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louiseluxTitle: Folie a deux
Fandom: tennis rps
Pairing: Roger Federer/Rafa Nadal
Warnings: not worksafe, explicit m/m, blatant excuse to write porn
Notes: thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
emungere for beta reading!
Summary: a shared madness
Roger could hear the applause and cheers over on the next court; Rafa's game. It was, in theory, impossible to tell which players the cheers were for, but he had a gut feeling that they were for Rafa.
He waved at the crowd in his own court, not quite managing a smile. Walking down the murky, fluorescent-lit, concrete ramp back into the changing area, he saw Rafa ahead. He was moving slowly and with his head down.
They met hours later. Rafa had texted him with three possible times and the number of his room. Roger made his excuses-- he was good at making them-- and slipped away. He took a taxi across town, nails dug into his palms all the way. His stomach was a mess of pre-match nerves and excitement.
It didn't take long to get there. The lobby was quiet and the blue-coated concierge waved him up with a smile. He took the stairs instead of the elevator, two at a time, long strides that made his heart jump in double time as he got to the third floor. He knew how to work off his nervous energy, unlike Rafa.
Rafa opened the door, swinging it back fast like he expected an attack.
"Roger," he said, his fingers curling around the door jamb. "You're here."
"Hey, I'm glad I could make it," Roger said, like this was any normal visit.
Rafa's smile widened exponentially as they looked at each other, till it was nearly too bright to deal with. If anyone was listening, what would they think of this entirely normal and brief exchange? Nothing, of course. They were two professionals, they had a lot in common, lots to discuss. It was nothing unusual.
The instant the door clunked shut behind them, Rafa pressed up against him, in his space, hot and hard and undeniably there.
"Hi," he said, breathing toothpaste-scented breath against Roger's cheek. He yanked Roger's shirt out of his trousers and pushed his hands up over Roger's ribs. "How was it all?"
"Ah, oh. Okay," Roger said. "You know. Just okay."
"Yeah."
He was real and solid, all warm smooth skin and the scent of shampoo and soap. He wound his arms around Roger's waist and pressed his lips to the side of his mouth, opening so that his teeth scraped over Roger's jaw and the tip of his tongue traced over skin. He was breathing too fast and Roger could feel the slight tremble of his whole body, like Rafa was wound up tight and waiting to let go.
"So happy you came, Roger" Rafa said. He kissed the corner of Roger's mouth. Through the thin material of his shorts, his erection was hot and obvious.
Someone knocked at the door, and they froze, staring. Rafa shook his head. The knock came again.
"Fuck," Rafa mumbled. The cursing was rare. "Wait."
It turned out to be the hotel cleaning service, wanting to know if he wanted his waste bins emptied. Roger listened to him explaining, slow and polite and mostly hidden behind the door, that he did not. He watched Rafa's ass and legs and thought about how much he wanted to push his hand down the back of Rafa's shorts and just touch. But they weren't going to do that, not right now. He spent the time unbuttoning his shirt and taking off his shoes and socks.
Rafa closed the door and came back to him, his eyes soft now and pleading.
"Sorry," Rafa said. "Sorry."
He took one of Roger's hands and kissed the knuckles. Roger was still not even a little used to the things he did, the small and devastating gestures; the way he moved sometimes in bed, with raw force and sexuality, the sudden brilliant sweetness of his smile.
Roger grabbed him around the waist and held him still and tight. It shouldn't be easy to do that to a man like Rafa, but it was, because Rafa let him. Rafa tensed and clung on to Roger's shoulders hard, fingertips digging in to the point of pain. He pushed a hard thigh between Roger's legs and twisted his hips.
"You want to suck me," Roger said, against his mouth. He tangled his fingers in Rafa's hair and eased his head gently backwards. He watched the stretch of his throat and the way it moved when Rafa swallowed. "Don't you?"
Rafa only nodded. His eyes glittered under his lashes. The first time they'd done this, ever, they'd been somewhere very like this, alone together for the first time in months, and Rafa just had not looked away from his eyes, and a little later he'd slid to his knees and opened his mouth. It still made Roger's stomach squeeze up tight, thinking about that. Rafa had known what he wanted, had apparently been thinking about it for some time, which was more than Roger had managed to do.
Rafa was silent as Roger pushed him down. The skin of his shoulders was impossibly smooth, like satin. He smoothed Rafa's hair back over his shoulders and watched him ease his shorts down until they were around his knees. His cock jutted up from dark hair, and the tops of his thighs were much paler than the rest of him. He stroked himself while Roger watched.
Some part of Rafa needed this, he thought, the same way that a part of Roger wanted Rafa Nadal on his knees. He stared down at Rafa's closed eyes and damp slick mouth, the powerful line of his shoulders and curve of muscle in his spread thighs. He cupped a hand over the back of Rafa's neck and stroked up, so that Rafa moaned again and pressed his face to Roger's stomach, blind and open-mouthed. He was licking out with his tongue to reach the shaft of Roger's cock. No one else got to see him like this.
No one got to see Roger like this, either. Not exactly like this.
He curled his fingers into Rafa's hair and slid in, letting him suck. He fucked his mouth, but only shallowly, because Rafa still couldn't take much without it hurting him. Just enough to make Rafa gaze up at him with lashes half closed and that look in his eyes, an indescribable aching that made Roger want to not be careful about anything.
Rafa pulled back to swallow and then slid his lips tight again around the head of Roger's cock. He had one hand around Roger's shaft and his other on his own erection. Roger swallowed and curled his toes into the carpet. He closed his eyes for several moments; he wished he could lean somewhere. Rafa's hair was like silk, still damp from his shower.
"Rafa," he said. Rafa made a sound in response and edged closer on his knees. "You want more?" Roger asked, pushing a strand of hair away from Rafa's cheek.
Rafa leaned against his thighs, freeing his mouth. Roger cupped his cheek and stroked along his jaw to the edge of his mouth. The skin there was soft and wet with spit. He slid his thumb over it, into Rafa's mouth.
