fic: damned lies and statistics (tennis rps)
title: damned lies and statistics
fandom: tennis rps
pairing: djokovic/nadal
rating: NC-17
word count: 8,000
summary: Rafa and Novak get caught. It all spirals out from there.
notes: takes place in the recent past, present and near future. all tournament results are accurate up to time of posting, but as I am not psychic everything is made up from Montreal on. there are not words enough to properly thank the sainted t-lyrical, who put up with me and betaed my obsessive labor of love when this isn't even her fandom. baby, you deserve a medal, and possibly also a halo.
The thing was, Novak wasn't actually sorry. He was pretty annoyed with himself for being so careless, and he was sad in a numb, distant sort of way that his parents probably weren't going to speak to him for a while. He was absolutely furious that they'd put pictures of Jelena in the article - Jelena who was sweet and good and had done nothing whatsoever wrong, who had smiled and kissed his cheek and told him "it's okay, I don't mind," who was his to protect from all this shit, even if technically she wasn't really his anymore - and there weren't words to describe how angry he was that someone had chased after Marko and Djordje and shoved a microphone in their faces. They were just fucking kids. But as he thought about it, while the Adidas representative kept rambling at him about formal apologies and tarnishing the image of the sport, he really wasn't sorry at all.
He said so.
Marian, who had given up his own vacation and gotten on a plane about two hours after the story broke, shot him a sharp look and said nothing. Nole had never been so grateful for his coach's silent support.
The Adidas representative spluttered. Something about sponsorship, and company image. "I'm not sorry," Novak repeated. "If you don't want me to wear your clothes because you think I'm a cocksucker or whatever, okay. But I'm not sorry and I won't say I am, so you need to go tell your PR people to come up with another way to spin it." He sat back in his chair.
"Look, people who cheat on their girlfriends don't get to take the high road," the Adidas rep snapped.
"No, you look," Novak snapped back. "You leave Jelena out of it, understand? She's not a part of it and I'm not going to let you drag her into this. Go talk to your boss, or rip up my contract for all I care, but if you start talking about Jelena I will walk out and I won't be sorry for that, either."
"Okay, okay," the rep said, conciliatory. "We can go through your agent, how about that? We'll work something out. There's no need to get upset."
"Nothing about Jelena," Novak said again, getting up. Marian followed him. "I'm supposed to be on fucking vacation," he added in disgruntled Serbian as he walked out the door.
"So am I," Marian replied. He smacked the back of Novak's head. "That's for being such a fucking moron. Try not to be any more of an ass and you might make it through this."
Novak sighed. "Yeah, okay. We're okay?"
"I don't give a shit who you fuck. Didn't before the newspapers got into it, still don't. Leave it off the court and we'll be fine."
"Don't I always?"
Marian looked at him. "You tell yourself that, kid. Jelena's meeting you?"
"Yeah, we're... we were going to go swimming today. Not sure now."
"Go swimming," Marian advised. "Enjoy what's left of your vacation. You'll have a clusterfuck waiting for you when you get back on tour."
*
He went swimming after all, and he did enjoy it. It all seemed so distant when he was splashing around in the Mediterranean with Jelena, and when he did think of it he pushed it away. He didn't get to spend much time with her when he was playing, and she had her job now: he had a month before he had to go back on tour, and he wasn't going to waste it.
He had a ton of missed calls and texts on his phone when they got back to the boat, though, and Jelena gave him a look when he tried to turn it off without looking at them. "They're not going to go away, you know," she said.
"Well, if I leave the phone off sooner or later I'll run out of room in my voicemail," he offered.
She smiled, but it wasn't a smile that said he was off the hook, so he sighed and turned his phone back on. It was better than he'd expected, actually. Ana and JJ had both left messages, not saying much, really, but it meant they were still talking to him. Viktor had texted. Andy Murray had texted, which was a level of bizarre that Novak maybe wasn't quite ready for yet. So long as he deleted the ones from his parents before they got more than a few words in, it was honestly not too bad. In the end, though, he had to go back to the first message, the one he'd skipped.
"Hi, Novak, is me. Is maybe - I think there is maybe a problem. No sure, but... call, no? So I know you are okay. For sure I hope is nothing. Okay, I hear you soon, no? Bye."
Novak glared at his phone in frustration. "What did he say?" Jelena asked. She was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame.
"Nothing useful," Novak said. "To call him."
"So, call him," she said. She shut the door behind her as she left, adding, "I'll text Xisca." He still couldn't get over that: she'd never even met Xisca, but they emailed and texted every once in a while. He had no idea what they said to each other. Jelena didn't speak Spanish, and Xisca certainly didn't speak Serbian.
Novak fiddled around for a few moments, straightening up the room, hanging up his towel, but eventually he ran out of excuses and picked up the phone again. Speed dial seven. "Hola," Rafa said.
"Hi."
"You are okay? I mean - you know what happen, except maybe you no read the newspaper on vacations so - "
"Rafa," Novak interrupted. "I'm okay. I know. Are you okay?"
"Oh. I... I think I am okay? I mean, is not - is not like they write I kill babies or nothing. Is just kissing."
"It was just you kissing a guy," Novak said flatly. "It was just you kissing me. Trust me, it's going to be a big deal."
There was a long pause. "At least was not me kissing Rogelio?" Rafa offered hopefully. Novak laughed, unwillingly.
"For fuck's sake, Raf. Thanks for the mental image. Look, it's going to be - it's going to be weird. Really weird. I don't know if Nike's talked to you yet but I think Adidas might drop me. And the press is going to be - "
"Yeah," Rafa sighed. "I no want to think about it, no? And, you know, my knees, is not exactly..."
"Are they better?" Novak asked, diverted. "You're playing Montreal, right?"
"Little better," Rafa qualified. "Doctor say I can practice again, is good, no? But not all the way better. I hope for play Montreal, for sure."
"Defend a fucking title for once," Novak said, without heat.
"Like you?" Rafa replied. "I defend plenty, cabron."
"Yeah, yeah. But - yeah. Xisca's okay? Your sister?"
"Si, si, they are good, no? Good to see them, at home. Jelena and your brothers are good, also?" Their parents were a hulking elephant in the corner, not to be mentioned at any cost.
"They're fine. Jelena said she'd text Xisca. I don't know, just - take care of your knees, you know?" Novak said abruptly. "Don't get distracted. I'll see you in Montreal."
"Okay," Rafa said. "Say Jelena hello for me. And - you will be careful, no? Take care of yourself?"
"Rafa, I'm sorry," Novak blurted. Rafa wasn't trying to make him feel guilty, but that just made it worse. "I shouldn't have - "
"No, no, is not - " Rafa made an annoyed, inarticulate sound. "Me, I am not sorry. Is stupid, but not, how you say, is not end of the world? So, no be sorry. Is okay. Really is okay. I see you in Montreal." He hung up before Novak could think of anything else to say. Rafa hadn't mentioned what they were going to do, he thought in irritation, except maybe he had: they were going to play tennis. They were going to see each other in Montreal.
He flopped back on the bed, contemplating his phone. He could call Ana, or one of his brothers. He could even call his mother, and see if she would pick up. He ended up just lying there instead, until Jelena came in and lay down beside him, her head on his chest. "I'm hungry," she announced. He laughed, his self-important brooding irretrievably dismissed.
"Okay, I'll make you dinner," he said, and stroked her still-wet hair, which was leaving a damp patch on his shirt. He made no attempt to get up. "Do you want to go home?" he asked eventually, when he couldn't avoid it any longer.
"Give up my Mediterranean vacation?" Jelena thumped her head into his shoulder. "I don't think so. You owe me at least one last cruise."
*
KURIR, BELGRADE
RAFAEL NADAL AND NOVAK DJOKOVIC - GAY SEX SHOCKER
While Rafael Nadal frolics in the waves of his native Majorca with long-time girlfriend Maria Francesca Perello, pictures have surfaced in Spanish tabloids of the former world No. 1 tennis player caught in a clinch with none other than the world No. 4, Serbian Novak Djokovic. The photos appear to show the two tennis players in a compromising position at Wimbledon, where Nadal made an appearance for an exhibition before announcing that he would not defend his title at the All-England Club due to tendinitis in his knees, and subsequently lost his No. 1 ranking to Roger Federer, who gained a historic fifteenth Slam by defeating American Andy Roddick in the final. Djokovic lost in the quarterfinals to German Tommy Haas, and is currently vacationing in the Mediterranean with girlfriend Jelena Ristic. Neither player could be reached, and representatives declined to comment on the potential scandal.
*
The most ridiculous part was that it was so long ago. Maybe not for normal people with normal lives, who went to work every day and had better things to worry about than hitting a little yellow ball across a net, but Wimbledon and the Davis Cup quarters (which he hadn't played in, thanks ever so much, Spain) were a long time to Novak. It seemed hopelessly far away, the one stupid kiss that had gotten them into this mess.
He'd been with Rafa as much as he could in London, before Wimbledon began. He couldn't fix Rafa's knees or make his draw easier or do anything about his parents, but he could be there, at least, and maybe make Rafa a little happier. He tried, anyway. He hadn't exactly been a ray of sunshine himself - losing Halle to Haas had stung, even if he'd deserved it - but he'd tried.
He'd stayed with Rafa when he announced that he couldn't play Wimbledon. He'd stayed until all the questions were answered and the reporters went home. It was incredibly late, and it was dark, and Toni and Benito had obligingly left them alone for a minute. Novak had kissed Rafa goodbye. That was all it took.
*
Novak didn't particularly want to be in Croatia, but commitments were commitments, and he'd said he would play. Of course, at the time it had seemed like a fun thing to do: go on vacation with Jelena, take a break to play doubles with Marko, then maybe spend a little more time with Jelena before going to Montreal. He hadn't planned on being the subject of whispers in the locker room, or pissing his parents off so much they wouldn't speak to him, or making Mare play go-between in his own family. All in all, as embarrassing as the first set bagel had been, he was glad they went out in the first round.
