Tennis Fic
Aug. 14th, 2008 12:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sulwenI needed to write fic to help me deal with the loss. This is it.
Title: The Right Words
Author: Sulwen
Pairing: Roger/Rafa
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1038
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the order of the words.
Summary: Roger loses. Rafa tries to make it better.
Rafa found him hidden away in an unused locker room. He was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, with his legs pulled to his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around them. He looked awfully small in that position, Rafa thought - not at all the giant that had faced him so many times from across the court. It hurt to see.
He made his way across the room and sat down next to Roger, who didn’t look up, didn’t even move. For a long while, they just sat, silent. Rafa could feel the waves of crushing disappointment coming off his friend and rival, and he fought with himself over what to do. What could he say? There was nothing that would make this better. But to say nothing, to continue to let him destroy himself in his thoughts…that would be worse.
He turned down to look at Roger, licking his lips and trying to think of something to say. Various sentiments floated through his head - it’s all right, maybe next time, you’re still the best out there - but they felt like lies, and Rafa was not a liar. Perhaps, given time, he could have come up with something both comforting and true…but then something awful happened. Roger’s body jerked slightly, and Rafa heard a ragged gasp of air that the other man couldn’t quite stifle. He was crying.
There had always been an easy physicality to their relationship, and Rafa thought nothing of it to go there to try and pull Roger out of this darkness. It felt only natural to put his arm around Roger, to pull him close and comfort him with touch when words couldn’t do the job.
And then the dam broke, and Roger sobbed. The sound of it was a spike through Rafa’s heart, and he could feel his own eyes welling up a bit. He had not wanted this either. He pulled Roger tighter, and the other man finally broke his closed-off position, turning his body toward Rafa’s and grabbing at him with one arm, burying his face in Rafa’s shirt.
It hurt, but Rafa endured, held Roger through the worst of the storm and held himself together as best he could. Eventually, Roger began to quiet, going very still against him. Rafa wondered what was coming next, but if he was honest with himself, it didn’t matter. He would stay with Roger through anything. There was no way he was leaving him alone right now.
“You know…it’s not the losing that hurts, so much,” Roger said, his voice muffled against Rafa’s body. He sat up slightly, enough to meet Rafa’s gaze. Wiping the last of the tears from his eyes, he said, “It would be all right to lose to someone because he was great. Like you. But now…it’s not that they got better. I got worse.”
Roger’s voice broke a bit on the last word, and Rafa wished he could contradict such a painful truth. But it was just that - truth - and there was no use denying it. There was still nothing he could say. Not for the first time, Rafa began wishing desperately for a better grasp of English. Perhaps the words he was looking for were out there and he just didn’t know them yet.
For now, though, he had to work with what he had, and Roger still hadn’t pulled away from his half-embrace. So Rafa turned his body and put his other arm around Roger, pulling him into a full hug and placing a quick kiss on the top of his head for good measure. A part of him was surprised at Roger’s acceptance of this. From what he’d experienced, the people in Roger’s country didn’t touch nearly as much as they did in Spain. Rafa had always tried to be careful about this, only giving as much as he got from Roger. But he knew how reassuring a comforting touch could be in the midst of pain, and his thoughts went no further than that.
In the next moment, Roger was kissing him, long and lingering and full on the lips. And that was a bit much, even in Spain. Rafa’s thoughts spun dizzily, and he pulled away, confused. Instantly, Roger’s face fell, and he looked even more crushed that before, if such a thing were possible. “Rafa…I’m sorry, I thought…oh, god….” he mumbled, and Rafa could have kicked himself for adding to Roger’s pain. He didn’t have to think about it for more than a few seconds. If this was what Roger needed right now, Rafa would give it to him. They could figure the rest out later.
Roger was halfway to his feet when Rafa caught at his hand, and he looked back, surprised, eyes still brutally red and shining. They stood frozen for a moment, simply staring at each other. Then Rafa pulled, just a bit, and Roger sank back down to the floor, graceful as ever in his movement. Rafa placed his hands on Roger’s cheeks, framing his face. He could feel the heat of Roger’s skin, the exertion of the match and the crying fit after still not having entirely left him. Roger was giving him the most inexplicable look, full of emotions Rafa didn’t have a name for. But he had no time to figure it out - if he waited any longer, Roger might start to think about the match again, and that was the last thing they needed.
So Rafa leaned in and placed his lips over Roger’s, smooth and gentle, the way he would kiss a girl for the first time. Roger didn’t demand, simply accepted what Rafa was giving. His lips were sweet and pliant under Rafa’s, and it didn’t feel strange at all. It felt…natural. Right. He deepened the kiss slightly, experimentally, and he felt Roger moan slightly into his mouth, a sound of joy in this darkest of hours. And that was the moment that changed everything, the instant he finally knew what word to use to describe the thing that had been growing between them ever since the first time they had played. A word that meant nothing in tennis, but everything in life.
