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perpetual_motionTitle: Modern-Day Water Nymphs
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Olympics Slash [RPS]
Pairing: Ian Thorpe/Michael Phelps
Rating: R
Summary: Ian and Michael meet. Krazelberg sings chorus.
Archive: Olympic_Slash archive, my site, anyone else please ask.
Disclaimer: I don't know them, and I hope they don't find out about this and sue my ass.
Author's Notes: Written during the Olympics and just finally typed out. Krazelberg got a much bigger role than I intentioned because I ended up having a wee crush on him. For Dael, who asked for a different RPS pairing with more kink, but said she would accept this. You're so nice.
Modern-Day Water Nymphs
By Perpetual Motion
Sometimes, what a guy needs isn't beer or pizza or a quick fuck. Sometimes, what a guy needs is for his teammates to grab him as tightly as possible, carry him squirming and screaming down to the practice pool, and throw his ass in with all his clothes on.
"You *fuckers*!" Michael swims for the edge of the pool like he's not weighed down by soggy jeans and sneakers and an old T-shirt. He pulls himself up out of the pool and immediately peels off his shirt. He hates the feeling of wet clothes. It's one of the reasons he wears a Speedo. "What the *fuck*?!" He's laughing.
"You've been a little tense." Krazelburg is grinning just a little more than the others. This whole escapade was obviously his idea. "You needed to relax."
Michael's still laughing when he grabs a handful of Krazelburg's shirt and executes a half-turn that lands the other man ass first in the water. "You've been a little tense, too, man."
The rest of the team cheers and there's a sudden explosion of shoving and horseplay that ends when everyone's soaking wet and splashing around together in the pool. Even in the midst of trying to drown each other through repeated dunkings, everyone's keeping an eye on Michael. He really *has* been tense since they're been in Athens. It's a weird thing to see. Michael's a consummate professional when he swims, but he's not the type to get tense. The team is pretty sure they can place the blame on Ian Thorpe. More directly, they can place the blame on the races against Ian Thorpe that they know Michael's thinking about. They've tried to distract him with video games and new CDs and a night out in the city, but this is the first time that he's actually looked relaxed in days.
"The *hell*?"
Everyone freezes like they've been busted skinny-dipping at the Motel Six. Everyone's eyes go straight from the sight of Ian Thorpe looming at the edge of the pool to Michael. Michael is staring at Thorpe, the tense look on his face very familiar to his teammates. He blinks and holds out his hand. "Michael Phelps."
Ian regards him for a moment before grinning and taking Michael's hand. "Ian Thorpe. Big fan."
When Michael grins, the team could hug Thorpe. They knew he was a good guy, but he's proven it now. When Michael gets a firmer grip on Ian's hand and yanks him into the pool, the team whoops in surprise and cheers.
Ian surfaces sputtering and coughing. He pushes his hair off his face and stares at Michael. "You're a fucking *shit*."
Michael laughs. "No shit." He holds out his hand again. "Truce?"
Ian eyes him warily but holds out his hand. He doesn't recognize the gleam in Michael's eyes for the danger it is. "Truce." He's under the water before he knows it. He surfaces quickly.
Michael's laughing so hard his stomach hurts. "You dumb fuck!"
Ian wipes water from his face for the second time in as many minutes. He pauses for the briefest instant before dropping under the water and charging Michael. The other guys know a cue when they see one, and the water war is back on.
*
"I'm gonna be pruned up for hours." Michael turns his hands palms up and shows them to Ian.
Ian grins and tweaks his own nose. "I always wonder if my nose will ever shrink."
"Same feeling, different parts." Michael tugs at his ears and enjoys Ian's laugh.
The water war has been over for a half-hour. Ian and Michael are sitting alone at the edge of the pool with their feet in the water. Krazelberg had led the exit of the rest of the team with an understanding look to Michael. Ian and Michael need to talk. Michael needs to see that Ian is human.
Ian moves his feet so he can watch the splash. He watches Michael out of the corner of his eye. "What do you listen to?"
"Huh?" Michael's been watching Ian's feet move.
"I've seen shots of you before races. You always have headphones on." Ian isn't quite sure why he wants to know what Michael listens to before a race, but he knows it's not just professional courtesy.
