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When Enemies Attract	By : tennisstar Category: Individual Celebrities > Athlete/Sports Misc Views: 3352 -:- 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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Chapter 7
Roger was very aware of the moment he lost the Semifinals match. It was in the locker room before they even stepped on court. He noticed Novak out of the corner of his eye, and they locked eyes for a moment before Roger looked down quickly. He was wearing a blue shirt that made him look perfectly bronze. Somehow the electric blue brought out his eyes, which weren’t at all blue, more of a green hazel. He looked ridiculous in his matching blue shoes that stuck out so strongly against the pale colors of the room. The look that Roger caught from Djokovic before he turned away was predatory, and he knew that he was wrong to think he could handle this Novak. Whether it was the moments-away match that put this look on his face or latent anger over the kiss, Roger didn’t know, but he could tell that he was doomed, especially with the way he had been playing lately.
Roger was right to think he was going down, but what he failed to foresee was the anger that filled him at every point. He wasn’t playing well at all, possibly the worst he had played this whole tournament. Somehow he had stolen the first set, it seemed Novak wasn’t trying as hard as he could but Roger couldn’t prove it. That all changed in the second set with one kick serve into the body from Roger. It was obviously intentional, but not at all an illegal move, players get hit by serves all the time. But Novak knew the Swiss man had far too much control to have done it accidentally and he showed no mercy after that. His ‘come on!’ cheers emerged, as well as yelled phrases in his native language that were certainly menacing, but the chair umpire didn’t understand what he was saying. That pushed Roger over the edge. He was already pissed at himself for his poor playing, even kicking a tennis ball toward a ball boy after a missed shot, but it wasn’t until he failed to overcome a couple of break points against him and Novak shouted out that he got visibly pissed. He hadn’t smashed a racket on court in years, but there he was whacking it into the ground. He didn’t go overboard, just one strong swing and it was destroyed.
Roger saw the Serb’s reaction, looking up at him the moment after it happened. There was shock there, and much more emotion than he ever showed on court but Roger wouldn’t dwell on it. After that the taunts stopped. Novak humbly accepted every point he won after that, not even daring to look up at the Swiss man. Roger felt guilty, but satisfied somehow. Now Novak felt as bad as he had this past week, the only difference being that the Serb was about to walk away with the match.
It ended quickly enough and in no time they were faced with the moment Roger had dreaded the most, the after match handshake. Novak got there first, being closer to the net already and he waited, looking at Roger as he walked slowly toward the net. Roger was startled by what he saw, a broken man, lost, confused and sad, all covered by a false layer of happiness. It was all in his eyes and Roger didn’t even have a moment to wonder when he had learned to read the other man so effectively.
They held each other’s gaze for several moments and didn’t speak a word. They each held out their hand, as was expected, and briefly they connected. Roger’s hand felt tingly and warm, and he knew it wasn’t just the Miami heat. They walked along the net side by side and Roger could have swore he heard the other man whisper “I’m sorry” softly, so only they could hear.
Those were the words he had been waiting for, the conversation starter that needed to happen, but it wasn’t the time or place. Roger cursed the timing of it all, but knew the locker room wouldn’t be better. He had seen Murray in the stands who would be his opponent in the final, and it wouldn’t be long before the Scot made his way down to the locker room to meet his friend.
‘Damn,’ Roger thought for the millionth time that week as he packed up his things and left, walking straight through the locker room and to the car that was waiting for him. He just had to get out of there.
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Roger was pacing around his room like a mad man. It had been hours since the match and by now it was well into the night. Every couple of minutes he would look down at his shaky hand like it was a traitor. There was a phantom tingling across his skin where Novak touched him and he cursed himself for being so receptive to it, especially three hours later.
Roger thought about every match he ever played against Djokovic. At least a dozen came to mind and never before had anything like this happened. He had shaken hands with Novak many times after matches, hugged him and, well, kissed him. That’s what made it different now, what made his hand jitter with nerves at just the thought of Novak with his slightly boozy breath and gentle hand running across Roger's stomach. ‘Great, there go the butterflies’, he thought bitterly, hunching over as his insides squirmed, following the same rhythm as his rapidly clenching and unclenching hand.
The part that was driving him crazy is that he had wanted more contact, more than just uniting their hands for a few brief moments. He had wanted to pull Novak in for a hug and maybe even… ‘No’ he told himself. Roger couldn’t admit that he had almost made the same mistake that Novak did that night, if it was a mistake at all.
He had been doing this for hours, but knew the morning was far off and even further away was the chance of him ever getting to sleep tonight. This was far from over.
