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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
- 13
- 14
- 15
“Damn. Damn. Damn.”
“Mirka? Is that you?” a man asked groggily over the speaker.
“Yes, of course it’s me,” the Swiss woman replied sternly. “Your cell phone has caller ID, you knew it was me when you answered.”
“Well maybe I would have looked if it weren’t 3 a.m.”
“Fine. Back to the reason I called. They were all negative. Every damn woman on tour was negative. The men too, except you and Roger of course. Why did I even bother with that test if it doesn’t tell me anything? It just made it look more suspicious that only you two are infected,” Mirka ranted.
“They weren’t looking for suspicious links, just a tournament to blame. Roger and I have similar schedules. You planned it that way so we could see each other. They’ll be looking at the December tournaments, maybe January. No worries.”
Mirka scoffed at his lack of concern. “I know they aren’t looking for a person to blame. I told them what to be looking for. I’m just worried. If he ever found out I gave it to him, he’d be…”
“About as angry as you were when I gave it to you?” he suggested.
“I’d be lucky if he were only that angry. I should’ve expected you’d have some sort of disease from your questionable sex escapades. I knew you were a whore years ago when I first met you; I guess I assumed you were more careful. But I should’ve known better than that.”
“Harsh.”
“Truth. It’s your life, own up to it. My point was, Roger and I have a commitment. A six year commitment that I stupidly broke for…” she trailed off, choosing not to say something hurtful. There is nothing ruder than waking someone up in the middle of the night to insult them. “It was fine when there was nothing to link us together. Nobody would ever find out, we were so careful. But now there’s incriminating evidence against us and apparently Mono isn’t as common as I thought.”
“First, if you were actually breaking that commitment, I’d be a much happier man. I don’t think Roger would care about a little kissing and groping on occasion. ‘We were drunk’ is always a good excuse. We’re not as guilty as it looks. If anyone would understand that, Roger would.”
“God, don’t you understand anything? It doesn’t matter how far you take it, it’s still wrong. An emotional affair is just as hurtful as a sexual one.”
“And yet you’ve wanted to see me more and more these past few months. Even after the mono. Where’s the guilt, M?”
“You know very well why that is. If he’s not alone, then why should I be?”
“Do you really think he’s cheating? We’re talking about Roger Federer, he’s probably the most decent guy I know. Besides, I can’t think of a woman on tour that would tempt him. He doesn’t even talk to them. Roger adores you, Mirka.” The man sounded annoyed, probably because he had to be the man to remind her that he boyfriend loves her. Is that really the paramour’s job?
“Obviously it’s not one of them, I know that now. That’s why I made sure they were tested too. I thought it was that twat Sharapova. She was far too chummy with him last year. Good thing she’s going to be out on injury for awhile,” Mirka replied bitterly.
“That’s an awful thing to say. And don’t you read Tennis Watch? She’s always out clubbing or modeling. She doesn’t have time to pursue Roger Federer. And he wouldn’t do that, especially not with someone so young.”
“Maybe it’s not her, but he is seeing someone on the side. I’ve heard him talking to someone at night. And sometimes it’s so quiet at night that I know he can’t be there. And he’s been so damn happy lately. He’s playing the worst tennis of his life and he doesn’t seem to care at all.”
“That doesn’t mean anything—”
“We haven’t had sex in four months,” she interrupted, her voice sounding uncharacteristically shaky. “I know men and I know him. There is someone else.”
“Then why not let it be? If he’s happy with this new girl, then leave him to it and we can be happy together too.”
“God, you don’t get it. I love you, really I do, but you’re not the marrying kind. I’ve had my fun and enjoyed my tennis career while it lasted. But it’s time to be a grown up. I built a life with Roger, and we have plans for the future together. You’d be giving up random hookups and short-lived relationships with models. But I’ve been with Roger six years and I’m not going to give that up.”
