FIC: At the Net, Roger/Rafa, R
Yes, I have written slash. It is tennis slash, but I think people can appreciate it even if you're not familiar with the guys. All you really need to know is this was the inspiration:
Title: At the Net
Pairing: Rafa/Roger
Author:
shrinetolust
Rated: R (closer to PG-13, probably)
Story: Rafa notices something different in Roger's eyes.
Disclaimer:
Don't know these lovely men, don't know what they get up to in their
free time. This is all part of my overactive imagination, done with love
and respect, and no harm or offense is intended. It's FICTION!!
Notes: Started this right after the French Open, and just kept tinkering with it. Still not sure it's exactly right, but I can't hold on to it forever!. :) I hope you all enjoy!!
At the Net
Roger was different this time. At the net. Not so different, but there was something. Rafa was the same, all covered in clay from the game, and from his collapse after his victory. He was sweaty and wrinkled and dirty. Yet Roger embraced him as always, looking fresh and smooth and only smelling a little bit warm. Even after the loss he had a smile for Rafa, that warm-eyed smile that always seemed just on the edge of a laugh.
Rafa had long vowed to himself not to rumple Roger again, not to drip his sweat all over Roger's soft skin, but each time he came to the net he forgot his promise. It was out of his control. Just like the girlfriend Rafa had when he was very young, who would sometimes burst into tears the moment she saw him. It was not because of him, he soon found out. But when she had a bad day, she would hold it all in, all of the anguish and anger, for hours. And then when she saw Rafa, she knew she would finally be comforted and all of it, all of that pent-up hurt would all rush out. And she would cry.
That was how he felt now, each time, at the end of what was usually a marathon match with Roger. It was all nerves, and concentration, and being so so very intense. And then it would all be over. And no matter the win or loss, Roger was there at the net, slender arm extended to loop around Rafa's back. Rafa would just crumble, every ache and pain and lamented error suddenly springing to life and overwhelming him. Every time, he would fall into Roger's embrace, pressing his damp forehead to Roger's, letting himself for just a moment absorb his friend's affection.
It was time to discard the promise, he thought today. He would never be able to stop, and even covered in clay, soaking through his shirt, he was going to get Roger dirty. Roger was ready, as always. He shifted sideways, and kindly turned his cheek, giving Rafa the space to nuzzle against him. Gratefully Rafa closed his eyes and leaned against him for those perfect, brief seconds, pressing his hand firmly to Roger's chest and feeling the heavy thump of that steady heart against his palm. The crowd noise fell away until he could hear nothing but his own pounding heart and Roger's slightly quickened breath.
Roger extended his congratulations, and Rafa murmured something back. He honestly didn't know what, but he said it right into Roger's ear, so he would be sure to hear it. It was probably not important, for who knows what he ever said at the net after each match, his head spinning and his pulse racing too fast for considered thought. Usually Roger would smile and rub his back and then they would move down the net to shake hands with the umpire.
But there it was. Roger was different this time. When Rafa felt him pull away, he opened his eyes with a sigh, the crowd noise surging back and making his ears sting. And maybe his brain. But there was no time to think of that, because Roger was standing there, looking at him and smiling. It wasn't the typical Roger smile...it was smaller, a little gentler somehow. And something in the eyes was different. Something that made Rafa's already heated blood nearly boil over.
Rafa felt the corner of his mouth quirking up, perhaps even a little suggestively. It was instinctive. At the net there was always that desire to bury his face into the crook of Roger's neck and just breathe him in, drawing strength from Roger's ever steady presence, helping his heart calm back into its natural rhythm. But this, this was something else. Rafa felt a different desire altogether, and his palms got sweaty, and he leaned in just a little bit closer, eyes dropping to the gentle curve of Roger's lips.
Roger said more, maybe something about Rafa getting dirt on him, and Rafa felt a sudden burst of fear-driven adrenaline jolting him back to reality. His dusty red hand slid from Roger's chest to his belly, and then away, and he apologized. But Roger was still smiling, still cradling his back, fingers gently curved against his shoulder blade. Rafa dared to meet that dark-eyed gaze one more time, trying to remember that precise look in case he didn't see it again. Or in case he did. So he could recognize it.
As they finally parted at the end of the net, Roger bumped his forearm against Rafa's chest, something he always did. He was always nudging Rafa, in the arm, the shoulder, the chest. Rafa liked that each bump meant something different, like Good job, or Wasn't that funny? Or even, Please don't tell that Wimbledon story again! This time he wasn't so sure if he liked it, because it was typical Roger, and didn't give Rafa any more clues about what had just happened. If anything had happened. Maybe Rafa was just dehydrated, too overloaded with adrenaline. Maybe he had hallucinated the whole thing.
Rafa tried to talk to himself, tried to calm himself down. Tried to remind himself that it had been a mere moment at the net, not enough time to make anything of anything. It was best to move on, to focus on his victory, and try to gather up all of his English to use in the endless round of interviews to come.
All of the fanfare of the trophy ceremony was a good distraction, and his heart was full because Roger was not so disappointed as he could be. Beating Nole, breaking that streak--Rafa thought that had done Roger good. And the French people were responding so positively to Roger now, showering him with thunderous applause. They liked Roger because he spoke their language, but of course it was more than that. Roger was Roger, and why wouldn't they all love him?
Roger said nice things about Rafa, at least he thought they were nice things, because it was in French and Rafa didn't understand. He could see a little bit of the sadness creep into Roger's eyes when the attention shifted to Rafa and his victory speech. Rafa knew what it felt like to be on that side, and he felt the little pang in his chest for Roger. But still it felt good to hold that heavy trophy in his arms, and he knew he deserved it, and he was happy that his best had been the best at Roland Garros again.
Rafa felt his skin flush warm when Roger nudged up beside him for photos, sliding an arm around him and turning his body towards Rafa once again. Only this time Roger was a little more shy, his eyes not always on Rafa's, but still there was that smile. Rafa leaned in, watching Roger's face, smirking when Roger teased him about winning too many damn times. Roger swearing was always funny, because it always seemed so out of place, as if he'd forgotten to brush his hair in the morning or press the wrinkles out of his shirts. Or let himself get really, really dirty.
There was no time to enjoy those thoughts, for it was all flashbulbs and people dragging him around by the elbow. He was going to get separated from Roger, and it was going to be on to interviews and press conferences and pictures. But Rafa could not stop his heart from pounding and his hands from tingling and his body getting revved up to know what Roger was thinking. Because there was something in that expression today, something in his friend's face that seemed to be pushing Rafa. Urging him to--well, he didn't know. He wasn't sure.
All he knew was that after the trophy ceremony, he couldn't wait any longer. And in the middle of all the pushing and hurrying, Rafa stayed close to Roger. And when he saw a doorway to a darkened room, he pushed Roger into it, murmuring to those around him that he had to speak to Roger. "Very important," he said, slamming the door behind them, and leaning against it with tense shoulders, fully expecting someone to try and push their way in to get them.
There was no push, no knock. And he relaxed a little. Roger looked startled in the dim light coming in from the lone high window, in what appeared to be someone's tiny office. In the dark, close quarters, Rafa suddenly became aware of how sweaty he still was. How it would be a bit too strong. But there was no choice. His fingers searched and found the lock on the door. It clicked into place.
"Rafa, what's wrong?" Roger asked, his voice full of concern.
It was then that Rafa realized he had not thought this all the way through. Roger was standing there, wanting an explanation, and Rafa didn't really have one. He had just thought that maybe something would just...happen. Whatever it was that Roger was wanting to maybe happen.
"You look at me different today," he sputtered out.
Roger took a step closer, leaning in--probably to see Rafa's face more clearly in the faint beam of sunlight. "Different than what?" Roger asked. "About losing, do you mean?"
"No. Not that," Rafa answered quickly, rubbing his damp palms on his zippered jacket, which was thankfully clean but soon to be soaked in sweat like everything else Rafa put on his body. Rafa took a deep breath and narrowed the gap between them, looking directly at Roger, trying to see if what he saw at the net was still there. It was hard to tell, for Roger's eyes were always a little bit hooded and dark, but Rafa's ears caught what his eyes could not. Roger's breath was coming faster, barely audible puffs, but Rafa was close enough to hear it. He rubbed his hands on his jacket again. Maybe he had been right after all.
