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When Enemies Attract	By : tennisstar Category: Individual Celebrities > Athlete/Sports Misc Views: 3351 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know Roger Federer or Novak Djokovic, or claim that this is in any way representative of their true lives. I do not make any profit from the writing of this story. This is fiction.

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
- 14
“I’m tired of this fucking schedule,” Novak complained, tossing his racket harshly into his bag and throwing himself unceremoniously onto the courtside bench.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Marian Vajda asked, perhaps more aggressively than was necessary, but after days with the moody Serb he was just about ready to snap. “We carefully planned out this schedule for a successful season and you’ve been doing well.”
“Too well. I’m not even challenged. Do you realize I haven’t dropped a set in nearly two weeks?” Novak asked, as if the idea disgusted him. Since when did he mind winning easily?
“Would you rather play your best all week and lose to Federer or Nadal in the final? Have your prize money cut in half?” his coach asked, tapping his foot with impatience. Djokovic may be a tennis star on the rise, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a brat sometimes.
“It’s not all about the fucking money!” Novak yelled, watching as the other players moved down a couple courts, getting away from him.
“Really? I thought that was your goal this year. Build up your wealth with these smaller tournaments, and focus on playing your best and establishing your name in tennis at the Slams. And you did that. You’re already up one on every other player. None of them have a 2008 Grand Slam title,” Marian said logically. Novak knew that was the plan. They spent hours during the off season planning it that way, but now he was cursing himself and anyone involved for creating this stupid schedule that kept him from seeing Roger.
“I know,” Novak said, finally giving in. He didn’t mean to stress his coach like this; it shouldn’t be his problem that Novak was having a meltdown because it had been nearly a month since he saw Roger. Marian was just doing his job and Novak was just being a douche. “I guess I’m just nervous about the French. I hate clay.”
“Don’t say that. You’ll never win if you’re so negative. You play on clay many times a year, this one shouldn’t be any different,” Marian said calmly, as if he wasn’t talking about the most coveted of Grand Slams. Novak knew it was different than any other matches on clay, mostly because of Rafael Nadal. Djokovic may have been able to best any other Serbian on clay, perhaps most players in Eastern Europe, but that didn’t change the fact that he would have to take down the King of Clay to win, something that even Roger hasn’t been able to do… yet.
“I know, it’s just— I’m tired of waiting, playing these stupid warm up tournaments. I’d rather just play it now. I’m ready,” Novak said confidently, though his mind still wasn’t on tennis. He was looking forward to playing at Roland Garros, well as excited as he could be about a match on clay. Novak already did the impossible this year by winning the Aussie Open, who knows how far his luck would carry him?
“No, you’re not ready. But you will be. Just focus on finishing here in Rome, then you can shift your focus to Roland Garros,” Marian advised, motioning for Bobby to rejoin them from the side court where he was practicing his serves. “30 more minutes of drills and you can go.”
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“Hey baby brother!” greeted Diana the moment she answered the phone. “I haven’t talked to you in ages.”
“I saw you yesterday,” Roger said dryly, easily proving her wrong.
“Yes, but that was with Mirka, so I couldn’t really talk to you. I was too busy making her feel inadequate and unwanted,” Diana said playfully, not too far off from the truth.
“Right. I, um—had something I wanted to ask you about,” Roger’s words fumbled out. He told himself not to be nervous, that’s why he called her instead of talking about it face to face, but he was a bundle of nerves anyway.
“Sure thing, what do you need?”
“Umm,” he started; suddenly very uncertain and wishing he had someone else to talk to about this. “You know how you wanted me to tell you when I—I mean we —when we…”
“You had sex?!” she guessed, sounding way more excited than what was appropriate for a sister. “When? Last night? You’ve only been there one day!”
“No, we haven’t,” he corrected, cutting through her stream of questions. “But I think we might soon.”
“How soon? Like while you’re in France? Or just in the near future? You better wait until next week when I’m in town, mister,” she said sternly.
“I don’t know,” Roger admitted. “I haven’t talked to him about it. I haven’t talked to him at all since we’ve been here.”
“Well don’t talk to him about it. That would be weird. It has to happen naturally,” she said and Roger could imagine her doing some waves of the ocean-like hand movement to emphasize naturally, as if he could actually see her.
“I’m not planning on talking to him about it. I’m trying to talk to you about it!” Roger said, wondering how their conversation got so off track.
“Oh, well then talk,” she said, obviously having to control herself from saying more.
“I just wanted to know, how exactly do I, you know, do it?” Roger asked, finally getting across the question he needed to ask and grateful that she couldn’t see the intense blush spreading across his cheeks.
He scowled when he heard Diana laughing. “Di,” he said irritably, not used to being laughed at.
“I’m sorry, Rog, it’s just a funny question to hear from your little brother. ‘Sis, how do I have gay sex?’” she rephrased it, and though Roger could see the humor in his question, or really who he posed it to, he chose to stay firm. He needed this answer.
“Well, are you going to answer?” he said. “I don’t have all day.”
“I’m not going to explain it to you!” she said. “That would be far too Freudian.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?” Roger asked, finally letting frustration overtake him. He’d been meaning to ask her for over a week now and the moment just never came up.
“I don’t know, trial and error? I’m sure you know the gist of it,” she suggested.
“I’m not just going to fumble my way through this, Di. He’s not some guy I picked up at a club. I know if this is not done right, it can hurt and I don’t want to take that chance,” Roger said harshly.
“Fine I’ll help you, only because you’re so good at those little speeches. You always get me,” she said, sounding more amused than frustrated and Roger suddenly got the feeling that she was going to help him all along, she just wanted to draw all his feelings out in the open. Damn her.
“Maybe you should watch some porn, that’s what Jim did when he was a teenager trying to figure sex out,” she suggested.
“Why do you know—” he started to ask, but found himself really not wanting to know why she knew that. “Seriously? Don’t you have to pay for that porn stuff? Are you forgetting who watches over my finances? That would be a weird charge to explain to Mirka,” Roger said, beginning to feel hopeless.