"Oh, yeah. Just music. Rap mostly." Michael kicks his feet and sends a small shower of water over them both. "What do you do before a race?"
Ian rolls his shoulders in a shrug. "Right before a race, it all gets blurry. I don't think, really. All I can hear is the water." He turns and makes eye contact with Michael. Suddenly, everything clicks, and Ian's looking at Michael with new comprehension. He's sitting next to a kindred spirit, another modern-day water nymph. They have an understanding of each other like only two people who know their passion can. He leans in and kisses Michael briefly. It's the only thing he can think to do. He's surprised when Michael kisses him back before pulling away.
Michael's eyes are wide and a little confused. "I-um…" It takes a moment for his eyes to clear to full lucidity. He blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. "We have to race against each other." He's a little surprised when Ian laughs. "What?"
Ian shakes his head. "That's where your mind goes?"
Michael shrugs and chuckles. "I'm in the Olympics. My mind's never out of the pool." He gasps when Ian grabs the waistband of his pants and yanks him into the water.
"As long as your mind's in the pool," Ian leans in and pauses just short of Michael's mouth, "I'll jump in."
Michael tilts his head back and kisses Ian. He wonders briefly what the hell he's doing, but then Ian slides his tongue into Michael's mouth, and he stops caring. He's not going to be any less competitive because he's made out with Ian Thorpe. They're still rivals. They'll just be friendly.
*
"You were amazing."
Michael turns at the sound of a voice at his shoulder and gives Ian a grin. "Thanks." He tries not to give Ian an once-over. He fails; he can tell by the look on Ian's face. "Congratulations."
Ian's look turns into a grin. "Thanks." He glances around and is glad to find the locker room empty except for them. He steps forward and slides his fingers down Michael's chest. Michael is still damp. "I want to celebrate with you." Ian licks his lips. "I want to have sex with you."
Michael tips his hips forward involuntarily. "Oh, God."
"Not quite."
Michael yanks Ian's head down and kisses him hard. He groans when Ian responds vigorously. He nearly loses his mind when Ian slides his hand down Michael's Speedo and starts to feel his way around. "Uhhh." He kisses Ian harder.
"Hey, Mikey, we're all-holy shit."
Michael jerks away from Ian at the sound of Krazelburg's voice. He tries to find his voice. "Hey, man."
Krazelberg is backing away slowly. "I'll be back in a few minutes." He winks at Michael right before the locker room door closes.
Ian can feels Michael's heartbeat, and he knows the dampness on Michael's skin isn't from the pool. He takes a chance and kisses the side of Michael's neck. "Well?"
Michael shudders and comes in his Speedo. His breathing starts to regulate again. "Fuck."
"Yeah." Ian ignores his need to rub his erection against he long, warm expanse of Michael's thigh. He kisses Michael on the mouth. "I'll see you later." He starts to back away.
Michael reaches out and grabs Ian's hand. "I want to do this again," he licks his lips. "Horizontally."
No matter what some people in Australia think, Ian Thorpe is a mere mortal man. He steps back up to Michael and presses his groin to the thigh he's been lusting for. "You're sure?"
Michael bites Ian's shoulder lightly. "Yes." He doesn't hear his head hit the locker.
Krazelberg backs out of the locker room again.
*
"So…" Krazelberg grins when Michael pulls a pillow over his face. "How big *is* the Thorpedo's Thorpedo?"
"You did *not* just fucking ask me that."
"Fucking, huh? Bet I know-" Krazelberg is cut off when a pillow hits him straight in the face. "Hey, man, you know it's cool, right? The guys won't care."
Michael squints in suspicion. "How do you know?"
"Man, we're just glad you're getting some." Krazelberg grins. "We're gonna kick his ass in the relay no matter how many times you screw him in the locker room," Krazelberg's grin goes evil. "Hey, you think you could wear him out for us?" This time, there is no pillow to dodge. Michael tackles Krazelberg hard enough to knock them both to the floor.
*
When Krazelberg touches the wall and the judge calls it first place, something in Michael snaps. He's been ecstatic for all his wins, but this is different. This is a team win.