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Red and white are pretty fucking beautiful, Novak thought as he looked over the crowd of countries, all proudly sporting their national colors, his eyes settling on the mob of people sporting the flag of Switzerland on the back of their windbreakers. They were across the stadium from him, so Novak couldn’t pick Roger out from the crowd, but just knowing they were in the same place made him giddy.
It was the day of the Olympic opening ceremony and the athletes had been called to the stadium first thing that morning to practice their entrances. They would be running through it several times and they were warned the rehearsal would be an all day event. It would be tedious to spend a day standing around idly, or watching the performances as they walked around in a giant circle. Most of the athletes had been in Beijing for almost a week, so they had adjusted to the time change, but still a day starting at eight in the morning and not ending until past ten was a bit ridiculous.
Novak wasn’t thinking about anymore though, he was planning how he could use the chaos of the multicultural crowd to get closer to Roger. Maybe on the lunch break, he told himself, wishing Ana was there to cover for him. Novak thought about texting her, but he didn’t want to upset her. She was so excited to play in her first Olympic games, especially after winning the French, because being here in Beijing together, each with a Grand Slam under their belts, was proof that they had finally made it. Novak knew her hand injury must be serious if Ana would miss out on all of this.
Novak was left with Jelena being the only person from his country he knew, and wished he had make an effort to meet some of the other athletes at the Serbian Olympian meetings and various events they all attended. He felt a little lonely without Ana to talk to, all of the other tennis players being spread around with their countrymen. Jelena was making an effort to include him and he was grateful…sort of. Her choice in friends weren’t necessarily his taste, but at least it was company. Jelena was always the social butterfly of the tennis playing Serbs, Ana was too shy and Novak wasn’t very good at first impressions.
Jelena had taken an interest in a water polo player that Novak wasn’t quite sure he liked. The guy was kind of an asshole to Novak, but in such a subtle way that it could come across as just joking. Novak wasn’t sure if he hated the guy or wanted to take notes. The thing that bothered him most about Mladan was that he was trying way too hard to look cool in front of Jelena and his water polo friends, which included poking fun at Novak and all male tennis players. Apparently it was a girly sport. He kept saying things like he’s a “real man” unlike those “sissy boy tennis players.” At least he had the decency to tack on a meaningless “no offense” to every blatant insult. He meant offense.
It came down to a comparison of physique. Apparently juiced up, probably steroid enhanced mega muscles are the true measure of a man, Novak thought bitterly as the water polo player challenged him to a test of fitness. They were evenly matched on push-ups and crunches, both easily knocking out a hundred of each. Without access to a pull up bar in the stadium, how much they could bench press became the true teller.
Since the stadium was brand new and cleaned for the events, there were no heavy objects lying around out of use. Jelena volunteered to be a human weight for them to lift and Novak rolled his eyes at the obvious flirting gesture. Novak knew he would lose this competition when they started, tennis players had a lean build; they weren’t supposed to be bulky muscle guys. The whole thing was stupid, but Novak would have the final laugh. Water polo started bright and early the next morning, and all this exertion would certainly tire Mladan out, no matter how manly he is. Tennis didn’t start until later that week, so Novak had all the time in the world to soothe his muscles if they were sore.
He lay on the ground and Jelena lowered her back onto his hands. Novak was able to hold her up, slowly lower her down to his chest and back up. He only did it once because it wasn’t all that easy and he didn’t want to risk injury. Ana would kill him if he too missed their big Olympic debut because he got hurt horsing around with Jelena’s suitor. The other guy did four more than Novak did, but it was obvious he was just looking for some time to innocently grope Jelena’s ass. Novak rolled his eyes, frustrated that he just wasted the past two hours of his life when he could’ve been staring longingly at Roger.
After that, Novak was done with that crowd, especially when Jelena pointed out the guy from the last Serbian athlete meeting who Jelena claimed was trying to “cruise” him, whatever that meant. He just followed her advice from before and stayed away from the restrooms, making a mental note to ask her later what she meant by that, away from her creepy new beau.
