Series: To Love (verse:Pretty Close to Invincible, PG, Andy Roddick/Roger Federer) Title: To Love (Pretty Close to Invincible series 9/10) Rating: PG Pairing: Roddick/Federer Summary: Andy and Roger tie up some loose ends and start to work everything – or at least some things – out. Notes: Part nine and the concluding part of The Pretty Close to Invincible series. That’s not to say it’ll be the last fic set in this ‘verse, far from it, but this concludes the original series. Disclaimer: Definitely not mine, never happened, not claiming it did. The pretty boys own themselves.
“Maybe now, tennis fans can forget about the days of old when Sampras-Agassi and Connors-McEnroe were a big reasons people watched the sport.
Maybe now, Roddick has Federer.“ - From an article in the Cincinnati Post, 8/6/04
To Love
Sunlight was spilling through the open curtains when Andy woke, pooling across the bed and over his legs where he’d kicked the covers off. It painted the room in warm light, colouring the pale brown of the shape directly in front of him with soft shades of gold. Andy blinked and the shoulder, because that’s what it was he realised, came more clearly into focus. He followed the curve of it with his eyes, finding it attached to a slender neck which disappeared under a tangle of brown hair with a hint of curl. Letting his eyes slide down, he found a long, brown arm draped over his waist and the curve of a hip attached to a thigh furred with dark hair. He blinked, because he’d swear he was in bed next to…
“Roger,” he murmured softly, with a hint of disbelief. Last night came trickling back to him in pieces, the taste of beer from the bar and the fan trying to chat him up, Roger in the rain and those guys pulling the Swiss’ head back by his hair-
“Rog?” Worry at the memory had Andy untangling a hand from the sheets and reaching up, brushing the curls away from Roger’s face. The Swiss was fast asleep, cheeks flushed in the warm room and his lips slightly parted, the pink tip of a tongue just visible. He was beautiful, Andy realised with a sudden wave of affection. Unbelievably beautiful. As he thought the words, eyelashes fluttered and one, dark eye slid open. Roger blinked, making a softly sleepy sound as he focused on Andy.
“Hey,” the American murmured, a little apprehensively though he tried to keep his voice light. “You’re still here.”
Another blink and Roger brought his arm up to curl over Andy’s chest, wriggling close enough to rest his head against the American’s shoulder with a sigh. His voice was muffled and heavy with sleep when he spoke.
“Where else would I be?”
A smile tugged at Andy’s lips, softening as he kissed the warm hair against his mouth. “Don’t know. I can’t think of anywhere better.”
“Mmmm.” Roger snuggled down, pressing his face into Andy’s shoulder so his tongue left a wet trail across the American’s skin when he licked his lips. “Are you okay?”
“Okay?” Andy frowned, rearranging his arms so he could hug the Swiss closer to him. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“You hit that guy, you know.” Roger lifted his head to meet Andy’s eyes, the lightest of frowns creasing his forehead. “Last night?”
“Oh. Yeah.” Andy lifted his hand from the Swiss’ waist, lazily examining the bruising across his knuckles. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, not as bad as he’d had before and certainly not enough to hamper his play. “I’m good. What about you?”
“Good is about right,” Roger mumbled. He still looked and sounded half asleep, eyelids drifting closed and a wordless sound of contentment sighed through parted lips as he resettled his head on the pillow, Andy’s pillow. Andy watched him for a long minute, memorising every imperfection that made him perfect, every curl of hair and flutter of eyelashes. It was too real to be a dream; the sunlight was close to burning where it touched his skin and all he could smell was Roger, the tang of sweat mixed with a hint of sex from last night and a sweet, light scent that was all Roger, what Andy thought of when the Swiss’ face flashed through his mind and that made him smile whenever he caught a trace of it in the locker room. Less than twenty four hours ago, he’d have sworn he’d never wake up to that smell, ever.
He’d never been happier to be wrong.
“Rog?” he said softly. The dark eyes flickered quickly to his face, watching him intently. “You’ve really changed your mind? You’re here to stay?”
“I promise.” Roger looked at him for a long moment then leaned forward. He pressed a sweet kiss to Andy’s mouth and whispered “I’m sorry I’ve been so stupid.”
“I forgive you. On the condition you stop apologising,” Andy warned but he was teasing and Roger knew it, a smile flashing across his face. Andy saw it and couldn’t resist kissing him again, just to feel those lips curve against his.