"I can try," he whispered, stroking the backs of Roger's legs, from his calves to the tops of his thighs. His words became just heated breath on Roger's skin, soft and blurring. "For you. I will. For you."
Roger slid back into his mouth too quickly. Rafa moved fast; jagged edge of teeth, raw and desperate. He curled finger and thumb around the base of Roger's cock again and held him tight. Looking down, Roger saw the elongated line of his jaw, stretched wide, and the wet gleam of his cock as it slid between his lips.
"Oh," Roger gasped. "I'm coming," he said, and heard Rafa's low and guttural moan, a bass note that hit him in his stomach, and he wanted to drag Rafa to the bed and fuck him there, pressed chest to back, cock buried deep in his body. He wanted to listen to Rafa scream from that. "I'm coming."
Rafa tilted his chin up and looked, hand tightening, the head of Roger's cock just caught between his lips so Roger could see it when he came, milky fluid spilling into his mouth, pale smears against the red flush of his lips. His eyes were rimmed with salt water, one track running down to his top lip.
Roger curled over and pressed both palms to his back. Rafa was trembling. Roger kissed his temple and the side of his jaw and stroked through his hair, dragging his fingers across Rafa's scalp. His skin was hot. There were sticky trails of semen on his thighs, where he'd made himself come, and the scent of it was thick in the air.
"What would you do if people saw you like this?" Roger said. He hadn't meant to ask that question. Neither of them needed to hear it. Rafa leaned on him and pressed his face to Roger's hip.
"Don't know," Rafa said, sounding as if he were making his syllables carefully. "Maybe it would be bad. Maybe be a good thing."
Roger knelt. Rafa's mouth was a mess, and strands of brown hair were stuck across his cheek, the tips sticky and pointed. "You don't mean that," Roger said.
"It scare you?" asked Rafa, quietly. He leaned forward, so that he was able to lay his head on Roger's shoulder. His voice got all muffled and his breath blew in warm puffs on Roger's arm. It felt like he was rubbing his nose on Roger's skin. "'Cause it scares me."
Roger ran his fingers down over the curve of Rafa's spine, feeling the muscles on either side jump and shift under his hand as Rafa leaned more.
The room had gone dark since Roger had arrived. They needed to turn a light on, but Roger didn't want to move, and perhaps it was better not to have this illuminated. He kissed the side of Rafa's forehead, just at the place where skin met hair. The carpet was getting hard on his knees, and it definitely must be hard on Rafa's.
"Am I going to see you again soon?" Roger said. They never asked things like this, ever. There was little point, as neither of them could predict very far in advance when a time and a place would be right.
Rafa sighed. He curled a hand around Roger's upper arm. "How about every day?"
"Rafa—"
"I know. Shh. Is fine. Am being dumb."
They stayed like that a while longer, until Roger's phone trilled. It was in the pocket of his trousers, and they were in a small crumpled pool by the door. Rafa sat back on his heels. His face was still flushed.
"I have to go back," Roger said. He ran his palm up over Rafa's shoulder and into his hair.
"Not very long, tonight, no?"
His lips were very soft and still damp when Roger kissed him. Part way through it, his phone stopped, and then started again. Rafa eased him away with two hands on his chest, and pushed him towards the phone.
"Need to answer it."
Sitting naked on the floor of Rafa's room, watching Rafa pull on his shorts, he spoke to his agent and then to his sister. Rafa switched on the lights. He brought Roger a bottle of water and then sat on the end of the couch and stared at him, like Roger was a TV set showing something puzzling.
Roger finally snapped his phone shut and stood. His shirt and trousers were hopelessly wrinkled as he began to pull them on. "French GQ wants to do an interview. Also, my sister's cat has gone missing."
"Oh."
Roger looked up to see that Rafa was watching him closely, a dark steady gaze. He stopped, clutching his shirt.
"I'm sorry, Rafa," he said.
"Don't be," Rafa said, spreading his hands. "It is normal, all this. Don't worry. Is just our lifes"
At the door, Rafa kissed him, his hands lightly on Roger's shoulders, not holding him there, more like he just wanted to touch. He pressed small soft kisses to Roger's mouth until Roger pulled him close. Rafa emitted a small breathy laugh.
"You're so pretty," Rafa said. They were nose to nose. Rafa put a hand on the small of Roger's back and stuck his fingertips under Roger's waistband.
"Men aren't pretty," Roger said.
"For a guy, you are. Hey, Roger?"
"What?"
Rafa tightened his hands on Roger's body. "You shouldn't ever worry."
He left half an hour later than he was meant to. Toni Nadal walked into the lobby as Roger stepped from the elevator. Toni smiled and frowned, both at the same time.
"Roger. Hi, what are you doing here?"
"Oh, nothing much. Rafa wanted to discuss—Ah, just a few things. I had some free time, so… " He didn't have the will to think of an excuse, or further lies. Toni nodded though, like it was all fine.
"I'm glad you're friends," Toni said. "He looks up to you."
"Well then. It's a mutual thing," Roger said.
He said goodbye and strode out through the doors, acting the part of Roger Federer, tennis star, who was not someone who had unsuitable sex with, well, perhaps the most unsuitable person he could've chosen.
Roger walked to his car and unlocked it and tried to make himself feel worse about it all, but it was very hard. He could still smell Rafa on his hands and on his clothes and could still sense the warmth of his skin and hair, like a ghost filling his palms.
***
Rafa didn't want to wait, he said, not even a day.
He told Roger that in a brief phone call, two nights before the Master's Cup first round. Roger had answered it in a corner of the practice court, turning away from the small crowd there.
"There are twenty five photographers watching me," he told Rafa. He closed his eyes against the glare of light on the court. "This is crazy."
"I don't want the wait," Rafa said. His tone was sharp; the Rafa who got what he wanted. "Please. Sorry. It's a long time. She's not here, is she? I know it."