They were lining up the last group of countries now. It was ordered alphabetically by China’s alphabet, which Novak thought was confusing and unnecessary until he saw that it landed Serbia two countries behind Switzerland. It didn’t make sense, but he’d take it happily. Jelena was suddenly by his side, dragging Tipsarevic along with her, locking their arms and claiming that they need to stick together. Novak rolled his eyes, but let her hold on; at least it looked like he had friends.
Novak looked over the Swiss group, trying to spot Roger in the sea of red jackets. He wasn’t with Stanislas, which seemed unusual to Novak. Roger was always with Stan at things like this, when his country got together. Where is he? Novak thought anxiously, wondering if he would have any fun at all here if both Ana and Roger weren’t around. He suddenly appeared walking away from a table with official-looking people, a small Swiss flag in his hands. Novak thought it was an odd display of patriotism for Roger to carry around a mini version of his nation’s flag. It wasn’t until Novak spotted Jasna Sekaric carrying a similar model of the Serbian flag that he realized they were miniature versions of what the flag bearers would be carrying later.
Novak didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. Of course Roger would be Switzerland’s flag bearer, in fact, of all the carriers the Swiss man was by far the most accomplished. He was the obvious choice and yet he never mentioned it in all their talk about the event. Maybe it was just that obvious. Novak felt his lips twist into an amused smile as he watched Roger. He looked kind of dopy carrying the six inch version of the Swiss flag, waving it enthusiastically as they walked the giant circular arena. Novak was beaming with pride, holding back the extra moisture in his eyes. It was a strange feeling for him, being so deeply proud of someone. When good things happened to other people, he was usually the first to get jealous and bitter, but seeing Roger with that damn miniature flag made Novak feel as if it was his accomplishment too. In a couple of hours the whole world would be watching Roger with similar awe, and Novak was honored to be a part of his life.
Jelena followed his gaze and for a moment, Novak thought she was onto him, like she would instantly know why he couldn’t keep his eyes off the number one player.
“Maybe next time,” she said, patting his arm reassuringly, obviously assuming that the tears in his eyes that he refused to let fall were out of anger or jealousy, and not knowing that for once, he was thinking of someone else. “That is, if you win singles, doubles and a couple more Slams. Then you’ll have my vote,” she joked and Novak nodded along absentmindedly.
Before he knew it they were done with the first run-through and Novak hadn’t even looked up at the stands where the fans will be, nor at the theatrics going on around them. His whole focus was on Roger, watching him and trying to figure out how they could run into each other. He did notice that Roger wasn’t really looking up into the crowd either, and when he did look around, his eyes looked tired. Novak smiled, knowing exactly how he’d approach Roger on the lunch break.
“Maybe on the next run-through you should look up at the crowd. Smile. Maybe wave,” Jelena suggested amusedly, never letting go an opportunity to playfully pick at him, especially when he was so mysteriously distracted. “Wouldn’t want them to think you’re unfriendly.”
Novak glared. He knew that people already thought he was unfriendly, some of them thought he was downright mean. What was it they called him? Djerk? He tried to focus harder on the rehearsal, knowing that if he ever wanted to acquire a fan base he would have to play to the crowd sometimes.
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Novak waded through the flood of people pouring into the stadium’s food court, anxious to scarf something down in the one hour of break they had. Some of the lines looked like they would take a whole hour to wait through, so Novak headed to the one place that was relatively unoccupied. Strangely enough, though it was still morning, the Starbucks wasn’t packed. Novak saw Roger near the front of the line for subway, and since he couldn’t casually cut in line with all those people, he would have to meet up with him after they got their food. Most people forgot that Starbucks had deli sandwiches and pastries, probably because they were ridiculously over-priced, but it worked out well for Novak because he could get coffee and lunch.
