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Thwack, thwack, thwack, out! — the stadium reverberates back to life as cheers explode in a series of hoots and claps. Below, the ball kid retrieves the stray ball and runs back to his position.
“Fifteen, love,” the umpire announces. Then, “Thank you, thank you. Please settle down.”
Manon almost rolls her eyes but she catches herself. One of these ultra high quality cameras could zoom in at the worst possible moment, almost like a player’s frustration becomes some kind of heat signal. Thank God the noise is starting to die down and Manon got better at controlling her face. Otherwise, she could already see the headlines: Tennis star Manon Bannerman under fire for being a bitch.
Except they won’t use the word bitch. Or, like, the whole sentence. Sports writers can do so much better.
A ball kid throws two balls at her, one at a time, and Manon catches both on one hand. She inspects it, then tucks one under her skirt before facing the court, her head back in the game.
Muting everything else unfortunately means focusing on her.
Sophia Laforteza.
WTA 250’s number three seed. The darling of the crowd. Princess of fucking tennis.
At the opposite baseline, Sophia gets on her stance in anticipation for Manon’s serve. Manon bounces the ball a couple of times. She looks back at her, studying her position on court. The sun is high up and blinding light glares down on them. Amateurs would have a hard time seeing, but not Manon, though. She thrives on noontime games. Because even under such conditions, the clearest thing Manon sees is Sophia’s cocky smirk.
Did she also mention she is a bitch?
Manon grips the handle and tosses the ball up, then swings. 163km/h, perfect. The ball hits inside the service line but Sophia has already moved to the center mark, returning the ball with a strong backhand. Manon clicks her tongue and runs to the sideline. It should’ve been an ace. How did she read it? Doesn’t matter, Manon thinks, and hits the ball just in time with a forehand. I’m winning this shit.
The crowd watches the rally in bated breaths. Two talents, one game, and none is backing down. For an exhibition match, the two rising stars play like it’s a Wimbledon Finals. But that’s always how it is with every Bannerman/Laforteza match-up—it delivers.
Manon sends the ball opposite to where Sophia is, but she feels her power on that backhand was a little too much. Shit. It’s going out. Again.
It caught the line.
She would’ve pumped her fist and yelled in celebration hadn’t Sophia, by some miracle, teleported to the corner and hit the ball. Yeah. Fuck her, honestly. The ball travels at high trajectory to her baseline. Just as it reaches the perfect angle for a smash, at the last second Manon reigns herself in and lets the ball hit the ground. And prays.
“Out! Fifteen, fifteen,” the umpire says.
A long breath escapes her lips and the crowd cheers, just as loudly. It feels a lot better when she’s not the one committing the error. But what irks Manon is that, when she looks back at her, Sophia doesn’t just look unfazed.
She’s smiling, smirking at Manon. Like Manon made the error.
Manon smashes the ball and hopes it lands on Sophia’s ugly face.
Another long rally ensues between the two.
“Fifteen, thirty.” The crowd cheers.
And another.
“Thirty, thirty.” Reserved billionaires start to whistle.
Somewhere on a pirated livestream, some British commentator is probably ecstatic, going: what a beautiful return by Laforteza with that backhand! Just magnificent tennis. And then the streaming police shoots down the live and it blacks out.
Manon asks for a ball.
While everyone enjoys, her limbs are starting to burn and her lungs and heart are, like, in overdrive. The match has been going for over two hours and a half now. Sophia, even her, looks exhausted past her composure; posture not so perfect anymore and her skin glistens in sweat even from far away.
Well, good, then. The set is Manon’s to take.
She bends her knees and serves. Sophia catches up and returns the ball, to where Manon is. Manon hits it back, aiming the ball parallel to her side. She watches Sophia take full strides and even before she swings, Manon is already running to the opposite end. True enough, the ball travels to the left corner and Manon hits it with a backhand, stumbling just a little after. Fuck, okay. That was a good return.
Wait, not okay. Because now that Sophia has sent her to the corner, the court is wide open. Manon forcibly spins to redirect herself and return to the other side, but it’s too late. Sophia swings.
An explosive pop resounded across the stadium, slicing through the silence, and all Manon could think is—is Sophia stupid or something?