"Sorry," he said awkwardly to his brother as they got changed. None of it was actually Marko's fault; he'd been absurdly normal for a teenager stuck between his parents and their disgraced no-longer-favorite son. They hadn't really talked about anything but tennis, but that wasn't unusual.
"My fault as much as yours," Mare said philosophically. "It was fun, anyway." Novak tried to ruffle his hair, and managed to make Marko squawk indignantly as he batted his hand away. You took your victories where you could when your baby brother was an inch shy of outgrowing you. "What are you going to do now?"
"Go back to Monte Carlo, maybe. It'll depend on what Jelena wants."
Marko frowned at him. "I meant for dinner, dumbass. And wait, don't you have that exho in the States with Safin? You're going back to Monaco in between?"
"It got rescheduled," Novak said carefully. "And they're getting Agassi to play Safin."
"That's bullshit," Marko said, surprisingly vehement.
"It's marketing. Agassi'll get a better crowd in the U.S. than I would, anyway."
"Bet they didn't ask him until two weeks ago," Marko muttered, and Novak looked at him in surprise; Marko hadn't mentioned the articles before, even though Novak knew there had to be reporters hounding him and their parents back home. He wasn't sure how to interpret that. He was about half-certain that Marko had known about Rafa all along; Marko was a lot smarter than he looked.
"It's done, anyway," he said eventually. "But, you know. Thanks."
Marko looked puzzled. "For what?"
"Nothing, never mind." He took Marko by surprise with the swat across the head this time. "Come on, there must be a Serbian restaurant somewhere in this city. My treat."
*
It was good to be back home in Monte Carlo. Vacation was fun, and it had been nice to have Jelena to himself for a while, but by the end of the first week he'd been itching to have a racket back in his hands already, and the brief interlude in Umag, as unpleasant as the experience had been generally, had only reminded him of how much he wanted to be on court, where the only thing that mattered was hitting the ball inside the lines. Jelena had been unbelievably patient about it; he was kind of surprised she hadn't thrown him overboard in exasperation after the third time he was too hyperactive to go to sleep at the end of the day.
Marian didn't go easy on him, first day back or no. That was good, too: the burn of his muscles kept him too busy to think about the number of paparazzi he'd had to dodge to get to the club that morning. Sooner or later they'd find someone more interesting to chase around, he thought tiredly, as he slipped safely into his own apartment. They had to.
He was expecting Jelena, so he didn't bother to get up when he heard the apartment door open. He was busy reading yet another article in the Serbian press about himself - there was some sort of morbid entertainment in seeing how many ways they could dance around calling him a cocksucking faggot. This one wasn't that bad; the journalist had gotten in touch with a few of the other Serbian players, and most of them had been supportive. Ana had given a charmingly rambling comment about how difficult it was to date on tour, and neatly avoided saying anything about him and Rafa. Even Janko had had enough tact to point out that it didn't have anything to do with tennis and it wasn't any of his business. Then he got to the end of the article, and nearly went light-headed at the sudden onset of rage. Djole was fourteen. He shouldn't have to deal with this crap.
BLIC, BELGRADE
"Of course I still look up to Nole," insists Djordje Djokovic, who intends to follow in his famous brother's footsteps and become a professional tennis player. "He plays amazing tennis, and he's my brother. I love him. I don't care what people write about him in the newspaper, he's still my big brother."
"Hey, Nole," called a male voice from the other room, interrupting him before he could give in to the urge to call his parents and tell them just what he thought about their letting the baby of the family get cornered by opportunistic journalists. "I'm leaving my stuff in the spare room, okay?"
"What?" Novak demanded. He got up. "What the hell are you doing here?"
His younger brother grinned at him and dumped his duffel bag in the middle of the living room. "What, I can't visit my big brother anymore?"
"Do Mom and Dad know you're here?"
"Well, you know," Marko said, shrugging. "Sort of?"
"Mare! You can't just - it's different now. You know it is."
"It's okay, seriously. Jelena called them, she said I was staying with her. You're supposed to be in the States, anyway. And, you know." Marko looked away, his expression going briefly serious. "They'll get over it, Nole. They will. You just have to give them some time, okay?"
Novak sighed. "Yeah, okay. I know. How long are you staying?"
"Just a couple of days. Djole wanted to come, too, but he can't really travel without Mom or Dad, so. You should call him. He was worried about you." Marko brightened up again. "But I wasn't going to waste a trip to Monte Carlo! You should take me to one of the casinos. We'll have fun!"
"You going to gamble with your own money?" Novak asked dryly, but just having Marko around was cheering him up already.
"Why would I, when I have such a fantastically successful older brother? I bet Jelena has some friends you could introduce me to, too." There was a sudden, awkward silence as they both remembered the circumstances of his visit. "Speaking of which," Marko continued, "Nadal's sister is pretty hot."
Novak laughed; he couldn't help it. "Sorry, kid. I'd be happy to introduce you, but I think you'd have to come with me to the US Open."
"What are you talking about?" Marko asked, sounding genuinely insulted. "Of course I'm coming. Djordje is too. Jelena got us plane tickets and we're staying with her in the hotel and everything." He looked at Novak's dumbfounded expression and scowled. He kept scowling even when he stomped across the room to give Novak an enormous hug that squeezed most of the air out of his lungs. "Don't be stupid, Nole," he muttered into Novak's shoulder. "I know it's your natural state and all but make an effort here."
Novak rested his chin on the top of Marko's head; he wouldn't have been able to if Marko hadn't ducked down a little. "Stop growing, brat," he said eventually. "Or I'll cut off your feet at the ankles."
"I'll just grow more. And you'll get old and start shrinking."
Novak let Marko go, and then hit him upside the head. "Respect your elders."
"I respect you plenty, oh ancient and wizened one," Marko said, and bolted when Novak made as if to grab him again. "So are you playing the seniors tour yet?" he asked, laughing, as he ran into Novak's bedroom and slammed the door.
Novak would have gone after him, but he was distracted by the sound of keys jingling outside the apartment. "Nole, I'm home!" Jelena called as she came in. "Oh, good, Marko's here," she added, seeing his bag on the floor. "Mare, honey, could you please help me carry in the groceries?"
*
Montreal was damp and barely lukewarm, even in August. After a month of summer in Italy and Monaco, Novak decided, it could have been worse, although he really, really hated rain delays. Still, he was finally back on tour; he would have put up with a lot of worse weather.
He wasn't really sure what to expect from the other players. He was trying not to expect anything at all. It had been a month, and the rumors had stayed just rumors and out-of-focus pictures in trashy tabloids; the plan his management team and Adidas had come up with was not to do anything at all, and since he'd been bracing himself to fight off a slew of worse ideas, he hadn't argued when they told him to just lie low and say nothing. He'd been planning on doing that, anyway. There wasn't much else he could do without Rafa, and he hadn't spoken to Rafa since that one awkward phone call.
Complete lack of expectations left him blindsided about three seconds after he walked into the locker room before practice, and found Rafa putting his street clothes back on. "Hola, Novak!" Rafa said cheerfully, oblivious to the sudden silence from the other players in the room. Robredo, who'd been talking to Rafa, was frozen with his shirt only half-on. "You have nice vacation?"
"Yeah, you know, some swimming, some golfing, nice time," Novak managed. "Glad to be back, though." He picked a locker at random and dropped his bag on the bench.
"Happy to hear," Rafa said, and smiled, as though absolutely nothing of importance had happened since the last time they saw each other. "Toni wait for me, sorry, but I see you later, no?"
"Yeah, okay," Novak said. Rafa grabbed his gear in one hand, gave him a quick half-hug around the shoulders, and trotted out to meet his uncle, like everything was back to fucking normal, like they'd never been caught kissing at Wimbledon, like they'd never fucked. Maybe it was back to normal, Novak thought as he put on practice clothes and changed his sneakers. If that was what Rafa wanted, fine, that was what they'd do. Novak wasn't that guy. He wasn't an asshole who made a fuss after he got dumped. He was still friends with all his ex-girlfriends, let alone guys he'd fucked around with once or twice on tour.
He kind of wanted to be an asshole just this once, though. He and Rafa hadn't just fucked around once or twice, and Rafa could at least have called.
"Hey," someone said above him, and tapped his knee with a racket to get his attention when he didn't look up. It was David Ferrer, wearing a weirdly neutral expression. "Hit with me, si?"
Novak blinked and reached for his racket bag. He wasn't friends or even friendly with Ferrer; they barely spoke before the Spain-Serbia Davis Cup tie, and Novak generally tried not to hold matches against people, but for that one he might have made an exception. "Yeah, okay."
They hit together for about an hour before Ferrer called it quits, as abruptly as he'd come up to Novak in the first place. He was terse to the point of monosyllabic during water breaks, and he never brought up Rafa, who was pretty much the only conversational topic they had in common. Novak didn't either. Ferrer had been making a point, he was pretty sure, but he didn't know who was supposed to be on the receiving end.
After that was more practice, and stretches, and more practice, and finally a football game with his team, which Marian refereed with blatant bias against Novak. He was tired but feeling okay by the time they finished, and he took the unnatural politeness and averted eyes of the few players left in the showers in stride. They were all behaving like adults; it wasn't like anybody had spray-painted faggot on his locker or anything. He kind of wished Jelena were around, though, to talk to. At the very least, she would have laughed at him for worrying about anything like that, and told him he was watching too much American TV.
