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louiseluxI finished my goddamn fic! Rejoice.
Title: Greatest of All Time
Author:louiselux
Pairing: Roger/Rafa
Rating: NC 17
Warnings: nsfw, pwp, also infidelity
Word count: 4k
Author notes: thanks very much toemungere and buckle_berry for their inspiration, advice and comma fixing
Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction
Summary: In the future maybe Rafa will be GOAT, but perhaps Roger likes it that way.
You can either read it below, or read at AO3, or atfedal_slash: here
Once the ceremony is under way, Rafa's sure he's not going to cry. He cried into his towel as he sat in his chair (the towel has since vanished) and now he's strung out and trembling. His quads are aching from three hours of sprinting. His feet are like two lumps of wet clay. Going over to the podium, where they are all lined up waiting, he's sure he's not walking straight. He gazes at Toni and his parents and his sister, aware only of their smiles, then fixes on the one face he didn't expect to see today, high up on the podium and waiting for him; Roger.
There are several speeches before he has to give his own. Roger gives him the trophy, shakes his hand, then wraps an arm around his neck and hugs him. It's so good. Rafa wants to lean on him for a long time. Roger must understand his need because he stays like that for a few seconds longer than he should.
"Well done, Rafa," Roger says in his ear.
"I don't know what to say," he tells the New York crowd. His thoughts are blank and whited out. In the end it doesn't matter and he hardly has to do more than stumble through his thank yous. The noise from the fans makes him sway.
The rest of the day happens all around him, a whirlwind and he's the eye. He doesn't wake up properly until the evening, when he gets his new suit on, goes for dinner with what seems like 300 people, and there is Roger at his table. They smile at one another, but there's no time to speak. Rafa's mum chats Roger up relentlessly. Rafa tries not to pay attention.
"You don't …mind?" he can hear her saying, in careful way.
"No, no," Roger says, sounding genuinely shocked. "You mean about him having more than me? No."
A little ache seems to untangle itself from Rafa's heart. He tries so hard not to look, but he does, and Roger is watching him, probably because he knew Rafa was listening. Roger smiles, brief and suggestive. Rafa stares down at his fillet of sea bass, heart thumping. He should be hungry. Ravenous, in fact, but now he only wants one thing, and it's sitting across the table from him talking to his mother.
~*~*~
Roger smells like something citrus and sharp. His skin is so warm. Rafa leans against him, face pressed to his neck.
"I cannot believe today," he says. "You know how it all feels like a dream?"
"I know what you mean," Roger says, soothingly. He strokes Rafa's hair, strong fingers and smooth nails against Rafa's scalp. "I know exactly. You never forget. Are you tired?" Roger says, slipping an arm round his waist. "Do you want to sleep?"
Rafa snorts against his neck and bites the skin there gently. He slides his hands down to Roger's waist and pulls Roger's crisp, pale blue shirt from his trousers. Underneath there is warm perfect skin. "Yes. But no. I haven't seen you for months. No sleep."
Roger pulls back and gazes at him, hands tightening on him. He's let his hair grow longer and strands of dark brown hair are in his eyes. His eyes, that have gone very dark and focused. "God. You're hot."
"Yes? Yes. Come on." Rafa tows him to the bed and pushes him down.
Roger giggles at being man-handled, flopping back on the bed in a way that should be clumsy in a tall thirty-something man but instead is full of grace. "You're the tough guy, huh? Now you're the goat."
Rafa pauses, breath sticking in his throat. But it's just a joke. He gathers himself together. "Yeah? So. You should give me a blowjob. I deserve it, no?" He kneels on the bed, bends down and kisses him, and catches the beginning of a moan in Roger's throat. His cock begins to thicken just from the sound.
"Okay," Roger says, quite breathlessly, and he's pulling open Rafa's trousers before Rafa can even think. His mouth is a shock; he's pitching forward, pushing Rafa back and sliding his mouth down around Rafa's cock so quickly that Rafa gasps.
"Oh," Rafa says, staring down. Roger has bent awkwardly to reach him, kneeling on the bed and almost bent double, hands on Rafa's waist to support himself, his thumbs digging into Rafa's hips. Rafa strokes his hair and watches, breathing hard at the lick of Roger's tongue along his cock. "I'm going to come if you don't stop," he says. He tightens his hands on Roger's shoulders and pushes. "Roger."
They undress still kneeling on the bed, awkwardly wriggling. The bed is old, like the hotel. Everything is solid, opulent and tasteful. The headboard is dark wood carved with leaves and it has four thick wooden bed posts.
"Look at the goat now," Roger says, when they are naked. His voice isn't steady. He pushes Rafa backwards so they are both lying down.
"Huh?" Rafa says, gazing. "But I am looking."