Roger was easy enough to spot, sitting alone at one of the few tables that weren’t packed with people. Because of the scarcity of seats, Novak had good reason to join his boyfriend, though bringing him coffee might look suspicious. He went to great lengths to make it look like a peace offering, just in case someone was watching.
“This seat taken?” he asked sheepishly, offering the extra coffee before sitting down without invitation.
Roger tried to look annoyed, Novak could tell he was making a real effort, and to the outside world it might have appeared that way, but his determined scowl couldn’t keep the smile out of his eyes. “What’s this?” he asked, eyeing the coffee skeptically.
“Vanilla Latte,” Novak answered, taking a sip of his own. He didn’t really know if Roger drank much coffee. As an athlete he was probably encouraged to stay away from the stuff, just like Novak, but anyone would need a little boost to get through a day like today, which was seemingly endless. Roger took a hesitant sip and came away with an approving smile. Novak smiled back, thinking that he should text Ana later thanking her for teaching him about fancy coffee.
Their visit was cut short by the announcement that the rehearsal would be starting again soon. Novak quickly said goodbye and hustled back toward his group, which Roger noticed did not include Ana. Just as he was wondering where she was, a hand clasped down on his hand. “Roger,” came the familiar Russian voice. He turned around to meet Marat Safin. “What strange choice you have in lunch companions.”
Roger blushed for a moment, hoping they weren’t being too obvious. They were trying very hard to seem at odds still, but that didn’t mean it was believable. “Yeah. Not much room in here, had to share my table,” he responded casually.
“He looked happy to join you,” Marat joked. “And leave you with his trash,” he added, scooping up the Serb’s wrapper.
“Novak always likes to bother other players. He thinks it’s funny to annoy me,” Roger said, trying his best not to sound endeared.
Roger spotted something under Novak’s coffee cup, but Marat got there first. “Looks like he left his hotel room key. I’ll go catch up with him,” he said, quickly tossing the trash and looking around through the crowd for the Serb.
“No,” Roger almost shouted, trying to quickly think of an excuse for him to take it. “I’ll give it to him, his country is right by mine.”
Marat shrugged and handed it over, not caring in the slightest. “Alright. Well I’ll see you later then,” he said, walking off into the crowd.
Roger looked down at the key, thumbing over it. “Yeah, later,” he said to himself, slipping it into his back pocket.
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The opening ceremony was majestic. Novak was glad he hadn’t been paying attention earlier because it was all new and amazing to him. There was something brilliant about sharing this experience with the thousands of people around him. It might seem like a lot, but considering the entire world was tuning in for this event and only they were there watching and living it, Novak was truly honored. He wondered if Ana was watching at home, wishing she could be here, knowing that if not for her hand she would be. Novak felt bad for his friend. The Olympics meant so much to her and they don’t happen every year. The opportunity was rare and she missed out. Tennis careers were fickle enough that you couldn’t predict where you would be in four years. Mardy Fish won silver at the last Olympic Games and he wasn’t even playing this year. You can’t predict those things, life just happens.
The first countries began to make their way around the stadium. Novak saw familiar faces mixed in with the crowds of athletes. He was amused that Andy Murray was playing for Great Britain. True, it was his country, but he was always very clear about being Scottish first and a Brit second. And certainly not English, every time Wimbledon rolled around Andy clarified that. But as he walked side by side with his brother, it seemed for once Andy was perfectly happy to be playing for Great Britain.
His next surprise came when the United States team passed by. It was strange to see Sam Querrey walking among the veteran players. He was relatively new on tour and hadn’t yet had a breakthrough tournament. It was supposed to be Andy Roddick’s spot, but he had opted not to participate. He never missed a Davis Cup match, but suddenly Roddick was too busy to take part in the greatest opportunity to represent your country in existence? It didn’t make sense to Novak, but Roddick’s been playing longer than him. Maybe the Olympics weren’t as magical after the first one; though looking around Bird’s Nest Stadium Novak couldn’t imagine this getting old.