“Right. Oh, I know!” Diana said suddenly. “There are websites. Like how-to websites with tips and stuff. You can read up on the basics, then if you have any more specific questions, I guess I can ask one of my gay friends for you. Is that better?”
“Uh, yeah. I think I can manage that.”
“Just remember to wipe the browse history,” Diana reminded him.
“Okay. I might just use my phone. She’d never look there,” Roger said thoughtfully.
“Smart thinking. I’ll see you in a couple days. Don’t do anything before I get there,” she said before abruptly hanging up.
Roger looked around the room, checking the time. He had just over an hour before he needed to be anywhere and it seemed unlikely that Mirka would come knocking any time soon. Now was the perfect time to take Diana’s advice.
It didn’t take Roger long to find a reputable looking website. A gay magazine had published an article on first time sex which pretty much answered all of his questions. Roger couldn’t help but blush as he read through the article, surprised at how worked up he got just from words. He didn’t dare think of Novak, knowing he didn’t have time to explore that idea thoroughly.
Instead, Roger focused on absorbing all the information, wanting it imprinted in his mind for when the moment came. The article ended with an open invitation for readers to post their stories as comments, and that part truly made Roger blush. He was halfway through a particularly interesting story about two guys in a movie theater when Mirka came through the door. Roger jumped up quickly, rummaging around the room and stuffing various things into his pockets, pretending like he was getting ready to leave.
“Ready to go?” she greeted, barely looking up from her cell phone, which reminded Roger to close the internet window on his own phone.
“I’m ready,” he replied, quickly shooing her out the door. Roger hadn’t thought to steal her key this time, so he wanted to make her feel as uncomfortable as possible in his room so that she would stay away.
The car ride over was awkwardly silent, Mirka pretending to be busy on her phone and Roger trying not to get giddy at the prospect of finally seeing Novak, though probably just from afar. He was surprised that Mirka came with him inside the tennis center, but quickly remembered that she had some sort of business with one of the tournament directors to discuss. This was her second meeting this week so it must be somewhat important, though not enough to bother Roger with it. They came across Marat in the hallway outside the meeting room. Safin claimed he didn’t know where the meeting was to be held, but from his shifty behavior, Roger thought it was more likely that he was planning on meeting someone and they had interrupted, they were using an unusual entrance. Either way, Marat seemed happy to see them and followed Roger into the meeting room, leaving Mirka to her business.
Roddick soon joined them, complaining about being dragged here for a tedious meeting. Roger was only half listening. He had spotted Novak from across the room. It was difficult for Roger to just watch him and not think about everything he’d just read. When Ana joined his boyfriend, Roger was put slightly at ease. It’s kind of difficult to fantasize about a guy when he’s with the girl that everyone thinks is his girlfriend. Roger just watched them, thinking about how he’d like to bring up the subject of Ana to Novak sometime, mostly so he wouldn’t get a pang of jealousy when she leaned in close to whisper to him like that.
Roger didn’t really stop watching them until a word in the ATP official’s speech caught his ear. “…a couple cases of mononucleosis…” he heard suddenly and nearly forgot how to breathe. Roger waited for them to announce him as one of the cases, dreading the reaction he’d get from his peers, and most especially from Novak. He had considered telling Novak, but since the illness had been dormant in him before they even kissed, he decided not to. If it turned out that Novak had somehow gotten it from him, Roger would feel extremely guilty, not only for spreading it but for not telling him sooner. Damn it, Roger thought, one of the many curses he threw at himself. Why the hell was he thinking about sex when just kissing might’ve put Novak’s health at risk.
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“Have they started yet?” Ana asked, plopping into the nearest seat and handing over a cup of coffee to Novak.
“Not yet. I can’t drink this stuff! My first round is tomorrow morning,” Novak said, handing it back.
“And it’s Sunday morning now. 24 hours to wear off. I think you can handle it,” Ana said, forcing the cup back on her friend as she sipped from her own cup. “Besides you look so tired. Late night?” she whispered dramatically.
“God I wish it was. Do I really look tired? Like I just woke up tired or sickly tired?” he asked with panic in his voice, patting his face as if that would solve everything.
“I don’t know. Just drink, it’ll help,” she ordered and he willingly obeyed this time. “So what do you think this big meeting is about? They already went over the rules with us, as if we don’t know them by now.”
“Yeah, you say that now. Just wait until they call a foot fault or bad behavior on you, then you’ll be saying you never heard the rules,” Novak joked, as if Ana would ever get caught on such a charge. He’s known her since they were twelve and she’s never even thrown a racket.
Ana smacked him on the arm. She leaned in close, making sure nobody else was around. “Sven’s plane gets in soon if you want to come over tonight, early evening,” she corrected automatically, knowing he was about to bring up his early match again. “I told him you wanted to talk to him about something.”
“Okay,” Novak said, slightly nervous. He had been preparing himself for this little chat for nearly a week, knowing it would probably be the most awkward moment of his life, though still less awkward than if he tried to jump right into sex without knowing the details. “Is he going to be weird about this?”
“Are you?” she looked at him pointedly. “He’s a cool guy, Nole. And I’m sure he’ll be plenty nice about it. He was about your age when he came out, and it wasn’t entirely by choice. He’ll understand the position you’re in.” Novak was slightly relieved, hoping that she was right.
Verdasco interrupted them for a moment to say hello to Ana and give her a peck on the cheek before joining his fellow Spaniards. He was there just long enough to make Novak uncomfortable. Fernando pretty much ignored him this time, which made Novak think that Ana had told her boyfriend to leave him alone. That or he was less interesting back in the familiar tennis setting. Novak shuddered as he remembered their last meeting; it wasn’t until he got back to his room that he figured out what had caught Fernando’s interest. Novak had a mark on his neck, nearly hidden by the collar of his shirt, but still fairly visible and from the angle it looked like the person who gave it to him was standing behind him. Novak hoped Verdasco didn’t read too far into it, but even if he caught on, Ana clearly had him under control.
