Fic: Never the Same
Rating: PG (I think)
Pairing: Fedal, possible unrequited Novak/Rafa
Word Count: 1698
Disclaimer: Pure fiction.
Summary: Roger needs to get to grips on his and Rafa's ever changing relationship.
Note:This is the first fan fiction I have written in a long time, and the first one I have published of any fandom in years, so please be gentle. Constructive criticism is always appreciated :)
The loud slam of the hotel room door made Rafael flinch, but he did not look up from the spot he was staring at on the floor. He knew he was in trouble. He had known it the second the words had come out of his mouth at the press conference. He hadn't meant to say them, and had at least not meant them to sound as harsh as they did. He wanted to blame a bad translation, a dodgy question, anything, but both he and Roger knew that there was no real excuse.
He heard the deceptively soft pad of shoed feet on the expensive carpet and then Roger’s shoes manifested in front of him, disturbing his vision like the angry waves from Roger were disturbing his mind.
A hand cupped his cheek and he was forced to look up at the face he loved, not contorted with rage, or folded in a frown, but completely passive, except for the look of hurt in his eyes that pained Rafael more than any anger ever would.
“Why?” was the simple question, uttered like a benediction, but holding none of the positive promise that came with one. It was a good question. Why? Why had he said it? He had been wondering that since he had done it and he still had no answer.
A thumb ghosting across his sharp cheekbone gently demanding a verbal answer, the apology in his eyes not being enough, “I no know...” Rafa said turning his eyes away from the search lights before him. The ball had been in his court and he had sent a forehand straight into the net.
“You don’t know...” Roger repeated and his thumb kept caressing his cheek, barely touching him before the hand turned and roughly grabbed his chin as Roger leaned down close to him, their faces mere inches apart, “of course you don’t know. You never know,” he said, almost as if commenting on the weather, but for the fire in his eyes. Roger pushed Rafael away from him as if touching him had begun to burn him and he stalked away to the window sill, to look out on the view, only his hunched shoulders giving his anger away.
“I sorry...” Rafael tried after what seemed like a lifetime of silence, and he saw Roger’s back muscles tighten at the words. He had only tried to make things better; apologising was always the right thing to do. Apologise to Tony for bad practice, apologise to his family for not being there enough, apologise to Xisca for the pieces of her heart he had never earned enough to break. Apologise to Roger for... for everything. It was clearly wrong. Everything at the moment was clearly wrong, if only the solutions presented themselves so readily.
“You’re sorry?” Roger whispered, so Rafael barely heard him, meeting his eyes through the reflection in the glass. “You’re sorry?!” He yelled and picked up the nearest thing to hand to throw. It shattered at Rafa’s feet and he felt a stab in his chest when he saw it. The picture of them from their first match, something he had deemed very special, something Roger had deemed fit to break.
Rafael’s eyes shot up to meet with Roger’s as soon as he could tear them away from the crack down the glass in the frame right between their faces, smiles from another life. He saw the glimmer of regret in Roger's eyes before the anger took over again, and it was enough to instantly forgive him. He’d always forgive Roger anything. He had forgiven Roger everything.
The same was apparently not mutual.
Roger began walking round the room, circling him like prey as Rafa just sat quietly, waiting. He knew this wasn’t over. It was the calm before the hurricane, and he felt the impending force shaking him, to his core and beyond.
Roger made a few more attempts at walking round, jarred and jittery, stopping and starting before he was stood directly behind Rafael, so close the other could feel the heat radiating from his body
“Is it Novak?” he asked simply, but all the accusation and the hurt had made it into his voice and Rafael felt his centre crumble under the weight of it. His head shot up, but he didn’t look round to his friend. His lover.
He was fairly sure he knew exactly what Roger meant, but denying and it being wrong would make it seem like he had been considering Novak in such a way, and that would just make things worse. Not that it would have been difficult to ever persuade Nole to do anything for him, he had even considered asking him to let him win in one of his darker moments, made all the more real by knowing that he would do it.