Finally it was their turn. Novak was more nervous than he expected. There were more people in this arena than he’d ever seen all in one place and they were there just to see them walk around in a circle. His tennis was worth seeing, Novak was confident in that, but what was entertaining about a smile and a wave?
And then there was Roger who was now carrying a flag that was nearly twice his size, threatening to engulf him in the waves of red fabric. There was a section in the stands that were chanting his name and Novak just barely caught the slight blush and humble smile that flashed across Roger’s face before the flag blocked his view. That was one of the things that amazed Novak most about Roger, no matter how famous he is, how successful, moments like this still affected him. Roger didn’t expect the throngs of fans; he didn’t feel entitled to the attention, he was just grateful for it all. The flag flipped again and Novak saw the intense pride in Roger’s eyes and he felt his chest swell with a similar feeling. Just as the Swiss team was rounding the corner, Roger looked back and met Novak’s gaze briefly. There was something brilliant about having such an intimate moment in such a public setting and Novak knew exactly what it meant. Roger too felt that they were sharing this experience. Novak decided right then and there that this was the night for them.
Novak looked up at the group of Roger’s fans that had yelled out to the Swiss man as he passed. He waved and smiled at them as if they had been cheering for him. They turned to him once Roger was out of earshot and switched their chant to his name. He was amazed by how in tune the hundreds of people were, knowing that “Djokovic” wasn’t the easiest name to chant in unison.
After the Parade of Nations, the ceremony was a blur, Novak’s thoughts switching between the excitement of being here in this magnificent moment and thinking about what could happen later that night. He’d already ordered a DVD copy of the ceremony to take home, so he could catch up on it later, knowing he would be distracted by something. For now he just wanted to be lost in the moment, enjoying the experience and wondering how a kid from humble beginnings in a country constantly in turmoil made it this far, was competing in the Olympic Games.
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Roger lifted his hand to knock, but decided against it instantly. The hotel rooms were arranged by sport rather than by country, so unlike the Serbian athletes, the surrounding players would recognize Roger if he made too much noise out in the hallway. He pulled out the key, looking over it and hoping that Novak had intended for him to use it. If not Roger could always claim he was just returning it.
The hotel rooms here weren’t as lavish as those the pro tennis players typically stayed in; mainly because the trip was paid for by the countries and the better hotels in Beijing were booked by wealthy people going to watch the Olympics. They were at least small in a cozy way. The room was humid and Roger assumed Novak must’ve left a window open, catching some of Beijing’s smog. It wasn’t until he was in the bedroom that Roger heard the spray of the shower and knew it was the cause of the foggy heat.
Roger wandered around the room, nosily rifling through Novak’s stuff. His bags were empty, Roger noted, except for his racket bag which was fully stocked with every imaginable tennis product, and other random items like a yo-yo and a pack of playing cards. He’d be sure to ask Novak about that later. His clothes were unpacked into various drawers which told Roger that his boyfriend probably wasn’t superstitious. Some players felt like the gesture of unpacking was a jinx, like thinking you would be there for awhile could make you lose. Novak didn’t seem the type to buy into all that nonsense.
Roger liked Novak’s casual traveling style, it reminded him of earlier days when he was just happy to play in a tournament, room accommodations meant nothing to him. He would’ve slept in a car just to play a qualifiers round in a Grand Slam. Roger was that way for a long time, until his girlfriend introduced him to the finer things in life and he was so terribly smitten that Roger didn’t realize how materialism had taken over his life.
Just as Roger settled down on the bed, Novak came waltzing into the room, wearing only briefs and toweling water out of his hair aggressively. “I take it you found the key,” Novak said playfully, tugging on a t-shirt and pajama pants, hoping he wouldn’t be wearing them for much longer. The sight of Roger watching him dress with wanton eyes encumbered Novak so that even his gaze felt heavy. Roger had an immense gravity about him that pulls Novak toward him without any effort. As Novak moved closer he wondered if everybody felt drawn to the Swiss man in that magnetic way, or was it some power he only had over Novak.