Michael starts yelling his head off. The other guys start yelling, too. They've beaten Australia. Krazelberg's beaten Thorpe. When Krazelberg finally gets out of the pool, Michael hugs him so hard he lifts him off the ground. He sees Ian out of the corner of his eye and smiles at him. Ian smiles back.
Then, he winks.
"Mikey, man, I love you, but not like that."
"Huh?" Michael puts his attention back on Krazelberg. "What?" He doesn't understand why Krazelberg is laughing.
"Got wood?" It's pitched low enough so that it's between them.
"Oh, *shit*. Kraze, man-" Michael's not sure what to do past being mortified.
"It's cool. If I were a gay guy with funny ears, I'd probably have the same reaction to him."
Before Michael can drop him into the pool, they're called over to shake hands with the other teams. Michael has to think of every very boring book he had to read in high school to keep his erection down when he shakes Ian's hand. It doesn't help that Ian pulls him into a hug.
"Just wanted to invite the team to our part of the complex for a celebration tonight."
~I will not get wood. I will not get wood.~ Michael bites his lip to hold in a gasp when Ian's lips brush his ear. " I'll let the guys know."
"See you there."
~No wood. No wood. No wood.~ Michael is monumentally surprised when he manages to stand on the podium without embarrassing himself. When they're getting their pictures taken Michael murmurs to the other guys about the celebration. When they all leer at him, Michael just shrugs. So they know. It's no big shock. They're a team and secrets keep like water in a leaky faucet. They've known about Michael's preferences as long as they've known him, and Thorpe had gotten their approval when he shook Michael's hand that night at the pool. There would be no problems.
There *would* be massive amounts of full-out harassment just as soon as they got off the pedestal.
"Mikey and Ian, sittin' in a tree," Krazelberg, being the natural shit he is, has apparently decided that waiting is not an option, "F-U-C-"
Michael slings an arm around Krazelberg's neck and yanks him over. It looks like a very manly hug to the photographers. "I'm going to kill you.
"K-I-N-G."
*
For a party with no booze, it's a pretty wild time. The Australian team is rambunctious to a level the Americans are having a hard time matching. The music is loud, the Foosball table is a mass of overlong arms and legs, and Ian has Michael backed into a corner.
"I hear you have a tattoo." Ian's fingers slip under Michael's waistband and slide around. "Can I see it?"
Michael is suddenly understanding why a whole fucking continent is in love with this man. He's charming the pants-literally-off Michael in a crowded room. "I could tell you about it."
Ian tugs at Michael's waistband and takes a step back. "Would you mind a private exhibition?"
"We could do that." Michael's so engrossed in Ian he doesn't see the stack of twenties getting slapped into Krazelberg's hand.
"I told you it'd be less than an hour." He pockets the twenties and grins. "Now, how about I finish kicking your collective asses at Foosball?" The Aussies give a victory cheer and the game is on.
*
In Ian's room, the game is on in a completely different way. As soon as the door closes, Ian's fingers are tucked securely into Michael's waistband and tugging. "Off with these."
Michael grins a little, enjoying the sight of Ian Thorpe hyped up because of him. "This how you treat all your dates?"
Ian leans in and bites a soft spot on the side of Michael's neck. "This is how I treat someone I want to fuck." Ian grins when he feels Michael shudder. "Off with them."
Michael's hands go to the waist of his jeans, and he gets them unbuttoned. He kicks his flip flops halfway across the room and drags his pants down his legs. He steps out of them and pulls his T-shirt over his head. He's down to his underwear, and he stops to watch Ian.
Ian is sitting on the edge of the bed, and when Michael looks at him, he kicks off his own flip flops, peels off his jeans, and yanks his polo over his head. He smoothes his hair back from his face and then leans back on his elbows on the bed. He watches Michael advance and give his underwear a once-over.
"Why design your own underwear?"
"Power." Ian reaches a hand up and runs it down Michael's chest. "I know it'll fit."
"Mmm." Michael presses his chest against Ian's hand and leans in to kiss him. He pauses just short of Ian's mouth. "Why me?"
Ian gets his other hand in the short hairs at the back of Michael's neck. "Why you, what?"
"Why sleep with me?" Michael trails his fingers down Ian's sternum and runs the pad of his thumb around the elastic of Ian's boxer-briefs.
