Fic: Between Me & You
Title: Between Me and You
Pairing: Roger/Rafa
Rated: G
Disclaimer: Fabrications and Alterations of real life events, twisted to suite my own purposes.
Notes #1: Inspired by pandacology's lyrics-inspired fic challenge, posted here. This isn't directly related to any of the song lyrics she posted (although I did steal borrow some of the lyrics for a title). Instead it is a love for her theme 'the gentlest feeling'.
Note #2: Mirka and Roger are platonic. No marriage. No baby. Hey, it's fiction. XD
* * * *
Wimbledon 2007 has been over for less then 12 hours. Already the internet is flooded with photos taken during the match. This particular photo will, no doubt, become one of the defining memories that Roger will carry with him. Without even thinking, he runs his finger tips over Rafa's face. He closes his eyes and can feel the touch of Rafa's forhead to his, the touch of Rafa's warm, strong hand against his stomach. He remembers the ghost of a whisper from Rafa's lips. "Love you, Rogelio."
They had never said those words to each other. It was always unspoken. Always there on the edges but neither one of them knew how to say it. Afraid of what it would mean, what changes it might bring.
Roger had snaked his arm around Rafa, and pulled him in close. Whispered ... well, he couldn't remember everything he had said. Silly nonsense, probably, but he had wanted to tell Rafa how proud he was of him, how much he knew this loss would hurt. How much he loved Rafa. But the moment was over in just a few short seconds. Both of them pulling away, shaking hands with the umpire. It was all a blurr after that. Trophy ceremony, press events. One of them would attend a winner's party and be the toast of London the next day. The other would go back home to lick his wounds and regroup.
Mirka leans over the couch and presses a kiss to the top of his head. It startles him slightly.
"It's a great picture of the two of you, don't you think?" She is smiling at the photo.
"Yes, I suppose it is. But..." Roger's brow furrows.
She sighs, long-suffering and good naturedly. She reaches to wrap her arms around him. "But what?", she asks patiently, knowing what his answer will be.
"Well, just look at it Mirka. How could anyone that sees this photo not know that... that..." Roger is gesturing with his hand, trying to find the right words.
"That what, sweetheart? That the two of you love each other? Is there anything so terribly wrong with that, that you don't want people to know?"
Roger looks a bit panicked. "Well, no, of course not. I mean, I guess not. It's just that, well... the sponsors. Nike and Rolex! What will they say? And it really complicates things, you know? I just..."
Mirka has moved to the couch and has taken Roger's chin in her hand.
"Roger." Her tone is firm. "Listen to me. We don't always get this chance to find the one person who can be so completely perfect, the way Rafa is for you and you for him. Maybe some of the sponsors won't like it. Maybe some of the tournament officials won't like it. Yes, there could be some fall-out. But would you rather spend the rest of your life with him or with your Rolex?" She's got that determined look on her face, which usually means that Roger has already lost whatever battle it is they are waging.
He smiles sheepishly. "Well, I do really like my Rolex." She punches him, hard.
"Ow! Hey that hurts!" He laughs and pulls her in for an embrace. She lays her head on his shoulder and he rests his cheek on her soft hair. "Thank you" he whispers, "Thank you for always knowing what I need to hear and not being afraid to tell me."
"You're welcome. Now call him."
"Ok." He thinks of all the possibilities that lay ahead, with Rafa, and smiles.
Pairing: Roger/Rafa
Rated: G
Disclaimer: Fabrications and Alterations of real life events, twisted to suite my own purposes.
Notes #1: Inspired by pandacology's lyrics-inspired fic challenge, posted here. This isn't directly related to any of the song lyrics she posted (although I did steal borrow some of the lyrics for a title). Instead it is a love for her theme 'the gentlest feeling'.
Note #2: Mirka and Roger are platonic. No marriage. No baby. Hey, it's fiction. XD
* * * *
Wimbledon 2007 has been over for less then 12 hours. Already the internet is flooded with photos taken during the match. This particular photo will, no doubt, become one of the defining memories that Roger will carry with him. Without even thinking, he runs his finger tips over Rafa's face. He closes his eyes and can feel the touch of Rafa's forhead to his, the touch of Rafa's warm, strong hand against his stomach. He remembers the ghost of a whisper from Rafa's lips. "Love you, Rogelio."
They had never said those words to each other. It was always unspoken. Always there on the edges but neither one of them knew how to say it. Afraid of what it would mean, what changes it might bring.
Roger had snaked his arm around Rafa, and pulled him in close. Whispered ... well, he couldn't remember everything he had said. Silly nonsense, probably, but he had wanted to tell Rafa how proud he was of him, how much he knew this loss would hurt. How much he loved Rafa. But the moment was over in just a few short seconds. Both of them pulling away, shaking hands with the umpire. It was all a blurr after that. Trophy ceremony, press events. One of them would attend a winner's party and be the toast of London the next day. The other would go back home to lick his wounds and regroup.
Mirka leans over the couch and presses a kiss to the top of his head. It startles him slightly.
"It's a great picture of the two of you, don't you think?" She is smiling at the photo.
"Yes, I suppose it is. But..." Roger's brow furrows.
She sighs, long-suffering and good naturedly. She reaches to wrap her arms around him. "But what?", she asks patiently, knowing what his answer will be.
"Well, just look at it Mirka. How could anyone that sees this photo not know that... that..." Roger is gesturing with his hand, trying to find the right words.
"That what, sweetheart? That the two of you love each other? Is there anything so terribly wrong with that, that you don't want people to know?"
Roger looks a bit panicked. "Well, no, of course not. I mean, I guess not. It's just that, well... the sponsors. Nike and Rolex! What will they say? And it really complicates things, you know? I just..."
Mirka has moved to the couch and has taken Roger's chin in her hand.
"Roger." Her tone is firm. "Listen to me. We don't always get this chance to find the one person who can be so completely perfect, the way Rafa is for you and you for him. Maybe some of the sponsors won't like it. Maybe some of the tournament officials won't like it. Yes, there could be some fall-out. But would you rather spend the rest of your life with him or with your Rolex?" She's got that determined look on her face, which usually means that Roger has already lost whatever battle it is they are waging.
He smiles sheepishly. "Well, I do really like my Rolex." She punches him, hard.
"Ow! Hey that hurts!" He laughs and pulls her in for an embrace. She lays her head on his shoulder and he rests his cheek on her soft hair. "Thank you" he whispers, "Thank you for always knowing what I need to hear and not being afraid to tell me."
"You're welcome. Now call him."
"Ok." He thinks of all the possibilities that lay ahead, with Rafa, and smiles.
