Tennis Fic: Anatomy of a Marriage [R] Part One
Title: Anatomy of a Marriage
Author: Jae Kayelle
Pairing: Roger Federer/Rafael Nadal, Roger/Mirka Federer, Rafa/Maria Franscica
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. No disrespect meant to real persons depicted here.
Word count: 18,805
Summary: Mirka gets a weird idea about how her marriage to Roger should be conducted.
A/N: This story contains scenes of a loving relationship between Roger and Mirka. If you're allergic to het and can't handle it better scroll past. It is also very much about Roger's relationship with Rafa.
A/N2: I would like to thank timour and yilloofnarwin for reading this story, and making suggestions for changes and guiding me when I went astray. Their help was invaluable. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
AO3
Mirka was staring at him again. Roger could feel it from where he sat on the floor playing with their daughters. He glanced up and quirked an eyebrow at her. She rolled her eyes and went into the kitchen. Roger picked up a colouring book and some crayons, showing Myla and Charlene how to stay within the lines.
He was rather pleased with his purple and blue dragon, showing it to the girls and making them giggle with his fierce dragon face, when he felt Mirka's attention again, but when he looked up she was out of sight.
Finally he got to his feet and went to find her. She sat at the table with a cup of coffee between her hands, rubbing her palms against the china, staring into space. Roger poured himself a cup so he'd have something to hold, admitting to himself he was stalling, and sat across from her, his coffee sitting forgotten already.
“What's wrong?” he asked.
Mirka frowned. “You're a smart man, Rogi.”
When she didn't say anything more he thought perhaps he was supposed to figure out what she was talking about, but he was at a loss. He knew people called him a genius on the courts, and he thought he had a good intuitive grasp about tennis. About his own wife sometimes, not so much.
He spread his hands on either side of the cup. “I don't know what's going on. You seem...annoyed about something. Did I do something? Was I supposed to do something and didn't? Tell me in words, Mirka. I'm not a mind reader.”
She laughed then, not unkindly. “Sorry. I only meant that you're a smart man and yet you can be a little oblivious at times.”
Heartened that her mood did not seem dangerous after all, he decided to keep it light. “Only sometimes?”
“I love you. I hope you know that.” Now she was looking at him as if willing him to understand and he felt irrationally worried again.
His heart beating a little faster he asked, “This sounds ominous. What are you trying to tell me?”
Reaching across the table to take his left hand in her right, Mirka rubbed her fingers over his wrist. “I love you,” she repeated.
Alarmed now, he pleaded, “Mirka, just tell me where you are going with this.”
“I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy.” He was thoroughly confused now. “I have you and the girls and my tennis. I don't understand...”
“Yes, you have us and you always will, but we are not enough for you.” Before Roger could react to that with the indignation that had suddenly boiled up inside him, she added, “Therefore I am giving you permission to have an affair.”
Flabbergasted, he sputtered in two languages before getting himself back under control. Mirka gazed at him with such a level of calm he envied her. He was still reeling from her announcement.
“That's ridiculous! You're the only woman I want.”
Then Mirka tipped her head to one side, smiled fondly and said, “I know. I was thinking you might want to have an affair with Rafa.”
Roger knew his mouth was open, but he had no words in response, so he closed it.
After a pause he tried again and finally managed, “Rafa?”
“Don't you like him?”
“He's a friend,” Roger said numbly. “I like him as a friend.”
“Nothing more? Rogi, I've seen how you look at him. Across the net, especially after a match.”
Roger couldn't think of how she meant that. “It takes two to have an affair,” he said defensively, still trying to sort out how he supposedly looked at Rafa across the net.
Smiling more broadly now, Mirka said, “He has a crush on you, at the very least. Massive.”
“He -- what?”
“Mass-ive crush. Could be it goes even deeper than that. He's such a good boy.” She could get away with calling Rafa a boy, since she was about eight years older than he.
“This is crazy.” He sat there blinking at her. How could she even...?
“Will you consider it?”
“Why are you even bringing this up? I don't get it. Why would you want to --?” He stopped short of the words “Share me”. That sounded incredibly arrogant to him.
“Darling, it's because I love you. I can hope that you won't figure it out yourself and then feel torn about it, or I could deny it of you, and we'd both be miserable. You may not have gotten there yet on your own, but you would have eventually, and then you'd either deny yourself or twist yourself into knots wondering what if? Either way you wouldn't be the man you are now, happy and settled. This way you can have what you want deep down inside, with my permission, with my blessing, and the girls and I still have you.”
Tears stung Roger's eyes but did not fall. Instead he blinked them away and smiled. “Your confidence is astounding.”
“I know that you will come back to me, either when you and Rafa are done or, more likely, while you and he go on. I know you love me and I am not worried that you will love him more. The life we've built together is strong, Roger. We share so much. The girls, our families, tennis, we have it all. We are very fortunate in our life, in our love. If you also want Rafa, you should go to him.”
Roger cleared his throat, suddenly overwhelmed by Mirka's generosity and love.
“I still need to think about this.” Knowing she was about to try again to explain it all to him, he stopped her before she started. “I need to think about Rafa. This is new to me.”
“You mean not even once?”
Unaccountably blushing he replied, “I love to watch him play tennis and sometimes wish I had his muscular build, even though that's not who I am, but no?”
Chuckling, Mirka said, “You don't sound too sure. You've never noticed his ass?”
“Mirka!”
“He's a beautiful man.”
Standing abruptly, though not in anger, he said, “Maybe you should have an affair with him, although I don't think I could be as generous or even as grown up as you are being.” He walked to the sink and dumped his cold coffee down the drain, rinsing the cup and setting it on the sideboard.
“If I thought that I could without hurting you I might consider it, but somehow I doubt he'd be interested in a woman.”
Spinning around Roger asked, “And what about Mary? Don't her feelings count for anything?” He'd spoken with Maria Francisca a number of times with and without Rafa. She was a lovely young woman who seemed to have a genuine affection for her boyfriend and he for her.
Mirka stood and walked over until she leaned against him, her arms going around his waist, her chin pressing into his chest, and forcing him back against the counter. “Oh, sweetie. Who do you think put the idea in my head?”
#
He spent more time wandering around the house than sleeping that night. Mirka found him leaning against the doorway of the girls' room around 3 a.m., watching them sleep. She watched with him for a few moments before drawing him away and back to their bedroom.
They climbed into bed, settling against the pillows and the oak headboard, and Roger automatically put his arm around his wife, but remained silent.
“You have a good conscience and a better heart, Roger,” Mirka told him but said nothing more. After a while she dropped into slumber in his arms. He didn't sleep.
#
He went down to his court to practice but did so abysmally his hitting partner told him to try again when his mind was on it. Finding he couldn't argue with that he got in the Mercedes roadster and drove around for hours, until Mirka phoned and asked if he was coming home for dinner.
#
Now that the idea was in his head he couldn't get it out, but he still had trouble connecting with his feelings towards Rafa. Roger loved Mirka with all his heart. Even thinking about having an affair of the heart or body with another person, no matter the gender, felt vaguely...well, not wrong...only, yes, very wrong. It intrigued him, maybe because he enjoyed experiencing new things, but this was huge.
And then there was the idea of being with another man. He searched his memory for clues that maybe he was attracted to men, but came up empty. He'd never felt a frisson of excitement when he saw a handsome man. More often than not he would wonder how the other man got his hair to go like that, or where did he buy his clothes? Did that make him gay? Some journalists described him as “metrosexual”, a term Anna Wintour had also used about him a time or two. Just because he enjoyed shopping, good grooming and dressing well?
He'd never felt the urge to kiss another man on the mouth, or put his hands below the waist of anyone male. He had never even been tempted by another woman and he knew he liked women or, rather, he knew he loved one woman. Mirka. Could he possibly be attracted to only two people - Mirka and Rafa? Did that make him bisexual or simply a man who could love his wife and maybe, possibly...Rafa?
He was getting a headache with all of this unresolved thinking.
#
When he returned he told her, “I have to talk to Rafa.”
“This is your holiday, sweetheart. You can do whatever you like.”
He stared at her for a moment. “You've already set up my flight to Monte Carlo, haven't you?”
She patted his chest. “No, I did not. That's for you to decide and arrange. But better let him know you're on the way.”
#
On the flight to Monte Carlo Roger convinced himself he knew what he was getting into. He prided himself on figuring things out on his own. It stung a little that he hadn't figured out he was attracted to Rafa and had to be told that this was so. He did not like that feeling, that something was out of his control, something so big and life-altering. It made him uncomfortable and perhaps a little angry. Shouldn't he know who he found attractive? How could he not know something like that? He wasn't stupid. His cheeks burned a little and maybe he sulked for a while. He knew how he felt when Mirka told him he was sulking, even though he most certainly was not sulking, and this was it.
And so he sat quietly on his plane and stared out the window and saw nothing.
When they landed a text came through. It was from Mirka.
Remember that I only want to help. And that I love you.
Reading it for the third time Roger decided that confusion was a learning experience, and he would learn something positive from this. For now he wanted to talk to Rafa and maybe regain some of his equilibrium. He would take back control of his own life.
#
The clay season had started without Roger, but he had needed the rest after playing so many tournaments since the beginning of the year. His plan was to gain as many points as he could. His goal was to regain the number one ranking. His detractors laughed and his fans hoped and dreamed. Roger just kept playing and winning. He was fit and rested and now he was going to attend a tournament as a spectator, from behind the scenes and he was here only to watch Rafa.
His text to his Spanish friend had read: We need to talk. See you in Monte Carlo?
The response had come back within a few hours: Yes! Let me know when arriving.
Rafa met him after his jet landed, hurrying onto the tarmac to give him a two-armed hug.
“Shouldn't you be practicing or something?” Roger laughed into his shoulder and taking the opportunity to appreciate the solid musculature up close. Now that his eyes had been opened and his brain had come online in regards to the possibility that he might be attracted to a man, to this man, Roger found himself assessing Rafa in new ways. Roger still wasn't there yet, where Mirka thought he should be, but he was on the way. This trip was as much to see Rafa in the flesh, so to speak, and find out if his physicality did anything to Roger's libido, as it was to talk to Rafa and find out what he thought about the whole idea.
That was the scary part. Roger liked Rafa and wanted them to remain friends. He needed to find out
how Rafa felt about him as a man. If Mirka was right it shouldn't be too difficult, but Roger still didn't know if he himself even wanted to be with a man.
What a mess. He should just go home and play with his daughters, and make love to his wife.
Rafa regarded him evenly. “You okay, Rogelio? You look worried.”
Forcing a smile, Roger said, “I've got things on my mind, you know. You might be unreachable in the rankings after the clay season.”
“Then you play here, this week! They give you wild card. Not too late.”
“No, I'm on holiday. I came to see you. Um, will you have dinner with me tonight? We don't get much chance to just spend time together. You know, if it doesn't interfere with your schedule?”
“It no interfere. I have to eat.”
“If you're sure.”
“Rogi, I sure. I like hanging out with you. Dinner is the bonus.” Then Rafa's face lit up in a huge smile of delight at the prospect of the two of them spending time together. He looked so... Roger didn't know what it was Rafa looked like or how, he just knew that something lit up inside of him as well at the sight.
Oh, god. Maybe Mirka was right.
He felt vaguely sick and yet very excited with anticipation.
