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Carlos pinched the bridge of his nose.
It was early evening on a lovely July day, with the setting sun gilding the ivy-covered walls of the All England Club with gold. Dozens and dozens of reps, staffers, runners, handlers, members, and officials of various organizations bustled about the clubhouse, doing the million things that needed to get done in the aftermath of the epic battle on Centre Court today.
He should have been feeling high on the adrenaline of coaching Rafa to another Wimbledon final, the first since 2011. They were going out to celebrate tonight despite the loss in five sets. And yet he could feel a headache coming on. The conspicuous sounds coming from the showers in the men’s locker room might’ve had something to do with it.
To be fair, he did say no sex before the final. He didn’t say anything about afterward. But given the complete lack of privacy in the shared locker room, he didn’t think they would actually….
“This is awkward,” said Titin.
Carlos glared in the general direction of the locker against which Titin was leaning. Titin had his arms crossed and one foot propped, idle now that he had finished Rafa’s cool down routine.
“How did he even get in here? He shouldn’t have a player pass,” Carlos grumbled.
Titin shrugged. “Maybe he bribed the attendant.”
A particularly loud groan escaped the shower area.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard Roger being this loud before,” said Novak conversationally from behind his own locker.
The gold Champions Cup replica sat on the bench beside him.
Titin raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him.
Novak rolled his eyes and clarified, “from physical exertion, I mean. I know Roger’s usually loud in the locker room, but this is not the same. I honestly didn’t take him for the type, given how quiet he was during matches. You never even hear him grunting or huffing. Rafa I’m not surprised by, everyone in the stadium can hear him when he gets going, but Roger….”
“Please shut up,” Carlos muttered.
Novak shrugged. “I’m just saying.”
At that moment, Benito popped his head around the corner. He eyed where all of Rafa’s stuff was strewn about but noted no Rafa. Of course, he could hear Rafa and could probably hazard a guess where he was.
Normally it was his job to wrangle Rafa for the media, but he apparently decided he wasn’t getting paid enough to extract Rafa from whatever hands-on consolation prize Roger was giving him right then.
“The ATP rep is waiting outside. Winner’s press conference starts in 20 minutes, runner up in one hour,” he told Carlos. “Make sure he’s not late. I’m not going to explain that to the press.”
“He’s always running late, they know that,” replied Carlos.
“Fine, then you can be the one to explain why it took him over an hour to shower,” he said and ducked out again.
Carlos cursed.
“Can you, um, see if they’re going to be done anytime soon? I have to be out there sooner than him, and I need to shower too,” said Novak.
Carlos gave him a look of supreme indifference.
Novak looked at Titin, who shrugged.
Goran, who had been stoically packing up, made a sound of disgust.
“You guys are useless. Let me show you how to handle this.”
Everyone watched as Goran stalked to the entrance of the showers and pounded on the wall.
Boom boom boom.
“HEY! Ten minutes! You have ten minutes to finish and get out. Otherwise I start inviting the press in here for locker room interviews.”
There was silence for a moment save for the sound of running water and then—
“Shit! You can’t. That’s not allowed,” yelled Rafa.
“You want to test me?” roared Goran back.
Five minutes later, Roger strolled out with a towel around his waist and another draped around his shoulders, looking as relaxed and casual as if he were at a spa.
“Hey Goran, nice to see you,” he said. He turned to the rest of the team. “Ulises, Marco, likewise. Hope the families are good. Novak, congratulations today. Excellent game.”
Novak cleared his throat and nodded, looking everywhere but directly at Roger. His cheeks were slightly pink.
“Thanks, Roger. I appreciate it.”
He hastily gathered his things and ducked past him into the shower area. Roger watched him go with a quizzical look.
“I wonder what’s gotten into him.”
Carlos and Goran coughed simultaneously.
“Where’s Rafa?” asked Carlos, redirecting the conversation to safer, less weird-jealousy-fueled topics.
“He’s getting cleaned up. He’ll be out in a minute,” replied Roger.
As if on cue, Rafa poked his head out. He carefully kept hold of his towel around his waist and looked left and right to see if the coast was clear. Upon seeing that every single person in the locker room was staring straight at him, he froze. By the redness in his face, he appeared to be debating whether he should come out or make the shower his new permanent home. He settled on looking to Roger for help, eyes pleading.
Roger smiled encouragingly and strolled over to him as relaxed and confident as could be. To everyone’s astonishment, he cupped Rafa’s face with one hand, leaned in, and kissed him deeply, thoroughly, and with obvious use of tongue. Rafa’s embarrassment—and dignity, and thoughts—went sailing away like a ball into the stands. He instinctively rose onto his toes and leaned forward into the kiss. Roger took a step back. Rafa followed the kiss forward. Roger leaned back again, and again, bringing Rafa—still up on his toes and seeking out his touch—with him step by step until he managed to lead Rafa from the shower room entrance all the way to the appropriate locker.
With his mouth.
One final kiss, and Roger released him and gave him a gentle push to deposit him on the bench, dazed.
Roger turned to Carlos.
“There you go,” he said solicitously, gesturing as if to say ta da!
Carlos gave him an incredulous stare.
Roger smirked and said, “You’re welcome.”
One day, Carlos was going to punch that self-satisfied look right off the bastard’s face. But not today, because he did manage to get Rafa out of the showers without Rafa combusting from embarrassment. But jesus, why did he have to do it like this? Why was he like this?
“For fucks sake, go put some clothes on,” Carlos grumbled.
Roger laughed like the total ass he was.