Slumped in fatigue outside the door to his Mallorcan apartment, Rafael Nadal searched frustratedly through his pockets for the key that would let him back into the small flat that he saw so little of. The weight of defeat lay heavy on his disappointed shoulders; why fate had harshly spat on him he still could not comprehend. He had been so close, so close to tasting the cool metal of the Australian Open trophy for the second time, so close to biting his 14th Grand Slam cup, so close to Xisoming the first man in the Open Era to win every single major at least twice. But bad luck had taken him down, striking him with a back injury in a match against an opponent who he was the overwhelming favourite to beat.
Finally, after minutes of rummaging, Rafa found the small key buried deep inside his pocket. Slotting it into the lock, he noticed the stiffness as it turned, a testament to how rarely he used his apartment, how rarely he was home. That, however, was the only resistance he faced and with a push, he was back home at long last.
Sighing in relief, Rafa let his bags fall from his shoulders into a pile on the floor. From the inside of one, the runner up's trophy of the Australian Open glinted in the afternoon light, taunting him about the painful loss. The tennis great looked away, determined not to get emotional again. Looking around, Rafa noticed that the apartment was squeaky clean; Xisca had obviously tamed it during his month long absence and he loved her for it. With a pained grimace, he stretched his back, rubbing his hand gently against his spine in the aching region. Although painkillers and time had considerably lessened the pain that he'd forced himself to play through just days before, one wrong movement could send it back into the stinging condition that he found so difficult to bear.
The Spaniard limped to the sofa, clutching his back with every step. Slumping down onto the light material, he knew that it was good to be back home. The sun shone comfortingly through the large window, light reflecting off the large expanse of Mediterranean water on the beach below. Where better a place to recover from such a terrible loss than Mallorca?
Just minutes later, the familiar scratch of a key scraping against the lock sounded and Rafa heaved himself up. The door swung open and Xisca, a shopping bag in each hand, entered the room. Quickly, she noticed her boyfriend waiting on the sofa. The bags fell from her hands.
"Rafa!" She gasped, running over to embrace her boyfriend.
A smile spread across the Spanish tennis player's face as she crashed into him. They saw each other so little, what with Rafa's travels and Xisca's work.
Their lips clashed together, conveying the message that they both wanted to convey without words: how much they had missed each other. When they finally released each other, Xisca frowned at him, stroking his hair lovingly.
"I saw the final."
It was the elephant in the room, the one thing that lay most heavy on Rafa's mind at that moment yet also the one thing that Xisca knew was most ill-advised to mention.
Rafa didn't reply. Memories flashed back to him of feeling his lower back twinge in the warm up, the cold feeling of dread washing like a river of ice through his veins, the boos of the crowd when they had thought that he was faking it, the tears at the changeovers, the hours of fighting through the pain to give an unappreciative crowd their money's worth. And then there had been the runner's up speech, when Rafa's tears had finally convinced the crowd that, as ever, he was genuine. That redemption, however, had been little consolation as he had watched Stan, a dear friend, kiss that trophy rather than him.
"I thought that it was the bravest thing that I've seen in a long time, you playing on like that." Xisca told him softly, before turning her tone more suggestive. "If you're lucky, I'll reward you for it later."
A smile broke out on Rafa's face; he was home. He was back with his beloved Xisca. All was going to be okay.
"Thanks, Xisca." He smiled at her. "Now if you don't mind, I'm going to have a shower."
Rafa stepped out of the shower, wonderfully warm water trickling down his muscled body in a steady flow. Quickly drying himself off, he felt fresher than he had done in days; he was back home, he had enjoyed a long, relaxing shower but most importantly, he had seen his girlfriend again. Wrapping the towel around his waist as he had done so many hundred times before, the best tennis player in the world unlocked the bathroom door and stepped into the bedroom which he shared with Xisca.
Lying naked in the centre of the king sized bed that Rafa didn't sleep in often enough was the beautiful girl, a thin layer of sweat covering her tanned skin as she waited for him. She'd let her hair free in just the way that he loved it most, sending it cascading in curls down her shoulders like a chocolate waterfall. Her body was thin but toned, with long, muscled, smooth legs stretching endlessly and small breasts capped with little pink nipples waiting invitingly. She smiled at him lustfully, excited about doing what they got to do so much less than they would have liked.
Rafa felt his manhood stir under his towel. "Is the door locked?"
Xisca nodded, Xiskoning for him to join her on the bed.
"I hope you know how beautiful you are," the tennis player smiled as he walked over. He was telling the truth and she smiled at the compliment, sending rays of light reflecting from the whiteness of her teeth. In Rafa's mind, there was no more beautiful a sight in the world than his girlfriend's smile, and the fact that she didn't have any clothes on only enhanced that experience. As he sat, she pushed him onto his back, climbing gently on top of him with a mischievous expression.
"I'll be in charge today," she told him. "We wouldn't want to hurt your poor back any more, so just lie back and let me do my thing."
