Anatomy of a Marriage

A/N: This story contains scenes of a loving relationship between Roger and Mirka. If you're allergic to het and can't handle it better scroll past. It is also very much about Roger's relationship with Rafa.
A/N2: I would like to thank timour and yilloofnarwin for reading this story and making suggestions for changes, and guiding me when I went astray. Their help was invaluable. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
A/N3: I really struggled with this one and hope that everyone sounds and acts like themselves, and that it ended up being enjoyable to read. I'd really appreciate some feedback on it. It's not exactly what it seems at first. I am a slasher at heart. Please trust me? :)

Work Text:

Mirka was staring at him again. Roger could feel it from where he sat on the floor playing with their daughters. He glanced up and quirked an eyebrow at her. She rolled her eyes and went into the kitchen. Roger picked up a colouring book and some crayons, showing Myla and Charlene how to stay within the lines.

He was rather pleased with his purple and blue dragon, showing it to the girls and making them giggle with his fierce dragon face, when he felt Mirka's attention again, but when he looked up she was out of sight.

Finally he got to his feet and went to find her. She sat at the table with a cup of coffee between her hands, rubbing her palms against the china, staring into space. Roger poured himself a cup so he'd have something to hold, admitting to himself he was stalling, and sat across from her, his coffee sitting forgotten already.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

Mirka frowned. “You're a smart man, Rogi.”

When she didn't say anything more he thought perhaps he was supposed to figure out what she was talking about, but he was at a loss. He knew people called him a genius on the courts, and he thought he had a good intuitive grasp about tennis. About his own wife sometimes, not so much.

He spread his hands on either side of the cup. “I don't know what's going on. You seem...annoyed about something. Did I do something? Was I supposed to do something and didn't? Tell me in words, Mirka. I'm not a mind reader.”

She laughed then, not unkindly. “Sorry. I only meant that you're a smart man and yet you can be a little oblivious at times.”

Heartened that her mood did not seem dangerous after all, he decided to keep it light. “Only sometimes?”

“I love you. I hope you know that.” Now she was looking at him as if willing him to understand and he felt irrationally worried again.

His heart beating a little faster he asked, “This sounds ominous. What are you trying to tell me?”

Reaching across the table to take his left hand in her right, Mirka rubbed her fingers over his wrist. “I love you,” she repeated.

Alarmed now, he pleaded, “Mirka, just tell me where you are going with this.”

“I want you to be happy.”

“I am happy.” He was thoroughly confused now. “I have you and the girls and my tennis. I don't understand...”

“Yes, you have us and you always will, but we are not enough for you.” Before Roger could react to that with the indignation that had suddenly boiled up inside him, she added, “Therefore I am giving you permission to have an affair.”

Flabbergasted, he sputtered in two languages before getting himself back under control. Mirka gazed at him with such a level of calm he envied her. He was still reeling from her announcement.

“That's ridiculous! You're the only woman I want.”

Then Mirka tipped her head to one side, smiled fondly and said, “I know. I was thinking you might want to have an affair with Rafa.”

Roger knew his mouth was open, but he had no words in response, so he closed it.

After a pause he tried again and finally managed, “Rafa?”

“Don't you like him?”

“He's a friend,” Roger said numbly. “I like him as a friend.”

“Nothing more? Rogi, I've seen how you look at him. Across the net, especially after a match.”

Roger couldn't think of how she meant that. “It takes two to have an affair,” he said defensively, still trying to sort out how he supposedly looked at Rafa across the net.

Smiling more broadly now, Mirka said, “He has a crush on you, at the very least. Massive.”

“He -- what?”

“Mass-ive crush. Could be it goes even deeper than that. He's such a good boy.” She could get away with calling Rafa a boy, since she was about eight years older than he.

“This is crazy.” He sat there blinking at her. How could she even...?

“Will you consider it?”

“Why are you even bringing this up? I don't get it. Why would you want to --?” He stopped short of the words “Share me”. That sounded incredibly arrogant to him.

“Darling, it's because I love you. I can hope that you won't figure it out yourself and then feel torn about it, or I could deny it of you, and we'd both be miserable. You may not have gotten there yet on your own, but you would have eventually, and then you'd either deny yourself or twist yourself into knots wondering what if? Either way you wouldn't be the man you are now, happy and settled. This way you can have what you want deep down inside, with my permission, with my blessing, and the girls and I still have you.”

Tears stung Roger's eyes but did not fall. Instead he blinked them away and smiled. “Your confidence is astounding.”

“I know that you will come back to me, either when you and Rafa are done or, more likely, while you and he go on. I know you love me and I am not worried that you will love him more. The life we've built together is strong, Roger. We share so much. The girls, our families, tennis, we have it all. We are very fortunate in our life, in our love. If you also want Rafa, you should go to him.”

Roger cleared his throat, suddenly overwhelmed by Mirka's generosity and love.

“I still need to think about this.” Knowing she was about to try again to explain it all to him, he stopped her before she started. “I need to think about Rafa. This is new to me.”

“You mean not even once?”

Unaccountably blushing he replied, “I love to watch him play tennis and sometimes wish I had his muscular build, even though that's not who I am, but no?”

Chuckling, Mirka said, “You don't sound too sure. You've never noticed his ass?”

“Mirka!”

“He's a beautiful man.”

Standing abruptly, though not in anger, he said, “Maybe you should have an affair with him, although I don't think I could be as generous or even as grown up as you are being.” He walked to the sink and dumped his cold coffee down the drain, rinsing the cup and setting it on the sideboard.

“If I thought that I could without hurting you I might consider it, but somehow I doubt he'd be interested in a woman.”

Spinning around Roger asked, “And what about Mary? Don't her feelings count for anything?” He'd spoken with Maria Francisca a number of times with and without Rafa. She was a lovely young woman who seemed to have a genuine affection for her boyfriend and he for her.

Mirka stood and walked over until she leaned against him, her arms going around his waist, her chin pressing into his chest, and forcing him back against the counter. “Oh, sweetie. Who do you think put the idea in my head?”

He spent more time wandering around the house than sleeping that night. Mirka found him leaning against the doorway of the girls' room around 3 a.m., watching them sleep. She watched with him for a few moments before drawing him away and back to their bedroom.

They climbed into bed, settling against the pillows and the oak headboard, and Roger automatically put his arm around his wife, but remained silent.

“You have a good conscience and a better heart, Roger,” Mirka told him but said nothing more. After a while she dropped into slumber in his arms. He didn't sleep.

He went down to his court to practice but did so abysmally his hitting partner told him to try again when his mind was on it. Finding he couldn't argue with that he got in the Mercedes roadster and drove around for hours, until Mirka phoned and asked if he was coming home for dinner.

Now that the idea was in his head he couldn't get it out, but he still had trouble connecting with his feelings towards Rafa. Roger loved Mirka with all his heart. Even thinking about having an affair of the heart or body with another person, no matter the gender, felt vaguely...well, not wrong...only, yes, very wrong. It intrigued him, maybe because he enjoyed experiencing new things, but this was huge.

And then there was the idea of being with another man. He searched his memory for clues that maybe he was attracted to men, but came up empty. He'd never felt a frisson of excitement when he saw a handsome man. More often than not he would wonder how the other man got his hair to go like that, or where did he buy his clothes? Did that make him gay? Some journalists described him as “metrosexual”, a term Anna Wintour had also used about him a time or two. Just because he enjoyed shopping, good grooming and dressing well?

He'd never felt the urge to kiss another man on the mouth, or put his hands below the waist of anyone male. He had never even been tempted by another woman and he knew he liked women or, rather, he knew he loved one woman. Mirka. Could he possibly be attracted to only two people – Mirka and Rafa? Did that make him bisexual or simply a man who could love his wife and maybe, possibly...Rafa?

He was getting a headache with all of this unresolved thinking.

When he returned he told her, “I have to talk to Rafa.”

“This is your holiday, sweetheart. You can do whatever you like.”

He stared at her for a moment. “You've already set up my flight to Monte Carlo, haven't you?”

She patted his chest. “No, I did not. That's for you to decide and arrange. But better let him know you're on the way.”

On the flight to Monte Carlo Roger convinced himself he knew what he was getting into. He prided himself on figuring things out on his own. It stung a little that he hadn't figured out he was attracted to Rafa and had to be told that this was so. He did not like that feeling, that something was out of his control, something so big and life-altering. It made him uncomfortable and perhaps a little angry. Shouldn't he know who he found attractive? How could he not know something like that? He wasn't stupid. His cheeks burned a little and maybe he sulked for a while. He knew how he felt when Mirka told him he was sulking, even though he most certainly was not sulking, and this was it.

And so he sat quietly on his plane and stared out the window and saw nothing.

When they landed a text came through. It was from Mirka.

Remember that I only want to help. And that I love you.

Reading it for the third time Roger decided that confusion was a learning experience, and he would learn something positive from this. For now he wanted to talk to Rafa and maybe regain some of his equilibrium. He would take back control of his own life.

The clay season had started without Roger, but he had needed the rest after playing so many tournaments since the beginning of the year. His plan was to gain as many points as he could. His goal was to regain the number one ranking. His detractors laughed and his fans hoped and dreamed. Roger just kept playing and winning. He was fit and rested and now he was going to attend a tournament as a spectator, from behind the scenes and he was here only to watch Rafa.

His text to his Spanish friend had read: We need to talk. See you in Monte Carlo?

The response had come back within a few hours: Yes! Let me know when arriving.

Rafa met him after his jet landed, hurrying onto the tarmac to give him a two-armed hug.

“Shouldn't you be practicing or something?” Roger laughed into his shoulder and taking the opportunity to appreciate the solid musculature up close. Now that his eyes had been opened and his brain had come online in regards to the possibility that he might be attracted to a man, to this man, Roger found himself assessing Rafa in new ways. Roger still wasn't there yet, where Mirka thought he should be, but he was on the way. This trip was as much to see Rafa in the flesh, so to speak, and find out if his physicality did anything to Roger's libido, as it was to talk to Rafa and find out what he thought about the whole idea.

That was the scary part. Roger liked Rafa and wanted them to remain friends. He needed to find out
how Rafa felt about him as a man. If Mirka was right it shouldn't be too difficult, but Roger still didn't know if he himself even wanted to be with a man.

What a mess. He should just go home and play with his daughters, and make love to his wife.

Rafa regarded him evenly. “You okay, Rogelio? You look worried.”

Forcing a smile, Roger said, “I've got things on my mind, you know. You might be unreachable in the rankings after the clay season.”

“Then you play here, this week! They give you wild card. Not too late.”

“No, I'm on holiday. I came to see you. Um, will you have dinner with me tonight? We don't get much chance to just spend time together. You know, if it doesn't interfere with your schedule?”

“It no interfere. I have to eat.”

“If you're sure.”

“Rogi, I sure. I like hanging out with you. Dinner is the bonus.” Then Rafa's face lit up in a huge smile of delight at the prospect of the two of them spending time together. He looked so... Roger didn't know what it was Rafa looked like or how, he just knew that something lit up inside of him as well at the sight.

Oh, god. Maybe Mirka was right.

