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Day 2 – 1st Round
It is around 5 o’clock in the morning in Europe. Rafael starts watching sitting in his bed, tense, hugging Ozee to his body (Bear and Cangu are peeking at the TV from their respective armchairs), and gnawing at his skin around the nails.
Very soon he fist pumps, uttering a not so silent ‘sí’ and sits the huge stuffed ice bear beside him, patting its head. They are set now, they are all good – Roger is cruising.
During the last set he is relaxed, leaning back to the headboard, basking in the glorious sight of his lover pulling of shots that make Rafa giggle delightedly as long as they are not hit against him.
At the end he is drinking in Roger’s radiating presence, his right-in-the-moment-ness, and he feels rather enchanted by it, sucked into the television, being flown to Roger’s side, into his arms. He is grinning ear-to-ear, stupidly, he believes, and waves back at Roger when he signs the camera on his way leaving the court.
Nothing is hotter than the occasionally squinting up at the Sun but otherwise undisturbed Roger giving a clinical performance at the first encounter of the Australian Open.
The tennis year has officially begun. Flawlessly so.
Day 4 – 2nd Round
The Federer vs. Davydenko match in the second round of the Australian Open 2013 is quite a win for Roger. Easy on the eyes, calming to watch, Rafa thinks.
Yet, his heart is racing and he is pretty much thrown off by nothing else than his lover’s outfit. Well, and the man in it, naturally, but that’s not the point now. When he hears Jim Courier to say how the microphone problems have brought him closer to Roger, Rafa’s blood is boiling in his veins and he is ready to burst. He is pacing his hotel room in Barcelona, wishing he could be there in Melbourne with Roger. And to punch Jim in the face, possibly.
A couple of hours pass until Rafa’s phone rings; it was a torture to wait this long but he tries to sound happy.
“¡Hola!”
“Hola yourself!” says Roger’s low and satisfied voice. “How did I do?”
“Good. ¡Enhorabuena, Rogelio!”
“Thank you!” Roger accepts the congratulations.
“Now you can wipe the court with Bernard,” Rafa adds, making Roger gently chuckling. “I can no stand his attitude, is young Nole all over again, no?”
Roger laughs now. “Oh, I don’t know. He hasn’t said the king is dead, yet, has he? Maybe if he beats me.”
“He will not!” Rafa cuts in vehemently.
“I hope so!” says Roger with a sigh.
“I know so!” Rafa doesn’t know mercy in this matter.
There is a not entirely comfortable silence at both ends of the line.
“Is something wrong, Rafi?”
Rafa grunts. “Pink.”
“Pink?”
“Sí.”
“Pink,” Roger repeats more for himself until it sinks in. “Got a problem with my fashion choices, Rafael? I thought you had liked it when I had given my yes to it.”
He is smiling on; Rafa can hear it in his voice.
“I like. But not if everybody try hitting on you, no?”
“What?”
“Is playful, you say so too! Come play with me, no?”
“Rafa!” Roger bursts out in laughing. “Did you read Maribel’s girly magazines again?”
“Play around and all... Jim flirting with you... Chris Evert drooling over you!”
“That is ridiculous! And what does that have to do with PINK at all? You are being unreasonable here, Raf.”
Rafa takes a deep, calming breath. “If they touch you, Roger, I tear them apart!”
“Mmhhmmm, you do, of course, baby!” Roger giggles on, adding more fuel to Rafa’s jealousy. “And what about the net hugs?”
“I no kidding, Roger!” His tone is indeed dead serious and it makes Roger rethink his options.
He takes the conversation to another direction. “You know why I chose the pink colour? It’s a reminder of last year’s Open when you called me a rose. Rings a bell?”
“¿Qué?” asks Rafa dumbly.
“Ja. Pink is rosa in Spanish. Actually, it’s rosa in German, too. There you have it,” Roger explains.
“Oh.” That is all Rafa can utter.
“The story behind the pink in my attire. You call me a rose and I will use it sometime, somewhere,” says Roger rather lightly.
“I no want to talk about that thing,” Rafa mutters. The last he wishes for is to be mentally taken back to 2012 when he said bad things about Roger in a press conference.
“But I told you I gained something positive from that so don’t sweat it again!”
Rafa is silent.
“The pink is for you. I’m carrying you with me here. And nobody is hitting on me, Rafa.”
“They better not!” The Spaniard mumbles and Roger is off to have his second giggle fit.
“I wish I knew why you think that everyone wants me!”
