to the soft pad of feet across the tiled hall floor, the squeak at the threshhold of hall and living room where Rafa still always forgot the step up and scuffed the sole of his trainers.
"Hi," Roger said, into the darkness.
There was a pause, then, "Hi," Rafa said, softly. He leaned over the couch, resting his forearms on the back. His hair was still wet, and little droplets of salt water fell onto Roger's cheeks. "It's late. You gonna stay there tonight again?"
"If you like," Roger said. Rafa watched him, solemn and quiet, and for a moment Roger was really afraid that he was going to say, yes, that's best, I think. But instead, he straightened up and said, "Come to bed, Roger."
Roger eased up slowly, aware of Rafa's gaze on him, carefully noting the labored movements.
"Your back?" Rafa said.
"Yeah," said Roger. "Bad today."
Rafa made a soft tsking noise of disapproval, but he put his hand at the small of Roger's back when he was standing upright, where he knew Roger got the pain worst when it was a bad day. Roger pressed back, just a tiny bit, into the comforting heat of it.
"You should wear the brace, when it's bad," Rafa said, softly, circling his palm in the sore spot.
"I don't like the brace," said Roger, mulishly. He rubbed a hand across his face, trying to clear his head. "I told you that." He was tired and being an ass, and he knew it, and he half expected Rafa to flare up again and then it would be another night on the couch, but instead Rafa just sighed and rubbed a last careful circle against Roger's back before he let his hand drop.
"Okay," he said, looking at Roger. "I'm tired. I don't wanna argue tonight, please."
"Yeah," Roger said, guiltily, feeling the absence of Rafa's touch. "Okay."
"Come to bed," said Rafa, touching his fingers to Roger's wrist lightly, as though he would have liked to take Roger's hand but didn't dare.
"Yeah," said Roger. "Wait. I have to go put Coco's food down."
"I do it," said Rafa. "You go. I should see her today, anyway."
"I don't know why you didn't take her out with you," Roger said, as Rafa moved away to the kitchen. "You know she loves to be on the boat."
Rafa shrugged as he went out. "I didn't want you to be alone," he said, without turning back.
-
Roger was in bed, luxuriating in the comfort of the real mattress, by the time that Rafa made it to the bedroom.
"That dog is crazy," he said, by way of greeting, already shrugging out of his t-shirt even as he shoved the door open with the toe of his shoe. "Absolutely crazy, no?"
"You spoil her," said Roger said, because he couldn't stop himself. "We both spoil her," he amended, after a beat, seeing the tension across Rafa's shoulders. "I took her to the beach today."
Rafa crooked a half-smile, stepping awkwardly out of his jeans. "Yeah? She catch a wave yet?"
"It's not for the want of trying," said Roger, and Rafa laughed - a real laugh, for a change.
"I should take a shower," Rafa said, standing at the foot of the bed in only his underwear, tanned and beautiful.
"Don't," Roger said, before he could stop himself. "Just - come to bed?"
Rafa paused for a moment. "Okay," he said, quietly.
Roger shut his eyes as Rafa switched off the lights and got into bed, feeling the bed dip under his weight as he lowered himself down, warm night air swirling under the sheets as he drew them up over himself, and Roger could smell him as he settled, the sweat and salt, and feel the heat of his body. Rafa always seemed to soak up the warmth of the sun, stored it under his skin and radiated it later.
"Night, Roger," Rafa said, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Roger's mouth, a brief moment of heat that was at the same time terribly chaste. Almost dutiful. Worse than if he hadn't kissed Roger at all. When it was over, he settled down onto his side, turned away from Roger, his shoulders curved protectively and his spine an elegant barrier. Roger resisted the urge to reach out and trace the lean line of it with his fingertips. Instead, he lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling, feeling Rafa tense and sleepless beside him.
"You know we have to talk about things soon," Roger said, after a long while, hearing his own voice strange and harsh in the hushed silence of their bedroom. "For one thing, my back won't take many more nights on the couch."
Rafa huffed out a short breath of laughter. "We have three guest rooms," he said. "I don't know why you didn't use one of them."
In the dark it was easier to tell the truth, to turn his head and murmur it into the secret space between their bodies. "If I used the guest room it would be like - like I don't belong here," Roger said, meaning here in this house, and here too in their bed, tucked close against the heat of his body.