Roger drew the toe of his left tennis shoe along the baseline. Mirka had flown back home. She was too tired to stay, she'd said. She'd never said that before and Roger was still not thinking about what it meant. "I'll drop you my spare key." He'd been carrying the spare key for days, avoiding thinking about why. He'd been avoiding lots of things, but this wasn't possible now. "What locker number?"
"25. Tonight?"
"Yeah."
"God. Okay," and now he sounded shaky. "Can't make it until very late."
Roger's hitting partner, a junior on the Swiss team, was retying his laces. The photographers were still snapping now and then, small mechanical pops and clicks and whirrs and flashes of light. Roger plucked at his shirt where it stuck to his chest. He was warmer than just the sun and humidity could account for.
"I have to go now," he said.
"I know. Later."
Roger went out to dinner with friends in town, but he'd left his appetite somewhere on the court. He cried off early and went back to his hotel room. It was empty, but then, it wasn't late yet. He had another shower and brushed his teeth, carefully flossing. He sat on the bed and read through a draft of a report on under-fifteens tennis that the ATP had sent him. At about eleven he took off his bathrobe and got under the sheets. It was easy to sleep; it always was.
He was woken by someone touching his ass; a warm hand right there, stroking, moving under the sheets. There was hot breath in his ear and a weight behind him, half pressing on his back.
"Hi, Roger," Rafa whispered in his ear, and then he kissed there, hand still moving across Roger's ass. He squeezed each side and spoke softly in Spanish, sounding reverent. "You woke."
Roger wasn't too sure about that part. He struggled past the shock of Rafa's hands to remember where he was, then he gasped as Rafa sighed in his ear and ran dry fingers down between his legs, pushing over his opening and skimming the back of his balls. His cock was caught down there between the bed and his body. He was getting hard in soft pulses.
"Sexy," Rafa said in his ear, still close, and he stretched out now against Roger's side.
Roger turned his head on the pillow to look at him. It was enough just to do that, caught in the dark and with his mind still slow. Rafa gazed back, a sharp sly half-smile on his face and that look in his eyes, like he knew exactly how good he was—God.
Rafa pillowed his head close to Roger's, inches apart, then he raised his fingers to his own mouth and sucked on two of them, slow deliberate licks so that Roger could see how they slid between his full lips, wet and gleaming, and how the tip of his tongue curled around them.
Roger craned forward to lick around them too, and their tongues met. Rafa made a sound, almost like he was struggling for air. He dragged his fingers from his mouth and reached down and pressed them into Roger's body; no waiting, no asking. When Rafa wanted something, he found a way to take it.
"Gonna fuck you," Rafa said, his words flowing across the pillow like a dream. He inched closer and sank his fingers in deeper, a slow and unbearable pressure. He licked his lips, and they gleamed as he smiled again, not sweet at all, more predatory. "Know how you like to be fucked. Yeah? Take what I want. Fuck you hard."
He screwed his fingers in until they wouldn't go in any further, then slid them out, leaving a wash of sensation and an aching emptiness. They fell apart, panting, and stared at each other. Rafa yanked his zip down and then pushed his jeans down and off, kicking them from one strong foot. His chest was bare already. His cock stuck up, darker than the skin of his stomach. He was reaching out for Roger with one arm.
"I don't think I'm even awake," Roger heard himself say, half mumbling.
"Don’t care," Rafa said, and rolled on top of him. "Gonna have you."
The curves and angles of his bare body were always such a shock. He wondered if Rafa got the same feeling. Maybe he did, because they were exploring each other now, with hands and mouths, wrapped tight together on the bed. Rafa's hip bones jutted against his, and Roger traced the curve of his ribs and the sinews of his neck and arms, the dip at the base of his spine and the narrowness there that flared out into shocking curves.
Rafa pushed his tongue into his mouth and kissed him so hard that Roger was pressed back into the pillows. A sharp incisor dug into his upper lip, as if kissing weren't enough and he wanted to bite as well. Roger pushed back, catching Rafa's tongue between his teeth, sucking on the tip. The sound Rafa made then seemed to travel up from his belly, almost too low to hear. He thrust his hips so the flushed dark and swollen head of his cock rubbed over Roger's stomach.
"I want you so much," Roger said. It shook him to say that, and heat crept over his face and his chest, but Rafa was nodding like it was all right to admit here, in the small space between them, between Rafa's mouth and his own. He wound his fingers into Rafa's hair and held on too hard, let his thighs spread to accommodate Rafa's weight. They both moaned. Rafa was biting down on a sharp smile, something hidden from most people.
"You-- Nnnh. Think about fucking you-- all day." He thrust again. "In my bed. On my boat. Before everyone so they know you're mine, no? Open for me."
Roger pulled him in with two hands around the back of his neck, ran his hands to Rafa's jaw and held him still. He knew his nails were digging in, probably leaving unexplainable marks. Rafa's eyes were stark in the dim light, black on white, lit with pale points. He was rubbing himself on Roger's body, twisting so lewdly it was hard to believe this was the same scrubbed clean and smiling man he saw in pictures. Rafa pushed his face into Roger's neck, nuzzling at the juncture of neck and shoulder, then he bit down there, hard, with his sharp white teeth.
"Ahh, no, don't," Roger said, but even to himself it was unconvincing. Rafa sucked at his skin and stroked his neck, fingers tangling in curls.
"You don't want to stop," he whispered to Roger, nuzzling between kisses. "Roll over."
On hands and knees, face pressed to his forearms, it was always the most frightening thing he'd ever done. Rafa was breathing hard behind him. He touched the back of Roger's thigh.
"I fetched what I needed," he said. His voice wasn't steady and there was a tight aching edge to it as he trailed his fingers upwards. "So we can do it... Rogi."
Roger reached back and caught his hand. "S'fine. Please."
"Yeah." His voice and breath was much nearer, hot on Roger's skin. "Oh, yeah."
Roger jumped at the flick of wet tongue on his balls, the sudden heat of damp breath, the press of Rafa's nose. Rafa groaned and put both hands on Roger's ass, spreading him as he licked back, further up, bold and long strokes until he pushed into Roger's body with hot wet stabbing thrusts of his tongue, thumbs pressing to open him more. Roger drew his knees up further and ducked his head. He shuddered.