He felt vaguely sick and yet very excited with anticipation.

They found an out of the way bistro where they weren't likely to be found by paparazzi or the public, although they never knew for sure when either would turn up. Glancing around, Roger noted the low lighting and the single candle in the midst of a bunch of flowers as the centerpiece on their table. It was a romantic atmosphere. He wondered what Rafa thought of it.

Rafa smiled in between forkfuls of broiled sea bass, chattering amiably. Roger stopped listening and simply stared in happiness and adoration. Rafa was one of his best friends and they didn't get to spend a lot of time together away from the courts. He enjoyed listening to Rafa's unique brand of English, interspersed with Spanish and French when he couldn't find the correct word. Sometimes Roger thought it was quite remarkable that they communicated so well considering how many languages they had between them, and barely two in common.

“Rogelio.”

“Mm.”

“Rogi.”

Finally focusing on Rafa's voice he saw that a fork was being waved at him. A few bits of fish still clung to the tines and he wondered if they would fall or fly off. Neither happened so he looked at Rafa.

“Why are you here?”

This was it. Time to put their friendship on the line. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“In Monte Carlo?” Rafa scrunched up the left side of his face. “Si. Why you ask?”

Ducking his head Roger took a deep breath and looked Rafa in the eye. “No, here. With me. In this bistro.”

Rafa nodded emphatically. “Yes! Is good to be with you. Food is good. Company is better.”

Roger smiled back. “I'm glad. I'm enjoying being with you, too.” Then, in a rush before his nerves got the better of him he added, “So if this was a date you'd be okay with that?”

Rafa's face changed then, going blank, and Roger thought he was going to get up and leave.

Speaking very carefully, as if afraid of being misunderstood, Rafa asked, “Is this a date?”

“Maybe. Yes. I think so.”

Rafa dipped his head, his hair falling in a curtain around his face making his expression unreadable. “If this a date,” he looked up through his hair, “then that's good.”

“Yeah?” Roger's heart was pounding in his ears. “Then, yes, this is a date.”

Reaching across the table Rafa touched the back of Roger's hand, much the same way Mirka had the day she'd given him permission to pursue this, and the gesture connected the whole thing for him. It was a heady moment.

“But,” Rafa's expressive brown eyes regarded him sadly, “what about Mirka?”

Roger smiled. “This was her idea.”

Scrunching up his face Rafa said, “No understand.”

“I know, right? Whose wife does things like that?”

“She say it okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Mary say something same. She tell me I,” he paused as he ducked his head, the tips of his ears turning red, and then he glanced up from under his hair again, “she tell, “Go to Roger after tournament. Be with him.” I no understand her too.”

“I know,” Roger nodded his head. “Women are confusing.”

“Is best no to ask questions.”

“So we have permission. What are we going to do about it?”

“Enjoy dinner?”

Relieved that they didn't have to run and jump into bed together, Roger grinned. “Sounds like a good idea.” He couldn't help noticing, however, that Rafa also seemed easier with the idea that all they were going to do was eat.

He waited a minute or two, courage was still in short supply, and then asked, “When Mary brought up the idea of...us how did you feel about it?”

Setting down his fork Rafa took a long drink of water, not looking at Roger immediately. “I no understand at first. Why would she ask such a thing?”

Roger nodded once and waited for Rafa to continue.

“She supposed to be my girlfriend. For sure we no spend time together...lots of time together, but we have fun when we see each other. So why does she want me to be with you? Is crazy! Uh, sorry, Rogi. I mean...”

“It's okay, Raf. I thought the same thing at first, but,” he trailed off. This was the hard part, talking about feelings or his possible attraction to Rafa. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “But Mirka explained to me that maybe I, uh, found you, uh, to be attractive?”

“Yes?” Rafa looked interested in what he had to say. “You think me attractive?”

Roger studied his face. For once, just when he needed him to be, Rafa wasn't wearing what he was thinking right there for the world to see. Damn it.

He took a deep breath.

“Well, there was something said about your ass.”

Rafa started to giggle. “You like my ass?” he lowered his voice as well, even though they were essentially alone in the restaurant with just two couples at tables on the other side of the room and the wait staff in the kitchen.

“Mirka brought it up!” Roger stated defensively. His face was hot and he had to refrain from squirming from embarrassment.

Rafa howled.

Roger sat back in his chair and stared at him. He tried but couldn't hold back the smile that threatened to break out. Soon he was laughing just as hard as his demented friend.

“She wanted you more than I do.”

Rafa's eyes grew huge. “Oh ho! For sure your wife wants me. Maybe I go be with her?”

Unaccountably Roger felt a sharp, almost physical stab of jealousy somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. If it had been anyone else saying those words, anyone but Rafa, his very good friend, he would have gotten very angry. He wasn't sure what he might have done about it; he wasn't a violent man, but he was extremely protective of his family. As it was he simply said, through his giggles, “She said she might be interested in having an affair with you too.”

Rafa couldn't look more surprised, but then he dissolved into another fit of contagious laughter. Roger had to hold his aching sides as he gasped breathlessly.

At some point he looked up to see the owner of the bistro hovering anxiously near their table.

“Monsieur Federer. Monsieur Nadal. I'm so apolo-- I'm so sorry, but I must ask you to,” he gestured helplessly towards the other diners. There were varying degrees of annoyance on their faces.

Roger sobered immediately. Speaking in French he said, “My apologies, M'sieur. We did not mean to disturb your other customers. We got a little carried away.”

Rafa also apologized to him and sent a smile towards the offended people. Their attitude softened noticeably. Roger thought that no one was immune to Rafa's charm.

“Perhaps we should go,” he said to Rafa.

Turning to the owner Roger pulled out his credit card and said, “Please send a bottle of wine to each table and put their meals on our bill.”

Quickly arranging the request the owner hurried away, barking orders to his staff and personally taking the wine to the other diners. Their server brought the bill shortly after, while Roger and Rafa tried very hard not to look at one another.

After he paid the bill Roger said, “So much for going unnoticed. Probably everyone here knows who we are.”

Rafa shrugged. “Is fame, no?”

They decided to walk for a while and strolled companionably down the street, shoulders bumping every other step. Roger's sides were still sore. He rubbed a hand across his abdomen.

“Eat too much?”

“Laugh too much,” Roger grinned at him.

“Was fun.”

“It was a lot of fun. I'm not sure I could laugh like that again any time soon, but it was very fun.”

They crossed the street and came upon a park. Roger gazed upwards. The leaves and branches overhead provided a canopy, blocking out the street lights and filtering the stars.

Rafa stopped walking suddenly and put his hands on Roger's shoulders, pushing him gently backwards. His gaze filled with Rafa's intense focus Roger allowed himself to be directed further into the dark, until his back met with a tree trunk, solid and sturdy. Still staring at one another Roger dropped his eyes so that all he could see was Rafa's mouth and the tip of his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. Then Rafa leaned forward at the same time as Roger did.

They met in a kiss that was off-centre, noses bumping and laughter bubbled up between them again. Then Roger placed his hands on either side of Rafa's face, turned him slightly to the right while he leaned in from the left, and this time it was perfect.

Roger used his tongue to part Rafa's soft lips and dove in, suddenly hungry for more, for everything Rafa could give him. They clung to each other, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. Roger felt insistent hardness pressing against his leg, his own response pushing back, just as imperative.

They broke apart, panting, staring at one another in the semi-darkness.

Rafa rubbed his fingers across his mouth, hunger still in his hawk-like gaze. Unable to help himself Roger placed his own fingertips on Rafa's lips. He traced the outside and then pushed a little, and Rafa let him in, sucking on Roger's forefinger.

Roger groaned and pulled his hand away. He had to press the heel of that hand over his erection.

“We need to stop,” he gasped, “before we get caught for indecent exposure here in the park.”

“You say too,” Rafa told him. “Before when saying Mirka want affair with me, you say she too. You mean you also?”

It was possible Roger's brain had quit on him during the kiss. He had to take a couple of seconds to catch up, remembered what he had said and realized that, yes, he had said that Mirka also wanted to sleep with Rafa. He'd given himself away and Rafa had zeroed in on it.

He nodded once.

Rafa asked, “Your hotel?”

“My hotel,” he agreed.

Silently thanking Mirka for informing him that he was in lust with Rafa before he left home, Roger was grateful that he'd had the sense to book a room in a hotel far away from where Rafa was staying with his team. The paparazzi were sure to be camped out near the players but not at Roger's accommodations, since no one knew he was in the city. They managed to drive there and go up to the room without being noticed. The hotel staff didn't even pay attention to the young Spaniard lurking behind the potted palm in the lobby, when Roger crossed to the elevator. Either that or the staff was used to world famous athletes sneaking into each other's rooms. Roger held the door open and Rafa slid inside. They both glanced upwards, saw the security camera and stood just far enough apart to look innocent.

Roger's room was almost too far away, but somehow they managed to get to it and go inside with the door closed before ripping each other's clothes off. The bed was definitely too far away. Shirts flung aside, pants and underwear yanked down around their knees, they rutted together up against the wall. Roger took the weight of Rafa in his hand, sparing a very brief instant where he was shocked that he was holding another man's cock, all angry red and hot and heavy and leaking pre-come, before he began pumping it the way he liked doing it to himself. Rafa's hands were both planted firmly on Roger's ass, pulling him forward so that there wasn't much room to manoeuvre, his hand and both their erections trapped between their bodies. He planted his own hardness along the divot at the top of Rafa's thigh and indulge in rubbing himself off there.

They made no attempt to kiss then. Apparently neither of them was capable of multi-tasking at the moment. Roger stared at Rafa's long neck, his head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut while he concentrated on what Roger was doing to him and keeping the friction hot and there for Roger to get off on.

“God, Rafa!” He looked so wanton and then he thrust upwards with his hips and Roger would have been glad they were the same height if his brain was online right then. Roger shoved his own pelvis forward and came messily against both their stomachs. Rafa shuddered and suddenly there was hot and sticky all over Roger's hand.

Rafa sagged forward. Roger caught him, slipping a hand to the back of his neck up under his hair. Wrapping his arms around Rafa's shoulders Roger led him towards the bed, both of them stumbling on rubbery legs. Part of the problem seemed to be that their jeans were around their ankles, so they stopped to step out of them.

They fell onto the bed and half-crawled, half-dragged themselves up to where their heads could hit the pillows, somehow getting underneath the sheets. Roger rolled towards Rafa who immediately wound himself around him, tucking his head in under Roger's chin.

“Buenas noches, Rogelio. Duerme bien.”

“You too. Sleep well.”

Roger woke up to the sensation of wet heat engulfing his cock. He cracked one eye open to see Rafa's shaggy head bobbing up and down between Roger's legs.

“God!”

Removing his mouth with a pop Rafa replied, “No, just me.” And then he grinned at Roger, crawled up to bestow a sloppy kiss on him and slid back down to his task. Roger trailed a hand across the top of Rafa's head and down to his cheek.

“Rafafa,” he whispered.

Then Rafa did something with his tongue and his wrist and...

“Ohh god!”