But Roger was not playing along. "What, then? Rafa, we've got people waiting--tell me what is wrong."
Rafa sighed. "Not wrong. After the match you look like you have something to say--like there is something you want."
Roger tilted his head back slightly, but he didn't move away. Rafa could feel the heat from their overworked bodies warming up the room fast. "I don't," Roger said, though he didn't sound so sure.
Rafa ran a hand over his hair, smoothing the wet strands back off of his forehead. Maybe he was a little delirious from the match. Roger never had--did not--Roger was not. Rafa sighed again, and then shrugged. "My mistake. But you know, Roger, if you need something...or want something--" he met Roger's eyes-- "is okay."
If Roger had made a nervous joke, then, or waved Rafa off, or shown a rare flash of irritation, Rafa would of course have opened the door and returned them to the busy, waiting world of obligations outside. But Roger did not move. Or speak. His eyes never left Rafa's, but he looked uncertain, hesitant.
Rafa took a final step closer, putting them as near as they had been at the net. Rafa put a hand on Roger's chest, palm down, feeling for the thrum of Roger's heart. It was strong, hard against his hand. And a little fast. Rafa broke eye contact with Roger, and let his gaze fall to Roger's lips again. His own heart was pounding, faster than Roger's he was sure. "Okay," he said, his voice coming out a little bit husky. "I go first."
He closed his eyes, overcoming his nerves by picturing himself at the net, letting himself feel all of that overwhelming emotion again, and letting himself feel Roger's heat. The urge to fall against Roger was instantaneous and powerful, and he melted against his friend, pushing his arm underneath Roger's so he could embrace him again. Rafa buried his face in Roger's neck and breathed deeply, his left hand reflexively caressing Roger's lean back, his right still pressed tight to Roger's chest.
Roger made a small sound of surprise, and Rafa could feel the tension in his muscles. But he didn't resist. Instead, Roger's right arm curved around Rafa's back, fingertips digging a little into his muscles. "Rafa," he said, and it was a little bit of a question, but a little bit of stern Roger, too.
Rafa's pulse surged. He nuzzled against Roger, inhaling the scent of his skin, the barely-there sweat of his workout plus a hint of something that reminded Rafa of the beach...sunscreen maybe. He imagined rubbing the lotion into that velvety soft skin. "Roger, anything," he urged gently. "Is okay."
There was a pause, then, a long pause that Rafa thought might go on forever. They stood so quietly in the little dark room, bodies pressed together, hearts pounding together. Then suddenly Roger turned his head, pressing his cheek against Rafa's. His left hand reached up and touched Rafa's throat, fingertips just brushing against the skin, nails gently scratching against the dark stubble just underneath Rafa's chin.
Rafa suppressed a shiver, afraid to move and startle Roger out of this quiet, quiet moment. And then he bit down on his bottom lip, his breath caught in his throat as two of Roger's fingers closed on the tiny blue tab on his jacket and pulled. Roger ever so slowly unzipped Rafa's jacket, every click of the little teeth sending signals of shivering anticipation skittering across his nerves.
Roger stopped halfway down Rafa's chest, letting go of the zip to slide his hand inside the opening. Rafa exhaled with a soft groan as Roger's warm fingers caressed his naked skin. Roger pushed gently up towards his shoulder, his slightly rougher thumb skating over the top of Rafa's collar bone. Then his hand slid back, slowly, slowly, maddeningly slow.
Rafa started to feel a little light-headed. Roger's fingertips skated over his skin again and again, so quietly and tenderly, stroking his chest, his upper arm, then gliding up over his shoulder to trace the taut tendon in his neck. He was glad he was clinging so hard to Roger, who felt so strong and sturdy under his gradually intensifying grip. Roger's touch was so simple, but like him, so graceful. And this sort of reverential caress felt so...intimate.
Roger pushed underneath the jacket again, his palm hot against Rafa's chest. The tips of his fingers suddenly tickled against the hair under Rafa's arm, and Rafa reflexively coiled up, burying his smile in the crook of Roger's neck. As he gently nudged Roger's arm away, Rafa heard a familiar tone in Roger's exhaled breath. It had been quiet, but perceptible. Roger had laughed.
As difficult as it was to tear himself away from the delicious warmth of Roger's neck, Rafa wanted to see his expression. He squinted in the hazy light and saw Roger's smile, and now he felt even warmer. "Better," he said. "I don't like you so serious." He lifted his hand to touch that beautiful mouth, then he remembered where his hands had been all day. "Sorry," he said, feeling his cheeks heat. "I'm always too dirty to touch you."
Roger's smile deepened. "You look all right to me. His eyes dropped to Rafa's lips. "You only kissed the clay a couple of times today."
Rafa smirked. "If you speak Spanish better, you know my mouth is as dirty as the rest of me." Then a sudden thought spiked through his brain, and he realized he may have missed Roger's point. "Oh. You want me to touch you with my mouth?"
Roger's gaze shot back up to Rafa's eyes, and his smile and some of the color drained from his face. But before Rafa could say another word, Roger's hand curled around the back of his neck and pulled him in. Roger tilted his head, and Rafa's lips parted in anticipation. Then Roger stopped, just shy of contact. Just for a moment. Rafa enjoyed that delicious pause, his adrenaline surging at the way Roger exhaled a little excited breath just before his mouth pressed against Rafa's.
Roger's lips were as soft, warm, and seductive as Rafa had always imagined them to be. The kiss was a little bit shy, Roger gently drinking Rafa in and then pulling back, as if he were leaving a tiny space, a moment of air for Rafa to protest. As if. Rafa was in love with this little dance, the tease as their parted lips just barely rubbed together, heated breath mingling just before Roger plunged in again. They would connect, and then part again, Roger every so lightly sucking on Rafa's bottom lip before releasing him.
When Rafa detected a slightly longer pause, his eyes slid up to meet Roger's, so close he could finally really see it. That look he'd noticed at the net, the glimmer of something different. He still couldn't quite describe it, but he felt it. All through his body, but also in his heart. His mouth quirked up at one corner. "Hola, Roger."
There it was again, that little exhaled breath, a single note of a laugh. Roger's cheeks flushed a little, and he turned his head, as if to hide his expression.
"No," Rafa whispered. No hiding. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against that beautiful little smile. Roger tentatively responded, and Rafa persisted, small kisses that became bigger, more fervent ones. Suddenly Roger was so much closer to him, their thighs rubbing together, Roger's hands hot against his face. Rafa dragged his own hands over his jacket one more time before pressing them to Roger's sides, curling around his ribcage, feeling the taut muscles that stretched over it. The thought of Roger's lean body underneath him caused a surge of desire, adding heat to his kiss, and he felt Roger shudder in his grasp.
It felt so good to have Roger's hands on him, those elegant fingers tracing the curve of his cheekbones with such a delicate, sensual touch. Rafa tilted his chin up, arching into the caress as Roger's mouth pushed more firmly against his. Rafa let his tongue slip out, just a little bit, unable to resist fully tasting those exquisite lips. He heard himself humming with pleasure as he gently lapped at that full bottom lip, and then he was tingling all up and down his neck and shoulders as Roger's fingers climbed up into his hair and tugged.
Roger didn't let up, winding his hands into Rafa's curls, his mouth now hot and hard and insistent. Rafa forgot how dirty his hands were and grabbed at Roger, pushing underneath his jacket in search of skin.
Roger was of course more proper than he, with a shirt underneath, maddeningly tucked in. Rafa tugged at the fabric, the force bumping their bodies together and increasing the pressure of the kiss. Rafa tilted his head in Roger's hands, opening his mouth wide and inviting more. Finally, he felt Roger's tongue dip inside, and he groaned, tugging harder at the shirt and finally yanking it free. His hands finally met with warm skin, his fingertips sliding through the soft hair on Roger's belly.
Roger made such a pretty, seductive sound, then, that vibrated against Rafa's lips. Rafa kissed him harder, feverishly pushing up further beneath Roger's shirt, rubbing at his chest, reveling in the fact that Roger actually was a little bit sweaty after all. From the tennis, of course, but as his fingers scratched through the damp swirls of hair covering Roger's pecs, Rafa knew that it was also because of him. Roger was hot for him.