Mirka stopped by briefly to tell him she rescheduled their flight for early the next morning. They were going back to Switzerland for his two week break from the tour and she attempted to comfort him with the idea of seeing their families. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough to calm him. If anything it made him more stressed. How could he face any of his loved ones when he could hardly face himself? She looked at him expectantly in a way that reminded Roger of a puppy who had just done something good and was expecting to be showered in praise. Roger fought the urge to pat her on the head and shoo her out the door in the most condescending way he could muster, but he settled for just a hasty shoo out of the room.
After she left, Roger found that his inability to sit still was growing worse somehow. He couldn’t do anything but think about Novak and where they stood, that and jog in place. It was all he had thought about for a week, but there was urgency now that he hadn’t felt before. Roger grabbed his jacket and left the room, fully prepared to harass the clerk downstairs for Novak’s room number.
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It took some convincing, and under the table bribery that was very unlike him, but Roger now had a room number scribbled onto his forearm, hidden completely from prying eyes by the sleeve of his jacket. He didn’t even know if Novak would be there, or if he would be alone or up for a chat, but Roger wouldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t give it a try.
He was there at last, outside the door, and without a moment’s hesitation he knocked. Novak was there in seconds looking downright bewildered to see him. His eyes went wide as he looked over his visitor and it took him several moments to react.
“Roger,” Novak said in awe, opening the door wider and stepping back to let the older man in. ‘Or he’s retreating,’ Roger thought wryly.
Roger stood there, staring at his friend who took on an air of determined silence. He was waiting for Roger’s next move. The Swiss man stepped in the room carefully, still contemplating what to say, how to explain himself, but the moment the door was shut Roger found himself closing the space between them and pushing Novak up against the door in a feverish kiss.
It was different this time, less drunkenly clumsy and more persistent. Novak opened his mouth slightly in shock and Roger took advantage of it, allowing his tongue to explore. It didn’t take Novak long to catch up, kissing back with equal intensity and bringing his arms up to Roger’s neck to pull him closer. Novak’s fingers twirled in the curls that were usually held back by a sporty Nike bandana. It was perfect and so right that everything else was forgotten until they finally parted for air.
“What the hell,” Novak murmured absentmindedly, awed by what just happened and pleased out of his mind.
Roger misinterpreted his words, thinking he had gone too far, forcing something on Novak he hadn’t wanted. The Swiss man was quick to move away and pulled open the door that had supported them only moments prior. Roger was halfway down the hall before Novak got up the nerve to go after him, not wanting Roger to slip away again.
“Roger, wait,” he said and the older man obeyed, pausing with his back facing his friend.
Novak moved quickly toward him, stepping between him and the path to the elevators, cutting off the most convenient get-away route. If Roger was going to run away from him now, he would have to take the stairs. “I don’t want you to go,” Novak said pleadingly and Roger looked at him with a mix of confusion and happiness.
“You don’t?” he asked sheepishly, feeling the relief wash over his body. Novak wanted him there.
“No, of course not,” Novak reassured him.
They returned to the hotel room rather quickly, very aware that other players might be in neighboring rooms. Just the sight of them together off court would surely be gossip worthy, but if anyone were to discover what was going on between them outside of tennis, the story would be worth more than some of these players make in a year on tour. And the thought of all this being ruined so quickly over hesitation in a hallway was too threatening for them give it a chance to happen.
There were words that needed to be said between them, things to discuss, but neither seemed ready for that. They made it further into the room this time, all the way to the bed where all this had started.
Their lips connected again as they slipped under the covers. Only shirts were discarded as they rolled around beneath the sheets, both fighting for dominance. It was a long night of kissing, ranging from gentle nips to steamy marathon-like kisses that left their lungs burning from lack of air.
Eventually the night gave way to tiredness. It was an exhausting week for them both, having to play tennis with the confusing thoughts of them always on their minds. Careful avoidance and secret longing looks from afar were their only interactions until the fiasco of a match, but now that Roger had Novak in his arms, he didn’t really care if he got a trophy at the end of the week.
They fell asleep holding each other still, so different from the times before when an intentional amount of space was set between them. Novak held onto consciousness for a moment longer to set an alarm for the next morning, he had a finals match to play after all, and after snuggling up close to Roger’s chest, he fell asleep happier than he can remember being in a long time.
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An annoying ring sounded off the next morning, far too early for the sleeping pair’s taste. Novak grimaced as he grabbed his phone off the nightstand, bringing it closer to him so he could turn it off. The sound was awfully annoying, but it never failed to wake him up.