"Oh, my god," he said. Mirka had done this once, but they'd never quite got back there, even though she knew he liked-- this sort of thing. His jaw felt too loose, and his skin tingled. The sheet was twisted tight in his fists, yanked loose from where it had been neatly tucked. Rafa was licking deep and fast, moaning between breaths, panting over him. He cupped a hand around Roger's balls and held on, just enough pressure.
"Fuck," Rafa said, pulling back, his voice thickened and rough. "Fuck. Now."
Roger made himself listen just to Rafa's breathing as Rafa squeezed out lube and pushed cold and wet fingers back into him. Roger groaned and turned to look over his shoulder. Rafa was kneeling up, staring down at own fingers sunk into Roger's body as he stroked his own cock. His hair hung around his face so that Roger only saw the dark straight lines of his brow and nose and lips. He looked so serious; intent and focussed like this was not sex but something far different.
He met Roger's eyes and the corner of his mouth lifted. "Rogelio."
Roger closed his eyes. Feli Lopez had tried calling him that last week and had got a blank stare. He hadn't tried again. "What?"
"Remember this next time we play."
He rubbed the head of his cock over Roger's hole, then shifted closer on his knees until the hard length of his thighs pressed against Roger's, so solid and real and there. He took in a shaky breath and sank a hand into Roger's hair, holding him tight and steady. This might still be a dream, Roger thought, arching his back. Rafa moaned and began to push in, hissing between his teeth.
"God, damn. You know how you look?" he said.
Roger shook his head. No, how would he know? "No."
Rafa lowered himself over Roger's back until they were fitted together body to body. Rafa's weight pressed him down into the bed and he felt the strain in his thighs and arms. The hand that wasn't in Roger's hair landed next to his on the bed, and Rafa's long fingers spread over his. His muscles tensed and then he fucked in hard with a tight grinding thrust, pressing his mouth to the edge of Roger's jaw. He wasn't going slow and wasn't leaving Roger time to adjust and get used to it. He was just there, inside and around and above him, panting for breath.
"You look like you won and lost, Rogelio. Yeah." His voice was shaking as he thrust again, hard so that his thighs and hips slapped against Roger's skin. "Oh. Yeah. So hot."
He curled his fingers around Roger's hand and dragged it up and back between his thighs, wrapping it around Roger's cock.
"Come on, Roger," he whispered. "Come."
"Rafa," he said, his breathing shortening the syllables to dim sounds. Drops of sweat landed on his back, cool touches on his skin. They were the only gentle thing about this. He squeezed himself tight and moaned
"You know how much I love to fuck you?" Rafa hissed, and pressed him down with his weight, driving in so hard that they both moved, and the bed shook, and the headboard slammed the wall. "That much."
Roger pressed his face into the bed and groaned. He'd lost all his thoughts somewhere; all he was aware of was Rafa inside him and on top of him. He knew he was shaking.
Rafa drove into Roger's body with short fast thrusts and groans. His hand loosened in Roger's hair and combed through, tugging his head back a little. Roger moved his hand faster, reaching the edge of his orgasm with shocking speed. He came over his hand, jerking his hips helplessly forward with each pulse of deep, sharp pleasure.
Rafa moaned low. "Oh, oh. God."
He pressed his wet mouth to Roger's neck and pushed his tongue against Roger's skin, panting hard. His hands found Roger's shoulders and pushed him down, so that Roger was pressed to wet sticky sheets. Rafa's thrusts grew slower, less steady, his soft moans grew higher until his body tensed and he shook for what seemed a long time.
They didn't roll apart, in the way that men were apparently supposed to. Roger had never wanted to; he liked to touch after sex, to be warm and held. He shut his eyes; this whole thing was probably such a terrible idea. Rafa's hair tickled his neck.
Rafa pulled out very carefully after a few minutes, but settled back onto Roger like Roger was the mattress, and Roger didn't say anything he could've said, like; we need to wash, or, do you realise how heavy you are. Rafa was stroking his fingers through Roger's hair, slow and lazy movements like he was tracing the curls with his fingertips. The sheets were drying onto Roger's stomach. Rafa began to kiss his shoulders and neck; soft shivering kisses that Roger could tell were being planted in lines spanning his back.
"I have to go soon," Rafa said, finally, speaking in between kisses. His voice was hoarse.
"You should."
Rafa's kisses stopped. He moved back a bit then and cool air swirled onto Roger's back, still wet with their sweat.
"Rogelio. If I could do it every night to you like that… "
Roger turned over and sat up. His body felt very odd. Rafa took his hand and kissed it, knuckle side up.
"Then what?" Roger said.
"… We'd be too tired to play tennis, no?"
"Maybe," Roger said, and earned himself a sweet smile. "It's possible."
"Wait, okay?"
Rafa went into the tiny ensuite. Roger sat on the edge of the bed and listened to the sound of Rafa rattling about in the cupboards, soft muttering, then the sounds of brushing teeth and mouth wash. Splashing water; small domestic sounds that he associated with sharing a room with Mirka. He stared at his feet. Something had to be done. Or not done. Rafa came back in and sat next to him and gave off a minty aroma.
"Oral hygiene," Rafa said, enunciating carefully. "Means you can kiss me goodbye, yes?"
He slid his arm round Roger's shoulders and leaned his head against Roger's. Roger took his hand and rubbed his thumb over Rafa's neatly cut nails.
"What if I don't want to?" Roger said. "Say goodbye, I mean. In the long term."
"The long term," Rafa repeated, like he needed a translator. He kissed the corner of Roger's mouth very softly. "I don't think about it," he said, staring at Roger, so close his eyes were just blurry shapes. "I can't."
Roger nodded. Maybe they could go on, just managing from month to month. Maybe. But there was nothing to be gained from thinking about it now. Rafa was waiting to be kissed.