He was trying to calculate the time difference between Montreal and Monaco in his head as he got back to his hotel suite, so he wouldn't call her at work or too late at night, and wasn't paying much attention to his surroundings. If he had, he might have noticed the pair of size ten Nike sneakers on the floor before he tripped over them and nearly fell on his face. "Jesus fuck!" he yelped, stumbling into his bedroom, and fell silent at the sight of Rafa Nadal flopped out on his bed. He was snoring. "Um," Novak said.
Rafa made a noise somewhere between a mumble and a whine, and his eyes fluttered open. "Oh, hi, Novak," he said, yawning. "How was practice?"
"Fine," Novak said, distracted. "Rafa, what are you doing here?"
"Oh, I see your coach - Marian, his name, no? - anyway, I see him after practice, I say him, when can I see you, he give me room key, I think I come and cook you dinner." He frowned, eyebrows arching comically, and added, "Except then I fall asleep."
Novak laughed much harder than the statement deserved, so hard he thought he was going to cry, his face buried in his hands. After a minute, Rafa asked, "Everything is okay?" sounding like he didn't know whether to be worried or offended. Novak waved a hand breathlessly and dropped onto the bed beside Rafa, wheezing a little.
"Yeah, everything's okay, everything's fine," he said at last. Rafa's ridiculous eyebrows drew together in patent disbelief, and God, Rafa drove him crazy sometimes, absolutely insane, but he wouldn't have wanted him any other way. "Seriously, everything's great," he added, when Rafa continued to give him that dubious look. He leaned in to kiss his frown away, suddenly regretting every minute of the month he'd been away from Rafa's moods and sulks and brilliant smiles. Rafa kissed back immediately, hungrily, and let Novak shove him back down and climb on top of him. A whole fucking month without this - he hadn't let himself think about it at the time, but he had really missed sex with Rafa.
"Novak, shoes," Rafa said, panting a little, and tugged on his shirt to pull him back when he tried go for another kiss.
"What?"
Rafa's nose was scrunched up in irritation, which Novak thought was a little unfair: he shouldn't be asked to think when he was this close to getting laid. "Shoes! You wear on the bed now?"
Novak pressed his face into the clean cotton of Rafa's T-shirt to hide his giggle. It was just such a non-sequitur, and exactly the sort of thing he really should have known to expect from Rafa. "Okay, okay, I'll take them off," he managed. Rafa shoved at him impatiently, and he sat up, yanked off his left sneaker and threw it at the door, which slammed shut with a satisfying bang. The right followed promptly, and he tossed his shirt after for good measure. "Happy now?"
Rafa was watching him when he turned around, laugh-lines crinkling around his eyes and mouth. "Very happy," he said solemnly, and then knocked Novak onto his back with an over-exuberant lunge that left him pinned underneath the solid mass of Rafa's body. Novak obligingly relaxed and let Rafa explore to his heart's content, nuzzling behind his ear, kissing the tendons in his throat, licking at his collarbone. He could get really obsessive-compulsive when they hadn't been together for a while, and Novak had figured out that it wasn't worth the effort to disturb his system for reacclimation. Not to mention, sometimes it was nice to just lie back and let Rafa do all the work.
It was almost like floating, he thought as he stared up at the ceiling, completely disconnected from everything except his mounting arousal and Rafa's mouth patiently mapping out every interesting inch of skin between his neck and his waistband. Rafa was more egalitarian in his interest than Novak would have been; it was going to take a while. "Hey, Rafa?" he asked suddenly.
"Hmm?" Rafa dipped his tongue into Novak's navel, and his stomach muscles quivered.
"I missed you, you know."
Rafa drew back and smiled at him, bright and sunny. "Am here now, no?" He reached up and caught Novak's right hand in his left. Novak stroked his thumb over Rafa's knuckles; Rafa's smile got somehow even wider, and then he pulled Novak's shorts halfway down his thighs and wrapped that gorgeous smiling mouth around his cock.
"Jesus God," Novak said, even though he'd known where Rafa was headed as soon as he started making his way down his neck. Rafa gave the most enthusiastic head he'd ever had: he didn't have the most polished technique, and he'd never quite gotten rid of his gag reflex, but he sucked cock like he loved sucking cock, wet and sloppy and almost greedy. Novak's grip on Rafa's hand tightened as he felt Rafa swallow around him, and he propped himself up on his elbow to watch, almost dizzy with how badly he wanted this. Rafa looked up at him, eyes intent but still mischievous, and dragged his short, stubby nails along his inner thigh, all the way up to his balls, and the sensitive skin behind them. "Fuck, Rafa, fuck!" Novak's hips jerked up as Rafa pressed a fingertip just barely inside him. Rafa pushed him back down, laughing and coughing at the same time, and licked slowly up his shaft to punish him, lingering just behind the head until Novak gave up on any semblance of dignity and grabbed a fistful of Rafa's hair.
Rafa was finally getting serious, still fingering him lightly, mouth sealed tight over Novak's dick. His cheeks went hollow, and Novak tried and failed to tug him away as he tipped with a choked exhalation over the edge into orgasm. Rafa swallowed most of it, except for a small white smear at the corner of his mouth; Novak suddenly wanted very desperately to kiss it away, to taste himself on Rafa's skin. As if he'd read his mind, Rafa settled on his chest, his smug smile easily within reach, and let Novak dust fast, messy kisses across his face while he slipped his free hand into Rafa's shorts.
"You're so fucking beautiful," Novak told him in Serbian, watching his eyelids flutter at a particularly rough stroke. "You make me crazy, Rafa, I love you so fucking much." Rafa buried his face in Novak's neck, shuddered and came all over his hand.
They lay in dazed post-coital silence for a few minutes, until they were interrupted by the growling of Rafa's stomach. "No laugh!" Rafa said, mock-angry, and punched Novak in the shoulder when he snickered. "Be nice, I gonna cook you dinner." His statement was neatly punctuated by an enormous yawn.
Novak shoved him to the side and sat up, grinning. "Go back to sleep, I'll cook."
"I can make meal!" Rafa protested, although he made no attempt to actually move.
"You can make one meal, Rafa, and I grew up in a restaurant. Just stay there and I'll wake you up when the food's done." He pulled his now-sticky shorts off and went hunting for a fresh pair. Once he was dressed, he glanced back at the bed and found Rafa watching him with a soft look in his eyes. "What?"
"Ana try to teach me little bit Serbian, at press before Roland Garros, no? No very good, but. Volim te isto."
His accent was terrible.
*
Novak's first match in Montreal was against Viktor. His draw wasn't easy, but he wasn't in Rafa's half, which he would have maybe been grateful for, if he hadn't had a sneaking suspicion that someone - Nike, Adidas, the tournament organizers, or all three - had fixed it deliberately to keep them as far apart as possible.
He was more nervous than he ever remembered being in an opening match. He dropped serve in the first game, and was down 40-0 in the second before he pulled himself back together and scored a point. He held his serve in the third game, and managed to break back in the fourth; by the time he won the tie-breaker he had put everything but tennis out of his mind.
It all came back once Viktor's last shot went wide, though, and Novak approached the net with his thoughts racing, unsure what to do. Normally he wouldn't have even hesitated: Viktor was his friend, they played a good match, they hugged. Now, though, maybe a handshake would be better, more comfortable for both of them.
Viktor showed no such concern, pulling him into a rough bear-hug as soon as he was close enough. "Good luck, man," he said.
Novak squeezed him tightly, more grateful than he knew how to say. "Thanks. Good game."
"You too," Viktor said with an easy smile, and kept an arm around his shoulders as they walked up to the umpire's chair.
*
Novak wouldn't have said he was exactly happy to get knocked out of Montreal in the semis by Del Potro, but he wasn't hugely sorry, either. Things with Rafa were better, and they'd gotten past beating each other before - they'd had to, when Rafa inevitably spent the clay court season doing nothing but beating him, and Rafa was almost unnaturally level-headed about losses anyway - but it was maybe something he wasn't quite ready to deal with again yet. He'd wanted to stay and watch Rafa in the final. He got on a plane instead; Marian had put his foot down, and he'd been right, of course. Marian usually was.
Cincinnati was an ugly city. They never really got time off to see the places they played, so it didn't matter much, but Cincinnati was so staggeringly ugly that it made an impression even from the window of the town car that took Novak and Marian from the airport to the hotel. Ana was still in town for the women's tournament, though she'd been knocked out by the time he got there, so they had dinner and a drink and talked. He hadn't really seen her in a while. It was different being around women, Jelena and Ana and JJ and even Maria, though it had been a very long time since he'd hung out with Maria. Sometimes he wondered if he could really give up women for Rafa: Rafa was great, but Novak loved women, loved them as people and loved them as soft curves and long hair and pretty smells. Watching Ana while she chattered happily about her new boyfriend and Novak forebore to mention that she'd been exactly the same about Verdasco a year ago - he'd always sort of thought, ever since they were kids, that maybe someday, if she lost the braces, if they both made it, if they weren't with other people - he realized that he could look at an incredibly beautiful, intelligent, wonderful woman and feel absolutely no regret.
Cincinnati wasn't that bad. He couldn't wait for Rafa to get there to share it with him.
*
"So, are you going to tell me what's going on with Ferrer?" Novak had timed his question carefully. Rafa was lying next to him with his head on his shoulder, limp from a pretty spectacular blowjob, if Novak did say so himself. Rafa was a shitty liar in general, and he could barely move after he came, let alone make up a plausible answer. Novak really wanted to know, and Rafa had put him off three times already.
"Mmm? What happen with David?"
"He's been practicing with me almost every day since Montreal," Novak said. It was true, and it was weird. He was pretty sure Ferrer didn't even like him. He always looked annoyed when Novak was around. Rafa had tried to claim that that was just how Ferrer's face was, but Novak had caused a lot of irritation for a lot of people in his time: he could tell.