They emerged from the bathroom freshly showered and scrubbed and laughing again. Roger swatted Rafa's legs with a towel. They wrestled for possession of the towel, falling on the bed and into each other's arms. Roger ran a hand down Rafa's side, over his ribs and over his bare hip, leaning in to nibble a path across Rafa's shoulder. Rafa's hands slid into Roger's hair, dragging him up so they could kiss properly.

“I think I'm getting the idea of making love to a man,” Roger noted, murmuring against Rafa's mouth.

“You not do it with a man before?”

“No. I think now if I had recognized what Stan felt for me years ago that maybe I might have experimented a little. But then it would have hurt Stan if I wasn't in it with my heart.”

Rafa sat back against the pillows but kept his hands on Roger, stroking across his chest and playing with the hairs.

“Stan loved you?”

Roger sighed and rubbed his hands across his face. “I think he still does. I've been too afraid to have that talk with him.”

“So you no feel the same way about him?”

“Stan's my buddy. We're friends. That's all.”

Rafa was silent a moment, continuing to map Roger's chest. “Must be sad for Stan not have what he really wants.”

“I can't help how I feel,” Roger spread his hands helplessly.

“I know how Stan feel. I love you for a long time but no have. You treat me as a friendship, no, as a friend. I want more but you not see that.”

Roger was stunned. “You loved me?”

Rafa smiled, his teeth brilliantly white in his tanned face. “I love you now.”

The only reply Roger had to that was to kiss him deeply. Wow. He was slow. Gazing into Rafa's eyes he recalled the rest of the confession. “I'm so sorry that I was so stupid and...I didn't know. I didn't even know how I felt. Recognizing your feelings was totally out of my depth.”

“Is okay. Friends is good. Was good. Now I want you – all.”

“Well, you've got me now.”

And then they were kissing again. A while later they needed another shower and Rafa had to get to practice.

Mirka called soon after Rafa left.

“Glad you're having a good time,” she greeted him.

“Um, what?”

“I'll send you the link. Call me after you see it.” She hung up.

An email came through right after that with a link to YouTube. It was a video of them at dinner the night before, laughing like a pair of schoolboys. The lighting was almost too dark but it was obviously them. One of the other diners must have shot the video. Retaliation for having their dining experience marred by two men enjoying each other's company?

He watched it twice. They had been very silly. Then he remembered he was supposed to call his wife. His cheeks flamed at the memory of what he and Rafa had done in the bed and against the wall and in the shower. He really had taken advantage of Mirka giving him carte blanche.

He didn't want to call Mirka, even though he missed her and the girls. He was seldom away from them these days. Talking to Mirka meant acknowledging that he had broken his wedding vows – with her permission. He had to remember that last part.

Swallowing his nervousness he tapped her number and waited.

She picked up right away.

“Hi,” he said softly.

“Hi, sweetheart. Are you okay?”

He sat on the edge of the bed then got up again. It was just too weird to talk to her while seated on that bed.

“Are you alone?” she asked.

“Yes. Rafa – Rafa had to go practice. That video,” he trailed off wondering why he felt the urge to apologize for having fun at dinner with a friend. Then he tried for a light tone. “You're not going to use it as blackmail if you divorce me, are you?”

To his relief, Mirka saw the humour in it. “It's not incriminating enough. Two guys having dinner? Although that was a pretty romantic setting.”

“We just wanted to find an out of the way place where we wouldn't be bothered by the media. The flowers and candle were an unexpected bonus.”

He relaxed enough to enjoy the sound of her giggles.

“Oh, Rogi. I know this was my idea but I miss you, I missed waking up with you this morning.”

“I can come home. I'll leave right now.”

“Are you okay? You sound frightened.” Her voice dropped on the last word.

He was a little scared of the depth of his newly awakened feelings for Rafa, and especially by the fact that he still wasn't sure what they were. “I don't want to jeopardize what I have with you.”

There was a pause and then Mirka asked, “Do you think you might?”

“Not intentionally. Never that.”

“Then it won't happen.”

“You sound so sure.”

“I trust you.”

“I love you.”

“I know. How long will you be there?”

“Um, a few more days, I guess. Mirka?”

“Yes?”

“I – thank you.”

“Have fun. Say hi to Rafa for me. And, Rog?”

“Yeah?”

“Try to stay off YouTube.”

She ended the call and Roger finally sat on the bed, staring at the phone in his hand. Shit. YouTube. Everyone in Monte Carlo would figure out that he was in town. Nothing to do now but bluff his way through it.

Roger watched on tv as Rafa defeated Kukushkin in straight sets in the third round.

They celebrated by staying in Roger's hotel room and ordering up room service, and then letting the food get cold, while they celebrated some more.

Rafa's quarterfinal match had a similar result on the court, but this time the loser was Stan Wawrinka. It felt odd to celebrate a victory of his lover over his good friend. After a late dinner Rafa said, “You should call him.”

Roger already had his phone out. He waggled it in his hand so Rafa could see it, and then managed a quick smile. “Great minds think alike, I guess.”

Defeat lay heavy in Stan's voice.

“Bonjour.”

“I saw your match,” Roger told him. “I'm sorry.”

“Yeah,” Roger could imagine Stan running his hand over his face and the look of resignation that he was trying to wipe clean. “It's okay, though, I'll do better next time.”

“That's a good attitude. And you will do better. There are a lot of tournaments left in the season for you to win.”

“Yeah, but it kind of stings a little more when it's Rafa.”

Surprised, Roger said, “Why?”

“Because he means so much to you.” Stan's voice was still dull and unhappy.

“You mean a lot to me, too.”

“Not the same as Rafa.”

Shocked, Roger was slow in replying. “Stan, I think we should talk.”

“Look, I gotta go. Andy is taking me out drinking.”

“Andy Murray?”

“Yeah.”

“Andy doesn't drink.”

“Yeah, look, he's here at the door. Talk to you later.”

The connection ended. Roger stared at the phone. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

Rafa sat next to him and hooked his chin over Roger's shoulder. “He okay?”

“Not sure.”

“I apologized to him at the net.”

Roger pulled back so he could see him better. “You did? That was nice.”

“Stan's good guy. He keep having bad luck or inconsistents. He'll get there.”

“Can't argue with that. Anyway, he's going out drinking with Murray.”

“Sounds like he'll be okay. Andy will take care of him.”

“But who will take care of Andy? He lost today too and you know how he gets.”

“They take care of each other,” Rafa said.

There was a contemplative silence, and then Roger said, “Okay. I do not need that image in my head.”

Rafa shuddered and made what Toni would not call a “nice face”. He looked at Roger and fought a smile, “But if they are happy...”

Roger waved his hands. “If they are happy that's good, but I don't want to know about it. Well, I do but not like that.”

“Maybe they think same about us, if they know.”

Roger took Rafa into his arms and simply held him. “You are such a good man.”

“Is nice but I not understand.”

“I don't either.”

“Okay.” Rafa wrapped his arms around Roger's waist and just leaned into him.

Waiting around the hotel room got on Roger's nerves. He tried shopping but returned early to be sure to catch Rafa's semi-final. Part way through the second game he shut the television off and went out.

It shouldn't have been a surprise to find himself outside the Rolex-Masters arena. He walked toward the entrance wondering if his status as World No. 3 would get him inside.

Turned out, the answer was yes. Security spotted him, gave him credentials and ushered him through and up to the VIP lounge. Tournament officials had apparently been alerted as to his presence and appeared shortly after that to get him a drink and anything else he needed. He told them he was in Monte Carlo on business for his Foundation. That was vague enough that they didn't ask questions and left him alone after a bit, so he was free to watch Rafa's match on the big screen tv. He was aware of some interest from others in the room but ignored them.

Rafa defeated Simon in straight sets and Roger couldn't help but cheer quietly. There was a lot of applause from the others in the lounge and he shared smiles with them, before attempting to pay his bill – already taken care of by the officials – and then he left, headed for the locker rooms. He needed to see Rafa.

He met Toni Nadal and Rafa's mother and sister in the hallway outside. They seemed surprised to see him but approached him with smiles and hugs.

When Toni embraced him he said in Roger's ear, “Now I know where our boy has been spending his evenings.”

Roger pulled back to see his expression. It was difficult to tell with Toni when he was joking, angry or something in between. Roger decided to bluff his way through the conversation.

“I'm sorry?” As if he didn't know what Toni meant.

Toni didn't answer him, as Ana Maria and Maribel were right there. The two women plied Roger with questions about Mirka and his daughters. He was only too happy to talk about his family; it was never a problem for him to do that. Toni kept staring at him, so Roger could only conclude that the other man definitely had a problem with him.

Finally the women went off to talk to some other people and Toni faced Roger.

“Rafael told me he was going to the gym every night. Now that I know you are here, I think maybe he not tell the truth to his old uncle.”

“I don't know what Rafa told you.”

“There was a video on internet. You and Rafael laughing in some restaurante. He say that was from long time ago, but it was put up the other night. I saw it.” He stared at Roger, waiting.

“It was shot a couple of nights ago. Rafa and I went out for a meal. We got silly and some diners must have shot the video.”

“Why did my boy lie to me?”

Roger ran his hand through his hair. “He was trying to protect me, I guess.”

“What's going on? Why you two need to sneak?”

“Perhaps you should ask Rafa these questions.”

“I ask you.”

Feeling like he'd just gone five sets with both Rafa and Djokovic playing against him Roger decided it would be better to avoid the questions altogether.

“You'll have to excuse me. I just came to congratulate Rafa, but maybe I'll just text him instead. I have an appointment to get to. Please tell him I was here?”

Roger waved goodbye to Ana Maria and Maribel, and then turned and collided with Maria Francisca.

Oh. Hell.

He bent to give and receive kisses, catching the pointed look she gave him. He returned it with a raised eyebrow of his own and excused himself.

Thoroughly rattled, he didn't stop moving until he reached his car. He leaned down until he could lightly bang his head against the steering wheel. Ever mindful of the attention he got everywhere he went he only did it once, pretending he'd dropped his keys, just in case someone was watching. Then he started the car and drove off.

Tempted to drive all the way back to Switzerland Roger decided instead to drive through the mountains until he reached the sea. He parked and sat there, not thinking, just watching the sun shine on the Mediterranean.

When his phone rang he knew right away that it was Mirka.

“Hi.”

“Is everything okay?”

Wryly he asked her, “How do you do that? How do you know when I need to talk to you before I know it myself?”

“I'm your wife. Good wives are psychic. What's wrong?”

He told her what happened that afternoon. “I told Toni that Rafa was protecting me. Now I just need a plausible reason for him doing that.” He paused. “Or we could tell him the truth, which I think he has already figured out.”

“At least partially figured it out,” she agreed. “The truth is always the best option.”

“Yeah.”

“I feel responsible for this,” Mirka said.

“Why? It was ultimately my decision. I need to talk to Rafa, see what he knows about Toni's suspicions and figure out how to approach Toni.”

“Changing the subject somewhat,” she said with forced brightness, “Rafa is in the final. Are you going to go watch?”

“I was thinking of it.”

“You could sit in his box with the family.”

Roger considered it briefly. “I think I'll sit in the VIP lounge again. Toni might not want me with the family, and I don't want to distract Rafa.”