#
They found an out of the way bistro where they weren't likely to be found by paparazzi or the public, although they never knew for sure when either would turn up. Glancing around, Roger noted the low lighting and the single candle in the midst of a bunch of flowers as the centerpiece on their table. It was a romantic atmosphere. He wondered what Rafa thought of it.
Rafa smiled in between forkfuls of broiled sea bass, chattering amiably. Roger stopped listening and simply stared in happiness and adoration. Rafa was one of his best friends and they didn't get to spend a lot of time together away from the courts. He enjoyed listening to Rafa's unique brand of English, interspersed with Spanish and French when he couldn't find the correct word. Sometimes Roger thought it was quite remarkable that they communicated so well considering how many languages they had between them, and barely two in common.
“Rogelio.”
“Mm.”
“Rogi.”
Finally focusing on Rafa's voice he saw that a fork was being waved at him. A few bits of fish still clung to the tines and he wondered if they would fall or fly off. Neither happened so he looked at Rafa.
“Why are you here?”
This was it. Time to put their friendship on the line. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“In Monte Carlo?” Rafa scrunched up the left side of his face. “Si. Why you ask?”
Ducking his head Roger took a deep breath and looked Rafa in the eye. “No, here. With me. In this bistro.”
Rafa nodded emphatically. “Yes! Is good to be with you. Food is good. Company is better.”
Roger smiled back. “I'm glad. I'm enjoying being with you, too.” Then, in a rush before his nerves got the better of him he added, “So if this was a date you'd be okay with that?”
Rafa's face changed then, going blank, and Roger thought he was going to get up and leave.
Speaking very carefully, as if afraid of being misunderstood, Rafa asked, “Is this a date?”
“Maybe. Yes. I think so.”
Rafa dipped his head, his hair falling in a curtain around his face making his expression unreadable. “If this a date,” he looked up through his hair, “then that's good.”
“Yeah?” Roger's heart was pounding in his ears. “Then, yes, this is a date.”
Reaching across the table Rafa touched the back of Roger's hand, much the same way Mirka had the day she'd given him permission to pursue this, and the gesture connected the whole thing for him. It was a heady moment.
“But,” Rafa's expressive brown eyes regarded him sadly, “what about Mirka?”
Roger smiled. “This was her idea.”
Scrunching up his face Rafa said, “No understand.”
“I know, right? Whose wife does things like that?”
“She say it okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, Mary say something same. She tell me I,” he paused as he ducked his head, the tips of his ears turning red, and then he glanced up from under his hair again, “she tell, “Go to Roger after tournament. Be with him.” I no understand her too.”
“I know,” Roger nodded his head. “Women are confusing.”
“Is best no to ask questions.”
“So we have permission. What are we going to do about it?”
“Enjoy dinner?”
Relieved that they didn't have to run and jump into bed together, Roger grinned. “Sounds like a good idea.” He couldn't help noticing, however, that Rafa also seemed easier with the idea that all they were going to do was eat.
He waited a minute or two, courage was still in short supply, and then asked, “When Mary brought up the idea of...us how did you feel about it?”
Setting down his fork Rafa took a long drink of water, not looking at Roger immediately. “I no understand at first. Why would she ask such a thing?”
Roger nodded once and waited for Rafa to continue.
“She supposed to be my girlfriend. For sure we no spend time together...lots of time together, but we have fun when we see each other. So why does she want me to be with you? Is crazy! Uh, sorry, Rogi. I mean...”
“It's okay, Raf. I thought the same thing at first, but,” he trailed off. This was the hard part, talking about feelings or his possible attraction to Rafa. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “But Mirka explained to me that maybe I, uh, found you, uh, to be attractive?”
“Yes?” Rafa looked interested in what he had to say. “You think me attractive?”
Roger studied his face. For once, just when he needed him to be, Rafa wasn't wearing what he was thinking right there for the world to see. Damn it.
He took a deep breath.
“Well, there was something said about your ass.”
Rafa started to giggle. “You like my ass?” he lowered his voice as well, even though they were essentially alone in the restaurant with just two couples at tables on the other side of the room and the wait staff in the kitchen.
“Mirka brought it up!” Roger stated defensively. His face was hot and he had to refrain from squirming from embarrassment.
Rafa howled.
Roger sat back in his chair and stared at him. He tried but couldn't hold back the smile that threatened to break out. Soon he was laughing just as hard as his demented friend.
“She wanted you more than I do.”
Rafa's eyes grew huge. “Oh ho! For sure your wife wants me. Maybe I go be with her?”
Unaccountably Roger felt a sharp, almost physical stab of jealousy somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. If it had been anyone else saying those words, anyone but Rafa, his very good friend, he would have gotten very angry. He wasn't sure what he might have done about it; he wasn't a violent man, but he was extremely protective of his family. As it was he simply said, through his giggles, “She said she might be interested in having an affair with you too.”
Rafa couldn't look more surprised, but then he dissolved into another fit of contagious laughter. Roger had to hold his aching sides as he gasped breathlessly.
At some point he looked up to see the owner of the bistro hovering anxiously near their table.
“Monsieur Federer. Monsieur Nadal. I'm so apolo-- I'm so sorry, but I must ask you to,” he gestured helplessly towards the other diners. There were varying degrees of annoyance on their faces.
Roger sobered immediately. Speaking in French he said, “My apologies, M'sieur. We did not mean to disturb your other customers. We got a little carried away.”
Rafa also apologized to him and sent a smile towards the offended people. Their attitude softened noticeably. Roger thought that no one was immune to Rafa's charm.
“Perhaps we should go,” he said to Rafa.
Turning to the owner Roger pulled out his credit card and said, “Please send a bottle of wine to each table and put their meals on our bill.”
Quickly arranging the request the owner hurried away, barking orders to his staff and personally taking the wine to the other diners. Their server brought the bill shortly after, while Roger and Rafa tried very hard not to look at one another.
After he paid the bill Roger said, “So much for going unnoticed. Probably everyone here knows who we are.”
Rafa shrugged. “Is fame, no?”
#
They decided to walk for a while and strolled companionably down the street, shoulders bumping every other step. Roger's sides were still sore. He rubbed a hand across his abdomen.
“Eat too much?”
“Laugh too much,” Roger grinned at him.
“Was fun.”
“It was a lot of fun. I'm not sure I could laugh like that again any time soon, but it was very fun.”
They crossed the street and came upon a park. Roger gazed upwards. The leaves and branches overhead provided a canopy, blocking out the street lights and filtering the stars.
Rafa stopped walking suddenly and put his hands on Roger's shoulders, pushing him gently backwards. His gaze filled with Rafa's intense focus Roger allowed himself to be directed further into the dark, until his back met with a tree trunk, solid and sturdy. Still staring at one another Roger dropped his eyes so that all he could see was Rafa's mouth and the tip of his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. Then Rafa leaned forward at the same time as Roger did.
They met in a kiss that was off-centre, noses bumping and laughter bubbled up between them again. Then Roger placed his hands on either side of Rafa's face, turned him slightly to the right while he leaned in from the left, and this time it was perfect.
Roger used his tongue to part Rafa's soft lips and dove in, suddenly hungry for more, for everything Rafa could give him. They clung to each other, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. Roger felt insistent hardness pressing against his leg, his own response pushing back, just as imperative.
They broke apart, panting, staring at one another in the semi-darkness.
Rafa rubbed his fingers across his mouth, hunger still in his hawk-like gaze. Unable to help himself Roger placed his own fingertips on Rafa's lips. He traced the outside and then pushed a little, and Rafa let him in, sucking on Roger's forefinger.
Roger groaned and pulled his hand away. He had to press the heel of that hand over his erection.
“We need to stop,” he gasped, “before we get caught for indecent exposure here in the park.”
“You say too,” Rafa told him. “Before when saying Mirka want affair with me, you say she too. You mean you also?”
It was possible Roger's brain had quit on him during the kiss. He had to take a couple of seconds to catch up, remembered what he had said and realized that, yes, he had said that Mirka also wanted to sleep with Rafa. He'd given himself away and Rafa had zeroed in on it.
He nodded once.
Rafa asked, “Your hotel?”
“My hotel,” he agreed.
#
Silently thanking Mirka for informing him that he was in lust with Rafa before he left home, Roger was grateful that he'd had the sense to book a room in a hotel far away from where Rafa was staying with his team. The paparazzi were sure to be camped out near the players but not at Roger's accommodations, since no one knew he was in the city. They managed to drive there and go up to the room without being noticed. The hotel staff didn't even pay attention to the young Spaniard lurking behind the potted palm in the lobby, when Roger crossed to the elevator. Either that or the staff was used to world famous athletes sneaking into each other's rooms. Roger held the door open and Rafa slid inside. They both glanced upwards, saw the security camera and stood just far enough apart to look innocent.
Roger's room was almost too far away, but somehow they managed to get to it and go inside with the door closed before ripping each other's clothes off. The bed was definitely too far away. Shirts flung aside, pants and underwear yanked down around their knees, they rutted together up against the wall. Roger took the weight of Rafa in his hand, sparing a very brief instant where he was shocked that he was holding another man's cock, all angry red and hot and heavy and leaking pre-come, before he began pumping it the way he liked doing it to himself. Rafa's hands were both planted firmly on Roger's ass, pulling him forward so that there wasn't much room to manoeuvre, his hand and both their erections trapped between their bodies. He planted his own hardness along the divot at the top of Rafa's thigh and indulge in rubbing himself off there.
They made no attempt to kiss then. Apparently neither of them was capable of multi-tasking at the moment. Roger stared at Rafa's long neck, his head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut while he concentrated on what Roger was doing to him and keeping the friction hot and there for Roger to get off on.
“God, Rafa!” He looked so wanton and then he thrust upwards with his hips and Roger would have been glad they were the same height if his brain was online right then. Roger shoved his own pelvis forward and came messily against both their stomachs. Rafa shuddered and suddenly there was hot and sticky all over Roger's hand.
Rafa sagged forward. Roger caught him, slipping a hand to the back of his neck up under his hair. Wrapping his arms around Rafa's shoulders Roger led him towards the bed, both of them stumbling on rubbery legs. Part of the problem seemed to be that their jeans were around their ankles, so they stopped to step out of them.
They fell onto the bed and half-crawled, half-dragged themselves up to where their heads could hit the pillows, somehow getting underneath the sheets. Roger rolled towards Rafa who immediately wound himself around him, tucking his head in under Roger's chin.
“Buenas noches, Rogelio. Duerme bien.”
“You too. Sleep well.”
#
Roger woke up to the sensation of wet heat engulfing his cock. He cracked one eye open to see Rafa's shaggy head bobbing up and down between Roger's legs.
“God!”
Removing his mouth with a pop Rafa replied, “No, just me.” And then he grinned at Roger, crawled up to bestow a sloppy kiss on him and slid back down to his task. Roger trailed a hand across the top of Rafa's head and down to his cheek.
“Rafafa,” he whispered.
Then Rafa did something with his tongue and his wrist and...
“Ohh god!”
#
They emerged from the bathroom freshly showered and scrubbed and laughing again. Roger swatted Rafa's legs with a towel. They wrestled for possession of the towel, falling on the bed and into each other's arms. Roger ran a hand down Rafa's side, over his ribs and over his bare hip, leaning in to nibble a path across Rafa's shoulder. Rafa's hands slid into Roger's hair, dragging him up so they could kiss properly.