“I not know what you mean, Nole has nothing to do with us,” Rafa said, trying to sound more confident than he felt, but he winced when the hand crashed down on his shoulder and squeezed hard.
Roger rounded the sofa in a second and was pulling Rafael up from the grip he had on his shirt. Rafa met his eye and saw the hurt there. “He has everything to do with us... he’s broken us... he’s broken me. ” Roger whispered, any more than a whisper would be to confirm it even before Rafael did, his eyes delving deep into Rafa’s as if to suck the truth from him. “What is it, now you have a player who can properly beat you you’ll be running after him like a lost dog now?” The like you used to do for me was left unsaid, like it seemed so much had.
Rafa was confused, his English was not properly cut out for this, but he knew the last thing Roger had said had hurt him, he decided not to concentrate on his hurt, Roger needed him. “No could break you. You Roger Fede-”
“Don’t!” Roger spat, pulling the two closer together, “Don’t feed me that shit, Rafa, save it for your time with the press, it will go well with your lying eyes and easy smile... so well practiced,” Roger’s other hand was now curled in the collar of Rafa’s shirt, almost to make sure he was still there, and was not going to disappear. “He has taken everything from me now, I am surprised he has not turned up asking for the twins.”
Rafa frowned, not liking the way he was being talked to and about one bit, his eyes turned colder, “If this how you treat me, maybe I leave you alone. You no need my lying eyes.” He said, and again, regretted it. Roger’s eyes widened before glaring darkly at him and letting him go, but the tennis great did not move away, “I still here Roger. I always be here.”Rafael continued, though it was hard with Roger glaring into his eyes.
“I’ve heard that before...” he scoffed, trailing away back to the window and resting his forehead on the cooling glass.
Rafael sighed and watched him move, not knowing what to do or say, feeling completely useless. It was a lifetime before his limbs worked and he moved behind Roger and placed an awkward hand on his shoulder. It was immediately covered by the warm all encompassing grasp of the best player in the world... well used to be.
“You’re leaving me behind, everyone is. I hardly see you these days and when I do, you’re not really here anymore. It was me, you and tennis. Now is tennis, you, Armani and Novak.” Roger spat the last word poisonously, just saying his name seemed to make him feel further away, distanced, “I see the way he looks at you... I can see the way you are beginning to look at him. You’re avoiding him to keep away from it, but I can see it. You need him, to push you...I’m old... and I feel older than a thirty year old should. Not my body... but here...” he moved Rafa’s hand over his heart and then leant his head back against the Spaniards shoulder, “And now this press conference, telling the world what you really think of me, of what you think I think of you. It’s a nail in our coffin Rafael, and I don’t want to bury us.”
Rafa was at a loss for what to do, so just stood there with Roger in his arms with his lips pressed to the others temple. “You wrong... it was never tennis.” He mumbled, near incoherently.
Roger turned his head to look into the other’s dark eyes, “What?”
“It Me and Tennis, You and Tennis... but us... only ever us. Tennis never matter to us. Old man? No Matter. I yours. Only yours. I avoid Novak because he beat me. Make me feel bad, I like to win.” Rafa said with a gregarious grin and tightened his arms around Roger comfortingly. “I sorry about the Press, I... passionate about the changes. I like to win, but I love you more, I no talk to them about nothing but tennis now.” He promised and kissed Roger briefly on the lips. Roger turned properly and kissed the other in earnest and pushed him back towards Rafa's bed.
That night Roger made love to him with a renewed vigour, feeling the weight of all troubles lifted briefly from him, so the two could just be together. Afterwards he snuggled up behind Rafael an arm draped loosely over him, keeping him close, for fear he may disappear like a thief in the night.
When Rafa was sure Roger was asleep he went to check his flashing phone and grimaced at the text he had received, and looked guiltily over at Roger in the hotel room bed.
Hey, Raf. So much fun seeing you the other day with the Kids. They all seemed to love you, can’t blame them! We should do it again sometime, after we meet in the final, that is. Can’t wait to see you again. Nole.
Rafa sighed and sat on the edge of the bed with his head hung, reading the text several times more. When had life become so complicated?
