...who is like god?



Author: Tammy
Category: RPS/NHL/Olympics
Pairing: Renberg/Tellqvist with Tellqvist/Salo undertones
Summary: Winter Olympics; Tellqvist and Renberg, and their relationship
Rating: R for language
AN: Switches pov..Renberg, Tellqvist, Salo, Renberg, Tellqvist. From Cassidy's/SportSlash's Olympic challenge.
Disclaimer: All I know about these guys is that they play hockey--the rest is all fabrication.



"When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You know that your name is safe in their mouth." Billy, age 4

(Renberg POV)

I like the way he says my name.

I like the way it rolls off his tongue. I like how when he says it, he's not just saying "Mikael," he's telling me how much he loves me. Yes, two syllables can exude far more emotions than a simple "I love you." Because in the end, "I love you" has about the same amount of meaning as "I cheese sandwich you." But "Mikael" is forever. It's who I am and who he is. Two souls that just so happened to stumble across each other at Toronto's training camp.

Who knew that we would fall in love? How did we even meet? I was supposed to be in Philly; his career was never supposed to survive that fractured skull. But somehow we did. Somehow we managed to survive a long distance relationship after he got sent back down to St. John's. Was it luck? Was it fate? Or was it something more?

I hope so.

I hope some kind of divine intervention occurred. He doesn't need that kind of reassurance. After all, he's only 21 years old. He still has plenty of time to learn. But I do. I need to know that we're meant for each other-that it's written in the stars, or that it's destiny, or something stupid like that. I need to know that we'll always be together.

I need to know he isn't going to leave me. That I'm not going to lose him. Because I, Mikael Renberg, cheese sandwich Mikael Tellqvist.

//

"Mikael."

Did I mention how much I love it when he says my name? He calls my house up in Toronto, overjoyed with the news that we'd both be making the Olympic team. I smile and nod to myself, insert a few "mmm hmms" but all I can think is that we won't have two weeks alone together.

I'd never say no to the chance to represent my country, but at the same time…

I think it's the fact that this thought never occurred to Mikael that bothers me the most. He hadn't been planning our vacation-the fishing trips, the secluded restaurants-months in advance like me. I brush that thought off, like always, though. Mikael's younger-much more spontaneous. He's not a homebody like me.

"Mikael, are you listening to me?"

"Yeah, yeah," I reply. "Just thinking about Salt Lake."

"Yeah, so I think we have good chance. Perhaps we can be roommates? That would be good." I can tell by his stilted English that he just got off the phone from someone back home. Part of me knows it was probably just a friend, but-I shake my head. When did I become this jealous?

Maybe when he first said my name.

//

When the plane touches down in Salt Lake, the first person I see is Mikael. His face breaks out in a rakish grin and when he approaches, I'm not quite sure how to greet him. I know how I'd like to, but luckily I'm carrying my sticks.

We settle on the typical guy half-hug. I tousle his hair with my free hand while he whispers in Swedish. To anyone watching (not that they would, I'm no Mats Sundin) all they would see is a veteran teammate greeting a younger one. Not a May-December relationship.

I don't know what bothers me more. That I can't openly come out and display my affection or that Mikael gives me a funny look when I say, "I cheese sandwich you." I had explained it all a month ago, but he must have forgotten. He does that a lot. Not on purpose, mind you. He's just really focused on his performance. I suppose I am too. If he improves his play enough, well, he'd never replace Curtis, but he might earn a spot as the team's back up goalie.

"Mike, hello?" I like it better when he calls me Mikael. As usual, though, I've become lost in my own thoughts. A bad habit I picked up somewhere that usually leads to the end of most of my hetero relationships. Perhaps that's where I first picked it up; ignoring and not listening to my girlfriend because I was too busy checking out the guy sitting behind her.

Lately, however, I find myself thinking about Mikael more and more. Sometimes about our relationship and other times, insane thoughts about the first button on his shirt or the birthmark on his calf.

He's carrying my bag, its black strap across his shoulder, and is grinning like an idiot. "So that is great, right?"

Damn. This time I blame that suit he's wearing. "What?"

"I'm rooming with Tommy. This is great. Maybe he can teach me something new."

I furrow my eyebrows while we get into the car that will takes us to the hotel. "Wait, I thought we were rooming together."

"Yes, but now I have the chance to room with Tommy. It's a great opportunity, really, Mike."

I squeeze my hand into a fist and I can feel my nails making perfect white crescents in the pad of my hand. I didn't used to get this angry over little things like this before I met Mikael. I certainly wasn't the jealous boyfriend with any of my ex-girlfriends. "You know, you could have just picked up tips from him on the ice. I thought we were going to spend time together."

"We will, we will," he assures, oblivious to my frustrated anger.

"It won't be the same." I can feel myself on the verge of whining and I hate when I get like this. I lower my voice and in Swedish, "We won't have any privacy."

Taking my unclenched hand in his, he rubs his thumb over the back of it. "You worry too much, Mikael." His voice and caressing relaxes me and soon I feel like an idiot. Two weeks with Mikael is still two weeks with Mikael, no matter who we're rooming with. He smiles and looks out the window.

He continues to rub his thumb absentmindedly along the back of my hand and I remember why I didn't get jealous over the trivial things with my other girlfriends.

I care about Mikael.

//

Valentine's Day sucks. I hate chocolate and I'm not a fan of any holiday created by the Christian church to encourage sex but has been twisted over the years into some Hallmark holiday filled with cliché red roses and cards.

In my opinion, you should just stick with the sex. Forget the whole chocolate, rose business. What can I say? I'm a romantic.

Mikael and I decide a romantic dinner is in order. Chinese, pizza, chicken and pasta-it's not the food that matters, just the propinquity. You find yourself thinking things like that when you don't see your boyfriend enough.

Jorgen, my roommate, has left the room already. Either out to dinner with some of the team or out to find a late gift for his girlfriend. A knock at the door and a second later Mikael's standing in a doorframe in a deep burgundy shirt and slacks.

"Let me go get my wallet." Turning around to grab it off the dresser, I hear the door close and lock. His hand on my waist twists me around. "Ready to-"

His lips crush into mine and the force at which he moves forward causes my lower back to hit the dresser and our teeth to click. Mumbled apologies and remissions later his hands run through my hair while I untuck his shirt from his slacks. I back him into the bed where we fall, lips still locked. Running my hand up his shirt, I roam his chest and he breaks away, breathless.

"I'm not hungry, Mikael."

I smile at his comment and so does he.

Happy Valentine's Day to me.

//

I rub my lower back; a small thin line runs across it that is slowly forming into a bruise from hitting the dresser last night. Another bruise is forming on my arm, but that one is from today's game and not from Mikael so it doesn't have nearly as much sentimental value.

The game was incredible, us routing Canada five to two. Jovial pandemonium broke out after each Swedish goal and it was great to see all the Swedish fans in the crowd toting flags and chanting. It was even better to look on the bench and see Mikael's encouraging face.

After the game the team flooded the ice, leaving the bench to go congratulate Tommy. Mikael tapped heads with him and the two talked as we headed off the ice. I knew he was just congratulating him, but that doesn't stop my jealous mind from overreacting.

Sitting here now on the bench, changing into my suit, I can't help but notice the two of them joking and laughing.

So I rub my back trying to remind myself that there is a reason that there's a bruise there and that it was my name he cried out last night.


Fics | continue