And Rafa was hot. Burning, in fact, and he could feel himself starting to soak through his jacket, down his back and under his arms. He slid his hand under Roger's arm, a bit of retaliation, but Roger wasn't ticklish. But when his thumb slid over Roger's nipple, Roger broke their kiss to let out a little gasp. Rafa relished the dark, dark shine of Roger's eyes, and the close-up view of Roger's sweet little pouting lips, more red and swollen now from all of their kissing. His own breath caught as Roger quickly leaned back in, pressing his mouth to Rafa's neck and sucking hard on the sensitive flesh.
Rafa reflexively clutched at Roger, fingers grabbing at his sides again, trying to yank him closer. But Roger pushed on him hard, and Rafa fell somewhat jarringly against the door to the little office, rattling it on its hinges. He grunted at the impact, a swirl of momentary pain mingling with pleasure as Roger's mouth returned to his throat. Roger groaned, long and low, and then he was speaking, murmuring against Rafa's neck.
"It's the same."
Rafa blinked against the darkness. "What?" he asked.
"You sound the same." Roger's voice was soft, barely audible, and a little bit strained. He nuzzled against Rafa's skin. "The noise you make on the court. And now. I'll never be able to hear you the same way out there." He pulled back, taking a few deep breaths as he ran his hands over his tousled hair. Steadying himself. "I'll be distracted and then I'll lose. Again."
Rafa couldn't help smirking. "I guess now you have an excuse."
Roger's mouth twitched slightly, and his eyes crinkled a little at the corners. Then his fists curled into Rafa's jacket, and his leg curved around Rafa's, and the two of them spun around and down to the floor.
Rafa hit the carpet with another startled cry, and Roger attacked his mouth with another vigorous kiss, and Rafa forgot all about the little shocks of pain stinging his shoulders and tailbone. Rafa felt Roger's legs on either side of him, and one of Roger's hands was farther down his jacket now, yanking at the zip until the jacket fell open. Rafa only felt the cool air for a moment before Roger pressed his whole body down.
Oh. Thought left Rafa for a moment, and all that was there was feeling, the feeling of Roger's tight body pinning him to the floor. Roger was still fully dressed, but his jacket and shirt were hitched up enough for Rafa to feel a bit of skin against his own. And he could feel Roger's arousal, nudging up next to his own, and that was something he'd never allowed himself to imagine. Well, at least not often.
Roger paused long enough to let out a shivering sigh of his own, then tipped his head down for another smoldering kiss. A sudden heavy knock on the door startled them both, Rafa's heartbeat spiking in his chest. A somewhat garbled voice transmitted through the door, in what sounded like French. Roger quickly propped himself up on one elbow, turning to the door to answer sharply in the same language. Rafa kept his head in the game, taking advantage of Roger's momentary distraction to reach up and unzip his jacket.
When Roger apparently received a satisfactory, much more accommodating reply, he turned back to Rafa, his eyes narrow and a little bit arrogant.
"Oh." Rafa said, swallowing hard. In anticipation. "I have not seen you look like this in a while."
"Like what?"
"Like you are the boss."
Roger laughed, his expression softening with his smile, but his eyes were still strong. "I am the boss." He looked down at Rafa's chest, his gaze lingering on every curve, and sighed. "We have to go. I think they think we're fighting in here."
Rafa didn't care what anyone thought right now. He was too busy staring, still a little overwhelmed that Roger was actually sitting on top of him. Roger, with his beautiful brown eyes and strong jaw and--he reached up and twirled a finger around a single, soft curl--that perfect, perfect hair.
Roger's eyes closed for a moment, and he tilted his head slightly into Rafa's touch. Rafa felt his own desire burning through him, and it took all his strength to control the tremble in his arm as he forced himself to slowly--slowly--comb his fingers through the soft waves at Roger's temple. They both had dark hair, but out in the daylight, he could always see the prettier color of Roger's, the little bit of red, burnished bright by the sun. The silky strands curled against his fingertips, and Roger reflexively pushed their hips together, a beautiful low hum rumbling past his lips.
Rafa had to have more. He had to touch Roger. Everywhere. He gripped the open ends of Roger's jacket and tugged them apart. "Off," he instructed.
Roger opened his eyes, and took a moment to shake off his dreamy, sensual expression. "No," he huffed, pulling himself a little farther back. "We really should leave now."
"Off," Rafa repeated, and his hands slid down to yank at the hem of Roger's shirt. "And this, too."
"Rafa, you're not listening to me," Roger said, sounding exasperated and maybe a little charmed all at once.
"Don't be shy, Roger," Rafa urged, pulling at the cloth so he could see Roger's stomach, the skin so much lighter than his sun-browned arms, the hair a little darker. He could stare at that all day. Touch all day. And to put his mouth there, first just above the waistband of Roger's shorts--
"Rafa."
Rafa was jolted out of his fantasy, and his eyes darted upwards to his friend's face. He could see that Roger would not budge, and he made a soft noise of displeasure, twisting his mouth into a frown. "Okay," he agreed begrudgingly.
"I'm sorry," Roger said quietly. "It just--this isn't the time."
Out of the corner of his vision, Rafa saw the light coming through below the door, and the shadows of people's feet moving past. Roger was right. This wasn't the right place for this. They had already risked too much. He arched one eyebrow, ready to negotiate. "We go," he agreed. "But one more kiss, Roger. Please."
Roger turned those eyes on him again, those sexy, sexy confident eyes. "So, you're the boss now?"
Rafa felt himself smiling, and Roger kissed that corner of his mouth, the corner that always went up first. With the jacket out of the way, Rafa was able to shove Roger's shirt up, just before Roger fell against him one more time. Then it was so much warm skin pressed together, and he could feel the soft hairs of Roger's body rubbing against his. And then Roger writhed a little, tilting his hips, and Rafa groaned so loud, his cheeks promptly burning in embarrassment.
Roger's body quivered on top of him. "Silencio, por favor," Roger whispered, his breath a little ragged.
Rafa chuckled softly at Roger's familiar accent wrapping around the Spanish words. "I can't," he sighed. "You feel too good."
"Only for me, then," Roger said, lifting a hand to point to his ear.
Rafa reached up and traced that perfect little ear with his fingertips. When Roger leaned down again and pressed his mouth to Rafa's shoulder, Rafa turned his lips to Roger's ear and let out a soft, breathy moan. Just for him.
Roger bucked his hips again, and muffled his own response into the crook of Rafa's neck. His hand plunged up into Rafa's damp hair, cradling his skull, thumb coming up to rub against Rafa's ear. He pressed their faces together, rubbing cheeks and noses, and then he was murmuring something against Rafa's mouth. It was Roger's own language this time, and the words fell from his lips so naturally, in that pretty lilting rhythm. Normally Rafa was frustrated when he didn't know what his friend was saying, but that, that collection of warm and passionate syllables tumbling out, that was beautiful and sexy and so very, very Roger.
Roger rolled his hips again, and Rafa felt how much Roger wanted him. It was too difficult, too much to feel and not act on. Rafa squeezed his eyes shut, trying to channel his arousal into short, staccato breaths and avoid groaning aloud again. Roger swallowed his next exhale in a kiss, a warm, wet, messy kiss that was so good it made Rafa's head spin. He forgot everything else, forgot the world outside that door, giving himself over to the press of Roger's body and the heat of his mouth.
He wasn't sure how long the kiss went on, but it was long enough that he started to feel winded, his body still exhausted from chasing Roger around the court. They finally broke apart with a mutual gasp for air, and Roger fell away, rolling onto his back and digging his fingers into the carpet as if he needed to steady himself on solid ground.
Rafa turned his head and saw the heavy rise and fall of Roger's chest, the tension in his arms, and the straining front of his thin white shorts. Rafa's fingers twitched, aching to touch. He looked up to Roger's face again, and his mouth went dry when he saw those dark eyes staring right back, so intensely possessive. Roger had his boss look on in full force, and Rafa shivered with the thought of all the things Roger must want to do to him. Rafa would let him. Rafa would let him do them all.
"We go back to the hotel now," Rafa said, between deep breaths. Then he remembered all the commitments, the delay, and he wiped an arm across his sweaty forehead in frustration. "Or after--" he waved towards the door and all that was beyond it. "Yes?"