The ball is flying out of bounds.
Based on its angle, it's bound to go outside. She could’ve hit it normally to the center and Manon still won’t be able to catch up. That's enough to secure a point. But she had to do all that because of course, it’s Sophia high fucking ego Laforteza, after all. Now she grants Manon a point.
Manon watches the ball hit the doubles alley and she has to keep herself from rolling her eyes.
It was just so stupid. Point to her but come on. She looks back to Sophia with a raised eyebrow, thinking she won’t even find her face full of regret satisfying.
But Sophia is already looking at her, and she doesn’t look even a bit regretful. If anything, she looks smug.
“Point to Laforteza. Forty, thirty.”
Manon must have misheard the umpire say because what? She whips her head to the replay screen. Sophia didn’t even look back at it.
On screen, the animated ball travels to the doubles alley but unlike what Manon thought, its edge catches the line. Barely.
It’s in.
And if Manon still hasn’t caught it, the screen says it’s In, too. Great. Thanks.
Manon curses in German in case she gets fined and plucks a tennis ball from her compression shorts. She bounces it three times, and puts herself into position, glancing at Sophia.
Having a full court to separate one from another should be enough not to see clearly, but for some funny reason, when Sophia’s lips move and mouths something, Manon reads it clearly: That’s how you do it.
The ball is sent flying with a smack. 170 km/h. Wow. Sophia’s able to return it but it was a mishit, flying awkwardly back to Manon. Manon finds it an opportunity and she runs, cranking her hips back before swinging the forehand to full power. It goes flying straight to the corner, and Sophia couldn’t do anything about it.
“Deuce!”
Fist in the air. The surrounding mics probably caught her English fuck yeah in the crispiest quality, too, but Manon doesn’t really care. The crowd cheers, and her grin only widens when she spots the fall on Sophia’s arrogance. What a shame, the princess is down.
Manon tosses the ball again and serves.
“Advantage, Laforteza.”
Manon blinks. What… the fuck? She just got down from her serve and yet, the ball’s already returned to the opposite side. Manon didn’t even fucking see it fly. When she looks at Sophia, there isn’t a hint of a smile anymore. Oh. Her lips curve wryly. Shit is really really going down.
“Match point. Bannerman serving to stay in the set,” the umpire says and the stadium falls to silence.
Manon breathes in and bounces the ball, then she serves. It was a perfect serve, but Sophia isn’t hailed as one of the best first serve returners for nothing. She hits it. It’s one of the things that makes their rivalry great, anyway. Manon, a good server. Sophia, a good returner. Just two peas in a pod.
She catches Sophia’s return as she swings with a forehand, and immediately calculates her next move. Manon watches her.
To the right.
Manon stays in her lane and waits for Sophia’s return. The ball flies in her direction. She hits it with another forehand.
Left.
Manon strides to the opposite end, making her footwork work, and returns the ball with a backhand. Sophia isn’t relenting either; she also reads Manon perfectly. Too bad, though. She is clearly already tired.
So Manon uses it to her advantage. She keeps on hitting the ball to the open court, putting Sophia on cardio. But it also meant making herself run. Doesn’t matter. Her legs can literally be on fire for all she cares.
Sophia hits another perfect return and shit, it goes flying right to the opposite corner. Manon runs and makes it, swinging a full backhand that goes back at her. She turns her body and watches. Being up against Sophia in countless matches already means that the moves she makes, they’re not new to her.
Right arm outstretched, left arm relaxed upfront, upper torso and hips twisted—it’s a full blown forehand. Manon swiftly takes a few steps outside the center, preparing herself on both ends.
But Sophia changes her posture and goes for a dropshot.
Fucking shi—
Manon bolts out to the service box, swinging and swinging, and she stretches out her racket, just a little bit more—it hits the ball.
The ball catches on the net.
“Game, set, match, Laforteza.”
Right now, it might be the loudest Manon hears in her entire career. The stadium is erupting; literally like she just played on Philippines soil. Must be nice to be on the receiving end of it, though. She sighs, finally feeling the exhaustion, and walks up to the net. Sophia comes over.