She changed the subject again. “Did you hear? Novak's grandfather died. He's not taking it well.”

“Poor Novak. That's an awful thing to have to go through.”

“He couldn't be there at the end and they already had the funeral.”

“That's sad. I should send him a message.”

“Do you have his number?”

“I don't think I have it on my phone. It's on file in my office at home, though.”

“I've got it here. Do you want me to tell you or send it?”

“Better send it. I'm not sure I can concentrate well enough to get it right unless it's in front of me.”

“All right.”

Feeling a little better about life and the universe Roger said, “You're the best.”

“Yes, I am. What would you do without me?”

He could hear the smile and the love in her voice. “I hope I never have to find out.”

“You only married me for my ability to manage your life,” she teased.

“I was hoping you wouldn't figure that out.”

“Rogi?”

“Hm?”

“Have you and Rafa...?” Mirka asked in a tentative voice and then she stopped. “Never mind. I don't want to know. Two men together can be sexy, unless one of them is my husband.”

Rendered speechless Roger could only sit there flabbergasted. She thought two men in bed was sexy? He heard some small sounds.

“Are you crying? Mirka, darling. Tell me.”

Audibly sniffling she replied, “This is harder than I thought it would be. I thought I'd be stronger and able to let you go to him.”

“I'll come home. Tonight. Our marriage is worth everything. I won't jeopardize it.”

There was silence and then: “No. Stay. What I said before you left still stands. This is what you want and need and I stand by my decision. So go to Rafa and work out the problem with Toni. I'll see if I can reach Mary. Maybe she can help.”

Unless she's having second thoughts, too, Roger thought. That look he'd gotten from her was indecipherable.

“I should go back to the hotel. I'm in the country down by the sea right now and it's starting to get dark.”

“I'll talk to you tomorrow and let you know what I find out.”

“I love you, Mirka.”

“I love you so much, Roger.”

He didn't know why he was surprised to find that his cheeks were wet.

Determined not to cause worry for Rafa before the final Roger acted his heart out by pretending everything was fine. Fortunately, Rafa was focused on his match against Djokovic and didn't notice anything was wrong.

Roger went with him to the complex intending to sit in the lounge again, close but not too close.

“Sit with my family! You are family too.”

Roger never could resist those dark, intense eyes that sparked with love.

“Okay, but when the press comes after me with questions about why I'm sitting in your player's box I'll send them your way. You can deal with them.”

“No fair!”

“More than fair!”

“I no like you any more.” But he grinned playfully when he said it, and then teased Roger's mouth open under his. Roger pushed him down on the bed where they made out far too briefly until Rafa had to leave. Roger drove him to the stadium.

Roger received a dark look when he entered the player's box and sat off to the side. Toni stared at him for what felt like ten minutes, but was more like seconds, and then turned his attention to Rafa walking onto the court. Roger acknowledged the rest of the family before focusing on the coin toss and warm up.

Rafa dismissed Novak in straight sets 6-3, 6-1. They all knew Novak's heart wasn't in it, but Rafa played well and, more importantly, it was a mental victory for him, ending a seven match losing streak to Djokovic. It would help Rafa's confidence tremendously the next time they met on court. Roger stood with the Nadals and cheered loudly. Of course the cameras kept going back to him. He'd have to get out of the stadium before the press found him.

Catching Toni by the arm before he could leave the box, Roger waited for the majority of the crowd to leave the area and asked to speak with him privately. Toni consented but Mary also hung back. She folded her arms across her stomach and stood silently with her eyes on Roger's face. She was making him nervous but he spoke to the coach as if she wasn't there.

“I wanted to apologize for our conversation yesterday,” Roger told him. “For how it went. I can't tell you what's going on. Not yet. Rafa was only trying to help me. I didn't ask him to lie and I wish he hadn't done it.”

Toni nodded still not smiling, though that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He was difficult to read at the best of times.

“Rafael said same thing. Rafael has never lied in his life. He becomes friends with you and suddenly he go against his nature. I admire you, Roger. You are the greatest tennis player ever and my boy also looks up to you. I never thought you would be the man you are making yourself out to be. That's not who you are, any more than Rafael is a liar. Tell me now what's going on.”

Roger fiddled with his hair and glanced at Mary. She was no help at all, standing there without speaking.

“I'm not sure...” He looked only at her. How could he say that he was having an affair with her boyfriend?

“Roger is sleeping with Rafael,” she said suddenly.

Apparently that was how one said it.

Toni whipped his head around to look at Mary. He spat out something in rapid Spanish. Roger understood none of it. Mary fired something back and this time Roger caught the word “love” or possibly “lover” in there and simultaneously felt terrified and relieved that the truth was emerging at last.

Toni bit his lip and looked at Roger with renewed interest.

“Good. That's good,” he said.

Roger blinked. “Okay.” He was fairly certain his confusion was evident.

Astoundingly, Toni looked embarrassed. He turned his head and they all saw a small herd of reporters armed with microphones and cameras headed their way. He said, “Not good to have this conversation here. You both come with me?”

Roger followed him and Mary out of the stands and into the complex. He led them to a press room, ironically, but empty now. Rafa and Novak were undoubtedly in two other rooms elsewhere, enduring their pressers. Or perhaps Novak had been given a pass this time. Toni shut the door so they'd have privacy and the three of them chose chairs where the media usually sat. Toni pulled his chair out so that he was facing Roger and Mary.

“Maria Francisca knows all of this, of course. What I'm about to say.” He took a breath. “Rafael is gay, which you must know by now.” He sent Roger a bashful look. “He and Maria are friends only. We've been covering for him for years, since he turned professional. It didn't look good that he showed no interest in women. He did try a few times, but it not work.”

Roger studied Toni's face. There was no anger or disgust evident. He was just a man who dearly loved his nephew and wanted only to protect him.

Roger nodded. “The sponsors might not be ready to accept a gay athlete.” He knew the people at Nike, their mutual sponsor, very well due to his own long association with the corporation. Some of them were open minded but the ones who made the ultimate decisions could pose a problem. And what would happen if they found out he was having a sexual relationship with Rafa? The fans... What would the fans think? It made him sick to think that he suddenly had a huge secret that must be kept from the world. It was something he had considered before leaving Switzerland, but in the excitement of this new, wondrous thing in his life he had forgotten the possible consequences of being with Rafa. People had been speculating about them for years simply because they were hands on with each other, always touching and hugging. Roger thought he was being friendly. Rafa had been craving the physical contact.

“I can see it in your face that you are beginning to understand what Rafael goes through on a daily basis.”

Roger turned his attention to Mary. She'd been silent for so long he'd almost forgotten she was there. He'd always known that she was an intelligent young woman. Now that she'd spoken up he realized that there was much more to her than he'd thought.

“And you also,” he replied. “To live a life of pretending must be difficult for both of you.”

She shrugged. “It works for us. I have my life in London and appear at Rafael's side often enough to make the world believe that he and I are in love.”

“Do you love him?”

“He is my very good friend. I love him very much. I am not in love with him.”

“Why do you go along with this charade?”

“Because he is my very good friend and I love him very much.” She smiled then, finally.

Roger couldn't help but return the smile. “Mirka told me that you were the one who started this – who gave her the idea that Rafa and I...” He wasn't ready to say what it was out loud yet. “Why?”

“Because Rafael loves you very much and I love him. I want him to be happy.”

Toni interrupted. “Maria, you spoke to Mirka about this?”

“Rafael was very sad one night. He had told me long ago that he loved Roger. I decided to find out how Mirka felt about Roger and Rafa together -- without pushing,” she reassured them. “We became friends and text each other all the time. Eventually she said she could accept her husband and my boyfriend becoming lovers. She said she would speak with Roger about it. We let them do the rest.”

Toni took off his cap and rubbed a hand over his face and up into his hair, over and over. “Young people these days,” he muttered.

“You are hardly old,” Roger told him. As often as Toni kept him off balance, Roger was quite fond of the older man.

He earned a glare for his efforts at camaraderie. Oh well. That was more normal.

“What are your intentions towards my nephew?”

Roger couldn't help himself. “He is my very good friend and I love him very much.”

Mary's laughter floated around the room. Even Toni cracked a smile.

“You are a good man, after all.”

“I try.”

“I'm relieved that I don't have to hate you now.”

Roger grinned. “I'm relieved, too.”

“Mirka really is fine with this?”

“She is, but I have no intention of jeopardizing my marriage. Not even for Rafa. If being with Rafa ever becomes a liability to my relationship with my wife, well, there won't be any second thoughts. Mirka and the girls will ultimately come first. As long as I can continue to have them all in my life I will do everything I can to keep it that way.”

Toni nodded. “As it should be.”

“Have you told Rafael this?” Mary asked.

“When I see him later.”

“Rafa comes first with us.”

He nodded. They all knew where they stood.

Standing, Roger said, “I still haven't congratulated him.”

They went with him to find Rafa after his presser. There was a wild flurry of Spanish and family and then, finally, they were alone.

“Hi,” Roger said, drinking in the sight of his lover. Rafa was freshly showered, his hair still wet. Roger wasn't sure he'd ever seen it dry or brushed.

“Hola.”

“You look tired.”

“Si. I think I not do gym today.”

“Eight titles, Rafa. That's wonderful.”

Screwing up his face so that it was half a smile and half Rafa being humble, he said, “Nole didn't play well.”

“Novak's hurting, but you shouldn't put conditions on your win. You won. That's all that's important.”

Rafa nodded. “Agree. It still feel good to win against him...in forever.”

“Seven matches might feel like forever.”

“Feel longer.”

“What do you want to do to celebrate?”

The grin Rafa gave him was absolutely sinful.

When they rolled apart, sweaty and sticky, Rafa collapsed face down into his pillow. He made love the way he played tennis, at full throttle leaving everyone else involved breathless. Roger flopped onto his back and just sweated. His left hand rested across Rafa's lower back, just above the rise of his buttocks. He'd found that that was a comfortable place to put it.

“You asleep?”

No answer.

Roger yawned but wasn't quite sleepy enough to do the same as his partner. He reached over to pick up his phone. Several messages awaited his attention but the only important one was a text from Mirka. He hesitated to read it, still feeling weird about connecting with her while he was in bed with Rafa. Eventually curiosity won out.

Mary told me about your conversation. I'm glad she and Toni are fine with you and Rafa. Miss you.

He thought a moment and then texted back: Miss you too. Home soon. Love R.

Turning to Rafa he leaned down and kissed the small of his back, trailing his lips along his spine and up and over the swell of his ass. Roger spread his hand across that magnificent rump, resting his head along Rafa's back.

“Si?” Rafa said, his voice heavy with sleep.

“Shh. It's okay.”

Roger lay there a long time.

“When do you go to Barcelona?”

“I fly late this morning.”

Roger nodded. “I'm going home this afternoon.”

Looking at him with a resigned expression Rafa said, “Is time.”

“We'll see each other in Madrid. That's only two weeks.”

“Only.” Rafa's tone made it clear that two weeks was actually forever. Roger felt the same way.