“I think I'm getting the idea of making love to a man,” Roger noted, murmuring against Rafa's mouth.
“You not do it with a man before?”
“No. I think now if I had recognized what Stan felt for me years ago that maybe I might have experimented a little. But then it would have hurt Stan if I wasn't in it with my heart.”
Rafa sat back against the pillows but kept his hands on Roger, stroking across his chest and playing with the hairs.
“Stan loved you?”
Roger sighed and rubbed his hands across his face. “I think he still does. I've been too afraid to have that talk with him.”
“So you no feel the same way about him?”
“Stan's my buddy. We're friends. That's all.”
Rafa was silent a moment, continuing to map Roger's chest. “Must be sad for Stan not have what he really wants.”
“I can't help how I feel,” Roger spread his hands helplessly.
“I know how Stan feel. I love you for a long time but no have. You treat me as a friendship, no, as a friend. I want more but you not see that.”
Roger was stunned. “You loved me?”
Rafa smiled, his teeth brilliantly white in his tanned face. “I love you now.”
The only reply Roger had to that was to kiss him deeply. Wow. He was slow. Gazing into Rafa's eyes he recalled the rest of the confession. “I'm so sorry that I was so stupid and...I didn't know. I didn't even know how I felt. Recognizing your feelings was totally out of my depth.”
“Is okay. Friends is good. Was good. Now I want you - all.”
“Well, you've got me now.”
And then they were kissing again. A while later they needed another shower and Rafa had to get to practice.
#
Mirka called soon after Rafa left.
“Glad you're having a good time,” she greeted him.
“Um, what?”
“I'll send you the link. Call me after you see it.” She hung up.
An email came through right after that with a link to YouTube. It was a video of them at dinner the night before, laughing like a pair of schoolboys. The lighting was almost too dark but it was obviously them. One of the other diners must have shot the video. Retaliation for having their dining experience marred by two men enjoying each other's company?
He watched it twice. They had been very silly. Then he remembered he was supposed to call his wife. His cheeks flamed at the memory of what he and Rafa had done in the bed and against the wall and in the shower. He really had taken advantage of Mirka giving him carte blanche.
He didn't want to call Mirka, even though he missed her and the girls. He was seldom away from them these days. Talking to Mirka meant acknowledging that he had broken his wedding vows - with her permission. He had to remember that last part.
Swallowing his nervousness he tapped her number and waited.
She picked up right away.
“Hi,” he said softly.
“Hi, sweetheart. Are you okay?”
He sat on the edge of the bed then got up again. It was just too weird to talk to her while seated on that bed.
“Are you alone?” she asked.
“Yes. Rafa - Rafa had to go practice. That video,” he trailed off wondering why he felt the urge to apologize for having fun at dinner with a friend. Then he tried for a light tone. “You're not going to use it as blackmail if you divorce me, are you?”
To his relief, Mirka saw the humour in it. “It's not incriminating enough. Two guys having dinner? Although that was a pretty romantic setting.”
“We just wanted to find an out of the way place where we wouldn't be bothered by the media. The flowers and candle were an unexpected bonus.”
He relaxed enough to enjoy the sound of her giggles.
“Oh, Rogi. I know this was my idea but I miss you, I missed waking up with you this morning.”
“I can come home. I'll leave right now.”
“Are you okay? You sound frightened.” Her voice dropped on the last word.
He was a little scared of the depth of his newly awakened feelings for Rafa, and especially by the fact that he still wasn't sure what they were. “I don't want to jeopardize what I have with you.”
There was a pause and then Mirka asked, “Do you think you might?”
“Not intentionally. Never that.”
“Then it won't happen.”
“You sound so sure.”
“I trust you.”
“I love you.”
“I know. How long will you be there?”
“Um, a few more days, I guess. Mirka?”
“Yes?”
“I - thank you.”
“Have fun. Say hi to Rafa for me. And, Rog?”
“Yeah?”
“Try to stay off YouTube.”
She ended the call and Roger finally sat on the bed, staring at the phone in his hand. Shit. YouTube. Everyone in Monte Carlo would figure out that he was in town. Nothing to do now but bluff his way through it.
#
Roger watched on tv as Rafa defeated Kukushkin in straight sets in the third round.
They celebrated by staying in Roger's hotel room and ordering up room service, and then letting the food get cold, while they celebrated some more.
#
Rafa's quarterfinal match had a similar result on the court, but this time the loser was Stan Wawrinka. It felt odd to celebrate a victory of his lover over his good friend. After a late dinner Rafa said, “You should call him.”
Roger already had his phone out. He waggled it in his hand so Rafa could see it, and then managed a quick smile. “Great minds think alike, I guess.”
Defeat lay heavy in Stan's voice.
“Bonjour.”
“I saw your match,” Roger told him. “I'm sorry.”
“Yeah,” Roger could imagine Stan running his hand over his face and the look of resignation that he was trying to wipe clean. “It's okay, though, I'll do better next time.”
“That's a good attitude. And you will do better. There are a lot of tournaments left in the season for you to win.”
“Yeah, but it kind of stings a little more when it's Rafa.”
Surprised, Roger said, “Why?”
“Because he means so much to you.” Stan's voice was still dull and unhappy.
“You mean a lot to me, too.”
“Not the same as Rafa.”
Shocked, Roger was slow in replying. “Stan, I think we should talk.”
“Look, I gotta go. Andy is taking me out drinking.”
“Andy Murray?”
“Yeah.”
“Andy doesn't drink.”
“Yeah, look, he's here at the door. Talk to you later.”
The connection ended. Roger stared at the phone. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.
Rafa sat next to him and hooked his chin over Roger's shoulder. “He okay?”
“Not sure.”
“I apologized to him at the net.”
Roger pulled back so he could see him better. “You did? That was nice.”
“Stan's good guy. He keep having bad luck or inconsistents. He'll get there.”
“Can't argue with that. Anyway, he's going out drinking with Murray.”
“Sounds like he'll be okay. Andy will take care of him.”
“But who will take care of Andy? He lost today too and you know how he gets.”
“They take care of each other,” Rafa said.
There was a contemplative silence, and then Roger said, “Okay. I do not need that image in my head.”
Rafa shuddered and made what Toni would not call a “nice face”. He looked at Roger and fought a smile, “But if they are happy...”
Roger waved his hands. “If they are happy that's good, but I don't want to know about it. Well, I do but not like that.”
“Maybe they think same about us, if they know.”
Roger took Rafa into his arms and simply held him. “You are such a good man.”
“Is nice but I not understand.”
“I don't either.”
“Okay.” Rafa wrapped his arms around Roger's waist and just leaned into him.
#
Waiting around the hotel room got on Roger's nerves. He tried shopping but returned early to be sure to catch Rafa's semi-final. Part way through the second game he shut the television off and went out.
It shouldn't have been a surprise to find himself outside the Rolex-Masters arena. He walked toward the entrance wondering if his status as World No. 3 would get him inside.
Turned out, the answer was yes. Security spotted him, gave him credentials and ushered him through and up to the VIP lounge. Tournament officials had apparently been alerted as to his presence and appeared shortly after that to get him a drink and anything else he needed. He told them he was in Monte Carlo on business for his Foundation. That was vague enough that they didn't ask questions and left him alone after a bit, so he was free to watch Rafa's match on the big screen tv. He was aware of some interest from others in the room but ignored them.
Rafa defeated Simon in straight sets and Roger couldn't help but cheer quietly. There was a lot of applause from the others in the lounge and he shared smiles with them, before attempting to pay his bill - already taken care of by the officials - and then he left, headed for the locker rooms. He needed to see Rafa.
He met Toni Nadal and Rafa's mother and sister in the hallway outside. They seemed surprised to see him but approached him with smiles and hugs.
When Toni embraced him he said in Roger's ear, “Now I know where our boy has been spending his evenings.”
Roger pulled back to see his expression. It was difficult to tell with Toni when he was joking, angry or something in between. Roger decided to bluff his way through the conversation.
“I'm sorry?” As if he didn't know what Toni meant.
Toni didn't answer him, as Ana Maria and Maribel were right there. The two women plied Roger with questions about Mirka and his daughters. He was only too happy to talk about his family; it was never a problem for him to do that. Toni kept staring at him, so Roger could only conclude that the other man definitely had a problem with him.
Finally the women went off to talk to some other people and Toni faced Roger.
“Rafael told me he was going to the gym every night. Now that I know you are here, I think maybe he not tell the truth to his old uncle.”
“I don't know what Rafa told you.”
“There was a video on internet. You and Rafael laughing in some restaurante. He say that was from long time ago, but it was put up the other night. I saw it.” He stared at Roger, waiting.
“It was shot a couple of nights ago. Rafa and I went out for a meal. We got silly and some diners must have shot the video.”
“Why did my boy lie to me?”
Roger ran his hand through his hair. “He was trying to protect me, I guess.”
“What's going on? Why you two need to sneak?”
“Perhaps you should ask Rafa these questions.”
“I ask you.”
Feeling like he'd just gone five sets with both Rafa and Djokovic playing against him Roger decided it would be better to avoid the questions altogether.
“You'll have to excuse me. I just came to congratulate Rafa, but maybe I'll just text him instead. I have an appointment to get to. Please tell him I was here?”
Roger waved goodbye to Ana Maria and Maribel, and then turned and collided with Maria Francisca.
Oh. Hell.
He bent to give and receive kisses, catching the pointed look she gave him. He returned it with a raised eyebrow of his own and excused himself.
Thoroughly rattled, he didn't stop moving until he reached his car. He leaned down until he could lightly bang his head against the steering wheel. Ever mindful of the attention he got everywhere he went he only did it once, pretending he'd dropped his keys, just in case someone was watching. Then he started the car and drove off.
#
Tempted to drive all the way back to Switzerland Roger decided instead to drive through the mountains until he reached the sea. He parked and sat there, not thinking, just watching the sun shine on the Mediterranean.
When his phone rang he knew right away that it was Mirka.
“Hi.”
“Is everything okay?”
Wryly he asked her, “How do you do that? How do you know when I need to talk to you before I know it myself?”
“I'm your wife. Good wives are psychic. What's wrong?”
He told her what happened that afternoon. “I told Toni that Rafa was protecting me. Now I just need a plausible reason for him doing that.” He paused. “Or we could tell him the truth, which I think he has already figured out.”
“At least partially figured it out,” she agreed. “The truth is always the best option.”
“Yeah.”
“I feel responsible for this,” Mirka said.
“Why? It was ultimately my decision. I need to talk to Rafa, see what he knows about Toni's suspicions and figure out how to approach Toni.”
“Changing the subject somewhat,” she said with forced brightness, “Rafa is in the final. Are you going to go watch?”
“I was thinking of it.”
“You could sit in his box with the family.”
Roger considered it briefly. “I think I'll sit in the VIP lounge again. Toni might not want me with the family, and I don't want to distract Rafa.”
She changed the subject again. “Did you hear? Novak's grandfather died. He's not taking it well.”
“Poor Novak. That's an awful thing to have to go through.”
“He couldn't be there at the end and they already had the funeral.”
“That's sad. I should send him a message.”
“Do you have his number?”
“I don't think I have it on my phone. It's on file in my office at home, though.”
