[Fic] Flicker (Roger x Rafa)
Title: Flicker
Author: kohee
Pairing: Roger Federer x Rafael Nadal
Summary: Wherever Rafa goes, there's Roger, and they are just two ordinary people wanting to steal a moment or two for themselves.
Genre: Romance
Rating: PG-13/very slight R
Author's Note: Yes I am still writing JE dammit. Tennis ate my brain for time being, ok.
When it comes to visiting Rafa at places where he isn't supposed to be, or at tournaments where he isn't playing, Roger has devised a fairly simple, but fail-safe, plan for him to stick to.
It starts off with the suggestion to his entourage that he perhaps needs a holiday, or maybe an idea that he relocates to a new place for training - just as a practice run or as a test for the any future tournaments he has an interest in partaking. He is, of course, not obvious - he rarely picks the exact city Rafa is playing at - mostly another city in the same country, or sometimes even city in a neighboring country (all within radius, of course). He will pull out his laptops and maps, pointing here and there, casual and off-handed, commenting on travel plans and practice strategies, and his team will nod and smile and agree, and he will usually get his own way (he is, after all, Roger Federer).
He will arrive a few days earlier, before the tournament, or sometimes, a day or two later, settling into the new city and embarking on visits to scenic and tourist spots, tasting local food with Mirka, carefree and relaxed, posing and smiling for photos whenever a camera pops up (and it happens more often than he would have preferred) - Roger Federer on a holiday, on a break.
If his trip is supposed to be one for the purpose of training and practicing, it is hardly any trouble at all to book a tennis court - in fact, country clubs and local tennis federations fall over their feet offering him the best courts - and hitting balls everyday for a few hours (after all, admittedly, he does need the workout and the practice).
In between sight-seeing and eating and practicing, he sends text messages to Rafa, endearing, encouraging, and short, for there isn't much need for a lot of words between them at all. He sends Rafa pictures sometimes, of famous monuments or exotic foods and he wishes Rafa is with him. He takes pictures of tennis courts in a smattering of cities of the world, and he wishes Rafa is practicing with him.
(Rafa, who is supposed to be immersed in and concentrating on his tournament, checks his phone periodically, and he lights up and smiles whenever Roger's name appears on his phone.)
It will be two or three days later (or a time frame where Rafa has comfortably played two matches or so) when Roger dons on a dark shirt and jacket, with neatly pressed slacks. He will take a little extra more care in his appearance, but not noticeably so. He will pocket the keys of a nondescript rental car and nonchalantly tells his entourage that he wants to do a little private sight-seeing, or spend a little alone-time by himself.
Everyone will just sort of wave him on, still immersed in whatever they are doing - used and accustomed to his random disappearances when he is not on tour. Only Mirka will look up from her book or from the news, touching his hand when he walks past her, and reminds him to be careful, the corner of her mouth lifting in that little smile that lets him know that she knows he isn't going to be where he says he is going to be. And he smiles back, reminded that he will forever be grateful for her presence in his life.
He will then arm himself with a map and drive out towards the city where Rafa is playing, arriving at Rafa's hotel in time to take him out to dinner. He will make sure he has a baseball cap on to obscure his face as he arrives. Rafa mostly will be ready, and waiting for him (sometimes he needs more time to escape his Uncle Toni or nosy teammates that would not really leave him alone), face half-hidden with his own baseball cap to help with the picture of anonymity, casually dressed in a Nike T-shirt and jeans. He will hop into Roger's car with a huge grin, and Roger feels a giddy, wonderful sort of warmth spreads over him, tingly and shivery, every single time, without fail. He leans over, and places his hands on Rafa's face, drawing him close and kisses him. He tells Rafa he misses him, and Rafa says he misses Roger more.
They will then go for dinner together, and as much as Roger prefers the fine foods and caviar and classy atmosphere, it is easier to go to hidden little restaurants, where they are able to stand much closer than usual, fingers brushing against hips and waist as they wait for a table, where they are sometimes even able to sneak in a kiss or two without having to worry that they will be recognised.
(And in all honesty, Roger does not really care where they are or what they eat as long as he is alone with Rafa, for those moments does not come as often or as much as they both would have liked.)
They will then settle down to dinner, filling each other in on their lives, in a mix of languages. Mostly English of course, but Roger tries a few Spanish words at times, and he gets it wrong more often than not, and Rafa laughs at him. Roger gets his revenge, however, when Rafa stumbles over German phrases, his accent making the words almost incomprehensible. Roger smirks as Rafa throws bread crumbs at him, and they revert back to English, one fluent and the other broken, but both just inexplicably perfect together.
