Ficlet: Skin Thin
Title: Skin Thin
Pairing: Rafael Nadal/Novak Djokovic
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~400
Disclaimer: Not mine, never were.
Summary: Comfort fic set after Nole's third-round French Open exit. Title from the song Skin Thin by Ben Harper.
The quiet snick of a keycard in the door lock wakes Novak, but doesn't disturb him. There's only one person who'd let himself in without calling, or even knocking, and he won't be unwelcome tonight (or any night). The door opens and shuts quickly and quietly. Novak listens to the soft pad of feet over the plush hotel carpet. He doesn't open his eyes.
"Hey," he murmurs.
"Hey," says Rafa, softly, from somewhere across the room.
"Come to bed," Novak says. Rafa doesn't answer, but Novak hears the rustle of fabric as Rafa starts to undress. He'd open his eyes to watch, but he's so damn tired. Even getting it up from the sight of Rafa undressing seems like too much effort.
At last, the bedsheets rustle behind him, the matress dipping as Rafa eases down. Cool air swirls over Novak's skin as the sheets move, delicious contrast to the sudden warmth of Rafa's chest pressed tight against his back. They settle together, body to body, legs tangling. They fit so well. Rafa's toes are just a little cold against Nole's ankles, but that's okay. They'll warm.
"You can stay?" Novak murmurs.
"Mm. Have to leave early."
"Okay. Just - glad you're here." He's being a sap and he knows it, but he's tired and it's been sort of a terrible day and this, this part, with Rafa's body curled warm around him and Rafa's lips on the nape of his neck and Rafa's hand gentle and posessive on his hip - this is the only part about it that's good. "I played bad today," he says, eyes shut, into the dark.
"Yeah," Rafa says.
"I played really bad."
"For sure," Rafa says, and Novak's about to give Rafa a sharp kick in the shin and tell him that he's terrible at cheering people up when Rafa shifts the hand at Novak's hip around to rest on his stomach, radiating heat and comfort. "It's okay," he whispers, pressing a soft, fond kiss to the nape of Novak's neck. "I'm here. Go to sleep."
"You're the boss," Novak mumbles, already feeling himself drift, lulled by the steady beat of Rafa's heart against his back and the comforting protective heat of Rafa's body all around.
"Go to sleep," Rafa breathes against Novak's skin, and Novak does.
Pairing: Rafael Nadal/Novak Djokovic
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~400
Disclaimer: Not mine, never were.
Summary: Comfort fic set after Nole's third-round French Open exit. Title from the song Skin Thin by Ben Harper.
The quiet snick of a keycard in the door lock wakes Novak, but doesn't disturb him. There's only one person who'd let himself in without calling, or even knocking, and he won't be unwelcome tonight (or any night). The door opens and shuts quickly and quietly. Novak listens to the soft pad of feet over the plush hotel carpet. He doesn't open his eyes.
"Hey," he murmurs.
"Hey," says Rafa, softly, from somewhere across the room.
"Come to bed," Novak says. Rafa doesn't answer, but Novak hears the rustle of fabric as Rafa starts to undress. He'd open his eyes to watch, but he's so damn tired. Even getting it up from the sight of Rafa undressing seems like too much effort.
At last, the bedsheets rustle behind him, the matress dipping as Rafa eases down. Cool air swirls over Novak's skin as the sheets move, delicious contrast to the sudden warmth of Rafa's chest pressed tight against his back. They settle together, body to body, legs tangling. They fit so well. Rafa's toes are just a little cold against Nole's ankles, but that's okay. They'll warm.
"You can stay?" Novak murmurs.
"Mm. Have to leave early."
"Okay. Just - glad you're here." He's being a sap and he knows it, but he's tired and it's been sort of a terrible day and this, this part, with Rafa's body curled warm around him and Rafa's lips on the nape of his neck and Rafa's hand gentle and posessive on his hip - this is the only part about it that's good. "I played bad today," he says, eyes shut, into the dark.
"Yeah," Rafa says.
"I played really bad."
"For sure," Rafa says, and Novak's about to give Rafa a sharp kick in the shin and tell him that he's terrible at cheering people up when Rafa shifts the hand at Novak's hip around to rest on his stomach, radiating heat and comfort. "It's okay," he whispers, pressing a soft, fond kiss to the nape of Novak's neck. "I'm here. Go to sleep."
"You're the boss," Novak mumbles, already feeling himself drift, lulled by the steady beat of Rafa's heart against his back and the comforting protective heat of Rafa's body all around.
"Go to sleep," Rafa breathes against Novak's skin, and Novak does.