He took Rafa's beautiful face in the palms of his hands and held it until Rafa met his eyes.

“Only two weeks. Now that we know what we have together we have everything.”

“Si. Yes.” Rafa's expression brightened. “Meeting again sex will be good.”

Roger pulled Rafa into his arms and held on tight, burying his face in damp curls. “Yes. Meeting again sex will be fantastic.” He swallowed the lump in his throat and felt tiny tremors running through Rafa's frame. They could joke about it but being apart was going to be tough.

“I -- love you,” he said. He had loved Rafa as a friend for a long time. He thought he might be in love with him now.

Rafa's only response was to press his face harder into Roger's shoulder and tighten his arms.

Three missiles launched into his arms the instant he stepped inside the door of their home.

Myla and Charlene pressed wet kisses all over his face and he returned them, saying nonsensical things to them throughout. When they slid down out of his arms to attach themselves to his legs Mirka wound her arms around his neck and hung on, dragging him down so she could kiss him breathless.

“Hi,” he grinned at her, when she finally let him pull back just enough so they could look at each other.

“I missed you.” Mirka's eyes filled with tears but did not overflow.

“I love you, too.”

“What's wrong, Mama?” Charlene asked.

Mirka glanced at Roger in dismay. Then she pulled herself together and smiled at their daughter.

“Nothing, darling. I missed your father, that's all. But he's home now. That's what matters. Go get washed up for dinner.”

The girls took off in a whirlwind of childhood enthusiasm.

“We should bottle up all of that energy and I could use it at my next tournament.”

Mirka didn't reply but hung onto his left hand like it was a lifeline. “I'm so glad you're home.”

Wrapping his arms around her he laid his cheek on her hair and closed his eyes, breathing in her scent.
“Me too.” They stood like that for a moment clutching each other. “Is this...is what I have now with Rafa going to make things weird between us?”

“In my head I was fine with it. The reality of you going away for a week and knowing that you were with him,” she paused, still hugging him tightly. “The reality is harder to accept, but I think it will be okay the next time I see Rafa. He'll be more real to me. That will help.”

Roger felt so full of love for his wife in that moment he thought he might burst out of his skin. When Mirka shifted against him he felt himself awakening in a way that made him begin to subtly move his hips forward and back.

Mirka laughed, and sounding vaguely scandalized said, “Rogi! Not here. The girls could come back and see us.”

''Well, then let's go to where they can't see us.” He bent and tried to grab her around the backs of her legs to lift her off the floor.

She squirmed away. “Don't carry me! I'm not the featherweight I was when we met.”

“You're not heavy,” he insisted.

“That was the right thing to say, but no! You'll throw your back out.” She tugged him by the hand and headed towards their bedroom.

He pretended to drag behind, sighing dramatically, “The romance has gone out of our marriage.”

“Silly man.” But he could tell she was very happy right then. He hated what he had done to her with Rafa, even if it was her idea. Even if he probably loved Rafa as much as he loved Mirka. What a mess. He seemed to be the only one having a problem with this new arrangement, and he was the one who got the best of both. There was something wrong there. Maybe it was how he looked at it?

Mirka tugged on both of his hands, walking backwards. “Come along, silly man.”

He dug his heels in a little, and then caught her by surprise by surging forward and sweeping her with him, running into their bedroom. He dumped her on the bed, both of them giggling, before he remembered to close and lock the door.

The next week went by in a flurry of playing with his children, practicing his tennis, texting Rafa at odd hours – whenever something happened that he wanted to talk to him about, or when he just thought about him, and spending as much time with Mirka as he could. As he relaxed he began to think that maybe he could do this, maybe he could have two partners in his life. Perhaps he was a very fortunate man.

Then it was time to fly to Madrid and get back to work.

Madrid. The infamous blue clay. Hardly anyone seemed happy with it, except for the tournament organizers. They kept insisting it was the same as the natural red stuff, or the “red dirt” as Andy Roddick called his least favourite playing surface. Everyone wanted to know Roger's opinion on it, even before he got a chance to walk on it let alone play on it. Someone told him Milos Raonic had tweeted about the “smurf clay”. His girls thought that was funny, when he told them he would be playing on smurf clay. He wasn't sure they even knew what a smurf was, but the word probably sounded funny to them. He did hear that Rafa wasn't happy about the new surface and so Roger decided to side with him on the subject, at least until he knew better himself. That way the press had a quote and he had an opinion. Sort of.

Rafa flew in the day after Roger got there. The first time they saw each other was on the practice courts. They took a minute off to the side to talk where no one could overhear.

“Sorry, Rogi. I no fly in sooner. Was supposed to get here one day early. Earlier.”

Resisting mightily the urge to grab Rafa and kiss him senseless, Roger merely smiled happily and said, “You're here now. That's what matters.”

It's possible that they gazed at one another like a pair of lovestruck teenagers, for a minute or two. If anyone noticed they would likely put it down to the two dorks of the courts acting normal – for them. Some guy named Andy Murray had called them that once and it got around in a limited sort of way, mostly just around the locker rooms. It happened after their attempt at filming a commercial for Roger's foundation, sponsored by Suisse Credit, showed up on YouTube. Just because they suffered a huge giggle-fit and now it was out there for the world to see...

Now that Roger thought more about how people perceived them they could potentially get away with a lot. They got teased by their closest friends on tour about how maybe they were “a little too close, if you know what I mean.” It was always followed by towel snapping, knuckle rubs on the tops of their heads and other juvenile behaviour generally expected by professional, world class athletes. He smiled to himself at that thought.

“What is funny?” Rafa asked.

Roger told him.

“How much we get away with?”

“Well, I suspect that if I were to kiss you right now that might raise some eyebrows.”

“Try it anyway.” Rafa challenged.

“How about we wait until we're alone?”

Rafa pouted. It did weird things to Roger's insides. And his outsides. He lowered the towel in his hands to cover the arousal that was stirring.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

Roger leaned in closer. “Stop being so sexy.”

Looking over Roger's shoulder Rafa said, “Mirka comes to your practice?”

“Not usually, but sometimes.” He turned to see where Rafa was indicating. Mirka and the girls and the nannies were seated among the fans watching the players practice. As he stared in their direction she turned and waved. Her timing was suspicious.

Both men waved back.

Roger had an odd feeling in his gut at Mirka's unexpected appearance. “I should go see why she's here.”

“She here because of me. She want to watch us, see how we are together.”

“I think you're right.”

Rafa touched him on the arm to get his attention, but then jerked his hand away as if afraid of being seen touching Roger. Afraid of Mirka seeing him touch Roger.

Feeling a tidy knot in his perfectly ordered world begin to fray, Roger deliberately reached out and gripped Rafa by the forearm.

“It's okay. Mirka is okay with us. She's probably just curious. She wants to see us together, like you said.”

Rafa still looked worried, his eyebrows in danger of tying themselves into a bow.

“Come say hello?” Roger took a step towards Mirka.

Rafa took two steps the opposite way. “No. I should go practice. Toni is giving me hard looks.”

Toni Nadal waited on the court they'd booked for Rafa's practice. He nodded once when Roger glanced at him. He didn't look too scary. Relenting, Roger said, “Okay. Talk to you later? We can discuss the blue clay.”

That got a reaction. Rafa rolled his eyes disdainfully. “Blue. Clay is no blue. Is not natural!”

Taking a chance Roger wrapped an arm around Rafa's shoulders briefly. “See you later. All right?”

“Si.” Rafa calmed down somewhat. He shot one last worried look at Mirka before walking towards Toni.

Roger wandered over to his family.

“I didn't know you were coming today.” He ran his hand over the girls' heads and made faces at them to get them to giggle.

“I thought it would be a good idea. Did I scare off Rafa?” She seemed to be genuinely regretful about that. Roger gave himself a mental scolding for doubting his own wife. It was only natural that she was curious about his...lover? Boyfriend? She knew Rafa in a superficial way. They had never spent much time alone together and even then hadn't really interacted. As far as Roger knew the only times the two of them had been together without him being present were when Rafa had sat in his player's box once or twice, when he was a teenager. According to Mirka they had barely spoken. She thought Rafa was a nice young man but a little shy. That was a fair enough assessment. And his English hadn't been too good back then.

“I'd better start practice. I'm wasting too much time today.” Then he thought about what he'd said. “I'm sorry! That came out wrong.”

Mirka gave him one of her indulgent looks; the kind she gave him when he said something stupid but she forgave him anyway.

“Go, sweetie. And ask Rafa to come to dinner with us.”

He'd started to walk away but that last sentence caused him to hesitate slightly. He recovered well, he thought, and kept going.

His practice could have gone better. It took him a while to get in a rhythm. Even Paul asked if everything was okay, and Paul usually kept his thoughts to himself – unless he figured it was something Roger needed to know.

Yeah. Time to get his act together and get down to business.

Rafa seemed ill-at-ease, hovering in the doorway of their suite while Roger held the door open for him. He'd dressed up a bit for dinner, wearing a dark blazer and jeans with a light blue button down shirt, and a pair of Nikes on his feet.

“Hi,” Roger greeted him, again fighting the urge to kiss him. He settled for a one-armed hug. Rafa's body was tight with tension. “Relax. She just wants to get to know you better,” he spoke into Rafa's ear, and then gave in to the need for something more intimate than a hug and brushed his lips over Rafa's temple.

That made Rafa blush but he smiled and walked over to kiss Mirka on both cheeks. He brought his left hand from behind his back and handed her a single yellow rose.

“Oh! This is beautiful. Thank you.” She obviously surprised him when she gave him a full body hug. He returned it, blushing again. “Yellow for friendship. It's lovely! I'll put it in water.”

“Too,” Rafa said, “I mean, I also brought,” in his right hand was a bottle of wine, which he gave to Roger. “I hope is good. I don't know wine, so Maribel help me buy it.”

Roger looked at the label. A Reisling. One of his favourites. “Excellent choice!”

Mirka took the bottle and left them to find a vase. They had another bottle of wine already opened. Roger gestured to the couch and they sat, turned slightly toward each other.

“The girls are staying with their nannies tonight. Just the grownups, I'm afraid.”

“I like childrens. I would like to meet them sometime.”

That struck Roger as meaningful. Rafa was now an important part of his life, and here they were slowly integrating him into more of their life by having this dinner for just the three of them. The next step was obviously introducing him to the girls and he to them.

“Next time,” he promised.

Mirka returned with a tray, carefully balancing three glasses of wine and a slim vase with the rose. “We'll have the wine you brought with dinner. Meanwhile,” she bent to set the tray on the coffee table in front of them. Rafa took one side of the tray to help her steady it. She sat across from them on a chair. “We can toast with this. Roger ordered it just for this moment.”

They each took a glass and that's when the awkwardness settled in. Mirka's forced cheerfulness deserted her, Rafa looked miserable and Roger felt another knot unravel in his ordered world.

“This is silly,” he said. “We all know what the situation is. I love you both.”

That got their attention, as they both snapped their gazes to his face, looking hopeful.