In response, Roger clenched his fingers against the carpet and squeezed his eyes shut, breaking their connection. And then he hauled himself into a sitting position, leaning against his raised knees and looking suddenly a little pale. "I--" he started, then stopped. He rubbed at his eyelids. "I don't--"
Rafa sat up, too. "What?"
Roger averted his gaze, wiping the back of his hand across his thoroughly kissed lips. "I'm not sure."
Rafa shrugged. "We gonna go to the hotel. I'm gonna get naked. You be sure then."
Roger shook his head. It seemed to take some effort for him to say the next words. "I don't think I can do that."
It wasn't the reply he'd been expecting. At all. "Okay," he conceded softly, hugging his knees, pulling them tight against his bare chest. All of the raging emotion and need had been so intense, and now there was a rush of uncertainty flooding in, too fast. He felt a little sick.
The silence stretched. Rafa realized he had been right to panic the first moment he'd closed that door and met Roger's questioning gaze. He hadn't thought this all the way through. He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. He had been impulsive again, not thinking about consequences.
He grimaced, jaw clenching as he looked over at Roger. It was painful to feel this sudden discomfort between them. This could not stay, not like this. He shifted his body slowly, moving across the floor to kneel next to Roger, sinking back onto his heels. "Are we--" Rafa twisted his hands nervously in his lap-- "still gonna be friends?"
Roger quickly put a hand over his. And smiled. "Always."
Rafa felt his heart surge a little. He leaned forward, unable to help himself, to stop his suggestively arching eyebrow. "Are you ever gonna kiss me again?"
Roger laughed, and pushed back his waves of hair a little nervously. "Probably." There was still a bit of dark mischief in his eyes. "I can't seem to stop that."
"Fantastic," Rafa purred, which earned him a broader smile from Roger. "Soon?" He was grinning now, probably like a fool. But it was good, good that he hadn't damaged this. His Roger.
Roger met him halfway. The kiss was warm and tender, and there was no regret.
~~
Rafa was surprised at how weak he felt, unsteady on his feet as his trembling hand struggled to zip up his jacket. The adrenaline of the day was burning off, leaving him spent. He needed to drink something.
Roger had got himself back together again, as usual more quickly than Rafa. It was just a bit satisfying to see that, though his gently tousled hair still curled attractively around his face, Roger's neck was visibly damp with sweat and his cheeks were a blotchy red--from an excited flush or from the rough rub of Rafa's stubble, he wasn't quite sure.
His shaky fingers got his own zip halfway up when Roger stepped forward and stopped him, putting a hand over his to halt his movement. That same hand then slipped inside Rafa's jacket, one more time to feel his skin. Rafa's eyes slid closed and he focused on the touch, trying to remember the exact feel of Roger's fingers. In case he never felt them again.
Roger curled against him and Rafa put his arms out, embracing him, wanting to hold onto him as long as Roger would let him. Roger's body heat was intense, and Rafa cringed a little as he felt sweat rolling down his sides into the already saturated waistband of his shorts. He was a mess, as always.
Roger nuzzled into Rafa's neck. "God Rafa, you--"
"--smell terrible?" Rafa groaned. "Si, I know. I'm sorry, Roger."
Roger pulled back, then, laughing aloud, that little boyish giggle that scrunched up his eyes and nose. "That's not what I was going to say," he managed to choke out, "but thank you."
Rafa tried to look stern. "What you gonna say?"
"I don't know. But not that!" Roger pressed his face into Rafa's neck, giggling a little more, then settling into soft breaths that were surprisingly cool against Rafa's skin. "You smell fine," Roger murmured, before pressing a soft kiss against Rafa's throat. "You taste fine."
Rafa felt himself blushing, stomach flipping as Roger drew back to look at him. "Well, that is good," he offered, his voice a bit husky again. "Because if we ever..." He looked down at his toes, then ventured a side-eyed glance at Roger-- "I'm gonna get very sweaty."
"Well." Roger's eyes darkened slightly before they darted away, focusing somewhere near the center of Rafa's chest, soft lashes shielding his gaze from Rafa's view. Roger curled his fingers inside Rafa's jacket, tugging a little on the fabric, forcing Rafa forward until they bumped bodies. "Now it's really time to go," Roger said, and Rafa was pleased to still hear the little lilt of affection in Roger's voice.
There was nothing left to do now, but walk out that door, back into the glaring light and people and responsibilities. Obligations. But as Rafa watched Roger turn and move away from him, something flared up at him, and he hurried around his friend, throwing his back against the door and blocking Roger's exit.
He grabbed Roger, a bit roughly, hand curving around the back of his head and sliding his thumb forward to press into Roger's cheek. "Roger," he said firmly, and felt a little thrill when Roger stilled at his deeper, serious tone. "I must tell you," he continued. "If you look at me again, at the net, same way--" he pulled Roger in a little closer-- "we gonna go to the hotel. I'm gonna get naked. And so are you. Me entiendes?"
Roger's lips quirked up slightly, hinting at a smile, but Rafa was sure those beautifully sharp, reddened cheekbones were suddenly a little bit pinker. "Je comprends," Roger answered, and in his dark eyes Rafa saw a mixture of feelings, not all easy to decipher.
He could decipher the French this time, though. He kissed Roger, one last time, hard--and he hoped a little domineering. This side of Roger was possibly always going to be a mystery, Rafa realized, so all he could do was make his own feelings known. At least one of them was being clear.
When he felt Roger's tongue sliding over his lips, dipping inside, he couldn't suppress a shudder of pleasure. He supposed that was a pretty clear signal. Especially since Roger had gauged this seductive gesture to be just a little less forceful than Rafa's initial attack. Which meant he was letting Rafa be dominant. Which made Rafa want to get naked right then, in that little office, with everybody listening outside.
But it was time to go. He must let go of his beautiful Roger, and so he did, breaking the kiss with a soft, reluctant groan. His heart surged when he felt Roger's hands curling tightly into his jacket, and saw his own hunger and longing mirrored in Roger's dark eyes. He was still holding Roger's face, and he slid his thumb back, running it gently over Roger's full bottom lip, now shining and a little bit swollen. "Game face now," he said, taking one more moment to savor that last touch.
Roger's eyes cooled slightly, and his hands slid away from Rafa with a final caress. He was ready.
Rafa pulled himself away from the door and reached down to open it. Roger's graceful long fingers covered his and their eyes met. Rafa quirked that one corner of his mouth for a hint of a smile before he put his own steely game face on. A little bit angry, that would be good for facing the crowd outside.
They turned the knob together.
~~
Rafa felt a rush of relief as he immediately saw there was no one directly outside the door. After Roger's last command in French, it seemed they had all kept their distance. No one had an expression that indicated they knew what had gone on inside. There was some apprehension, confusion, but no shock.
His own people hurried over to him, and it wasn't long before Roger was surrounded, too. Rafa heard the voices, but he wasn't really listening. He watched as Roger started to walk away from him, those strong shoulders tapering down to the narrow waist, and he was overwhelmed with the memory of the smooth, warm skin under that jacket. "Roger!"
The shout had been a bit angrier and more forceful than he'd intended, and everyone in the room stopped in their tracks. The PR people next to Roger looked up at him nervously as he turned around to look at Rafa, a bit of worry showing in those narrowed dark eyes.
Rafa walked across the room, right up to Roger and stopped. Roger could see it, see it in his eyes, and he started to shake his head. Rafa didn't let him finish the gesture, and quickly flung his arms around Roger's neck, pulling him in for a tight hug.
"Rafa," Boss Roger whispered tersely in his ear.
"What?" Rafa asked innocently. "We're European." He started to pull away, planting a quick kiss on Roger's cheek before he stepped back.
A smattering of applause and a few chuckles sounded from the people around them, and Rafa grinned. "Our fight over now," he said, his heart warming as Roger smiled back at him.
"You're crazy," Roger huffed, but his eyes were sparkling, and that was a fantastic image for Rafa to take with him.
"See you next time, Roger," Rafa said, still grinning like an idiot, as he started walking backwards. "At the net."
Roger blushed, just a little bit, and that was all Rafa needed to see. He turned around, and they parted ways. But Rafa wasn't sad. Everything worth winning was worth working for, worth waiting for.