Fandom: tennis rps
Pairing: Roger Federer/Rafa Nadal
Warnings: not worksafe, explicit m/m, blatant excuse to write porn
Notes: thank you to
emungere for beta reading!Summary: a shared madness
Roger could hear the applause and cheers over on the next court; Rafa's game. It was, in theory, impossible to tell which players the cheers were for, but he had a gut feeling that they were for Rafa.
He waved at the crowd in his own court, not quite managing a smile. Walking down the murky, fluorescent-lit, concrete ramp back into the changing area, he saw Rafa ahead. He was moving slowly and with his head down.
They met hours later. Rafa had texted him with three possible times and the number of his room. Roger made his excuses-- he was good at making them-- and slipped away. He took a taxi across town, nails dug into his palms all the way. His stomach was a mess of pre-match nerves and excitement.
It didn't take long to get there. The lobby was quiet and the blue-coated concierge waved him up with a smile. He took the stairs instead of the elevator, two at a time, long strides that made his heart jump in double time as he got to the third floor. He knew how to work off his nervous energy, unlike Rafa.
Rafa opened the door, swinging it back fast like he expected an attack.
"Roger," he said, his fingers curling around the door jamb. "You're here."
"Hey, I'm glad I could make it," Roger said, like this was any normal visit.
Rafa's smile widened exponentially as they looked at each other, till it was nearly too bright to deal with. If anyone was listening, what would they think of this entirely normal and brief exchange? Nothing, of course. They were two professionals, they had a lot in common, lots to discuss. It was nothing unusual.
The instant the door clunked shut behind them, Rafa pressed up against him, in his space, hot and hard and undeniably there.
"Hi," he said, breathing toothpaste-scented breath against Roger's cheek. He yanked Roger's shirt out of his trousers and pushed his hands up over Roger's ribs. "How was it all?"
"Ah, oh. Okay," Roger said. "You know. Just okay."
"Yeah."
He was real and solid, all warm smooth skin and the scent of shampoo and soap. He wound his arms around Roger's waist and pressed his lips to the side of his mouth, opening so that his teeth scraped over Roger's jaw and the tip of his tongue traced over skin. He was breathing too fast and Roger could feel the slight tremble of his whole body, like Rafa was wound up tight and waiting to let go.
"So happy you came, Roger" Rafa said. He kissed the corner of Roger's mouth. Through the thin material of his shorts, his erection was hot and obvious.
Someone knocked at the door, and they froze, staring. Rafa shook his head. The knock came again.
"Fuck," Rafa mumbled. The cursing was rare. "Wait."
It turned out to be the hotel cleaning service, wanting to know if he wanted his waste bins emptied. Roger listened to him explaining, slow and polite and mostly hidden behind the door, that he did not. He watched Rafa's ass and legs and thought about how much he wanted to push his hand down the back of Rafa's shorts and just touch. But they weren't going to do that, not right now. He spent the time unbuttoning his shirt and taking off his shoes and socks.
Rafa closed the door and came back to him, his eyes soft now and pleading.
"Sorry," Rafa said. "Sorry."
He took one of Roger's hands and kissed the knuckles. Roger was still not even a little used to the things he did, the small and devastating gestures; the way he moved sometimes in bed, with raw force and sexuality, the sudden brilliant sweetness of his smile.
Roger grabbed him around the waist and held him still and tight. It shouldn't be easy to do that to a man like Rafa, but it was, because Rafa let him. Rafa tensed and clung on to Roger's shoulders hard, fingertips digging in to the point of pain. He pushed a hard thigh between Roger's legs and twisted his hips.
"You want to suck me," Roger said, against his mouth. He tangled his fingers in Rafa's hair and eased his head gently backwards. He watched the stretch of his throat and the way it moved when Rafa swallowed. "Don't you?"
Rafa only nodded. His eyes glittered under his lashes. The first time they'd done this, ever, they'd been somewhere very like this, alone together for the first time in months, and Rafa just had not looked away from his eyes, and a little later he'd slid to his knees and opened his mouth. It still made Roger's stomach squeeze up tight, thinking about that. Rafa had known what he wanted, had apparently been thinking about it for some time, which was more than Roger had managed to do.
Rafa was silent as Roger pushed him down. The skin of his shoulders was impossibly smooth, like satin. He smoothed Rafa's hair back over his shoulders and watched him ease his shorts down until they were around his knees. His cock jutted up from dark hair, and the tops of his thighs were much paler than the rest of him. He stroked himself while Roger watched.
Some part of Rafa needed this, he thought, the same way that a part of Roger wanted Rafa Nadal on his knees. He stared down at Rafa's closed eyes and damp slick mouth, the powerful line of his shoulders and curve of muscle in his spread thighs. He cupped a hand over the back of Rafa's neck and stroked up, so that Rafa moaned again and pressed his face to Roger's stomach, blind and open-mouthed. He was licking out with his tongue to reach the shaft of Roger's cock. No one else got to see him like this.
No one got to see Roger like this, either. Not exactly like this.
He curled his fingers into Rafa's hair and slid in, letting him suck. He fucked his mouth, but only shallowly, because Rafa still couldn't take much without it hurting him. Just enough to make Rafa gaze up at him with lashes half closed and that look in his eyes, an indescribable aching that made Roger want to not be careful about anything.
Rafa pulled back to swallow and then slid his lips tight again around the head of Roger's cock. He had one hand around Roger's shaft and his other on his own erection. Roger swallowed and curled his toes into the carpet. He closed his eyes for several moments; he wished he could lean somewhere. Rafa's hair was like silk, still damp from his shower.
"Rafa," he said. Rafa made a sound in response and edged closer on his knees. "You want more?" Roger asked, pushing a strand of hair away from Rafa's cheek.
Rafa leaned against his thighs, freeing his mouth. Roger cupped his cheek and stroked along his jaw to the edge of his mouth. The skin there was soft and wet with spit. He slid his thumb over it, into Rafa's mouth.
