tennis slash - all that it takes is some time but I’m shattered
Title: all that it takes is some time but I’m shattered
Author: Kris S.
Fandom: Tennis RPS
Pairing: Marko Djokovic/Ernests Gulbis (you read that right)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This did not happen.
Summary: Marko has no idea why Ernie has his cell phone number but he’s still the least annoying option.
Author’s Note: Takes place after Marko’s match against Golubev at Dubai. Title from song by O.A.R.
After Marko gets off the court, he tries his hardest to tune out his family as they try to spin today’s result as a positive. He doesn’t need to be told that losing 6-3 6-2 isn’t bad for him. It’s such utter nonsense for Novak especially to say this, even though it’s Novak who will have to keep answering the questions about why little brother even got a wild card in the first place… a wild card he clearly didn’t deserve.
Then again, it’s also obvious why Novak is the one answering. The press doesn’t stake out futures events, which is where Marko will be in his foreseeable future. Anything Marko has actually said is dismissed as the words of a spoiled brat.
Dad is more interested in Djordje’s progress than his anyway. Djordje is the special one, which is so completely ridiculous when the family has already been blessed with Novak’s good fortune that it’s all Marko can do not to actually chuck something at his little brother’s head - which would likely bounce and somehow take out Marko’s ankle in the process because that’s how the world works for the chosen.
Marko waits until the family shifts their focus to Novak’s match tonight before he actually heads to the room, then turns around wondering why he didn’t slam the door. He lounges on the couch as he checks through his texts and then voicemail, of which there are so many saying the same gibberish. It was starting to blend together in his head after the first forty.
"That was impressive, dear, how you were able to hang in with a tour player."
"That guy was hitting the ball so hard. You were able to get a lot of balls back in play."
"The crowd was cheering you on."
"I was so proud when you actually got the lead."
If Marko actually answered everything, it would take all his might not to say the truth. That his opponent wasn’t even a main tour player anymore because he’d lost something like twenty matches in a row last year, that Marko only had the lead because Andrey couldn’t get a ball even near the court and Marko was supposed to get him to self-destruct, the crowd wanted to see the freak show that was Novak’s brother and couldn’t care less about the quality of the play.
The very last message was the one that caught Marko’s attention. "Hi Marko. It’s Ernie." Marko scrunches his face trying to think of who he knows with that name. "I was watching your match on television in the States. Quite entertaining, I must say. Looked good in Novak’s clothes, though you really shouldn’t have his name so close to your ass. It’s as if he owns your ass on top of most of the tour. I mean, Nole is a great guy, I should know, but I’m sure you’re sick of hearing that even though you really do play like him. Except your serve is a mess."
Marko scrolls through the missed phone numbers and realizes that he somehow got Ernests Gulbis’ cell phone number programmed into his phone. Who would do that, much less why, he has no idea.
Dad really didn’t like Gulbis’ influence on Precious Nole in the early years. He always worried that the Latvian’s work ethic, or lack thereof, would rub off on Novak and ruin all the years of hard work. Even though those two still hang out on occasion, it’s rather obvious neither player’s regimen has influenced the other.
Marko doesn’t know what possesses him to call Ernie back. He doesn’t even know where in the world the guy was actually watching his match but at least Ernie didn’t claim he’d played well so he’s a step ahead of any member of his family.
Of course it goes to voicemail. "Hello Ernie. I’m not sure how you got my number but I’m sorry you had to suffer through that match. I shouldn’t have let Novak talk his way into getting me into the tournament but it’s tough to say so to him. Then again, you know how he can get when it comes to family. I don’t know if I should be creeped out or amused that you were checking out my ass in the first place. You’re probably entertaining now… actually, maybe you’re not because I’m not sure whether you’re playing in Acapulco, Florida or maybe even back home which is closer to the time zone here, I think." Marko takes a deep breath then disconnects the call before shutting the ringtone off and throwing it across the room, it landing safely on the bed. Not quite as satisfying than if it had shattered but at least it won’t cost him or, more likely, his father any money.