And Roger was worth it.
~~End
Title: At the Net
Pairing: Rafa/Roger
Author:
shrinetolust
Rated: R (closer to PG-13, probably)
Story: Rafa notices something different in Roger's eyes.
Disclaimer:
Don't know these lovely men, don't know what they get up to in their
free time. This is all part of my overactive imagination, done with love
and respect, and no harm or offense is intended. It's FICTION!!
Notes: Started this right after the French Open, and just kept tinkering with it. Still not sure it's exactly right, but I can't hold on to it forever!. :) I hope you all enjoy!!
At the Net
Roger was different this time. At the net. Not so different, but there was something. Rafa was the same, all covered in clay from the game, and from his collapse after his victory. He was sweaty and wrinkled and dirty. Yet Roger embraced him as always, looking fresh and smooth and only smelling a little bit warm. Even after the loss he had a smile for Rafa, that warm-eyed smile that always seemed just on the edge of a laugh.
Rafa had long vowed to himself not to rumple Roger again, not to drip his sweat all over Roger's soft skin, but each time he came to the net he forgot his promise. It was out of his control. Just like the girlfriend Rafa had when he was very young, who would sometimes burst into tears the moment she saw him. It was not because of him, he soon found out. But when she had a bad day, she would hold it all in, all of the anguish and anger, for hours. And then when she saw Rafa, she knew she would finally be comforted and all of it, all of that pent-up hurt would all rush out. And she would cry.
That was how he felt now, each time, at the end of what was usually a marathon match with Roger. It was all nerves, and concentration, and being so so very intense. And then it would all be over. And no matter the win or loss, Roger was there at the net, slender arm extended to loop around Rafa's back. Rafa would just crumble, every ache and pain and lamented error suddenly springing to life and overwhelming him. Every time, he would fall into Roger's embrace, pressing his damp forehead to Roger's, letting himself for just a moment absorb his friend's affection.
It was time to discard the promise, he thought today. He would never be able to stop, and even covered in clay, soaking through his shirt, he was going to get Roger dirty. Roger was ready, as always. He shifted sideways, and kindly turned his cheek, giving Rafa the space to nuzzle against him. Gratefully Rafa closed his eyes and leaned against him for those perfect, brief seconds, pressing his hand firmly to Roger's chest and feeling the heavy thump of that steady heart against his palm. The crowd noise fell away until he could hear nothing but his own pounding heart and Roger's slightly quickened breath.
Roger extended his congratulations, and Rafa murmured something back. He honestly didn't know what, but he said it right into Roger's ear, so he would be sure to hear it. It was probably not important, for who knows what he ever said at the net after each match, his head spinning and his pulse racing too fast for considered thought. Usually Roger would smile and rub his back and then they would move down the net to shake hands with the umpire.
But there it was. Roger was different this time. When Rafa felt him pull away, he opened his eyes with a sigh, the crowd noise surging back and making his ears sting. And maybe his brain. But there was no time to think of that, because Roger was standing there, looking at him and smiling. It wasn't the typical Roger smile...it was smaller, a little gentler somehow. And something in the eyes was different. Something that made Rafa's already heated blood nearly boil over.
Rafa felt the corner of his mouth quirking up, perhaps even a little suggestively. It was instinctive. At the net there was always that desire to bury his face into the crook of Roger's neck and just breathe him in, drawing strength from Roger's ever steady presence, helping his heart calm back into its natural rhythm. But this, this was something else. Rafa felt a different desire altogether, and his palms got sweaty, and he leaned in just a little bit closer, eyes dropping to the gentle curve of Roger's lips.
Roger said more, maybe something about Rafa getting dirt on him, and Rafa felt a sudden burst of fear-driven adrenaline jolting him back to reality. His dusty red hand slid from Roger's chest to his belly, and then away, and he apologized. But Roger was still smiling, still cradling his back, fingers gently curved against his shoulder blade. Rafa dared to meet that dark-eyed gaze one more time, trying to remember that precise look in case he didn't see it again. Or in case he did. So he could recognize it.
As they finally parted at the end of the net, Roger bumped his forearm against Rafa's chest, something he always did. He was always nudging Rafa, in the arm, the shoulder, the chest. Rafa liked that each bump meant something different, like Good job, or Wasn't that funny? Or even, Please don't tell that Wimbledon story again! This time he wasn't so sure if he liked it, because it was typical Roger, and didn't give Rafa any more clues about what had just happened. If anything had happened. Maybe Rafa was just dehydrated, too overloaded with adrenaline. Maybe he had hallucinated the whole thing.
Rafa tried to talk to himself, tried to calm himself down. Tried to remind himself that it had been a mere moment at the net, not enough time to make anything of anything. It was best to move on, to focus on his victory, and try to gather up all of his English to use in the endless round of interviews to come.
All of the fanfare of the trophy ceremony was a good distraction, and his heart was full because Roger was not so disappointed as he could be. Beating Nole, breaking that streak--Rafa thought that had done Roger good. And the French people were responding so positively to Roger now, showering him with thunderous applause. They liked Roger because he spoke their language, but of course it was more than that. Roger was Roger, and why wouldn't they all love him?
Roger said nice things about Rafa, at least he thought they were nice things, because it was in French and Rafa didn't understand. He could see a little bit of the sadness creep into Roger's eyes when the attention shifted to Rafa and his victory speech. Rafa knew what it felt like to be on that side, and he felt the little pang in his chest for Roger. But still it felt good to hold that heavy trophy in his arms, and he knew he deserved it, and he was happy that his best had been the best at Roland Garros again.
Rafa felt his skin flush warm when Roger nudged up beside him for photos, sliding an arm around him and turning his body towards Rafa once again. Only this time Roger was a little more shy, his eyes not always on Rafa's, but still there was that smile. Rafa leaned in, watching Roger's face, smirking when Roger teased him about winning too many damn times. Roger swearing was always funny, because it always seemed so out of place, as if he'd forgotten to brush his hair in the morning or press the wrinkles out of his shirts. Or let himself get really, really dirty.
There was no time to enjoy those thoughts, for it was all flashbulbs and people dragging him around by the elbow. He was going to get separated from Roger, and it was going to be on to interviews and press conferences and pictures. But Rafa could not stop his heart from pounding and his hands from tingling and his body getting revved up to know what Roger was thinking. Because there was something in that expression today, something in his friend's face that seemed to be pushing Rafa. Urging him to--well, he didn't know. He wasn't sure.
All he knew was that after the trophy ceremony, he couldn't wait any longer. And in the middle of all the pushing and hurrying, Rafa stayed close to Roger. And when he saw a doorway to a darkened room, he pushed Roger into it, murmuring to those around him that he had to speak to Roger. "Very important," he said, slamming the door behind them, and leaning against it with tense shoulders, fully expecting someone to try and push their way in to get them.
There was no push, no knock. And he relaxed a little. Roger looked startled in the dim light coming in from the lone high window, in what appeared to be someone's tiny office. In the dark, close quarters, Rafa suddenly became aware of how sweaty he still was. How it would be a bit too strong. But there was no choice. His fingers searched and found the lock on the door. It clicked into place.
"Rafa, what's wrong?" Roger asked, his voice full of concern.
It was then that Rafa realized he had not thought this all the way through. Roger was standing there, wanting an explanation, and Rafa didn't really have one. He had just thought that maybe something would just...happen. Whatever it was that Roger was wanting to maybe happen.
"You look at me different today," he sputtered out.
Roger took a step closer, leaning in--probably to see Rafa's face more clearly in the faint beam of sunlight. "Different than what?" Roger asked. "About losing, do you mean?"
"No. Not that," Rafa answered quickly, rubbing his damp palms on his zippered jacket, which was thankfully clean but soon to be soaked in sweat like everything else Rafa put on his body. Rafa took a deep breath and narrowed the gap between them, looking directly at Roger, trying to see if what he saw at the net was still there. It was hard to tell, for Roger's eyes were always a little bit hooded and dark, but Rafa's ears caught what his eyes could not. Roger's breath was coming faster, barely audible puffs, but Rafa was close enough to hear it. He rubbed his hands on his jacket again. Maybe he had been right after all.
