Tennis Slash: Final, Finally
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Andy walked his way back into the changing room, while Roger was hindered in the tunnel, taking pictures, having interview and shaking hands.
What a match, Andy thought. He was so exhausted, both mentally and physically, he didn’t think he could make it; he didn’t thought he could last that long, but he did, just not long enough.
It seemed that he was never, and would not be, good enough to beat Roger the almighty, Roger the King of Tennis.
Andy’s head was low; Roger’s held up high with a winning smile.
Andy didn’t know; Roger took that slight worried glimpse when he disappeared into the darkness of the changing room.
++
Andy dropped his bag on the floor, and looked for some clean clothes he could change into.
His heart wasn’t beating, not since he lost to Roger again.
He wasn’t breathing, not since he missed that last shot at the baseline.
He held back his hot tears, refused to cry in front of millions of people.
At least, he could have some dignity for himself.
He placed the clean clothes on the bench, and took off the t-shirt, shoes and socks and pads, which had all been on him for more than 4 sweaty hours.
He picked up the towel and walked into the shower with his head still low.
++
Roger noticed Andy, he always had.
How his voice shook a bit, fighting back tears when he was having the post-match interview on court.
How shaky his breaths were, when standing next to him, holding the mockingly shiny silver dish while he had the golden trophy.
How he saw the forced smile in the reflection.
He took a little glimpse at Andy’s back before he disappeared from his sight.
Roger wanted to follow him, tell him that he’s sorry, for taking away everything, for ruining his life, breaking his hopes into tiny pieces, again, and again, and again.
But Roger knew that the American would just smile at him and said something remarkably stupid yet funny to him and walked away, again.
While Roger was talking the Pete, a little part of his mind, too little, but just big enough to have his notice, reminded him that he shouldn’t let Andy walked away this time, not again.
Roger walked away from the press and Pete and the others and grabbed his bags and walked into the changing room.
The lights were on, but no one was to be seen within his sight.
Then he noticed, Andy’s belongings, on the floor in front of the bench and some clean clothes on the bench.
Roger could imagine how hurt and sad Andy must be now, but the small desperate cry he heard told him he knew nothing at all.
There were more cries after the first one, and the sound of falling water and tens of millions water droplets splashing against the tile in the shower.
Roger placed his bags next to Andy’s and walked towards the shower.
The American was crying, from what Roger’s heard.
In fact, that was the first time Roger heard Andy cry, he saw tears dropped once or twice before, but to have the tough and strong American crying, he knew how important the trophy was to him.
He turned into the shower area, and saw steams flowing out from one of them and he took off his shirt and his shoes and all that, left only his trousers.
Roger slowly walked to the front of the shower door with too many steams. The cries were all clear and loud and too heartbreaking for everyone.
‘Andy?’ Roger called out gently and the cries stopped straight away.
He waited a few moments until he heard the reply.
‘Hey, Rog,’ Andy’s voice was thick with tears and trembling.
‘Can I come in?’ Roger knew it was a stupid, foolish question to ask, but he wanted answer to his questions.
‘You do realize that I’m having a shower, right?’ Andy tried to laugh but not quite successful.
Inside, Andy was wiping his tears away, but no matter how many times he wiped, they came back and streamed down his face nonetheless.
He didn’t hear the door being pushed opened until Roger’s hand touched his shoulder.
He yelped, slightly, and turned back abruptly, looking shocked like a deer caught in the headlight.
‘I’m sorry for intruding, Andy, but I’m not going to let go this time,’ Roger said, noticing Andy hadn’t taken off his shorts and tried to ignore the fact that Andy looked too sexy and hot and wet to talk to at the moment.
‘In case you don’t know, you’re the one on the throne and I’m the one that’s supposed to let go,’
‘No, no, Andy, it’s not about the Wimbledon, it’s about,’ Roger stopped, wondering if he should say it. He looked at Andy, seeing the water on his face, tears and sweat and the shower water, his thought said yes.
‘Us,’ Roger saw how Andy’s red-dimmed eyes grew wide.
‘What do you mean by “us”?’
Roger didn’t answer, instead, he stepped forward and Andy stepped backward, like a little tango in the shower.
One step forward, Roger was closer to Andy, but one step backward, Andy would walk away from him again.
Roger reached over to turn off the shower tap but his eyes never ceased to stop looking at Andy’s.
‘It’s a little bit awkward now, Roger,’ Andy’s hands on his hips, Roger tried his best not to stray to somewhere inappropriate for now.
Roger knew Andy knew he loved him, always had, but Andy was always avoiding him, not giving Roger even a tiny moment just to tell him how much he loved him.
Not this time.