“I've got it here. Do you want me to tell you or send it?”
“Better send it. I'm not sure I can concentrate well enough to get it right unless it's in front of me.”
“All right.”
Feeling a little better about life and the universe Roger said, “You're the best.”
“Yes, I am. What would you do without me?”
He could hear the smile and the love in her voice. “I hope I never have to find out.”
“You only married me for my ability to manage your life,” she teased.
“I was hoping you wouldn't figure that out.”
“Rogi?”
“Hm?”
“Have you and Rafa...?” Mirka asked in a tentative voice and then she stopped. “Never mind. I don't want to know. Two men together can be sexy, unless one of them is my husband.”
Rendered speechless Roger could only sit there flabbergasted. She thought two men in bed was sexy? He heard some small sounds.
“Are you crying? Mirka, darling. Tell me.”
Audibly sniffling she replied, “This is harder than I thought it would be. I thought I'd be stronger and able to let you go to him.”
“I'll come home. Tonight. Our marriage is worth everything. I won't jeopardize it.”
There was silence and then: “No. Stay. What I said before you left still stands. This is what you want and need and I stand by my decision. So go to Rafa and work out the problem with Toni. I'll see if I can reach Mary. Maybe she can help.”
Unless she's having second thoughts, too, Roger thought. That look he'd gotten from her was indecipherable.
“I should go back to the hotel. I'm in the country down by the sea right now and it's starting to get dark.”
“I'll talk to you tomorrow and let you know what I find out.”
“I love you, Mirka.”
“I love you so much, Roger.”
He didn't know why he was surprised to find that his cheeks were wet.
#
Determined not to cause worry for Rafa before the final Roger acted his heart out by pretending everything was fine. Fortunately, Rafa was focused on his match against Djokovic and didn't notice anything was wrong.
Roger went with him to the complex intending to sit in the lounge again, close but not too close.
“Sit with my family! You are family too.”
Roger never could resist those dark, intense eyes that sparked with love.
“Okay, but when the press comes after me with questions about why I'm sitting in your player's box I'll send them your way. You can deal with them.”
“No fair!”
“More than fair!”
“I no like you any more.” But he grinned playfully when he said it, and then teased Roger's mouth open under his. Roger pushed him down on the bed where they made out far too briefly until Rafa had to leave. Roger drove him to the stadium.
#
Roger received a dark look when he entered the player's box and sat off to the side. Toni stared at him for what felt like ten minutes, but was more like seconds, and then turned his attention to Rafa walking onto the court. Roger acknowledged the rest of the family before focusing on the coin toss and warm up.
Rafa dismissed Novak in straight sets 6-3, 6-1. They all knew Novak's heart wasn't in it, but Rafa played well and, more importantly, it was a mental victory for him, ending a seven match losing streak to Djokovic. It would help Rafa's confidence tremendously the next time they met on court. Roger stood with the Nadals and cheered loudly. Of course the cameras kept going back to him. He'd have to get out of the stadium before the press found him.
Catching Toni by the arm before he could leave the box, Roger waited for the majority of the crowd to leave the area and asked to speak with him privately. Toni consented but Mary also hung back. She folded her arms across her stomach and stood silently with her eyes on Roger's face. She was making him nervous but he spoke to the coach as if she wasn't there.
“I wanted to apologize for our conversation yesterday,” Roger told him. “For how it went. I can't tell you what's going on. Not yet. Rafa was only trying to help me. I didn't ask him to lie and I wish he hadn't done it.”
Toni nodded still not smiling, though that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He was difficult to read at the best of times.
“Rafael said same thing. Rafael has never lied in his life. He becomes friends with you and suddenly he go against his nature. I admire you, Roger. You are the greatest tennis player ever and my boy also looks up to you. I never thought you would be the man you are making yourself out to be. That's not who you are, any more than Rafael is a liar. Tell me now what's going on.”
Roger fiddled with his hair and glanced at Mary. She was no help at all, standing there without speaking.
“I'm not sure...” He looked only at her. How could he say that he was having an affair with her boyfriend?
“Roger is sleeping with Rafael,” she said suddenly.
Apparently that was how one said it.
Toni whipped his head around to look at Mary. He spat out something in rapid Spanish. Roger understood none of it. Mary fired something back and this time Roger caught the word “love” or possibly “lover” in there and simultaneously felt terrified and relieved that the truth was emerging at last.
Toni bit his lip and looked at Roger with renewed interest.
“Good. That's good,” he said.
Roger blinked. “Okay.” He was fairly certain his confusion was evident.
Astoundingly, Toni looked embarrassed. He turned his head and they all saw a small herd of reporters armed with microphones and cameras headed their way. He said, “Not good to have this conversation here. You both come with me?”
Roger followed him and Mary out of the stands and into the complex. He led them to a press room, ironically, but empty now. Rafa and Novak were undoubtedly in two other rooms elsewhere, enduring their pressers. Or perhaps Novak had been given a pass this time. Toni shut the door so they'd have privacy and the three of them chose chairs where the media usually sat. Toni pulled his chair out so that he was facing Roger and Mary.
“Maria Francisca knows all of this, of course. What I'm about to say.” He took a breath. “Rafael is gay, which you must know by now.” He sent Roger a bashful look. “He and Maria are friends only. We've been covering for him for years, since he turned professional. It didn't look good that he showed no interest in women. He did try a few times, but it not work.”
Roger studied Toni's face. There was no anger or disgust evident. He was just a man who dearly loved his nephew and wanted only to protect him.
Roger nodded. “The sponsors might not be ready to accept a gay athlete.” He knew the people at Nike, their mutual sponsor, very well due to his own long association with the corporation. Some of them were open minded but the ones who made the ultimate decisions could pose a problem. And what would happen if they found out he was having a sexual relationship with Rafa? The fans... What would the fans think? It made him sick to think that he suddenly had a huge secret that must be kept from the world. It was something he had considered before leaving Switzerland, but in the excitement of this new, wondrous thing in his life he had forgotten the possible consequences of being with Rafa. People had been speculating about them for years simply because they were hands on with each other, always touching and hugging. Roger thought he was being friendly. Rafa had been craving the physical contact.
“I can see it in your face that you are beginning to understand what Rafael goes through on a daily basis.”
Roger turned his attention to Mary. She'd been silent for so long he'd almost forgotten she was there. He'd always known that she was an intelligent young woman. Now that she'd spoken up he realized that there was much more to her than he'd thought.
“And you also,” he replied. “To live a life of pretending must be difficult for both of you.”
She shrugged. “It works for us. I have my life in London and appear at Rafael's side often enough to make the world believe that he and I are in love.”
“Do you love him?”
“He is my very good friend. I love him very much. I am not in love with him.”
“Why do you go along with this charade?”
“Because he is my very good friend and I love him very much.” She smiled then, finally.
Roger couldn't help but return the smile. “Mirka told me that you were the one who started this - who gave her the idea that Rafa and I...” He wasn't ready to say what it was out loud yet. “Why?”
“Because Rafael loves you very much and I love him. I want him to be happy.”
Toni interrupted. “Maria, you spoke to Mirka about this?”
“Rafael was very sad one night. He had told me long ago that he loved Roger. I decided to find out how Mirka felt about Roger and Rafa together -- without pushing,” she reassured them. “We became friends and text each other all the time. Eventually she said she could accept her husband and my boyfriend becoming lovers. She said she would speak with Roger about it. We let them do the rest.”
Toni took off his cap and rubbed a hand over his face and up into his hair, over and over. “Young people these days,” he muttered.
“You are hardly old,” Roger told him. As often as Toni kept him off balance, Roger was quite fond of the older man.
He earned a glare for his efforts at camaraderie. Oh well. That was more normal.
“What are your intentions towards my nephew?”
Roger couldn't help himself. “He is my very good friend and I love him very much.”
Mary's laughter floated around the room. Even Toni cracked a smile.
“You are a good man, after all.”
“I try.”
“I'm relieved that I don't have to hate you now.”
Roger grinned. “I'm relieved, too.”
“Mirka really is fine with this?”
“She is, but I have no intention of jeopardizing my marriage. Not even for Rafa. If being with Rafa ever becomes a liability to my relationship with my wife, well, there won't be any second thoughts. Mirka and the girls will ultimately come first. As long as I can continue to have them all in my life I will do everything I can to keep it that way.”
Toni nodded. “As it should be.”
“Have you told Rafael this?” Mary asked.
“When I see him later.”
“Rafa comes first with us.”
He nodded. They all knew where they stood.
Standing, Roger said, “I still haven't congratulated him.”
#
They went with him to find Rafa after his presser. There was a wild flurry of Spanish and family and then, finally, they were alone.
“Hi,” Roger said, drinking in the sight of his lover. Rafa was freshly showered, his hair still wet. Roger wasn't sure he'd ever seen it dry or brushed.
“Hola.”
“You look tired.”
“Si. I think I not do gym today.”
“Eight titles, Rafa. That's wonderful.”
Screwing up his face so that it was half a smile and half Rafa being humble, he said, “Nole didn't play well.”
“Novak's hurting, but you shouldn't put conditions on your win. You won. That's all that's important.”
Rafa nodded. “Agree. It still feel good to win against him...in forever.”
“Seven matches might feel like forever.”
“Feel longer.”
“What do you want to do to celebrate?”
The grin Rafa gave him was absolutely sinful.
#
When they rolled apart, sweaty and sticky, Rafa collapsed face down into his pillow. He made love the way he played tennis, at full throttle leaving everyone else involved breathless. Roger flopped onto his back and just sweated. His left hand rested across Rafa's lower back, just above the rise of his buttocks. He'd found that that was a comfortable place to put it.
“You asleep?”
No answer.
Roger yawned but wasn't quite sleepy enough to do the same as his partner. He reached over to pick up his phone. Several messages awaited his attention but the only important one was a text from Mirka. He hesitated to read it, still feeling weird about connecting with her while he was in bed with Rafa. Eventually curiosity won out.
Mary told me about your conversation. I'm glad she and Toni are fine with you and Rafa. Miss you.
He thought a moment and then texted back: Miss you too. Home soon. Love R.
Turning to Rafa he leaned down and kissed the small of his back, trailing his lips along his spine and up and over the swell of his ass. Roger spread his hand across that magnificent rump, resting his head along Rafa's back.
“Si?” Rafa said, his voice heavy with sleep.
“Shh. It's okay.”
Roger lay there a long time.
#
“When do you go to Barcelona?”
“I fly late this morning.”
Roger nodded. “I'm going home this afternoon.”
Looking at him with a resigned expression Rafa said, “Is time.”
“We'll see each other in Madrid. That's only two weeks.”
“Only.” Rafa's tone made it clear that two weeks was actually forever. Roger felt the same way.
He took Rafa's beautiful face in the palms of his hands and held it until Rafa met his eyes.
“Only two weeks. Now that we know what we have together we have everything.”
“Si. Yes.” Rafa's expression brightened. “Meeting again sex will be good.”
Roger pulled Rafa into his arms and held on tight, burying his face in damp curls. “Yes. Meeting again sex will be fantastic.” He swallowed the lump in his throat and felt tiny tremors running through Rafa's frame. They could joke about it but being apart was going to be tough.
“I -- love you,” he said. He had loved Rafa as a friend for a long time. He thought he might be in love with him now.
Rafa's only response was to press his face harder into Roger's shoulder and tighten his arms.