Pairing: Fedal, possible unrequited Novak/Rafa
Word Count: 1698
Disclaimer: Pure fiction.
Summary: Roger needs to get to grips on his and Rafa's ever changing relationship.
Note:This is the first fan fiction I have written in a long time, and the first one I have published of any fandom in years, so please be gentle. Constructive criticism is always appreciated :)
The loud slam of the hotel room door made Rafael flinch, but he did not look up from the spot he was staring at on the floor. He knew he was in trouble. He had known it the second the words had come out of his mouth at the press conference. He hadn't meant to say them, and had at least not meant them to sound as harsh as they did. He wanted to blame a bad translation, a dodgy question, anything, but both he and Roger knew that there was no real excuse.
He heard the deceptively soft pad of shoed feet on the expensive carpet and then Roger’s shoes manifested in front of him, disturbing his vision like the angry waves from Roger were disturbing his mind.
A hand cupped his cheek and he was forced to look up at the face he loved, not contorted with rage, or folded in a frown, but completely passive, except for the look of hurt in his eyes that pained Rafael more than any anger ever would.
“Why?” was the simple question, uttered like a benediction, but holding none of the positive promise that came with one. It was a good question. Why? Why had he said it? He had been wondering that since he had done it and he still had no answer.
A thumb ghosting across his sharp cheekbone gently demanding a verbal answer, the apology in his eyes not being enough, “I no know...” Rafa said turning his eyes away from the search lights before him. The ball had been in his court and he had sent a forehand straight into the net.
“You don’t know...” Roger repeated and his thumb kept caressing his cheek, barely touching him before the hand turned and roughly grabbed his chin as Roger leaned down close to him, their faces mere inches apart, “of course you don’t know. You never know,” he said, almost as if commenting on the weather, but for the fire in his eyes. Roger pushed Rafael away from him as if touching him had begun to burn him and he stalked away to the window sill, to look out on the view, only his hunched shoulders giving his anger away.
“I sorry...” Rafael tried after what seemed like a lifetime of silence, and he saw Roger’s back muscles tighten at the words. He had only tried to make things better; apologising was always the right thing to do. Apologise to Tony for bad practice, apologise to his family for not being there enough, apologise to Xisca for the pieces of her heart he had never earned enough to break. Apologise to Roger for... for everything. It was clearly wrong. Everything at the moment was clearly wrong, if only the solutions presented themselves so readily.
“You’re sorry?” Roger whispered, so Rafael barely heard him, meeting his eyes through the reflection in the glass. “You’re sorry?!” He yelled and picked up the nearest thing to hand to throw. It shattered at Rafa’s feet and he felt a stab in his chest when he saw it. The picture of them from their first match, something he had deemed very special, something Roger had deemed fit to break.
Rafael’s eyes shot up to meet with Roger’s as soon as he could tear them away from the crack down the glass in the frame right between their faces, smiles from another life. He saw the glimmer of regret in Roger's eyes before the anger took over again, and it was enough to instantly forgive him. He’d always forgive Roger anything. He had forgiven Roger everything.
The same was apparently not mutual.
Roger began walking round the room, circling him like prey as Rafa just sat quietly, waiting. He knew this wasn’t over. It was the calm before the hurricane, and he felt the impending force shaking him, to his core and beyond.
Roger made a few more attempts at walking round, jarred and jittery, stopping and starting before he was stood directly behind Rafael, so close the other could feel the heat radiating from his body
“Is it Novak?” he asked simply, but all the accusation and the hurt had made it into his voice and Rafael felt his centre crumble under the weight of it. His head shot up, but he didn’t look round to his friend. His lover.
He was fairly sure he knew exactly what Roger meant, but denying and it being wrong would make it seem like he had been considering Novak in such a way, and that would just make things worse. Not that it would have been difficult to ever persuade Nole to do anything for him, he had even considered asking him to let him win in one of his darker moments, made all the more real by knowing that he would do it.