Rafa shifted slowly, turning over. "You belong here," he said, when he was facing Roger, their mouths just a breath apart. Roger leaned forward and closed the gap, pressing his lips to Rafa's, and Rafa relaxed against him, mouth soft and opening for Roger when he pushed for it, all gentle heat and tenderness, and God, why couldn't it always be like this? Roger traced fingertips along the strong line of Rafa's jaw, scratchy with stubble where he hadn't shaved. How could it be this good, and yet so hard?
When Rafa pulled back a little, pressing a last lingering kiss to the pout of Roger's mouth and bumping his nose affectionately against Roger's, Roger shut his eyes and swallowed and said, "I just thought it was going to be easy now. Without all the, you know, the travel and the press and all those things. Now it's just you and me. I thought it was gonna be easy."
"Yeah," Rafa said, softly, lips brushing at the corner of Roger's mouth. He pressed a hand to Roger's stomach, warm through the worn fabric of his old t-shirt. "Me too. But nothing ever was easy with us, hm?"
"You have a point," Roger said, half-smiling."I love you, though."
"I know," Rafa said. "I love you, too. But," he added, "what if that is not enough?"
"We're not there yet," Roger said. He cupped the back of Rafa's neck to draw him closer, and Rafa shifted so that his whole body pressed tight to Roger's. He shifted his hand from Roger's belly to cup the curve of his hip, anchoring them together. "Things are hard sometimes because they're worth it."
"Maybe. I just thought," Rafa said, again, voice low and rough against Roger's shoulder, "that it was gonna be easy."
"Maybe it gets easier with practice," Roger said, turning his head to murmur the words into the soft hair at Rafa's temple. "Besides, there's Coco to think of."
"You're right," Rafa said, with a huff of laughter. "That is too much dog for any one person."
"You spoil her," said Roger.
"We spoil her," Rafa murmured.
Roger smiled against Rafa's skin, agreed, "We spoil her."
Pairing: Roger/Rafa
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~2500
Summary: Written for the Fedal Winter Ficathon at fedal_slash, for kohee's prompt: Roger and Rafa, after all the records are broken, and all the rivalry comes to an end on court, what is it going to be off-court? Without tennis to hold them together, is it going to work?
Roger woke with a sore neck and a wet nose - both side-effects of another night on the couch in the living room. Sore neck from the stupid cushions, wet nose courtesy of the six-month Labrador puppy enthusiastically licking at his nose.
"Coco, leave," he murmured, half-muffled against the fabric of the couch, which was rough and brand new and on which he had - he realised, as he raised himself up slowly - actually been drooling. Fantastic.
Coco sat back, whining high in her throat and thudding her tail against the floor as Roger eased himself up gingerly. His back protested as he rose, muscle pain spiking. The mattress in the master bedroom was made of some special chiropractic foam that didn't leave him feeling as though he had been brutalised during the night, and he thought about it longingly as he pressed a hand to the small of his back, the warmth of his palm almost like a heat pad against the sore muscles.
"Where's Rafa, Coco?" Roger asked, putting his other hand out for the puppy to but her glossy head against and then lave thoroughly with her hot tongue. The house was quiet, but the sun streaming across the floor from the high windows was rich and gold, mid-morning sunlight, and Rafa never slept that late. "Where's Rafa?"
Rafa, as it turned out, was not in the house at all. In the kitchen there was a note on the countertop, scrawled over with his messy handwriting: gone fishing. might be late.
No kisses, Roger thought, turning the note over in his hand. No smiley face. Bad sign. He crumpled the note and tossed it into the trash can, annoyed with Rafa and himself in equal measure.
"Just you and me today, Coco," Roger said to the puppy, who was sitting at her empty food bowl, watching Roger with expectant eyes. "Looks like I am literally in the dog-house."
-
After breakfast and a long, hot shower to ease away the aches of the night's bad sleep, Roger clipped a wriggling, hyperactive Coco onto the leash and walked her down to the short stretch of sandy cove that belonged to the house and made up its private beach. For a dog whose symbolic purpose in the lives of her owners was a commitment to settling down, Coco was a particularly unsettled sort of dog, and had yet to master the art of walking to heel, coming to call, or even walking obediently on the leash. She dragged the leash out to its absolute length, wheezing and straining at it until Roger was half-afraid she would choke in the struggle. His back ached with the effort of reigning her in. Rafa's damn fault, he let himself think, for spoiling her. It was a relief to reach the beach at last, where he could unleash the swirling chaos that was Coco into a flurry of flying sand and water splashing up under her paws as she raced the waves along the shore and chased them out, barking, as they receded.
