Love, Love

By: Tammy

Disclaimer:'s fiction. Fiction

Summary: A Birthday ficlet for Chrissy using a pairing she cooked up in her head: Khabi/V. Bure.

AN: So this started out good cause I was writing it during class...then I finished it writing it at home...then it started getting angsty at the end, and I hate angst and wanted this to be non-angsty for Chrissy, so I tried making it happier, but ended up just making it campy and retarded. Deal with it. ;)

Rating: R for the hell of it.

Tap. Tap. Tap.



A yell.

Followed by a few Russian expletives (that the American chair failed to notice).

Val smiled. He was quite entranced by the Russian tennis player before him. It was the fifth game in the third set. Val didn’t glance down at his watch (he doubted he could tear his eyes away), but he guessed the match had to be somewhere in its second hour.

The lanky tennis player lumbered back to his side of the service court for his second serve. Val bit his lip to avoid the embarrassment of having his tongue roll out of his mouth and fall in his lap. Val watched as the Russian raised his arm and was amazed at the fluidity at which he moved his body as he followed through on his serve. His body seemed languid, it flowed so effortlessly.

“Thirty, love.”

The Russian gave a goofy grin to the linesman who called his ace. He raised his t-shirt to wipe his face and Val had to stifle a groan as he caught a glimpse of the player’s stomach. He wasn’t muscular by any means, but he was fit, and it didn’t stop Val’s hormone crazed mind from fantasizing about licking his way down the Russian’s bare chest and down to his smooth stomach, and then running his tongue over his hipbones—

“Game Safin. Marat Safin leads three games to two, two sets to love.” Val blinked; he had missed the last point, lost in his own thoughts. Val shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his shorts suddenly a size too small.

Just what he needed in the middle of a game, a raging—two firm and knowing lips pressed themselves against Valeri’s neck. “Ni-ik,” Val rolled, stressing and pulling out as many syllables as possible. He could feel Nik smile against his neck. Nik pressed one last kiss against Val’s jaw line before climbing over the back of the sofa to sit next to him.

“Safin lost his temper yet?”

“No, he won the first set, so he’ll probably win the match. You know how fickle he is.”

“Yes, and I also know what kind of effect he has on you,” he said, smiling while looking pointedly at Val’s shorts. Val flushed a deep red, trying to stammer out a snappy comeback…a witty quip or excuse…basically something intelligible. He settled on shutting Nik up with a kiss. Nik’s tongue sent shivers up Val’s spine and he felt the small hairs on the back of his neck rise. Nik broke the kiss and gave him a toothy grin. “We should watch tennis more often.” Val flushed a bit, and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. It was surprising to be in this position. Not that he had never kissed anyone before, but the shyness was new.

Hell, the entire experience was new. The beating of his heart, the quickening of breath…his clammy hands. He had never been so nervous, or excited, in his entire life. Even with Candace—Val stopped himself, biting his lip. The thought of his wife and kids—why was he doing this? Why was he doing this to them? To himself? He was a cheater, an adulterer. And it wasn’t like he or Nik were going to be leaving their families any time soon to run off with each other.

And suddenly it didn’t matter that he wasn’t happy. It didn’t matter that he and his wife weren’t affectionate with each other anymore. It didn’t matter. For the longest, all he had left was his integrity and now that was gone. ‘Cheater,’ resonated through his head and he turned listlessly back to the t.v, suddenly depressed.

Why had he gotten involved with Nik in the first place? It wasn’t going to lead anywhere. Did secret trysts and closed doors make a very fun relationship? Was it even a relationship if both knew it had to end and refused to acknowledge it even existed outside their home? It was dead before it even started.


And there was that nagging ache again. The tears burned at the back of his eyes and he forced himself not to surrender to his emotions, and instead stare at the television screen.


Nik’s voice was soft, but Val could hear the strain behind it. He was only one year older than Val, but he sounded so much older. He was confused, hurt, and Val desperately wanted to hold Nik and whisper something sweet and stupid and utterly trivial to him. His eyes settled on the tennis ball being hit back and forth. Val suddenly wished he had never gotten involved with Nik. He wished he had never put himself in a position to hurt his wife and kids, the people he loved the most. He wished he could take back all the kisses, take back everything, and pretend he had never met Nikolai Khabibulin.

“I love you.”

He wished his heart wasn’t breaking. He wished he wasn’t in love with Nik.

He let himself fall into Nik’s arms. He let himself forget everything, turn his thoughts off for just a moment. He let himself feel loved for one last night. One last night before heading out to California with his wife and kids.


Val curled up against Nik's chest, grabbing his shirt to pull himself closer. Nik rubbed Val's arm in smooth circles. He closed his eyes.

"Repeat second serve."

And let himself remember why he showed up at Nik's apartment that morning.

"Love, love."

the end