“Ahem,” a voice sounded from the front of the room. Looking over the crowd, Novak spotted Roger. He was sitting by Roddick, Blake and Safin, the old guys on tour as he liked to think of them. Novak didn’t think Roger fit into that group, probably because he was still on top of his game, but just seeing them together reminded him that Roger was older and definitely more mature. Novak didn’t really know why that was suddenly significant to him, but it was comforting nonetheless.
The voice interrupted his thoughts. “You have been brought here for a very specific reason. The ATP has recently become aware of a couple cases of mononucleosis amongst players. An investigation has lead us to believe that a water container at one of the tournaments might have been contaminated, leading to this spread. We are taking proactive steps to ensure the health of the ATP and WTA players; therefore, we are asking that each player come by this office,” he paused, pointing to a small room behind him, “at some point during this tournament to be tested. If you fail to do so within the indicated time period, you will be fined for every additional week until the test results are turned in to the proper authorities. Thank you for your time, you may go.”
“Mono? That’s not too bad,” Novak commented lightly, standing to leave. Ana handed him her purse to hold while she finished off her drink, Novak begrudgingly accepted it, looking around for Verdasco and wondering why he didn’t have to hold the purse. Novak turned to glare at the Spaniard, but he wasn’t around anymore. Novak turned his glare to Ana, who was seemingly taking forever to put on her damn jacket.
“Stop being a baby,” she chided, taking the purse back and guiding them through the mob of players. Novak looked around for Roger and was disappointed to see him walking away with Mirka. Where the hell did she come from? This was a players-only meeting, he thought, choosing to ignore his growing resentment for the woman. Instead he grabbed Ana by the wrist and took off in that direction.
“Where are we go—” Ana paused, spotting the famous couple through the crowd. “Nole,” she warned, but he pressed on.
They pushed their way through the crowd until they were only a couple paces behind Roger and Mirka. Novak dropped Ana’s wrist and pretended like they were deep in conversation. Their pace quickened until they were just near the couple. As they passed, Novak connected hands with Roger briefly before shouldering his way through. To anyone watching it would appear as if he was trying to knock Roger aside to get past, which is certainly what Mirka must’ve assumed since she called him an asshole under her breath. Novak heard Roger chuckle and he could only imagine the smile on his face, wishing he could turn around and see it, but that would be too obvious.
“She’s right you know,” Ana said with a smirk, drawing her friend’s attention back to her. “You are an asshole.”
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Novak’s first thought was that Sven is younger than he remembered, and definitely more handsome than he’d ever cared to notice. He had longish blond hair, bright blue eyes and a pleasant smile that put Novak slightly at ease. He guessed that Sven was in his early thirties, something he’d confirm with Ana later, which was surprising for a player who had been retired for nearly eight years. Most pro tennis careers last until the late twenties, sometimes early thirties if you’re still fit enough like Agassi, but early retirement for a moderately successful tennis player without some sort of tragic injury was nearly unheard of. He must’ve been in his mid-twenties when he quit. I wonder why… Novak thought. He was suddenly intrigued by the man, who he’d always thought to be a tad boring.
“Why did you quit?” Novak asked almost as soon as they sat down in the sitting room of his suite. Sven’s eyebrows furrowed and Novak couldn’t tell if he was surprised or annoyed by his question.
“Are you really going to waste questions on my past?” Sven asked with an accent Novak couldn’t quite identify, though definitely something European, making him more curious. When it seemed Novak wasn’t going to let it go, Sven answered. “An injury, minor but recurring. Same old story.”
Novak was satisfied with his answer. You only ever hear about the major injuries, like Blake’s neck brake, but most players fall victim to lesser injuries that are more of a constant nuisance.
“But that’s not what we’re here to talk about,” Sven said bluntly, giving him a look that read strongly of 'get on with it.' Novak had been staring at his hands, twiddling his thumbs idly as he tried to figure out what to say.
“Yeah, I just wanted to ask you some questions,” Novak started hesitantly. “You know, man to man.”
“You mean gay man to gay man,” Sven said knowingly.
“You know? Ana told you?” Novak asked in surprise. Ana wasn’t supposed to tell him anything. As far as he knew, this meeting could be about something tennis related.
“Yes, I know. But Ana didn’t tell me. I’ve just been there; I know what it’s like to be at the unsure, questioning phase. I knew as soon as you walked in.”
Novak smiled, slowly feeling more secure. It was normal for him to be this confused. “So what do I need to know?” Novak asked curiously, suddenly finding himself looking at Sven like a mentor.
“Well you shouldn’t tell too many people about your sexuality. If word gets out, your career will be affected. The world is becoming more progressive toward the homosexual community, but discrimination is still out there,” Sven said in a heavy tone and Novak got the feeling that he might be speaking from experience.
“Okay. What’s different about being with a man?”
“Other than less drama?” Sven joked. “It’s like being with your best friend. He’ll always understand you better than a chick because instinctively, you’re the same. Not to mention the fact that he knows a man’s body better than any woman ever could.”
Novak blushed. Is that why Roger always knew what to do? Or exactly where to touch to make him go crazy? The thought of Roger touching himself like he touched Novak was so pleasantly erotic that Novak found himself wanting to jump inside that mental picture to join his gorgeous boyfriend.
“Have you had sex?” Sven asked, cutting through his daydream. Novak felt his face flushing hot, hoping that his tan would hide the blush dancing across his features.
“Yes,” Novak answered defensively before realizing that Sven wasn’t talking about sex in general, but specifically if he’d had gay sex. Novak quickly corrected himself, knowing that if he lied about his experience, he wouldn’t get any advice and God knows he needed it. “Well, not exactly,” he admitted.
“Well there are two kinds of first times: the random hook up to “get it over with” fast and move on. And the fantastic magical night with someone special. Assuming that something more than fame kept you from taking home some twink from a club, you already have a guy, and probably one worth impressing if you care enough to come looking for advice,” Sven said knowingly, a confident smirk in place.
Novak was surprised Sven could guess he was attached, considering nothing in his well-known reputation would imply a commitment was ever in his future. Quite honestly, Novak hadn’t even considered sleeping with any other man; and though he could see the benefits of getting some practice, Novak felt that he’d rather share this experience with Roger, good or bad.
Exclusivity, Novak thought, wondering when the idea became more approachable and less frightening.