“I not know what you mean, Nole has nothing to do with us,” Rafa said, trying to sound more confident than he felt, but he winced when the hand crashed down on his shoulder and squeezed hard.
Roger rounded the sofa in a second and was pulling Rafael up from the grip he had on his shirt. Rafa met his eye and saw the hurt there. “He has everything to do with us... he’s broken us... he’s broken me. ” Roger whispered, any more than a whisper would be to confirm it even before Rafael did, his eyes delving deep into Rafa’s as if to suck the truth from him. “What is it, now you have a player who can properly beat you you’ll be running after him like a lost dog now?” The like you used to do for me was left unsaid, like it seemed so much had.
Rafa was confused, his English was not properly cut out for this, but he knew the last thing Roger had said had hurt him, he decided not to concentrate on his hurt, Roger needed him. “No could break you. You Roger Fede-”
“Don’t!” Roger spat, pulling the two closer together, “Don’t feed me that shit, Rafa, save it for your time with the press, it will go well with your lying eyes and easy smile... so well practiced,” Roger’s other hand was now curled in the collar of Rafa’s shirt, almost to make sure he was still there, and was not going to disappear. “He has taken everything from me now, I am surprised he has not turned up asking for the twins.”
Rafa frowned, not liking the way he was being talked to and about one bit, his eyes turned colder, “If this how you treat me, maybe I leave you alone. You no need my lying eyes.” He said, and again, regretted it. Roger’s eyes widened before glaring darkly at him and letting him go, but the tennis great did not move away, “I still here Roger. I always be here.”Rafael continued, though it was hard with Roger glaring into his eyes.
“I’ve heard that before...” he scoffed, trailing away back to the window and resting his forehead on the cooling glass.
Rafael sighed and watched him move, not knowing what to do or say, feeling completely useless. It was a lifetime before his limbs worked and he moved behind Roger and placed an awkward hand on his shoulder. It was immediately covered by the warm all encompassing grasp of the best player in the world... well used to be.
“You’re leaving me behind, everyone is. I hardly see you these days and when I do, you’re not really here anymore. It was me, you and tennis. Now is tennis, you, Armani and Novak.” Roger spat the last word poisonously, just saying his name seemed to make him feel further away, distanced, “I see the way he looks at you... I can see the way you are beginning to look at him. You’re avoiding him to keep away from it, but I can see it. You need him, to push you...I’m old... and I feel older than a thirty year old should. Not my body... but here...” he moved Rafa’s hand over his heart and then leant his head back against the Spaniards shoulder, “And now this press conference, telling the world what you really think of me, of what you think I think of you. It’s a nail in our coffin Rafael, and I don’t want to bury us.”
Rafa was at a loss for what to do, so just stood there with Roger in his arms with his lips pressed to the others temple. “You wrong... it was never tennis.” He mumbled, near incoherently.
Roger turned his head to look into the other’s dark eyes, “What?”
“It Me and Tennis, You and Tennis... but us... only ever us. Tennis never matter to us. Old man? No Matter. I yours. Only yours. I avoid Novak because he beat me. Make me feel bad, I like to win.” Rafa said with a gregarious grin and tightened his arms around Roger comfortingly. “I sorry about the Press, I... passionate about the changes. I like to win, but I love you more, I no talk to them about nothing but tennis now.” He promised and kissed Roger briefly on the lips. Roger turned properly and kissed the other in earnest and pushed him back towards Rafa's bed.
That night Roger made love to him with a renewed vigour, feeling the weight of all troubles lifted briefly from him, so the two could just be together. Afterwards he snuggled up behind Rafael an arm draped loosely over him, keeping him close, for fear he may disappear like a thief in the night.
When Rafa was sure Roger was asleep he went to check his flashing phone and grimaced at the text he had received, and looked guiltily over at Roger in the hotel room bed.
Hey, Raf. So much fun seeing you the other day with the Kids. They all seemed to love you, can’t blame them! We should do it again sometime, after we meet in the final, that is. Can’t wait to see you again. Nole.
Rafa sighed and sat on the edge of the bed with his head hung, reading the text several times more. When had life become so complicated?