by Sean Michael
Mike nodded, leaning back as the waiter brought bread and salads. “You do. Although I did enjoy my daily french fries and chicken fried steak thing at Denny's.” His stomach hated it, but his mouth? Yum.
Jessy made a face, head shaking. “Back on your diet, baby. No more of this eating whatever you want shit."
"I lost six pounds off your diet. See? Proof you're trying to make me fat.” He ran his foot over Jessy's ankle, letting Jessy know he was just talking, just pushing to see where they were again.
"That's probably because you couldn't keep anything down off my diet.” Jessy's eyes were twinkling.
"I didn't throw up after every meal, you know.” God, the salad tasted good. Fresh and crisp and just right.
Jessy laughed, foot finding his leg and returning the caress. “Just every second one, right?"
"Maybe every second and a half. It depended on whether I ate breakfast.” He winked, buttered a slice of bread.
Jessy shook his head. “I suppose I can't bitch—I threw up every second morning, depending on how soon I doctored myself with whiskey.” He was given a wink and then Jessy changed the subject. “You looking forward to checking out the Olympic pool?"
He nodded. “Yeah. I'm all off my schedule. It's weird. Makes me uncomfortable, like I'm forgetting something."
Jessy took a long sip of his beer. “Your routine got royally screwed. You weren't swimming every day, you weren't eating the food you usually ate, you weren't staying away from the illegal stuff, and I wasn't fucking you silly twice a day. We'll get you back into a routine again in no time."
He sighed, frowned over. “I really need you to stop that."
He hadn't taken the drug on purpose. Hell, he hadn't even taken it by accident. Someone had fucked with him, and Jessy kept on like he was to blame somehow.
Jessy frowned. “Stop what?"
"You keep blaming me for the party. You keep insisting that I took something, that I did something. I drank a soda that a team member brought me. I didn't even know I was high. Hell, I was still high when I drove to Dallas.” Mike shrugged. “I just feel like you think I did something I should feel bad about, and I didn't."
Jessy was still frowning. “I didn't say a word about the party, Mike. All I was talking about was you not swimming and eating stuff you know I won't let you eat, you know—illegal. And I keep apologizing for not believing you at the party, I'm not sure what else you want me to do."
"Oh.” He blushed dark, eyes on his salad. Okay, so he was a big moron. “Sorry. I misunderstood."
Jessy reached out and squeezed his hand. “Well, obviously the whole drug thing is still sitting here with us or you wouldn't have. Do you really think I'm blaming you for what happened?"
"Maybe. I think part of you does.” He swallowed hard, forced the words out. “Because if you don't at all, then you wouldn't say that I ‘took’ it. We'd have to ask why you didn't trust me.” Because he'd not broken any of Jessy's rules. And the chocolate and Dr. Peppers were way harder.
Jessy ran his hand through his hair, sighing. “I'm sorry if my word choice bothers you, Mike, and I will try to be clear that I know you didn't take it, okay? And I do trust you. I do. More than I have ever trusted anyone in my life, ever, baby."
Jessy looked at him intently and nodded. “And maybe when you were high and I had no reason to know that you weren't that way through your own efforts, maybe a part of me that I didn't even know was waiting piped up. ‘There you go, Jessy, this one's gonna screw you just like all the rest of them have. ‘"
He nodded, playing with his salad. “There's part of you that doesn't believe in me. I guess that's just normal, huh?” Like the part of him that left without saying goodbye.
Jessy shook his head. “No, baby, you've got it backwards. There's a part of me that doesn't believe in me."
"What?” Jessy confused the hell out of him sometimes.
"Did you know that none of my swimmers have ever stayed with me, baby? I'm too strict, my rules are too hard, the west coast is warmer, the east coast is prettier, this coach gives away free cars; that one lets you stay out and party every night.” Jessy shrugged. “I guess I keep waiting for you to decide I'm more trouble than winning's worth. Maybe that's why I didn't come after you sooner."