Roger had Andy all to himself, in the shower.
‘Because you are avoiding me, since that time,’ Roger saw Andy twitched slightly.
‘This is not the right time, Roger,’ Andy tried to push past, but Roger had him cornered in one smooth move; like he had been practicing it over and over again.
‘This IS the right time, Andy, you don’t have to say anything, just listen,’ Roger added as Andy opened his mouth to protest.
Andy looked at the man cornering him, the man that took away the trophies, the man that took away his hopes; the man that he was so madly in love, yet so madly mad with.
‘I love you,’
Andy was expecting something more, at least more than three words.
But these words, they meant so much, too much.
The shower room fell into silence, the air dancing with steam and breaths and tears.
Andy didn’t realize his tears had fallen until Roger reached out to touch him, wiping them away.
‘I love you, Andy,’
The words entered his head, and danced merrily inside of him, like butterflies, like flying petals in the soft breaths of spring.
‘I hate you, too much,’ his voice was trembling; his face was wet with hot tears that seemed to burn into his deepest soul.
‘I know,’ Roger sighed, ‘I know.’
Roger thought this was the end; Andy hated him.
‘I hate you, so, much, that I started to fall in love with you,’ Roger’s heart seemed to have come to a brief stop when he heard it, and when it started beating again, it was on the edge of breaking out of his chest.
Roger took a few steps backward and looked at Andy in great wonder.
Andy blushed as their eyes met, and he blushed harder as Roger grabbed him for a fiery kiss.
The kiss was long, but not slow.
Roger’s hands were feeling every inch of Andy’s skin, while Andy’s were deep in Roger’s wet hair.
They came to a stop, when they were almost out of breath.
Andy’s lips were pink and puffy and it made Roger wanted to pin him down straight away.
Roger wasn’t going to ruin it; he wanted to make it good, the best, for Andy.
‘I’m sorry,’ Roger said, stepping back and stared straight into Andy’s eyes.
‘Sorry for?’
‘You know, back there, I didn’t…’ Roger was stopped as Andy placed a finger on his lips.
‘It’s a match, a fair match and a match I’ll always remember,’ Andy smiled weakly and it lit up Roger’s heart.
‘So you’re not angry?’
‘Why should I when I finally get what I’ve always wanted?’ Andy blushed as a smile spread across Roger’s face.
The two drowned into another passionate kiss under millions of water droplets.
Fine
Andy walked his way back into the changing room, while Roger was hindered in the tunnel, taking pictures, having interview and shaking hands.
What a match, Andy thought. He was so exhausted, both mentally and physically, he didn’t think he could make it; he didn’t thought he could last that long, but he did, just not long enough.
It seemed that he was never, and would not be, good enough to beat Roger the almighty, Roger the King of Tennis.
Andy’s head was low; Roger’s held up high with a winning smile.
Andy didn’t know; Roger took that slight worried glimpse when he disappeared into the darkness of the changing room.
++
Andy dropped his bag on the floor, and looked for some clean clothes he could change into.
His heart wasn’t beating, not since he lost to Roger again.
He wasn’t breathing, not since he missed that last shot at the baseline.
He held back his hot tears, refused to cry in front of millions of people.
At least, he could have some dignity for himself.
He placed the clean clothes on the bench, and took off the t-shirt, shoes and socks and pads, which had all been on him for more than 4 sweaty hours.
He picked up the towel and walked into the shower with his head still low.
++
Roger noticed Andy, he always had.
How his voice shook a bit, fighting back tears when he was having the post-match interview on court.
How shaky his breaths were, when standing next to him, holding the mockingly shiny silver dish while he had the golden trophy.
How he saw the forced smile in the reflection.
He took a little glimpse at Andy’s back before he disappeared from his sight.
Roger wanted to follow him, tell him that he’s sorry, for taking away everything, for ruining his life, breaking his hopes into tiny pieces, again, and again, and again.
But Roger knew that the American would just smile at him and said something remarkably stupid yet funny to him and walked away, again.
While Roger was talking the Pete, a little part of his mind, too little, but just big enough to have his notice, reminded him that he shouldn’t let Andy walked away this time, not again.
Roger walked away from the press and Pete and the others and grabbed his bags and walked into the changing room.
The lights were on, but no one was to be seen within his sight.
Then he noticed, Andy’s belongings, on the floor in front of the bench and some clean clothes on the bench.
Roger could imagine how hurt and sad Andy must be now, but the small desperate cry he heard told him he knew nothing at all.
There were more cries after the first one, and the sound of falling water and tens of millions water droplets splashing against the tile in the shower.
Roger placed his bags next to Andy’s and walked towards the shower.
The American was crying, from what Roger’s heard.