Roger watched as the Serb carefully laid down, seemingly avoiding putting pressure on his back and shoulders. It was odd only because Novak usually threw himself down on the bed, causing the rest of the bed to move with a wave-like bounce that Roger was growing accustomed to. He was concerned, but knew if he inquired further he might come across as an advantage-seeking competitor rather than a worried boyfriend. Novak created the opportunity for him.
“You didn’t tell me you were a flag bearer,” he said casually enough, but the look in his eyes was the same awed one Roger had seen during the ceremony.
He just shrugged. Roger wasn’t sure why he didn’t mention it, either it wasn’t that big of deal to him at the time or it was too big of deal to mention casually and trust himself not to cry. Novak sensed that Roger didn’t want to talk about it, so he changed the subject…slightly.
“Good thing I noticed in rehearsal otherwise I would’ve missed you carrying that dinky little flag,” Novak teased.
Roger smiled, remembering the little thing that was so awkward to hold. They wanted him to wave it around in semblance of the larger version that he would have later that evening. Roger held it, twirling it between his fingers on occasion, but felt incredibly silly waving it since the fabric was so starched it didn’t move.
“You think my flag was dinky?” Roger asked, pretending he was insulted. “I think I liked that one better. The real one was heavy.” Roger drew him closer. “But probably not as heavy as Jankovic,” he spoke into Novak’s neck.
“You saw that?” Novak asked with a slight blush. As stupid as he thought the competition was at the time, it seemed sillier now. It was childish and Novak hated himself a little for getting involved, especially now that his shoulder muscles were tense and sore.
Roger nodded, trailing a finger over Novak’s back experimentally. The Serb squirmed with discomfort and Roger raised an eyebrow at him which seemed to say his obviously stiff muscles had said it all.
Novak felt a firm hand on his shoulder, guiding him to lie on his stomach. Somehow the older man removed Novak’s shirt without irritating the sensitive muscles underneath. Novak was only aware of the soft kisses to his shoulder blade and the talented hands relaxing his muscles. The treatment was a bit one-sided since Roger couldn’t reach the shoulder furthest from him without leaning on the Serb a bit, which he seemed hesitant to do. Novak was less reluctant, nudging Roger to climb onto his lower back.
Roger straddled his back carefully, trying not to put his full weight down. He was now grateful for the muscle relaxant tips he’d picked up from trainers over the years because he could call on those skills now. He could feel the tension release under his fingers and see the pained expression leave Novak’s face.
Novak wasn’t sure when Roger had started gently rolling against him, or when he began pushing back against him with equal vigor. Roger’s weight was on him now and his hot breath was on Novak’s neck, lips replacing massaging hands. Roger’s cock was resting against him, hard and solid, and Novak arched his back to rub against him. His mind was racing with possibilities he’d never considered before and Novak was desperate to push this further. “More,” he moaned out and to his horror, Roger pulled off him almost completely.
Novak’s eyes shot open and Roger’s face was there to meet him. He moved to kiss along the Serb’s jaw all the way up to his ear. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered huskily.
Novak felt a shudder run through his body, like a tremor of chills rocking through him. Before he even knew what he was doing, Novak pulled Roger to face him and answered breathily. “I want you to fuck me.”
Roger’s eyes widened for a moment, clearly surprised, but he wasn’t about to tell him no. His soft brown eyes were darkened with lust, but still somehow kind and inviting. Novak stared into them as Roger stripped away the rest of his clothes. Something about Roger’s expression made Novak feel safe, and not just for this moment; as long as Roger was here, Novak would be okay. Knowing that, all his reservations diminished.
Then suddenly his face was gone from Novak’s view and he could feel the older man reaching over him. Novak could hear the sliding of a drawer and took a moment to wonder what the hell he was doing. Roger returned with a condom and a bottle of lube, the obvious question in his eyes. Novak nodded with a slight smile. “Where’d you find that?”
