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Jannik had tried to stay awake following his victory, but his limbs were sore and heavy, and he rested his eyes for one moment and the next thing he knew a loud noise startled him from sleep.
It took him a second to realize where he was; he was still in the hotel he’d stayed at during the US Open and his new trophy was gleaming on the side table. Jannik was led in bed, still fully clothed in his Nike kit and on top of the covers; the clock on his side table, the numbers glowing in the dark, told him it was just after midnight.
He hadn’t even taken out his contacts before passing out and they were stinging in complaint. But he didn’t care. He stared at the trophy for a second, disorientated and slightly dazzled by its shine. He had won the US Open. The thought was still a new and strange one… After the struggle of the last few months, it seemed unbelievable.
But there it was.
There was a noise again, just like the one that had woken him, and he realised it was the door rattling. His heart jumped in surprise, before he recognised the culprit.
The door finally opened, and a figure slipped through, carrying a spare key card and several bags that he was struggling to fit through the threshold.
Jannik cleared his throat, and the figure froze.
“Oops, sorry,” came the voice, in Spanish. Then, in English, “I was trying to be quiet.”
Jannik blinked again, trying unsuccessfully to squint through the darkness.
“It’s ok,” he replied, unable to stop the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. His voice was soft and croaky. “I was trying to wait for you, but I fell asleep.”
“I thought you might,” Carlos replied. He flicked on the switch at last, and bathed the room in warm, bright light.
Carlos looked so good – wearing a chequered shirt Jannik had once picked for him and light, slim jeans. He was ruffled, with dark hair sticking up at the back of his head, and his biceps flexed as he placed down his bags. He looked at Jannik and then at the trophy and smiled a huge, genuine smile.
Jannik’s heart thundered in his chest, and he smiled back, as he often did in response to Carlos’s presence, and rose from the bed as Carlos approached him.
Before he had quite registered his own movement, he all but jumped into Carlos’s strong arms and wrapped his bare legs around his hips. Carlos seemed to have anticipated it, because he didn’t drop him, a laugh rumbling in his chest.
“Congratulations!” Carlos cried, against the side of Jannik’s temple, reiterating the words he had messaged following the match. “You deserve it. So much.”
“Thanks,” Jannik breathed back. He was startled to realise his voice was breaking and tears were stinging at the corner of his eyes. The last few months had been so difficult, he was almost overwhelmed by relief. His career wasn’t over.
“I knew you would do it,” Carlos continued. Jannik believed him wholeheartedly; Carlos always had faith in him – even when he didn’t have it in himself. Jannik was so thankful for his support, even if sometimes he struggled to voice it. Carlos had known how to read him from the very beginning and had never been deterred by Jannik’s tentativeness. In fact, he had taken it as a challenge.
“You did manifest me becoming world number one,” Jannik noted. Of course, Carlos had said as much to him for years, in the privacy of their rooms, but on one particularly memorable occasion, he’d admitted it directly to the press. And six months later, Jannik became world number one – just as Carlos had predicted.
“I’m a prophet,” Carlos boasted, his arms locked around Jannik’s waist. He pulled back to look Jannik in the eye. “What else do you want?”
“A long and prosperous life. And 25 Grand Slams,” Jannik replied, half-seriously.
“And what about me?” Carlos asked, wagging an expectant eyebrow.
“You can have 24 Grand Slams,” said Jannik.
“You are so generous,” Carlos told him, jokingly.
Jannik laughed, high and unstrained, and Carlos dropped him back onto the bed, where he bounced with the momentum. Carlos followed him down, pressing him against the mattress, and tickled his sides. Jannik squawked, kicking out his legs instinctively, but Carlos’s weight was keeping him pinned.
“Not the cackle,” Carlos laughed, his voice thick with affection.
“I don’t cackle,” Jannik protested, while cackling.
Jannik was still squirming, when Carlos leaned in, brushing their noses together. That froze Jannik completely, and the rest of the distance was closed, their mouths touching. It was slow and open and to Jannik, after months of frustration and uncertainty, it felt like release. It felt like the fog was finally lifting and he felt free.
Carlos’s hand tangled in his hair, stroking through the red curls, and the kisses grew in strength and frequency. Jannik tugged at Carlos’s shirt, and he got the message; with a slightly smug look, he leaned back and pulled off his clothes. Jannik blinked up at him, dazed by the sight of tanned skin stretched across flexing muscles. His admiration must have been written all over his face, because Carlos laughed.
“I love your muscle kink,” he said, flashing a grin.
Jannik’s face turned quickly from a light flush to stark red – he could feel it burning. “I don’t have a muscle kink,” he protested, faintly.
“Sure, sure,” said Carlos, in disbelief. “Do you want me to put my clothes back on?”
“Of course not!” cried Jannik, horrified at the thought.
He stretched out a hand, running his fingers across Carlos’s smooth and familiar collarbone, and down to the edge of his boxers. Jannik could already see him stirring with interest and he touched the fabric with his fingers. Carlos jolted, as though struck, and breathed, “You tease.”
Jannik smiled, his dimples forming, and muttered, coyly, “Aren’t you going to undress me?”