Their knees will touch underneath the table, and Roger sometimes nudges Rafa's foot with his own. Rafa sometimes trails his fingers across Roger's knuckles, or brushes a stray lock of curl off Roger's forehead - those little actions inconspicuous and unnoticeable, but they speak in volumes for both Roger and Rafa.
They will always finish dinner later than expected - for time and conversations fly when they are together. They return to Rafa's hotel late at night, and Roger has to control himself from grabbing Rafa right then and there, has to restrain himself from touching Rafa when they are in the elevator together (they have yet need to use the 'oh look what a coincidence that I ran into Rafa/Roger here' story). Roger's self control, however, is near to non-existent when it comes to Rafa, and many a time, Rafa finds Roger's mouth on his before he even manages to get the hotel room door unlocked, his hand yanking Rafa's T-shirt upwards.
Sometimes, it is almost desperate and lustful, with Roger taking Rafa against the door once it clicks shut behind them, and sometimes it is tender and tantalizingly slow, both of them relishing each other for hours, but with them, it is always physical and passionate, the sex is always amazing and rightfully so. They are often reminded that they are not like other couples, they do not have abundant time or opportunities, they have flickers of stolen moments and stolen nights, and both of them are determined to carve an everlasting memory, each and every time.
They will spend the night together, be it having sex all night, or simply lying against each other in bed and talking till dawn - but dawn will be the time where Roger needs to leave. He will tidy himself up, clothes as immaculate as possible (most of the time not up to his usual standards, as Rafa tends to just rip everything off), and jams his curls under his cap. He kisses Rafa one more time, mouths fusing together and tongues darting, his fingers twisted in Rafa's hair as Rafa's hands slips up his back underneath his shirt. They will then part reluctantly, releasing each other, and Roger will tell Rafa to play hard, and win the tournament. And Rafa will nod and say he will try his best, and he will see Roger in his, or maybe their, next tournament.
And with one final and brief kiss, Roger backs out of the hotel room and slips out of the hotel, into his car. He will sit and breathe for a few moments, needing the few seconds for him to stop missing Rafa like he misses breathing. His phone will then beep, announcing an incoming message from Rafa, and it will be that message that makes him smile a little, straighten his shoulders, and drive back to where he came from, still missing Rafa like hell, but anticipating their next reunion.
And so that is their usual routine, and so it is not so strange to find Roger in Rafa's room in a city where Rafa is playing and Roger isn't. They are lying together, breathless and sweaty and sticky as Rafa hooks his leg over Roger's. They engage in post-sex talk, saying anything that pops into their heads, silly or random or serious, and Roger is the first to talk about tennis.
“I hope I didn't tire you out for your match tomorrow.” he murmurs, drowsy and content, a slight smirk on his face.
Rafa wrinkles his nose and props up on his elbow, reaching for a pillow and lightly hitting Roger with it. “No, no, we do not talk tennis here, no? We do not talk work in bed. It is, how you say, boring, no?”
Roger laughs and catches Rafa's wrist. “Then what do you want to talk about?”
“Talk about Roger.” Rafa says, his voice light.
“What about me?” Roger asks, his eyes slowly slipping shut, as sleep starts its lull on him.
Rafa leans forward, brushing his fingertips over the arch of Roger's eyebrows, and trailing down over his lips, his eyes dark and serious and memorising each and every one of Roger's features.
“Te quiero.” He breathes the words quietly, in the dark.
Roger's eyes fly open when he hears those words, and he holds Rafa in his gaze, as Rafa gazes back, unflinching, honest and in love. He takes Rafa's hand, entwining their fingers together, and Rafa nuzzles his neck, the crook of his shoulder.
“I love you, too.” Roger whispers back, his lips at Rafa's ear, and Rafa laughs gently, twisting a dark brown curl around his finger.
“I know.”
Roger swiftly captures Rafa's lips with his, his arm tightening around Rafa's waist, pulling him closer, as Rafa moans lightly, his hand drifting down, fingers brushing against Roger's thighs. Roger rolls Rafa over, and pins him down, mouth trailing downwards, sucking at Rafa's neck, and lower still, and the night is spent in a blur and whirlwind of intense passion, and a flurry of intertwined limbs.
And Roger does not plan to leave that day, that night, and he does not leave when dawn breaks, sunlight streaming weakly through curtained windows. He stirs, holding Rafa closer, as Rafa murmurs incomprehensibly in Spanish and presses himself against Roger. They continue sleeping, entangled in each other, and later on, waking up next to each other, enjoying flickers of simple and fulfilling moments that all people in love do.
