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louiseluxTitle: All we ever have is now
Pairing: Roger/Rafa
Rating: g
Notes: a short fic that I wrote a little while ago and then tucked away in my box of stories I am not sure about. Thank you![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
emungere for beta and also for prodding me to post it.
Summary: they are at playing at Wimbledon again
The summer night was short, so they'd waited until after midnight to come into the grounds. There were security guards, somewhere, but Roger was almost sure they wouldn't see them. Above them on the wall of the court the red eye of a camera blinked.
Behind him Rafa was silent, moving uneasily from foot to foot.
"It's okay," Roger said. "We won't be bothered."
"Is trespassing," Rafa hissed.
"This is like our spiritual home, we can't trespass."
"Is still not right."
"It's fine." He turned to Rafa and took his hand.
Rafa clung to it, then pulled it to his chest with both hands and held it against his heart.
"It's been long time since we last played," he said. His voice was so soft and so dear.
"It's easy to forget how long it's been."
Rafa nodded, his gaze searching Roger's face. Centre Court was perfectly still in the moonlight, lit with silver from a moon that was round-faced and fat. This late in the tournament, the evening before the last Sunday, the grass at the baseline was worn to bald dirt by thousands of straining footfalls. Rafa's fingers linked with his as they stepped onto the grass together. His hands were as warm as the midsummer air.
Someone had left a basket of balls by the umpire's chair, and there were two racquets leaning against it. The white line of the net glowed, easily bright enough to see.
"Let's have a match," Roger said.
"Can we, Roger? It seems wrong."
"Out of anyone, we should be allowed to play, right?"
Rafa's smile grew until it was as brilliant as the moonlight. "Yeah?" He crowded close to Roger's side, close enough that they stood shoulder to shoulder. Rafa lifted his chin in a little defiant movement. His words were as gentle as his smile. "Then I take you to Roland Garros next year, no?"
Their steps were so light on the grass, hardly there at all. The ball glowed in Rafa's hand, then it was flying up and at him, pale like a small furry imitation of the moon. Roger caught it on the sweet spot and flung it back.
"I remember every point I played," Rafa said. His voice floated over the net.
"From every match?"
"Every match against you."
The moon slid down the sky, and the court began to darken. Rafa was laughing. His hair was flung back, and Roger stopped. This was what he'd lived for. Rafa was composed of shadows and light, a beautiful thing.
No one came to stop them, because who could? The moon disappeared and the dawn came, and they faded away, still playing.
Pairing: Roger/Rafa
Rating: g
Notes: a short fic that I wrote a little while ago and then tucked away in my box of stories I am not sure about. Thank you
emungere for beta and also for prodding me to post it.Summary: they are at playing at Wimbledon again
The summer night was short, so they'd waited until after midnight to come into the grounds. There were security guards, somewhere, but Roger was almost sure they wouldn't see them. Above them on the wall of the court the red eye of a camera blinked.
Behind him Rafa was silent, moving uneasily from foot to foot.
"It's okay," Roger said. "We won't be bothered."
"Is trespassing," Rafa hissed.
"This is like our spiritual home, we can't trespass."
"Is still not right."
"It's fine." He turned to Rafa and took his hand.
Rafa clung to it, then pulled it to his chest with both hands and held it against his heart.
"It's been long time since we last played," he said. His voice was so soft and so dear.
"It's easy to forget how long it's been."
Rafa nodded, his gaze searching Roger's face. Centre Court was perfectly still in the moonlight, lit with silver from a moon that was round-faced and fat. This late in the tournament, the evening before the last Sunday, the grass at the baseline was worn to bald dirt by thousands of straining footfalls. Rafa's fingers linked with his as they stepped onto the grass together. His hands were as warm as the midsummer air.
Someone had left a basket of balls by the umpire's chair, and there were two racquets leaning against it. The white line of the net glowed, easily bright enough to see.
"Let's have a match," Roger said.
"Can we, Roger? It seems wrong."
"Out of anyone, we should be allowed to play, right?"
Rafa's smile grew until it was as brilliant as the moonlight. "Yeah?" He crowded close to Roger's side, close enough that they stood shoulder to shoulder. Rafa lifted his chin in a little defiant movement. His words were as gentle as his smile. "Then I take you to Roland Garros next year, no?"
Their steps were so light on the grass, hardly there at all. The ball glowed in Rafa's hand, then it was flying up and at him, pale like a small furry imitation of the moon. Roger caught it on the sweet spot and flung it back.
"I remember every point I played," Rafa said. His voice floated over the net.
"From every match?"
"Every match against you."
The moon slid down the sky, and the court began to darken. Rafa was laughing. His hair was flung back, and Roger stopped. This was what he'd lived for. Rafa was composed of shadows and light, a beautiful thing.
No one came to stop them, because who could? The moon disappeared and the dawn came, and they faded away, still playing.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-12-10 03:48 pm (UTC)~ loves ~
I came to your lj this morning to read Under Your Skin for the billionth time. And instead, look what I found!
~ insert contented sigh ~
no subject
Date: 2008-12-15 01:37 pm (UTC)