"Because I want to." Ian pulls Michael down on top of him and hisses at the full-body contact. "There's something about you. I feel it."
"That'd be my dick."
Ian laughs. "That, too." He pulls Michael in and kisses him for a long, slow minute. When he pulls away, Michael chases after him to continue the kiss, and Ian gives in. They kiss again, but when he pulls away again, Ian stays out of range. "We're supposed to be bitter rivals, out to best each other, and I can't do that."
"Why not?" In lieu of Ian's lips, Michael's focusing on getting acquainted with Ian's neck. He licks the hollow of Ian's throat and enjoys the all-over jerking response that causes Ian's dick to rub on his.
"It's hard to hate you when I want to fuck you." Ian grabs Michael's hips and pushes him down so that the contact is hard and fast. They gasp and curse together, and the talking is over as they work to drive each other absolutely nuts before sending each other over the edge with almost identical grunts.
Ian's the first to remember how to function again, and he leans over and brushes his finger over Michael's tattoo. "I like it." He slides down so that he can see it more closely. He licks around the edges of it and grins when Michael groans. "You okay, up there?"
"I think you broke me." Michael shifts a little and carefully rearranges his flaccid, sticky dick out of range of Ian's stubble. "How are you moving?"
Ian lays his head on Michael's hip. "I have no idea." He rubs a hand up Michael's thigh. "Shower?"
"Not yet." Michael gets one of his hands in Ian's hair and dozes off for an undetermined amount of time. When he comes to again, Ian is asleep on his hip, and there's a note taped to the back of his hand.
Mikey-
We took the Aussies hostage to hit a couple of bars. See you later.
-Kraze
P.S. Nice penis.
Michael untapes the note from his hand and drops it to the floor. He shakes Ian's shoulder to wake him up, planning to get him into the shower so that they can both wash off, but Ian just drags himself up to Michael's pillow, takes over half, and falls asleep with one leg draped on Michael's thighs. Michael decides that he's comfortable enough and falls back asleep.
*
An hour after he's finished his last race, and ten minutes after his last interview for the time being, Michael walks into his room and finds Krazelberg and Ian sitting on opposite beds chatting. He waves tiredly at both of them and collapses onto his bed. "I'm so fuckin' tired."
"That's what you get for attempting every race under the sun, man." Krazelberg stands up and swats Michael's on the ass. "I'll leave you and Ian here to get some sleep. I'm gonna go find the guys. We'll be back later to take you out drinking."
"Whatever." Michael yawns and turns his head to find Ian laid out next to him. "Hey."
"Hey." Ian waits for the door to the room to click shut before he slides his hand up Michael's back. "You're done, then?"
"Yeah."
"Okay." Ian presses his fingertips into the top of Michael's spine and watches the other man smile softly at him. "Games are almost over."
"Yeah." Michael knows exactly where this conversation is going, and he's willing to have it, even if he is half-asleep. "I have to tour afterwards."
"So do I." Ian give a wry smile. "It's a shame we'll be on different continents."
"Are we cutting this off here, then?"
Ian shrugs. "I don't know. I don't really want to."
"Me neither." Michael yawns again and scoots over until he's using half of Ian for a pillow. "We'll see each other around."
"Yeah."
"Can we take it a competition at a time?"
Ian smiles into Michael's hair. "If I'm single and you're single, we'll use each other for sex?"
"Why not?"
Ian can't come up with a compelling reason not to. It's really the only solution they can work with that leaves them both with free sex. "No reason not to, I suppose."
"Great." Michael kisses the side of Ian's neck. "I'm gonna sleep." He slides an arm around Ian's waist and gets comfortable.
Ian arranges himself into the most comfortable position possible and falls asleep with him.
*
"So, what's the good word?" Krazelberg has been watching Michael like a hawk for signs of how they decided to settle things."
Michael shrugs. "We're swimmers. We'll see each other." He doesn't know just how bright his smile is.
Krazelberg claps him on the back and shoves him out the door of their room to head for the bus that will take them to the airport. "Good." He waits until Michael has the door locked before speaking again. "I think we should get the team together and vacation in Australia. I hear they have killer beaches."
Michael rolls his eyes. "Shut up, man." He's laughing as they get on the elevator.