They really can spend the rest of their lives like this.
------
- end -
Author: kohee
Pairing: Roger Federer x Rafael Nadal
Summary: Wherever Rafa goes, there's Roger, and they are just two ordinary people wanting to steal a moment or two for themselves.
Genre: Romance
Rating: PG-13/very slight R
Author's Note: Yes I am still writing JE dammit. Tennis ate my brain for time being, ok.
When it comes to visiting Rafa at places where he isn't supposed to be, or at tournaments where he isn't playing, Roger has devised a fairly simple, but fail-safe, plan for him to stick to.
It starts off with the suggestion to his entourage that he perhaps needs a holiday, or maybe an idea that he relocates to a new place for training - just as a practice run or as a test for the any future tournaments he has an interest in partaking. He is, of course, not obvious - he rarely picks the exact city Rafa is playing at - mostly another city in the same country, or sometimes even city in a neighboring country (all within radius, of course). He will pull out his laptops and maps, pointing here and there, casual and off-handed, commenting on travel plans and practice strategies, and his team will nod and smile and agree, and he will usually get his own way (he is, after all, Roger Federer).
He will arrive a few days earlier, before the tournament, or sometimes, a day or two later, settling into the new city and embarking on visits to scenic and tourist spots, tasting local food with Mirka, carefree and relaxed, posing and smiling for photos whenever a camera pops up (and it happens more often than he would have preferred) - Roger Federer on a holiday, on a break.
If his trip is supposed to be one for the purpose of training and practicing, it is hardly any trouble at all to book a tennis court - in fact, country clubs and local tennis federations fall over their feet offering him the best courts - and hitting balls everyday for a few hours (after all, admittedly, he does need the workout and the practice).
In between sight-seeing and eating and practicing, he sends text messages to Rafa, endearing, encouraging, and short, for there isn't much need for a lot of words between them at all. He sends Rafa pictures sometimes, of famous monuments or exotic foods and he wishes Rafa is with him. He takes pictures of tennis courts in a smattering of cities of the world, and he wishes Rafa is practicing with him.
(Rafa, who is supposed to be immersed in and concentrating on his tournament, checks his phone periodically, and he lights up and smiles whenever Roger's name appears on his phone.)
It will be two or three days later (or a time frame where Rafa has comfortably played two matches or so) when Roger dons on a dark shirt and jacket, with neatly pressed slacks. He will take a little extra more care in his appearance, but not noticeably so. He will pocket the keys of a nondescript rental car and nonchalantly tells his entourage that he wants to do a little private sight-seeing, or spend a little alone-time by himself.
Everyone will just sort of wave him on, still immersed in whatever they are doing - used and accustomed to his random disappearances when he is not on tour. Only Mirka will look up from her book or from the news, touching his hand when he walks past her, and reminds him to be careful, the corner of her mouth lifting in that little smile that lets him know that she knows he isn't going to be where he says he is going to be. And he smiles back, reminded that he will forever be grateful for her presence in his life.
He will then arm himself with a map and drive out towards the city where Rafa is playing, arriving at Rafa's hotel in time to take him out to dinner. He will make sure he has a baseball cap on to obscure his face as he arrives. Rafa mostly will be ready, and waiting for him (sometimes he needs more time to escape his Uncle Toni or nosy teammates that would not really leave him alone), face half-hidden with his own baseball cap to help with the picture of anonymity, casually dressed in a Nike T-shirt and jeans. He will hop into Roger's car with a huge grin, and Roger feels a giddy, wonderful sort of warmth spreads over him, tingly and shivery, every single time, without fail. He leans over, and places his hands on Rafa's face, drawing him close and kisses him. He tells Rafa he misses him, and Rafa says he misses Roger more.
They will then go for dinner together, and as much as Roger prefers the fine foods and caviar and classy atmosphere, it is easier to go to hidden little restaurants, where they are able to stand much closer than usual, fingers brushing against hips and waist as they wait for a table, where they are sometimes even able to sneak in a kiss or two without having to worry that they will be recognised.
(And in all honesty, Roger does not really care where they are or what they eat as long as he is alone with Rafa, for those moments does not come as often or as much as they both would have liked.)
They will then settle down to dinner, filling each other in on their lives, in a mix of languages. Mostly English of course, but Roger tries a few Spanish words at times, and he gets it wrong more often than not, and Rafa laughs at him. Roger gets his revenge, however, when Rafa stumbles over German phrases, his accent making the words almost incomprehensible. Roger smirks as Rafa throws bread crumbs at him, and they revert back to English, one fluent and the other broken, but both just inexplicably perfect together.
