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To say Andy's expecting the knock at the door is presumptuous, but not entirely untrue. Novak's not a mystery anymore, if he ever was, and his promise to be here tonight coupled with his loss makes Andy almost certain that he'll get a sleepy, slightly pissed off Serb knocking on his door long after they both should be in bed.
When the knock comes it's barely an hour after his match is over; either Novak bribed someone to get the boat to leave when he wanted it to, or he has some kind of magical power (Andy's pretty sure it's the first option, unless Novak's become a wizard when he wasn't looking). When he opens the door, he finds Novak leaning against the wooden frame, his bags slung over his shoulder, coat still on with his hat and scarf in his hands. He must have come straight here, Andy realises, and his heart leaps at that, though he knows it doesn't mean more than Novak needs him tonight.
Andy's still shutting the door behind the Serb when he finds his back pressed against it, handle sticking uncomfortably into his hip. Wrists pinned deftly to the wood by rough hands before a mouth covers his own, sharing a soft breath before Novak kisses his upper lip, then his lower, open mouthed; Andy understands the invitation better than Novak will ever realise. Tongues slide together and Novak whimpers though he'll deny it later when they're in the harsh light of day; Andy's hand finds Novak's neck, fingers tracing his hairline, thumb brushing against his jaw.
"Andy," Novak gasps between kisses, fingers sliding across his hip as he lets go of his other wrist, tucking into the waistband of his sweatpants. It's not fair because Novak's still in about ten layers, which is ten layers too many, and he's in a t-shirt and the rattiest tracksuit he owns, one that's gone through the wash so many times the material's almost threadbare. With one hand he tries to unbutton Novak's coat, awkward fumbling between them as they become a tangle of limbs but eventually the coat slides off into a heap on the floor.
Step backwards for Novak and Andy goes with him, not just because Novak's got fingers all over his skin again, but because he wants to; Novak's breath is warm against his cheek as he leaves messy kisses across his jaw, wet tongue sliding across stubble he meant to shave off this morning. Should be the one looking after Novak but Novak wants to touch and taste and feel, fingers stroking at the inside of his wrists and Andy moans because goddammit, Novak knows what that does to him.
Gleeful smile on Novak's face confirms it and he does it again, except this time he kisses Andy open mouthed, his tongue sliding past the corner of his lips, tip pressing against Andy's own until it slides over the top, licking across his teeth to the roof of his mouth. Andy's grip on Novak tightens, fingers pressed into Novak's arms so hard he'd be leaving bruises if it wasn't for the thick hoodie the Serb is wearing. Andy's pretty sure it's his, considering Novak isn't sponsored by adidas anymore; he traces the logo on Novak's chest before tugging at the fabric, hoping it'll distract Novak from kissing him long enough to take it off. It doesn't, and they take another step towards the bed, though this time Andy's the one leading them, pushing Novak in mini-steps until there's a yelp and Novak grabs Andy for support as he stumbles backwards.
Grabs Andy for support as he stumbles backwards but they land in a tangle of limbs on the floor anyway; Novak's beneath him, eyes dark with arousal, breathing heavily, and Andy can more than feel the erection pressing into his hip through the tracksuit. Suspects Novak can feel the same. Hears his name but it's breathless, fingers tracing the top of his spine as he's pulled closer but Andy dips his head, peppers kisses across Novak's neck until he has to pull soft grey cotton away, teeth grazing the edge of Novak's collarbone. Gets the reaction he'd wanted, half-gasp of pleasure and fuck, if they weren't in the most awkward position known to man he'd just fuck Novak right there.
As it is they're splayed out on the rough carpet, bodies pressed together but legs sticking out in all directions; Novak's got one of his legs hooked around one of Andy's but the other is less comfortable, half resting on something and Andy suspects it's whatever they tripped over. Kicks at it a little but he doesn't want to damage the hotel; he still remembers Novak's cheeks turning pink trying to explain how he'd made a crack in the mock-antique desk.
Fingers weave between his own, effectively pinning them above his head even though he's the one on top. Dark eyes meet his; there's almost a wicked grin on Novak's face but they've played this too many times for Andy not to know the rules.
Nips at Novak's lower lip, sliding his mouth over Novak's for a half-hearted kiss, and when he does it again their tongues meet in the middle; neither of them wants to give, but he knows Novak's weaknesses – the spot beneath his collarbone, the patch of skin below his left ear – and presses feather light kisses across Novak's cheek, gently biting the tip of his earlobe before he does the same to his neck. Gets the expected kitten-like mewl from Novak, hips awkwardly arching into Andy's, and Andy does it again, rocks his hips in time with Novak and there a hand clasping at his neck to drag him down into an kiss, hot and wet and slightly desperate, pushing too hard but god, Andy doesn't care.