“You hopeless, you no see what they see! What I see! And I am no there to protect you!”
Roger smiles, Rafa knows he does. It lights up his tone and soothes Rafa’s heart finally.
“Nobody gets in my pants, baby, but you, only you, you alone! Even if you are not here to give them the infamous death glare.”
Rafa surrenders. He doesn’t have the will to fight this anymore. “I miss you, Rogi,” he whispers.
“I know, Liebchen. And I you. Now, tell me what you are wearing... And care to take it all off for me?”
Rafa’s breath hitches...
He is late from his practice in the afternoon. He is tuning out Toni’s lecturing and thinking back to Roger’s caressing voice and delicious sounds he made whilst pleasuring himself. Then he thinks about Roger’s sleeping form under a thin blanket, with a subtle and satiated smile on his beautiful face. And he happily thinks of Roger being so ready to sweep the court with Bernard Tomic’s appallingly filthy mouth and sorry arse on Saturday.
He hopes it is going to be a night match again so his Rogelio can wear rosa for him.
Day 6 – 3rd Round
Rafa doesn’t know the titles’ names in English but professor is professor in Spanish, too; well, save one little, insignificant ‘s’. Or catedrático, and he finds this word even more matching because that is how good Roger played tonight. Or today, for Rafa. The time zones are still confusing; he is not familiar with not being there in Australia.
‘There you learned your lesson, punk!’ Rafa thinks while he is tapping the screen of his phone to call Roger.
“You in a hurry today that you couldn’t wait until I ring you?” Roger asks without saying hello. He is snickering softly.
‘Oh, here we go, he’s seconds from giggling,’ Rafa thinks but says something completely different.
“I bow to you.”
And there it comes, Roger bursts out in tiny, pearly giggles but suddenly he comes to a halt. “I... wait, what?” His voice shows confusion.
“You heard,” Rafa says.
“Bow to me? Hmm, and then?” Roger is switching back to playful.
“I drop on knees, no? And bow my head.”
“And?”
Rafa knows Roger’s mind is taking a different turn but he means what he is saying and not in a sexual way. “I call you master.”
Silence is stretching between them until Roger clears his throat.
“Say that in Spanish!”
“Maestro?”
“Sí,” Roger whispers between loud breaths.
Rafa smiles to himself. “It is profesor as lecturer. Or jefe as leader and boss.”
“Seems you have many words for me,” Roger murmurs in a low voice.
“I have three other.”
“Do you?”
“Número uno,” Rafa breathes it out.
“I am not,” Roger protests weakly.
“Always you are.” One doesn’t disagree with Rafael Nadal on that. Period.
“What’s the third?”
“Rogelio, no?” Rafa grins and Roger groans.
“Gosh, this is turning me on...”
“Problemo?”
“I’m not back in the hotel, yet, Raf!”
“Oh, lo siento... I really call early, sorry! But you the only one who get horny by número uno!” he snorts and sends Roger into his high-pitched laugh.
“Probably,” he sighs. “I wish I could kiss you!” he says then and the next sigh is deeper. “You shouldn’t drop on your knees, though! Those poor things had seen enough bad treatment.”
Rafa knows a challenge when he sees one. “You no say this last time I sucked you, Roger!”
Roger hisses but isn’t late with the counterblow. “Last time you sucked me you were sitting and I was standing in front of you!”
The Spaniard makes a desperate sound deep in his throat. “Tu eres imposible, no!”
“I think I won this!” says Roger cheekily. Rafa knows he is smirking.
“La Pantera Rosa strike back, no?”
“Pink Panther now?” Roger asks, surprise is obvious in his tone.
Rafa chuckles. “En inglés, sí.”
“What’s with the name-calling today? At least have the decency to wait till I’m back to my room!”
“Sí, I wait but if you fall asleep the minute you are in bed, I wake you up, Rogi!”
“No, no, I won’t! I sign in to Skype, I want to see you. Is that okay?”
“More embarrassing video chat sex? Sure thing!”
“Good boy. And you have given me an idea of what kind of gift I should get you from Oz Open.”
“No more sexy toys, I hope!” Rafa’s voice is clearly frightened.
“Oh, you are ruining my plan of buying a new pink butt plug for you!” Roger says seriously and Rafa can almost hear him pouting.
“You will live, Rogelio!” he rolls his eyes.
In each and every light word of them there is a serious undertone of togetherness, oozing love and contentment.