“Bedside table,” he answered simply. Novak looked at him skeptically, and Roger knew the Serb thought he had brought the stuff. Roger added quickly, “That’s where they were in my room too.”
Roger’s hand was on his back, rubbing reassuringly; his warmth is always a comfort to Novak. He heard a faint click and a moment later, there it was, Roger’s slickened finger at his entrance, waiting to push through the tight ring of muscle. Novak knew he was holding his breath as the finger invaded him, but it kept his thoughts away from the stinging sensation. That’s all it was now, a burning sort of sting and the slightly uncomfortable feeling of having something inside him.
“Breathe,” Roger whispered to him when his finger was fully sheathed, noticing he’d stop inhaling at some point.
Roger’s finger moved in a circle, gently opening him, preparing him for another finger and then something much larger. He touched something deep inside Novak that made the Serb’s eyes roll back in his head and wiggle against the digit.
Novak hated that everything had to come to a screeching halt to prepare him, even if it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. It was awkward, especially since he was still laying on his stomach, a pillow resting beneath his hips, propping his butt up into the air. It wasn’t at all comfortable, and more than anything, he wanted to see Roger for this. When Roger removed his fingers, satisfied with his efforts, Novak rolled onto his back.
“I want to see you,” he said when Roger looked at him skeptically. Novak knew why Roger was hesitant to agree, it was supposed to be easier the other way, less painful, especially for the first time. But Novak had made his decision and Roger could only nod sympathetic eyes, sorry for whatever pain would come.
Roger swooped in for a kiss, long and meaningful, every bit of passion poured into the gesture. When he retreated back, Novak could hear the crinkling of a wrapper and then Roger’s cock ghosting over his sensitive flesh. Novak told himself he was ready, but that didn’t keep the nerves from overtaking him as Roger pushed forward.
God this hurts…was Novak’s only thought as Roger pushed into him. It was only the tip, but that didn’t stop the tears from welling up in his eyes or his muscles contracting against the intrusion, trying to push Roger out. Somehow the Swiss man managed to lean forward and kiss him, whispering reassurances in his ear, and not move his lower region. Relax, Roger was telling him and Novak fought his body’s instincts and unclenched.
Roger inched more in slowly, watching Novak constantly for his reactions. The pain would subside after a minute, replaced by the unusual feeling of being full, and just as he was getting used to that, Roger pushed a little more in until finally Roger was pushed all the way in. He paused, waiting for Novak to adjust. The Serb didn’t like the slow moments like this, the waiting. Novak could see how much effort Roger was putting into not thrusting; holding back was taking all he had out of him. Novak was familiar with the process, knowing what it felt like to be engulfed in tight heat but not have the permission to enjoy it yet. Novak wondered if that’s what he felt like, or was it different to be in a guy. He would ask Roger later, maybe, but for now, Novak was ready to get to the good stuff. Novak leaned up, planting a kiss on Roger’s surprised lips. It was the only message they needed. Finally, they would be together.
Roger’s strokes were long, slow and deliberate, brushing against that bundle of nerves on nearly every stroke. There was a peaceful calmness to their movements, not needy and lust-driven like before, it was different this time, Novak noted, but he didn’t yet know how. Roger’s lips traced across his neck and shoulders, his hand roaming across Novak’s chest. He wanted to be near Novak in every way.
Novak’s limbs were like jelly and he grunted out in frustration, wanting to touch his cock. Roger understood his feeble attempt to raise his arm and took over, pumping Novak’s cock in rhythm with his thrusts. The sensations were too much, sending Novak into sensory overload. He was only vaguely aware of Roger’s mouth sucking desperately at his collarbone, the warm calloused hand on his cock, the other stroking through Novak’s hair while supporting Roger’s weight, and the cock stabbing at his insides perfectly, hitting a pleasure place he didn’t even know was there.