“You’re too damn pretty for your own good,” he complained when they broke apart for air and Roger laughed, a happy little sound that made Andy smile. He’d never heard the Swiss laugh like that before but he thought he could get used to it, especially if hearing it meant he’d get to see Roger looking so happy more often. The Swiss’s expression was blissful as he laughed, dark eyes shining, hair falling over his face in a tangle of soft waves and, abruptly, Andy was terrified that it was too perfect to be real, that only a dream could be that beautiful. Suddenly enough to startle Roger into flinching, he wrapped his arms around the Swiss and pressed his face against a slender shoulder, an edge of desperation in the tightness of his grip.
“I love you Roger,” he whispered. “Please say we can make this work.”
A split second hesitation; then Roger relaxed into his arms, pushing him back far enough to kiss. Andy leaned into it as if by kissing Roger hard enough, he could convince himself it was real. It wasn’t quite enough until Roger broke it just long enough to murmur “I love you. We can make this work.”
Andy nodded, swallowing against an inexplicable urge to cry because he’d never thought he’d find everything he wanted so soon. He’d never thought he’d be so willing to throw away his ideal of a pretty wife, of beautiful kids, the dream of an easy life and a house with a white picket fence in a ‘nice’ neighbourhood. He still had no idea what they were going to tell the world but he didn’t care. He’d found the perfect guy and nothing else mattered.
Except maybe that Mardy was going to be smug about being right for years.
There was a sudden exclamation of German from Roger and his warmth was gone, a thud making Andy blink as the Swiss’ feet hit the floor. A little confused and a little hurt, he sat up to watch Roger searching for something under the bed.
“What’s the matter?”
“The match!” Roger emerged from under the bed with his jeans in one hand and a balled up sock in the other. “Is this mine or yours?”
Andy inspected the sock. “Mine. What match?”
Roger threw the sock at him as he headed across the room for his shirt, tossed carelessly over a chair. “The match, our match! We’re in the final, remember?”
“What?” Andy frowned. “What fi-“ The answer hit him before he could even finish the question and he yelped, trying to untangle himself from the sheets and only succeeded in falling out of bed. Laughing, Roger came to help him up, giving him a quick kiss before heading towards the bathroom almost at a run.
“Quick!” he called over his shoulder. “We overslept.”
“They can’t exactly start without us,” Andy called back, digging faster through his suitcase anyway. Roger poked his head back into the room.
“Well no, but they might wonder what we’ve been doing if we’re both late. Can I use your toothbrush?”
“Then we’ll tell ‘em we had a crisis. Or got abducted by aliens or something, I don’t know. And yes, of course.” Andy frowned, throwing clothes out his suitcase right and left. “Have you seen my blue shirt?”
“On the chair,” Roger yelled back, sounding like his mouth was half full of toothpaste. With a sigh of relief, Andy snagged his shirt from the chair and slid it on, promising himself that he’d use the locker room showers before the match. He was just wriggling into his jeans when Roger emerged from the bathroom, dressed and looking a little more awake as he searched his pockets worriedly.
“Have you seen my phone?” he asked. Andy paused in buttoning his jeans to glance around the room.
“I think…” He pushed a heap of shirts that he’d emptied from his suitcase off a chair and found the phone, tossing it across to Roger before going on a hunt for his shoes. By the time he’d found one sneaker by the door and the other by the window, Roger was sitting on the unmade bed staring at his phone in silence.
“Any messages?” Andy sat beside him to lace his shoes, concentrating on knotting them tight to avoid thinking about the flutter of nerves in his stomach. Roger’s expression, or rather his lack of one, was worrying and a heavy sigh from the Swiss didn’t do anything to reassure him.
“Yes. From Mirka.”
“Oh.” Suddenly Andy’s sneakers were fascinating, fraying laces something to play with, anything to keep his eyes away from Roger’s expression and his mind off the sinking feeling that he didn’t like at all. “What did she say?”
“She just hopes I’m okay, since I wasn’t answering last night.”
“And?” Andy asked quietly, sensing Roger still had more to say. The Swiss sighed.
“And… she’d like to meet later today, after the match, to discuss what we’re going to do.”
“Oh.” The laces were getting really interesting now, Andy’s fingers pulling at them until he could tie the loose threads in knots, hard to do when his hands were trembling. “What’re you going to do?”
“I have to meet her.” Roger sighed again. “We’ve had too much - been through too much - for me not to.”