“I love you both. It's no secret. I'm not sneaking around or cheating on either of you. This is between the three of us. It is a weird situation to be in, I believe, but we're in it now. I don't know how to do anything except continue.” He looked at each of them and saw that they agreed. That was good. No second thoughts. He was still afraid that Mirka would demand that he put an end to his relationship with Rafa, or that Rafa would bolt. He knew deep down neither of them would do that but couldn't rid himself of that fear.

Rafa cleared his throat and spoke slowly in his heavily accented English. “I not have a lot of experience. At relationship. Mary is only girlfriend ever. No boyfriends, except, well no. Not boyfriends.” He frowned.

Roger asked carefully, “One time...meetings?”

“Yes. We meet a time or two and then nada. My choice, too.”

Mirka touched him on the knee. “That sounds lonely.”

“Si. Like that lonely. But not alone. I have my family for support and Mary.”

“That's good that you have them,” Mirka said.

Rafa looked at her then, really looked at her. Something passed between them and he suddenly smiled at her. His body language until now had reminded Roger of how Rafa was during interviews, especially pressers, where they had to face an army of reporters. It sometimes felt like an inquisition. Even Roger felt that way and he was a lot more comfortable at pressers than Rafa was.

But now he leaned forward to rest his arms on his knees, his whole body more giving towards Mirka. She tended to sit with her shoulders pulled inward when she was anxious, but now she mirrored Rafa and their heads were inches apart.

She asked him about Mary and how he felt about her. He told her that they were good friends and had been since childhood. Roger leaned back into the corner of the couch, resting his right ankle across his left knee and let their conversation wash over him. He enjoyed listening to these two people, who were everything to him, get to know one another. When room service arrived with their dinner Roger got up to let the server in to set up the table. Mirka and Rafa kept talking. He wasn't one hundred percent sure they were that oblivious or if they were just ignoring the interruption.

He decided it was the former when he had to call them twice to come and eat.

One bottle of wine and a delicious seafood dinner later they were all full. Roger yawned, which set Rafa off, too.

“Should go,” Rafa stood. He glanced at Roger, somewhat hesitantly, Roger thought, before turning to initiate a hug with Mirka. They clung to one another for a moment. “Thank you for the good evening.”

“You're very welcome, Rafa. I'm happy we did this.”

Then turning to Roger he held out a hand and grinned. Roger's eyebrow went up in mock indignation. “My wife gets a hug and I get a handshake?”

They ended up coming together in a solid hug that went on longer than the one with Mirka. He let his hands rest low on Rafa's back, enjoying the contact. Then Roger drew his palms upwards in a long, slow glide until he could dig his fingers into the wavy hair. He held Rafa's face and kissed him, gently at first and then with more passion. They'd been apart two very long weeks. When they separated Roger heard a muffled sigh.

He turned to Mirka. One of her hands was over her mouth and she had a slightly dazed look in her eyes. Then she got herself under control.

She walked up to Rafa and kissed him, too, on the side of the mouth and said good night, before going to the bedroom with one last smile at Roger. If he read that correctly she was still fine with the current arrangement.

“I'm going to walk Rafa to the door.”

“Whose door?” she teased.

He looked from one to the other. They both looked far too enticing. This might turn out to be more difficult than he thought. Or better.

Good thing Rafa was staying in the same hotel. Saying good night to him had taken about an hour, including the sneaking back to the suite part. Actually speaking the words had led to another hug, to a lingering kiss, to Rafa attempting to breathe for both of them, to Roger shoving him towards the bed and stripping him down to the skin. What followed were thrusts desperate enough that the headboard banged the wall behind it.

There was one light on in the main room and a faint light glowed from the bedroom door, which stood slightly ajar. He went inside and saw Mirka sprawled on the bed. She was naked with a fine sheen of sweat covering her body.

“Wow,” was all he could manage.

“I hope you don't mind,” she said. “I started without you.”

He stripped off clothing as he walked towards her. “I'm sorry. It might take me a little time to...recover from...the walk down the hall.”

Mirka reached for him and helped him out of his pants, so to speak. He glanced down to where the material was parted.

“Then again, it might not take that long.”

He had most of his clothes off by the time Mirka pulled him off his feet and onto the bed.

Rafa went out in the third round of the tournament. Roger thought that he might not have put all of his effort into winning his matches due to his intense dislike of the blue clay. It was slippery. Roger felt something pull in his upper thigh or hip, and asked Stephane to work on him. He thought he might be okay after that. His team expressed some doubt and Mirka told him he was being stubborn. Again. Rafa stayed in Madrid one day longer than he might have normally, the plan being he would go home for a couple of days and then it would be on to Rome for him.

The night before Rafa left for Manacor he and Roger found time to be alone. Feeling more relaxed than he had in days Roger rolled over in bed to curl around Rafa. As he did the muscle in his upper thigh twinged and he groaned quietly.

“Your hip?” Rafa asked.

“Nothing wrong with it.”

“Not what Mirka say.”

“I'm beginning to regret encouraging you two to be friends.” Roger pressed his face to Rafa's chest.

“Not me. I like her.”

“I've noticed. Do I have reason to worry?”

“She's a girl...woman. Womans are friends. That's all.”

Rafa was definitely gay. Roger smiled and snuggled closer. “Yes. Well, she still likes your ass.”

“It's a nice ass.”

Roger laughed and rolled off him, attempting to sit up against the headboard. His hip pulled again, making him hiss in pain.

Rafa sat up and looked down at him. “Lie back.”

“That's what I was trying to do.”

“Shh.” Rafa ran his hands lightly over Roger's chest and down to his abdomen. Then he felt his way to the offending hip and upper thigh. He worked the muscles gently between his strong hands. It felt better than when Stephane did it.

“Amazing.” Roger's eyes closed and gave in to the ministrations. After a few minutes he felt Rafa's lips trailing across his skin. “Nice. You may have missed your calling.”

“Que?”

“You're good at that. If you need a second career you could become a masseur.”

“Maybe when I retire.” Rafa sounded distracted but Roger was seized by the sudden need to pin him down about something.

“When do you think that will be?”

Still massaging Roger's leg Rafa shrugged without looking up. “When it happen.”

Roger leaned over so that Rafa had to look at him. “Please promise you will tell me when you're thinking about it.”

Rafa's dark brown eyes studied him. “Si. You first to know. Not soon, though.”

“I worry about your knees, Rafael.”

It was possibly his use of Rafa's full name that got the undivided attention he craved. They remained locked in a silent conversation, one in which neither of them blinked. Finally Roger sighed.

When Rafa spoke his voice gave away his feelings. “My knees hurt all the time, Rogi. I play through the pain. I will play for a long time yet.”

“I hope so,” Roger whispered. “But your poor knees.” He bent his head further and placed a single kiss on Rafa's left kneecap. It was warm and silky smooth under his lips. Rafa ran his fingers over Roger's head, over and over.

Roger kept winning, until he won the whole damn tournament. Never had he been so thankful to be done with an event like this. His hip ached in a way that worried him through sleepless nights. He was fairly certain that he'd never have to play on blue clay again, because there was talk of doing away with it for next year. In one way it amused him to think that he and Serena Williams would be the only singles champions to win on the stuff. They'd both done what was necessary, adapting to the surface the way they'd had to do countless times over the years. In that regard it was a different kind of victory, conquering the blue monster. He enjoyed the trophy ceremony, receiving the Men in Black suit from Will Smith and finally being able to relax. That weirdly shaped trophy was another thing entirely. He managed not to make a “WTF??” face at it the way Serena had done, or to laugh at it the way he really, really wanted to.

Then it was done and on to Rome. And Rafa.

Due to matches, meetings with sponsors, other tennis-related commitments and family obligations Roger and Rafa only saw each other once on the practice courts and not at all anywhere else. Roger called him on his cell twice but didn't get either an answer or a returned call. He was starting to become worried, but his responsibilities kept getting in the way. Not that he ever begrudged anything his family or team asked of him, but he needed to see Rafa. He needed to spend time in his company. It wasn't even just about the sex now, never had been even before he knew he could have sex with him. He loved Rafa as a friend and as a person and almost craved his presence. He noted that Mirka had asked about him several times this week already. Had he spoken to him? Was Roger going to hit with him? Her fondness for Rafa was growing and Roger found himself encouraging those feelings.

He was dining out one day when they finally saw each other again. Before the wave of murmurs reached his ears, Roger sensed a change in the atmosphere of the crowded restaurant. He turned his head in time to see Rafa enter. The maitre'd greeted him with effusive smiles and gestures, and then led him to his table. Their path was going to take them directly past where Roger was seated with Mirka, Severin and Paul. Rafa smiled widely when he spotted Roger. He reached out as he got closer and Roger stood to clasp Rafa's hand, drawing him close in a loose, one-armed embrace. Roger's free arm looped around Rafa's shoulders and gently squeezed.

“Hello, Raf.” His breath was warm against Roger's ear.

“Hola, Rogi.” Stepping back Rafa smiled just for him, and then reached for Mirka, kissing her on both cheeks. He exchanged quick but firm handshakes with Paul and Severin.

“I called you a few times.”

Rafa blinked and then reached for his cell phone. “Oh! I turn off for meeting with Babolat. Forgot turned back on.”

Relieved that Rafa hadn't been avoiding him, Roger smiled happily and touched Rafa's arm, just because he could.

“Are you here with Maria Francisca?” Mirka glanced towards the door.

A frown threatened to cross Rafa's face, but then it vanished as he shrugged. He simply replied, “No. She is in London.”

Roger looked at him closely and with some concern, instinctively picking up on the things that were unsaid. “Come eat with us.”

Mirka nodded encouragingly. Rafa ducked his head. He still acted shy and vaguely awkward around Mirka, even though he had said many times that he liked her a lot, and they'd made such wonderful progress in Madrid. “Gracias.”

Mirka's face clouded momentarily. Roger suspected she hoped that she and Rafa could become closer. Whether she wanted only friendship or something more she hadn't told him yet. There was a major roadblock in her way if she wanted intimacy, because Rafa was gay and had shown little interest in women except as friends. Roger hoped that Mirka wasn't falling for Rafa, because that would only end badly if her potential attraction to him wasn't returned. He wondered when he had become comfortable with the possibility of his wife falling for his boyfriend.

Roger informed the maitre'd that there would be a fifth person at their table and gestured for the others to sit again. He slipped an arm around Rafa's waist, exerting just enough pressure that Rafa was compelled to go with him around the table to sit next to him on the chair the maitre'd had produced from somewhere. The warmth of Rafa's body along his side was heady and had been sorely missed.

“How did you get away from Toni?” Paul asked.

“He and my parents went sightseeing.”

Mirka asked, “You didn't want to see Rome?”

“I should, no? But I am tired from match today.”

Roger shook his head. “The bane of our existence. We travel all over the world and seldom get to see any of it.”

“Si.”

Roger was tired too, but determined to be a good husband and friend, so here he was trying to be sociable when he really wanted to sleep. Rafa could probably relate.

“We took a bus tour yesterday afternoon and saw the Coliseum and the Vatican,” Roger told him. “Today I slept while Mirka took the girls out for awhile.”

“You play late last night.”

“It was almost one a.m before I got to bed. This tournament is turning me into a vampire. Sleep all day.”