Roger stirred at the noise as the Serb brought it closer, pulling one arm away from Novak’s waist to cover his ear. Reluctantly he sat up like the man beside him, fully aware that this wasn’t his suite and he would have to leave soon so Novak could prepare for his match.
“Morning,” Novak said with a smirk, noticing how disheveled Roger’s usually pristine hair looked and knowing that he was entirely responsible for its current disarray.
“G’morning,” Roger replied, wiping at his eyes sleepily. He would definitely be going back to sleep the moment he got back to his room.
“Should we?” Novak started awkwardly, looking as if he’d really rather not.
“Talk?” Roger finished his thought. “Probably should.”
They waited for several moments silently, neither actually wanting to go over what needed to be said. “How about we postpone the big talk for now and just say what we think needs to be said,” Roger suggested.
“And that would be?” Novak questioned, not really sure what all was considered part of ‘the big talk.’
“I like…" he paused. "Kissing you,” Roger said awkwardly, his cheeks pinker than normal. He almost said ‘I like you’ but he wasn’t sure the extent of his feelings so he refrained. He had only come over the night before to talk after all, how was he to know he'd want to kiss Novak again? And again. And kiss him again some more.
“I like kissing you too,” Novak replied with a smile and Roger returned his grin. He knew that was true. “And I’d like to do this again sometime,” Novak added. He didn’t want to go through another long week of waiting to know where they stood. If they agreed to do this again then he wouldn’t have to worry...as much.
“As would I,” Roger said, beaming with satisfaction. He was okay now. Yesterday, not so much, but today things were right.
The silence came again but it wasn’t so heavy this time. Novak broke it with a question that he knew was treading into ‘the big talk’ zone. “So what are we?” he asked, gesturing between them.
Roger thought for a moment but didn’t seem to come to a conclusion. “Maybe we shouldn’t put a definition on us yet,” Roger suggested, fully aware that he had a girlfriend waiting for him a few floors up.
“Okay,” Novak said sounding relieved. He didn’t know enough about these things yet to have a boyfriend. That would be too much of a shock. Just a month ago he was unquestionably straight!
Novak must’ve looked confused because Federer added reassuringly, “Somewhere in the ballpark of friends…with benefits.”
He knew it was a lame title and felt more than a little bit awkward admitting that, but that is all they could be for now.
Novak smiled, “That sounds like a definition,” he said playfully.
Before Roger could respond, Novak’s phone went off again, this time his normal ringtone filling the room. “Hello,” he answered hesitantly.
It was his manager, making sure he was awake and getting ready. “Yes, I’m awake,” he responded. “No you don’t have to come over here. I can manage.”
Roger pried himself from the warmth of the bed, sensing it was time to go. He gathered his shirt off the ground, wondering vaguely how Novak had thrown it so far the night before. Roger was just about to slip on his jacket and head for the door when Novak moved toward him, still on the phone. He grabbed Roger’s arm and looked at him amusedly.
Novak’s room number was visible in pen ink now smeared across his forearm up into the crease of his elbow, though the numbers were still perfectly readable. Novak smiled at him brightly as he licked his finger and rubbed it gently on the other man’s skin, wiping away the only proof of their night together. Roger watched the numbers blur into an inky mess on his skin and Novak’s thumb, but even when the writing was unrecognizable he kept his finger moving in light circles over the dyed skin in a pleasant rhythm that kept Roger glued to his spot, unable to move away from the Serb.
Novak tried to end his conversation with his manager several times, but the man kept talking about all the things he had to do this week, appearances and photo shoots. The Serbian Olympic team meeting in less than a week.
“Listen Alon, I’ve got a match in a couple hours. Could we talk about all this afterward?” he asked, rolling his eyes dramatically. Roger wanted to laugh but knew he should be quiet.
“No, everything’s okay. Don’t come over here. I just…need to focus on my match?” Novak suggested, hoping his manager would stay far away. After a few more nags about his schedule, Alon let him go after making Novak promise he won’t claim to be too tired to talk after the match.
“Right, I’ll see you there,” Novak said in a final tone and hung up, breathing a sigh of relief.
“So do friends-with-benefits come to each other’s matches?” Novak asked in a joking tone, ignoring the fluttering in his chest as he waited for an answer.
Roger smiled brightly and Novak felt himself release the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Only when they don’t have an early flight home,” he said apologetically.
“Oh,” Novak said, trying desperately to hide his disappointment. “And what would you have done if you made the final?” Novak added quickly, wondering vaguely if Roger was making an excuse for a quick exit or if he truly had to go.