Rafa slides his palm over Roger's ass. They rock together.
"I mean look at you," Roger clarifies.
Rafa shakes his head. "No, no. Wrong."
He cups Roger's jaw in his hand and raises his head to kiss him, as Roger settles between his thighs. He spreads his legs wide, knees pulling up and back, and Roger's hand slides immediately between his legs, touching him. There's a tube of lubricant on the bedside table, waiting. Roger grabs it and puts some on his fingertip.
"You're amazing," Roger says, as he pushes one long slick finger into him. Rafa breathes out hard and closes his eyes. "Everyone was thinking that today." A slow twist. "Everyone."
Rafa kisses him again to shut him up. He can't deal with words, with Roger thinking Rafa's the best or the greatest ever, or whatever. He's not. Roger is. He hitches his knee back, rocking his hips to get more touch inside him.
"You're the greatest," Roger says, smiling now. He catches Rafa's lower lip between his teeth, a soft bite that makes Rafa shiver. He feels his nipples harden.
"No, you're wrong... "
"You are, man. Better than me." He presses with his finger deep inside. Rafa can feel it everywhere. Roger hangs over him, staring down, completely unreadable. "It gets me hot," he says.
Rafa can't think of himself like this, as better. Roger presses closer, rubbing the smooth head of his cock along Rafa's upper thigh, and Rafa can't think at all. He arches to take more of Roger's finger inside him, slick and long, but he needs to tell Roger he's wrong. He slides his palm down along Roger's side, against muscle still hard like steel. "No," he says, but Roger ignores him, sliding his tongue between Rafa's lips.
The way Roger smells really gets to Rafa, the smell of cologne but also that sharp note of sex right underneath it. Rafa remembers it from locker rooms, from squeezing Roger's neck when they embraced at the net after some final or other.
"God," he groans as Roger slowly works a second finger in alongside the first. He loves the stretch, right on the edge of pain. "Fuck me."
"They'll write your name first, in those lists," Roger tells him, letting the damp head of his cock smear along Rafa's skin. "Rafael Nadal, the greatest of all time." Both fingers are deep inside. Rafa feels it in his cock, his balls, and he gasps as Roger's teeth close gently around the lobe of his ear. "The best," Roger murmurs, and starts sucking a bruise onto Rafa's neck.
He tangles his hands in Roger's hair. It's damp at his neck, always a mark of how much Roger's turned on. His weight is half on Rafa, across Rafa's shoulder and hip, pinning him in place as he rubs himself in slow thrusts against Rafa's leg.
"How about I get to fuck the greatest of all time?" he tells Rafa. His voice is raw and shaky. His eyes are black. He's not joking. Roger means every word. It hits Rafa in his midriff. "How do you want it? On your back?" Roger says as he prepares himself, spreading lube on his cock in slow strokes. "Or on your knees?"
"Back," he chokes out.
Then Roger is all over him. He cradles the back of Rafa's head, fucking into his mouth with his tongue. He pushes Rafa's thigh up and back and moves on top of him, his cock dragging over Rafa's hole, nudging inside him the tiniest bit. Rafa forgets he wasn't going to beg, like he always forgets.
"Oh, please. Please," Rafa says before Roger swamps his words with his mouth.
It's been months since they last fucked and months since Rafa has done more than put a finger inside himself, but he doesn't care about the sudden ache and the overfull feeling as roger pushes into him. He stares into Roger's eyes, and Roger stares straight back, eating him up. Their foreheads touch, their heated breath swirling between them.
"You'll always be better than me, now," Roger says. His voice is rough and way too honest.
"No," Rafa says.
"Don't lie," Roger says, with two powerful thrusts that make Rafa almost cry out and scrabble for Roger's hips. He grinds in deep, twisting, clever with his hips and his body. Then he palms Rafa's cock and begins to stroke it, his hand still sticky with lube. "Always. God, you feel so fucking good."
Rafa closes his eyes and turns his head to the side. Roger has never spoken to him like this before. Rafa thinks it might change everything. "I'm gonna come in about a second," he whispers.
A drop of sweat lands on Rafa's face. Roger doesn't slow down. He kisses Rafa's face and neck, hungry sounds leaking from his throat, fucking him in hard strokes that are starting to become unsteady. The headboard is starting to bang against the wall. Roger's hand is so perfect; hot and tight and slippery. Rafa arches up off the bed, head tipped back, mouth open, the whole day funnelling down to this one moment. He wraps his arms around Roger's neck and digs his nails into Roger's back as he starts to come.