"I can try," he whispered, stroking the backs of Roger's legs, from his calves to the tops of his thighs. His words became just heated breath on Roger's skin, soft and blurring. "For you. I will. For you."
Roger slid back into his mouth too quickly. Rafa moved fast; jagged edge of teeth, raw and desperate. He curled finger and thumb around the base of Roger's cock again and held him tight. Looking down, Roger saw the elongated line of his jaw, stretched wide, and the wet gleam of his cock as it slid between his lips.
"Oh," Roger gasped. "I'm coming," he said, and heard Rafa's low and guttural moan, a bass note that hit him in his stomach, and he wanted to drag Rafa to the bed and fuck him there, pressed chest to back, cock buried deep in his body. He wanted to listen to Rafa scream from that. "I'm coming."
Rafa tilted his chin up and looked, hand tightening, the head of Roger's cock just caught between his lips so Roger could see it when he came, milky fluid spilling into his mouth, pale smears against the red flush of his lips. His eyes were rimmed with salt water, one track running down to his top lip.
Roger curled over and pressed both palms to his back. Rafa was trembling. Roger kissed his temple and the side of his jaw and stroked through his hair, dragging his fingers across Rafa's scalp. His skin was hot. There were sticky trails of semen on his thighs, where he'd made himself come, and the scent of it was thick in the air.
"What would you do if people saw you like this?" Roger said. He hadn't meant to ask that question. Neither of them needed to hear it. Rafa leaned on him and pressed his face to Roger's hip.
"Don't know," Rafa said, sounding as if he were making his syllables carefully. "Maybe it would be bad. Maybe be a good thing."
Roger knelt. Rafa's mouth was a mess, and strands of brown hair were stuck across his cheek, the tips sticky and pointed. "You don't mean that," Roger said.
"It scare you?" asked Rafa, quietly. He leaned forward, so that he was able to lay his head on Roger's shoulder. His voice got all muffled and his breath blew in warm puffs on Roger's arm. It felt like he was rubbing his nose on Roger's skin. "'Cause it scares me."
Roger ran his fingers down over the curve of Rafa's spine, feeling the muscles on either side jump and shift under his hand as Rafa leaned more.
The room had gone dark since Roger had arrived. They needed to turn a light on, but Roger didn't want to move, and perhaps it was better not to have this illuminated. He kissed the side of Rafa's forehead, just at the place where skin met hair. The carpet was getting hard on his knees, and it definitely must be hard on Rafa's.
"Am I going to see you again soon?" Roger said. They never asked things like this, ever. There was little point, as neither of them could predict very far in advance when a time and a place would be right.
Rafa sighed. He curled a hand around Roger's upper arm. "How about every day?"
"Rafa—"
"I know. Shh. Is fine. Am being dumb."
They stayed like that a while longer, until Roger's phone trilled. It was in the pocket of his trousers, and they were in a small crumpled pool by the door. Rafa sat back on his heels. His face was still flushed.
"I have to go back," Roger said. He ran his palm up over Rafa's shoulder and into his hair.
"Not very long, tonight, no?"
His lips were very soft and still damp when Roger kissed him. Part way through it, his phone stopped, and then started again. Rafa eased him away with two hands on his chest, and pushed him towards the phone.
"Need to answer it."
Sitting naked on the floor of Rafa's room, watching Rafa pull on his shorts, he spoke to his agent and then to his sister. Rafa switched on the lights. He brought Roger a bottle of water and then sat on the end of the couch and stared at him, like Roger was a TV set showing something puzzling.
Roger finally snapped his phone shut and stood. His shirt and trousers were hopelessly wrinkled as he began to pull them on. "French GQ wants to do an interview. Also, my sister's cat has gone missing."
"Oh."
Roger looked up to see that Rafa was watching him closely, a dark steady gaze. He stopped, clutching his shirt.
"I'm sorry, Rafa," he said.
"Don't be," Rafa said, spreading his hands. "It is normal, all this. Don't worry. Is just our lifes"
At the door, Rafa kissed him, his hands lightly on Roger's shoulders, not holding him there, more like he just wanted to touch. He pressed small soft kisses to Roger's mouth until Roger pulled him close. Rafa emitted a small breathy laugh.
"You're so pretty," Rafa said. They were nose to nose. Rafa put a hand on the small of Roger's back and stuck his fingertips under Roger's waistband.
"Men aren't pretty," Roger said.
"For a guy, you are. Hey, Roger?"
"What?"
Rafa tightened his hands on Roger's body. "You shouldn't ever worry."
He left half an hour later than he was meant to. Toni Nadal walked into the lobby as Roger stepped from the elevator. Toni smiled and frowned, both at the same time.
"Roger. Hi, what are you doing here?"
"Oh, nothing much. Rafa wanted to discuss—Ah, just a few things. I had some free time, so… " He didn't have the will to think of an excuse, or further lies. Toni nodded though, like it was all fine.
"I'm glad you're friends," Toni said. "He looks up to you."
"Well then. It's a mutual thing," Roger said.
He said goodbye and strode out through the doors, acting the part of Roger Federer, tennis star, who was not someone who had unsuitable sex with, well, perhaps the most unsuitable person he could've chosen.
Roger walked to his car and unlocked it and tried to make himself feel worse about it all, but it was very hard. He could still smell Rafa on his hands and on his clothes and could still sense the warmth of his skin and hair, like a ghost filling his palms.
***
Rafa didn't want to wait, he said, not even a day.
He told Roger that in a brief phone call, two nights before the Master's Cup first round. Roger had answered it in a corner of the practice court, turning away from the small crowd there.
"There are twenty five photographers watching me," he told Rafa. He closed his eyes against the glare of light on the court. "This is crazy."
"I don't want the wait," Rafa said. His tone was sharp; the Rafa who got what he wanted. "Please. Sorry. It's a long time. She's not here, is she? I know it."