“So do you?” Sven prompted, waiting for proof he was right.
Novak smiled. “I have my someone special,” he answered, proudly thinking that if Sven knew who his boyfriend is he’d think Roger is a whole lot more than just special. Pretty damn spectacular is more like it. "So what do I do?"
“Is he new to all this too, or are you just nervous?” Sven pried.
“He is also newly gay,” Novak said sheepishly.
“Ahh,” Sven said thoughtfully. “Maybe this should’ve been a group meeting,” he joked and Novak was amused by the thought of Roger Federer taking any sort of advice from someone as normal as Sven. “Well I guess I’ll take you through the basics,” Sven offered, and for a moment Novak thought he meant physically take him through the motions which was a bit frightening, but he soon realized Sven just wanted to talk.
“The first thing to decide is top or bottom?” Sven asked.
“Um, wha—” Novak said before catching on. “Oh uh, how do you decide?”
“Well you’ve done stuff with this guy, right?” Sven asked, continuing after Novak nodded. “Who was mostly in control? Who ended up on top?”
Novak thought back. He’d initiated the first kiss, and their last day in Munich Roger let him get a bit frisky, but even then Novak felt Roger was ultimately in control. “Him,” Novak admitted, not sure whether he should be embarrassed. Men were always supposed to be powerful and domineering, and he was sometimes, but with Roger he felt the macho guy front was unnecessary, it was okay to just be him.
“Then you’ll probably bottom, at least for the first time,” Sven said unsympathetically. He noticed Novak’s uncertain expression and teased him. “Don’t get all pouty. I’m not questioning your manliness. You don’t have to bottom if you don’t want to.”
“It’s not that,” Novak said, rolling his eyes as if he hadn't just been thinking about that. “I’m just not used to…”
“Giving up control? Trusting someone like that?” Sven suggested, knowing exactly what he meant.
“Yeah. No, I do trust him,” Novak said, realizing for the first time that he really did trust Roger. “I’m just nervous I guess.”
“That’s normal,” Sven reassured him. “He’ll know what to do. Just make sure he prepares you well enough. Oh and use a condom,” he said, thinking over the procedures in his mind.
“Prepares me?” Novak asked hesitantly. Is he supposed to know that that entails?
“Yeah. Lots of lube. And stretching,” Sven said, amused by the look on Novak’s face. He knew the Serb was comparing it to sex with a girl and not liking that he would be playing the her role. “It may sound undesirable now, but you’ll like it,” Sven assured him. “If not, then you’re definitely a top.”
“Does it always hurt?” Novak asked, wishing he could keep the fear out of his voice.
“Not like the first time,” Sven responded rather casually. “Trust me; it won’t be the pain you remember.”
Just the suggestion of pleasure beyond what he’d experienced with Roger so far was incredibly appealing, so much so that he wanted to seek his Swiss boyfriend out that very moment, regardless of the time of night. It was only his lack of invitation that held Novak back.
Novak tried to think of anything else he’d like to ask Sven, knowing that this was probably a one-time deal and it would be his only chance. The only thing that intrigued him was something that Ana said about her coach earlier that day. She said that Novak could trust Sven with his secrets because he came out at Novak’s age, and not by choice.
“What made you come out?” Novak asked, hoping he wasn’t pushing the boundaries too far. “Ana said it wasn’t exactly by choice,” he added, hoping the mention of their mutual friend would keep him from getting mad.
“Did she?” Sven asked, sounding more amused than mad. “Then I’m sure she wanted me to tell you. I didn’t retire because of the injury, that was just well timed, or maybe my body’s own surrender. I was out partying with some friends at a gay club. Some pictures were taken and sold to tabloids. The ATP managed to dwindle down the story into just outrageous partying, but only with my agreement to bow out gracefully. I knew I couldn’t let that story get out. Back then, being openly gay was toxic, and I didn’t want to be toxic to the game or my country.”
“All over some party pictures? They have tons of those of me and nobody cares,” Novak commented absentmindedly. He was shocked at the story, did one detail matter so much? Would that happen to him if he got caught?
“Just be careful. Your generation is bringing a whole new fanbase to tennis. You, Nadal, Federer, Roddick. You guys have brought hundreds of thousands of fans to the game in the last few years and that might be jeopardized if someone gives them a reason to think tennis is the game of fags,” Sven said bitterly, not toward Novak, but with clear disdain for the situation.
For a moment, Novak considered telling Sven that Federer is also involved, merely to prove the man’s point further, but he knew that wasn’t his right to do. Sven was right; they had to stay a secret for the sake of tennis. As much as Novak would like to proudly announce to the world that he gets to be Roger Federer's boyfriend, his first and hopefully his only boyfriend ever, he knew that if their relationship ever got out it would be the end of both their careers.
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Roger was thinking about what exactly being in a relationship entailed. He had already given up on his no fraternization with other players during tournaments rule months ago because avoiding Novak when they are actually in the same city just seemed silly; and yet, he realized that being together during the Slams concerned him. Roger didn’t care much about the smaller tournaments. At this point in his career, would anyone really remember him as the 2007 Cincinnati Masters champion? Or the 2008 winner of the Gerry Weber Open? No, probably not. Roger cared about those tournaments, just as he cares about every tennis tournament he plays, but the Grand Slams are his priority. Maybe that's why Roger has been hesitant to contact Novak all this week.
At first Roger told himself he was just too busy, but then he found himself with gaps of time that he spent thinking of Novak, when really, he could’ve been with the Serb. During one particularly long stretch of free time, Roger deduced that it wasn’t his schedule that was holding them back. Something about being in Paris reminded Roger that they are competitors, on a battlefield that was particularly sacred to him because he had yet to come away from it victorious and he couldn’t afford the distraction that was his boyfriend, no matter how much he wanted to.
One lengthy glimpse of Novak in the player’s lounge the next day convinced Roger that though a sleepover might be out of the question, he couldn’t ignore Novak any longer. According to Diana, part of the reason the idolized Roger-Mirka relationship is currently in a state of failure is that they didn’t make time for each other, early on and after fame hit. Roger wouldn’t make that mistake with Novak.