"I don't stay with you because I want to win, Jessy. I stay because I need you.” He shrugged. “I just want to swim. I mean, I hate the no chocolate rule, I do, but I do it. I'm not smart enough to do this without you, I just run around in circles. I mean, Aunt Kathy's right, I'm nothing on my own. People don't hire swimmers in the real world."
"I don't ever want to hear you calling yourself nothing again, Michael Gaulliet. You are the most amazing swimmer I have ever seen. And that was before you even knew who Jessy Turner was.” Jessy shook his head. “I like that you need me, though, baby. It's good not to be doing that on your own."
He looked over. “So I'm not leaving. I just want to swim and be with you, maybe watch a movie a week."
"I think we can do better than just one movie a week, baby.” Jessy gave him a warm smile, blue eyes looking ... relieved, maybe, and happy. “I love you,” Jessy said quietly. “And I need you to know that swimming or no, I want you to be my lover."
Mike nodded. “And I need to swim, so I need you to be both."
"I can be both, baby.” Jessy gave him a grin. “I'm damn good at being both."
"Yeah. Yeah, you are.” He grinned, sat back as their meals came. “Even if you're unreasonable about the chocolate."
* * * *
They took the Metro to the pool, meeting up with a city worker who let them in and assured them they had the place booked nine to noon and two to four for the next two months. They needed to go by the office on their way out and sign for a key.
Jessy thanked the gentleman and grinned over at Mike. “Ready for your first taste of the Olympics?"
"I just want to get in the water.” Mike was restless, ready, almost bouncing with it.
He laughed, happy at that restlessness. Mike needed to want that water.
They made their way to the changing rooms and he got into his swimming trunks as well, waiting for Mike to notice—he hadn't told the kid he was going in, too.
Mike's eyes dragged along his body, going wide. “You're swimming with me?” The pleasure in that voice was gratifying.
He nodded, smiled. “I've always wanted to dip my toes in an Olympic pool. Besides, I figure I can coach easier across fifty meters if I'm swimming them with you."
"Cool. Let's go.” Yep. Bouncing. Eager.
Chuckling, he followed behind Mike. This was the real thing. Once upon a time, Olympic champions had walked along here with their coaches. World champions still did.
Mike's eyes were on the water, shining. Those arms were swinging, wide shoulders so strong. “Laps?"
"Yep. The usual order, fifty each. Don't worry when you leave me behind."
"Uh-huh. Turn the music on?” Mike wasn't even listening, moving toward the edge like an addict.
He chuckled and set up the CD player, turning on something loud and noisy that Mike liked, taking the time to watch Mike with the water.
He could already see things. See the way Mike took the first few laps to focus, to get into things. Mike did it in races, too. The kid had a slow first leg. Still, it didn't take long before Mike was in sync, pushing, sliding.
Not counting, but swimming.
He turned off the music, waiting for Mike to stop and look up at him, treading water. “How many's that, baby?” He wasn't called a hardass for nothing.
"Uh ... seven?"
He chuckled. “Start from the top and count this time, Mike."
He slipped into the water and started swimming himself, keeping pace with Mike for a while before the kid's pure talent and power left him behind. Mike moved well, staying far ahead. Being in the water like this, Jessy could match Mike's strokes with the rhythm of the music, the beat speeding up, pushing Mike as he tired.
&n
bsp; This was the Mike he knew, the Mike who had a love affair with two things in life—the water and him.
He was damned lucky to be a part of both of those.
Jessy finally got out of the water, not even trying to pretend that he could match Mike.
Finally Mike's head lifted, cheeks red, his baby panting. “What next?"
"Short sprints across the short length of the pool. Ten in a row as quick as you can.” Jessy was going to push Mike; they both needed to get back into a routine, to get back on track.
Mike nodded, wrinkled his nose, and started. Mike wasn't a sprinter, but even so, he was making good times, finding his rhythm four turns in.