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Olympics Slash [RPS]
Pairing: Ian Thorpe/Michael Phelps
Rating: R
Summary: Ian and Michael meet. Krazelberg sings chorus.
Archive: Olympic_Slash archive, my site, anyone else please ask.
Disclaimer: I don't know them, and I hope they don't find out about this and sue my ass.
Author's Notes: Written during the Olympics and just finally typed out. Krazelberg got a much bigger role than I intentioned because I ended up having a wee crush on him. For Dael, who asked for a different RPS pairing with more kink, but said she would accept this. You're so nice.
Modern-Day Water Nymphs
By Perpetual Motion
Sometimes, what a guy needs isn't beer or pizza or a quick fuck. Sometimes, what a guy needs is for his teammates to grab him as tightly as possible, carry him squirming and screaming down to the practice pool, and throw his ass in with all his clothes on.
"You *fuckers*!" Michael swims for the edge of the pool like he's not weighed down by soggy jeans and sneakers and an old T-shirt. He pulls himself up out of the pool and immediately peels off his shirt. He hates the feeling of wet clothes. It's one of the reasons he wears a Speedo. "What the *fuck*?!" He's laughing.
"You've been a little tense." Krazelburg is grinning just a little more than the others. This whole escapade was obviously his idea. "You needed to relax."
Michael's still laughing when he grabs a handful of Krazelburg's shirt and executes a half-turn that lands the other man ass first in the water. "You've been a little tense, too, man."
The rest of the team cheers and there's a sudden explosion of shoving and horseplay that ends when everyone's soaking wet and splashing around together in the pool. Even in the midst of trying to drown each other through repeated dunkings, everyone's keeping an eye on Michael. He really *has* been tense since they're been in Athens. It's a weird thing to see. Michael's a consummate professional when he swims, but he's not the type to get tense. The team is pretty sure they can place the blame on Ian Thorpe. More directly, they can place the blame on the races against Ian Thorpe that they know Michael's thinking about. They've tried to distract him with video games and new CDs and a night out in the city, but this is the first time that he's actually looked relaxed in days.
"The *hell*?"
Everyone freezes like they've been busted skinny-dipping at the Motel Six. Everyone's eyes go straight from the sight of Ian Thorpe looming at the edge of the pool to Michael. Michael is staring at Thorpe, the tense look on his face very familiar to his teammates. He blinks and holds out his hand. "Michael Phelps."
Ian regards him for a moment before grinning and taking Michael's hand. "Ian Thorpe. Big fan."
When Michael grins, the team could hug Thorpe. They knew he was a good guy, but he's proven it now. When Michael gets a firmer grip on Ian's hand and yanks him into the pool, the team whoops in surprise and cheers.
Ian surfaces sputtering and coughing. He pushes his hair off his face and stares at Michael. "You're a fucking *shit*."
Michael laughs. "No shit." He holds out his hand again. "Truce?"
Ian eyes him warily but holds out his hand. He doesn't recognize the gleam in Michael's eyes for the danger it is. "Truce." He's under the water before he knows it. He surfaces quickly.
Michael's laughing so hard his stomach hurts. "You dumb fuck!"
Ian wipes water from his face for the second time in as many minutes. He pauses for the briefest instant before dropping under the water and charging Michael. The other guys know a cue when they see one, and the water war is back on.
*
"I'm gonna be pruned up for hours." Michael turns his hands palms up and shows them to Ian.
Ian grins and tweaks his own nose. "I always wonder if my nose will ever shrink."
"Same feeling, different parts." Michael tugs at his ears and enjoys Ian's laugh.
The water war has been over for a half-hour. Ian and Michael are sitting alone at the edge of the pool with their feet in the water. Krazelberg had led the exit of the rest of the team with an understanding look to Michael. Ian and Michael need to talk. Michael needs to see that Ian is human.
Ian moves his feet so he can watch the splash. He watches Michael out of the corner of his eye. "What do you listen to?"
"Huh?" Michael's been watching Ian's feet move.
"I've seen shots of you before races. You always have headphones on." Ian isn't quite sure why he wants to know what Michael listens to before a race, but he knows it's not just professional courtesy.