But Roger was not playing along. "What, then? Rafa, we've got people waiting--tell me what is wrong."
Rafa sighed. "Not wrong. After the match you look like you have something to say--like there is something you want."
Roger tilted his head back slightly, but he didn't move away. Rafa could feel the heat from their overworked bodies warming up the room fast. "I don't," Roger said, though he didn't sound so sure.
Rafa ran a hand over his hair, smoothing the wet strands back off of his forehead. Maybe he was a little delirious from the match. Roger never had--did not--Roger was not. Rafa sighed again, and then shrugged. "My mistake. But you know, Roger, if you need something...or want something--" he met Roger's eyes-- "is okay."
If Roger had made a nervous joke, then, or waved Rafa off, or shown a rare flash of irritation, Rafa would of course have opened the door and returned them to the busy, waiting world of obligations outside. But Roger did not move. Or speak. His eyes never left Rafa's, but he looked uncertain, hesitant.
Rafa took a final step closer, putting them as near as they had been at the net. Rafa put a hand on Roger's chest, palm down, feeling for the thrum of Roger's heart. It was strong, hard against his hand. And a little fast. Rafa broke eye contact with Roger, and let his gaze fall to Roger's lips again. His own heart was pounding, faster than Roger's he was sure. "Okay," he said, his voice coming out a little bit husky. "I go first."
He closed his eyes, overcoming his nerves by picturing himself at the net, letting himself feel all of that overwhelming emotion again, and letting himself feel Roger's heat. The urge to fall against Roger was instantaneous and powerful, and he melted against his friend, pushing his arm underneath Roger's so he could embrace him again. Rafa buried his face in Roger's neck and breathed deeply, his left hand reflexively caressing Roger's lean back, his right still pressed tight to Roger's chest.
Roger made a small sound of surprise, and Rafa could feel the tension in his muscles. But he didn't resist. Instead, Roger's right arm curved around Rafa's back, fingertips digging a little into his muscles. "Rafa," he said, and it was a little bit of a question, but a little bit of stern Roger, too.
Rafa's pulse surged. He nuzzled against Roger, inhaling the scent of his skin, the barely-there sweat of his workout plus a hint of something that reminded Rafa of the beach...sunscreen maybe. He imagined rubbing the lotion into that velvety soft skin. "Roger, anything," he urged gently. "Is okay."
There was a pause, then, a long pause that Rafa thought might go on forever. They stood so quietly in the little dark room, bodies pressed together, hearts pounding together. Then suddenly Roger turned his head, pressing his cheek against Rafa's. His left hand reached up and touched Rafa's throat, fingertips just brushing against the skin, nails gently scratching against the dark stubble just underneath Rafa's chin.
Rafa suppressed a shiver, afraid to move and startle Roger out of this quiet, quiet moment. And then he bit down on his bottom lip, his breath caught in his throat as two of Roger's fingers closed on the tiny blue tab on his jacket and pulled. Roger ever so slowly unzipped Rafa's jacket, every click of the little teeth sending signals of shivering anticipation skittering across his nerves.
Roger stopped halfway down Rafa's chest, letting go of the zip to slide his hand inside the opening. Rafa exhaled with a soft groan as Roger's warm fingers caressed his naked skin. Roger pushed gently up towards his shoulder, his slightly rougher thumb skating over the top of Rafa's collar bone. Then his hand slid back, slowly, slowly, maddeningly slow.
Rafa started to feel a little light-headed. Roger's fingertips skated over his skin again and again, so quietly and tenderly, stroking his chest, his upper arm, then gliding up over his shoulder to trace the taut tendon in his neck. He was glad he was clinging so hard to Roger, who felt so strong and sturdy under his gradually intensifying grip. Roger's touch was so simple, but like him, so graceful. And this sort of reverential caress felt so...intimate.
Roger pushed underneath the jacket again, his palm hot against Rafa's chest. The tips of his fingers suddenly tickled against the hair under Rafa's arm, and Rafa reflexively coiled up, burying his smile in the crook of Roger's neck. As he gently nudged Roger's arm away, Rafa heard a familiar tone in Roger's exhaled breath. It had been quiet, but perceptible. Roger had laughed.
As difficult as it was to tear himself away from the delicious warmth of Roger's neck, Rafa wanted to see his expression. He squinted in the hazy light and saw Roger's smile, and now he felt even warmer. "Better," he said. "I don't like you so serious." He lifted his hand to touch that beautiful mouth, then he remembered where his hands had been all day. "Sorry," he said, feeling his cheeks heat. "I'm always too dirty to touch you."
Roger's smile deepened. "You look all right to me. His eyes dropped to Rafa's lips. "You only kissed the clay a couple of times today."
Rafa smirked. "If you speak Spanish better, you know my mouth is as dirty as the rest of me." Then a sudden thought spiked through his brain, and he realized he may have missed Roger's point. "Oh. You want me to touch you with my mouth?"
Roger's gaze shot back up to Rafa's eyes, and his smile and some of the color drained from his face. But before Rafa could say another word, Roger's hand curled around the back of his neck and pulled him in. Roger tilted his head, and Rafa's lips parted in anticipation. Then Roger stopped, just shy of contact. Just for a moment. Rafa enjoyed that delicious pause, his adrenaline surging at the way Roger exhaled a little excited breath just before his mouth pressed against Rafa's.
Roger's lips were as soft, warm, and seductive as Rafa had always imagined them to be. The kiss was a little bit shy, Roger gently drinking Rafa in and then pulling back, as if he were leaving a tiny space, a moment of air for Rafa to protest. As if. Rafa was in love with this little dance, the tease as their parted lips just barely rubbed together, heated breath mingling just before Roger plunged in again. They would connect, and then part again, Roger every so lightly sucking on Rafa's bottom lip before releasing him.
When Rafa detected a slightly longer pause, his eyes slid up to meet Roger's, so close he could finally really see it. That look he'd noticed at the net, the glimmer of something different. He still couldn't quite describe it, but he felt it. All through his body, but also in his heart. His mouth quirked up at one corner. "Hola, Roger."
There it was again, that little exhaled breath, a single note of a laugh. Roger's cheeks flushed a little, and he turned his head, as if to hide his expression.
"No," Rafa whispered. No hiding. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against that beautiful little smile. Roger tentatively responded, and Rafa persisted, small kisses that became bigger, more fervent ones. Suddenly Roger was so much closer to him, their thighs rubbing together, Roger's hands hot against his face. Rafa dragged his own hands over his jacket one more time before pressing them to Roger's sides, curling around his ribcage, feeling the taut muscles that stretched over it. The thought of Roger's lean body underneath him caused a surge of desire, adding heat to his kiss, and he felt Roger shudder in his grasp.
It felt so good to have Roger's hands on him, those elegant fingers tracing the curve of his cheekbones with such a delicate, sensual touch. Rafa tilted his chin up, arching into the caress as Roger's mouth pushed more firmly against his. Rafa let his tongue slip out, just a little bit, unable to resist fully tasting those exquisite lips. He heard himself humming with pleasure as he gently lapped at that full bottom lip, and then he was tingling all up and down his neck and shoulders as Roger's fingers climbed up into his hair and tugged.
Roger didn't let up, winding his hands into Rafa's curls, his mouth now hot and hard and insistent. Rafa forgot how dirty his hands were and grabbed at Roger, pushing underneath his jacket in search of skin.
Roger was of course more proper than he, with a shirt underneath, maddeningly tucked in. Rafa tugged at the fabric, the force bumping their bodies together and increasing the pressure of the kiss. Rafa tilted his head in Roger's hands, opening his mouth wide and inviting more. Finally, he felt Roger's tongue dip inside, and he groaned, tugging harder at the shirt and finally yanking it free. His hands finally met with warm skin, his fingertips sliding through the soft hair on Roger's belly.
Roger made such a pretty, seductive sound, then, that vibrated against Rafa's lips. Rafa kissed him harder, feverishly pushing up further beneath Roger's shirt, rubbing at his chest, reveling in the fact that Roger actually was a little bit sweaty after all. From the tennis, of course, but as his fingers scratched through the damp swirls of hair covering Roger's pecs, Rafa knew that it was also because of him. Roger was hot for him.