"If you no want to practice with David, you say him yourself," Rafa said, a little cranky, and turned his face so it was half-hidden against Novak's neck. "Is no my problem. And you being very stupid. David only try to help."
Novak sighed and ran a hand over Rafa's messy hair; Rafa leaned thoughtlessly into the caress, like a cat. "I don't not want to practice with him. I just want to know why he's doing it. Did you ask him to?"
"No."
Novak tugged on a lock of Rafa's hair when he failed to elaborate. Rafa made an exasperated noise and bit down on his throat. "That's not going to discourage me, you know," Novak remarked.
"Is Fernando," Rafa said, disgruntled. "He say some - not very nice thing about you." And about Rafa, Novak inferred from his unwillingness to discuss the issue. "Feli make him stop, but... David, he get mad, no? So, he practice with you, he say Fer he is still mad."
"I'm sorry," Novak said quietly. He'd been lucky with Ana and JJ and Viktor, and his brothers and Jelena. Janko had gotten very polite and distant, and it had hurt, but that was the worst of it. He wasn't going to think about his parents.
"No, is not - we are not, how you say it, we are not close, no? Anyway, Feli gonna fix it," Rafa added, with a sublime confidence in Lopez's abilities that would have been wildly misplaced if it had had anything to do with tennis. On the other hand, Novak had never seen Lopez not get his way off court eventually; he had most of the ATP wrapped around his finger. It was a skill that Novak sometimes envied.
"Okay." Novak tried to skate a hand down Rafa's chest to his cock to distract them both, and got swatted away for his pains.
"Stoppit," Rafa grumbled. "Wanna sleep."
"Shouldn't you go back to your own room, then?" They were walking a fine line now; everyone knew, or thought they knew, but nobody could really say anything. That would be over fast if someone found Rafa naked in Novak's hotel room. Sometimes Novak thought he would rather just tell the press and let them fuck off and have a field day than try to sneak around anymore, but it wasn't just his decision to make.
"Toni know where I am," Rafa mumbled, his face pressed firmly into Novak's neck again. "Sleep."
"Okay," Novak said again, and gave up. He was tired of watching Rafa leave. He was tired of making Rafa leave. Rafa made one last grumpy noise, punched him in the shoulder like a recalcitrant pillow, and went out like a light. Novak looked at him with fond aggravation and carded his fingers through his hair until he fell asleep, too.
*
www.gototennisblog.com
MATCH PREVIEW: U.S. OPEN SEMIFINALS
In what is probably the most hotly anticipated match of the year not to include Roger Federer, Rafael Nadal will face off with Novak Djokovic for the first time since Madrid, where Nadal prevailed 3-6 7-6 7-6 in the longest Masters Series semifinal ever. This will also be their first official meeting since they were (kind of sort of maybe) outed as a gay couple in Spanish and Serbian tabloids. The English-speaking press has been unnaturally silent on the topic, which leads me to suspect that Adidas and Nike have joined forces to bring their not-inconsiderable influence and cash flows together and keep the story quiet, though Spanish, Serbian and Italian rags in Monaco have been speculating ever since the grainy, unattributed photos of (maybe, possibly) Nadal and Djokovic kissing at Wimbledon surfaced. Will we ever know the truth? Probably not. This has not kept a few tactless souls from making all sorts of wild conjectures, of course. Worst response to date: Justin Gimelstob, best known for a hideously misogynistic rant on air against Russian beauty queen and former tennis star Anna Kournikova.
"So I guess now we get to see if Nadal's biceps are big enough to keep the other guys off his tail on court or in the locker room, after his gay sex scandal let them all know that he drops the soap for Djokovic."
What makes it even worse? He said this sitting right next to Martina Navratilova. Fortunately she kept her head and gave probably the best response so far:
"Well, I don't think that it has anything to do with Nadal or Djokovic on court, or in the locker room for that matter. I will say that a few blurry pictures of what may or may not be a pair of male tennis stars kissing do not make a gay sex scandal in my book. Speaking as someone who has actually had gay sex, I can tell you that there's a little more involved than kissing fully-clothed."
Go Martina! If the rumors about Nadal and Djokovic are true, it maybe shouldn't be such a shock: the usual statistic for gay/lesbian/bisexual tendencies is one person in ten, so there really should be more than two players in the top 100, though it is a little surprising that they would both be in the top four. There have been several prominent lesbians on the WTA tour - Billie Jean King and Amelie Mauresmo spring to mind as well as Navratilova - but there are no openly gay men in the ATP.
It will be interesting to see whether Nadal or Djokovic ever openly addresses the issue. Neither has made a statement or even referred to the pictures in interviews, and all of their post-match pressers begin with the moderator asking for "tennis-related questions only, please." On the other hand, in a pretty unprecedented gesture of support and solidarity, their long-time girlfriends, Xisca Perello and Jelena Ristic, have been attending all of both players' matches together, accompanied by Nadal's younger sister Maria Isabel and Djokovic's younger brothers, Marko and Djordje. Neither player's parents are in attendance at Flushing Meadows, though Nadal's uncle Toni is still coaching him as usual.
Regardless of the rumors, it should be an exciting match. Nadal has an impressive 14-4 record against Djokovic, but Djokovic leads 4-3 on hardcourts, and they split their last two meetings on that surface, with Nadal winning the Beijing Olympics semifinal and Djokovic the semifinal in Cincinnati last year. Will Nadal even out their hardcourt head-to-head, or will Djokovic pull away? Will Nadal make his first-ever final at the U.S. Open (the only Slam he has never won), or Djokovic his second? We'll see tonight.
*
Novak watched Rafa fall to his knees in triumph and relief on the other side of the court, and exhaustedly wished he could do the same. He was so tired that even walking to the net seemed more effort than he could make, but as Rafa pulled off his headband and shook out his sweat-sodden hair, he realized his legs were already moving, bringing them together again.
He had lost. Rafa had won. While Novak processed these latest, incontrovertible facts, he glanced up into the stands, and saw Jelena with one hand over her mouth, the other clutching at Xisca's. Marko had apparently forgotten he was trying to get into Rafa's sister's pants and was hugging Djole close instead. He really was luckier than any person had a right to be, Novak thought, and smiled at Rafa as he jogged up to the net. "Good match," he said.
Rafa wrapped his arms around his back and just - hung on, tighter than was exactly comfortable. "You too," he said raggedly into Novak's neck. Novak could feel his chest still heaving with every inhalation. Finally he loosened his grip and straightened up enough to look Novak in the eye, although he didn't let go. What Novak saw in his gaze was enough to speed up his breath and set his heart racing.
"We're doing this?" he asked quietly. He could barely hear the crowd cheering over the rush of blood in his ears.
"Is okay?" Rafa's face was very serious, his mouth straight and anxious.
"It's okay with me. It's always been okay with me, Rafa."
"Okay, then," Rafa said, and a huge smile suddenly broke across his face, bigger and brighter than Novak had ever seen. He put his racket into Novak's left hand - he'd been holding it in his right when he got to the net, Novak realized; he'd thought this through, he'd planned it - cradled Novak's face with his callused, taped-up fingers, and drew him in for a kiss.
*
U.S. OPEN, FLUSHING MEADOWS
Interview with Novak Djokovic, lost to R. Nadal 2-6 7-6(2) 6-7(3) 6-3 7-6(17)
MODERATOR: Tennis-related question only, please.
Q: Novak, that was an amazing match. How are you feeling now?
NOVAK DJOKOVIC: Well, you know, a little disappointed that I lost, but pretty okay, you know. I played really well for most of the match, you know, and the points I lost, I think it wasn't me playing bad so much as Rafa playing better, you know, so you have to be okay with that. I played well. I'd rather win, but I'm, you know, I'm satisfied.
Q: That was the longest semifinal at the U.S. Open since they introduced the tie-break.
NOVAK DJOKOVIC: Really? That's pretty cool.
Q: Yes. The last time you and Nadal set a record for match length, he went on to lose in straight sets to Federer in the final. Do you see that happening again?
NOVAK DJOKOVIC: Well, anything can happen, you know, but I don't think so. He's got the rest of today off, and look at what happened in Australia, you know? I mean, I hope he doesn't lose in straight sets. Then I'll really look bad. (laughter)
Q: It looked like you were in total control of the match in the first set, then it started to get away from you a little. Can you walk us through that?
NOVAK DJOKOVIC: Well, you know, I don't think Rafa was playing that great in the first set. Maybe he was nervous, I don't know. I was playing pretty good, he wasn't really. I broke his serve in the second game, broke again for the set. Then I guess he settled a little, second set, I maybe got kind of careless in the tiebreak, you know? But he was playing really well, too. Third set, I was a little lucky, you know, with the net-cord in the tiebreak to go up 5-3. I think I got a little overconfident, maybe. Rafa definitely stepped it up in the fourth set, you know, I wasn't ready for it. But the fifth set, I mean, I think that's maybe the best tennis I ever played in my life. I don't know. Definitely some of the best tennis I ever played. It's too bad I didn't win playing like that, but sometimes you play your best and the other guy is just better, and that's tennis.
Q: Is it hard for you to play against Nadal?
NOVAK DJOKOVIC: I think for most people it's hard to play against Rafa. (laughter)
Q: I mean, because of your relationship, is it difficult -
MODERATOR: Tennis questions only, please.