Roger drew the toe of his left tennis shoe along the baseline. Mirka had flown back home. She was too tired to stay, she'd said. She'd never said that before and Roger was still not thinking about what it meant. "I'll drop you my spare key." He'd been carrying the spare key for days, avoiding thinking about why. He'd been avoiding lots of things, but this wasn't possible now. "What locker number?"
"25. Tonight?"
"Yeah."
"God. Okay," and now he sounded shaky. "Can't make it until very late."
Roger's hitting partner, a junior on the Swiss team, was retying his laces. The photographers were still snapping now and then, small mechanical pops and clicks and whirrs and flashes of light. Roger plucked at his shirt where it stuck to his chest. He was warmer than just the sun and humidity could account for.
"I have to go now," he said.
"I know. Later."
Roger went out to dinner with friends in town, but he'd left his appetite somewhere on the court. He cried off early and went back to his hotel room. It was empty, but then, it wasn't late yet. He had another shower and brushed his teeth, carefully flossing. He sat on the bed and read through a draft of a report on under-fifteens tennis that the ATP had sent him. At about eleven he took off his bathrobe and got under the sheets. It was easy to sleep; it always was.
He was woken by someone touching his ass; a warm hand right there, stroking, moving under the sheets. There was hot breath in his ear and a weight behind him, half pressing on his back.
"Hi, Roger," Rafa whispered in his ear, and then he kissed there, hand still moving across Roger's ass. He squeezed each side and spoke softly in Spanish, sounding reverent. "You woke."
Roger wasn't too sure about that part. He struggled past the shock of Rafa's hands to remember where he was, then he gasped as Rafa sighed in his ear and ran dry fingers down between his legs, pushing over his opening and skimming the back of his balls. His cock was caught down there between the bed and his body. He was getting hard in soft pulses.
"Sexy," Rafa said in his ear, still close, and he stretched out now against Roger's side.
Roger turned his head on the pillow to look at him. It was enough just to do that, caught in the dark and with his mind still slow. Rafa gazed back, a sharp sly half-smile on his face and that look in his eyes, like he knew exactly how good he was—God.
Rafa pillowed his head close to Roger's, inches apart, then he raised his fingers to his own mouth and sucked on two of them, slow deliberate licks so that Roger could see how they slid between his full lips, wet and gleaming, and how the tip of his tongue curled around them.
Roger craned forward to lick around them too, and their tongues met. Rafa made a sound, almost like he was struggling for air. He dragged his fingers from his mouth and reached down and pressed them into Roger's body; no waiting, no asking. When Rafa wanted something, he found a way to take it.
"Gonna fuck you," Rafa said, his words flowing across the pillow like a dream. He inched closer and sank his fingers in deeper, a slow and unbearable pressure. He licked his lips, and they gleamed as he smiled again, not sweet at all, more predatory. "Know how you like to be fucked. Yeah? Take what I want. Fuck you hard."
He screwed his fingers in until they wouldn't go in any further, then slid them out, leaving a wash of sensation and an aching emptiness. They fell apart, panting, and stared at each other. Rafa yanked his zip down and then pushed his jeans down and off, kicking them from one strong foot. His chest was bare already. His cock stuck up, darker than the skin of his stomach. He was reaching out for Roger with one arm.
"I don't think I'm even awake," Roger heard himself say, half mumbling.
"Don’t care," Rafa said, and rolled on top of him. "Gonna have you."
The curves and angles of his bare body were always such a shock. He wondered if Rafa got the same feeling. Maybe he did, because they were exploring each other now, with hands and mouths, wrapped tight together on the bed. Rafa's hip bones jutted against his, and Roger traced the curve of his ribs and the sinews of his neck and arms, the dip at the base of his spine and the narrowness there that flared out into shocking curves.
Rafa pushed his tongue into his mouth and kissed him so hard that Roger was pressed back into the pillows. A sharp incisor dug into his upper lip, as if kissing weren't enough and he wanted to bite as well. Roger pushed back, catching Rafa's tongue between his teeth, sucking on the tip. The sound Rafa made then seemed to travel up from his belly, almost too low to hear. He thrust his hips so the flushed dark and swollen head of his cock rubbed over Roger's stomach.
"I want you so much," Roger said. It shook him to say that, and heat crept over his face and his chest, but Rafa was nodding like it was all right to admit here, in the small space between them, between Rafa's mouth and his own. He wound his fingers into Rafa's hair and held on too hard, let his thighs spread to accommodate Rafa's weight. They both moaned. Rafa was biting down on a sharp smile, something hidden from most people.
"You-- Nnnh. Think about fucking you-- all day." He thrust again. "In my bed. On my boat. Before everyone so they know you're mine, no? Open for me."
Roger pulled him in with two hands around the back of his neck, ran his hands to Rafa's jaw and held him still. He knew his nails were digging in, probably leaving unexplainable marks. Rafa's eyes were stark in the dim light, black on white, lit with pale points. He was rubbing himself on Roger's body, twisting so lewdly it was hard to believe this was the same scrubbed clean and smiling man he saw in pictures. Rafa pushed his face into Roger's neck, nuzzling at the juncture of neck and shoulder, then he bit down there, hard, with his sharp white teeth.
"Ahh, no, don't," Roger said, but even to himself it was unconvincing. Rafa sucked at his skin and stroked his neck, fingers tangling in curls.
"You don't want to stop," he whispered to Roger, nuzzling between kisses. "Roll over."
On hands and knees, face pressed to his forearms, it was always the most frightening thing he'd ever done. Rafa was breathing hard behind him. He touched the back of Roger's thigh.
"I fetched what I needed," he said. His voice wasn't steady and there was a tight aching edge to it as he trailed his fingers upwards. "So we can do it... Rogi."
Roger reached back and caught his hand. "S'fine. Please."
"Yeah." His voice and breath was much nearer, hot on Roger's skin. "Oh, yeah."
Roger jumped at the flick of wet tongue on his balls, the sudden heat of damp breath, the press of Rafa's nose. Rafa groaned and put both hands on Roger's ass, spreading him as he licked back, further up, bold and long strokes until he pushed into Roger's body with hot wet stabbing thrusts of his tongue, thumbs pressing to open him more. Roger drew his knees up further and ducked his head. He shuddered.