He switches on the television, leaving on the first channel he finds before he inadvertently finds the one that will have Novak hitting another winner past his tiring opponent. That channel is a music program that sounds as if it’s in French but could as easily be Italian. He eventually gives up trying to figure it out and falls asleep.
Marko wakes up shortly after, intending to resume his sleep in the bed but nearly sits on the phone. He lies down as he spots there are more missed calls but he does identify Ernie’s number as one of them. He zaps through the messages of congratulations and condolences until he reaches the one he wants to hear. "I’m sorry I didn’t recognize the rambling on my voicemail. I thought from the number that appeared it was Marko Djokovic but that sounded as if an imposter swiped his phone. I’m used to losing my phone and you wouldn’t believe the stuff others claimed I said on their voicemails. They think it’s the vodka but my mouth is usually too busy being worked over when I’m at that level, wouldn’t bother using the phone like that. I think you need to impersonate me and actually smash a racquet because you sound a bit tight. Or maybe you just need to jerk off because I could be mistaking your tension about your tennis for lack of sex."
The message was left only fifteen minutes ago so Marko makes a hunch and calls back immediately.
"Well hello there, sweet thing."
Marko does a double take, taking a moment to realize Ernie really said that. "Did you misread the display?"
"No, it’s Little Brother, right?"
A sudden shout in the background then, muffled, Ernie yells, "Yes, I sometimes do survive more than one round."
"Are you busy?"
"No, Andy Roddick walking by so I’m being obnoxious to him."
"Sorry to bother you. I can call back."
"I’m in the hallway of the hotel, heading to my room. You need to talk seriously?"
"If I wanted to talk seriously, I wouldn’t call you."
There’s a noticeable pause, as if not expecting that answer, then a chuckle. "You wound me so."
"But if I want someone to talk and not be serious, you are the one I’d call right now."
Some rustling then the sound of a door shutting on Ernie’s end, must now be in his room. "Does that mean I get to get you off?"
"No." Marko realizes he may have answered that a little too quickly. He doesn’t know Ernie well enough to be able to tell when he’s joking.
"That’s okay. It’s early enough for you to find someone after you hang up. So what’s up? Still frustrated?"
"I don’t remember saying I was frustrated."
"But you are. There are two things you’re ignoring here. One, Novak would talk to me about how different you are from him. Djordje is basically a mini-Nole but you’re very different, more reserved and levelheaded as far as he’s concerned. Two, we’re kind of in the same position."
"How are we in the same position?"
"You’re not like other future or challenger players, most who fight and claw their way up the ranks. Everyone knows you can get the best coaches because of your last name. Yet your serve sucks in a way that even Novak’s didn’t at his lowest. I can get great coaches but sometimes the mind wanders when it shouldn’t even if I’m able to hit the winners. But I’m not supposed to care about losing matches because apparently I can be consoled by the private jet of my father. I swear those words came out of someone’s mouth earlier this week. The thing is I know you do care, I’ve seen you on the practice court when Nole isn’t around and it’s very different from when you’re hitting with him. You’re not supposed to get angry about your play, about the long setback from the surgery last year, about how your game is stalling…"
"I’ve got your point. Can you shut up?"
"I’m not going to shut up. You don’t have to be like him for people to like you… as a player, I mean. Once you get that through your head, maybe you’ll actually be a main tour player."
Marko shuts his eyes, shaking his head as he goes over what Ernie is saying. He is quiet long enough for Ernie to ask, "Marko? You still there?"
"I’m tired of hearing you being analytical. I’d rather you talk about how you’re going to get me off." Then adds quickly, "Assuming you weren’t messing with my head with all those comments, I mean I know you like to talk a good game…"
"I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it. It’s a good thing that Novak is already my friend but it still took time to ask him to program my number in your phone."
"This is…" Marko takes a deep breath, unable to believe that Novak was endorsing this plan. But this is not the time to think about that. "I didn’t even belong on that court today, I was so terrible. I need to be punished for that performance."
follow-up: give me a break; let me make my own pattern - warning: R (but close to NC-17) rating