"Novak," he mumbles around Novak's mouth, trying to tug his hoodie off but their combined weight is making it all but impossible with one hand, "fuck," and Novak's kissing his neck, scrape of teeth over his pulse point, lips pressing an ‘o' into his skin before he gently sucks on it, half choked moan spilling from his lips. Hand pulling at his t-shirt, material bunching in Novak's hand and the faint hint of skin against his chest isn't enough. He wants more, wants to feel Novak against him, not soft cotton and the brush of Novak's knuckles.
Third time lucky, he thinks as he tugs at Novak's hoodie and finally he gets the message; he tries to pull it off with one hand still bunched in Andy's shirt as though he can't let go, wet kisses still being printed against his jaw. There's idiocy, and then there's Novak, but eventually he mutters something that can only be a curse in Serbian, and finally he relents, letting go of his t-shirt, rough fingers making Andy shiver as they ghost over his side.
He feels like a teenager again, desperate and needy, wanting to be touched until he can't see straight; Novak's the same, can't resist rubbing a thumb over the inside of Andy's wrist, half watching the smile Andy gives him as he fumbles with the hoodie. Andy's content just to watch him struggle with the leverage and Andy's weight on top of him, and the distraction that his mouth seems to be. Novak's more interested in brushing feather-light kisses over his lips, the look on his face indicating he's entirely too pleased with the noises he's getting from Andy, which are definitely not whimpers.
Except when Novak unexpectedly brushes his hip and sticks his hand into his sweatpants, he realises he might have to concede that last thing.
"Is stupid," he says, thumb brushing the head of Andy's cock, mouth grazing the sheen of sweat on his neck, and Andy just nods, incapable of thinking of anything other than Novak as he roughly pulls at the waistband of Andy's sweatpants, blunt fingernails scratching at his skin. Tries to help, pushing forward against Novak with the intention of getting the damn things off but it has another effect instead; Novak chokes a gasp out as his erection presses into Andy's thigh, friction clearly good but not enough through two layers, the moment of pleasure that flits over his face gone too soon.
Easiest thing to do would be to just move, but nothing with Novak is easy; the leg that's wrapped around his own slides over his hip, effectively pinning him to the Serb, Novak's mouth hot on his neck as he rocks his hips against Andy's, tiny almost-shuddering motions, breathy pants in his ear. They rock together like it's their first time, no sense of rhythm, just too much clothing and a warm hand wrapped around him, gentle strokes that don't match the desperation of his mouth, meeting Andy's in half kisses with too much teeth.
"I th-" he starts, but Novak stops him with a twist of his wrist, a soft oh falling from his lips as Novak does it again, weight now resting on a knee that's uncomfortable, close to pain, digging into the carpet at an angle that shouldn't be possible. "Bed," he manages, "fuck, Novak," the Serb seemingly ignoring him no matter how much like a plead that last word sounded.
Until Novak's hand just stops. Andy pushes his hips forward, jerky movements as he mouths at Novak's neck, until the hand's gone and the only friction he gets is of his sweatpants clinging to his skin. Protest comes out more as a whine, Novak's name on his lips until Novak looks up at him, all picture of wide eyed innocence but Andy's known Novak long enough to know better.
"You said bed." Andy will give him credit; his tone is pitch perfect, no hint of amusement but he doesn't believe the too angelic expression for a second because there's always that too pleased grin ready to sneak out when he least expects it. A raised eyebrow in Novak's direction and he cracks with a twitch of his lips, the curve brushing over Andy's cheek as he's gently pushed away.
Before Andy's moved an inch Novak's slipped from beneath him, hoodie pulled over his head and discarded on the floor in seconds and he bites back a smart remark about Novak doing that ten minutes ago. There's only one place he wants to end up tonight and it's not in a stupid argument.
"Are you coming?" Novak says without a glance back, pushing his sweatpants over his hips and Andy takes a moment just to watch him; Novak must realise he's doing it because he wiggles his hips, throwing a smirk over his shoulder. Shakes his head as though he can't believe Novak but it's an instinctive reaction, because this is Novak. Nothing surprises him about the Serb anymore, not even if he was to turn up to a match wearing a clown outfit.
"I mean that in both ways, you know," Novak says, and somehow he's got to the bed while Andy's been thinking about Novak in a clown outfit, which is ridiculous really because Novak's almost naked apart from his underwear, stretched out on the bed in a way which Novak probably thinks is sexy but really isn't. Andy stifles a laugh until their eyes meet; he follows Novak's hand as it slides over his body, sneaking below his underwear. Two strokes and his eyes flutter shut, Andy breathes sharply, loud in the otherwise quiet room, and a grin slides over Novak's face, meeting his impossibly dark eyes as they flicker back over to Andy. "Or you can just not come at all, is okay by me."