And so he found himself in the locker room waiting for Novak to come into sight. Roger saw his boyfriend wander over toward the shower area with Murray several minutes before, at the time wondering why Murray was still in Paris after his loss two rounds ago, and was expecting them to return soon. Roger had already finished his match earlier this morning, and after a good rest, he returned to Roland Garros to use the practice courts for some serving drills. He knew Novak would finish off his opponent quickly since he was particularly fond of breaking serve and keeping the scores relatively low so it always looked like an easy win. Knowing this, Roger planned to be in the locker room at this specific time.
Roger hoped nobody was watching him as he tried to make himself look busy while waiting. He had been slowly alternating between putting on his shirt and taking it off for the better part of a half hour, which might seem strange to anyone who cared to look over for more than a minute. His lockers were in a particularly private area with few other lockers around him, the perks of being the number one seed, and they were just close enough to a walkway so that he wouldn't feel trapped in.
He was in the process of shrugging off his shirt when Novak came into sight on a nearby mirror. Roger edged himself close to the walkway, watching the mirror and hoping his timing would be right. He would hate to accidently catch Murray’s attention instead. Just as they were moving closer, Novak moved to the other side of Murray in the reflection and Roger was cursing his luck, thinking that Murray was in the way. It wasn’t until they were actually passing by that Roger saw that the mirror image was backward and Novak was actually on the side closest to him, making it easier for him to grab the Serb by one slightly damp arm and pull him into the alcove of lockers.
Novak looked startled, but only for a moment. Roger felt his lips twitch into a smirk that he hoped was kind of sexy as Novak moved closer. Roger pulled him forward roughly with his hand on the back of Novak’s neck and kissed his boyfriend more forcefully than he ordinarily would have. There was limited time and they both needed all they could get from each other before Murray came around looking for his friend.
Novak had his arms wrapped around Roger’s neck, keeping them firmly together while Roger’s hands roamed downward to the towel that was tied around Novak’s hips. Roger knew better than to strip the piece of cloth off him in a place where they could easily be discovered. Excuses could be made for just about anything as long as nobody’s cock is out. Roger happily settled for a firm, two handed grip on Novak’s ass. Just as his hands settled comfortably in place, Roger peeked open an eye and saw a curious-looking Rafa pass by with a quirked eyebrow.
The Spaniard was gone in an instant and with him went Roger’s thoughts of anything but the two of them in the moment. Frankly, he had more pressing matters, like the gentle roll of Novak’s hips that was currently providing friction in all the right places. Roger wasn’t sure if it was their maddeningly hot kiss or his not-so-subtle squeezing that made Novak shiver slightly and moan into his mouth, but Roger found himself incapable of stopping either so he hoped Novak’s reaction was out of pleasure.
Novak was kissing his way down Roger’s neck and as he continued past Roger’s collarbone he wondered how far the Serb was going to go. They both went silently still when a Scottish accent reverberated through the large room. “Nole? Where are you?”
Novak was scuffling to compose himself as the voice drew closer, making sure his towel was not only securely wrapped around his waist but making an effort to hide his obvious erection in the folds of the fabric. The voice was growing nearer and Novak’s anxiety heightened. He was about to be caught by the person he’d most like to hide this relationship from and there was nothing he could do at this point. How would he explain his sudden absence?
“Oh, hi Rafael,” Andy’s voice said suddenly, just around the corner from them. “Have you seen Novak?”
“I see him,” Nadal offered in his usual cheery voice.
“Where is he?” Murray asked after several moments when it seemed no elaboration was coming.
“I not know,” Rafa said plainly.
“Where was he when you saw him?” Andy rephrased his question, clearly getting frustrated with the Spaniard.
“I see him this morning. On the court. He play next to me at practice and I say ‘Hi Nole,’” Rafa said cheerfully. Novak nodded to himself. Rafa wasn’t wrong, that happened, but from Andy’s exasperated sigh that wasn’t what he was looking for. Novak decided to ease the situation, offering Roger an apologetic smile before joining the others in the hallway.
“There you are! Where did you go? I was looking all over,” Murray asked, not hiding his annoyance. He was right in the middle of what he thought was a pretty good story when Novak disappeared.
“He is been over there,” Rafa said, pointing behind them to a more deserted part of the locker room where Novak had wandered out of.
Murray rolled his eyes. “I thought you only saw him this morning.”
“I see him in morning and just before I see you,” Rafa said simply. Novak could tell he was putting on an act. Rafa could weave a web of confusing lies faster than anyone because of the language barrier and the innocent honesty that others have come to expect from him.
“And what was he doing?” Murray asked, leaving the question open to both of them.
“I tripped over a bag,” Novak said quickly. Rafa had done well with his lies so far, but Novak didn’t want to chance it that his luck would run out.
“A bag? Over there. Most of those players are out, only Federer’s locker is over there.”
“Yeah, it was his bag,” Novak replied, wishing that he didn’t have to bring Roger into this.
“Oh, that is why you yell at him?” Rafa asked, joining in on the story.
“Of course, he may think he’s King of the world, but I wasn’t going to let him just leave his bag in my walkway. Actually it was more of a kick than a trip,” Novak said, letting his arrogance show and trying to imagine Roger’s amused smile when he overheard. Murray seemed almost relieved by his cockiness, like all was back to normal, and released him from interrogation immediately.
“You showed him,” Murray said with equal arrogance, as if he had actually been there for the spat and declared his friend victorious. Novak just laughed.
“I sure did.”
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Roger was almost embarrassed by the score. Straight sets: 6-1, 6-3, 6-0. Part of him expected to lose to Nadal, he had learned to be prepared for that over the last couple of years, but to lose so quickly in the final of a Grand Slam was an amateur move that any true champion should be ashamed of, and ashamed he was. Roger had never won the French, but he certainly hadn’t lost here this bad in years. Roger wouldn’t be surprised if his fans had lost faith in him after this, the crowd certainly did after just the first set. They weren’t very happy with the speedy, uneventful match that was hardly worth the expense they paid to see it, unless they enjoyed watching Rafa win with ease.