And Rafa was hot. Burning, in fact, and he could feel himself starting to soak through his jacket, down his back and under his arms. He slid his hand under Roger's arm, a bit of retaliation, but Roger wasn't ticklish. But when his thumb slid over Roger's nipple, Roger broke their kiss to let out a little gasp. Rafa relished the dark, dark shine of Roger's eyes, and the close-up view of Roger's sweet little pouting lips, more red and swollen now from all of their kissing. His own breath caught as Roger quickly leaned back in, pressing his mouth to Rafa's neck and sucking hard on the sensitive flesh.
Rafa reflexively clutched at Roger, fingers grabbing at his sides again, trying to yank him closer. But Roger pushed on him hard, and Rafa fell somewhat jarringly against the door to the little office, rattling it on its hinges. He grunted at the impact, a swirl of momentary pain mingling with pleasure as Roger's mouth returned to his throat. Roger groaned, long and low, and then he was speaking, murmuring against Rafa's neck.
"It's the same."
Rafa blinked against the darkness. "What?" he asked.
"You sound the same." Roger's voice was soft, barely audible, and a little bit strained. He nuzzled against Rafa's skin. "The noise you make on the court. And now. I'll never be able to hear you the same way out there." He pulled back, taking a few deep breaths as he ran his hands over his tousled hair. Steadying himself. "I'll be distracted and then I'll lose. Again."
Rafa couldn't help smirking. "I guess now you have an excuse."
Roger's mouth twitched slightly, and his eyes crinkled a little at the corners. Then his fists curled into Rafa's jacket, and his leg curved around Rafa's, and the two of them spun around and down to the floor.
Rafa hit the carpet with another startled cry, and Roger attacked his mouth with another vigorous kiss, and Rafa forgot all about the little shocks of pain stinging his shoulders and tailbone. Rafa felt Roger's legs on either side of him, and one of Roger's hands was farther down his jacket now, yanking at the zip until the jacket fell open. Rafa only felt the cool air for a moment before Roger pressed his whole body down.
Oh. Thought left Rafa for a moment, and all that was there was feeling, the feeling of Roger's tight body pinning him to the floor. Roger was still fully dressed, but his jacket and shirt were hitched up enough for Rafa to feel a bit of skin against his own. And he could feel Roger's arousal, nudging up next to his own, and that was something he'd never allowed himself to imagine. Well, at least not often.
Roger paused long enough to let out a shivering sigh of his own, then tipped his head down for another smoldering kiss. A sudden heavy knock on the door startled them both, Rafa's heartbeat spiking in his chest. A somewhat garbled voice transmitted through the door, in what sounded like French. Roger quickly propped himself up on one elbow, turning to the door to answer sharply in the same language. Rafa kept his head in the game, taking advantage of Roger's momentary distraction to reach up and unzip his jacket.
When Roger apparently received a satisfactory, much more accommodating reply, he turned back to Rafa, his eyes narrow and a little bit arrogant.
"Oh." Rafa said, swallowing hard. In anticipation. "I have not seen you look like this in a while."
"Like what?"
"Like you are the boss."
Roger laughed, his expression softening with his smile, but his eyes were still strong. "I am the boss." He looked down at Rafa's chest, his gaze lingering on every curve, and sighed. "We have to go. I think they think we're fighting in here."
Rafa didn't care what anyone thought right now. He was too busy staring, still a little overwhelmed that Roger was actually sitting on top of him. Roger, with his beautiful brown eyes and strong jaw and--he reached up and twirled a finger around a single, soft curl--that perfect, perfect hair.
Roger's eyes closed for a moment, and he tilted his head slightly into Rafa's touch. Rafa felt his own desire burning through him, and it took all his strength to control the tremble in his arm as he forced himself to slowly--slowly--comb his fingers through the soft waves at Roger's temple. They both had dark hair, but out in the daylight, he could always see the prettier color of Roger's, the little bit of red, burnished bright by the sun. The silky strands curled against his fingertips, and Roger reflexively pushed their hips together, a beautiful low hum rumbling past his lips.
Rafa had to have more. He had to touch Roger. Everywhere. He gripped the open ends of Roger's jacket and tugged them apart. "Off," he instructed.
Roger opened his eyes, and took a moment to shake off his dreamy, sensual expression. "No," he huffed, pulling himself a little farther back. "We really should leave now."
"Off," Rafa repeated, and his hands slid down to yank at the hem of Roger's shirt. "And this, too."
"Rafa, you're not listening to me," Roger said, sounding exasperated and maybe a little charmed all at once.
"Don't be shy, Roger," Rafa urged, pulling at the cloth so he could see Roger's stomach, the skin so much lighter than his sun-browned arms, the hair a little darker. He could stare at that all day. Touch all day. And to put his mouth there, first just above the waistband of Roger's shorts--
"Rafa."
Rafa was jolted out of his fantasy, and his eyes darted upwards to his friend's face. He could see that Roger would not budge, and he made a soft noise of displeasure, twisting his mouth into a frown. "Okay," he agreed begrudgingly.
"I'm sorry," Roger said quietly. "It just--this isn't the time."
Out of the corner of his vision, Rafa saw the light coming through below the door, and the shadows of people's feet moving past. Roger was right. This wasn't the right place for this. They had already risked too much. He arched one eyebrow, ready to negotiate. "We go," he agreed. "But one more kiss, Roger. Please."
Roger turned those eyes on him again, those sexy, sexy confident eyes. "So, you're the boss now?"
Rafa felt himself smiling, and Roger kissed that corner of his mouth, the corner that always went up first. With the jacket out of the way, Rafa was able to shove Roger's shirt up, just before Roger fell against him one more time. Then it was so much warm skin pressed together, and he could feel the soft hairs of Roger's body rubbing against his. And then Roger writhed a little, tilting his hips, and Rafa groaned so loud, his cheeks promptly burning in embarrassment.
Roger's body quivered on top of him. "Silencio, por favor," Roger whispered, his breath a little ragged.
Rafa chuckled softly at Roger's familiar accent wrapping around the Spanish words. "I can't," he sighed. "You feel too good."
"Only for me, then," Roger said, lifting a hand to point to his ear.
Rafa reached up and traced that perfect little ear with his fingertips. When Roger leaned down again and pressed his mouth to Rafa's shoulder, Rafa turned his lips to Roger's ear and let out a soft, breathy moan. Just for him.
Roger bucked his hips again, and muffled his own response into the crook of Rafa's neck. His hand plunged up into Rafa's damp hair, cradling his skull, thumb coming up to rub against Rafa's ear. He pressed their faces together, rubbing cheeks and noses, and then he was murmuring something against Rafa's mouth. It was Roger's own language this time, and the words fell from his lips so naturally, in that pretty lilting rhythm. Normally Rafa was frustrated when he didn't know what his friend was saying, but that, that collection of warm and passionate syllables tumbling out, that was beautiful and sexy and so very, very Roger.
Roger rolled his hips again, and Rafa felt how much Roger wanted him. It was too difficult, too much to feel and not act on. Rafa squeezed his eyes shut, trying to channel his arousal into short, staccato breaths and avoid groaning aloud again. Roger swallowed his next exhale in a kiss, a warm, wet, messy kiss that was so good it made Rafa's head spin. He forgot everything else, forgot the world outside that door, giving himself over to the press of Roger's body and the heat of his mouth.
He wasn't sure how long the kiss went on, but it was long enough that he started to feel winded, his body still exhausted from chasing Roger around the court. They finally broke apart with a mutual gasp for air, and Roger fell away, rolling onto his back and digging his fingers into the carpet as if he needed to steady himself on solid ground.
Rafa turned his head and saw the heavy rise and fall of Roger's chest, the tension in his arms, and the straining front of his thin white shorts. Rafa's fingers twitched, aching to touch. He looked up to Roger's face again, and his mouth went dry when he saw those dark eyes staring right back, so intensely possessive. Roger had his boss look on in full force, and Rafa shivered with the thought of all the things Roger must want to do to him. Rafa would let him. Rafa would let him do them all.
"We go back to the hotel now," Rafa said, between deep breaths. Then he remembered all the commitments, the delay, and he wiped an arm across his sweaty forehead in frustration. "Or after--" he waved towards the door and all that was beyond it. "Yes?"