Roger sat down on the sand and watched her chase the waves. After a while she tired, chasing up to shove her salt-wet nose against Roger's face before she raced back out again, throwing up glittering arcs of water as she splashed about with infectious joy in the shallows, and Roger laughed and got up to join her.
He waded out a little way into the sea, just enough that the perfectly warm water touched his calves, and surged up to his knees on a particularly strong wave. The sun beat down hot and strong, and he shaded his eyes with one hand as he looked out to sea, searching for the small white shapes of boats far out on the sparkling water.
-
When Coco had exhausted herself with chasing the waves out to sea (here was a dog that didn't know when she was beat), they ambled back up to the house together in the early afternoon, Coco off-leash and drooping with exhaustion, ready for her afternoon nap, and Roger loose-limbed and relaxed from the sun and the calming effect of the sea's slow rhythm. Rafa wasn't back yet, of course, so he made himself a quick sandwich while Coco sprawled out underneath the table on the terrace and passed out in the shade it provided, limbs twitching as she chased imaginary waves along the shores of her dreams.
For Roger, there were business emails, and an email from his sister that needed replying to before she started threatening to call. He made himself a cup of coffee and took the stupid slimline laptop that he'd already dropped three times out onto the terrace to enjoy the late afternoon sun while he struggled through the clogged inbox. He left his sister's email until last.
The problem wasn't that it was a particularly difficult email to respond to - there was a draft copy in his account with a full and funny account of Coco's latest and most destructive exploits, how the house was finally finished and decorated to Roger's satisfaction, how he was adapting to the easier pace of life in Mallorca. The problem was replying to the innocuous question: How are you and Rafa doing?
Fine was an impossible response. Fine was an invitation for Diana to call and start interrogating him on what exactly he meant by it, was he okay, what was the matter?
Rafa and I, Roger typed out, are not doing fine. I have slept on the couch for two nights running and he's gone fishing because he isn't speaking to me, presumably because last night we argued over how he overcooked the steak for dinner except that what we were really arguing about was the fact that we are both miserable and we have no idea why, only that we are driving each other crazy.
Well, Roger thought, staring at the screen, it was a more truthful response than fine, although not one that was any less likely to have Diana calling him up. He deleted it with a sigh, replaced it with: Rafa and I are great! He's out fishing because it's such a beautiful day, and I am left at the house to mind Coco, who is crashed out after a strenuous morning chasing waves on the beach.
Coco snuffled in her sleep, as if in response, and Roger reached down to pat her smooth flank.
"It's not exactly a lie," he told her, fondling one velvety ear between his fingers. She huffed, half-opening one eye to look up at him, almost as if to say, who are you kidding, mister?
-
It was dark and Roger was drowsing on the couch in front of a very bad and incomprehensible movie dubbed in Spanish when he heard the jangle of keys in the lock and the sound of the front door being opened and shut with care. He turned onto his back and lay still in the darkness, staring up at the high ceiling and listening to the soft pad of feet across the tiled hall floor, the squeak at the threshhold of hall and living room where Rafa still always forgot the step up and scuffed the sole of his trainers.
"Hi," Roger said, into the darkness.
There was a pause, then, "Hi," Rafa said, softly. He leaned over the couch, resting his forearms on the back. His hair was still wet, and little droplets of salt water fell onto Roger's cheeks. "It's late. You gonna stay there tonight again?"
"If you like," Roger said. Rafa watched him, solemn and quiet, and for a moment Roger was really afraid that he was going to say, yes, that's best, I think. But instead, he straightened up and said, "Come to bed, Roger."
Roger eased up slowly, aware of Rafa's gaze on him, carefully noting the labored movements.
"Your back?" Rafa said.
"Yeah," said Roger. "Bad today."
Rafa made a soft tsking noise of disapproval, but he put his hand at the small of Roger's back when he was standing upright, where he knew Roger got the pain worst when it was a bad day. Roger pressed back, just a tiny bit, into the comforting heat of it.
"You should wear the brace, when it's bad," Rafa said, softly, circling his palm in the sore spot.
"I don't like the brace," said Roger, mulishly. He rubbed a hand across his face, trying to clear his head. "I told you that." He was tired and being an ass, and he knew it, and he half expected Rafa to flare up again and then it would be another night on the couch, but instead Rafa just sighed and rubbed a last careful circle against Roger's back before he let his hand drop.
"Okay," he said, looking at Roger. "I'm tired. I don't wanna argue tonight, please."
"Yeah," Roger said, guiltily, feeling the absence of Rafa's touch. "Okay."
"Come to bed," said Rafa, touching his fingers to Roger's wrist lightly, as though he would have liked to take Roger's hand but didn't dare.