The day got even worse when Roger faced the reporters. Not only were they harsh about his performance in the final, but his mono diagnosis had been leaked online and since he hadn’t made an official statement, they were desperate to get one out of him right then while they had his attention. Allison stepped in quickly to redirect the questions and Roger was grateful his publicist was there to cut the conference off once it was detoured.
Roger sent his team back to the hotel. He couldn’t face them right now. Eventually they would have the “what went wrong” discussion and plan how to avoid making the same mistakes in the future. They would do that…eventually, but for now their presence reminded him of all the similar meetings in the past, including the one here in Paris last year where Roger said he would never lose to Rafa at Roland Garros again. Great, so now I’m a loser and a liar, Roger thought disdainfully.
Mirka seemed hesitant to leave him, knowing his post-big-loss routine all too well. She recommended the hotel bar since they were already paying for discreetness and no reporters were allowed inside to watch him drink himself into oblivion. Roger agreed, knowing Mirka would worry less if he was keeping his reputation safe. For now, he just wanted to be alone, and luckily the stadium was empty enough that he could hang around without being disturbed.
He found a bench near a window overlooking Chatrier centre court, noticing the peaceful beauty of the red clay when it wasn’t in use. The court had already been groomed in preparation for the women’s final the next morning. Looking over the stands, Roger noticed a singular form in the sea of bleachers not far from him. It was a woman. That much he could tell from her dark flowing hair that was shining brightly in the sun, but from the way she was dressed, Roger found himself thinking she would be more appropriately described as a girl than a woman. He felt drawn to her for some reason and before he knew it Roger was weaving through the seats until he was right behind her.
She must’ve heard him come up behind her, but she didn’t turn around. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked in a familiar accent, watching as little pieces of clay swirled around just above the court, caught in a gust of wind that was trapped in the stadium.
Roger smiled and stepped over a row of chairs to sit beside her. “I think about it all year,” he admitted.
She must have recognized his voice since she turned instantly to face him with surprised eyes. This was the first time Roger had truly looked at her, aside from her shiny hair and purple Adidas warm-ups, and he too was surprised by who he found beside him. Roger was looking into the bright brown eyes of Ana Ivanovic, his boyfriend’s best friend and the coincidence wasn’t lost on him.
Ana seemed speechless for a moment as she gawked at him, whether it was from his recently tarnished icon status that some still might consider quite intimidating, or perhaps her intimate knowledge of his relationship with Novak made her stare. Roger didn’t know, but he felt the need to put her at ease somehow. Tennis, they could talk about tennis.
“Are you nervous?” Roger asked, sensing that she must’ve had some reason for being in the stands aside from the beauty of the unoccupied court.
She looked at him and Roger could tell she was wondering if it was appropriate to share her pre-match anxieties with Roger Federer. Like she didn't think he would care. It seems Ana decided that Roger was indeed a real person capable of listening because she admitted, “this is where I messed up last year. My first Slam final and I was too nervous to actually play.”
Roger thought back to the early days when just making it to the finals of a Grand Slam would be an honor, not a disappointment. “The nerves will always be there,” Roger commented in a way that made him seem like a wise elder. “There is always something on the line, whether it’s your first Slam final or your fifteenth. But you don’t get there by luck. Your talent got you to the final; you’ve just got to trust your game to take you all the way. At worst, you’re the second best woman in the tournament.”
Roger could see Ana taking mental notes and he wondered if his words would be so wise if he didn’t have the titles to back them up. She looked somewhat reassured and Roger was happy that he could make someone else’s day a little easier.
“I saw your match,” she said sheepishly and Roger could tell by her deep blush that it took a lot for her to muster the guts to say it.
“Not my best,” Roger admitted, surprised by the humor in his own voice. It seemed that the weight of his loss was getting easier to bear the longer he chose to not think about it. “But second place isn’t too bad. If you win tomorrow maybe I’ll be taking French Open advice from you,” he joked. Roger found himself hoping she could pull it off, even though he rarely picked favorites in women’s tennis. She was kind and on a day like today, he really appreciated it.
“So what does the famous Roger Federer do after a Slam loss?” asked Ana in her best reporter voice.
“Drink,” Roger responded with a chuckle. That was his only plan so far.
“Want company?” Ana asked sweetly.
For a moment Roger thought she was hitting on him, but in the fifteen minutes he’d known her, he didn’t get the feeling she would be so forward. “Should you be drinking the night before your match?” he asked in what he hoped wasn’t a scolding way.
She laughed. “I wasn’t talking about my company,” Ana said simply, obviously quite amused. “He promised me a pep talk over dinner, but I could send him to the bar after that.”
Ana didn’t have to say who he was, Roger knew instantly she was talking about Novak, and more importantly, she knew about them. He assumed Novak must’ve told someone about them, especially in the early stages when things were a bit confusing, but he didn’t know which of Novak’s friends he would turn to in a moment like that. Roger was pleased that he chose Ana, who Roger was beginning to like very much.
“I bet he didn’t like losing to Rafa either,” Roger joked. Nole doesn’t like losing to anyone, Roger thought fondly.
“He can’t stand losing to anyone,” said Ana, rolling her eyes as she spoke his thoughts exactly. Roger smiled brightly, amused that he'd noticed something about Novak in their short time together that the Serb's longtime best friend knew.
“I’m not sure how much drinking I’ll do,” Roger said, briefly reconsidering his plan. “But you could send him to my room when you’re done with dinner. I think the mini bar is stocked enough for two.”
“Will do,” Ana said, trying to hide her satisfaction as Roger scribbled down his room number on some paper and handed it over.
As he walked away toward the player’s lounge, Ana thought about how lovely it was to meet Roger Federer, whom she recently decided will be her new best friend, and how fantastically surreal it is that her childhood best friend grew up to date the best tennis player of all time.
-------------------------------------------------------
Roger left the hotel door cracked open and continued with his planned sulking. He felt slightly better after talking to Ana, and hoped some time with Novak would improve his mood, but for now Roger was decidedly somber and not quite sober.