Nothing he wants more than to join Novak on the bed, but there's a lock on the door that's three steps in the wrong direction that he never heard click into place. The look on Novak's face is needy, longing, but he takes the steps towards the door, cursing under his breath as he stumbles over a racquet bag, realises it's what they tripped over earlier. The lock slides into place under his hands, shutting them away from the rest of the world. When he turns Novak's teeth are biting into his lower lip, eyes sliding over Andy like he can finally just look; Andy feels himself blush under the gaze. It's almost impossible to see in the soft light of the room, but he feels the heat rising in his cheeks, spreading down his neck and across his shoulders.
Novak offers him a smile, one Andy's only too happy to return. Nervous energy flutters inside of him as he pads over to the bed, and he pushes it down, doesn't want to reveal more than he has to. The moment he tells Novak that he's in love with him, this is over and there are too many moments in his tennis career that end with just needing to get through the night to give this up. Indulging in Novak is fine, tentative agreement with Kim where they don't talk about it, ever, but being in love with the Serb would be a different argument. One Andy doesn't want to have.
T-shirt is stripped before he reaches Novak; sweatpants come next, stumbling as he kicks them off. Novak's wide eyed, hunger beneath the surface and Andy doesn't know if it's because he's just put on the worst strip show in history, or if it's because he needs this; claims Novak's mouth anyway, the Serb pliant under his hands now. It's too easy to get Novak underneath him, lying chest to chest and hip to hip, and there's a moan muffled by his mouth as he runs a hand over Novak's hip, teasingly dipping into his underwear before his fingers skim the waistband.
"Off," Novak commands, and Andy fails to hides a grin; this is the Novak he likes, the argumentative, pushy, cocksure teenager he'd met almost ten years ago.
"Yes, sir," he replies, and Novak kisses the grin off his face. Instead of complying Andy palms Novak through damp cotton; the hiss he gets from the Serb the reward, the scowl that accompanies it only lasts as long as it takes Andy to graze teeth across Novak's collarbone, biting just hard enough to leave a mark. Hand curls over his hip, fingers digging into skin that will leave fingerprint sized bruises as Novak arches into him, rubbing together in ways that sends hot shivers down Andy's spine.
Fingers brush through the soft hair covering Novak's stomach, feels the muscles tense beneath his hand as he pushes Novak's underwear down inch by inch until they're over his hips. Novak's cock is hot and hard, leaking against his stomach and Andy smears precome over the head, pressing a kiss to the tip; the sound he gets from Novak is like nothing he's ever heard before, a stream of Serbian following it when Andy doesn't follow through.
"Bastard," Novak manages between gritted teeth, sharp breath before he continues, "hate you. Is not fair."
Raises an eyebrow; Novak's teased him to the point of pain more times than he can count, partly because Novak is a cocksucking bastard as he'd reminded him last time, but mostly because it makes him forget, the need for more and Novak outweighing anything else he might be thinking.
"Learned from the best," he murmurs with a smile; Novak glares at him before an arm loops around his neck and he's pulled into a kiss, Novak's tongue flicking against the tip of his own. Leg hooked over his hip, wetness smearing over his stomach as Novak's cock is trapped between them, trying to pull at his own too tight boxers but his hand is smacked away.
Finds himself on his back beneath Novak, who's looking down at him with a wicked smile and a glint of mischief in his eyes that hadn't been there when he'd walked into the room. A wet mouth kisses down his neck as a hand pins his left wrist to the bed, thumb brushing over the inside, half growled insult hurled Novak's way as the Serb presses his other hand into his hip, fingers tapping a rhythm on his skin, keeping him almost still on the bed. There's no friction, no anything other than Novak's mouth licking and sucking his way across Andy's chest.
"Please," is the only word he can manage as Novak presses a kiss to his wrist that isn't pinned to the bed, mouth sucking gently over the pulse point. "God, Novak-" he gasps as Novak slips a hand into his underwear, tugging at it until his cock is free and then it's like Christmas and his birthday and winning a slam all at once, because Novak's mouth is on him, and he lets out a breath that's meant to say thank you but sounds more like nnghoo. Novak's tongue swirls the head of his cock before he licks from the tip to the base and back, and everything is warm and spine-tingly wonderful as Novak wraps his mouth around him and sucks. His hips jerk as much as they can; there's a too-hard pressure on his hipbone where Novak's hand is still leaving bruises.
Doesn't realise he's shut his eyes until Novak's clambering up him for a kiss, cock hot and heavy against the inside of his thigh. They kiss, Novak's hand cupping his jaw as he teasingly rubs his tongue over Andy's lower lip, again and again until Andy catches him off-guard, his tongue sliding over Novak's own. The only thing Andy can hear is the sound of their kissing, the smack of mouths parting and meeting vaguely pornographic, and the quiet sounds coming from Novak. Almost a hum but not quite, too soft to be a moan, like when someone enjoys a really good meal. Apparently Novak's favourite food is sex, although Andy's almost certain he could have worked that out even if Novak had never ended up in his bed.