"Oh, yeah. Just music. Rap mostly." Michael kicks his feet and sends a small shower of water over them both. "What do you do before a race?"
Ian rolls his shoulders in a shrug. "Right before a race, it all gets blurry. I don't think, really. All I can hear is the water." He turns and makes eye contact with Michael. Suddenly, everything clicks, and Ian's looking at Michael with new comprehension. He's sitting next to a kindred spirit, another modern-day water nymph. They have an understanding of each other like only two people who know their passion can. He leans in and kisses Michael briefly. It's the only thing he can think to do. He's surprised when Michael kisses him back before pulling away.
Michael's eyes are wide and a little confused. "I-um…" It takes a moment for his eyes to clear to full lucidity. He blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. "We have to race against each other." He's a little surprised when Ian laughs. "What?"
Ian shakes his head. "That's where your mind goes?"
Michael shrugs and chuckles. "I'm in the Olympics. My mind's never out of the pool." He gasps when Ian grabs the waistband of his pants and yanks him into the water.
"As long as your mind's in the pool," Ian leans in and pauses just short of Michael's mouth, "I'll jump in."
Michael tilts his head back and kisses Ian. He wonders briefly what the hell he's doing, but then Ian slides his tongue into Michael's mouth, and he stops caring. He's not going to be any less competitive because he's made out with Ian Thorpe. They're still rivals. They'll just be friendly.
*
"You were amazing."
Michael turns at the sound of a voice at his shoulder and gives Ian a grin. "Thanks." He tries not to give Ian an once-over. He fails; he can tell by the look on Ian's face. "Congratulations."
Ian's look turns into a grin. "Thanks." He glances around and is glad to find the locker room empty except for them. He steps forward and slides his fingers down Michael's chest. Michael is still damp. "I want to celebrate with you." Ian licks his lips. "I want to have sex with you."
Michael tips his hips forward involuntarily. "Oh, God."
"Not quite."
Michael yanks Ian's head down and kisses him hard. He groans when Ian responds vigorously. He nearly loses his mind when Ian slides his hand down Michael's Speedo and starts to feel his way around. "Uhhh." He kisses Ian harder.
"Hey, Mikey, we're all-holy shit."
Michael jerks away from Ian at the sound of Krazelburg's voice. He tries to find his voice. "Hey, man."
Krazelberg is backing away slowly. "I'll be back in a few minutes." He winks at Michael right before the locker room door closes.
Ian can feels Michael's heartbeat, and he knows the dampness on Michael's skin isn't from the pool. He takes a chance and kisses the side of Michael's neck. "Well?"
Michael shudders and comes in his Speedo. His breathing starts to regulate again. "Fuck."
"Yeah." Ian ignores his need to rub his erection against he long, warm expanse of Michael's thigh. He kisses Michael on the mouth. "I'll see you later." He starts to back away.
Michael reaches out and grabs Ian's hand. "I want to do this again," he licks his lips. "Horizontally."
No matter what some people in Australia think, Ian Thorpe is a mere mortal man. He steps back up to Michael and presses his groin to the thigh he's been lusting for. "You're sure?"
Michael bites Ian's shoulder lightly. "Yes." He doesn't hear his head hit the locker.
Krazelberg backs out of the locker room again.
*
"So…" Krazelberg grins when Michael pulls a pillow over his face. "How big *is* the Thorpedo's Thorpedo?"
"You did *not* just fucking ask me that."
"Fucking, huh? Bet I know-" Krazelberg is cut off when a pillow hits him straight in the face. "Hey, man, you know it's cool, right? The guys won't care."
Michael squints in suspicion. "How do you know?"
"Man, we're just glad you're getting some." Krazelberg grins. "We're gonna kick his ass in the relay no matter how many times you screw him in the locker room," Krazelberg's grin goes evil. "Hey, you think you could wear him out for us?" This time, there is no pillow to dodge. Michael tackles Krazelberg hard enough to knock them both to the floor.
*
When Krazelberg touches the wall and the judge calls it first place, something in Michael snaps. He's been ecstatic for all his wins, but this is different. This is a team win.