"Oh, my god," he said. Mirka had done this once, but they'd never quite got back there, even though she knew he liked-- this sort of thing. His jaw felt too loose, and his skin tingled. The sheet was twisted tight in his fists, yanked loose from where it had been neatly tucked. Rafa was licking deep and fast, moaning between breaths, panting over him. He cupped a hand around Roger's balls and held on, just enough pressure.
"Fuck," Rafa said, pulling back, his voice thickened and rough. "Fuck. Now."
Roger made himself listen just to Rafa's breathing as Rafa squeezed out lube and pushed cold and wet fingers back into him. Roger groaned and turned to look over his shoulder. Rafa was kneeling up, staring down at own fingers sunk into Roger's body as he stroked his own cock. His hair hung around his face so that Roger only saw the dark straight lines of his brow and nose and lips. He looked so serious; intent and focussed like this was not sex but something far different.
He met Roger's eyes and the corner of his mouth lifted. "Rogelio."
Roger closed his eyes. Feli Lopez had tried calling him that last week and had got a blank stare. He hadn't tried again. "What?"
"Remember this next time we play."
He rubbed the head of his cock over Roger's hole, then shifted closer on his knees until the hard length of his thighs pressed against Roger's, so solid and real and there. He took in a shaky breath and sank a hand into Roger's hair, holding him tight and steady. This might still be a dream, Roger thought, arching his back. Rafa moaned and began to push in, hissing between his teeth.
"God, damn. You know how you look?" he said.
Roger shook his head. No, how would he know? "No."
Rafa lowered himself over Roger's back until they were fitted together body to body. Rafa's weight pressed him down into the bed and he felt the strain in his thighs and arms. The hand that wasn't in Roger's hair landed next to his on the bed, and Rafa's long fingers spread over his. His muscles tensed and then he fucked in hard with a tight grinding thrust, pressing his mouth to the edge of Roger's jaw. He wasn't going slow and wasn't leaving Roger time to adjust and get used to it. He was just there, inside and around and above him, panting for breath.
"You look like you won and lost, Rogelio. Yeah." His voice was shaking as he thrust again, hard so that his thighs and hips slapped against Roger's skin. "Oh. Yeah. So hot."
He curled his fingers around Roger's hand and dragged it up and back between his thighs, wrapping it around Roger's cock.
"Come on, Roger," he whispered. "Come."
"Rafa," he said, his breathing shortening the syllables to dim sounds. Drops of sweat landed on his back, cool touches on his skin. They were the only gentle thing about this. He squeezed himself tight and moaned
"You know how much I love to fuck you?" Rafa hissed, and pressed him down with his weight, driving in so hard that they both moved, and the bed shook, and the headboard slammed the wall. "That much."
Roger pressed his face into the bed and groaned. He'd lost all his thoughts somewhere; all he was aware of was Rafa inside him and on top of him. He knew he was shaking.
Rafa drove into Roger's body with short fast thrusts and groans. His hand loosened in Roger's hair and combed through, tugging his head back a little. Roger moved his hand faster, reaching the edge of his orgasm with shocking speed. He came over his hand, jerking his hips helplessly forward with each pulse of deep, sharp pleasure.
Rafa moaned low. "Oh, oh. God."
He pressed his wet mouth to Roger's neck and pushed his tongue against Roger's skin, panting hard. His hands found Roger's shoulders and pushed him down, so that Roger was pressed to wet sticky sheets. Rafa's thrusts grew slower, less steady, his soft moans grew higher until his body tensed and he shook for what seemed a long time.
They didn't roll apart, in the way that men were apparently supposed to. Roger had never wanted to; he liked to touch after sex, to be warm and held. He shut his eyes; this whole thing was probably such a terrible idea. Rafa's hair tickled his neck.
Rafa pulled out very carefully after a few minutes, but settled back onto Roger like Roger was the mattress, and Roger didn't say anything he could've said, like; we need to wash, or, do you realise how heavy you are. Rafa was stroking his fingers through Roger's hair, slow and lazy movements like he was tracing the curls with his fingertips. The sheets were drying onto Roger's stomach. Rafa began to kiss his shoulders and neck; soft shivering kisses that Roger could tell were being planted in lines spanning his back.
"I have to go soon," Rafa said, finally, speaking in between kisses. His voice was hoarse.
"You should."
Rafa's kisses stopped. He moved back a bit then and cool air swirled onto Roger's back, still wet with their sweat.
"Rogelio. If I could do it every night to you like that… "
Roger turned over and sat up. His body felt very odd. Rafa took his hand and kissed it, knuckle side up.
"Then what?" Roger said.
"… We'd be too tired to play tennis, no?"
"Maybe," Roger said, and earned himself a sweet smile. "It's possible."
"Wait, okay?"
Rafa went into the tiny ensuite. Roger sat on the edge of the bed and listened to the sound of Rafa rattling about in the cupboards, soft muttering, then the sounds of brushing teeth and mouth wash. Splashing water; small domestic sounds that he associated with sharing a room with Mirka. He stared at his feet. Something had to be done. Or not done. Rafa came back in and sat next to him and gave off a minty aroma.
"Oral hygiene," Rafa said, enunciating carefully. "Means you can kiss me goodbye, yes?"
He slid his arm round Roger's shoulders and leaned his head against Roger's. Roger took his hand and rubbed his thumb over Rafa's neatly cut nails.
"What if I don't want to?" Roger said. "Say goodbye, I mean. In the long term."
"The long term," Rafa repeated, like he needed a translator. He kissed the corner of Roger's mouth very softly. "I don't think about it," he said, staring at Roger, so close his eyes were just blurry shapes. "I can't."
Roger nodded. Maybe they could go on, just managing from month to month. Maybe. But there was nothing to be gained from thinking about it now. Rafa was waiting to be kissed.
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Date: 2008-08-11 08:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-21 04:11 pm (UTC)