Fingers trace Novak's ribs, still too skinny he thinks, because he feels every rise and fall of his skin; slides a hand over Novak's hip before he takes his cock in his hand. Hasn't done anything but Novak still whimpers into his neck, string of words he can't work out spread into his skin as he wraps his fingers around Novak, two slow strokes until Novak's pushing against him.
Novak is beautiful like this; sweat glistening on his forehead, lower lip between his teeth as he tries to muffle the sounds he's making. Andy knows why. They're both boys in the way that tennis players never really grow up, but Andy's heard enough of Novak's whimpers and mewls and keens to be able to tease him about sounding like a girl without him hiding them now. Brushes his free hand over the back of Novak's neck and their noses bump, and Novak's grinning as they kiss. He pushes his knees further into the bed, hips brushing against Andy's as he steadies himself and when their cocks slide against each other he gasps.
"Andy," Novak breathes as their mouths part, his name barely a whisper between them, "Andy, oh," and the whine from Novak is more than enough reward as he smears pre-come across the head of Novak's cock and down the length, Novak pressing half-gasped kisses to his jaw and across his cheek.
With every jerk of his hand Novak's hips rub over his cock; half moments where he feels like there's liquid gold running through his veins. Wants more, needs more, hips arching into Novak's as his free hand slides across smooth skin, around Novak's hip and across his back; thumb runs down the bumps and dips of Novak's spine before his hand slips lower, fingers pressing at Novak's entrance. Doesn't go further than fingering the taut muscle there, Novak wide eyed and utterly unfocussed and at his mercy; Andy lets a lazy smile spread across his face but Novak kisses it away, hands flitting over his skin, impossibly everywhere at once except the one place he wants them to be. Bastard runs through his mind, over and over again, and either Novak's a mind reader or he says it out loud because he looks entirely too smug.
"You admit I am better, yes?" Novak says before he brushes their lips together, and Andy doesn't understand, not when Novak's hand is right there and rough in all the right places. Apparently it's not a question Novak needs an answer to, not when he mumbles "you have lube?" into Andy's mouth and wordlessly Andy nods, breaking the kiss to tell Novak it's in the bathroom.
"That is stupid, you know I come," Novak says, frowning, and rolls off Andy; protest squeaks out before he can stop it but Novak smiles at him, all sweet and innocence and light that Andy doesn't believe for a second, "you put it in bathroom, you get it."
Rolls his eyes at his petulant child of a not-quite-boyfriend but he slips off the bed and pads into the bathroom anyway; the tiles are cold beneath his feet as he walks to the sink, the mirror reflecting every mark Novak's made over him. Rubs absently at the red patch on his collarbone as he grabs the lube, by morning it will have purple edging, like the bruises he can feel forming over his hips. Good pain, his first girlfriend had told him and Andy hadn't understood what she'd meant then; when he was sixteen it had just been an annoyance, one he hadn't always shaken off during a match. With Novak it's different; the bruises and marks and aches that Novak leaves over his body a reminder of the moments where he can just be himself, instead of the losses they're caused by.
This time it's himself he rolls his eyes at; he's a man, for christsakes, and he sounds like a teenage girl. Novak rubbing off on me, he thinks as he tosses the lube over to the bed and laughs as Novak misses it by a long way.
"Aren't you meant to be some kind of athlete?" he grins as he grabs the tube from where it landed; Novak shrugs.
"Apparently not a very good one." The smile disappears from Novak's face, tone suddenly serious and Andy regrets the comment as a pang of hurt shoots through him. So wrapped up in Novak that he'd almost forgotten about why he was here, why they're both here and he can't help but think about his own match, the missed opportunities that hurt more than points where he was just outplayed. Opens his mouth to say sorry but there's something in Novak's eyes that makes him stop; a plea which says just make me forget, please and Andy can't deny him that.
There's a condom in the drawer next to the bed; Andy takes it out before he sits next to Novak, hand brushing over his stomach. Novak's laugh is soft but the smile is real, and Andy leans over for a kiss, tries to say sorry without words by leaving barely there kisses across stubble. Novak kisses Andy's lower lip, just once, but Andy understands the implicit thank you. They're good at that, talking without words. A brush of hands in a corridor can mean more than the praise over a net.
Presses the lube into Novak's hand, more of this talking without words thing, leaving Novak to make the choice. Always does. There's no point pushing Novak into something he doesn't want; he's learnt that if Novak's pushed, he'll run, no matter how hard or desperate he seems to be.