NOVAK DJOKOVIC: No, no, it's okay, I don't mind answering. I mean, it's sort of about tennis. (laughter) Yeah, of course it's tough for me to play Rafa. It's tough to play anybody you, you know, you care about, your friend, your doubles partner, your family. But it's the same on both sides of the net, you know? I think it's tough for Venus and Serena to play each other, you know, and they go out there and they play great tennis. I think that's what Rafa and I did today, and I'm proud of that. Of course it's tough, but that's tennis.
fandom: tennis rps
pairing: djokovic/nadal
rating: NC-17
word count: 8,000
summary: Rafa and Novak get caught. It all spirals out from there.
notes: takes place in the recent past, present and near future. all tournament results are accurate up to time of posting, but as I am not psychic everything is made up from Montreal on. there are not words enough to properly thank the sainted t-lyrical, who put up with me and betaed my obsessive labor of love when this isn't even her fandom. baby, you deserve a medal, and possibly also a halo.
The thing was, Novak wasn't actually sorry. He was pretty annoyed with himself for being so careless, and he was sad in a numb, distant sort of way that his parents probably weren't going to speak to him for a while. He was absolutely furious that they'd put pictures of Jelena in the article - Jelena who was sweet and good and had done nothing whatsoever wrong, who had smiled and kissed his cheek and told him "it's okay, I don't mind," who was his to protect from all this shit, even if technically she wasn't really his anymore - and there weren't words to describe how angry he was that someone had chased after Marko and Djordje and shoved a microphone in their faces. They were just fucking kids. But as he thought about it, while the Adidas representative kept rambling at him about formal apologies and tarnishing the image of the sport, he really wasn't sorry at all.
He said so.
Marian, who had given up his own vacation and gotten on a plane about two hours after the story broke, shot him a sharp look and said nothing. Nole had never been so grateful for his coach's silent support.
The Adidas representative spluttered. Something about sponsorship, and company image. "I'm not sorry," Novak repeated. "If you don't want me to wear your clothes because you think I'm a cocksucker or whatever, okay. But I'm not sorry and I won't say I am, so you need to go tell your PR people to come up with another way to spin it." He sat back in his chair.
"Look, people who cheat on their girlfriends don't get to take the high road," the Adidas rep snapped.
"No, you look," Novak snapped back. "You leave Jelena out of it, understand? She's not a part of it and I'm not going to let you drag her into this. Go talk to your boss, or rip up my contract for all I care, but if you start talking about Jelena I will walk out and I won't be sorry for that, either."
"Okay, okay," the rep said, conciliatory. "We can go through your agent, how about that? We'll work something out. There's no need to get upset."
"Nothing about Jelena," Novak said again, getting up. Marian followed him. "I'm supposed to be on fucking vacation," he added in disgruntled Serbian as he walked out the door.
"So am I," Marian replied. He smacked the back of Novak's head. "That's for being such a fucking moron. Try not to be any more of an ass and you might make it through this."
Novak sighed. "Yeah, okay. We're okay?"
"I don't give a shit who you fuck. Didn't before the newspapers got into it, still don't. Leave it off the court and we'll be fine."
"Don't I always?"
Marian looked at him. "You tell yourself that, kid. Jelena's meeting you?"
"Yeah, we're... we were going to go swimming today. Not sure now."
"Go swimming," Marian advised. "Enjoy what's left of your vacation. You'll have a clusterfuck waiting for you when you get back on tour."
*
He went swimming after all, and he did enjoy it. It all seemed so distant when he was splashing around in the Mediterranean with Jelena, and when he did think of it he pushed it away. He didn't get to spend much time with her when he was playing, and she had her job now: he had a month before he had to go back on tour, and he wasn't going to waste it.
He had a ton of missed calls and texts on his phone when they got back to the boat, though, and Jelena gave him a look when he tried to turn it off without looking at them. "They're not going to go away, you know," she said.
"Well, if I leave the phone off sooner or later I'll run out of room in my voicemail," he offered.
She smiled, but it wasn't a smile that said he was off the hook, so he sighed and turned his phone back on. It was better than he'd expected, actually. Ana and JJ had both left messages, not saying much, really, but it meant they were still talking to him. Viktor had texted. Andy Murray had texted, which was a level of bizarre that Novak maybe wasn't quite ready for yet. So long as he deleted the ones from his parents before they got more than a few words in, it was honestly not too bad. In the end, though, he had to go back to the first message, the one he'd skipped.
"Hi, Novak, is me. Is maybe - I think there is maybe a problem. No sure, but... call, no? So I know you are okay. For sure I hope is nothing. Okay, I hear you soon, no? Bye."
Novak glared at his phone in frustration. "What did he say?" Jelena asked. She was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame.
"Nothing useful," Novak said. "To call him."
"So, call him," she said. She shut the door behind her as she left, adding, "I'll text Xisca." He still couldn't get over that: she'd never even met Xisca, but they emailed and texted every once in a while. He had no idea what they said to each other. Jelena didn't speak Spanish, and Xisca certainly didn't speak Serbian.
Novak fiddled around for a few moments, straightening up the room, hanging up his towel, but eventually he ran out of excuses and picked up the phone again. Speed dial seven. "Hola," Rafa said.
"Hi."
"You are okay? I mean - you know what happen, except maybe you no read the newspaper on vacations so - "
"Rafa," Novak interrupted. "I'm okay. I know. Are you okay?"
"Oh. I... I think I am okay? I mean, is not - is not like they write I kill babies or nothing. Is just kissing."
"It was just you kissing a guy," Novak said flatly. "It was just you kissing me. Trust me, it's going to be a big deal."
There was a long pause. "At least was not me kissing Rogelio?" Rafa offered hopefully. Novak laughed, unwillingly.
"For fuck's sake, Raf. Thanks for the mental image. Look, it's going to be - it's going to be weird. Really weird. I don't know if Nike's talked to you yet but I think Adidas might drop me. And the press is going to be - "
"Yeah," Rafa sighed. "I no want to think about it, no? And, you know, my knees, is not exactly..."
"Are they better?" Novak asked, diverted. "You're playing Montreal, right?"
"Little better," Rafa qualified. "Doctor say I can practice again, is good, no? But not all the way better. I hope for play Montreal, for sure."
"Defend a fucking title for once," Novak said, without heat.
"Like you?" Rafa replied. "I defend plenty, cabron."
"Yeah, yeah. But - yeah. Xisca's okay? Your sister?"
"Si, si, they are good, no? Good to see them, at home. Jelena and your brothers are good, also?" Their parents were a hulking elephant in the corner, not to be mentioned at any cost.
"They're fine. Jelena said she'd text Xisca. I don't know, just - take care of your knees, you know?" Novak said abruptly. "Don't get distracted. I'll see you in Montreal."
"Okay," Rafa said. "Say Jelena hello for me. And - you will be careful, no? Take care of yourself?"
"Rafa, I'm sorry," Novak blurted. Rafa wasn't trying to make him feel guilty, but that just made it worse. "I shouldn't have - "
"No, no, is not - " Rafa made an annoyed, inarticulate sound. "Me, I am not sorry. Is stupid, but not, how you say, is not end of the world? So, no be sorry. Is okay. Really is okay. I see you in Montreal." He hung up before Novak could think of anything else to say. Rafa hadn't mentioned what they were going to do, he thought in irritation, except maybe he had: they were going to play tennis. They were going to see each other in Montreal.
He flopped back on the bed, contemplating his phone. He could call Ana, or one of his brothers. He could even call his mother, and see if she would pick up. He ended up just lying there instead, until Jelena came in and lay down beside him, her head on his chest. "I'm hungry," she announced. He laughed, his self-important brooding irretrievably dismissed.
"Okay, I'll make you dinner," he said, and stroked her still-wet hair, which was leaving a damp patch on his shirt. He made no attempt to get up. "Do you want to go home?" he asked eventually, when he couldn't avoid it any longer.
"Give up my Mediterranean vacation?" Jelena thumped her head into his shoulder. "I don't think so. You owe me at least one last cruise."
*
KURIR, BELGRADE
RAFAEL NADAL AND NOVAK DJOKOVIC - GAY SEX SHOCKER
While Rafael Nadal frolics in the waves of his native Majorca with long-time girlfriend Maria Francesca Perello, pictures have surfaced in Spanish tabloids of the former world No. 1 tennis player caught in a clinch with none other than the world No. 4, Serbian Novak Djokovic. The photos appear to show the two tennis players in a compromising position at Wimbledon, where Nadal made an appearance for an exhibition before announcing that he would not defend his title at the All-England Club due to tendinitis in his knees, and subsequently lost his No. 1 ranking to Roger Federer, who gained a historic fifteenth Slam by defeating American Andy Roddick in the final. Djokovic lost in the quarterfinals to German Tommy Haas, and is currently vacationing in the Mediterranean with girlfriend Jelena Ristic. Neither player could be reached, and representatives declined to comment on the potential scandal.
*
The most ridiculous part was that it was so long ago. Maybe not for normal people with normal lives, who went to work every day and had better things to worry about than hitting a little yellow ball across a net, but Wimbledon and the Davis Cup quarters (which he hadn't played in, thanks ever so much, Spain) were a long time to Novak. It seemed hopelessly far away, the one stupid kiss that had gotten them into this mess.
He'd been with Rafa as much as he could in London, before Wimbledon began. He couldn't fix Rafa's knees or make his draw easier or do anything about his parents, but he could be there, at least, and maybe make Rafa a little happier. He tried, anyway. He hadn't exactly been a ray of sunshine himself - losing Halle to Haas had stung, even if he'd deserved it - but he'd tried.
He'd stayed with Rafa when he announced that he couldn't play Wimbledon. He'd stayed until all the questions were answered and the reporters went home. It was incredibly late, and it was dark, and Toni and Benito had obligingly left them alone for a minute. Novak had kissed Rafa goodbye. That was all it took.
*
Novak didn't particularly want to be in Croatia, but commitments were commitments, and he'd said he would play. Of course, at the time it had seemed like a fun thing to do: go on vacation with Jelena, take a break to play doubles with Marko, then maybe spend a little more time with Jelena before going to Montreal. He hadn't planned on being the subject of whispers in the locker room, or pissing his parents off so much they wouldn't speak to him, or making Mare play go-between in his own family. All in all, as embarrassing as the first set bagel had been, he was glad they went out in the first round.