"Better than me, Rafa," Roger pants, and he grinds in once more, rubbing his thumb hard around the head of Rafa's cock. He fucks him in fast strokes as Rafa come all over his stomach, the pleasure sharp and piercing. He's shaking; he can tell that Roger believes what he's saying. There's no doubt in his voice, just heat and a burning admiration and love. Rafa lets himself think it. Roger presses his cheek close to Rafa's and whispers Rafa's name and, "I want you, I want you," his whole body trembling.
Rafa drags his nails down Roger's back as Roger's orgasm hits him, already not wanting it to be over, wanting to pin him here somehow.
Roger moves off him after a little while and they lie side by side, hands touching, spread over the huge bed. Rafa moves slightly, enjoying the cool air on his skin. Roger is rubbing one foot idly across the sheet, a soft shush shush sound. Their fingers curl around each other.
"It's only midnight," Roger says.
"We didn't take long, no?" Rafa turns on his side, pillowing his head on his arm. He strokes his hand down Roger's chest.
Roger smiles. "No, we didn't. You're not sleepy?"
"You know I never sleep on nights like this. And you are here, so how can I?"
Roger blushes. "We could order champagne?"
"Let's, yes. And fries."
When Roger opens the champagne, the cork bounces off the wall and they both have to duck. It feels so illicit, sitting naked on the bed with champagne and a bowl of hot, salty fries. Rafa looks at Roger and sighs. This is illicit, in every sense.
"You like it that I'm better than you," he blurts.
He can see the flush come back to Roger's face. Heat is creeping in slow degrees back over Rafa's own skin.
Roger meets his eyes. "I guess you think that's strange."
Rafa blushes. "No. I... like it," he says, catching Roger's gaze and holding it.
Roger goes still, across the bed from him. He's still naked. It's hard to ignore that Roger's cock has just grown a little thicker and is starting to stand up.
"Come here," Roger says, and puts his glass down. He moves across the bed, half crawling, making the tray dip. He looks as sleek as a cat.
"Wait," Rafa says, feeling ridiculous as he tidies away the tray and the glasses with his erection sticking straight out. When he lies back down, Roger pulls him close with an arm around his waist. It's hard like steel, and Rafa licks along Roger's neck in appreciation. He winds his own arms around Roger's waist and squeezes, biting a little as Roger seems to melt against him, shifting and inching closer.
There's salt on Rafa's tongue and the hint of something bitter that is probably skin lotion. He likes it. He misses this. He presses his nose to Roger's hair.
"I like that it turns you on," he says. Roger tenses subtly. Rafa doesn't want to let it go even though it's not at all the kind of thing they usually say to each other. Maybe that's why it's setting his heart racing again. He finds Roger's mouth and pushes him onto his back, forearms planting either side of Roger's head. Roger's tongue slides gently over Rafa's lower lip and he twines his arms around Rafa's neck. He's making little moans, faint and soft at the back of his throat every time that Rafa presses in with his tongue, until he stops and pulls back.
"It's not just that," Roger says, gaze fluttering off to one side like he's suddenly decided to be shy. Rafa can't stop looking at his eyes.
"What is it?"
"It's not all about me anymore. I'm glad. Being the... the greatest or whatever." He's almost mumbling it. He's never had a problem talking about himself to reporters and interviewers or whoever, quite the opposite, but with Rafa, even after all these years, Roger's never talked to him about all the constant lauding and the goat thing. Not once. This is the first time. Rafa leans down to kiss him, breathing in the scent of his mouth and skin.
"You do not care, for real?" he says.
"You know how terrible I am at lying." Roger's voice is light, but his face is serious.
Rafa drinks in Roger's smile with his own mouth. He's remembering the evening before the first time they slept together, when Roger said 'no, no, I'm not interested' and he thinks Roger is remembering too. Roger's thigh presses between his own, rude and strong. "Let someone else take all the crap from the press."
"You mean me?"
Roger snorts into his shoulder. "Maybe I can just be an ordinary guy now," he says. "What do you think?"
"Not possible. No," Rafa says. He looks at Roger steadily. "You never can be just ordinary."
In one heave, he twists them around until he's on his back. Roger straddles him, settling his full weight down on his lap. Rafa strokes his thighs, pushing him down harder, meaningfully. He slides one hand under Roger's balls, letting the weight of them push into his palm. He watches the way Roger's hips move; small motions as he tries to splay his knees wider apart.
"I want you this way," Rafa tells him. He should be tired. He should actually be exhausted but he's not. The heaviness has gone from his legs and shoulders. He feels light, and so aroused. He grasps Roger's hips tightly and pushes him down, almost growls at the press of Roger's cock against his own, and at the abandoned tilt of Roger's neck. Roger moans and goes with it, giving himself up to be moved where Rafa wants him. "Sit on me."
Roger lets out a tremulous breath and says, "Okay".