When Novak hands the lube back to him, his expression is fond, smile edging the corner of his lips upwards until Andy matches it and it gets wider until they're both grinning like idiots. Rare moment where it's perfect, where the world outside the thick wooden door doesn't matter; here they can just be Novak-and-Andy, and have great sex and bicker over which side of the bed they want, and maybe fall in love.
Catches the words before the tumble from his mouth, but his hands betray him, realisation that he's drawing a heart over Novak's hip too late to stop himself. Flick of his eyes up to Novak but the Serb doesn't seem to have noticed, too intent on just watching Andy.
He positions himself between Novak's legs, uncapping the lube and squeezing some into his hand. There's a half-choked gasp from Novak as he strokes his cock, the moan of his name as he gently cups Novak's balls, fingers pressing at the stretch of skin below them. Novak's watching him as he rubs his thumb over his entrance, fingers slippery-wet as he slowly pushes the first one in, Novak tightening around him, letting him relax before he does anything else. It takes a moment, his other hand drawing circles over Novak's thigh, pressing a kiss to the inside of his knee as he leans into the touch.
Breath catches in his throat as he meets Novak's eyes, dark beneath the hood of eyelashes.
A second finger joins the first, stretching Novak before they twist inside of him, curling to find that perfect spot and he smirks as Novak whimpers, hips arching. Does it again, slides his fingers halfway out before Novak pushes back against him. Please and Andy and yes are the only words he makes out in Novak's stream of constant babble. Sheen of sweat over his skin makes him glow, eyes wander down his chest and to the hand twisted in sheets, the other stroking his cock in the same rhythm as Andy's fingers, one slow then one faster.
Andy's mesmerised, alternately watching the slick slide of his fingers and Novak's hand, working together to twist Novak's face into pleasure; Novak's breathy pants fill the room and his hand moves to his own dick, leaking wetness onto his thighs as he matches the rhythm of this fingers. Strangled moan from Novak as Andy adds a third finger, hips jerking roughly and Andy realises that Novak's not going to last much longer.
"No," Novak gasps as Andy pulls his fingers out; Andy almost calls him bossy but bites his tongue. Starts to reach over Novak to grab the condom from the bedside table but Novak throws it at him instead, hitting him in the shoulder before it drops to the bed. Andy's hands are shaking and he tears the packet open with his teeth, unlike Novak who just does it to attempt to look sexy, and rolls the condom on, smearing lube over it. Novak's still jerking himself off, or at least trying to, because most of his attention is focussed on Andy, the sheer want of Novak's gaze is enough to make his breath catch.
Leans forward and entwines his fingers with Novak's, palm to palm, thumb smoothing out already soft skin on the back of Novak's hand. The head of his cock nudges Novak's entrance, sliding past the ring of tight muscle as he pushes inside. Even through the condom Novak's hot, like being inside a furnace – a grabby furnace – he amends as Novak pulls him closer, fingers digging into his shoulder, hips arching and pulling him in closer, legs wrapping around his waist.
Kisses Novak's collarbone, skin salty and damp from sweat, before he kisses Novak, his mouth soft and inviting. Hand that was on his shoulder slips to the back of his neck, fingers tracing the top of his spine, Novak's other hand still interlinked with his own. Soft whimpers as Novak's lips part and their tongues meet, lightly pressing against each other as Novak rocks his hips, shudder of pleasure getting a moan from Andy, and he feels Novak grin into the kiss.
"I do not have all day, Andy," Novak mutters, impatient tone belied by the smile that's crinkling the corners of his eyes, brightness that Andy's seeing more and more of around him. Reminds him of when they were young and carefree, and Novak was kissing every girl he came in contact with, all of his brilliant spark directed at them and Andy was okay with that, because he wasn't becoming a tennis player to try and sleep with every girl in sight. Now everything is directed at him, and sometimes Jelena, but mostly Andy sees it when they're alone, when Novak's himself instead of playing a caricature for the cameras.
Part of their waning friendship had been over that caricature, Andy shying away from the media where Novak shone, and he wasn't going to let himself be dragged there by a nineteen year old Novak insisting that it would be good for his career. In retrospect it would have been, it's only now when he can be himself in front of the cameras that his real personality shines in those moments where he's not broken hearted in interviews. Those moments where he remembers there will be Novak waiting for him at whatever hotel they're in that week, willing to comfort him with this.
"Actually, I'm pretty sure you're not going anywhere," Andy retorts; Novak sticks his tongue out and Andy kisses it, Novak's mouth opens beneath his as their tongues tangle.