They end the call after some more funny bantering and whilst Roger is driving to the hotel, Rafa is checking the sports channels. He sees the Simon vs. Monfils match is still going on but he has no eyes for that. He finds the recorded game of Roger and pushes replay.
Day 8 – 4th Round
It’s all gaping and hissing and getting lost in Roger’s game for Rafa. There are not many of the oh-and-ah type of lobs or volleys but the Swiss shows off a consistently working backhand and quite brilliant service games. So much that he outserves the big server Raonic. Rafa loses track of counting the unforced errors after 7 but that 7 happens during one and a half sets – Roger makes one unforced error in the first set which is remarkably ridiculous and makes Rafa to shake his head in mild amusement. It looks so easy – even if he knows it is not –, and he thinks Roger is not even in the Zone.
When Roger arrives to Jim and puts down his bags to face the interviewer, Rafa is happy to see his lover so carefree. He feels a pang of jealousy by seeing Roger’s team up there in the player’s box, all beaming – Rafa would give everything for being there among them but he chases the unwanted thoughts away. Instead of mourning his bad luck, he is drinking in Roger’s every word, every movement, and sharing his every smile. He secretly smirks to himself, knowing that soon those words will get softer, gentler, and only for Rafa’s ears to catch, and the smiles will broaden, the eyes will light up a shade brighter. So he is patient; his time will come.
“I not know what you do, Rogi, but keep it up, no?” he tells Roger later via Skype and sees his lover’s unbelieving expression.
“You sound like you had no idea I can play tennis!” Roger replies.
“No, no, just... the unforced errors... it is impressive stuff! Not like your left arm, Roger!” Rafa snickers.
The older man shakes his head. “Don’t go there! Anyway, Milos says he was injured and not sure about playing before the match.”
“Oh,” Rafa exclaims. “Nice that he played then, you no need another walkover at this stage of the tourney.”
“Genau,” nods Roger. “Now tell me, must you play doubles with Monaco of all people? And why do I have to find this out from the press?” he pouts.
Rafa laughs. “I thought you no read the press, Roger!”
“I read your press, not mine.”
“Keep an eye on me, sí, Agent GS17?”
“Obviously. I need to know what you do and who you grope.”
“Ouch, low blow!”
Roger makes such a displeased face. “I don’t want to hear blow and Monaco in the same context!”
“How you want to hear blow then?” Rafa asks in husky voice.
Roger gulps and stares back at him through the screen, intently. “That’s a sudden change of direction,” he murmurs, blinking rapidly to hide his abashment. “But I would very much like to be wrapped in your impressive arms.”
It’s Rafa’s turn to blush and be amazed at Roger’s fast recovery. “I no like it either, Rog, you there and I here, so far away...”
“And while I compete in a slam,” the Swiss adds.
“Is going well without me, no?” Roger has some suspicious undertone in his voice that bothers Rafa.
“It’s not that I don’t play well. I do, I think. But we hadn’t been apart for a whole tourney for years, Raf,” Roger sighs. “But it’s okay, seeing you keeps me sane when I would feel painfully lonely. And you know, thoughts of you always took my concentration off during a match when you were there as a potential opponent later in the tournaments. But now when I have my mind on you for a second in any match, it gives me strength to go on and pull out even better shots, knowing you are watching me at the other end of the world and smile and approve.”
So Rafa smiles, kindly, with a warm glow in his eyes. “I approve, Rogi.”
Roger reaches forward and smoothes his fingers through the screen and Rafa shudders as if the loving touch was transmitted to him via their Internet connection.
“Make a deal, sí? If you are in the final, I go with the first plane,” he offers.
“I so hoped you would say that!” Roger sounds relieved.
“This a prize enough to make it to the final?”
“Hell, yes!”
“You think you can come with me to Chile from there?” Rafa asks tentatively.
Roger is in deep thoughts; Rafa can hear the wheels in his brain turning.
“I don’t know... It’s a lot of travelling and I should get back to winter the sooner, the better.”
Rafa nods in resignation. He is not happy. “This months in schedule will suck. Wish you do the South-American clay swing with me! Why you are a sucky clay courter when you grew up on it, Rog?”
His partner just laughs. “Indeed, I’m such a loser on clay, aren’t I?”
Rafa makes an agreeing and disgusted face and Roger snorts.
“I will show you sucky next time we meet, King of Clay!” he promises.
“Oh, back to blow, Rogelio?”
“Yeah, I have to reach that final to have it sooner,” Roger winks.