The thing is, when it comes to Sophia, she is petty.
“Wow, not even gonna put a hand up?”
Look at that, Sophia is already complaining from a mile away. Manon forces a smile for the cameras and not at the all-pink Lacoste sponsored Barbie doll and her sweaty existence walking up to her. Not really. Manon even gives a little wave to make her hostility look less suspicious.
The thing is, the world knows it’s a rivalry. Both of them know it’s just raw hatred.
“Really, Manon?” Sophia says as she nears.
“Really, Sophi—” and Manon gets pulled into a hug. Forcibly. Ugh, the fuck. Did she ever mention she hates her from the deepest part of her soul?
“Get off me,” Manon hisses in between smiles. “I don’t need your sweat all over me.”
“You’re covered in it.” Sophia lets her go and walks up to the umpire, hips swaying. Manon rolls her eyes but follows suit.
Kudos to both of them, though. They’re really good at selling this rivalry thing instead of pulling each other’s hairs on national news.
“Good game, Manon.” The umpire smiles at her when she arrives.
“Thank you,” Manon says with a genuine smile of her own, shaking the umpire’s hand. She walks back to the bench to fix her bags, and a few from the crowd congratulate her. Manon smiles and waves. Then the stadium cheers again and Manon knows Sophia is now taking the court.
“I was rooting for you, y’know,” a familiar voice says from across. Manon looks up to find ATP’s Rank No. 11 smiling down at her. She couldn’t help but raise a brow at what he said.
“That’s funny, Leon,” Manon says.
Leon laughs. Leon Barretto. Sophia’s best friend, athletic tennis player, one of her peers. “I’m serious, though,” he says. “Fifi needs some humbling once in a while.”
“She needs it all the time.” Manon zips her bag close.
Another laugh. And then, “Oh, Manon. I believe you haven’t met each other yet.”
It’s only then that Manon hasn’t noticed the woman standing beside Leon. Oh, she’s pretty. And she looks like Leon.
“This is Julia, my sister,” Leon says, and Julia waves at her. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Manon. Congratulations, by the way.” The woman smiles at her. Oh. She’s pretty pretty. And also familiar.
“Nice to meet you, too. And thank you, Julia,” Manon says, smiling as she slings her bag. “I don’t wanna be rude but, uh, I need to go.”
“Oh yeah no, for sure. Rules and all that. It’s nice seeing you again, Manon. Let’s play some time.” Leon grins and gives her a thumbs up. Manon waves him goodbye.
No wonder this Julia is familiar. She sees her in some of Leon’s Instagram stories, where Sophia is always somehow beside her.
“Let’s go, ate,” Manon hears Leon say as she walks away. “Your girlfriend’s waiting for you.”
For some reason, whatever control Manon thinks she has left on her body is apparently nonexistent, because her feet stop dragging to the ground and her head turns. Just a little.
Just enough to see Leon smiling, and Sophia is reaching over to the VIP area, hugging Julia, and Julia who kisses Sophia on her cheek.
Interesting. Manon walks into the player tunnel.
The Australian Open is in two weeks. Kooyoung Classic just ended hours ago, and Manon feels like she could spend the whole next two weeks rotting in the hotel bed. Her coach probably won’t be happy with that. Whatever.
She rolls over, winces, and grabs her phone from the bedside table when there’s a knock on the door.
Oh, room service.
Fresh out of the shower and smelling like garden, Manon didn’t even think of putting on clothes when she ordered room service. The cool air hitting her sunburnt skin is just so heavenly that she’s been lazing around naked in her room. But she didn’t expect room service to be that fast.
Well, she’s in a five star hotel courtesy of the association, so. Manon grabs a hotel robe and wraps herself around it before answering the door.
She didn’t expect to find Sophia, though.
Slowly, Manon peaks her head out of the door and looks around for the hotel staff, like an idiot.
“It’s just me, Manon.” Sophia sighs. “Not room service.”
“You sure it’s not you?” When Sophia glares at her, Manon just shrugs, looking at her nails. “What are you doing here?”
“I was clear. Wasn’t I?”