“And how is that different from any other time?” Seve teased him.

Roger acknowledged the comment with a rueful grin. “Not much.” he admitted and then turned back to Rafa. “Anyway, a late lunch here is about all I can manage for dining out this week, you know?”

Rafa nodded. Of course he knew.

The conversation turned to tennis, of course, with Roger's coaches eventually getting into a friendly argument that made Roger smile and Mirka roll her eyes. Wisely, they both stayed out of it.

Roger leaned closer to Rafa and said, “We're planning to go out again tomorrow. If the timing is right do you want to come with us?”

“To see Rome?”

“Yes.”

Rafa glanced in Mirka's direction. “Is okay with...?”

“She suggested it after I told her you were staying inside a lot.”

Rafa appeared surprised at this information. “How you know I not go out?”

Roger shrugged. “Haven't seen you around?” Then he quirked his mouth up on one side and hoped Rafa didn't know he was lying, though it wasn't in a bad way.

“Rogelio,” he said slowly. “How you know?”

Feeling vaguely uncomfortable Roger admitted, “Toni told me you and Mary are having problems and since she isn't in Rome at all you've been keeping close to the hotel.”

Rafa looked like he felt he should be offended that so many other people were minding his business, but he could never stay angry with Roger, as Roger's friends often noted. Rafa sighed and nodded.

“Yes.”

“Yes, you and Mary...” Roger trailed off, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Yes, I go with you to see Roma.”

Roger grinned. “Good! We'll have fun.”

Returning the effusive response Rafa said he sincerely hoped that would be so. They could both use the distraction. Some relaxing type fun would be a welcome change.

It was entirely possible that the city would never be the same again.

The length of time it took for their fellow tourists to realize that two of the top tennis stars in the world were on the bus with them was miniscule. Thankfully they were all respectful and soon they were included in all of the events as if they were ordinary sightseers. To Rafa and Roger they were ordinary sightseers. They'd never done this before, therefore they were tourists the same as everyone else.

Somehow they ended up sharing a seat on the bus, while Mirka sat across the aisle with their daughters.

“I love childrens,” Rafa said to Roger. “Yours behave well.”

“Most of the time,” Roger agreed. He was so happy that Rafa and the girls were meeting each other at last.

“They look like you. And like Mirka,” Rafa hastened to add. “But...that one looks like you more. How can that be when they are twins?”

“That's Myla. Tomorrow she'll resemble her mother and Charlene will look like me, we've found.” At Rafa's puzzled look Roger added, “Don't try to figure it out. We've learned to just go with it. We're not getting them mixed up, either. It's a twin thing, apparently.”

The driver of the bus doubled as their guide. She was also a tennis fan and peppered them with knowledgeable questions at their first rest stop. She and many of the other passengers couldn't stop smiling when they were close to the tennis stars. It was infectious. Rafa smiled until his face must have hurt, especially when he and Roger fell into giggle-fits the way they had when filming that commercial for Roger's charity and Credit Suisse a few years ago. They started getting silly, trying hard not to disturb anyone else and ending up snorting with laughter so loudly they were on the receiving end of many amused stares from the other passengers, except for a long-suffering look from Mirka.

The tour included the Coliseum and the Vatican, which surprised Rafa.

“You no see these places already?”

Mirka leaned across the aisle. “We thought you might want to see them, too, so we chose this tour. Don't worry. There are a lot of other stops Roger and I haven't seen before.”

Once again giving her a shy, grateful smile Rafa turned his head to look out on the city. They were seated on the top deck of the bus with unobstructed views all the way around. Rome was breathtaking and heavy with a sense of history that Roger felt in his bones. He thoroughly enjoyed himself. The best part was sitting next to Rafa, feeling the heat of Rafa's body along his right side, their legs pressed up against each other from hip to knee, calf to calf. Once Roger shifted his leg and their ankles touched. Rafa pressed closer and kept his leg firmly in place. He did not meet Roger's eyes, but continued to smile hugely.

The tour ended back at their hotel and they all piled off, chatting with their fellow tourists.

As they walked into the lobby Roger asked, “Did you have a good time?”

Rafa grinned at him. “Si! I saw the harbour of Melbourne and the Aquarium in January and took a boat out, but most of time – except for holidays -- I see hotel rooms. This was fun!”

Roger laughed. “It was a lot of fun.”

“I'll take the girls to our room,” Mirka said, gripping a tiny hand in each of hers.

“You need help?” Roger asked waving bye-bye to his daughters, blowing kisses, with a goofy smile on his face.

Rafa said he thought Roger looked adorable. A proud papa. Then a wave of not-quite loneliness washed over his face. Perhaps sensing he was troubled, one of the twins shook loose of her mother's hand and ran to him, wrapping her arms around his knees.

Surprised, Rafa bent down as best he could with a three year old attached to his legs. She looked up at him with big hazel eyes.

Rafa turned to Roger and whispered, “I just fall in love with another Federer.”

Stunned, Roger could only gaze helplessly, feeling his heart fill with Rafa.

“Love you, Onc'l Rafa.” Her English was getting better, Roger thought proudly. The girls had conversed earlier with each other in a mixture of German, French and something he and Mirka referred to as, “Twinspeak.” Rafa had expressed incomprehension of the latter. Roger had assured him that no one over the age of three seemed capable of understanding it.

Delighted by her declaration, he smiled at her. “I love you, too,” he paused and looked to Roger for help.

“Charlene,” Roger mouthed.

“I love you, too, Charlene Riva.”

Mirka beamed at him for including the girl's second name. Not to be outdone, Myla Rose also launched herself at his legs, nearly knocking him off balance because he was standing with his feet locked together. He teetered slightly, but Roger stepped up close and righted him with a firm hand at his elbow.

“Read to us, Onc'l Rafa?” Myla asked with her head tipped way back and she left her mouth open.

“I tell you story later, no?”

Myla's face wrinkled as she sorted out his reply. She looked at her sister who nodded vigorously. “Yay!” Then Charlene took up the cry and soon they were both bouncing up and down. Mirka spoke to them in German and they hushed just as suddenly as they had started. They waved at him and then at their father as they were led away.

“They do love you. You are now their favourite male person.”

Rafa shot Roger a look of horror. “No! You must be favourite!”

Putting a comforting hand on Rafa's shoulder Roger said, “It's okay. They did it to Paul and Severin, and Gavin, too. At some point they'll remember me.” The humour in his voice caused Rafa to visibly relax. He said that there was no way did he wish to interfere with the girls' affection for their father.

He still looked worried, so Roger slid his hand to the back of Rafa's neck, under his mane of curls, and gave it a little squeeze.

“It's okay. The girls are at the stage when everyone is more fascinating than their dear old parents, but they know who buys the toys.”

“Oh.” He looked stricken.

“What's wrong, Raf?”

“I was thinking of buying them toys.”

Roger laughed hard, wiping his eyes. When he stopped he said, “Go ahead, if you must. They'll only love you more.” Then he tugged gently and suddenly Rafa was in Roger's arms pressed up against him from the waist up...and in public. Roger gave it little thought. They were always touchy-feely with one another.

“Rogi! Everyone can see!” Rafa's breath was hot against his ear and he wiggled a little, trying to get away.

Common sense prevailed, even though Roger's body dearly wanted him to stand there holding Rafa for a long time, so he released him, stepping back.

He glanced around to see if anyone had noticed and, sure enough, a man was across the street with a camera and a telephoto lens aimed at them. Rafa noticed him, also.

“Now we will be talk about!”

“We're always talked about,” Roger turned back to him. “If we act like there's nothing unusual going on they won't know the difference.” He hoped his confidence would benefit reality.

Rafa wore a doubtful expression. With his mouth turned down he said, “I hope you right.”

“Listen,” Roger said, “you're the one who said something about how this is fame. Right?”

“Si.”

“Besides, we've always got our hands on each other. How is an innocent hug any different?”

“Not so innocent,” Rafa said with a wicked smile.

“Well, unless I ravished you right here it could be considered innocent.”

“I want to do that. To you.”

Roger swallowed hard. The look in Rafa's eyes, smouldering just under the surface...

“Okay. Stop looking at me like that or we will make headlines all over the world!”

“Tennis stars fuck on sidewalk of hotel?”

“Jesus.”

Rafa stared hard.

“I mean it! Cut it out!”

Rafa kept staring.

“You're something of a brat, aren't you?” Roger accused.

Finally relenting with the heated looks Rafa winked. “You just find out now? Maybe you should get to know before fucking me and pushing me and your wife to each other.”

Roger's brain had apparently shorted out at some point in the last couple of minutes, for the only thing he could come up with in response was, “We need to find a room. Mirka and the girls are in ours.”

“I stay here too,” Rafa reminded him.

“Let's go.”

When they walked into Roger's suite they were tired but freshly showered. What had gone on to cause the dip in energy they kept to themselves because Mirka had company. It would have been rude to flaunt what they had just done in front of guests. Besides, it was supposed to be a secret. Making out with his boyfriend in front of everyone would be stupid, even if he really wanted to do it. Mirka looked from one to the other and got a pained look in her eyes. Roger knew that meant that she had picked up on their sexual vibe and was now getting hot herself. He was all for tossing out Mirka's friends, but restrained himself. Instead, he endured the effort of being sociable. Rafa made noises about leaving, but the ladies wouldn't let either of them get away.

Roger caught the smirk his wife sent him and dropped down beside her on the couch. Rafa perched on the arm next to him but remained silent as long as the conversation wasn't directed at him, and then he answered in the fewest amount of words possible. He gnawed on his thumb until Roger wanted to reach up and draw his hand away from his mouth. After a bit Rafa did it himself and dropped his hand down. While Mirka talked to the ladies Rafa's fingers twisted around Roger's hand. Roger tugged once, to pull his hand away, but Rafa held fast. Roger pushed their intertwined hands down behind the cushions. No one seemed to have noticed.

Finally, finally, the others left and the three of them were alone. Mirka rolled her eyes and flopped back into the couch cushions.

“I'm sorry. I didn't know they were coming over.”

“You need to be with your friends more, sweetheart,” Roger said. “You can't focus your entire life on me and tennis. You need a break from that now and then.”

Shaking her head Mirka said, “I don't mind. I see them often.” She turned her sharp gaze on the men.
“What have you two been up to this afternoon?”

Unaccountably, Roger blushed. His and Rafa's eyes met and Rafa blushed, too.

While Roger struggled for a response Rafa surprised him by saying, “We made love.”

“Ohh,” Mirka seemed fascinated. “Tell me.”

“Mirka!”

“No. Is okay. With me, I mean. Is okay with you?”

Roger looked from one to the other, suddenly feeling like he didn't know either of them. He nodded, though, intrigued as to what Rafa was going to say.

Rafa sat down on the coffee table in front of the couch, across from Mirka. His eyes were on her and only her, all of his considerable focus centred on her. Mirka's eyes grew huge when he leaned forward to take her hands in his, Rafa's fingers stroking her palms as he spoke.

“Rogi is wonderful lover. You must know?” He waited for her mute nod before continuing. “He has passion like a Spaniard! Very...he gives attention.”