Love.
Title: The Right Words
Author: Sulwen
Pairing: Roger/Rafa
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1038
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the order of the words.
Summary: Roger loses. Rafa tries to make it better.
Rafa found him hidden away in an unused locker room. He was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, with his legs pulled to his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around them. He looked awfully small in that position, Rafa thought - not at all the giant that had faced him so many times from across the court. It hurt to see.
He made his way across the room and sat down next to Roger, who didn’t look up, didn’t even move. For a long while, they just sat, silent. Rafa could feel the waves of crushing disappointment coming off his friend and rival, and he fought with himself over what to do. What could he say? There was nothing that would make this better. But to say nothing, to continue to let him destroy himself in his thoughts…that would be worse.
He turned down to look at Roger, licking his lips and trying to think of something to say. Various sentiments floated through his head - it’s all right, maybe next time, you’re still the best out there - but they felt like lies, and Rafa was not a liar. Perhaps, given time, he could have come up with something both comforting and true…but then something awful happened. Roger’s body jerked slightly, and Rafa heard a ragged gasp of air that the other man couldn’t quite stifle. He was crying.
There had always been an easy physicality to their relationship, and Rafa thought nothing of it to go there to try and pull Roger out of this darkness. It felt only natural to put his arm around Roger, to pull him close and comfort him with touch when words couldn’t do the job.
And then the dam broke, and Roger sobbed. The sound of it was a spike through Rafa’s heart, and he could feel his own eyes welling up a bit. He had not wanted this either. He pulled Roger tighter, and the other man finally broke his closed-off position, turning his body toward Rafa’s and grabbing at him with one arm, burying his face in Rafa’s shirt.
It hurt, but Rafa endured, held Roger through the worst of the storm and held himself together as best he could. Eventually, Roger began to quiet, going very still against him. Rafa wondered what was coming next, but if he was honest with himself, it didn’t matter. He would stay with Roger through anything. There was no way he was leaving him alone right now.
“You know…it’s not the losing that hurts, so much,” Roger said, his voice muffled against Rafa’s body. He sat up slightly, enough to meet Rafa’s gaze. Wiping the last of the tears from his eyes, he said, “It would be all right to lose to someone because he was great. Like you. But now…it’s not that they got better. I got worse.”
Roger’s voice broke a bit on the last word, and Rafa wished he could contradict such a painful truth. But it was just that - truth - and there was no use denying it. There was still nothing he could say. Not for the first time, Rafa began wishing desperately for a better grasp of English. Perhaps the words he was looking for were out there and he just didn’t know them yet.
For now, though, he had to work with what he had, and Roger still hadn’t pulled away from his half-embrace. So Rafa turned his body and put his other arm around Roger, pulling him into a full hug and placing a quick kiss on the top of his head for good measure. A part of him was surprised at Roger’s acceptance of this. From what he’d experienced, the people in Roger’s country didn’t touch nearly as much as they did in Spain. Rafa had always tried to be careful about this, only giving as much as he got from Roger. But he knew how reassuring a comforting touch could be in the midst of pain, and his thoughts went no further than that.
In the next moment, Roger was kissing him, long and lingering and full on the lips. And that was a bit much, even in Spain. Rafa’s thoughts spun dizzily, and he pulled away, confused. Instantly, Roger’s face fell, and he looked even more crushed that before, if such a thing were possible. “Rafa…I’m sorry, I thought…oh, god….” he mumbled, and Rafa could have kicked himself for adding to Roger’s pain. He didn’t have to think about it for more than a few seconds. If this was what Roger needed right now, Rafa would give it to him. They could figure the rest out later.
Roger was halfway to his feet when Rafa caught at his hand, and he looked back, surprised, eyes still brutally red and shining. They stood frozen for a moment, simply staring at each other. Then Rafa pulled, just a bit, and Roger sank back down to the floor, graceful as ever in his movement. Rafa placed his hands on Roger’s cheeks, framing his face. He could feel the heat of Roger’s skin, the exertion of the match and the crying fit after still not having entirely left him. Roger was giving him the most inexplicable look, full of emotions Rafa didn’t have a name for. But he had no time to figure it out - if he waited any longer, Roger might start to think about the match again, and that was the last thing they needed.
So Rafa leaned in and placed his lips over Roger’s, smooth and gentle, the way he would kiss a girl for the first time. Roger didn’t demand, simply accepted what Rafa was giving. His lips were sweet and pliant under Rafa’s, and it didn’t feel strange at all. It felt…natural. Right. He deepened the kiss slightly, experimentally, and he felt Roger moan slightly into his mouth, a sound of joy in this darkest of hours. And that was the moment that changed everything, the instant he finally knew what word to use to describe the thing that had been growing between them ever since the first time they had played. A word that meant nothing in tennis, but everything in life.
Love.