He had his red folder on Nadal out, the many pages inside spread over the bed. Roger kept looking over his notes, wondering what exactly about his game made Rafa unbeatable on clay and sipping the most expensive bottle of beer he’d ever had. Damn mini-bar prices, Roger thought angrily, knowing his frustration had nothing to do with the excessively overpriced beverages.
He heard movement near the door and felt his heart leap. Roger slowly gathered his papers which were spread across the bed, mostly just to make himself seem busy when Novak walked in.
“You know what I say?” Novak said as he entered the room, dropping a small Adidas bag on the floor by the end of the bed where he also slipped off his shoes. Novak looked over at Roger to make sure he was listening. “I say fuck him.”
Roger smiled, feeling better already. He moved the folder to the side table and patted the bed for Novak to join him. “Who?”
“Rafa. I say fuck him,” Novak said, plopping down on the bed beside Roger.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Roger replied cheekily, turning to him with an amused smirk.
Novak smiled, shoving him lightly on the shoulder. “You know what I mean.”
Roger did know, in fact the two of them were some of the few players on the tour that were at Nadal’s skill level, but still lost to him consistently. It was far more frustrating to know he’s not necessarily better than you, he just wins more.
“At least you took him to a breaker,” Roger commented naturally, his attempt to cheer Novak up surprising himself. Since when was he feeling well enough to make someone else feel better? “I got four games,” he added bitterly, mostly because he wasn’t ready to give up on the subject of his awful match. He wanted to be the one getting comforted.
Novak snuggled up to him. “You had a tough match with Monfils,” Novak said in a much softer tone, which made Roger think the Serb had come over with the intent to cheer him up. Strategy one must’ve been to hate on Nadal, and Roger didn’t take the bait so they moved to strategy two. Roger was curious to see what exactly that entailed.
“I made it a tough match. And I had a day of rest in between matches. That shouldn’t have been a factor in the final.”
“Well, you were injured…” Novak said carefully.
“Injur—” Roger started to question, but then he remembered the awful press conference and their forceful inquiries about his health. “Oh, that,” he said sheepishly, knowing he should’ve told Novak a long time ago. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, it hasn’t been contagious since before Australia, before we were together. So I couldn’t have given it to you.”
Novak’s hand was resting on his chest, fingers tracing a delicate pattern of circles that was becoming familiar to Roger. “I know. You didn’t give it to me. I was negative,” said Novak rationally. “And you don’t have to apologize. If it doesn’t affect me, you don’t have to tell me.”
Roger felt himself calm down. He really thought the Mono thing could be their first fight, or even worse, their last fight as a couple. And Roger knew he wasn’t ready for that.
“I do wish you would’ve told me sooner,” Novak said in a jovial tone, an odd contrast to his prior mellowness. “Then I could’ve told you that you’re not allowed to mope. If you do lose, Mono is a pretty damn good excuse, especially against Nadal. Those matches take the most energy and if you’re in a constant state of fatigue, nobody can expect you to win.”
Roger was convinced, at least for now. He hadn’t been considering how bad Mono can truly be, because mostly it hadn’t bothered him much so far and he hated making excuses. Roger had heard of players having to take months off, sometimes years, and he was lucky enough to be relatively healthy despite the illness.
Novak must’ve sensed his lighter mood because suddenly his hand was lower, tracing the skin around Roger’s navel through his shirt. Roger had considered inviting Novak over before he saw Ana, but initially decided against it because of his foul mood, which was hardly conducive to boyfriend bonding, but now he found himself in the perfect mood to be with Nole. With all concerns about tennis pushed aside, he was free to be with his boyfriend like he'd been wanting all week.
Roger still didn’t know how exactly Novak got his shirt off of him while he was laying there, but he was grateful for its absence when Novak’s toned chest collapsed against his. There was boldness in the air, floating along with the thick, heavy lust from their painfully long separation that made the room feel stuffy and fiery hot. It wasn’t the night, Roger could feel that. As much as he wanted to have sex with Novak, dreamed about it really, a part of him knew they had to wait for the right moment, and for now that voice was overriding his libido.
As much as he’d hate to admit it, Roger was a bit tired from his match, not to mention slightly inebriated, so he was a bit more passive than usual. Novak didn’t seem to mind. He was placing hot open mouthed kisses along Roger’s throat, working his way down to nip at the sensitive skin on his collarbone as his hands roamed freely over Roger’s chest.
Roger was so lost in the sensations that he nearly jumped when he felt cool moisture on the shell of his ear. “I know how to make you feel better,” Novak whispered, his breath hot against Roger’s slightly wet ear. He was going to make some vague comment about him obviously feeling much better already, but the words never made it out of Roger’s mouth.
Novak’s lips were moving with his in a feverish kiss, his tongue tracing Roger’s bottom lip, begging for entrance. Roger willingly obeyed, opening his mouth for Novak to explore. Just when Roger began to think he could come just from that kiss, Novak moved lower, kissing his way down Roger’s chest. After an experimental touch of tongue between rib bones that made Roger gasp breathlessly, Novak began to lick the path downward that could only have one destination.
Novak looked up at him with a naughty smirk before nibbling softly at one of his hipbones, making a love bite that would surely be visible for days. Roger arched off the bed, giving Novak the opportunity to hook his fingers around the waistband of Roger’s boxers and slide them down his hips. Roger could feel the excitement and anticipation running through his veins, like he had been waiting for this forever and never knew it. He must be high off adrenaline right now because nothing else could make his heart beat that fast or maybe it’s just Novak’s hot breath ghosting over his cock and the way that the Serb’s eyes turn dark green when he’s overcome by lust. Roger had never felt so wanted.
There was a predatory look in Novak’s eyes as he placed a delicate kiss at the base of Roger’s cock, making the older man wonder vaguely how someone can be so exotically hot and impossibly sweet at the same time. Novak was taking his time, going slow as if he wanted to make sure he was doing everything right and Roger was perfectly happy to be his test subject. Novak licked the underside of his cock all the way up to the tip which he swiped his tongue across experimentally. When he pulled away, Novak was smirking that damn arrogant grin that Roger could only assumed meant that the Serb knew what Roger did from the first touch of his lips, Novak was going to be damn good at this.