“I don’t know what you’re—hey, what the fu—”
Air gets knocked out of her lungs when Manon hits the wardrobe beside her, its door creaking noisily at the impact. She puffs out a breath, gathering her senses, before she bares her teeth at Sophia. Sophia, who has her hand palmed out on Manon’s chest, closes the door behind her, looking mildly unbothered like she didn’t just push Manon to the fucking furniture.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Manon spats out.
Sophia stares at her. “You didn’t wait for me at the stadium.” Then she glances at Manon’s robe, slowly raising her eyebrow at her. “Are you naked in there?”
Manon laughs dryly and leans in. The room didn’t feel cold anymore. “Not everyone has to bend to your fucking will, Sophia,” she says.
“Really?”
And then Manon suddenly gasps when she feels a knee press between her legs, catching on the robe. Sophia leans into her ear before Manon understands what is happening. “But you sure do love bending over at night.”
She kisses Manon under her ear.
There’s another thing the world doesn’t know.
Manon pushes Sophia off before her brain completely shuts down. She barely budged; only enough for Sophia to lean away from the side of her head and not get her knee off her legs. Fuck her athlete strength.
“I don’t wanna be tangled in your fucking mess, Sophia,” Manon says in between teeth. “So leave me out of it.”
Sophia looks genuinely confused.
Manon rolls her eyes. “Do you think your girlfriend would be happy when she sees you feasting on my neck?”
“Girlfriend?”
Now Sophia looks even more confused. If her tennis career didn’t ever work out, she can see Sophia acting in theatre, actually. But then Manon can practically see the gears turning in Sophia’s head before it clicks, and she laughs.
Manon draws her eyebrows together. “What?”
“Manon,” Sophia still laughs, visibly trying to hold it together as she leans against Manon’s shoulder. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
“You don’t even know who I’m talking about.” What?
She finally leans back, still giggling a little, before Sophia faces Manon properly. “You mean Julia, right? I saw you with her and Leon earlier.”
Sophia was watching?
“Leon said—you know what, I don’t even care.”
“Of course you don’t,” and just like that, the mood reverts back. Sophia is leaning over. “If anything, I thought you were interested in her.” Her fingers run on the lapels of Manon’s robes, toying at its inner lining that causes Sophia’s hand to brush against her skin. It burns.
I wasn’t, Manon tries to say, but the proximity and contact along with Sophia’s vanilla scent are all too much, clogging up her throat that all she can do is drink her in. Her legs rub together.
But Sophia’s knee is there. Right. Manon thinks she should be embarrassed about it, but all it actually did is just make the contact worse and fuck.
She isn’t surprised when Sophia picks up on that. “Look who’s excited,” she says with an annoying grin. Manon has half a mind to slap it off her face. But Sophia would love that, though, like the horny little shit she is.
“Sophia, get off me,” Manon pants. “Room service is on its way.”
But nothing ever really goes inside her head. She never listens, because Sophia raises her knee without warning, just further into her inner thighs, and Manon gasps and buckles. Okay. Her cunt is throbbing. Fuck. She is unbelievably wet right now.
And Fuck Sophia. Who the hell does she think she is? Manon grabs her by the arm. “Did you even hear me? They’re coming up, Sophia.”
“I heard you,” Sophia says calmly, and settles her hands on Manon’s hips. “Five minutes is enough for me.”
Before Manon could even register what that means, she throws her head back against the wardrobe with a thud when Sophia pulls her down against her thigh and rubs it against Manon’s center, sending shockwaves all throughout her nervous system. To hell with it. Manon throws her arms around Sophia’s neck and she pulls her closer, opening her legs wider and grinding deeper against Sophia at a faster pace.
The world doesn’t know that deep into their rivalry, Manon and Sophia fuck each other behind closed doors.
She rocks her hips back and forth and normally, the sound of her ass hitting the wardrobe door repeatedly while she grinds Sophia’s leg would turn her on, but right now they’re at a hotel and someone passing down the hallway could literally hear them fucking inside. So, no.
“Move,” Manon huffs and pushes Sophia to the wall behind her. Sophia grunts at the contact, but she shortly understands and mounts her knee up again. Manon lowers back down and continues riding her.
But leave it to Sophia for ruining the moment. “You’re cute when you’re jealous,” she says, grinning.