#
Part Two
Author: Jae Kayelle
Pairing: Roger Federer/Rafael Nadal, Roger/Mirka Federer, Rafa/Maria Franscica
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. No disrespect meant to real persons depicted here.
Word count: 18,805
Summary: Mirka gets a weird idea about how her marriage to Roger should be conducted.
A/N: This story contains scenes of a loving relationship between Roger and Mirka. If you're allergic to het and can't handle it better scroll past. It is also very much about Roger's relationship with Rafa.
A/N2: I would like to thank timour and yilloofnarwin for reading this story, and making suggestions for changes and guiding me when I went astray. Their help was invaluable. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
AO3
Mirka was staring at him again. Roger could feel it from where he sat on the floor playing with their daughters. He glanced up and quirked an eyebrow at her. She rolled her eyes and went into the kitchen. Roger picked up a colouring book and some crayons, showing Myla and Charlene how to stay within the lines.
He was rather pleased with his purple and blue dragon, showing it to the girls and making them giggle with his fierce dragon face, when he felt Mirka's attention again, but when he looked up she was out of sight.
Finally he got to his feet and went to find her. She sat at the table with a cup of coffee between her hands, rubbing her palms against the china, staring into space. Roger poured himself a cup so he'd have something to hold, admitting to himself he was stalling, and sat across from her, his coffee sitting forgotten already.
“What's wrong?” he asked.
Mirka frowned. “You're a smart man, Rogi.”
When she didn't say anything more he thought perhaps he was supposed to figure out what she was talking about, but he was at a loss. He knew people called him a genius on the courts, and he thought he had a good intuitive grasp about tennis. About his own wife sometimes, not so much.
He spread his hands on either side of the cup. “I don't know what's going on. You seem...annoyed about something. Did I do something? Was I supposed to do something and didn't? Tell me in words, Mirka. I'm not a mind reader.”
She laughed then, not unkindly. “Sorry. I only meant that you're a smart man and yet you can be a little oblivious at times.”
Heartened that her mood did not seem dangerous after all, he decided to keep it light. “Only sometimes?”
“I love you. I hope you know that.” Now she was looking at him as if willing him to understand and he felt irrationally worried again.
His heart beating a little faster he asked, “This sounds ominous. What are you trying to tell me?”
Reaching across the table to take his left hand in her right, Mirka rubbed her fingers over his wrist. “I love you,” she repeated.
Alarmed now, he pleaded, “Mirka, just tell me where you are going with this.”
“I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy.” He was thoroughly confused now. “I have you and the girls and my tennis. I don't understand...”
“Yes, you have us and you always will, but we are not enough for you.” Before Roger could react to that with the indignation that had suddenly boiled up inside him, she added, “Therefore I am giving you permission to have an affair.”
Flabbergasted, he sputtered in two languages before getting himself back under control. Mirka gazed at him with such a level of calm he envied her. He was still reeling from her announcement.
“That's ridiculous! You're the only woman I want.”
Then Mirka tipped her head to one side, smiled fondly and said, “I know. I was thinking you might want to have an affair with Rafa.”
Roger knew his mouth was open, but he had no words in response, so he closed it.
After a pause he tried again and finally managed, “Rafa?”
“Don't you like him?”
“He's a friend,” Roger said numbly. “I like him as a friend.”
“Nothing more? Rogi, I've seen how you look at him. Across the net, especially after a match.”
Roger couldn't think of how she meant that. “It takes two to have an affair,” he said defensively, still trying to sort out how he supposedly looked at Rafa across the net.
Smiling more broadly now, Mirka said, “He has a crush on you, at the very least. Massive.”
“He -- what?”
“Mass-ive crush. Could be it goes even deeper than that. He's such a good boy.” She could get away with calling Rafa a boy, since she was about eight years older than he.
“This is crazy.” He sat there blinking at her. How could she even...?
“Will you consider it?”
“Why are you even bringing this up? I don't get it. Why would you want to --?” He stopped short of the words “Share me”. That sounded incredibly arrogant to him.
“Darling, it's because I love you. I can hope that you won't figure it out yourself and then feel torn about it, or I could deny it of you, and we'd both be miserable. You may not have gotten there yet on your own, but you would have eventually, and then you'd either deny yourself or twist yourself into knots wondering what if? Either way you wouldn't be the man you are now, happy and settled. This way you can have what you want deep down inside, with my permission, with my blessing, and the girls and I still have you.”
Tears stung Roger's eyes but did not fall. Instead he blinked them away and smiled. “Your confidence is astounding.”
“I know that you will come back to me, either when you and Rafa are done or, more likely, while you and he go on. I know you love me and I am not worried that you will love him more. The life we've built together is strong, Roger. We share so much. The girls, our families, tennis, we have it all. We are very fortunate in our life, in our love. If you also want Rafa, you should go to him.”
Roger cleared his throat, suddenly overwhelmed by Mirka's generosity and love.
“I still need to think about this.” Knowing she was about to try again to explain it all to him, he stopped her before she started. “I need to think about Rafa. This is new to me.”
“You mean not even once?”
Unaccountably blushing he replied, “I love to watch him play tennis and sometimes wish I had his muscular build, even though that's not who I am, but no?”
Chuckling, Mirka said, “You don't sound too sure. You've never noticed his ass?”
“Mirka!”
“He's a beautiful man.”
Standing abruptly, though not in anger, he said, “Maybe you should have an affair with him, although I don't think I could be as generous or even as grown up as you are being.” He walked to the sink and dumped his cold coffee down the drain, rinsing the cup and setting it on the sideboard.
“If I thought that I could without hurting you I might consider it, but somehow I doubt he'd be interested in a woman.”
Spinning around Roger asked, “And what about Mary? Don't her feelings count for anything?” He'd spoken with Maria Francisca a number of times with and without Rafa. She was a lovely young woman who seemed to have a genuine affection for her boyfriend and he for her.
Mirka stood and walked over until she leaned against him, her arms going around his waist, her chin pressing into his chest, and forcing him back against the counter. “Oh, sweetie. Who do you think put the idea in my head?”
#
He spent more time wandering around the house than sleeping that night. Mirka found him leaning against the doorway of the girls' room around 3 a.m., watching them sleep. She watched with him for a few moments before drawing him away and back to their bedroom.
They climbed into bed, settling against the pillows and the oak headboard, and Roger automatically put his arm around his wife, but remained silent.
“You have a good conscience and a better heart, Roger,” Mirka told him but said nothing more. After a while she dropped into slumber in his arms. He didn't sleep.
#
He went down to his court to practice but did so abysmally his hitting partner told him to try again when his mind was on it. Finding he couldn't argue with that he got in the Mercedes roadster and drove around for hours, until Mirka phoned and asked if he was coming home for dinner.
#
Now that the idea was in his head he couldn't get it out, but he still had trouble connecting with his feelings towards Rafa. Roger loved Mirka with all his heart. Even thinking about having an affair of the heart or body with another person, no matter the gender, felt vaguely...well, not wrong...only, yes, very wrong. It intrigued him, maybe because he enjoyed experiencing new things, but this was huge.
And then there was the idea of being with another man. He searched his memory for clues that maybe he was attracted to men, but came up empty. He'd never felt a frisson of excitement when he saw a handsome man. More often than not he would wonder how the other man got his hair to go like that, or where did he buy his clothes? Did that make him gay? Some journalists described him as “metrosexual”, a term Anna Wintour had also used about him a time or two. Just because he enjoyed shopping, good grooming and dressing well?
He'd never felt the urge to kiss another man on the mouth, or put his hands below the waist of anyone male. He had never even been tempted by another woman and he knew he liked women or, rather, he knew he loved one woman. Mirka. Could he possibly be attracted to only two people - Mirka and Rafa? Did that make him bisexual or simply a man who could love his wife and maybe, possibly...Rafa?
He was getting a headache with all of this unresolved thinking.
#
When he returned he told her, “I have to talk to Rafa.”
“This is your holiday, sweetheart. You can do whatever you like.”
He stared at her for a moment. “You've already set up my flight to Monte Carlo, haven't you?”
She patted his chest. “No, I did not. That's for you to decide and arrange. But better let him know you're on the way.”
#
On the flight to Monte Carlo Roger convinced himself he knew what he was getting into. He prided himself on figuring things out on his own. It stung a little that he hadn't figured out he was attracted to Rafa and had to be told that this was so. He did not like that feeling, that something was out of his control, something so big and life-altering. It made him uncomfortable and perhaps a little angry. Shouldn't he know who he found attractive? How could he not know something like that? He wasn't stupid. His cheeks burned a little and maybe he sulked for a while. He knew how he felt when Mirka told him he was sulking, even though he most certainly was not sulking, and this was it.
And so he sat quietly on his plane and stared out the window and saw nothing.
When they landed a text came through. It was from Mirka.
Remember that I only want to help. And that I love you.
Reading it for the third time Roger decided that confusion was a learning experience, and he would learn something positive from this. For now he wanted to talk to Rafa and maybe regain some of his equilibrium. He would take back control of his own life.
#
The clay season had started without Roger, but he had needed the rest after playing so many tournaments since the beginning of the year. His plan was to gain as many points as he could. His goal was to regain the number one ranking. His detractors laughed and his fans hoped and dreamed. Roger just kept playing and winning. He was fit and rested and now he was going to attend a tournament as a spectator, from behind the scenes and he was here only to watch Rafa.
His text to his Spanish friend had read: We need to talk. See you in Monte Carlo?
The response had come back within a few hours: Yes! Let me know when arriving.
Rafa met him after his jet landed, hurrying onto the tarmac to give him a two-armed hug.
“Shouldn't you be practicing or something?” Roger laughed into his shoulder and taking the opportunity to appreciate the solid musculature up close. Now that his eyes had been opened and his brain had come online in regards to the possibility that he might be attracted to a man, to this man, Roger found himself assessing Rafa in new ways. Roger still wasn't there yet, where Mirka thought he should be, but he was on the way. This trip was as much to see Rafa in the flesh, so to speak, and find out if his physicality did anything to Roger's libido, as it was to talk to Rafa and find out what he thought about the whole idea.
That was the scary part. Roger liked Rafa and wanted them to remain friends. He needed to find out
how Rafa felt about him as a man. If Mirka was right it shouldn't be too difficult, but Roger still didn't know if he himself even wanted to be with a man.
What a mess. He should just go home and play with his daughters, and make love to his wife.
Rafa regarded him evenly. “You okay, Rogelio? You look worried.”
Forcing a smile, Roger said, “I've got things on my mind, you know. You might be unreachable in the rankings after the clay season.”
“Then you play here, this week! They give you wild card. Not too late.”
“No, I'm on holiday. I came to see you. Um, will you have dinner with me tonight? We don't get much chance to just spend time together. You know, if it doesn't interfere with your schedule?”
“It no interfere. I have to eat.”
“If you're sure.”
“Rogi, I sure. I like hanging out with you. Dinner is the bonus.” Then Rafa's face lit up in a huge smile of delight at the prospect of the two of them spending time together. He looked so... Roger didn't know what it was Rafa looked like or how, he just knew that something lit up inside of him as well at the sight.
Oh, god. Maybe Mirka was right.
He felt vaguely sick and yet very excited with anticipation.