“Yeah.” Andy swallowed hard as he stood up, still not looking at Roger as he walked towards the bathroom. Getting his hopes up, he should’ve known better by now. It wasn’t fair to ask Roger to throw everything away. “You should call her. You don’t want to lose her for good.”
“Andy?” Roger sounded startled. The bed creaked and suddenly arms were around Andy’s waist, Roger pressed fiercely against his back. “Idiot. Did you actually think I meant I’d leave you for her again?”
“Well you sounded so-“ Andy paused. Now he thought about it Roger had sounded more resigned than anything, reluctant rather than happy and yet Andy had still jumped to conclusions. “Oh god Rog, I’m so sorry. I just assumed…”
“I know.” Roger turned him round, resting his forehead against Andy’s and smiling a little as the American blushed. “I know I haven’t given you much reason to trust me, but I’m here to stay Andy. I promise you that.”
“Okay.” Andy took a deep breath, tried to smile. “Are you going to meet her right after the match? We can get together later, maybe go for dinner then?”
“Um.” Roger looked down. “Actually I was hoping you would come with me to see her. I haven’t told her I’m… She doesn’t know it’s you. If you could be there maybe, I’d…”
“You want my support?” Andy suggested carefully. Roger nodded, still without looking at the American until Andy tilted his chin up with gentle fingertips, brushing the lightest of kisses across Roger’s mouth.
“I’ll be there. Thank you for asking.”
“Thank you for saying you’ll come.” Roger managed a smile before letting go and turning to pick up his phone. Andy watched him dial, taking a deep breath. Somehow he couldn’t see this meeting being any fun at all.
And he still had a tennis match, which he had no doubt that he was going to lose, to get through. Oh boy.
“We just should’ve stayed in bed,” he murmured mournfully to himself as he went to brush his teeth, giving Roger some privacy for his conversation with Mirka.
~~~
“Becoming very annoying?” Roger repeated for the fifth time as he slid into his seat hours later, Andy grinning as he pulled up a chair next to the Swiss. “I’m becoming very annoying?”
“What was I supposed to say? ‘Congratulations Roger and oh, thanks for the hot sex last night’?” Andy laughed as Roger flushed bright red, all the answer he needed. “Didn’t think so. You know I didn’t mean it.” He took a hasty glance around the small coffee shop they were in and, finding no one looking their way, brushed a quick kiss along the back of Roger’s hand. “Now if I’d said it a few days ago, then you might’ve had to worry.”
“I’m so sor-“
“One more apology Roger Federer, and I will personally spank you,” Andy threatened cheerfully, standing up with the menu in hand. “What do you want?”
“Cappuccino please.” Roger looked longingly at the cakes on display under the counter but bit his lip. “Nothing else.”
With a smirk, Andy nodded. “Sure. Be right back.” He headed over to the counter and ordered two cappuccinos and a massive slice of chocolate cake with cream. Roger’s love of chocolate was almost legendary on tour, and the Swiss deserved a reward for winning, even if he had beaten Andy in doing so. Besides, Andy reasoned, if Roger got fat on chocolate cake, he’d be easier to beat. He was chuckling over the thought as he turned from the counter, juggling two cups of coffee and the cake, when he saw Mirka sitting in his chair, listening intently to something Roger was saying.
Andy hesitated. He was happy Roger had included him in this meeting but he couldn’t help feeling he was something of a third wheel, the unwelcome newcomer who’d broken the other two up, no matter that he hadn’t done it intentionally. Roger made the decision for him a moment later when he glanced up, noticed the American hovering and beckoned him over. Andy went, not without the knot of nerves in his stomach tightening.
“Hey,” he mumbled as he reached the table, putting down his handfuls of coffee and cake with some relief. “What can I get you Mirka?”
The look Mirka shot at Roger was blankly confused, the faintest hint of a frown behind it and Andy could read a ‘what were you thinking?’ look even when he didn’t know Mirka that well. It didn’t give him much confidence and she took away his convenient escape route back to the counter a moment later when she replied, “I’m fine, thank you.”
“Sit, Andy.” Roger’s tone was polite but his eyes begged. Andy sighed and sat, taking a chair that put a space between him and both Roger and Mirka. No sense in seeming to take sides, though the uncomfortable silence that followed his move made him wish he’d thought it through.
“Congratulations on reaching the final Andy,” Mirka said awkwardly after the silence had dragged on just a second too long. “You played well.”