“Attentive?” Mirka supplied. “Yes, he is.”

“His hands...he uses them well. He play me like he play tennis. Is like music to my body. This why they call him Maestro!”

Mirka giggled. “Well, maybe not for that exact reason.”

Rafa ducked his head but he was grinning. “Si. Not for why. No everyone can be so lucky.”

“I hope not! I don't mind sharing him with you, but he better not be off making music with everyone.”

They both turned to give him warning looks that they spoiled when twin smiles broke out.

Rafa continued, once more looking Mirka in the eyes, drawing her in and holding her with the power of his concentration. “Rogi uses his hands and his mouth on me. The heat is incredible. It come from him but also from inside me, no?”

Mirka nodded, enraptured. Roger noticed that her legs were clamped tightly together. He knew how she must feel, for he also was becoming aroused at Rafa's voice, at his low tone.

“With Rogi, when he is done with me, I am wrung out always, hot, sweaty, exhausted...limp.”

Someone whimpered faintly. Roger was embarrassed to realize that the sound had escaped him. He cleared his throat and sat up straighter, resisting the urge to climb into someone's lap. He didn't care whose at this point.

“His body is strong. His thrusts strong. I am swept away. No choice but to submit. I no care. Just want him. More. Need him. More.”

Mirka placed her forefinger at the corner of her mouth. Roger recognized the sign. She would start to slide it in and out between her lips any...second...now. And there it went, in and out, wetting it as she flicked the tip of her tongue around her pink nail. Rafa was watching her too, rapt. Then he roused himself and suddenly leaned forward. He pulled her hand away and kissed the palm, still holding her other hand.

They stared at one another. Mirka looking a bit scared but transfixed. Rafa's face held little emotion but his dark eyes darted from hers to her mouth, and then he pressed his lips to hers. At first the kiss was chaste, a light touch only. Something changed and he pushed forward, smashing their mouths together, opening Mirka's with his tongue. His hands went to her hair, shoving it aside as he kissed her.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Rafa sat back on the table again, still holding her hands.

“I sorry,” he told her. “This not happen again. I wanted...needed to find out.”

Mirka stared at him, her mouth open, her lips bruised. “You are gay, aren't you? Kissing me didn't do anything for you.”

He shook his head in apology, his expression sad. Roger suspected it was because he was genuinely sorry he had used Mirka that way.

“Nada. But it's not you. I like men.”

Her expression softening into something close to mirroring Rafa's Mirka touched his cheek. “Oh, honey. It's okay. I enjoyed it very much, but I couldn't...with you or any man other than my husband.”

Rafa's grin was one of relief. “As it should be.”

He stood then. “I go now.”

Belatedly Roger realized that he needed to go to him and ran to catch up with him near the door.

“Raf. Wait.” When Rafa turned towards him Roger pulled him into a scorching kiss, putting everything he had into it, every feeling he had for this fiery man. He tried to match the passion he had witnessed a moment ago, the passion he felt when he was alone with Rafa, and felt he failed miserably. Only Rafa carried him along by returning his meagre attempts a thousandfold.

When they parted Roger said, “I love you so much.”

Rafa kissed him again, briefly but no less heatedly. “I love you, too. Now go to your wife. I see you tomorrow, no? Practice early?”

“Not too early.” Roger joked, shakily.

And then Rafa was gone and the door closed behind him.

Turning around Roger saw Mirka still seated on the couch. He went to her in two strides, pushed her onto her back, careful to be gentle, and stretched out on top of her. They made love there, fuelled by the catalyst that was Rafa.

Photos of their hug in front of the hotel appeared on the internet the next day accompanied by the headlines: “Bromance Taken to New Level?” “Nadal and Federer are Close Friends” and “Tennis Stars Not Rivals Off the Courts”. Their publicists said that the message boards and forums exploded with discussions of their supposed new closeness. The pictures certainly did show something more than friendship, but nothing too blatant.

Roger found it funny. Rafa had to be talked down, saying it was his life that was in the most jeopardy if anyone got too close to the truth. Roger countered with how his life could also be ruined. Mirka reasoned that they needed to continue as they always did and eventually people would realize that on the surface nothing had changed. They were still friends and professional rivals.

That settled that.

Privately they grew closer than ever. Roger couldn't imagine his life without Rafa in it in some capacity; he needed Rafa like a drug. Rafa spent a lot of his downtime with the Federers. He even babysat one evening, when Roger and Mirka were invited out for dinner. When they returned to the suite they found him curled up on their bed with the twins held protectively, one tucked under each arm. They removed the girls and put them in their own beds and returned to find Rafa still sound asleep. With a shared, “What else can we do?' look they got ready for bed and climbed in with him, one on each side.

Roger pulled him into his arms and kissed him on the neck, eliciting a sleepy shrug. He raised his head enough to see Mirka on her side facing them. She smiled at him, patted Rafa on the cheek, and then she turned over onto her other side and fell asleep a few minutes later. Roger lay awake a while longer, thankful for his good fortune.

When he awoke Mirka was gone. Except for his week in Monte Carlo, it was one of the very few times in their relationship he hadn't woken up with her by his side. Before he had a chance to miss her she emerged from the bathroom and knelt beside him on the bed, leaning over to kiss him lightly.

“Good morning. How's sleepyhead?”

“Me or Rafa?” he asked.

She patted him on the chest. “Rafa. I can see how you are.” She glanced below his waist where the sheets were tented. “Luckily for Rafa you wore me out last night in the shower, before we went out to dinner. It's his turn.”

She gathered some clothing and headed back to the bathroom. “I have a breakfast date.”

“Who with?”

“The ladies who were here the other night.”

He watched Rafa sleep while she got dressed. “See you at practice later?”

“I'll be there.”

“I could use a partner,” he looked hopeful. “Louis can only hit with me until eleven.”

Mirka smiled. “Okay. We haven't done that in a while. It'll be fun.” When she was ready she leaned down and kissed him again. “Gotta go. The nannies have the girls under control. They're down in their room, giving them breakfast.”

“I'll go say good morning before I head out.”

A few minutes after she left Rafa finally stirred beside him. Roger put a hand on his shoulder.

“You awake?”

Squinting at his surroundings Rafa asked, “Where?”

“You fell asleep babysitting.”

He sat up abruptly. “The girls!”

“It's okay. They're fine. The nannies have them.”

Rafa looked around again. “This your bed. Yours and Mirka's.”

“We all slept here last night.”

“All of us?”

“The three of us. Mirka was fine with it. So was I. I like waking up with you.”

Rafa laid down and put his head on the pillow next to Roger's. “Sounds good.”

Running his hand through Rafa's hair Roger kissed him. Oddly he tasted of bubblegum. Roger decided not to ask.

The kisses grew heated. Rafa hooked one leg over Roger's hip and humped his thigh.

“Wish we...had more time,” Roger panted against Rafa's shoulder.

“Practice?”

“Yes. Should definitely practice this more. Need to get it right.”

Rafa shook with laughter. “Not this! Practice the tennis!” And then Roger put his hand to good use and Rafa slipped over the edge.

Roger tried not to reach orgasm right after, but Rafa bucked his hips and he had no hope of holding out any longer.

They flopped apart, breathing heavily.

“I think shower, breakfast and then tennis,” Roger said.

Rafa looked down at himself in disgust. “I go to my room and get clean clothes. You made me come in my shorts.”

“I did? That was rude of me.”

“You bad man, Rogi.”

They'd booked practice courts next to each other. Louis hit with Roger until he had to leave, but Mirka was already there to take over for him. Quite a few cameras came out at that point. They hit for another hour and then walked together to sit in the shade and drink some water. Paul wandered over to talk to Toni, and Rafa trotted up to flop down on the bench next to Roger, while Mirka sat on the table on his other side.

It was quite hot out, so the shade and cold water felt very good. Roger looked at Mirka perched beside him, sitting a little higher than he was. She stared off into the distance, lost in thought the way she sometimes did. On his other side Rafa sipped at his water, the condensation dripping off his chin to run down his throat. Roger wanted so badly to lick it off him. He swallowed the urge.

There were a lot of people watching their every move. It gave him an idea.

“You both trust me, right?”

“Si.”

“Of course, darling.”

“Do we want to come out...only not? No more hiding, only we hide in plain sight?”

“It would make it easier on you two,” Mirka nodded.

“I no understand.”

“We can be us in public, without letting the world know you're gay or that we're involved.” He held his hand over his mouth the way he did when he played doubles with Stan, so the rivals couldn't read what he was saying.

“How this possible?”

Roger told him.

Rafa thought it over and then agreed. Mirka said, “Go ahead.”

Roger sprawled on the bench, resting his head on Rafa's solid shoulder as if it was something they did in public all the time. He reached up and took Mirka's hand in his, bringing it down to him; her soft skin warm under his lips. Rafa slipped his arm behind Roger's back, leaning his cheek against Roger's hair. His quiet breathing was tranquil and calming in Roger's ear. It had been his idea but his heart pounded hard, until he let Rafa and Mirka's presence settle him. They spent a few pleasant moments relaxing before returning to practice.

That was how the next set of photos of them that raced around the world were accompanied by headlines that read: “Federer-Nadal Accepted by Mirka” and “Bromance or Romance?”. There was still a lot of speculation about the sexuality of both men, but with Mirka firmly in the picture – literally -- it remained that, simply lurid speculation. They continued to be hands on with each other, with or without Mirka present, whenever they were in the same city. Sometimes there were photos of Rafa carrying one of the twins and, eventually, it became more normal than not to see Rafa with the Federer family.

Toni did his part by shrugging off the nosier questions asked about his nephew. Maria Francisca worked her way past any issues she had with Rafa's relationship with Roger, but returned to her job in London. She was still Rafa's good friend and remained so. Roger's parents had not been a part of the genesis of their son's choices, but when they were told the truth his father chuckled and asked Rafa if he thought Real Madrid was going to win the championship. Lynette took Mirka into the kitchen and got the lowdown on the situation. Then they came back out and she told Roger that she and Robbie always thought he was gay and had wondered when he was going to do something about it – as long as Mirka remained in the family.

In private they continued as they had been doing, with Rafa a solid third partner in the relationship.

Rafa retired at the French Open 2015. He won it but at a cost. His knees were shot and he knew he couldn't go on. But he held 14 major titles and no one could take those away from him.

Roger retired at Wimbledon 2016, winning it for the ninth time, his 21st major. He still felt good enough to go on, even at nearly 35, and still loved the game, but his heart wasn't in it without Rafa on the other side of the net. After announcing his retirement he used a chair next to the wall below the player's box to stand on, stretching up to kiss Mirka and then Rafa with equal passion. At first there was stunned silence, and then the crowd roared its approval.

They celebrated a month later on a Mallorcan beach with the Nadals and Federers when Roger and Rafa declared their commitment to each other, and Roger and Mirka reaffirmed their love. Then the three of them promised to always be friends and family, to support and respect each other.

Charlene and Myla officiated, as only seven year olds can do when given the responsibility of overseeing a wedding, so to speak, by doing their best to be solemn and ending up giggling when all of their parents kissed each other.

# end

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