#
They found an out of the way bistro where they weren't likely to be found by paparazzi or the public, although they never knew for sure when either would turn up. Glancing around, Roger noted the low lighting and the single candle in the midst of a bunch of flowers as the centerpiece on their table. It was a romantic atmosphere. He wondered what Rafa thought of it.
Rafa smiled in between forkfuls of broiled sea bass, chattering amiably. Roger stopped listening and simply stared in happiness and adoration. Rafa was one of his best friends and they didn't get to spend a lot of time together away from the courts. He enjoyed listening to Rafa's unique brand of English, interspersed with Spanish and French when he couldn't find the correct word. Sometimes Roger thought it was quite remarkable that they communicated so well considering how many languages they had between them, and barely two in common.
“Rogelio.”
“Mm.”
“Rogi.”
Finally focusing on Rafa's voice he saw that a fork was being waved at him. A few bits of fish still clung to the tines and he wondered if they would fall or fly off. Neither happened so he looked at Rafa.
“Why are you here?”
This was it. Time to put their friendship on the line. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“In Monte Carlo?” Rafa scrunched up the left side of his face. “Si. Why you ask?”
Ducking his head Roger took a deep breath and looked Rafa in the eye. “No, here. With me. In this bistro.”
Rafa nodded emphatically. “Yes! Is good to be with you. Food is good. Company is better.”
Roger smiled back. “I'm glad. I'm enjoying being with you, too.” Then, in a rush before his nerves got the better of him he added, “So if this was a date you'd be okay with that?”
Rafa's face changed then, going blank, and Roger thought he was going to get up and leave.
Speaking very carefully, as if afraid of being misunderstood, Rafa asked, “Is this a date?”
“Maybe. Yes. I think so.”
Rafa dipped his head, his hair falling in a curtain around his face making his expression unreadable. “If this a date,” he looked up through his hair, “then that's good.”
“Yeah?” Roger's heart was pounding in his ears. “Then, yes, this is a date.”
Reaching across the table Rafa touched the back of Roger's hand, much the same way Mirka had the day she'd given him permission to pursue this, and the gesture connected the whole thing for him. It was a heady moment.
“But,” Rafa's expressive brown eyes regarded him sadly, “what about Mirka?”
Roger smiled. “This was her idea.”
Scrunching up his face Rafa said, “No understand.”
“I know, right? Whose wife does things like that?”
“She say it okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, Mary say something same. She tell me I,” he paused as he ducked his head, the tips of his ears turning red, and then he glanced up from under his hair again, “she tell, “Go to Roger after tournament. Be with him.” I no understand her too.”
“I know,” Roger nodded his head. “Women are confusing.”
“Is best no to ask questions.”
“So we have permission. What are we going to do about it?”
“Enjoy dinner?”
Relieved that they didn't have to run and jump into bed together, Roger grinned. “Sounds like a good idea.” He couldn't help noticing, however, that Rafa also seemed easier with the idea that all they were going to do was eat.
He waited a minute or two, courage was still in short supply, and then asked, “When Mary brought up the idea of...us how did you feel about it?”
Setting down his fork Rafa took a long drink of water, not looking at Roger immediately. “I no understand at first. Why would she ask such a thing?”
Roger nodded once and waited for Rafa to continue.
“She supposed to be my girlfriend. For sure we no spend time together...lots of time together, but we have fun when we see each other. So why does she want me to be with you? Is crazy! Uh, sorry, Rogi. I mean...”
“It's okay, Raf. I thought the same thing at first, but,” he trailed off. This was the hard part, talking about feelings or his possible attraction to Rafa. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “But Mirka explained to me that maybe I, uh, found you, uh, to be attractive?”
“Yes?” Rafa looked interested in what he had to say. “You think me attractive?”
Roger studied his face. For once, just when he needed him to be, Rafa wasn't wearing what he was thinking right there for the world to see. Damn it.
He took a deep breath.
“Well, there was something said about your ass.”
Rafa started to giggle. “You like my ass?” he lowered his voice as well, even though they were essentially alone in the restaurant with just two couples at tables on the other side of the room and the wait staff in the kitchen.
“Mirka brought it up!” Roger stated defensively. His face was hot and he had to refrain from squirming from embarrassment.
Rafa howled.
Roger sat back in his chair and stared at him. He tried but couldn't hold back the smile that threatened to break out. Soon he was laughing just as hard as his demented friend.
“She wanted you more than I do.”
Rafa's eyes grew huge. “Oh ho! For sure your wife wants me. Maybe I go be with her?”
Unaccountably Roger felt a sharp, almost physical stab of jealousy somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. If it had been anyone else saying those words, anyone but Rafa, his very good friend, he would have gotten very angry. He wasn't sure what he might have done about it; he wasn't a violent man, but he was extremely protective of his family. As it was he simply said, through his giggles, “She said she might be interested in having an affair with you too.”
Rafa couldn't look more surprised, but then he dissolved into another fit of contagious laughter. Roger had to hold his aching sides as he gasped breathlessly.
At some point he looked up to see the owner of the bistro hovering anxiously near their table.
“Monsieur Federer. Monsieur Nadal. I'm so apolo-- I'm so sorry, but I must ask you to,” he gestured helplessly towards the other diners. There were varying degrees of annoyance on their faces.
Roger sobered immediately. Speaking in French he said, “My apologies, M'sieur. We did not mean to disturb your other customers. We got a little carried away.”
Rafa also apologized to him and sent a smile towards the offended people. Their attitude softened noticeably. Roger thought that no one was immune to Rafa's charm.
“Perhaps we should go,” he said to Rafa.
Turning to the owner Roger pulled out his credit card and said, “Please send a bottle of wine to each table and put their meals on our bill.”
Quickly arranging the request the owner hurried away, barking orders to his staff and personally taking the wine to the other diners. Their server brought the bill shortly after, while Roger and Rafa tried very hard not to look at one another.
After he paid the bill Roger said, “So much for going unnoticed. Probably everyone here knows who we are.”
Rafa shrugged. “Is fame, no?”
#
They decided to walk for a while and strolled companionably down the street, shoulders bumping every other step. Roger's sides were still sore. He rubbed a hand across his abdomen.
“Eat too much?”
“Laugh too much,” Roger grinned at him.
“Was fun.”
“It was a lot of fun. I'm not sure I could laugh like that again any time soon, but it was very fun.”
They crossed the street and came upon a park. Roger gazed upwards. The leaves and branches overhead provided a canopy, blocking out the street lights and filtering the stars.
Rafa stopped walking suddenly and put his hands on Roger's shoulders, pushing him gently backwards. His gaze filled with Rafa's intense focus Roger allowed himself to be directed further into the dark, until his back met with a tree trunk, solid and sturdy. Still staring at one another Roger dropped his eyes so that all he could see was Rafa's mouth and the tip of his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. Then Rafa leaned forward at the same time as Roger did.
They met in a kiss that was off-centre, noses bumping and laughter bubbled up between them again. Then Roger placed his hands on either side of Rafa's face, turned him slightly to the right while he leaned in from the left, and this time it was perfect.
Roger used his tongue to part Rafa's soft lips and dove in, suddenly hungry for more, for everything Rafa could give him. They clung to each other, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. Roger felt insistent hardness pressing against his leg, his own response pushing back, just as imperative.
They broke apart, panting, staring at one another in the semi-darkness.
Rafa rubbed his fingers across his mouth, hunger still in his hawk-like gaze. Unable to help himself Roger placed his own fingertips on Rafa's lips. He traced the outside and then pushed a little, and Rafa let him in, sucking on Roger's forefinger.
Roger groaned and pulled his hand away. He had to press the heel of that hand over his erection.
“We need to stop,” he gasped, “before we get caught for indecent exposure here in the park.”
“You say too,” Rafa told him. “Before when saying Mirka want affair with me, you say she too. You mean you also?”
It was possible Roger's brain had quit on him during the kiss. He had to take a couple of seconds to catch up, remembered what he had said and realized that, yes, he had said that Mirka also wanted to sleep with Rafa. He'd given himself away and Rafa had zeroed in on it.
He nodded once.
Rafa asked, “Your hotel?”
“My hotel,” he agreed.
#
Silently thanking Mirka for informing him that he was in lust with Rafa before he left home, Roger was grateful that he'd had the sense to book a room in a hotel far away from where Rafa was staying with his team. The paparazzi were sure to be camped out near the players but not at Roger's accommodations, since no one knew he was in the city. They managed to drive there and go up to the room without being noticed. The hotel staff didn't even pay attention to the young Spaniard lurking behind the potted palm in the lobby, when Roger crossed to the elevator. Either that or the staff was used to world famous athletes sneaking into each other's rooms. Roger held the door open and Rafa slid inside. They both glanced upwards, saw the security camera and stood just far enough apart to look innocent.
Roger's room was almost too far away, but somehow they managed to get to it and go inside with the door closed before ripping each other's clothes off. The bed was definitely too far away. Shirts flung aside, pants and underwear yanked down around their knees, they rutted together up against the wall. Roger took the weight of Rafa in his hand, sparing a very brief instant where he was shocked that he was holding another man's cock, all angry red and hot and heavy and leaking pre-come, before he began pumping it the way he liked doing it to himself. Rafa's hands were both planted firmly on Roger's ass, pulling him forward so that there wasn't much room to manoeuvre, his hand and both their erections trapped between their bodies. He planted his own hardness along the divot at the top of Rafa's thigh and indulge in rubbing himself off there.
They made no attempt to kiss then. Apparently neither of them was capable of multi-tasking at the moment. Roger stared at Rafa's long neck, his head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut while he concentrated on what Roger was doing to him and keeping the friction hot and there for Roger to get off on.
“God, Rafa!” He looked so wanton and then he thrust upwards with his hips and Roger would have been glad they were the same height if his brain was online right then. Roger shoved his own pelvis forward and came messily against both their stomachs. Rafa shuddered and suddenly there was hot and sticky all over Roger's hand.
Rafa sagged forward. Roger caught him, slipping a hand to the back of his neck up under his hair. Wrapping his arms around Rafa's shoulders Roger led him towards the bed, both of them stumbling on rubbery legs. Part of the problem seemed to be that their jeans were around their ankles, so they stopped to step out of them.
They fell onto the bed and half-crawled, half-dragged themselves up to where their heads could hit the pillows, somehow getting underneath the sheets. Roger rolled towards Rafa who immediately wound himself around him, tucking his head in under Roger's chin.
“Buenas noches, Rogelio. Duerme bien.”
“You too. Sleep well.”
#
Roger woke up to the sensation of wet heat engulfing his cock. He cracked one eye open to see Rafa's shaggy head bobbing up and down between Roger's legs.
“God!”
Removing his mouth with a pop Rafa replied, “No, just me.” And then he grinned at Roger, crawled up to bestow a sloppy kiss on him and slid back down to his task. Roger trailed a hand across the top of Rafa's head and down to his cheek.
“Rafafa,” he whispered.
Then Rafa did something with his tongue and his wrist and...
“Ohh god!”
#
They emerged from the bathroom freshly showered and scrubbed and laughing again. Roger swatted Rafa's legs with a towel. They wrestled for possession of the towel, falling on the bed and into each other's arms. Roger ran a hand down Rafa's side, over his ribs and over his bare hip, leaning in to nibble a path across Rafa's shoulder. Rafa's hands slid into Roger's hair, dragging him up so they could kiss properly.