Roger thought for a moment. He had planned for a flight that evening, but after his post-match meltdown the previous day Mirka had rescheduled. Roger could explain all that, but he was choosing not to think about his girlfriend at the moment, and casually mentioning her to the man he just spent the night with was confusing in a way his mind wasn’t yet able to accept. “Well the flight isn’t until noon, so I’d just win quick,” Roger said playfully.
Novak gave him a look that clearly said ‘not if I’m still in it you wouldn’t.’ Roger laughed, despite his resolution to be cross with Novak about his smug attitude. It really was adorable sometimes.
“And what if the match was taking too long?” he asked, moving Roger’s arm, which was still in his grasp, around to grip his waist, pulling the other to do the same.
“I could always retire early for heat exhaustion,” Roger joked, poking fun at Novak’s go-to excuse that the media and players often question.
“You might want to try something more terminal. Unless you’re dying they don’t believe you,” Novak replied thoughtfully in a way that made Federer question if all his seemingly unnecessary retirements were legit.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Roger said softly against his ear, delighted by the shudder that shook through the Serb as his hot breath ghosted over the sensitive area. He kissed his way along Novak’s jaw before drawing him in for a hungry kiss.
Novak smirked into the kiss, pulling Roger’s body closer to him and leading them toward the bed until his legs hit the mattress and they fell backward.
Roger wasn’t sure what made things escalate. Perhaps now that their ‘friendship’ terms were clearer there was less need to hold back, or maybe the fifteen minutes they had to behave for the phone call put them both on edge, either way there was a fierceness in their movements that hadn’t been there before.
Novak’s back was on the bed now and Roger was hovering above him. There was space between them and Novak couldn’t stand it, he pulled at Roger’s shoulders until he lowered himself down. Novak heard himself gasp as Roger’s body molded against his, fitting perfectly in a way that he was beginning to understand a woman’s body never would. Roger planted suckling kisses along the Serb’s neck, which was now perfectly exposed since he turned his head to the side. Novak didn’t even know his hips were grinding up against Federer until the Swiss man let out a low groan that sent shivers all over his body.
After that it was Roger who was doing the grinding and Novak could feel the older man’s cock harden against his own.
Roger kissed him again, though Novak had a feeling it was only to keep himself from moaning and Serb really wished he wouldn’t hold back. He wanted to remember this, every move and every brilliant sound that escaped Roger’s lips, because he knew they wouldn’t be seeing each other very soon. Roger’s pace increased and Novak could feel himself getting closer to the edge. Just a few more strokes…
A knock at the door. Roger pulled away immediately and stopped his actions, giving Novak a questioning look. “Ignore it,” he breathed, pulling Roger back to him. Moments later another knock came, followed by “Mr. Djokovic?”
“He’s not going away,” Roger said sadly, rolling off the younger man so he could answer the door. Novak rolled his eyes and reluctantly pulled on semi-presentable clothes.
“Yes,” he growled as he opened the door, finding a man in the hotel uniform with a tray of food. Oh yeah, breakfast, Novak thought stupidly, wondering why he had forgotten such a normal part of his routine. After dealing with the man, Novak returned to the bedroom with the food, hoping that Roger would share it with him. Is staying for breakfast too much to ask?
To his disappointment, Novak found Roger mostly dressed again and gathering his things. Looking over at the clock, Novak saw that it was getting late and both he and Roger had places to be.
“Who was it?” he asked as Novak came back into sight.
“Breakfast,” Novak said, discarding the tray to a nearby table. “Are you leaving?”
“Yes, I’m afraid I have to. The flight…” Roger said regretfully. If only Mirka hadn’t rescheduled it, then he could stay here with Novak for longer.
Novak nodded his acceptance, but couldn’t help but be disappointed. He finally had Roger and now he was going away again.
“C’mere,” Roger pulled Novak close to him, sensing his discontent. “We’ll do this again,” he said reassuringly, smiling as he felt the Serb nod into his shoulder.
“Soon?” Novak asked hopefully, wondering vaguely when he became so attached to the Swiss man.
“Soon. At the next tournament,” Roger promises, telling himself as much as Novak. Roger almost wished he wasn’t taking some time off. If this last week of awkward isolation was any indication, two weeks away from the Serb would be difficult. “You will text me?” he asked.
Novak pulled away and smiled. “Of course. You too?”
Roger nodded, his hand on the door. “Well, goodbye then,” Roger said simply, and then he was gone. Novak sighed. What a night, he thought happily before rushing to get ready for his match. The car would be there in twenty minutes!
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When Enemies Attract