Slowly slides out of Novak and then back in, gasp from the Serb that's muffled by their mouths. The next thrust of his hips is sharper, Novak breaking away from him, cry of his name released into the room. Fingers graze over Novak's ribs, the hitch of Novak's breath enough to make him do it again, until Novak's cheek is pressed against his own, short sharp breaths brushing his ear. Novak kisses his neck, the curve of his jaw until he settles, mouth resting on his collarbone.
"Andy," Novak breathes against his neck, warm breath ghosting over his skin and he shivers as Novak's thumb rubs the back of his neck, "Andy, Andy, oh." His name on Novak's lips is like music to him, Novak's inflection almost desperate, hips arching to meet Andy's thrusts; Andy uncurls his fingers from Novak's and wraps his hand around Novak's cock.
It gets a strangled cry of his name from the Serb before he hears, "I love you," and his eyes widen, because what, he can't have heard that right, and there's a split second where he can't move a muscle; IloveyouIloveyou still being imprinted on his brain and realises that Novak's still saying it, three words and eight letters kissed into his shoulder that Andy wants to forget.
Forces it out of his mind as he covers Novak's mouth with his own, because he can't afford to hear that again, or even think that he's heard it. There is no fucking way that Novak can be in love with him; he loves Jelena, for fucks sake except there are moments, like the one in his locker room earlier, where Novak's so soft and behaves exactly like a boyfriend should, touching him in all the right places, telling him all the right words.
There's softness in bed too; Novak had been all hard angles and harsh teeth when they'd started sleeping together, leaving bruises and marks over pale skin. Now he leaves bruises but with affection rather than desperation, fingers dancing over his skin, not content to leave a part of Andy untouched. It's almost like Novak knows; that he's realised he's imprinted himself on Andy's heart and wants to do the same to his skin, so that the world can see that Andy belongs to Novak.
It's what he's doing now. One hand stroking the back of his neck, the other swirling patterns over Andy's chest, leaving sparks where rough fingers cover his skin.
Novak is not in love with you he reminds himself as Novak looks at him with dark eyes, almost hidden under half-lidded eyes and in that moment he doesn't quite believe himself. Watching Andy as though he's everything, though Novak's moans and gasps and breathy pants of his name could have something to do with that, the result of Andy fucking him too slowly for Novak's liking, his cock dripping over Andy's hand. Can feel Novak's stomach tense below his fingers and he's done this enough times to recognise the signs; Novak's close, the whimpering pleads just confirm it.
Hand slides over Novak's cock faster, and fingers press at his hips with every slide of them. "Molim," Novak breathes, a stream of Serbian following it; Andy doesn't understand the words but he understands the meaning, Novak pressing his face into Andy's neck, teeth scraping over his skin, his body paper for the words spilling from Novak's mouth.
And then he tenses beneath Andy, comes with a soft cry of Andy's name against his neck; he works Novak through his orgasm, pulling at his cock until Novak tries to bat his hand away. Novak quivers beneath him with every thrust, whimpers Andy can only hear because it's so quiet. Hands cover his skin, mouth pressing along his shoulder until he can feel it curling in his stomach, coursing through his veins and oh, he thinks as Novak kisses his jaw, hint of teeth beneath it before he can't think anymore, Novak's fingers pressing at his entrance as he grunts into Novak's shoulder and there's too much of everything, Novak everywhere at once and he feels his balls tighten milliseconds before he's coming and the only thing he can think is Novak, the word looping in his brain until he sprawls over the Serb, utterly spent.
Palm of Novak's hand digs into his shoulder, a mumbled "you need to lose weight, you are too heavy" as Novak pushes him off; he rolls onto his back, warmth of Novak's hand still spreading into his shoulder as Andy feels a brush of lips over his own. Andy's incapable of doing anything for at least three minutes after an orgasm, something Novak's learnt and Andy barely registers how the bed shifts as Novak pads to the bathroom. Feels the towel wiping over his stomach, Novak dotting kisses across his chest before there's a thud, the towel landing on the floor he manages to think before there's a head pillowed on his chest.
"You okay?" he murmurs into soft hair, and he gets the barest hint of a nod as a response.
"Roger was too good," he says slowly, like he's thinking about the words, like sometimes he used to when they were in juniors and Novak's English wasn't as good. "Is not how I wanted to lose, but... is better than last year."
Optimism always a good thing, especially from Novak and Andy smiles against his hair. There were moments where he'd seen the desperation in Novak, felt it in kisses or from the fingers digging into his skin, but it seems to have been half forgotten in favour of this. His mind goes back to those three words Novak had kissed into his neck, those eight letters that change everything and yet nothing at all.
From experience he knows only fifty percent of the shit Novak says is something he really means; Andy's known him long enough to realise it doesn't matter whether he's in front of the media spotlight or hidden in a hotel room behind thick curtains. Just because the words were I love you doesn't change that; if anything, Andy's less likely to believe them considering the only other word Novak could remember was his name, a litany of AndyAndyAndy pressed against his neck.