“I think I'm getting the idea of making love to a man,” Roger noted, murmuring against Rafa's mouth.
“You not do it with a man before?”
“No. I think now if I had recognized what Stan felt for me years ago that maybe I might have experimented a little. But then it would have hurt Stan if I wasn't in it with my heart.”
Rafa sat back against the pillows but kept his hands on Roger, stroking across his chest and playing with the hairs.
“Stan loved you?”
Roger sighed and rubbed his hands across his face. “I think he still does. I've been too afraid to have that talk with him.”
“So you no feel the same way about him?”
“Stan's my buddy. We're friends. That's all.”
Rafa was silent a moment, continuing to map Roger's chest. “Must be sad for Stan not have what he really wants.”
“I can't help how I feel,” Roger spread his hands helplessly.
“I know how Stan feel. I love you for a long time but no have. You treat me as a friendship, no, as a friend. I want more but you not see that.”
Roger was stunned. “You loved me?”
Rafa smiled, his teeth brilliantly white in his tanned face. “I love you now.”
The only reply Roger had to that was to kiss him deeply. Wow. He was slow. Gazing into Rafa's eyes he recalled the rest of the confession. “I'm so sorry that I was so stupid and...I didn't know. I didn't even know how I felt. Recognizing your feelings was totally out of my depth.”
“Is okay. Friends is good. Was good. Now I want you - all.”
“Well, you've got me now.”
And then they were kissing again. A while later they needed another shower and Rafa had to get to practice.
#
Mirka called soon after Rafa left.
“Glad you're having a good time,” she greeted him.
“Um, what?”
“I'll send you the link. Call me after you see it.” She hung up.
An email came through right after that with a link to YouTube. It was a video of them at dinner the night before, laughing like a pair of schoolboys. The lighting was almost too dark but it was obviously them. One of the other diners must have shot the video. Retaliation for having their dining experience marred by two men enjoying each other's company?
He watched it twice. They had been very silly. Then he remembered he was supposed to call his wife. His cheeks flamed at the memory of what he and Rafa had done in the bed and against the wall and in the shower. He really had taken advantage of Mirka giving him carte blanche.
He didn't want to call Mirka, even though he missed her and the girls. He was seldom away from them these days. Talking to Mirka meant acknowledging that he had broken his wedding vows - with her permission. He had to remember that last part.
Swallowing his nervousness he tapped her number and waited.
She picked up right away.
“Hi,” he said softly.
“Hi, sweetheart. Are you okay?”
He sat on the edge of the bed then got up again. It was just too weird to talk to her while seated on that bed.
“Are you alone?” she asked.
“Yes. Rafa - Rafa had to go practice. That video,” he trailed off wondering why he felt the urge to apologize for having fun at dinner with a friend. Then he tried for a light tone. “You're not going to use it as blackmail if you divorce me, are you?”
To his relief, Mirka saw the humour in it. “It's not incriminating enough. Two guys having dinner? Although that was a pretty romantic setting.”
“We just wanted to find an out of the way place where we wouldn't be bothered by the media. The flowers and candle were an unexpected bonus.”
He relaxed enough to enjoy the sound of her giggles.
“Oh, Rogi. I know this was my idea but I miss you, I missed waking up with you this morning.”
“I can come home. I'll leave right now.”
“Are you okay? You sound frightened.” Her voice dropped on the last word.
He was a little scared of the depth of his newly awakened feelings for Rafa, and especially by the fact that he still wasn't sure what they were. “I don't want to jeopardize what I have with you.”
There was a pause and then Mirka asked, “Do you think you might?”
“Not intentionally. Never that.”
“Then it won't happen.”
“You sound so sure.”
“I trust you.”
“I love you.”
“I know. How long will you be there?”
“Um, a few more days, I guess. Mirka?”
“Yes?”
“I - thank you.”
“Have fun. Say hi to Rafa for me. And, Rog?”
“Yeah?”
“Try to stay off YouTube.”
She ended the call and Roger finally sat on the bed, staring at the phone in his hand. Shit. YouTube. Everyone in Monte Carlo would figure out that he was in town. Nothing to do now but bluff his way through it.
#
Roger watched on tv as Rafa defeated Kukushkin in straight sets in the third round.
They celebrated by staying in Roger's hotel room and ordering up room service, and then letting the food get cold, while they celebrated some more.
#
Rafa's quarterfinal match had a similar result on the court, but this time the loser was Stan Wawrinka. It felt odd to celebrate a victory of his lover over his good friend. After a late dinner Rafa said, “You should call him.”
Roger already had his phone out. He waggled it in his hand so Rafa could see it, and then managed a quick smile. “Great minds think alike, I guess.”
Defeat lay heavy in Stan's voice.
“Bonjour.”
“I saw your match,” Roger told him. “I'm sorry.”
“Yeah,” Roger could imagine Stan running his hand over his face and the look of resignation that he was trying to wipe clean. “It's okay, though, I'll do better next time.”
“That's a good attitude. And you will do better. There are a lot of tournaments left in the season for you to win.”
“Yeah, but it kind of stings a little more when it's Rafa.”
Surprised, Roger said, “Why?”
“Because he means so much to you.” Stan's voice was still dull and unhappy.
“You mean a lot to me, too.”
“Not the same as Rafa.”
Shocked, Roger was slow in replying. “Stan, I think we should talk.”
“Look, I gotta go. Andy is taking me out drinking.”
“Andy Murray?”
“Yeah.”
“Andy doesn't drink.”
“Yeah, look, he's here at the door. Talk to you later.”
The connection ended. Roger stared at the phone. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.
Rafa sat next to him and hooked his chin over Roger's shoulder. “He okay?”
“Not sure.”
“I apologized to him at the net.”
Roger pulled back so he could see him better. “You did? That was nice.”
“Stan's good guy. He keep having bad luck or inconsistents. He'll get there.”
“Can't argue with that. Anyway, he's going out drinking with Murray.”
“Sounds like he'll be okay. Andy will take care of him.”
“But who will take care of Andy? He lost today too and you know how he gets.”
“They take care of each other,” Rafa said.
There was a contemplative silence, and then Roger said, “Okay. I do not need that image in my head.”
Rafa shuddered and made what Toni would not call a “nice face”. He looked at Roger and fought a smile, “But if they are happy...”
Roger waved his hands. “If they are happy that's good, but I don't want to know about it. Well, I do but not like that.”
“Maybe they think same about us, if they know.”
Roger took Rafa into his arms and simply held him. “You are such a good man.”
“Is nice but I not understand.”
“I don't either.”
“Okay.” Rafa wrapped his arms around Roger's waist and just leaned into him.
#
Waiting around the hotel room got on Roger's nerves. He tried shopping but returned early to be sure to catch Rafa's semi-final. Part way through the second game he shut the television off and went out.
It shouldn't have been a surprise to find himself outside the Rolex-Masters arena. He walked toward the entrance wondering if his status as World No. 3 would get him inside.
Turned out, the answer was yes. Security spotted him, gave him credentials and ushered him through and up to the VIP lounge. Tournament officials had apparently been alerted as to his presence and appeared shortly after that to get him a drink and anything else he needed. He told them he was in Monte Carlo on business for his Foundation. That was vague enough that they didn't ask questions and left him alone after a bit, so he was free to watch Rafa's match on the big screen tv. He was aware of some interest from others in the room but ignored them.
Rafa defeated Simon in straight sets and Roger couldn't help but cheer quietly. There was a lot of applause from the others in the lounge and he shared smiles with them, before attempting to pay his bill - already taken care of by the officials - and then he left, headed for the locker rooms. He needed to see Rafa.
He met Toni Nadal and Rafa's mother and sister in the hallway outside. They seemed surprised to see him but approached him with smiles and hugs.
When Toni embraced him he said in Roger's ear, “Now I know where our boy has been spending his evenings.”
Roger pulled back to see his expression. It was difficult to tell with Toni when he was joking, angry or something in between. Roger decided to bluff his way through the conversation.
“I'm sorry?” As if he didn't know what Toni meant.
Toni didn't answer him, as Ana Maria and Maribel were right there. The two women plied Roger with questions about Mirka and his daughters. He was only too happy to talk about his family; it was never a problem for him to do that. Toni kept staring at him, so Roger could only conclude that the other man definitely had a problem with him.
Finally the women went off to talk to some other people and Toni faced Roger.
“Rafael told me he was going to the gym every night. Now that I know you are here, I think maybe he not tell the truth to his old uncle.”
“I don't know what Rafa told you.”
“There was a video on internet. You and Rafael laughing in some restaurante. He say that was from long time ago, but it was put up the other night. I saw it.” He stared at Roger, waiting.
“It was shot a couple of nights ago. Rafa and I went out for a meal. We got silly and some diners must have shot the video.”
“Why did my boy lie to me?”
Roger ran his hand through his hair. “He was trying to protect me, I guess.”
“What's going on? Why you two need to sneak?”
“Perhaps you should ask Rafa these questions.”
“I ask you.”
Feeling like he'd just gone five sets with both Rafa and Djokovic playing against him Roger decided it would be better to avoid the questions altogether.
“You'll have to excuse me. I just came to congratulate Rafa, but maybe I'll just text him instead. I have an appointment to get to. Please tell him I was here?”
Roger waved goodbye to Ana Maria and Maribel, and then turned and collided with Maria Francisca.
Oh. Hell.
He bent to give and receive kisses, catching the pointed look she gave him. He returned it with a raised eyebrow of his own and excused himself.
Thoroughly rattled, he didn't stop moving until he reached his car. He leaned down until he could lightly bang his head against the steering wheel. Ever mindful of the attention he got everywhere he went he only did it once, pretending he'd dropped his keys, just in case someone was watching. Then he started the car and drove off.
#
Tempted to drive all the way back to Switzerland Roger decided instead to drive through the mountains until he reached the sea. He parked and sat there, not thinking, just watching the sun shine on the Mediterranean.
When his phone rang he knew right away that it was Mirka.
“Hi.”
“Is everything okay?”
Wryly he asked her, “How do you do that? How do you know when I need to talk to you before I know it myself?”
“I'm your wife. Good wives are psychic. What's wrong?”
He told her what happened that afternoon. “I told Toni that Rafa was protecting me. Now I just need a plausible reason for him doing that.” He paused. “Or we could tell him the truth, which I think he has already figured out.”
“At least partially figured it out,” she agreed. “The truth is always the best option.”
“Yeah.”
“I feel responsible for this,” Mirka said.
“Why? It was ultimately my decision. I need to talk to Rafa, see what he knows about Toni's suspicions and figure out how to approach Toni.”
“Changing the subject somewhat,” she said with forced brightness, “Rafa is in the final. Are you going to go watch?”
“I was thinking of it.”
“You could sit in his box with the family.”
Roger considered it briefly. “I think I'll sit in the VIP lounge again. Toni might not want me with the family, and I don't want to distract Rafa.”
She changed the subject again. “Did you hear? Novak's grandfather died. He's not taking it well.”
“Poor Novak. That's an awful thing to have to go through.”
“He couldn't be there at the end and they already had the funeral.”
“That's sad. I should send him a message.”
“Do you have his number?”
“I don't think I have it on my phone. It's on file in my office at home, though.”
“I've got it here. Do you want me to tell you or send it?”