They breath out tiny appreciation sighs in unison and later when Roger moves properly into bed with his laptop lying beside him and his eyelids are getting noticeably heavier with every minute, Rafa doesn’t tell him to end the call but lets Roger fall asleep midsentence and stays online to watch the serene slumbering form for another hour or so. Only then he types a ‘see you later’ message to Roger and closes the chat.
Rafa
Wish I can kiss you good morning when you wake!!! :)
Day 10 – Quarter-finals
Rafa’s phone dings five minutes after he had seen Roger to finish giving autographs and leave the court. He is instantly alarmed.
“Rogi!” he answers the call cautiously. “Something wrong?” He is ready to hear bad news.
“Hey,” Roger greets him and his tone is light but weary to some extent. “No, nothing, I just wanted ten minutes with you alone. I pushed back my presser with 20, so we have some time.” His voice falters; he probably doesn’t know how to go on. “Uhm... how are you doing?”
Rafa snorts. “I am fine, Rogi. How are you?”
A soft breathy laugh comes from the other side of the line. “Thrilled.”
“Uhum. And?”
“Happy.”
“And?”
“Exhausted.”
“And?”
“Still lonely, I think.”
“Rog...”
“I wish it was you in the semi or you waited for me in the final!”
There is silence at both ends, then Roger sighs and Rafa clears his throat. Time to talk some sense into his lover.
“If you want, I go now, Rogi. You know I would! If you need me there... I no like to see you like this. Or... tell me, you are just emotional after the match? Because if you are, that is OK, Rog, and it will go, no? But if you say it is too hard without me, I hop on first flight and fly to you!”
It’s rare to have Roger listening this intently, not giving any sound to indicate that he is going to interrupt Rafa. Another sign of what a mentally depleting fight it was to defeat Jo-Wilfried.
“Thanks,” says Roger after a little pause. “It’s okay if you come for the final, we agreed on that.”
“¿Sí?”
“Yes. Sí, sí!” And the giggle makes its reappearance.
Rafa is still not totally convinced but he lets it go for now, not wanting to push Roger’s uplifted spirit back to the previous mood. And Roger is obviously not up to that either because his voice is clear and cheerier.
“I’ve got a stuffed koala bear from one of my fans,” he tells Rafa, “but it will by no means be added to your touring entourage of toys, so don’t even try!”
Rafa huffs in disagreement. “I watch your matches with my touring entourage, how you put it,” he says, grinning. “You show me the koala later?”
Roger accedes and – as he cannot escape of facing the journalists in the media room –, bids reluctant farewell to his crazy-for-plushy-animals significant other.
The Spaniard feels temporarily down by the parting but a forming plan takes his mind over soon.
Some time later – after Rafa had won his very first online poker tournament – he searches for Roger’s press conference to see how effective the pep talk he had given Roger was. Greatly, the answer is. Roger is smooth as silk, gathered, kind and smiley, allowing himself to give some insights but just moderately, never giving away a morsel of the real level of his physical but mostly emotional lassitude. He is as sharp as ever.
And Rafa – nodding proudly to himself – is as pleased.
Day 12 – Semi-finals
He can hardly keep his nerves at bay in front of a screen as his eyes are following Roger’s figure walking off the court. The Swiss doesn’t stop to sign this time entering the tunnel. The cameras cut back to Andy Murray and that is the clue to turn around on the corridor and wait for Roger to notice him. Rafa is biting his lip anxiously.
When Roger looks up, he comes to a sudden halt. He can no longer move; his feet seemingly have got glued to the floor at ten meters distance from his partner.
“Rafa,” he whispers in an incredulous tone, so soft that Rafa cannot hear it but he is able to read the name from his mouth.
He offers a tentative smile to Roger and when the other man doesn’t make any attempt to walk closer, Rafa goes to him, looks him in the eye, and taking his face in hands, he kisses Roger soundly on the lips.
Roger is kissing back, desperately pressing into Rafa, wanting to embrace his solid body in his arms. When he realizes that the bags on both shoulders won’t let it, he pulls back to shake them off. He doesn’t give any thought to the rattling sounds coming from his equipment; he doesn’t care – Rafa is here and their bodies mingle, matching perfectly, lips are parting in another kiss and the first touches of tongues are energizing, recharging his batteries.
The people surrounding them cease to exist, disappearing into fog; nobody and nothing else is a part of their reality anymore but them, clutching at one another and breathing in the other’s scent.
“How?” Roger asks when they part.
Rafa shrugs coyly. “I hoped Jim to tell you I am here how he told me last year, remember, no?”