“Thanks. Roger was better.” Andy cast a half-smile at the Swiss who was staring at the froth on his cappuccino as if it held all the answers. When Andy kicked him gently under the table, he jerked upright as if he’d been stung.
“What?”
“You played better than me today,” Andy repeated with an inward sigh. If Roger was going to space out, this could take much longer than he’d like. Hell, it had already gone on longer than he’d like; he’d have been out the door five minutes ago if he hadn’t promised to give Roger his support. Damn loyalty.
“You played well too,” Roger said quietly. There was another silence, which again Mirka broke.
“Look, Roger, I know you agreed to meet me today but I get the feeling I’m interrupting something so if you’d rather meet tomorrow before my flight-“
“No. I’m sorry, I’m a little…” Roger took a deep breath. “Mirka, I thought I should tell you – the person I… the person I wanted, the one who I’ve been so distracted over recently-“
“Rog, please, I don’t want to know.” Mirka shook her head tightly. “Whoever she is, I’d rather not have to see her around and think-“ She caught the lightening-quick glance that passed between Roger and Andy and paused. “Am I missing something?”
“Mirka,” Roger said slowly, seeming to think over the words before he spoke. “It’s… I…”
“It’s me,” Andy said quietly. Instantly two sets of eyes were fixed on him, Roger’s openly relieved and Mirka’s confused.
“I don’t understand. What’s you?”
“I’m the one who-“ Andy shot a quick glance over at Roger, since he didn’t know how much the Swiss had told her and he didn’t want to make things worse. A slight nod encouraged him to continue. “I’m the one who’s had him distracted since Wimbledon, since we…”
“He’s the one I almost slept with,” Roger added, seeing Mirka’s next question almost before she opened her mouth. “I’m sorry. I thought maybe if he came along, if you could see why I was so confused, it would help.”
“No, it- What? I-“ Mirka broke off, swallowing hard. She looked between them and Andy could see it start to sink in, saw the way she bit her lip and the open shock in her expression. Out the corner of his eye, he could see how tense Roger was and surreptitiously slid his hand under the table and across to rest on the Swiss’ thigh, giving a reassuring squeeze. He was rewarded with an almost imperceptible lessening of the tension, Roger taking a deep breath and letting it out again slowly.
“You’re gay?” Mirka said hesitantly. She didn’t seem to know what to say and Andy realised with a flash of amusement – and a little sympathy – that it was the first time he’d ever seen her so confused.
“Bi.” Roger glanced at Andy for conformation that it was the right abbreviation, translating it into German a moment later when Mirka frowned. Andy watched her blink then settle back in her chair, beginning to absorb what she’d been told.
“So you two are-?” she started to question, breaking off as she glanced from Roger to Andy and back. Roger nodded.
“Yes. But only since yesterday, I promise. We – I,” he corrected himself at Andy’s raised eyebrows. “Tried to not to get serious, I promise. It started out unexpectedly and in the end…”
“He tried,” Andy said quietly, his eyes on Mirka. “He really did.”
Mirka nodded. She still looked a little thoughtful, the last traces of shock lingering in her eyes but she didn’t look angry and she hadn’t stormed out yet, both of which Andy took to be good signs. When a small smile softened her expression a second later, he couldn’t have said if it was he or Roger who was most relieved.
“Okay.” She reached up to comb a hand through her hair, still wearing the tiny smile. “I don’t know why that makes me feel better but it does, a little. Though you could have just told me Roger, instead of putting us both through all this.”
“I know.” Roger sounded about as pathetic as a world number one tennis player could sound and Andy made a mental note of the politely disapproving tone that provoked such a reaction. It might come in handy one day, not that he’d have the heart to use it if it made Roger look as ashamed as he did right now, staring into his coffee miserably. Andy reached out to take his boyfriend’s hand but Mirka got there first, twining her fingers through Roger’s.
“Roger,” she said gently. “It’s okay. I’m not upset. Not much anyway, not as much as yesterday. You tried and that matters.”
“I should’ve told you,” Roger said miserably. “I’m sor-“
“Ah!” Mirka interrupted him, again before Andy could. “I don’t want to hear you apologise.” A second later Andy was pinned with a fierce glare. “If you so much as make him cry once Roddick, you’ll be too busy trying to untie the knots in your legs to even think about playing tennis again. Understand?”
“Yes.” Andy tried and failed to keep his voice from cracking slightly, clearing his throat and trying again. “Yes, I understand. I’ll look after him.”