In fact, that was the first time Roger heard Andy cry, he saw tears dropped once or twice before, but to have the tough and strong American crying, he knew how important the trophy was to him.
He turned into the shower area, and saw steams flowing out from one of them and he took off his shirt and his shoes and all that, left only his trousers.
Roger slowly walked to the front of the shower door with too many steams. The cries were all clear and loud and too heartbreaking for everyone.
‘Andy?’ Roger called out gently and the cries stopped straight away.
He waited a few moments until he heard the reply.
‘Hey, Rog,’ Andy’s voice was thick with tears and trembling.
‘Can I come in?’ Roger knew it was a stupid, foolish question to ask, but he wanted answer to his questions.
‘You do realize that I’m having a shower, right?’ Andy tried to laugh but not quite successful.
Inside, Andy was wiping his tears away, but no matter how many times he wiped, they came back and streamed down his face nonetheless.
He didn’t hear the door being pushed opened until Roger’s hand touched his shoulder.
He yelped, slightly, and turned back abruptly, looking shocked like a deer caught in the headlight.
‘I’m sorry for intruding, Andy, but I’m not going to let go this time,’ Roger said, noticing Andy hadn’t taken off his shorts and tried to ignore the fact that Andy looked too sexy and hot and wet to talk to at the moment.
‘In case you don’t know, you’re the one on the throne and I’m the one that’s supposed to let go,’
‘No, no, Andy, it’s not about the Wimbledon, it’s about,’ Roger stopped, wondering if he should say it. He looked at Andy, seeing the water on his face, tears and sweat and the shower water, his thought said yes.
‘Us,’ Roger saw how Andy’s red-dimmed eyes grew wide.
‘What do you mean by “us”?’
Roger didn’t answer, instead, he stepped forward and Andy stepped backward, like a little tango in the shower.
One step forward, Roger was closer to Andy, but one step backward, Andy would walk away from him again.
Roger reached over to turn off the shower tap but his eyes never ceased to stop looking at Andy’s.
‘It’s a little bit awkward now, Roger,’ Andy’s hands on his hips, Roger tried his best not to stray to somewhere inappropriate for now.
Roger knew Andy knew he loved him, always had, but Andy was always avoiding him, not giving Roger even a tiny moment just to tell him how much he loved him.
Not this time.
Roger had Andy all to himself, in the shower.
‘Because you are avoiding me, since that time,’ Roger saw Andy twitched slightly.
‘This is not the right time, Roger,’ Andy tried to push past, but Roger had him cornered in one smooth move; like he had been practicing it over and over again.
‘This IS the right time, Andy, you don’t have to say anything, just listen,’ Roger added as Andy opened his mouth to protest.
Andy looked at the man cornering him, the man that took away the trophies, the man that took away his hopes; the man that he was so madly in love, yet so madly mad with.
‘I love you,’
Andy was expecting something more, at least more than three words.
But these words, they meant so much, too much.
The shower room fell into silence, the air dancing with steam and breaths and tears.
Andy didn’t realize his tears had fallen until Roger reached out to touch him, wiping them away.
‘I love you, Andy,’
The words entered his head, and danced merrily inside of him, like butterflies, like flying petals in the soft breaths of spring.
‘I hate you, too much,’ his voice was trembling; his face was wet with hot tears that seemed to burn into his deepest soul.
‘I know,’ Roger sighed, ‘I know.’
Roger thought this was the end; Andy hated him.
‘I hate you, so, much, that I started to fall in love with you,’ Roger’s heart seemed to have come to a brief stop when he heard it, and when it started beating again, it was on the edge of breaking out of his chest.
Roger took a few steps backward and looked at Andy in great wonder.
Andy blushed as their eyes met, and he blushed harder as Roger grabbed him for a fiery kiss.
The kiss was long, but not slow.
Roger’s hands were feeling every inch of Andy’s skin, while Andy’s were deep in Roger’s wet hair.
They came to a stop, when they were almost out of breath.
Andy’s lips were pink and puffy and it made Roger wanted to pin him down straight away.
Roger wasn’t going to ruin it; he wanted to make it good, the best, for Andy.
‘I’m sorry,’ Roger said, stepping back and stared straight into Andy’s eyes.
‘Sorry for?’
‘You know, back there, I didn’t…’ Roger was stopped as Andy placed a finger on his lips.
‘It’s a match, a fair match and a match I’ll always remember,’ Andy smiled weakly and it lit up Roger’s heart.
‘So you’re not angry?’
‘Why should I when I finally get what I’ve always wanted?’ Andy blushed as a smile spread across Roger’s face.
The two drowned into another passionate kiss under millions of water droplets.
Fine