Roger has to tip forward to balance as he gets the lube and gets himself ready, reaching behind awkwardly to penetrate himself with a finger. Rafa takes the opportunity to stroke his hair and to kiss him, to enjoy keeping him a little off balance. He likes the soft moans Roger makes against his lips as he finger fucks himself. Every sound is like a touch to his cock.
"Now," Rafa says, finally, and pushes Roger back. The word catches in his throat. He watches, every breath all bound up in his chest. Roger arches back, shuffling on his knees to find the right position, one hand behind him guiding Rafa into him, the other resting on the hard, heavy curve of his own quads, palm relaxed and fingertips grazing his own skin, five neat rounded fingernails polished to a shine. He's burning hot inside as Rafa pushes into his body.
There's sweat on Roger's chest. It gathers where their skin touches. He towers over Rafa, his eyes in shadow as he lowers himself carefully. Rafa can feel every wrinkle of the sheets under his back, every slip and slide of skin, every harsh breath that escapes from Roger's mouth.
"Oh god," Roger breathes. He hangs his head, working his hips down and down, little by little, pressing Rafa to the bed. "I've missed this."
"Yes," Rafa breathes.
He skims Roger's thighs with his hands, looking down to see the base of his cock - he's almost fully buried in Roger's body now. Roger slides his palms flat over Rafa's nipples, thumbs pushing against them. When Rafa thrusts up for the first time Roger moans loudly, the sort of moan that belongs in a porn film. Rafa is glad for the thick old stone walls of this hotel.
He takes Roger's cock in his palm, squeezes it a little to see the way Roger's lips pout. "You move," he instructs. "Fuck yourself on me."
Roger looks down at him, his lips parting, but he's already moving, grinding himself down to take every inch. He arches back and the muscles in his stomach and thighs are under full strain as he lifts himself and slides back down, just as Rafa told him to. He's good. He's so hot, so tight and slick. He stares in fascination as Roger runs his palms down over his own nipples, his eyes fluttering closed.
Flashes of the court enter Rafa's mind, memories of the crowd, of the heft of the trophy in his hands, and the lights and the noise. They flicker through like parts of a dream, far from this reality, of Roger's weight on him, the solid realness of it. Roger grips his hand, almost tugging, and links them together. His other arm is flung out to the side, helping him balance. His nails dig in to Rafa's knuckles. "Oh god, oh god," he whispers.
Rafa groans, pushing up as Roger grinds down. He sinks in deep and hard. Their skin slaps together and they do it again. Roger clenches around him, slides down shallowly now, his cock bouncing, all the long lean muscles of his body flexing as they support him at the awkward angle needed for penetration. Rafa fumbles for the lube and gets some on his palm. He strokes Roger's length hard, one long tight squeeze. He tugs, makes Roger open his eyes wide and look at him.
"I'm better than you now, no?"
Roger's cock pulses hard in his hand, and he opens his mouth, stares down at Rafa with dark glittering eyes, and comes silently in streaks over Rafa's chest. He doesn't stop moving though. All the way through his orgasm he moves his hips in small shallow thrusts, his nails biting small red curves into Rafa's knuckles. His grip is painfully strong, almost crushing.
Rafa stares up at him. His orgasm surges through him, coming faster than he wants but he can't bear to slow it now. When the peak of it hits him he is only aware of their heat and their breathing and the scent of them both; a dense mixture of heat and sweat and come. Roger's thighs tremble as they dig into his sides. Rafa's balls squeeze tight and he arches, not even feeling Roger's weight.
"No. No move," Rafa says, when Roger finally begins to pull away. He tugs him back and they stare at each other. "This... You... I am so glad you are here."
Roger nods, his eyes wide and serious. He leans his hands on the pillows either side of Rafa's head, then leans in and kisses him, slowly and for a long time. Rafa tangles his fingers into Roger's hair. It's soft and warm, the curls almost weightless in his palm. Finally they lie together, side by side.
He looks at the warm, trusting curve of Roger's arm where it's thrown over his chest.
"I was very happy to see you," Rafa says. "At the ceremony. You surprise me a little bit."
"They asked me months ago," Roger says, sleepily. "I had to say yes, right? I'm not going to say: 'No, I might wanna kiss him and people will notice we're having a secret affair'".
It's not precisely a secret. The people who need to know, know. Mirka knows. Rafa's family know.
"No, I mean more that you would feel... I not know. Uncomfortable."
"Why? You've done great." A soft kiss to his jaw, placed like a secret. "I always thought maybe you could go one better than me."
"I'm going to retire soon," Rafa says.
"Really?" Roger says, lifting his head. Their eyes meet. He doesn't sound as surprised as he should though, considering that Rafa's only just decided this. But then Roger has always been sharp-eyed. "Are you sure?"
"Oh yeah."
"Good."
He is sure. He's got everything he's ever wanted.