A kiss to Novak's forehead only gets Novak snuggling closer; if Andy didn't know his parents he'd suspect Novak was half octopus. The man seems to have more limbs than is physically possible, covering every part of Andy's skin with his own. Andy's never been one for cuddling after sex, even really great sex (and with Novak, that's almost a given), but when he's got Novak curled around him, making snuffling noises into his chest, he couldn't care less about personal space.
Brushes Novak's hair away from his forehead gets an annoyed response from him; whatever he says, Andy doesn't understand it. For all he knows it could be in Serbian or mean nothing at all. When his hand settles at the back of Novak's neck he sounds much more agreeable. Though Andy's being used as a pillow – and as a result will end up covered in Novak's drool despite the fact he swears it's not him – Andy's more comfortable here than anywhere else. Having Novak beside him makes him sleep better. And not just because of the sex.
It seems to work both ways; soft murmurs come from the warm body next to his own, the ones Andy's taken to mean that Novak's content, maybe even happy, but definitely close to sleep. Confirmed when Andy feels his breathing even out, and he presses a kiss to the top of Novak's head, mouthing I love you against soft hair.
When he wakes the room is too bright, even though his face is half smashed into the pillow. The sun streams through the gap in the curtains at some ungodly hour – in winter that's eight in the morning, but the morning after a loss that's still an hour he shouldn't be awake at – and he mumbles Novak's name, half waving his hand in the direction of the window. Realises the other side of the bed is empty, and Andy rolls over into a pillow that smells of Novak. There's too much light in the room to drift back to sleep and he groans, tripping over his own feet as he clambers out of bed and over to the window. Pulls the curtains closer together, plunging the room into almost darkness; there are still rays of light flitting through the folds but if he wanted to, he could sleep.
It takes a few minutes for his sleep-addled brain to decide that if he's out of bed he might as well stay out of bed, perhaps go and have breakfast with his mum or Jamie after he's dressed. Rubs a hand over his face as he makes his way to the bathroom, careful to avoid the clothing that's littering the floor and a pair of shoes that definitely aren't his.
The bathroom is full of steam; an indication Novak can't be long gone, though why he's using this bathroom instead of his own is beyond Andy, especially at this time in the morning. Blearily stumbles his way to the sink, marble cold beneath his hand as he leans over to grab his toothbrush. It's then he notices the mirror, or rather the words written with fingers in the condensation covering the glass.
I meant it, he reads, followed by a smiley face and a heart and what looks like a flower, but this is Novak and with his lack of artistic skills it could be anything from an egg to a tyrannosaurus rex. Realises seconds later it's meant to be a hand, albeit one that looks like it's been crushed in some kind of machine, and he recognises the gesture Novak's attempted to put into something other than words.
Lays his own palm across the picture-hand; the glass is warm and damp but imagines it's Novak's palm beneath his own.
After his own shower the mirror words have faded, but if Andy looks closely he can see the edges of the letters, the smears Novak's fingers made across the glass. The same way that unless you're really looking you wouldn't notice this thing between them, the way they practice together when they can, a bruise over Andy's hip that wasn't there the day before, or when they share jokes in the locker rooms, or how Novak's imprinted himself on Andy's heart, his smile just that little bit wider when the Serb's around.
Knocking on the door to Novak's room is an option; he's got a flight to Belgrade to catch but it's unlikely he'll have left yet. Andy sees that ending in them going back to bed, an ending he'd be happy with but Novak's got a Davis Cup to win; knows how important that is to him, because his love of his country is the reason they aren't playing together. Instead he texts his brother, asks him to meet him for breakfast in the bar in an hour, and starts to throw dirty clothes into a suitcase.
Halfway done when he spots Novak's scarf still lying by the doorway, in the same place where he dropped it last night. Slips it around his neck without thinking; though it's in Serbian colours there isn't anything to identify it as being Novak's. Probably won't need the scarf but it covers up the glaring red mark on his neck. Though it's still too early for breakfast there's always a cup of tea waiting for him to start the day, and thankfully the view from the restaurant doesn't come with the same bitter temperatures that being outside does.
It's not a surprise that the corridor is empty, there are only four of them left. Debates going left and down the winding stairs that lead to the lobby but his knee's sore after the match; the lift will be easier. Halfway there he hears the click of a door, muffled footsteps on the plush carpet until they stop. Which is odd, whoever it might be is too far from their door to be going back for something, and-
"Andy," and he stops thinking, stops walking, because there's no mistaking that voice unless it's Novak's littlest brother, "I didn't expect to see you so soon."
What Novak really means is I didn't expect you up this early; normally Novak's wouldn't shy away from making the vaguely insulting joke but not the morning after a loss.