Carlos did not need any further invitation. He disposed of Jannik’s shirt, revealing his much fairer complexion, and then his shorts. Once he was down to his underwear, he raised Jannik’s left leg, and placed loving kisses on the inside of his knee and thigh. It was like the sensation of tickling, soft and soothing…
“I love your leg kink,” said Jannik, knowingly.
“I didn’t think I was a leg man,” Carlos admitted, stroking the faint freckles he found there. “But you’ve changed my mind. I am, for sure.”
Jannik laughed.
“Are you feeling ok after the match?” Carlos asked, making eye contact. He was searching Jannik’s face for any sign of discomfort, concern emitting from him in waves. Sometimes his care and consideration still took Jannik aback; he should be used to it by now, but it always made his heart clench.
“Aching, but fine,” Jannik answered, truthfully. “It wasn’t that long.”
“Good,” Carlos replied, with a smile. He tapped gently at his hip. “Turn over for me, Jan.”
Jannik held his gaze for a moment, seeing nothing but love and support there, and turned over onto his belly. Carlos placed a kiss on the back on his head and then pulled down his boxers. He felt exposed, for a moment, before Carlos’s fingers swept down his back, the touches electric. “You are so beautiful,” Carlos told him, and Jannik knew that he meant it.
“Let me just get you ready,” Carlos breathed. He moved away for a moment and Jannik heard him riffling through his backs and Jannik sank into the mattress, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. He felt comfortable… he felt safe.
When Carlos came back, he knelt on the bed behind him. He tapped at his legs and understanding the silent command, Jannik edged up onto his knees. His arms were shaking slightly, from the intensity of the match and the need rising in his stomach. Luckily, Carlos did not attempt any more teasing; he circled a hand, wet with lube, around Jannik’s cock and tugged.
Jannik gasped into the sheets, his curls dangling into his dampening face as Carlos stroked him, his grip swift and firm. His other hand curled around Jannik’s hip, and then grabbed at the globes of his ass. Jannik could feel his cock starting to leak and cried out as Carlos imprinted his nails into his sensitive skin.
Carlos’s chest was hot against his back and Jannik could feel the sweat beginning to form between them, slicking their aborted movements. Jannik could feel the pressure mounting, panting into the bed sheets. But before the pleasure could overtake him, Carlos’s grip around his cock loosened and he pulled back, dipping his fingers into the wet base of Jannik’s spine…
Jannik groaned in complaint.
“Not yet,” Carlos admonished.
Jannik could not retort; Carlos nipped on the skin of his ass, and then his fingers circled his hole, dipping briefing inside. Jannik made an inhuman sound, almost falling face first onto the sheets, and Carlos took full advantage – Jannik felt the wetness of his tongue follow his fingers and sensation shot down Jannik’s spine.
His legs were almost vibrating. He could feel nothing but Carlos’s fingers and tongue, lapping at him, spreading him open. One finger at first, and then another, Carlos using his tongue to ease the way.
Just when Jannik thought he might burst, the warmth and wetness of his tongue disappeared, and something much firmer nudged up against him. Jannik was desperate with want, coiling deep in his stomach.
He wanted him so much – he wanted everything.
“Is this, ok?” said Carlos, bringing him back to earth for a moment.
“Of course,” Jannik croaked, glancing back at him, over his shoulder.
Carlos looked about as wrecked as he felt. His chest and arms were now shining with sweat, and his lips were red and almost bruised looking. He was holding Jannik’s hips in a white-knuckled grip and every vein is his body was poised, waiting for him.
“I love you,” Jannik said, honestly.
Carlos looked down at him, his dark eyes warm and welcoming as ever.
“And I love you,” Carlos replied, easily.
He nudged forwards and the movement sent Jannik back, bracing himself over the bed. There was pressure and then he was full, Carlos hot and thick inside of him. He could do nothing then but pant, as Carlos began to move. Slow at first but building momentum…
Carlos’s face was pressed against the back of Jannik’s neck, and he was crying out into Jannik’s hair, his grip now slippery on Jannik’s hips. Pleasure was building in Jannik’s spine, sending sparks flickering across the back of his eyelids. He could do nothing but hang on, sweat dripping onto the duvet, as Carlos pushed into him over and over again.
Then, just as Jannik could take no more – on the verge of both pain and pleasure – Carlos gripped his cock in a strong hand. There was no stopping it this time, an explosion overwhelming him. It ripped from Jannik’s throat, and he let out a strangled cry. He shuddered and came all over the sheets, as Carlos thrust erratically into the back of him, his grasp now the only thing keeping him upright.
What must have been only a moment later, but felt like a lifetime, Carlos reached completion, and Jannik could feel it, deep and spreading inside of him.
The vice-like grip loosened and was replaced by gentle kisses over the arc of Jannik’s back. Carlos pulled away, slowly, and let Jannik flop uselessly onto the bed, feeling as though he’d just been wrecked in a five-set match. Jannik turned over to face him, trying desperately to catch his breath, and Carlos stroked a calming hand through his wet hair.
Their breathing began to slow, and the sweat began to dry, but Jannik did not look away. He felt loose-limbed and content – more than he had in a long time.
“I’m so proud of you,” Carlos whispered again.
Jannik was so tired he could only blink heavily back at him.
The US Open. Of course. Jannik had almost forgotten, but the trophy was still there, gleaming at him on the bed side.
He smiled softly and slowly. Maybe this was the start of a new chapter.
THE END