Michael starts yelling his head off. The other guys start yelling, too. They've beaten Australia. Krazelberg's beaten Thorpe. When Krazelberg finally gets out of the pool, Michael hugs him so hard he lifts him off the ground. He sees Ian out of the corner of his eye and smiles at him. Ian smiles back.
Then, he winks.
"Mikey, man, I love you, but not like that."
"Huh?" Michael puts his attention back on Krazelberg. "What?" He doesn't understand why Krazelberg is laughing.
"Got wood?" It's pitched low enough so that it's between them.
"Oh, *shit*. Kraze, man-" Michael's not sure what to do past being mortified.
"It's cool. If I were a gay guy with funny ears, I'd probably have the same reaction to him."
Before Michael can drop him into the pool, they're called over to shake hands with the other teams. Michael has to think of every very boring book he had to read in high school to keep his erection down when he shakes Ian's hand. It doesn't help that Ian pulls him into a hug.
"Just wanted to invite the team to our part of the complex for a celebration tonight."
~I will not get wood. I will not get wood.~ Michael bites his lip to hold in a gasp when Ian's lips brush his ear. " I'll let the guys know."
"See you there."
~No wood. No wood. No wood.~ Michael is monumentally surprised when he manages to stand on the podium without embarrassing himself. When they're getting their pictures taken Michael murmurs to the other guys about the celebration. When they all leer at him, Michael just shrugs. So they know. It's no big shock. They're a team and secrets keep like water in a leaky faucet. They've known about Michael's preferences as long as they've known him, and Thorpe had gotten their approval when he shook Michael's hand that night at the pool. There would be no problems.
There *would* be massive amounts of full-out harassment just as soon as they got off the pedestal.
"Mikey and Ian, sittin' in a tree," Krazelberg, being the natural shit he is, has apparently decided that waiting is not an option, "F-U-C-"
Michael slings an arm around Krazelberg's neck and yanks him over. It looks like a very manly hug to the photographers. "I'm going to kill you.
"K-I-N-G."
*
For a party with no booze, it's a pretty wild time. The Australian team is rambunctious to a level the Americans are having a hard time matching. The music is loud, the Foosball table is a mass of overlong arms and legs, and Ian has Michael backed into a corner.
"I hear you have a tattoo." Ian's fingers slip under Michael's waistband and slide around. "Can I see it?"
Michael is suddenly understanding why a whole fucking continent is in love with this man. He's charming the pants-literally-off Michael in a crowded room. "I could tell you about it."
Ian tugs at Michael's waistband and takes a step back. "Would you mind a private exhibition?"
"We could do that." Michael's so engrossed in Ian he doesn't see the stack of twenties getting slapped into Krazelberg's hand.
"I told you it'd be less than an hour." He pockets the twenties and grins. "Now, how about I finish kicking your collective asses at Foosball?" The Aussies give a victory cheer and the game is on.
*
In Ian's room, the game is on in a completely different way. As soon as the door closes, Ian's fingers are tucked securely into Michael's waistband and tugging. "Off with these."
Michael grins a little, enjoying the sight of Ian Thorpe hyped up because of him. "This how you treat all your dates?"
Ian leans in and bites a soft spot on the side of Michael's neck. "This is how I treat someone I want to fuck." Ian grins when he feels Michael shudder. "Off with them."
Michael's hands go to the waist of his jeans, and he gets them unbuttoned. He kicks his flip flops halfway across the room and drags his pants down his legs. He steps out of them and pulls his T-shirt over his head. He's down to his underwear, and he stops to watch Ian.
Ian is sitting on the edge of the bed, and when Michael looks at him, he kicks off his own flip flops, peels off his jeans, and yanks his polo over his head. He smoothes his hair back from his face and then leans back on his elbows on the bed. He watches Michael advance and give his underwear a once-over.
"Why design your own underwear?"
"Power." Ian reaches a hand up and runs it down Michael's chest. "I know it'll fit."
"Mmm." Michael presses his chest against Ian's hand and leans in to kiss him. He pauses just short of Ian's mouth. "Why me?"
Ian gets his other hand in the short hairs at the back of Michael's neck. "Why you, what?"
"Why sleep with me?" Michael trails his fingers down Ian's sternum and runs the pad of his thumb around the elastic of Ian's boxer-briefs.
