ATF Universe
Disclaimer: CBS, Mirisch, TNN, Blah, Blah, Blah. Don't own 'em; just play with 'em.
Content Warning: Non-consensual sports
Thanks: to Mady for catching the things that make a diff; to Peggy for chatting Wimbledon with me; and to Jan-Michael Gambill -- he knows why.
"Fifteen-Forty.""What's that score, Vin? Can't hear ya over here." Chris Larabee cupped his hand to his ear.
"Fif-Teen-For-Ty," Vin enunciated while assuming his serving stance. He tossed the ball in the air, rose off the ground with racket raised high and walloped the shit out of the tennis ball. It "boinged" loudly as it ricocheted off the top of the tape.
"You're tryin' to hit it too hard, Vin. Tennis is a game of finesse, not power. Go a little easier on it."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the reluctant student groused to himself. Loudly he said, "Right, Andre. Thanks for that there tip." He tossed the ball -
"Remember, just stroke it."
- And caught it with a loud, huffy sigh. "In your dreams . . . " he said under his breath. He looked quizzically at his learned friend, waiting for any further instruction he might feel compelled to share. Larabee held his arms out, indicating his readiness.
Another serve. Another ball in Vin's own court. Double fault. Game to the bad guy. "Fuck. I hate this stupid pansy game, Chris."
The players walked to the bench before trading sides of the court. Stopping to mop up sweat and guzzle water, Chris swatted Vin's rear-end with his racket. "Hey, I didn't bitch half this much when you dragged me into a raging torrent of water in that little bitty deathtrap."
"Kayaking is a great sport, Chris. It's you and the elements and your mind and your muscle. Great. Just great. And it ain't a hundred and fifty fucking degrees in the water," he concluded irritably, retying his hair at the nape of his neck, attempting some form of heat relief.
"It's a little tin can you can't move around in and your feet go numb and you sit in sopping wet clothes. In tennis you've got your feet on the ground and a whole court to run around in."
"Yeah, well, I suck at this game," Vin said. "We almost done?"
"Soon as you quit complaining. Now gimme the balls and get over there."
The fractious partners continued the heavily one-sided set for another two games during which the force of Vin's forehand grew in direct proportion to his rising frustration. Twice Chris ducked to avoid getting decked by an anger-driven ball.
"Thirty-Love," Chris Larabee stated just before tossing the ball into the air and serving.
"I know what the score is," Vin Tanner muttered, hoping to at least get his racket on the ball this time.
The chartreuse orb landed on the service line and bounced forward at a low, wide angle at a speed greater than light. Vin dashed to the far corner of the court and, racket extended, heaved his body into the air. Racket met ball and Tanner met court.
He sat up and shook his head. "Shit."
"Ouch," said his opponent. "What's that make, Vin? The third time you've slid into base? You're gettin' your rules mixed up again, Pard."
Vin glowered at the blonde man who, while glistening with sweat, was otherwise unmarred. Brushing dirt from his skinned knees, Vin clambered to his feet.
"You okay?" asked Chris with no real concern.
"Jim-fucking-dandy. C'mon, Pete," he taunted, slapping his strings with his hand, "Just serve the damn ball."
Was that a smirk Vin caught on the stony face across the net? Couldn't tell with them stupid, wraparound shades on.
"Forty-Love," Larabee intoned.
The ball came zooming into Vin's backhand court and miraculously got returned to the server. With the shock of having put the ball into play, Vin found himself a split second too slow when it came flying back headed straight for his feet. He back-pedaled, stumbled, and managed to scoop the ball into the air high above Larabee's head. Oh yeah! he thought, I lobbed the sonofabitch! He made a mad dash for the net and realized his error too late. Chris stood just inches away on the other side, arms raised like a supplicant, eyes trailing the falling ball, feet rising to toes, shoulder rotating, forearm pronating, wrist snapping, and Wham!, the ball hit Vin smack in the chest.
The younger man gasped at the shock of the force and crumpled like a squashed ant. He wheezed and rolled around on his back, fighting for air. When he opened his eyes, Chris was hovering with a worried look on his face.
"Jesus, Vin!" He knelt and scooped his fallen friend up by the shoulders. "What were you doing on top of the net when I was getting ready to hit an overhead?!"
Vin blinked and took in a big breath. Pushing his way out of Chris's arms, he sat up on his own. "Just fine, Dickhead. Thank you very much." He slowly flexed his shoulders.
Larabee stifled a chuckle. "I *am* concerned. Really. You okay?" He extended an investigative hand to the Texan's chest.
Vin shoved it away irritably. Gingerly he fingered his right pectoral muscle. "Shit," he winced and, lifting his shirt, exclaimed, "You nailed me in the tit, Chris."
Chris winced at the sight of a big red-and-purple welt that popped up around Vin's right nipple. "Sorry, Pard. I didn't mean to hurt you."
Tucking in his chin to get a good look at his own injury, Vin declared, "It's a good goddamn thing I love you, Larabee."
Preoccupied with his pain, it took the younger man a few seconds to note the silence all around them. Then he realized what he'd said and felt the red sweep up his neck. Fearfully, he glanced up. Chris Larabee looked like he'd taken a direct hit from a stun-gun.
Vin flapped his mouth a few times trying to think of a way to retract his words but the slow smile that spread across the lawman's face halted his efforts.
"I been waiting a long time to hear you say that, Cowboy." Chris's voice was soft and thick as if spoken through a layer of cotton.
"You coulda said it first," Vin said defensively, unsure of the situation now that he'd declared his feelings.
Chris took off his sunglasses and contemplated his lover with serious eyes. Thrusting out his lower lip, he wagged his head a little. "Nah, I don't think so." He reached out once more and touched Vin's bare chest, this time placing his hand in the center. Satisfied with the rapid thumping he found there, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against Vin's, whispering as he did so, "I love you, too."
The creak of the rusty metal gate cut short Vin's plan to embrace the blonde man and ram his tongue down his throat. Glancing over Chris's shoulder at the newcomers to the adjacent court, he sighed and accepted the hand-up Larabee offered as he got to his feet first. "Let's get this damn thing over with, Cowboy. I'm dyin' to get you home all of a sudden." Vin flashed his dimpled smile at the older man.
Chris smiled back and clasped Vin on the shoulder as they walked to the bench. "Let's go now. Score's Love-Love. That's a good place to be."
THE END
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