“I know.” Mirka looked back to Roger who was watching her with an expression that was half mournful, half relieved. “I’ll stay around for a little while if that’s okay. I’ll be a good, how would you say? A good distraction, since I assume you’d rather not go public yet?”
“We hadn’t talked-“ Roger caught Andy’s wide-eyed glance and shook his head. “No. Definitely not yet. We’d be grateful, if you would stay. Just for a little while.”
“Of course.” Mirka stood up, leaning across the table to kiss Roger’s forehead. Andy tried not to growl but knew he’d at least partly failed when Mirka flashed him an amused look a moment later. “Bye Andy. I’ll call you later to sort out living arrangements okay Rog?”
“Yes.” Roger nodded mutely as his eyes followed his former girlfriend across the room and out into the street, only glancing away with a sigh when she disappeared from view. Andy reached out to take possession of the hand Mirka had relinquished, closing his fingers around it and squeezing lightly. After a long moment Roger sighed out a long breath and squeezed back.
“That went well,” Andy remarked cautiously. Roger glanced at him then slid over into the seat between them, pressing his thigh into the American’s and raising a smile from him. Roger smiled absently back before looking down at their entwined hands.
“I suspect it was the idea of another woman she found most offensive. When she found out it was you, I don’t think she really knew how to react.”
“I think she took it very well.” Andy snagged the plate with the cake, sliding it over to them. The whipped cream was beginning to melt around the edges but it still looked delicious. “Apart from the threat to my well-being and career, the whole thing was very civilised.” He grinned at Roger who was still looking pensive, scooping up a forkful of chocolate cake. “Open wide.”
“Andy!” Roger looked shocked but had to swallow the large piece of cake Andy popped into his open mouth before he could continue. “You can’t feed me in public!”
“I just did.” Andy waited for Roger to open his mouth for another protest and snuck the next forkful in, chuckling as he accidentally smeared cream across the Swiss’ chin. “Ooops.”
“Angafdy!” Roger protested through a mouthful of cream and cake. Andy frowned in mock-annoyance.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full. Honestly, your manners are appalling Roger.” He pressed another large forkful of cake to the Swiss’ firmly shut lips, smudging yet more cream along them. “Come on Rog. It’s your reward for winning today. Don’t you like it?”
“Yes, of cour-“ The reply was muffled with yet more cake, after which Roger gave in and let himself be fed, Andy sneaking a few bites to see the indignation on his boyfriend’s face. By the time the cake had been reduced to crumbs, and the cream had been wiped off Roger’s face – Andy’s attempt to lick it off had earned him a kick under the table – they were both far more relaxed.
“Andy,” Roger said after a few minutes of comfortable silence, leaning against the American. Andy surreptitiously slid an arm around Roger’s waist, pulling him closer.
“Yeah?”
“Were you taking it easy on me out there today?”
Andy thought about his response for a moment. “Roger, I told you once that I’d still be willing to kick your ass and that’ll always apply. What happens off-court is off-court; a match is a match. Besides,” and his voice lowered into a teasing tone. “The day I need to ‘take it easy’ for you to beat me, is the day the ATP rules you have to play with weighted shoes, a wooden racquet and one hand tied behind your back. And even then I’d still be worried.”
“Oh. Thank you.” Roger was quiet for a moment. “We shouldn’t let this interfere with our careers you know. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“I know,” Andy agreed. He did know, having discussed it over and over with Mardy since they were teenagers. Mardy had always insisted it would be career suicide to out yourself and Andy, though not quite as convinced, tended to agree. “Which means keeping us under wraps, at least until we retire. Even then we should be careful.”
“Yes.” Roger sighed. “I love you though Andy. We can do this.”
“Yeah.” With a smile, Andy brought their entwined hands to his lips and kissed them, his eyes meeting Roger’s. He’d never thought a rushed encounter in a Wimbledon restroom would lead to a life changing decision but he was glad it had. There was nothing he would rather do than spend the rest of his career – it came as something of a shock to realise, the rest of his life too – with Roger. Already he couldn’t imagine not waking up beside him every morning, not making him coffee or not practicing with him every day. Roger was all he wanted. He was just glad Roger had finally worked out that he wanted Andy too.
The Swiss was watching him with a smile, a tiny smudge of cream still caught in the corner of his mouth. Throwing caution aside, just for a second, Andy leaned forward and kissed it away, loving the way Roger almost purred against his mouth. “Love you Rog,” he murmured. “This is gonna be one hell of a ride.”