The combination of it all was both breathtaking and unbearable, his nerves burning like lightening as he came in Roger’s hand. Novak held onto conscious thought long enough to see Roger’s face as his muscles clamped down on his sensitive flesh, tearing his orgasm from him in a series of breathy gasps.
Roger collapsed onto him and for the first time Novak noticed that he is bigger. Novak is slightly taller, maybe an inch or two, but Roger isn’t built quite as leanly as Novak. It was an odd thing to notice, but when your slightly-larger lover is pressed heavily against your already heaving chest, it kind of matters. Roger regained control over his body quickly, obviously in better shape than Novak, and slid out of him gingerly. He rolled right off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.
Novak’s eyes were growing heavy and he wished Roger would hurry up because he didn’t want to fall asleep alone. His mind was strangely alert, waiting to analyze the night’s events. Of all the things Novak didn’t think could get better, sex topped the list, but his post-coital brain was telling him it just did. Like everything else, sex was different with Roger. We had sex kept running through his head, only it felt like much more than that. Sex is what he did with random girls from the clubs, his former girlfriends, anyone he pleased really. This was different, and Novak had a feeling it had nothing to do with being gay. He hated the thought as it emerged, but it was firmly planted in his mind, despite the dorky cheesiness. Making love. That’s what it felt like. Novak had never quite understood why anyone would describe fucking that way, try to make it something that it’s not, but now his tired brain was making connections and reaching a new level of understanding.
The Swiss man returned with a towel, wiping off Novak’s stomach and tossing it across the room into a hamper with ease. Roger climbed on the bed and guided them under the covers, pulling Novak close and kissing him sweetly on the forehead, the gesture saying everything. He felt it too.
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Roger was packing up his room, preparing to leave Beijing. He was in a hurry because the Medal ceremony had run long. Mirka was helping him, throwing clothes into suitcases, promising she’d sort it out later before they get too wrinkled. Roger was lethargic in comparison, grabbing an item here, placing it nicely there. His mind was still on the ceremony, standing on the platform with Stan, Novak just a couple people over to his right. They both medaled, which made this tournament that much more special.
It wasn’t long before Mirka announced he was all packed and sent a bellboy down with his bags. They were in the car travelling in peaceful silence. Roger looking out the window at the odd infrastructure of the city, Mirka typing on her phone.
“Damn it,” she said suddenly, dropping her phone harshly into her purse. “Died on me mid-email,” she explained, both to Roger and the limo driver who had rolled down the window to check on them.
“Can I borrow yours? It was kind of important,” Mirka asked sweetly. Roger shrugged, making no move to grab it off the seat. She took that as a yes.
“Now how do you find the internet on here? It’s so different from mine. Oh there it is,” Mirka narrated her actions. Roger really wished she wouldn’t. “I can’t figure out how to search on here. It should be in your history, right babe?”
Roger realized she was talking to him. A word jumped out at him from her ramblings, history, and Roger remembered that he didn’t clear it before. He didn’t think she would ever use his phone. He heard the gasp to his side and looked over hesitantly, pretending that he didn’t already know the problem.
“What’s this?” she asked with a panicked expression, holding it up for him to see. “Tips for gay men?”
Roger thought fast. “Oh is that what he was looking up?”
“Who?” Mirka asked, relief already tingeing her features.
“Stan. He asked to borrow my phone before the final. I thought he was looking up some tennis thing that he was too afraid to ask me. Weird, that seems like something he should’ve checked out privately,” Roger said, trying to hide his nerves and hoping his story wasn’t too elaborate.
“Oh,” Mirka said softly, the hysteria drifting away. “Yeah. Strange timing too, right before a match. Maybe he was going to put the moves on you afterward.”
It was a joke, Roger knew that, but this was the closest they’d come to talking about his other relationship and the thought alone made him nervous. Roger was going to respond, but she was already typing away on the email page, not knowing how close she came to his most precious secret.
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When Enemies Attract