"Yeah," said Roger. "Wait. I have to go put Coco's food down."
"I do it," said Rafa. "You go. I should see her today, anyway."
"I don't know why you didn't take her out with you," Roger said, as Rafa moved away to the kitchen. "You know she loves to be on the boat."
Rafa shrugged as he went out. "I didn't want you to be alone," he said, without turning back.
-
Roger was in bed, luxuriating in the comfort of the real mattress, by the time that Rafa made it to the bedroom.
"That dog is crazy," he said, by way of greeting, already shrugging out of his t-shirt even as he shoved the door open with the toe of his shoe. "Absolutely crazy, no?"
"You spoil her," said Roger said, because he couldn't stop himself. "We both spoil her," he amended, after a beat, seeing the tension across Rafa's shoulders. "I took her to the beach today."
Rafa crooked a half-smile, stepping awkwardly out of his jeans. "Yeah? She catch a wave yet?"
"It's not for the want of trying," said Roger, and Rafa laughed - a real laugh, for a change.
"I should take a shower," Rafa said, standing at the foot of the bed in only his underwear, tanned and beautiful.
"Don't," Roger said, before he could stop himself. "Just - come to bed?"
Rafa paused for a moment. "Okay," he said, quietly.
Roger shut his eyes as Rafa switched off the lights and got into bed, feeling the bed dip under his weight as he lowered himself down, warm night air swirling under the sheets as he drew them up over himself, and Roger could smell him as he settled, the sweat and salt, and feel the heat of his body. Rafa always seemed to soak up the warmth of the sun, stored it under his skin and radiated it later.
"Night, Roger," Rafa said, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Roger's mouth, a brief moment of heat that was at the same time terribly chaste. Almost dutiful. Worse than if he hadn't kissed Roger at all. When it was over, he settled down onto his side, turned away from Roger, his shoulders curved protectively and his spine an elegant barrier. Roger resisted the urge to reach out and trace the lean line of it with his fingertips. Instead, he lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling, feeling Rafa tense and sleepless beside him.
"You know we have to talk about things soon," Roger said, after a long while, hearing his own voice strange and harsh in the hushed silence of their bedroom. "For one thing, my back won't take many more nights on the couch."
Rafa huffed out a short breath of laughter. "We have three guest rooms," he said. "I don't know why you didn't use one of them."
In the dark it was easier to tell the truth, to turn his head and murmur it into the secret space between their bodies. "If I used the guest room it would be like - like I don't belong here," Roger said, meaning here in this house, and here too in their bed, tucked close against the heat of his body.
Rafa shifted slowly, turning over. "You belong here," he said, when he was facing Roger, their mouths just a breath apart. Roger leaned forward and closed the gap, pressing his lips to Rafa's, and Rafa relaxed against him, mouth soft and opening for Roger when he pushed for it, all gentle heat and tenderness, and God, why couldn't it always be like this? Roger traced fingertips along the strong line of Rafa's jaw, scratchy with stubble where he hadn't shaved. How could it be this good, and yet so hard?
When Rafa pulled back a little, pressing a last lingering kiss to the pout of Roger's mouth and bumping his nose affectionately against Roger's, Roger shut his eyes and swallowed and said, "I just thought it was going to be easy now. Without all the, you know, the travel and the press and all those things. Now it's just you and me. I thought it was gonna be easy."
"Yeah," Rafa said, softly, lips brushing at the corner of Roger's mouth. He pressed a hand to Roger's stomach, warm through the worn fabric of his old t-shirt. "Me too. But nothing ever was easy with us, hm?"
"You have a point," Roger said, half-smiling."I love you, though."
"I know," Rafa said. "I love you, too. But," he added, "what if that is not enough?"
"We're not there yet," Roger said. He cupped the back of Rafa's neck to draw him closer, and Rafa shifted so that his whole body pressed tight to Roger's. He shifted his hand from Roger's belly to cup the curve of his hip, anchoring them together. "Things are hard sometimes because they're worth it."
"Maybe. I just thought," Rafa said, again, voice low and rough against Roger's shoulder, "that it was gonna be easy."
"Maybe it gets easier with practice," Roger said, turning his head to murmur the words into the soft hair at Rafa's temple. "Besides, there's Coco to think of."
"You're right," Rafa said, with a huff of laughter. "That is too much dog for any one person."
"You spoil her," said Roger.
"We spoil her," Rafa murmured.
Roger smiled against Rafa's skin, agreed, "We spoil her."