Fic: Lose and Win
Title: Lose and Win
Pairing: Rafael Nadal/Novak Djokovic
Rating: PG
Wordcount: ~780
Summary: "I just want to tell you, I know how it feels." Post-Madrid '09
Rafa is holding a pair of clean shorts in one hand and trying to gather the energy to do something with them when he hears the soft greeting, "Hey," from the other end of the locker room. He looks up, and Novak quirks him a small smile from where he's standing near the door.
"Hey," Rafa says. "I no know you are here today."
"I was at practice," Novak says. Rafa doesn't call him on it, but Novak's jeans and shirt and his clean clay-free white trainers tell a different story. Maybe Novak catches some tell-tale in Rafa's expression, because he says, "Okay, maybe not so much. But I see your match today."
"Oh," Rafa says.
"Was rough," Novak says. "After yesterday, too. I'm sorry for that."
"Oh," Rafa says, again. He feels more tired than he can remember for a long time, the ache of his knees and the fatigue in his muscles, from today and the residual tug from yesterday's match. But he learned a long time ago not to blame anybody else but himself for his losses. What happened today wasn't Novak's fault, and if the semi had anything to do with it, then it's Rafa's fault for not playing better then. That's what Toni would say.
"Yeah," Novak says. He shifts his weight uncomfortably, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets and pulling them out again, like he doesn't quite know what to do with himself. "Hey listen, I'm not here to gloat or anything, if that's what you think."
"Novak, I no think -"
"Because that's not me," Novak says. "You know? I just want to tell you, I know how it feels."
"Okay," Rafa says. Well, they all know how it feels. It's tennis, it's win and lose, and sometimes you fight and it's not enough. Everyone who plays tennis the way they do knows that.
"I mean - not just that - ah, I'm saying this all bad," Novak says. He pushes one hand through his bristly dark hair while he looks down at the floor like the words for whatever it is he's trying to say might be written there. Rafa watches him, trying to school the confusion out of his expression, and after a moment Novak takes a deep breath, meets Rafa's eyes, tries again.
"I mean," he says, "you and Roger, yeah? I mean I know - I think I know - how you feel about Roger and I know how it feels to lose to someone like that, because I - Rafa, I -" and there's a frozen moment between them before Rafa realises that Novak is moving towards him, and then he's close enough to reach out and grip Rafa's wrist tightly, closing his fingers on it all the way around in a rough bracelet, using that grip to turn Rafa towards him so that he can lean in to close the last few inches between them, and Rafa's small startled noise dies muffled against Novak's mouth, pressed hard against his.
Novak's kiss is short and almost chaste, and over nearly before Rafa can clear his mind enough to realise that it's happening. Novak's mouth presses again at the corner of Rafa's mouth, and he murmurs something low against Rafa's cheek before pressing his lips there too, but Rafa can't catch the words. Can't catch his breath. Novak is still gripping Rafa's wrist, where Rafa's pulse pounds against Novak's fingers. When Novak pulls back enough to meet Rafa's eyes, Rafa can only stare at him.
Novak smiles softly. "Anyway," he says, "I just wanted to tell you that," like he's just given Rafa the time of day or something, like nothing of consequence has just passed between them, like his fingers aren't still braceletting Rafa's wrist. "I'm not asking anything," he says, "I wouldn't - I'm not stupid. But I -" he shrugs, "- wanted you to know."
He lets go of Rafa's wrist then, and starts walking backwards, slowly, smiling at Rafa before he turns away. Rafa looks down at his wrist, the red ring left from the pressure of Novak's grip. When he puts his fingers against it the skin feels hot to the touch.
Novak is almost at the door when Rafa finds the breath to speak. "Novak," he says.
Novak turns. "Rafa?"
"I-" Rafa's lips are dry, and he licks them briefly. He catches Novak's eyes flicking to the movement. That doesn't help. "I see you later, yes?"
"Sure," Novak says, smiling a little, but he hasn't got it, Rafa thinks.
"At the hotel, maybe?" Rafa says, and Novak's smile spreads wider, takes on a new meaning.