Title: Greatest of All Time
Author:
louiseluxPairing: Roger/Rafa
Rating: NC 17
Warnings: nsfw, pwp, also infidelity
Word count: 4k
Author notes: thanks very much to
emungere and buckle_berry for their inspiration, advice and comma fixingDisclaimer: this is a work of fiction
Summary: In the future maybe Rafa will be GOAT, but perhaps Roger likes it that way.
You can either read it below, or read at AO3, or at
fedal_slash: hereOnce the ceremony is under way, Rafa's sure he's not going to cry. He cried into his towel as he sat in his chair (the towel has since vanished) and now he's strung out and trembling. His quads are aching from three hours of sprinting. His feet are like two lumps of wet clay. Going over to the podium, where they are all lined up waiting, he's sure he's not walking straight. He gazes at Toni and his parents and his sister, aware only of their smiles, then fixes on the one face he didn't expect to see today, high up on the podium and waiting for him; Roger.
There are several speeches before he has to give his own. Roger gives him the trophy, shakes his hand, then wraps an arm around his neck and hugs him. It's so good. Rafa wants to lean on him for a long time. Roger must understand his need because he stays like that for a few seconds longer than he should.
"Well done, Rafa," Roger says in his ear.
"I don't know what to say," he tells the New York crowd. His thoughts are blank and whited out. In the end it doesn't matter and he hardly has to do more than stumble through his thank yous. The noise from the fans makes him sway.
The rest of the day happens all around him, a whirlwind and he's the eye. He doesn't wake up properly until the evening, when he gets his new suit on, goes for dinner with what seems like 300 people, and there is Roger at his table. They smile at one another, but there's no time to speak. Rafa's mum chats Roger up relentlessly. Rafa tries not to pay attention.
"You don't …mind?" he can hear her saying, in careful way.
"No, no," Roger says, sounding genuinely shocked. "You mean about him having more than me? No."
A little ache seems to untangle itself from Rafa's heart. He tries so hard not to look, but he does, and Roger is watching him, probably because he knew Rafa was listening. Roger smiles, brief and suggestive. Rafa stares down at his fillet of sea bass, heart thumping. He should be hungry. Ravenous, in fact, but now he only wants one thing, and it's sitting across the table from him talking to his mother.
~*~*~
Roger smells like something citrus and sharp. His skin is so warm. Rafa leans against him, face pressed to his neck.
"I cannot believe today," he says. "You know how it all feels like a dream?"
"I know what you mean," Roger says, soothingly. He strokes Rafa's hair, strong fingers and smooth nails against Rafa's scalp. "I know exactly. You never forget. Are you tired?" Roger says, slipping an arm round his waist. "Do you want to sleep?"
Rafa snorts against his neck and bites the skin there gently. He slides his hands down to Roger's waist and pulls Roger's crisp, pale blue shirt from his trousers. Underneath there is warm perfect skin. "Yes. But no. I haven't seen you for months. No sleep."
Roger pulls back and gazes at him, hands tightening on him. He's let his hair grow longer and strands of dark brown hair are in his eyes. His eyes, that have gone very dark and focused. "God. You're hot."
"Yes? Yes. Come on." Rafa tows him to the bed and pushes him down.
Roger giggles at being man-handled, flopping back on the bed in a way that should be clumsy in a tall thirty-something man but instead is full of grace. "You're the tough guy, huh? Now you're the goat."
Rafa pauses, breath sticking in his throat. But it's just a joke. He gathers himself together. "Yeah? So. You should give me a blowjob. I deserve it, no?" He kneels on the bed, bends down and kisses him, and catches the beginning of a moan in Roger's throat. His cock begins to thicken just from the sound.
"Okay," Roger says, quite breathlessly, and he's pulling open Rafa's trousers before Rafa can even think. His mouth is a shock; he's pitching forward, pushing Rafa back and sliding his mouth down around Rafa's cock so quickly that Rafa gasps.
"Oh," Rafa says, staring down. Roger has bent awkwardly to reach him, kneeling on the bed and almost bent double, hands on Rafa's waist to support himself, his thumbs digging into Rafa's hips. Rafa strokes his hair and watches, breathing hard at the lick of Roger's tongue along his cock. "I'm going to come if you don't stop," he says. He tightens his hands on Roger's shoulders and pushes. "Roger."
They undress still kneeling on the bed, awkwardly wriggling. The bed is old, like the hotel. Everything is solid, opulent and tasteful. The headboard is dark wood carved with leaves and it has four thick wooden bed posts.
"Look at the goat now," Roger says, when they are naked. His voice isn't steady. He pushes Rafa backwards so they are both lying down.
"Huh?" Rafa says, gazing. "But I am looking."