In response, Roger clenched his fingers against the carpet and squeezed his eyes shut, breaking their connection. And then he hauled himself into a sitting position, leaning against his raised knees and looking suddenly a little pale. "I--" he started, then stopped. He rubbed at his eyelids. "I don't--"
Rafa sat up, too. "What?"
Roger averted his gaze, wiping the back of his hand across his thoroughly kissed lips. "I'm not sure."
Rafa shrugged. "We gonna go to the hotel. I'm gonna get naked. You be sure then."
Roger shook his head. It seemed to take some effort for him to say the next words. "I don't think I can do that."
It wasn't the reply he'd been expecting. At all. "Okay," he conceded softly, hugging his knees, pulling them tight against his bare chest. All of the raging emotion and need had been so intense, and now there was a rush of uncertainty flooding in, too fast. He felt a little sick.
The silence stretched. Rafa realized he had been right to panic the first moment he'd closed that door and met Roger's questioning gaze. He hadn't thought this all the way through. He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. He had been impulsive again, not thinking about consequences.
He grimaced, jaw clenching as he looked over at Roger. It was painful to feel this sudden discomfort between them. This could not stay, not like this. He shifted his body slowly, moving across the floor to kneel next to Roger, sinking back onto his heels. "Are we--" Rafa twisted his hands nervously in his lap-- "still gonna be friends?"
Roger quickly put a hand over his. And smiled. "Always."
Rafa felt his heart surge a little. He leaned forward, unable to help himself, to stop his suggestively arching eyebrow. "Are you ever gonna kiss me again?"
Roger laughed, and pushed back his waves of hair a little nervously. "Probably." There was still a bit of dark mischief in his eyes. "I can't seem to stop that."
"Fantastic," Rafa purred, which earned him a broader smile from Roger. "Soon?" He was grinning now, probably like a fool. But it was good, good that he hadn't damaged this. His Roger.
Roger met him halfway. The kiss was warm and tender, and there was no regret.
~~
Rafa was surprised at how weak he felt, unsteady on his feet as his trembling hand struggled to zip up his jacket. The adrenaline of the day was burning off, leaving him spent. He needed to drink something.
Roger had got himself back together again, as usual more quickly than Rafa. It was just a bit satisfying to see that, though his gently tousled hair still curled attractively around his face, Roger's neck was visibly damp with sweat and his cheeks were a blotchy red--from an excited flush or from the rough rub of Rafa's stubble, he wasn't quite sure.
His shaky fingers got his own zip halfway up when Roger stepped forward and stopped him, putting a hand over his to halt his movement. That same hand then slipped inside Rafa's jacket, one more time to feel his skin. Rafa's eyes slid closed and he focused on the touch, trying to remember the exact feel of Roger's fingers. In case he never felt them again.
Roger curled against him and Rafa put his arms out, embracing him, wanting to hold onto him as long as Roger would let him. Roger's body heat was intense, and Rafa cringed a little as he felt sweat rolling down his sides into the already saturated waistband of his shorts. He was a mess, as always.
Roger nuzzled into Rafa's neck. "God Rafa, you--"
"--smell terrible?" Rafa groaned. "Si, I know. I'm sorry, Roger."
Roger pulled back, then, laughing aloud, that little boyish giggle that scrunched up his eyes and nose. "That's not what I was going to say," he managed to choke out, "but thank you."
Rafa tried to look stern. "What you gonna say?"
"I don't know. But not that!" Roger pressed his face into Rafa's neck, giggling a little more, then settling into soft breaths that were surprisingly cool against Rafa's skin. "You smell fine," Roger murmured, before pressing a soft kiss against Rafa's throat. "You taste fine."
Rafa felt himself blushing, stomach flipping as Roger drew back to look at him. "Well, that is good," he offered, his voice a bit husky again. "Because if we ever..." He looked down at his toes, then ventured a side-eyed glance at Roger-- "I'm gonna get very sweaty."
"Well." Roger's eyes darkened slightly before they darted away, focusing somewhere near the center of Rafa's chest, soft lashes shielding his gaze from Rafa's view. Roger curled his fingers inside Rafa's jacket, tugging a little on the fabric, forcing Rafa forward until they bumped bodies. "Now it's really time to go," Roger said, and Rafa was pleased to still hear the little lilt of affection in Roger's voice.
There was nothing left to do now, but walk out that door, back into the glaring light and people and responsibilities. Obligations. But as Rafa watched Roger turn and move away from him, something flared up at him, and he hurried around his friend, throwing his back against the door and blocking Roger's exit.
He grabbed Roger, a bit roughly, hand curving around the back of his head and sliding his thumb forward to press into Roger's cheek. "Roger," he said firmly, and felt a little thrill when Roger stilled at his deeper, serious tone. "I must tell you," he continued. "If you look at me again, at the net, same way--" he pulled Roger in a little closer-- "we gonna go to the hotel. I'm gonna get naked. And so are you. Me entiendes?"
Roger's lips quirked up slightly, hinting at a smile, but Rafa was sure those beautifully sharp, reddened cheekbones were suddenly a little bit pinker. "Je comprends," Roger answered, and in his dark eyes Rafa saw a mixture of feelings, not all easy to decipher.
He could decipher the French this time, though. He kissed Roger, one last time, hard--and he hoped a little domineering. This side of Roger was possibly always going to be a mystery, Rafa realized, so all he could do was make his own feelings known. At least one of them was being clear.
When he felt Roger's tongue sliding over his lips, dipping inside, he couldn't suppress a shudder of pleasure. He supposed that was a pretty clear signal. Especially since Roger had gauged this seductive gesture to be just a little less forceful than Rafa's initial attack. Which meant he was letting Rafa be dominant. Which made Rafa want to get naked right then, in that little office, with everybody listening outside.
But it was time to go. He must let go of his beautiful Roger, and so he did, breaking the kiss with a soft, reluctant groan. His heart surged when he felt Roger's hands curling tightly into his jacket, and saw his own hunger and longing mirrored in Roger's dark eyes. He was still holding Roger's face, and he slid his thumb back, running it gently over Roger's full bottom lip, now shining and a little bit swollen. "Game face now," he said, taking one more moment to savor that last touch.
Roger's eyes cooled slightly, and his hands slid away from Rafa with a final caress. He was ready.
Rafa pulled himself away from the door and reached down to open it. Roger's graceful long fingers covered his and their eyes met. Rafa quirked that one corner of his mouth for a hint of a smile before he put his own steely game face on. A little bit angry, that would be good for facing the crowd outside.
They turned the knob together.
~~
Rafa felt a rush of relief as he immediately saw there was no one directly outside the door. After Roger's last command in French, it seemed they had all kept their distance. No one had an expression that indicated they knew what had gone on inside. There was some apprehension, confusion, but no shock.
His own people hurried over to him, and it wasn't long before Roger was surrounded, too. Rafa heard the voices, but he wasn't really listening. He watched as Roger started to walk away from him, those strong shoulders tapering down to the narrow waist, and he was overwhelmed with the memory of the smooth, warm skin under that jacket. "Roger!"
The shout had been a bit angrier and more forceful than he'd intended, and everyone in the room stopped in their tracks. The PR people next to Roger looked up at him nervously as he turned around to look at Rafa, a bit of worry showing in those narrowed dark eyes.
Rafa walked across the room, right up to Roger and stopped. Roger could see it, see it in his eyes, and he started to shake his head. Rafa didn't let him finish the gesture, and quickly flung his arms around Roger's neck, pulling him in for a tight hug.
"Rafa," Boss Roger whispered tersely in his ear.
"What?" Rafa asked innocently. "We're European." He started to pull away, planting a quick kiss on Roger's cheek before he stepped back.
A smattering of applause and a few chuckles sounded from the people around them, and Rafa grinned. "Our fight over now," he said, his heart warming as Roger smiled back at him.
"You're crazy," Roger huffed, but his eyes were sparkling, and that was a fantastic image for Rafa to take with him.
"See you next time, Roger," Rafa said, still grinning like an idiot, as he started walking backwards. "At the net."
Roger blushed, just a little bit, and that was all Rafa needed to see. He turned around, and they parted ways. But Rafa wasn't sad. Everything worth winning was worth working for, worth waiting for.
And Roger was worth it.
~~End