Roger groaned at the feel of wet heat surrounding his cock and he fought the urge to thrust up into it. Novak sensed his struggle, moving a hand to grip Roger’s hip, keeping him firmly on the bed. The other hand snaked around to stroke the lower part of Roger’s cock where Novak's lips couldn’t reach. Roger could feel the Serb’s eyes on him, watching him hungrily as he squirmed and grasped the bedspread in desperation.
Roger must’ve regained enough control of his hips that Novak trusted him not to buck up and choke him because the Serb moved his hand away. Roger missed the touch instantly, turning his head so he could see where that hand went. He let loose a strangled moan when he saw Novak’s hand disappear into his own briefs, stroking his cock frantically. Seeing Novak that turned on from sucking him nearly sent Roger over the edge. He could feel himself getting dangerously close to release and tried to warn Novak.
“Nol, I’m uhhhh so close,” he choked out, his breaths coming in heavy pants. Roger’s hands found Novak’s shoulders and he tried to push him off thinking the Serb must not have heard him.
Novak chuckled around his cock, pushing Roger’s hands away and sucking harder, but it was only a couple more seconds before Roger lost all control, the vibrations from Nole’s laugh pushing him into oblivion.
Roger laid there motionless for all of a minute before he heard the sound of skin on skin. He pulled Novak up to him instantly; if anyone was going to stroke Nole’s cock it was going to be Roger. They were lying so close that Novak was practically on top of him, their faces only inches away. Roger felt his way down the Serb’s chest, his eyes never leaving Novak’s.
He wrapped a firm hand around Novak’s cock and pumped in a steady rhythm. Roger watched as green eyes disappeared behind Nole’s eyelids and he threw his head back against the pillow. He was closer to the edge than Roger had thought and he wasn’t sure if he should pick up the pace to be kind or make it last as long as possible.
“Faster…God!” He got his answer and Roger eagerly complied, calling on every flick of the wrist and gentle squeeze he knew to get Novak to completion. There was something incredibly intimate about being close to Novak like this, watching every emotion as it passed through his eyes, seeing the effect of every touch and hearing each labored breath growing closer to the moment of release. That was the part that got him, the whimper-like moan that Novak tried to suppress as he came in Roger’s hand. If he wasn’t so damn tired Roger knew he would be half hard from just the sight of it, but he figured it was all for the best, otherwise they'd be up all night.
Roger held him close as Novak recovered, nuzzling him affectionately on the neck. When it seemed Novak’s breathing had evened out, Roger stole a kiss and was surprised at what he nearly said. “I…” he paused, his tired mind forgetting his words. Then he remembered who sent Novak to him. “I met Ana today,” he said lightly.
Novak smiled with a look of understanding. “That’s how she knew your room number,” he said, glad to have that explained. “She told me that she overheard one of your people say it.”
Roger smiled, amused by her methods. He could’ve guessed that she would be subtle about telling him to come over, but making up a story? “I wrote it down for her,” he explained. “I like her, she’s nice,” he added and Novak seemed to light up with his approval.
“You don’t mind that I told her?” Novak ask hesitantly, not sure if Roger had realized how much she actually knew.
“Not at all. If you trust her, then I do too,” he said, ruffling Novak’s hair affectionately. “Weird how she’s dating Verdasco though. I always thought he was…” Roger trailed off, trying to think of a gentle way to put it.
“A pouf? Me too,” Novak said bluntly, not seeming to care that they too were ‘poufs.’ “I could’ve sworn him and Lopez had something going on.”
“I'm sure there is, or at least there was at some point,” Roger confirmed. “Maybe he’s straightened out?” Roger suggested, not wanting to insult the judgment of his new friend’s dating choices.
“Or she’s just a cover story so people won’t look into the obvious,” Novak said, not believing it for a moment. The most affection he’s seen from them was a peck on the cheek, and that was in public. True, Fernando was only in boxers when he answered the door at the last tournament, but when Ana came out a minute later she was practically wearing footie pajamas she was so covered up. Whatever was going on between them certainly didn’t seem sexual, at least not nearly as sexual as whatever was going on with Fernando and Feliciano.
“Are you going to tell her?” Roger asked curiously. He had known about Novak’s close friendship with Ana since his start on the tour, but now that he’d actually met Ana, Roger was curious about their relationship.
“Nope. I don’t even think she likes him that much. She hardly ever mentions him,” Novak answered amusedly, thinking of Ana’s reaction if he told her that her boyfriend is gay. It would probably be somewhere along the lines of ‘just because you’re gay now, and Federer is gay doesn’t mean every tennis guy is gay! You have to leave some of them for me.’ Then he thought of Verdasco and immediately got a feeling of dislike. Something is just off about that guy, Novak thought. “I’d hate to be wrong about them. Verdasco would send the whole Armada after me.”
Roger laughed at the way Novak made the Spaniards’ innocent nickname seem intimidating. Roger had always wrote them off as pretty boys with tennis in their hearts, but their love for the game didn’t always translate to victory, except at the Davis Cup where they were oddly successful. “You’re scared of the Armada?” Roger questioned playfully. “Don’t worry, I won’t let them get you,” he teased, wincing slightly when Novak smacked him on the arm, even though it didn’t actually hurt.
“I’m not scared,” Novak defended, refusing to be the damsel in distress, even in the made up situation. Was he ever really going to get into a fight with the Armada? Probably not. “I could take them,” he said arrogantly, like a peacock fluffing up its feathers.
“Sure you could,” Roger humored him. “I agree, not telling Ana is best.” Roger wanted to cut Novak off from that line of thought before he ran off and challenged them to a duel or something equally stupid and dangerous. If Ana wasn’t worried about Verdasco’s possible feelings for his doubles partner, then maybe they should forget about it before they both lose a friend, and piss off the Armada.
I wonder if Rafa knows… was Roger’s last thought before falling asleep, not even remembering to hate himself some more for his awful match, or making a mental note to change his post-big-loss routine. After a hellish day on court, Roger would much rather wake up with Novak than a killer hangover.
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When Enemies Attract