Rafa slides his palm over Roger's ass. They rock together.
"I mean look at you," Roger clarifies.
Rafa shakes his head. "No, no. Wrong."
He cups Roger's jaw in his hand and raises his head to kiss him, as Roger settles between his thighs. He spreads his legs wide, knees pulling up and back, and Roger's hand slides immediately between his legs, touching him. There's a tube of lubricant on the bedside table, waiting. Roger grabs it and puts some on his fingertip.
"You're amazing," Roger says, as he pushes one long slick finger into him. Rafa breathes out hard and closes his eyes. "Everyone was thinking that today." A slow twist. "Everyone."
Rafa kisses him again to shut him up. He can't deal with words, with Roger thinking Rafa's the best or the greatest ever, or whatever. He's not. Roger is. He hitches his knee back, rocking his hips to get more touch inside him.
"You're the greatest," Roger says, smiling now. He catches Rafa's lower lip between his teeth, a soft bite that makes Rafa shiver. He feels his nipples harden.
"No, you're wrong... "
"You are, man. Better than me." He presses with his finger deep inside. Rafa can feel it everywhere. Roger hangs over him, staring down, completely unreadable. "It gets me hot," he says.
Rafa can't think of himself like this, as better. Roger presses closer, rubbing the smooth head of his cock along Rafa's upper thigh, and Rafa can't think at all. He arches to take more of Roger's finger inside him, slick and long, but he needs to tell Roger he's wrong. He slides his palm down along Roger's side, against muscle still hard like steel. "No," he says, but Roger ignores him, sliding his tongue between Rafa's lips.
The way Roger smells really gets to Rafa, the smell of cologne but also that sharp note of sex right underneath it. Rafa remembers it from locker rooms, from squeezing Roger's neck when they embraced at the net after some final or other.
"God," he groans as Roger slowly works a second finger in alongside the first. He loves the stretch, right on the edge of pain. "Fuck me."
"They'll write your name first, in those lists," Roger tells him, letting the damp head of his cock smear along Rafa's skin. "Rafael Nadal, the greatest of all time." Both fingers are deep inside. Rafa feels it in his cock, his balls, and he gasps as Roger's teeth close gently around the lobe of his ear. "The best," Roger murmurs, and starts sucking a bruise onto Rafa's neck.
He tangles his hands in Roger's hair. It's damp at his neck, always a mark of how much Roger's turned on. His weight is half on Rafa, across Rafa's shoulder and hip, pinning him in place as he rubs himself in slow thrusts against Rafa's leg.
"How about I get to fuck the greatest of all time?" he tells Rafa. His voice is raw and shaky. His eyes are black. He's not joking. Roger means every word. It hits Rafa in his midriff. "How do you want it? On your back?" Roger says as he prepares himself, spreading lube on his cock in slow strokes. "Or on your knees?"
"Back," he chokes out.
Then Roger is all over him. He cradles the back of Rafa's head, fucking into his mouth with his tongue. He pushes Rafa's thigh up and back and moves on top of him, his cock dragging over Rafa's hole, nudging inside him the tiniest bit. Rafa forgets he wasn't going to beg, like he always forgets.
"Oh, please. Please," Rafa says before Roger swamps his words with his mouth.
It's been months since they last fucked and months since Rafa has done more than put a finger inside himself, but he doesn't care about the sudden ache and the overfull feeling as roger pushes into him. He stares into Roger's eyes, and Roger stares straight back, eating him up. Their foreheads touch, their heated breath swirling between them.
"You'll always be better than me, now," Roger says. His voice is rough and way too honest.
"No," Rafa says.
"Don't lie," Roger says, with two powerful thrusts that make Rafa almost cry out and scrabble for Roger's hips. He grinds in deep, twisting, clever with his hips and his body. Then he palms Rafa's cock and begins to stroke it, his hand still sticky with lube. "Always. God, you feel so fucking good."
Rafa closes his eyes and turns his head to the side. Roger has never spoken to him like this before. Rafa thinks it might change everything. "I'm gonna come in about a second," he whispers.
A drop of sweat lands on Rafa's face. Roger doesn't slow down. He kisses Rafa's face and neck, hungry sounds leaking from his throat, fucking him in hard strokes that are starting to become unsteady. The headboard is starting to bang against the wall. Roger's hand is so perfect; hot and tight and slippery. Rafa arches up off the bed, head tipped back, mouth open, the whole day funnelling down to this one moment. He wraps his arms around Roger's neck and digs his nails into Roger's back as he starts to come.
"Better than me, Rafa," Roger pants, and he grinds in once more, rubbing his thumb hard around the head of Rafa's cock. He fucks him in fast strokes as Rafa come all over his stomach, the pleasure sharp and piercing. He's shaking; he can tell that Roger believes what he's saying. There's no doubt in his voice, just heat and a burning admiration and love. Rafa lets himself think it. Roger presses his cheek close to Rafa's and whispers Rafa's name and, "I want you, I want you," his whole body trembling.