Their knees will touch underneath the table, and Roger sometimes nudges Rafa's foot with his own. Rafa sometimes trails his fingers across Roger's knuckles, or brushes a stray lock of curl off Roger's forehead - those little actions inconspicuous and unnoticeable, but they speak in volumes for both Roger and Rafa.
They will always finish dinner later than expected - for time and conversations fly when they are together. They return to Rafa's hotel late at night, and Roger has to control himself from grabbing Rafa right then and there, has to restrain himself from touching Rafa when they are in the elevator together (they have yet need to use the 'oh look what a coincidence that I ran into Rafa/Roger here' story). Roger's self control, however, is near to non-existent when it comes to Rafa, and many a time, Rafa finds Roger's mouth on his before he even manages to get the hotel room door unlocked, his hand yanking Rafa's T-shirt upwards.
Sometimes, it is almost desperate and lustful, with Roger taking Rafa against the door once it clicks shut behind them, and sometimes it is tender and tantalizingly slow, both of them relishing each other for hours, but with them, it is always physical and passionate, the sex is always amazing and rightfully so. They are often reminded that they are not like other couples, they do not have abundant time or opportunities, they have flickers of stolen moments and stolen nights, and both of them are determined to carve an everlasting memory, each and every time.
They will spend the night together, be it having sex all night, or simply lying against each other in bed and talking till dawn - but dawn will be the time where Roger needs to leave. He will tidy himself up, clothes as immaculate as possible (most of the time not up to his usual standards, as Rafa tends to just rip everything off), and jams his curls under his cap. He kisses Rafa one more time, mouths fusing together and tongues darting, his fingers twisted in Rafa's hair as Rafa's hands slips up his back underneath his shirt. They will then part reluctantly, releasing each other, and Roger will tell Rafa to play hard, and win the tournament. And Rafa will nod and say he will try his best, and he will see Roger in his, or maybe their, next tournament.
And with one final and brief kiss, Roger backs out of the hotel room and slips out of the hotel, into his car. He will sit and breathe for a few moments, needing the few seconds for him to stop missing Rafa like he misses breathing. His phone will then beep, announcing an incoming message from Rafa, and it will be that message that makes him smile a little, straighten his shoulders, and drive back to where he came from, still missing Rafa like hell, but anticipating their next reunion.
And so that is their usual routine, and so it is not so strange to find Roger in Rafa's room in a city where Rafa is playing and Roger isn't. They are lying together, breathless and sweaty and sticky as Rafa hooks his leg over Roger's. They engage in post-sex talk, saying anything that pops into their heads, silly or random or serious, and Roger is the first to talk about tennis.
“I hope I didn't tire you out for your match tomorrow.” he murmurs, drowsy and content, a slight smirk on his face.
Rafa wrinkles his nose and props up on his elbow, reaching for a pillow and lightly hitting Roger with it. “No, no, we do not talk tennis here, no? We do not talk work in bed. It is, how you say, boring, no?”
Roger laughs and catches Rafa's wrist. “Then what do you want to talk about?”
“Talk about Roger.” Rafa says, his voice light.
“What about me?” Roger asks, his eyes slowly slipping shut, as sleep starts its lull on him.
Rafa leans forward, brushing his fingertips over the arch of Roger's eyebrows, and trailing down over his lips, his eyes dark and serious and memorising each and every one of Roger's features.
“Te quiero.” He breathes the words quietly, in the dark.
Roger's eyes fly open when he hears those words, and he holds Rafa in his gaze, as Rafa gazes back, unflinching, honest and in love. He takes Rafa's hand, entwining their fingers together, and Rafa nuzzles his neck, the crook of his shoulder.
“I love you, too.” Roger whispers back, his lips at Rafa's ear, and Rafa laughs gently, twisting a dark brown curl around his finger.
“I know.”
Roger swiftly captures Rafa's lips with his, his arm tightening around Rafa's waist, pulling him closer, as Rafa moans lightly, his hand drifting down, fingers brushing against Roger's thighs. Roger rolls Rafa over, and pins him down, mouth trailing downwards, sucking at Rafa's neck, and lower still, and the night is spent in a blur and whirlwind of intense passion, and a flurry of intertwined limbs.
And Roger does not plan to leave that day, that night, and he does not leave when dawn breaks, sunlight streaming weakly through curtained windows. He stirs, holding Rafa closer, as Rafa murmurs incomprehensibly in Spanish and presses himself against Roger. They continue sleeping, entangled in each other, and later on, waking up next to each other, enjoying flickers of simple and fulfilling moments that all people in love do.
They really can spend the rest of their lives like this.
------
- end -