"Yeah, well... someone left the curtains a bit open last night."
Novak smiles in sympathy and steps towards Andy; he's too warmly wrapped up for the inside of a five star hotel, already wearing his coat and hat, the one Andy likes with the Serbian crest on it. Reason probably being that he's wheeling his suitcase behind him, racquet bags perched on the top. There's a skill to it that Andy hadn't mastered for ten months of flying around the world; from the way that Novak keeps glancing at his bags, he still hasn't.
There's less than a foot of space between them when Novak stops, looking up at Andy with both hope and hesitation. He looks so earnest, so eager to please, almost like a puppy that just wants some attention.
Andy does just that and kisses him lightly, barest brush of lips before he pulls away. It's too risky to be doing this in hallways where anyone could see them, no matter if they're on the top floor where only the players are staying. His knuckles graze over Novak's jaw in an affectionate gesture before he drops his hand to his side, jamming it into his pocket so he doesn't get any more stupid ideas.
Knowing each other for ten years means there are no awkward silences, but they seem to have stumbled on one anyway. Andy doesn't know what to say to Novak; I love you too sounds like something from one of those stupid romantic comedies that Kim used to make him watch, and Andy's never been good with words. Neither has Novak, apparently, or they'd have done this a long time ago.
"Novak..."
"I know, Andy," he says with a too bright smile, and Andy wonders what's changed. "You tell me in sleep, when I leave this morning."
Half formed memory of a phone beeping, the rush of cold air and fingers clasping over warm skin. Novak's lips ghosting over his, thumb brushing over his cheek as a goodbye.
Can't keep himself from smiling; Novak uses the moment to brush another kiss over his lips and he clutches Novak's coat between his fingers. Doesn't want Novak to leave, or at the least wants to go with him, but neither are options; the first because Novak has a Davis Cup to win, and the second because going to watch him play Davis Cup would be like putting a flashing neon sign over their heads that something is going on between them. Maybe not that they're stupidly in love, but there are enough people who would read between the lines.
Fingers straighten the scarf that's around his neck, and the knowing smile sitting on Novak's lips tells him that he's been caught.
"You probably want this back," he mumbles, but Novak catches his hands before he can take it off.
"I like it on you," he says carefully, as though he's afraid to reveal too much despite the declaration that he's in love with Andy; rough fingers stroke his neck, a hand cups his face, and Andy presses a kiss to Novak's thumb, "keep it. But my parents, they will know it is mine. So..." and his thumb caresses Andy's cheek and if they could stay here like this forever it'd be perfect, except maybe he'd like them to be naked and perhaps in a bed, "I will see you in Australia. Maybe, you know, kiss at New Year."
"Depends on whether I find a better offer," Andy teases with a straight face; thankfully Novak catches it in the tone and laughs, but not before shooting him a glare that is clearly meant to say you try anything and you die.
Pulled into a rough hug; there are too many layers between them to get the contact that Andy so desperately wants, and he settles for tucking his face into Novak's neck. He smells of mint, of Andy's shower gel rather than his own, and it just makes him pull Novak closer, hand curled into kitten-soft hair.
"I have to catch flight," Novak murmurs, mouthing the words against his skin and they're so soft Andy barely catches them. If it wasn't for the stillness in the hallway he wouldn't have and though he'd love to pretend that he didn't and stay wrapped around Novak forever, there are more important things than chance meetings in hallways, at least for Novak. He's sure he could take a few days out of his own schedule and no one would ever know.
Soft kiss to his cheek as Novak untangles himself from Andy, a moment of barely-there pressure when skin touches skin, and Andy realises that Novak's been telling him he loved him for a lot longer than one night. Might not have been in words, but every brush of hands, every kiss to the corner of his mouth, every time Andy was on the end of that too-soft smile, it was all born out of love.
By the time he calls Novak's name he's at the end of the corridor, hand over the button for the lift. Wants to run and snog him senseless in the lift but that's the worst plan anyone's ever had, can't even begin to list all the reasons it's utterly stupid. Instead he settles on three words.
"I love you."
Novak's smile is dazzling, and Andy can't stop himself wearing a matching one for the few seconds until they hear a ding; Novak hauls his suitcase into the lift with more trouble than it should be, and blows Andy a kiss.
"I love you too," he shouts through the closing doors, and Andy can't help but laugh. Because he's fallen for this ridiculous man who blows him kisses as a goodbye, and he's never been happier.
Once upon a time he'd told Kim that nothing in the movies is ever like real life, that nothing is ever as perfect as it seems on screen. There isn't a happily ever after in life he'd argued, and she'd argued back that there could be if he wasn't so pig headed.
Andy's still not sure he believes in happily ever after. But with Novak, he's pretty sure he can have a happily-at-least-for-now. And that's more than he's ever believed before.