Rafa drags his nails down Roger's back as Roger's orgasm hits him, already not wanting it to be over, wanting to pin him here somehow.
Roger moves off him after a little while and they lie side by side, hands touching, spread over the huge bed. Rafa moves slightly, enjoying the cool air on his skin. Roger is rubbing one foot idly across the sheet, a soft shush shush sound. Their fingers curl around each other.
"It's only midnight," Roger says.
"We didn't take long, no?" Rafa turns on his side, pillowing his head on his arm. He strokes his hand down Roger's chest.
Roger smiles. "No, we didn't. You're not sleepy?"
"You know I never sleep on nights like this. And you are here, so how can I?"
Roger blushes. "We could order champagne?"
"Let's, yes. And fries."
When Roger opens the champagne, the cork bounces off the wall and they both have to duck. It feels so illicit, sitting naked on the bed with champagne and a bowl of hot, salty fries. Rafa looks at Roger and sighs. This is illicit, in every sense.
"You like it that I'm better than you," he blurts.
He can see the flush come back to Roger's face. Heat is creeping in slow degrees back over Rafa's own skin.
Roger meets his eyes. "I guess you think that's strange."
Rafa blushes. "No. I... like it," he says, catching Roger's gaze and holding it.
Roger goes still, across the bed from him. He's still naked. It's hard to ignore that Roger's cock has just grown a little thicker and is starting to stand up.
"Come here," Roger says, and puts his glass down. He moves across the bed, half crawling, making the tray dip. He looks as sleek as a cat.
"Wait," Rafa says, feeling ridiculous as he tidies away the tray and the glasses with his erection sticking straight out. When he lies back down, Roger pulls him close with an arm around his waist. It's hard like steel, and Rafa licks along Roger's neck in appreciation. He winds his own arms around Roger's waist and squeezes, biting a little as Roger seems to melt against him, shifting and inching closer.
There's salt on Rafa's tongue and the hint of something bitter that is probably skin lotion. He likes it. He misses this. He presses his nose to Roger's hair.
"I like that it turns you on," he says. Roger tenses subtly. Rafa doesn't want to let it go even though it's not at all the kind of thing they usually say to each other. Maybe that's why it's setting his heart racing again. He finds Roger's mouth and pushes him onto his back, forearms planting either side of Roger's head. Roger's tongue slides gently over Rafa's lower lip and he twines his arms around Rafa's neck. He's making little moans, faint and soft at the back of his throat every time that Rafa presses in with his tongue, until he stops and pulls back.
"It's not just that," Roger says, gaze fluttering off to one side like he's suddenly decided to be shy. Rafa can't stop looking at his eyes.
"What is it?"
"It's not all about me anymore. I'm glad. Being the... the greatest or whatever." He's almost mumbling it. He's never had a problem talking about himself to reporters and interviewers or whoever, quite the opposite, but with Rafa, even after all these years, Roger's never talked to him about all the constant lauding and the goat thing. Not once. This is the first time. Rafa leans down to kiss him, breathing in the scent of his mouth and skin.
"You do not care, for real?" he says.
"You know how terrible I am at lying." Roger's voice is light, but his face is serious.
Rafa drinks in Roger's smile with his own mouth. He's remembering the evening before the first time they slept together, when Roger said 'no, no, I'm not interested' and he thinks Roger is remembering too. Roger's thigh presses between his own, rude and strong. "Let someone else take all the crap from the press."
"You mean me?"
Roger snorts into his shoulder. "Maybe I can just be an ordinary guy now," he says. "What do you think?"
"Not possible. No," Rafa says. He looks at Roger steadily. "You never can be just ordinary."
In one heave, he twists them around until he's on his back. Roger straddles him, settling his full weight down on his lap. Rafa strokes his thighs, pushing him down harder, meaningfully. He slides one hand under Roger's balls, letting the weight of them push into his palm. He watches the way Roger's hips move; small motions as he tries to splay his knees wider apart.
"I want you this way," Rafa tells him. He should be tired. He should actually be exhausted but he's not. The heaviness has gone from his legs and shoulders. He feels light, and so aroused. He grasps Roger's hips tightly and pushes him down, almost growls at the press of Roger's cock against his own, and at the abandoned tilt of Roger's neck. Roger moans and goes with it, giving himself up to be moved where Rafa wants him. "Sit on me."
Roger lets out a tremulous breath and says, "Okay".