"Sure Rafa," he says. "Later."
Pairing: Rafael Nadal/Novak Djokovic
Rating: PG
Wordcount: ~780
Summary: "I just want to tell you, I know how it feels." Post-Madrid '09
Rafa is holding a pair of clean shorts in one hand and trying to gather the energy to do something with them when he hears the soft greeting, "Hey," from the other end of the locker room. He looks up, and Novak quirks him a small smile from where he's standing near the door.
"Hey," Rafa says. "I no know you are here today."
"I was at practice," Novak says. Rafa doesn't call him on it, but Novak's jeans and shirt and his clean clay-free white trainers tell a different story. Maybe Novak catches some tell-tale in Rafa's expression, because he says, "Okay, maybe not so much. But I see your match today."
"Oh," Rafa says.
"Was rough," Novak says. "After yesterday, too. I'm sorry for that."
"Oh," Rafa says, again. He feels more tired than he can remember for a long time, the ache of his knees and the fatigue in his muscles, from today and the residual tug from yesterday's match. But he learned a long time ago not to blame anybody else but himself for his losses. What happened today wasn't Novak's fault, and if the semi had anything to do with it, then it's Rafa's fault for not playing better then. That's what Toni would say.
"Yeah," Novak says. He shifts his weight uncomfortably, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets and pulling them out again, like he doesn't quite know what to do with himself. "Hey listen, I'm not here to gloat or anything, if that's what you think."
"Novak, I no think -"
"Because that's not me," Novak says. "You know? I just want to tell you, I know how it feels."
"Okay," Rafa says. Well, they all know how it feels. It's tennis, it's win and lose, and sometimes you fight and it's not enough. Everyone who plays tennis the way they do knows that.
"I mean - not just that - ah, I'm saying this all bad," Novak says. He pushes one hand through his bristly dark hair while he looks down at the floor like the words for whatever it is he's trying to say might be written there. Rafa watches him, trying to school the confusion out of his expression, and after a moment Novak takes a deep breath, meets Rafa's eyes, tries again.
"I mean," he says, "you and Roger, yeah? I mean I know - I think I know - how you feel about Roger and I know how it feels to lose to someone like that, because I - Rafa, I -" and there's a frozen moment between them before Rafa realises that Novak is moving towards him, and then he's close enough to reach out and grip Rafa's wrist tightly, closing his fingers on it all the way around in a rough bracelet, using that grip to turn Rafa towards him so that he can lean in to close the last few inches between them, and Rafa's small startled noise dies muffled against Novak's mouth, pressed hard against his.
Novak's kiss is short and almost chaste, and over nearly before Rafa can clear his mind enough to realise that it's happening. Novak's mouth presses again at the corner of Rafa's mouth, and he murmurs something low against Rafa's cheek before pressing his lips there too, but Rafa can't catch the words. Can't catch his breath. Novak is still gripping Rafa's wrist, where Rafa's pulse pounds against Novak's fingers. When Novak pulls back enough to meet Rafa's eyes, Rafa can only stare at him.
Novak smiles softly. "Anyway," he says, "I just wanted to tell you that," like he's just given Rafa the time of day or something, like nothing of consequence has just passed between them, like his fingers aren't still braceletting Rafa's wrist. "I'm not asking anything," he says, "I wouldn't - I'm not stupid. But I -" he shrugs, "- wanted you to know."
He lets go of Rafa's wrist then, and starts walking backwards, slowly, smiling at Rafa before he turns away. Rafa looks down at his wrist, the red ring left from the pressure of Novak's grip. When he puts his fingers against it the skin feels hot to the touch.
Novak is almost at the door when Rafa finds the breath to speak. "Novak," he says.
Novak turns. "Rafa?"
"I-" Rafa's lips are dry, and he licks them briefly. He catches Novak's eyes flicking to the movement. That doesn't help. "I see you later, yes?"
"Sure," Novak says, smiling a little, but he hasn't got it, Rafa thinks.
"At the hotel, maybe?" Rafa says, and Novak's smile spreads wider, takes on a new meaning.
"Sure Rafa," he says. "Later."