"Because I want to." Ian pulls Michael down on top of him and hisses at the full-body contact. "There's something about you. I feel it."
"That'd be my dick."
Ian laughs. "That, too." He pulls Michael in and kisses him for a long, slow minute. When he pulls away, Michael chases after him to continue the kiss, and Ian gives in. They kiss again, but when he pulls away again, Ian stays out of range. "We're supposed to be bitter rivals, out to best each other, and I can't do that."
"Why not?" In lieu of Ian's lips, Michael's focusing on getting acquainted with Ian's neck. He licks the hollow of Ian's throat and enjoys the all-over jerking response that causes Ian's dick to rub on his.
"It's hard to hate you when I want to fuck you." Ian grabs Michael's hips and pushes him down so that the contact is hard and fast. They gasp and curse together, and the talking is over as they work to drive each other absolutely nuts before sending each other over the edge with almost identical grunts.
Ian's the first to remember how to function again, and he leans over and brushes his finger over Michael's tattoo. "I like it." He slides down so that he can see it more closely. He licks around the edges of it and grins when Michael groans. "You okay, up there?"
"I think you broke me." Michael shifts a little and carefully rearranges his flaccid, sticky dick out of range of Ian's stubble. "How are you moving?"
Ian lays his head on Michael's hip. "I have no idea." He rubs a hand up Michael's thigh. "Shower?"
"Not yet." Michael gets one of his hands in Ian's hair and dozes off for an undetermined amount of time. When he comes to again, Ian is asleep on his hip, and there's a note taped to the back of his hand.
Mikey-
We took the Aussies hostage to hit a couple of bars. See you later.
-Kraze
P.S. Nice penis.
Michael untapes the note from his hand and drops it to the floor. He shakes Ian's shoulder to wake him up, planning to get him into the shower so that they can both wash off, but Ian just drags himself up to Michael's pillow, takes over half, and falls asleep with one leg draped on Michael's thighs. Michael decides that he's comfortable enough and falls back asleep.
*
An hour after he's finished his last race, and ten minutes after his last interview for the time being, Michael walks into his room and finds Krazelberg and Ian sitting on opposite beds chatting. He waves tiredly at both of them and collapses onto his bed. "I'm so fuckin' tired."
"That's what you get for attempting every race under the sun, man." Krazelberg stands up and swats Michael's on the ass. "I'll leave you and Ian here to get some sleep. I'm gonna go find the guys. We'll be back later to take you out drinking."
"Whatever." Michael yawns and turns his head to find Ian laid out next to him. "Hey."
"Hey." Ian waits for the door to the room to click shut before he slides his hand up Michael's back. "You're done, then?"
"Yeah."
"Okay." Ian presses his fingertips into the top of Michael's spine and watches the other man smile softly at him. "Games are almost over."
"Yeah." Michael knows exactly where this conversation is going, and he's willing to have it, even if he is half-asleep. "I have to tour afterwards."
"So do I." Ian give a wry smile. "It's a shame we'll be on different continents."
"Are we cutting this off here, then?"
Ian shrugs. "I don't know. I don't really want to."
"Me neither." Michael yawns again and scoots over until he's using half of Ian for a pillow. "We'll see each other around."
"Yeah."
"Can we take it a competition at a time?"
Ian smiles into Michael's hair. "If I'm single and you're single, we'll use each other for sex?"
"Why not?"
Ian can't come up with a compelling reason not to. It's really the only solution they can work with that leaves them both with free sex. "No reason not to, I suppose."
"Great." Michael kisses the side of Ian's neck. "I'm gonna sleep." He slides an arm around Ian's waist and gets comfortable.
Ian arranges himself into the most comfortable position possible and falls asleep with him.
*
"So, what's the good word?" Krazelberg has been watching Michael like a hawk for signs of how they decided to settle things."
Michael shrugs. "We're swimmers. We'll see each other." He doesn't know just how bright his smile is.
Krazelberg claps him on the back and shoves him out the door of their room to head for the bus that will take them to the airport. "Good." He waits until Michael has the door locked before speaking again. "I think we should get the team together and vacation in Australia. I hear they have killer beaches."
Michael rolls his eyes. "Shut up, man." He's laughing as they get on the elevator.