“Better send it. I'm not sure I can concentrate well enough to get it right unless it's in front of me.”
“All right.”
Feeling a little better about life and the universe Roger said, “You're the best.”
“Yes, I am. What would you do without me?”
He could hear the smile and the love in her voice. “I hope I never have to find out.”
“You only married me for my ability to manage your life,” she teased.
“I was hoping you wouldn't figure that out.”
“Rogi?”
“Hm?”
“Have you and Rafa...?” Mirka asked in a tentative voice and then she stopped. “Never mind. I don't want to know. Two men together can be sexy, unless one of them is my husband.”
Rendered speechless Roger could only sit there flabbergasted. She thought two men in bed was sexy? He heard some small sounds.
“Are you crying? Mirka, darling. Tell me.”
Audibly sniffling she replied, “This is harder than I thought it would be. I thought I'd be stronger and able to let you go to him.”
“I'll come home. Tonight. Our marriage is worth everything. I won't jeopardize it.”
There was silence and then: “No. Stay. What I said before you left still stands. This is what you want and need and I stand by my decision. So go to Rafa and work out the problem with Toni. I'll see if I can reach Mary. Maybe she can help.”
Unless she's having second thoughts, too, Roger thought. That look he'd gotten from her was indecipherable.
“I should go back to the hotel. I'm in the country down by the sea right now and it's starting to get dark.”
“I'll talk to you tomorrow and let you know what I find out.”
“I love you, Mirka.”
“I love you so much, Roger.”
He didn't know why he was surprised to find that his cheeks were wet.
#
Determined not to cause worry for Rafa before the final Roger acted his heart out by pretending everything was fine. Fortunately, Rafa was focused on his match against Djokovic and didn't notice anything was wrong.
Roger went with him to the complex intending to sit in the lounge again, close but not too close.
“Sit with my family! You are family too.”
Roger never could resist those dark, intense eyes that sparked with love.
“Okay, but when the press comes after me with questions about why I'm sitting in your player's box I'll send them your way. You can deal with them.”
“No fair!”
“More than fair!”
“I no like you any more.” But he grinned playfully when he said it, and then teased Roger's mouth open under his. Roger pushed him down on the bed where they made out far too briefly until Rafa had to leave. Roger drove him to the stadium.
#
Roger received a dark look when he entered the player's box and sat off to the side. Toni stared at him for what felt like ten minutes, but was more like seconds, and then turned his attention to Rafa walking onto the court. Roger acknowledged the rest of the family before focusing on the coin toss and warm up.
Rafa dismissed Novak in straight sets 6-3, 6-1. They all knew Novak's heart wasn't in it, but Rafa played well and, more importantly, it was a mental victory for him, ending a seven match losing streak to Djokovic. It would help Rafa's confidence tremendously the next time they met on court. Roger stood with the Nadals and cheered loudly. Of course the cameras kept going back to him. He'd have to get out of the stadium before the press found him.
Catching Toni by the arm before he could leave the box, Roger waited for the majority of the crowd to leave the area and asked to speak with him privately. Toni consented but Mary also hung back. She folded her arms across her stomach and stood silently with her eyes on Roger's face. She was making him nervous but he spoke to the coach as if she wasn't there.
“I wanted to apologize for our conversation yesterday,” Roger told him. “For how it went. I can't tell you what's going on. Not yet. Rafa was only trying to help me. I didn't ask him to lie and I wish he hadn't done it.”
Toni nodded still not smiling, though that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He was difficult to read at the best of times.
“Rafael said same thing. Rafael has never lied in his life. He becomes friends with you and suddenly he go against his nature. I admire you, Roger. You are the greatest tennis player ever and my boy also looks up to you. I never thought you would be the man you are making yourself out to be. That's not who you are, any more than Rafael is a liar. Tell me now what's going on.”
Roger fiddled with his hair and glanced at Mary. She was no help at all, standing there without speaking.
“I'm not sure...” He looked only at her. How could he say that he was having an affair with her boyfriend?
“Roger is sleeping with Rafael,” she said suddenly.
Apparently that was how one said it.
Toni whipped his head around to look at Mary. He spat out something in rapid Spanish. Roger understood none of it. Mary fired something back and this time Roger caught the word “love” or possibly “lover” in there and simultaneously felt terrified and relieved that the truth was emerging at last.
Toni bit his lip and looked at Roger with renewed interest.
“Good. That's good,” he said.
Roger blinked. “Okay.” He was fairly certain his confusion was evident.
Astoundingly, Toni looked embarrassed. He turned his head and they all saw a small herd of reporters armed with microphones and cameras headed their way. He said, “Not good to have this conversation here. You both come with me?”
Roger followed him and Mary out of the stands and into the complex. He led them to a press room, ironically, but empty now. Rafa and Novak were undoubtedly in two other rooms elsewhere, enduring their pressers. Or perhaps Novak had been given a pass this time. Toni shut the door so they'd have privacy and the three of them chose chairs where the media usually sat. Toni pulled his chair out so that he was facing Roger and Mary.
“Maria Francisca knows all of this, of course. What I'm about to say.” He took a breath. “Rafael is gay, which you must know by now.” He sent Roger a bashful look. “He and Maria are friends only. We've been covering for him for years, since he turned professional. It didn't look good that he showed no interest in women. He did try a few times, but it not work.”
Roger studied Toni's face. There was no anger or disgust evident. He was just a man who dearly loved his nephew and wanted only to protect him.
Roger nodded. “The sponsors might not be ready to accept a gay athlete.” He knew the people at Nike, their mutual sponsor, very well due to his own long association with the corporation. Some of them were open minded but the ones who made the ultimate decisions could pose a problem. And what would happen if they found out he was having a sexual relationship with Rafa? The fans... What would the fans think? It made him sick to think that he suddenly had a huge secret that must be kept from the world. It was something he had considered before leaving Switzerland, but in the excitement of this new, wondrous thing in his life he had forgotten the possible consequences of being with Rafa. People had been speculating about them for years simply because they were hands on with each other, always touching and hugging. Roger thought he was being friendly. Rafa had been craving the physical contact.
“I can see it in your face that you are beginning to understand what Rafael goes through on a daily basis.”
Roger turned his attention to Mary. She'd been silent for so long he'd almost forgotten she was there. He'd always known that she was an intelligent young woman. Now that she'd spoken up he realized that there was much more to her than he'd thought.
“And you also,” he replied. “To live a life of pretending must be difficult for both of you.”
She shrugged. “It works for us. I have my life in London and appear at Rafael's side often enough to make the world believe that he and I are in love.”
“Do you love him?”
“He is my very good friend. I love him very much. I am not in love with him.”
“Why do you go along with this charade?”
“Because he is my very good friend and I love him very much.” She smiled then, finally.
Roger couldn't help but return the smile. “Mirka told me that you were the one who started this - who gave her the idea that Rafa and I...” He wasn't ready to say what it was out loud yet. “Why?”
“Because Rafael loves you very much and I love him. I want him to be happy.”
Toni interrupted. “Maria, you spoke to Mirka about this?”
“Rafael was very sad one night. He had told me long ago that he loved Roger. I decided to find out how Mirka felt about Roger and Rafa together -- without pushing,” she reassured them. “We became friends and text each other all the time. Eventually she said she could accept her husband and my boyfriend becoming lovers. She said she would speak with Roger about it. We let them do the rest.”
Toni took off his cap and rubbed a hand over his face and up into his hair, over and over. “Young people these days,” he muttered.
“You are hardly old,” Roger told him. As often as Toni kept him off balance, Roger was quite fond of the older man.
He earned a glare for his efforts at camaraderie. Oh well. That was more normal.
“What are your intentions towards my nephew?”
Roger couldn't help himself. “He is my very good friend and I love him very much.”
Mary's laughter floated around the room. Even Toni cracked a smile.
“You are a good man, after all.”
“I try.”
“I'm relieved that I don't have to hate you now.”
Roger grinned. “I'm relieved, too.”
“Mirka really is fine with this?”
“She is, but I have no intention of jeopardizing my marriage. Not even for Rafa. If being with Rafa ever becomes a liability to my relationship with my wife, well, there won't be any second thoughts. Mirka and the girls will ultimately come first. As long as I can continue to have them all in my life I will do everything I can to keep it that way.”
Toni nodded. “As it should be.”
“Have you told Rafael this?” Mary asked.
“When I see him later.”
“Rafa comes first with us.”
He nodded. They all knew where they stood.
Standing, Roger said, “I still haven't congratulated him.”
#
They went with him to find Rafa after his presser. There was a wild flurry of Spanish and family and then, finally, they were alone.
“Hi,” Roger said, drinking in the sight of his lover. Rafa was freshly showered, his hair still wet. Roger wasn't sure he'd ever seen it dry or brushed.
“Hola.”
“You look tired.”
“Si. I think I not do gym today.”
“Eight titles, Rafa. That's wonderful.”
Screwing up his face so that it was half a smile and half Rafa being humble, he said, “Nole didn't play well.”
“Novak's hurting, but you shouldn't put conditions on your win. You won. That's all that's important.”
Rafa nodded. “Agree. It still feel good to win against him...in forever.”
“Seven matches might feel like forever.”
“Feel longer.”
“What do you want to do to celebrate?”
The grin Rafa gave him was absolutely sinful.
#
When they rolled apart, sweaty and sticky, Rafa collapsed face down into his pillow. He made love the way he played tennis, at full throttle leaving everyone else involved breathless. Roger flopped onto his back and just sweated. His left hand rested across Rafa's lower back, just above the rise of his buttocks. He'd found that that was a comfortable place to put it.
“You asleep?”
No answer.
Roger yawned but wasn't quite sleepy enough to do the same as his partner. He reached over to pick up his phone. Several messages awaited his attention but the only important one was a text from Mirka. He hesitated to read it, still feeling weird about connecting with her while he was in bed with Rafa. Eventually curiosity won out.
Mary told me about your conversation. I'm glad she and Toni are fine with you and Rafa. Miss you.
He thought a moment and then texted back: Miss you too. Home soon. Love R.
Turning to Rafa he leaned down and kissed the small of his back, trailing his lips along his spine and up and over the swell of his ass. Roger spread his hand across that magnificent rump, resting his head along Rafa's back.
“Si?” Rafa said, his voice heavy with sleep.
“Shh. It's okay.”
Roger lay there a long time.
#
“When do you go to Barcelona?”
“I fly late this morning.”
Roger nodded. “I'm going home this afternoon.”
Looking at him with a resigned expression Rafa said, “Is time.”
“We'll see each other in Madrid. That's only two weeks.”
“Only.” Rafa's tone made it clear that two weeks was actually forever. Roger felt the same way.
He took Rafa's beautiful face in the palms of his hands and held it until Rafa met his eyes.
“Only two weeks. Now that we know what we have together we have everything.”
“Si. Yes.” Rafa's expression brightened. “Meeting again sex will be good.”
Roger pulled Rafa into his arms and held on tight, burying his face in damp curls. “Yes. Meeting again sex will be fantastic.” He swallowed the lump in his throat and felt tiny tremors running through Rafa's frame. They could joke about it but being apart was going to be tough.
“I -- love you,” he said. He had loved Rafa as a friend for a long time. He thought he might be in love with him now.
Rafa's only response was to press his face harder into Roger's shoulder and tighten his arms.
#
Part Two