"Sorry," he said awkwardly to his brother as they got changed. None of it was actually Marko's fault; he'd been absurdly normal for a teenager stuck between his parents and their disgraced no-longer-favorite son. They hadn't really talked about anything but tennis, but that wasn't unusual.
"My fault as much as yours," Mare said philosophically. "It was fun, anyway." Novak tried to ruffle his hair, and managed to make Marko squawk indignantly as he batted his hand away. You took your victories where you could when your baby brother was an inch shy of outgrowing you. "What are you going to do now?"
"Go back to Monte Carlo, maybe. It'll depend on what Jelena wants."
Marko frowned at him. "I meant for dinner, dumbass. And wait, don't you have that exho in the States with Safin? You're going back to Monaco in between?"
"It got rescheduled," Novak said carefully. "And they're getting Agassi to play Safin."
"That's bullshit," Marko said, surprisingly vehement.
"It's marketing. Agassi'll get a better crowd in the U.S. than I would, anyway."
"Bet they didn't ask him until two weeks ago," Marko muttered, and Novak looked at him in surprise; Marko hadn't mentioned the articles before, even though Novak knew there had to be reporters hounding him and their parents back home. He wasn't sure how to interpret that. He was about half-certain that Marko had known about Rafa all along; Marko was a lot smarter than he looked.
"It's done, anyway," he said eventually. "But, you know. Thanks."
Marko looked puzzled. "For what?"
"Nothing, never mind." He took Marko by surprise with the swat across the head this time. "Come on, there must be a Serbian restaurant somewhere in this city. My treat."
*
It was good to be back home in Monte Carlo. Vacation was fun, and it had been nice to have Jelena to himself for a while, but by the end of the first week he'd been itching to have a racket back in his hands already, and the brief interlude in Umag, as unpleasant as the experience had been generally, had only reminded him of how much he wanted to be on court, where the only thing that mattered was hitting the ball inside the lines. Jelena had been unbelievably patient about it; he was kind of surprised she hadn't thrown him overboard in exasperation after the third time he was too hyperactive to go to sleep at the end of the day.
Marian didn't go easy on him, first day back or no. That was good, too: the burn of his muscles kept him too busy to think about the number of paparazzi he'd had to dodge to get to the club that morning. Sooner or later they'd find someone more interesting to chase around, he thought tiredly, as he slipped safely into his own apartment. They had to.
He was expecting Jelena, so he didn't bother to get up when he heard the apartment door open. He was busy reading yet another article in the Serbian press about himself - there was some sort of morbid entertainment in seeing how many ways they could dance around calling him a cocksucking faggot. This one wasn't that bad; the journalist had gotten in touch with a few of the other Serbian players, and most of them had been supportive. Ana had given a charmingly rambling comment about how difficult it was to date on tour, and neatly avoided saying anything about him and Rafa. Even Janko had had enough tact to point out that it didn't have anything to do with tennis and it wasn't any of his business. Then he got to the end of the article, and nearly went light-headed at the sudden onset of rage. Djole was fourteen. He shouldn't have to deal with this crap.
BLIC, BELGRADE
"Of course I still look up to Nole," insists Djordje Djokovic, who intends to follow in his famous brother's footsteps and become a professional tennis player. "He plays amazing tennis, and he's my brother. I love him. I don't care what people write about him in the newspaper, he's still my big brother."
"Hey, Nole," called a male voice from the other room, interrupting him before he could give in to the urge to call his parents and tell them just what he thought about their letting the baby of the family get cornered by opportunistic journalists. "I'm leaving my stuff in the spare room, okay?"
"What?" Novak demanded. He got up. "What the hell are you doing here?"
His younger brother grinned at him and dumped his duffel bag in the middle of the living room. "What, I can't visit my big brother anymore?"
"Do Mom and Dad know you're here?"
"Well, you know," Marko said, shrugging. "Sort of?"
"Mare! You can't just - it's different now. You know it is."
"It's okay, seriously. Jelena called them, she said I was staying with her. You're supposed to be in the States, anyway. And, you know." Marko looked away, his expression going briefly serious. "They'll get over it, Nole. They will. You just have to give them some time, okay?"
Novak sighed. "Yeah, okay. I know. How long are you staying?"
"Just a couple of days. Djole wanted to come, too, but he can't really travel without Mom or Dad, so. You should call him. He was worried about you." Marko brightened up again. "But I wasn't going to waste a trip to Monte Carlo! You should take me to one of the casinos. We'll have fun!"
"You going to gamble with your own money?" Novak asked dryly, but just having Marko around was cheering him up already.
"Why would I, when I have such a fantastically successful older brother? I bet Jelena has some friends you could introduce me to, too." There was a sudden, awkward silence as they both remembered the circumstances of his visit. "Speaking of which," Marko continued, "Nadal's sister is pretty hot."
Novak laughed; he couldn't help it. "Sorry, kid. I'd be happy to introduce you, but I think you'd have to come with me to the US Open."
"What are you talking about?" Marko asked, sounding genuinely insulted. "Of course I'm coming. Djordje is too. Jelena got us plane tickets and we're staying with her in the hotel and everything." He looked at Novak's dumbfounded expression and scowled. He kept scowling even when he stomped across the room to give Novak an enormous hug that squeezed most of the air out of his lungs. "Don't be stupid, Nole," he muttered into Novak's shoulder. "I know it's your natural state and all but make an effort here."
Novak rested his chin on the top of Marko's head; he wouldn't have been able to if Marko hadn't ducked down a little. "Stop growing, brat," he said eventually. "Or I'll cut off your feet at the ankles."
"I'll just grow more. And you'll get old and start shrinking."
Novak let Marko go, and then hit him upside the head. "Respect your elders."
"I respect you plenty, oh ancient and wizened one," Marko said, and bolted when Novak made as if to grab him again. "So are you playing the seniors tour yet?" he asked, laughing, as he ran into Novak's bedroom and slammed the door.
Novak would have gone after him, but he was distracted by the sound of keys jingling outside the apartment. "Nole, I'm home!" Jelena called as she came in. "Oh, good, Marko's here," she added, seeing his bag on the floor. "Mare, honey, could you please help me carry in the groceries?"
*
Montreal was damp and barely lukewarm, even in August. After a month of summer in Italy and Monaco, Novak decided, it could have been worse, although he really, really hated rain delays. Still, he was finally back on tour; he would have put up with a lot of worse weather.
He wasn't really sure what to expect from the other players. He was trying not to expect anything at all. It had been a month, and the rumors had stayed just rumors and out-of-focus pictures in trashy tabloids; the plan his management team and Adidas had come up with was not to do anything at all, and since he'd been bracing himself to fight off a slew of worse ideas, he hadn't argued when they told him to just lie low and say nothing. He'd been planning on doing that, anyway. There wasn't much else he could do without Rafa, and he hadn't spoken to Rafa since that one awkward phone call.
Complete lack of expectations left him blindsided about three seconds after he walked into the locker room before practice, and found Rafa putting his street clothes back on. "Hola, Novak!" Rafa said cheerfully, oblivious to the sudden silence from the other players in the room. Robredo, who'd been talking to Rafa, was frozen with his shirt only half-on. "You have nice vacation?"
"Yeah, you know, some swimming, some golfing, nice time," Novak managed. "Glad to be back, though." He picked a locker at random and dropped his bag on the bench.
"Happy to hear," Rafa said, and smiled, as though absolutely nothing of importance had happened since the last time they saw each other. "Toni wait for me, sorry, but I see you later, no?"
"Yeah, okay," Novak said. Rafa grabbed his gear in one hand, gave him a quick half-hug around the shoulders, and trotted out to meet his uncle, like everything was back to fucking normal, like they'd never been caught kissing at Wimbledon, like they'd never fucked. Maybe it was back to normal, Novak thought as he put on practice clothes and changed his sneakers. If that was what Rafa wanted, fine, that was what they'd do. Novak wasn't that guy. He wasn't an asshole who made a fuss after he got dumped. He was still friends with all his ex-girlfriends, let alone guys he'd fucked around with once or twice on tour.
He kind of wanted to be an asshole just this once, though. He and Rafa hadn't just fucked around once or twice, and Rafa could at least have called.
"Hey," someone said above him, and tapped his knee with a racket to get his attention when he didn't look up. It was David Ferrer, wearing a weirdly neutral expression. "Hit with me, si?"
Novak blinked and reached for his racket bag. He wasn't friends or even friendly with Ferrer; they barely spoke before the Spain-Serbia Davis Cup tie, and Novak generally tried not to hold matches against people, but for that one he might have made an exception. "Yeah, okay."
They hit together for about an hour before Ferrer called it quits, as abruptly as he'd come up to Novak in the first place. He was terse to the point of monosyllabic during water breaks, and he never brought up Rafa, who was pretty much the only conversational topic they had in common. Novak didn't either. Ferrer had been making a point, he was pretty sure, but he didn't know who was supposed to be on the receiving end.
After that was more practice, and stretches, and more practice, and finally a football game with his team, which Marian refereed with blatant bias against Novak. He was tired but feeling okay by the time they finished, and he took the unnatural politeness and averted eyes of the few players left in the showers in stride. They were all behaving like adults; it wasn't like anybody had spray-painted faggot on his locker or anything. He kind of wished Jelena were around, though, to talk to. At the very least, she would have laughed at him for worrying about anything like that, and told him he was watching too much American TV.