Roger has to tip forward to balance as he gets the lube and gets himself ready, reaching behind awkwardly to penetrate himself with a finger. Rafa takes the opportunity to stroke his hair and to kiss him, to enjoy keeping him a little off balance. He likes the soft moans Roger makes against his lips as he finger fucks himself. Every sound is like a touch to his cock.
"Now," Rafa says, finally, and pushes Roger back. The word catches in his throat. He watches, every breath all bound up in his chest. Roger arches back, shuffling on his knees to find the right position, one hand behind him guiding Rafa into him, the other resting on the hard, heavy curve of his own quads, palm relaxed and fingertips grazing his own skin, five neat rounded fingernails polished to a shine. He's burning hot inside as Rafa pushes into his body.
There's sweat on Roger's chest. It gathers where their skin touches. He towers over Rafa, his eyes in shadow as he lowers himself carefully. Rafa can feel every wrinkle of the sheets under his back, every slip and slide of skin, every harsh breath that escapes from Roger's mouth.
"Oh god," Roger breathes. He hangs his head, working his hips down and down, little by little, pressing Rafa to the bed. "I've missed this."
"Yes," Rafa breathes.
He skims Roger's thighs with his hands, looking down to see the base of his cock - he's almost fully buried in Roger's body now. Roger slides his palms flat over Rafa's nipples, thumbs pushing against them. When Rafa thrusts up for the first time Roger moans loudly, the sort of moan that belongs in a porn film. Rafa is glad for the thick old stone walls of this hotel.
He takes Roger's cock in his palm, squeezes it a little to see the way Roger's lips pout. "You move," he instructs. "Fuck yourself on me."
Roger looks down at him, his lips parting, but he's already moving, grinding himself down to take every inch. He arches back and the muscles in his stomach and thighs are under full strain as he lifts himself and slides back down, just as Rafa told him to. He's good. He's so hot, so tight and slick. He stares in fascination as Roger runs his palms down over his own nipples, his eyes fluttering closed.
Flashes of the court enter Rafa's mind, memories of the crowd, of the heft of the trophy in his hands, and the lights and the noise. They flicker through like parts of a dream, far from this reality, of Roger's weight on him, the solid realness of it. Roger grips his hand, almost tugging, and links them together. His other arm is flung out to the side, helping him balance. His nails dig in to Rafa's knuckles. "Oh god, oh god," he whispers.
Rafa groans, pushing up as Roger grinds down. He sinks in deep and hard. Their skin slaps together and they do it again. Roger clenches around him, slides down shallowly now, his cock bouncing, all the long lean muscles of his body flexing as they support him at the awkward angle needed for penetration. Rafa fumbles for the lube and gets some on his palm. He strokes Roger's length hard, one long tight squeeze. He tugs, makes Roger open his eyes wide and look at him.
"I'm better than you now, no?"
Roger's cock pulses hard in his hand, and he opens his mouth, stares down at Rafa with dark glittering eyes, and comes silently in streaks over Rafa's chest. He doesn't stop moving though. All the way through his orgasm he moves his hips in small shallow thrusts, his nails biting small red curves into Rafa's knuckles. His grip is painfully strong, almost crushing.
Rafa stares up at him. His orgasm surges through him, coming faster than he wants but he can't bear to slow it now. When the peak of it hits him he is only aware of their heat and their breathing and the scent of them both; a dense mixture of heat and sweat and come. Roger's thighs tremble as they dig into his sides. Rafa's balls squeeze tight and he arches, not even feeling Roger's weight.
"No. No move," Rafa says, when Roger finally begins to pull away. He tugs him back and they stare at each other. "This... You... I am so glad you are here."
Roger nods, his eyes wide and serious. He leans his hands on the pillows either side of Rafa's head, then leans in and kisses him, slowly and for a long time. Rafa tangles his fingers into Roger's hair. It's soft and warm, the curls almost weightless in his palm. Finally they lie together, side by side.
He looks at the warm, trusting curve of Roger's arm where it's thrown over his chest.
"I was very happy to see you," Rafa says. "At the ceremony. You surprise me a little bit."
"They asked me months ago," Roger says, sleepily. "I had to say yes, right? I'm not going to say: 'No, I might wanna kiss him and people will notice we're having a secret affair'".
It's not precisely a secret. The people who need to know, know. Mirka knows. Rafa's family know.
"No, I mean more that you would feel... I not know. Uncomfortable."
"Why? You've done great." A soft kiss to his jaw, placed like a secret. "I always thought maybe you could go one better than me."
"I'm going to retire soon," Rafa says.
"Really?" Roger says, lifting his head. Their eyes meet. He doesn't sound as surprised as he should though, considering that Rafa's only just decided this. But then Roger has always been sharp-eyed. "Are you sure?"
"Oh yeah."
"Good."
He is sure. He's got everything he's ever wanted.