Roger makes a painful face. “They don’t make an interview with the loser,” he says, hanging his head in defeat.
“None of that, Roger!” Rafa scolds him strictly. “You are real fighter. It was real war...”
“Which I lost,” Roger cuts in.
“No matter. You give everything, no? Only one can win a match but you are winner for me today. You left everything out there on court and that what matter, no?”
“Where did you hear that?” asks Roger and a small smile is playing around his lips.
“A former No.1 said to me. One who I chase for years, no? When I lost a very important final in Wimbledon. And next year I won it against that guy. And won the guy, too, no?”
Laughter breaks up from Roger’s throat and Rafa thinks, ‘mission accomplished!’ Only then he starts to return to the normal world and notice the audience they have.
“We make a scene, no? Come, give me those!” Rafa says and lifting Roger’s bags, he turns and leads the way to the locker rooms with Roger in tow, following him obediently.
Roger drops down on the bench when they reach his locker. His shoulders are sagged, sighs are deep and his fingers are combing through his slightly wet tresses in frustration.
“Enough of this!” Rafa says after he has put the sports bags down.
Peeking up at him, Roger doesn’t look so lost anymore; he is shaking his head at Rafa, staring at him positively amazed.
“I can’t believe you came! I don’t deserve it, I didn’t reach the final,” he mumbles.
“Shh,” Rafa whispers and standing in front of Roger, he takes both of his hands in his own and bends to place a gentle kiss in Roger’s hair on the top of his head. “You go shower and to press! Then we eat, you get treatment and we sleep. Tomorrow, we go home, no? This way we have six days together before I leave and we have to celebrate our anniversary a bit sooner!” He winks.
“Another year passed, eh?” Roger nods without further discussion. “Are you coming to the media room with me? I miss our epic pressers from last year. Mine were really boring this time.”
“I am no sure. Better I not.” Rafa is scratching his head self-consciously.
“Oh, come on, they will be delighted and I could use some attention being taken off of me!”
Rafa cannot say no to Roger’s pleading puppy face; definitely not now when he has previously decided to do everything that can help his man to cope with the loss and recuperate his mental strength and inner serenity. So he agrees and finds himself walking in the press conference room side by side with Roger, loosely holding hands.
The press members are astounded; then again, it is a pleasant surprise for them to see Rafa there.
“No, Rafa won’t answer questions,” Roger lays the rules, and Rafa is taking a seat at the very end in the first row, facing the podium.
He is observing Roger and sinks deeply in thoughts about him, his demeanour, his grace in defeat, his utter honesty. Roger is disappointed but upbeat. Yes, he was tired after the 5-setter he played with Jo-Willie (Rafa grins at hearing him using this nickname), but Andy beat him fair and square, no doubt about that so Roger is giving all the credits to his opponent.
Rafa hisses and looks around slightly disturbed, as if he was caught in spotlight, when Roger adds, “You know, it’s not the first time it’s happened here, going out in five.” He briefly looks at Rafa and smiles. All is well and goes smoothly from then on.
Cosily tucked in bed in Roger’s hotel room, Rafa is hopping the stuffed koala toy on his bent knees. Roger is watching him with an adoring expression on his face.
“You know, it’s still crazy that you are here,” he says. “Everything happened so fast; I lost but you came and now it’s all over...”
“Hmm, sí, I will miss the pink,” Rafa jokes. “It grow on me, no?”
“Did it now? Then you will be very, very happy with this!” Roger predicts and he bends to fish a gift bag out that had been lying under the bed so far.
He hands it to Rafa who is looking inside and gapes at the Pink Panther that is being exposed for his eyes. “No, you did not!”
“I did,” says Roger. He is very satisfied with himself. “I don’t know why I do this all the time, getting you more animals. But I couldn’t miss this one.”
And they are both sniggering madly.
“I should name him Roger but that lead to confusion, no? So he will be Pantera,” Rafa announces the official christening.
“Obviously,” nods Roger.
He loves how Rafa names the things by what they actually are. He loves everything about Rafa. And what he loves the most at the moment is Rafa being here, warm, solid, real, and he is getting comfortable under the blanket, holding Roger to him with one arm and hugging Panther with the other.
“I can’t wait to be back home with you, baby!” Roger murmurs. “Thank you for coming all this way for me, for such a short time!”
Rafa’s incoherent muttering means the world to Roger when he finally lets his eyes close and muscles loosen to rest and his mind quiet down.
It wasn’t a bad slam, he thinks. Not bad at all.