He was trying to calculate the time difference between Montreal and Monaco in his head as he got back to his hotel suite, so he wouldn't call her at work or too late at night, and wasn't paying much attention to his surroundings. If he had, he might have noticed the pair of size ten Nike sneakers on the floor before he tripped over them and nearly fell on his face. "Jesus fuck!" he yelped, stumbling into his bedroom, and fell silent at the sight of Rafa Nadal flopped out on his bed. He was snoring. "Um," Novak said.
Rafa made a noise somewhere between a mumble and a whine, and his eyes fluttered open. "Oh, hi, Novak," he said, yawning. "How was practice?"
"Fine," Novak said, distracted. "Rafa, what are you doing here?"
"Oh, I see your coach - Marian, his name, no? - anyway, I see him after practice, I say him, when can I see you, he give me room key, I think I come and cook you dinner." He frowned, eyebrows arching comically, and added, "Except then I fall asleep."
Novak laughed much harder than the statement deserved, so hard he thought he was going to cry, his face buried in his hands. After a minute, Rafa asked, "Everything is okay?" sounding like he didn't know whether to be worried or offended. Novak waved a hand breathlessly and dropped onto the bed beside Rafa, wheezing a little.
"Yeah, everything's okay, everything's fine," he said at last. Rafa's ridiculous eyebrows drew together in patent disbelief, and God, Rafa drove him crazy sometimes, absolutely insane, but he wouldn't have wanted him any other way. "Seriously, everything's great," he added, when Rafa continued to give him that dubious look. He leaned in to kiss his frown away, suddenly regretting every minute of the month he'd been away from Rafa's moods and sulks and brilliant smiles. Rafa kissed back immediately, hungrily, and let Novak shove him back down and climb on top of him. A whole fucking month without this - he hadn't let himself think about it at the time, but he had really missed sex with Rafa.
"Novak, shoes," Rafa said, panting a little, and tugged on his shirt to pull him back when he tried go for another kiss.
"What?"
Rafa's nose was scrunched up in irritation, which Novak thought was a little unfair: he shouldn't be asked to think when he was this close to getting laid. "Shoes! You wear on the bed now?"
Novak pressed his face into the clean cotton of Rafa's T-shirt to hide his giggle. It was just such a non-sequitur, and exactly the sort of thing he really should have known to expect from Rafa. "Okay, okay, I'll take them off," he managed. Rafa shoved at him impatiently, and he sat up, yanked off his left sneaker and threw it at the door, which slammed shut with a satisfying bang. The right followed promptly, and he tossed his shirt after for good measure. "Happy now?"
Rafa was watching him when he turned around, laugh-lines crinkling around his eyes and mouth. "Very happy," he said solemnly, and then knocked Novak onto his back with an over-exuberant lunge that left him pinned underneath the solid mass of Rafa's body. Novak obligingly relaxed and let Rafa explore to his heart's content, nuzzling behind his ear, kissing the tendons in his throat, licking at his collarbone. He could get really obsessive-compulsive when they hadn't been together for a while, and Novak had figured out that it wasn't worth the effort to disturb his system for reacclimation. Not to mention, sometimes it was nice to just lie back and let Rafa do all the work.
It was almost like floating, he thought as he stared up at the ceiling, completely disconnected from everything except his mounting arousal and Rafa's mouth patiently mapping out every interesting inch of skin between his neck and his waistband. Rafa was more egalitarian in his interest than Novak would have been; it was going to take a while. "Hey, Rafa?" he asked suddenly.
"Hmm?" Rafa dipped his tongue into Novak's navel, and his stomach muscles quivered.
"I missed you, you know."
Rafa drew back and smiled at him, bright and sunny. "Am here now, no?" He reached up and caught Novak's right hand in his left. Novak stroked his thumb over Rafa's knuckles; Rafa's smile got somehow even wider, and then he pulled Novak's shorts halfway down his thighs and wrapped that gorgeous smiling mouth around his cock.
"Jesus God," Novak said, even though he'd known where Rafa was headed as soon as he started making his way down his neck. Rafa gave the most enthusiastic head he'd ever had: he didn't have the most polished technique, and he'd never quite gotten rid of his gag reflex, but he sucked cock like he loved sucking cock, wet and sloppy and almost greedy. Novak's grip on Rafa's hand tightened as he felt Rafa swallow around him, and he propped himself up on his elbow to watch, almost dizzy with how badly he wanted this. Rafa looked up at him, eyes intent but still mischievous, and dragged his short, stubby nails along his inner thigh, all the way up to his balls, and the sensitive skin behind them. "Fuck, Rafa, fuck!" Novak's hips jerked up as Rafa pressed a fingertip just barely inside him. Rafa pushed him back down, laughing and coughing at the same time, and licked slowly up his shaft to punish him, lingering just behind the head until Novak gave up on any semblance of dignity and grabbed a fistful of Rafa's hair.
Rafa was finally getting serious, still fingering him lightly, mouth sealed tight over Novak's dick. His cheeks went hollow, and Novak tried and failed to tug him away as he tipped with a choked exhalation over the edge into orgasm. Rafa swallowed most of it, except for a small white smear at the corner of his mouth; Novak suddenly wanted very desperately to kiss it away, to taste himself on Rafa's skin. As if he'd read his mind, Rafa settled on his chest, his smug smile easily within reach, and let Novak dust fast, messy kisses across his face while he slipped his free hand into Rafa's shorts.
"You're so fucking beautiful," Novak told him in Serbian, watching his eyelids flutter at a particularly rough stroke. "You make me crazy, Rafa, I love you so fucking much." Rafa buried his face in Novak's neck, shuddered and came all over his hand.
They lay in dazed post-coital silence for a few minutes, until they were interrupted by the growling of Rafa's stomach. "No laugh!" Rafa said, mock-angry, and punched Novak in the shoulder when he snickered. "Be nice, I gonna cook you dinner." His statement was neatly punctuated by an enormous yawn.
Novak shoved him to the side and sat up, grinning. "Go back to sleep, I'll cook."
"I can make meal!" Rafa protested, although he made no attempt to actually move.
"You can make one meal, Rafa, and I grew up in a restaurant. Just stay there and I'll wake you up when the food's done." He pulled his now-sticky shorts off and went hunting for a fresh pair. Once he was dressed, he glanced back at the bed and found Rafa watching him with a soft look in his eyes. "What?"
"Ana try to teach me little bit Serbian, at press before Roland Garros, no? No very good, but. Volim te isto."
His accent was terrible.
*
Novak's first match in Montreal was against Viktor. His draw wasn't easy, but he wasn't in Rafa's half, which he would have maybe been grateful for, if he hadn't had a sneaking suspicion that someone - Nike, Adidas, the tournament organizers, or all three - had fixed it deliberately to keep them as far apart as possible.
He was more nervous than he ever remembered being in an opening match. He dropped serve in the first game, and was down 40-0 in the second before he pulled himself back together and scored a point. He held his serve in the third game, and managed to break back in the fourth; by the time he won the tie-breaker he had put everything but tennis out of his mind.
It all came back once Viktor's last shot went wide, though, and Novak approached the net with his thoughts racing, unsure what to do. Normally he wouldn't have even hesitated: Viktor was his friend, they played a good match, they hugged. Now, though, maybe a handshake would be better, more comfortable for both of them.
Viktor showed no such concern, pulling him into a rough bear-hug as soon as he was close enough. "Good luck, man," he said.
Novak squeezed him tightly, more grateful than he knew how to say. "Thanks. Good game."
"You too," Viktor said with an easy smile, and kept an arm around his shoulders as they walked up to the umpire's chair.
*
Novak wouldn't have said he was exactly happy to get knocked out of Montreal in the semis by Del Potro, but he wasn't hugely sorry, either. Things with Rafa were better, and they'd gotten past beating each other before - they'd had to, when Rafa inevitably spent the clay court season doing nothing but beating him, and Rafa was almost unnaturally level-headed about losses anyway - but it was maybe something he wasn't quite ready to deal with again yet. He'd wanted to stay and watch Rafa in the final. He got on a plane instead; Marian had put his foot down, and he'd been right, of course. Marian usually was.
Cincinnati was an ugly city. They never really got time off to see the places they played, so it didn't matter much, but Cincinnati was so staggeringly ugly that it made an impression even from the window of the town car that took Novak and Marian from the airport to the hotel. Ana was still in town for the women's tournament, though she'd been knocked out by the time he got there, so they had dinner and a drink and talked. He hadn't really seen her in a while. It was different being around women, Jelena and Ana and JJ and even Maria, though it had been a very long time since he'd hung out with Maria. Sometimes he wondered if he could really give up women for Rafa: Rafa was great, but Novak loved women, loved them as people and loved them as soft curves and long hair and pretty smells. Watching Ana while she chattered happily about her new boyfriend and Novak forebore to mention that she'd been exactly the same about Verdasco a year ago - he'd always sort of thought, ever since they were kids, that maybe someday, if she lost the braces, if they both made it, if they weren't with other people - he realized that he could look at an incredibly beautiful, intelligent, wonderful woman and feel absolutely no regret.
Cincinnati wasn't that bad. He couldn't wait for Rafa to get there to share it with him.
*
"So, are you going to tell me what's going on with Ferrer?" Novak had timed his question carefully. Rafa was lying next to him with his head on his shoulder, limp from a pretty spectacular blowjob, if Novak did say so himself. Rafa was a shitty liar in general, and he could barely move after he came, let alone make up a plausible answer. Novak really wanted to know, and Rafa had put him off three times already.
"Mmm? What happen with David?"
"He's been practicing with me almost every day since Montreal," Novak said. It was true, and it was weird. He was pretty sure Ferrer didn't even like him. He always looked annoyed when Novak was around. Rafa had tried to claim that that was just how Ferrer's face was, but Novak had caused a lot of irritation for a lot of people in his time: he could tell.
