Title: Language of Love
By: Perpetual Motion
Pairing: Speed/Delko
Disclaimer: Belongs to CBS and The Bruckheimer. I just let them have sex.
Author's Notes: Unapologetic sap in this one. Enjoy!
Summary: Tim's learning a new language.

Eric murmured a mixture of Russian and Cuban-Spanish when he cooked. Tim knew most of the Spanish, had picked up over time what a few of the Russian words meant, and he always found himself relaxing on the counter, back against the cupboards, when Eric moved around him putting dinner together.

Eric paused occasionally, resting comfortably in the vee of Tim's legs, and kissed him slowly, feeding him bits of whatever he was making. He'd whisper Russian words in Tim's ear and nip at his earlobe while Tim licked the last bit of spice from his fingertips.

Eric muttered Russian curse words when the days got to long and the evidence to scarce. Tim knew those words. He'd learned them first to please the twelve-year-old in him who wanted to be able to insult people without them knowing it.

If the days weren't to long or the evidence to scarce, they'd go home and sit together on the couch, and Tim would ask how to say things in Russian. Eric would tell him, and Tim would repeat it like his multiplication tables when he was kid. He learned "Hello", "How are you", and "I'm fine, thank you", first. He had always been good with languages, and he liked Russian, the sounds in his mouth were sharp and cool, like early fall in New York.

He learned enough to get passibly fluent, but his real test came one night in the kitchen when Eric fed him little pieces of chicken and rice and murmured a small string of words into his ear.

Tim pulled back slightly to look at him, smiled softly and pulled Eric a little closer by his beltloops. "I love you, too."