Manon narrows her eyes dangerously. “I wasn’t jea—” then her eyes roll back when Sophia palms her breast against the robe, her nipples hardening inside.
“You’re so hot in this,” Sophia says.
“Sophia, that’s a robe.” Manon pants and fights back a whimper when Sophia covers her neck with her mouth. She kisses her sloppily, alternating between licks and nips, meanwhile her hands work on the ties of Manon’s robe. The chilly air hits her naked body when Sophia unties her top and Manon gasps, her nipples hardening further. She stops kissing her and leans back.
Manon didn’t know she could possibly come at just the sight of this—Sophia staring at her with dark eyes as she grinds down her soaked thigh, her nipples and abdomen exposed while the robe is fighting for its life dangling on her elbows. Manon decides to pick up the pace. Sophia settles her hands on her hip bones, and Manon fights back a moan when her clit catches on skin.
“Your game was beautiful, by the way,” Sophia suddenly says and she wraps her arms around Manon’s waist. “Those serves? You almost had me at three aces.” What is Sophia playing here? She feels Sophia hooking her finger around her waist beads. “You were so good, Manon.”
Manon cries and rocks her hips faster. Sophia bends down and kisses her in between her breasts, trailing more wet kisses to the side, to the mound, before stopping. Manon forces her eyes open to look down at what was going on, and it looks like it’s exactly what Sophia wants, because she smirks. And she holds Manon’s gaze when she catches her nipple in between her teeth.
Oh, fuck her. Manon bites on her hand and moans as Sophia sucks her. Lapping her tongue around as she moves her leg. It’s too much. She’s coming.
“So—Sophi—I’m, I’m—” Manon just cries when her clit hits deeper contact.
Sophia then says, “Manon, look at me.”
Her brain is all fogged up that all Manon can do is listen, so she did, blinking blearily. Sophia looks like a fucking treat in all her disheveled state. And the reason for it is her. Sophia smiles at her, actually smiles at her. Without warning, she adjusts herself and inserts two fingers inside Manon, and Manon gasps.
“Fuck—” She throws her head back as Sophia fucks her, pumping in and out easily now that every corner is slick. Tears are building up from all the pleasure. Sophia curves her fingers and Manon screams. Everyone should have no business walking down the hallways right now.
“I told you to look at me.”
This fucking psycho. Manon leans away and does as she says, trying to keep herself together, and Sophia picks up the pace as she watches her. Manon could literally pass out from everything right now. If that isn’t enough, Sophia starts to rub her thumb against her clit as she pumps, finally sending her over the edge. Manon comes undone, covering her mouth with her palm while she stifles her scream. Her whole body wrecks as the pleasure surges in a pulsatile manner. Sophia holds her steady as she brings down the pace, just enough to help Manon ride down her high.
Finally, she goes slack against Sophia.
Manon vaguely remembers being carried by Sophia and putting her down the bed. The room doesn’t feel that cold anymore too, and she feels something fuzzy laying on top of her, smelling like fabric. When Manon finally regains her senses and her breathing stabilizes, she flutters her eyes open. Sophia is still there. Sitting on the bed, looking at her.
“I’ll go after your room service comes up. Don’t worry about getting it, I’ll handle it.” Sophia says, or Manon presumes she did. Her plump and glossy lips move. Manon isn’t really sure. Exhaustion is eating her up to dreamland at this point.
A knock on the door is heard, and then the weight from her mattress has been lifted up. After a moment, Manon hears the sound of metallic clang nearby, like a tray being settled down the table. She then hears footsteps coming to her, and smells vanilla.
Manon finally opens her eyes properly.
It’s still Sophia. She’s still here.
“I have to go,” she says. “Rest up and eat your meal when you wake up.”
“Okay.”
A beat passes. Manon stares at Sophia who suddenly looks unreadable. Then, “You better meet me at the finals in the Australian Open.”
And she leans down and kisses Manon on the mouth before leaving and closing the door behind her.
Manon blinks at where Sophia disappeared into the room’s hallway, and then she turns, staring at the ceiling. She sighs.
It’s the first time they kissed on the mouth.