"If you no want to practice with David, you say him yourself," Rafa said, a little cranky, and turned his face so it was half-hidden against Novak's neck. "Is no my problem. And you being very stupid. David only try to help."
Novak sighed and ran a hand over Rafa's messy hair; Rafa leaned thoughtlessly into the caress, like a cat. "I don't not want to practice with him. I just want to know why he's doing it. Did you ask him to?"
"No."
Novak tugged on a lock of Rafa's hair when he failed to elaborate. Rafa made an exasperated noise and bit down on his throat. "That's not going to discourage me, you know," Novak remarked.
"Is Fernando," Rafa said, disgruntled. "He say some - not very nice thing about you." And about Rafa, Novak inferred from his unwillingness to discuss the issue. "Feli make him stop, but... David, he get mad, no? So, he practice with you, he say Fer he is still mad."
"I'm sorry," Novak said quietly. He'd been lucky with Ana and JJ and Viktor, and his brothers and Jelena. Janko had gotten very polite and distant, and it had hurt, but that was the worst of it. He wasn't going to think about his parents.
"No, is not - we are not, how you say it, we are not close, no? Anyway, Feli gonna fix it," Rafa added, with a sublime confidence in Lopez's abilities that would have been wildly misplaced if it had had anything to do with tennis. On the other hand, Novak had never seen Lopez not get his way off court eventually; he had most of the ATP wrapped around his finger. It was a skill that Novak sometimes envied.
"Okay." Novak tried to skate a hand down Rafa's chest to his cock to distract them both, and got swatted away for his pains.
"Stoppit," Rafa grumbled. "Wanna sleep."
"Shouldn't you go back to your own room, then?" They were walking a fine line now; everyone knew, or thought they knew, but nobody could really say anything. That would be over fast if someone found Rafa naked in Novak's hotel room. Sometimes Novak thought he would rather just tell the press and let them fuck off and have a field day than try to sneak around anymore, but it wasn't just his decision to make.
"Toni know where I am," Rafa mumbled, his face pressed firmly into Novak's neck again. "Sleep."
"Okay," Novak said again, and gave up. He was tired of watching Rafa leave. He was tired of making Rafa leave. Rafa made one last grumpy noise, punched him in the shoulder like a recalcitrant pillow, and went out like a light. Novak looked at him with fond aggravation and carded his fingers through his hair until he fell asleep, too.
*
www.gototennisblog.com
MATCH PREVIEW: U.S. OPEN SEMIFINALS
In what is probably the most hotly anticipated match of the year not to include Roger Federer, Rafael Nadal will face off with Novak Djokovic for the first time since Madrid, where Nadal prevailed 3-6 7-6 7-6 in the longest Masters Series semifinal ever. This will also be their first official meeting since they were (kind of sort of maybe) outed as a gay couple in Spanish and Serbian tabloids. The English-speaking press has been unnaturally silent on the topic, which leads me to suspect that Adidas and Nike have joined forces to bring their not-inconsiderable influence and cash flows together and keep the story quiet, though Spanish, Serbian and Italian rags in Monaco have been speculating ever since the grainy, unattributed photos of (maybe, possibly) Nadal and Djokovic kissing at Wimbledon surfaced. Will we ever know the truth? Probably not. This has not kept a few tactless souls from making all sorts of wild conjectures, of course. Worst response to date: Justin Gimelstob, best known for a hideously misogynistic rant on air against Russian beauty queen and former tennis star Anna Kournikova.
"So I guess now we get to see if Nadal's biceps are big enough to keep the other guys off his tail on court or in the locker room, after his gay sex scandal let them all know that he drops the soap for Djokovic."
What makes it even worse? He said this sitting right next to Martina Navratilova. Fortunately she kept her head and gave probably the best response so far:
"Well, I don't think that it has anything to do with Nadal or Djokovic on court, or in the locker room for that matter. I will say that a few blurry pictures of what may or may not be a pair of male tennis stars kissing do not make a gay sex scandal in my book. Speaking as someone who has actually had gay sex, I can tell you that there's a little more involved than kissing fully-clothed."
Go Martina! If the rumors about Nadal and Djokovic are true, it maybe shouldn't be such a shock: the usual statistic for gay/lesbian/bisexual tendencies is one person in ten, so there really should be more than two players in the top 100, though it is a little surprising that they would both be in the top four. There have been several prominent lesbians on the WTA tour - Billie Jean King and Amelie Mauresmo spring to mind as well as Navratilova - but there are no openly gay men in the ATP.
It will be interesting to see whether Nadal or Djokovic ever openly addresses the issue. Neither has made a statement or even referred to the pictures in interviews, and all of their post-match pressers begin with the moderator asking for "tennis-related questions only, please." On the other hand, in a pretty unprecedented gesture of support and solidarity, their long-time girlfriends, Xisca Perello and Jelena Ristic, have been attending all of both players' matches together, accompanied by Nadal's younger sister Maria Isabel and Djokovic's younger brothers, Marko and Djordje. Neither player's parents are in attendance at Flushing Meadows, though Nadal's uncle Toni is still coaching him as usual.
Regardless of the rumors, it should be an exciting match. Nadal has an impressive 14-4 record against Djokovic, but Djokovic leads 4-3 on hardcourts, and they split their last two meetings on that surface, with Nadal winning the Beijing Olympics semifinal and Djokovic the semifinal in Cincinnati last year. Will Nadal even out their hardcourt head-to-head, or will Djokovic pull away? Will Nadal make his first-ever final at the U.S. Open (the only Slam he has never won), or Djokovic his second? We'll see tonight.
*
Novak watched Rafa fall to his knees in triumph and relief on the other side of the court, and exhaustedly wished he could do the same. He was so tired that even walking to the net seemed more effort than he could make, but as Rafa pulled off his headband and shook out his sweat-sodden hair, he realized his legs were already moving, bringing them together again.
He had lost. Rafa had won. While Novak processed these latest, incontrovertible facts, he glanced up into the stands, and saw Jelena with one hand over her mouth, the other clutching at Xisca's. Marko had apparently forgotten he was trying to get into Rafa's sister's pants and was hugging Djole close instead. He really was luckier than any person had a right to be, Novak thought, and smiled at Rafa as he jogged up to the net. "Good match," he said.
Rafa wrapped his arms around his back and just - hung on, tighter than was exactly comfortable. "You too," he said raggedly into Novak's neck. Novak could feel his chest still heaving with every inhalation. Finally he loosened his grip and straightened up enough to look Novak in the eye, although he didn't let go. What Novak saw in his gaze was enough to speed up his breath and set his heart racing.
"We're doing this?" he asked quietly. He could barely hear the crowd cheering over the rush of blood in his ears.
"Is okay?" Rafa's face was very serious, his mouth straight and anxious.
"It's okay with me. It's always been okay with me, Rafa."
"Okay, then," Rafa said, and a huge smile suddenly broke across his face, bigger and brighter than Novak had ever seen. He put his racket into Novak's left hand - he'd been holding it in his right when he got to the net, Novak realized; he'd thought this through, he'd planned it - cradled Novak's face with his callused, taped-up fingers, and drew him in for a kiss.
*
U.S. OPEN, FLUSHING MEADOWS
Interview with Novak Djokovic, lost to R. Nadal 2-6 7-6(2) 6-7(3) 6-3 7-6(17)
MODERATOR: Tennis-related question only, please.
Q: Novak, that was an amazing match. How are you feeling now?
NOVAK DJOKOVIC: Well, you know, a little disappointed that I lost, but pretty okay, you know. I played really well for most of the match, you know, and the points I lost, I think it wasn't me playing bad so much as Rafa playing better, you know, so you have to be okay with that. I played well. I'd rather win, but I'm, you know, I'm satisfied.
Q: That was the longest semifinal at the U.S. Open since they introduced the tie-break.
NOVAK DJOKOVIC: Really? That's pretty cool.
Q: Yes. The last time you and Nadal set a record for match length, he went on to lose in straight sets to Federer in the final. Do you see that happening again?
NOVAK DJOKOVIC: Well, anything can happen, you know, but I don't think so. He's got the rest of today off, and look at what happened in Australia, you know? I mean, I hope he doesn't lose in straight sets. Then I'll really look bad. (laughter)
Q: It looked like you were in total control of the match in the first set, then it started to get away from you a little. Can you walk us through that?
NOVAK DJOKOVIC: Well, you know, I don't think Rafa was playing that great in the first set. Maybe he was nervous, I don't know. I was playing pretty good, he wasn't really. I broke his serve in the second game, broke again for the set. Then I guess he settled a little, second set, I maybe got kind of careless in the tiebreak, you know? But he was playing really well, too. Third set, I was a little lucky, you know, with the net-cord in the tiebreak to go up 5-3. I think I got a little overconfident, maybe. Rafa definitely stepped it up in the fourth set, you know, I wasn't ready for it. But the fifth set, I mean, I think that's maybe the best tennis I ever played in my life. I don't know. Definitely some of the best tennis I ever played. It's too bad I didn't win playing like that, but sometimes you play your best and the other guy is just better, and that's tennis.
Q: Is it hard for you to play against Nadal?
NOVAK DJOKOVIC: I think for most people it's hard to play against Rafa. (laughter)
Q: I mean, because of your relationship, is it difficult -
MODERATOR: Tennis questions only, please.
NOVAK DJOKOVIC: No, no, it's okay, I don't mind answering. I mean, it's sort of about tennis. (laughter) Yeah, of course it's tough for me to play Rafa. It's tough to play anybody you, you know, you care about, your friend, your doubles partner, your family. But it's the same on both sides of the net, you know? I think it's tough for Venus and Serena to play each other, you know, and they go out there and they play great tennis. I think that's what Rafa and I did today, and I'm proud of that. Of course it's tough, but that's tennis.