He pondered that, pondered what to do to have Mike not need that first turn to feel the water out. For now, that wasn't a problem, he was more than making up the time on the subsequent laps, but they hit the world circuit and Mike would need to up the ante.
He had Mike up out of the water, on the blocks, starting, swimming fifty and then out again. It didn't take four laps before Mike started glaring, breathing hard, rumbling.
He got up on the blocks next to Mike. “Let's see if you can beat me in a simple fifty."
Mike bent over, stretched, breathing hard. “You're fresh. I'm not. That's cheating."
He glanced at the clock. “Okay, we'll save that for this afternoon. We'll break early this morning and you can have a nice, long shower before we do lunch."
"No way.” Mike shook his head, eyes going stubborn. “I didn't say I wouldn't swim it."
"But I'm going to beat you and you aren't going to believe it's because you have a slow first fifty. You notice I'm not suggesting a two hundred or a four hundred—you'd beat me in that without even trying."
"I know I have a slow first fifty, Coach. I always have. Otherwise I'd be a sprinter."
He chuckled and went over to Mike. “If you can gain even two strokes in your first lap, Mike, you'll be unbeatable."
"I try. I do, but it's like...” Mike shrugged, sat on the blocks. “I have to find the water first."
"Couldn't you find it in the first ten to fifteen meters?"
"I'm still under the water then, coach.” Mike chuckled. “I find it on the turn. You know that."
"I know. I know.” He rubbed Mike's arm, trying to wrap his brain around the problem. “What's so special about that first turn? It's almost like it isn't the water you need to find, but that first wall..."
Mike leaned against him, nodding. “Got to make the turn, push, go go go."
"But you need to go go go right from the start, Mike, not after hitting that first wall.” He frowned. “Have you always had that slow first fifty or is it only since I started coaching you?” Could he have somehow warped Mike on this, with his insistence on focusing on the wall?
"I've never won a fifty. Never even qualified in one.” Mike shrugged. “Is it my start or my strokes?"
"I'm not sure. I think you're just not pulling hard enough until you hit that first turn. I don't know why."
"It doesn't feel like I'm slacking, Coach."
"No, I don't imagine it's anything you're deliberately doing.” He walked around Mike, checked the clock again. “Give me another fifty and I want you to really concentrate on going all out for me. Then you can get out and do it again coming back. I want you to really try, Mike. Give it everything."
Mike nodded, got back on the blocks, and got ready, dove in. Jessy could see it, now that he was looking, see the way Mike was thinking about pushing, his body fighting the...
Jessy blinked.
The damned music.
Mike's music.
The first tracks of Mike's training CD—they built up and sped up. Mike trained a slow start.
He let Mike keep going, didn't change the music. He'd put a different tape in at the two o'clock practice, see if it made any difference.
He was almost bouncing by the time Mike got out of the water, looking despondent. “Come on, Mike, let's go and get some lunch.” He gave Mike a grin, clapped the lean back.
"You're cheery.” He got a look, Mike shaking just a little, breathing hard.
He nodded and grinned. “You're beautiful in the water, baby. Like a dream. It makes me happy.” He was going to keep his discovery to himself, just in case it worked out to be wrong. No reason to get both their hopes up.
Mike rolled his eyes, but grinned. “Weirdo."
He just grinned back at Mike. “Your weirdo."
"What's lunch? Burgers and fries?"
"Sure and you can have a half dozen Dr. Peppers and some chocolate cake to finish it up.” He gave Mike a look. “Actually, there's a place called Ben's. Supposedly the best smoked meat in North America."
"Smoked meat? Like brisket from Rudy's?"
"Yeah, but ‘Montreal style.'” He grinned. “Don't ask me—I'm just going by the flyer I found."
He led Mike into the changing room, both of them stripping down and getting dressed.
Mike was grumbling a bit, dark hair flopping into those eyes. “I shouldn't be so tired. I still have another workout this afternoon."
"Doesn't take very long for your body to go soft. Why do you think I insist on training full-time even when you've got months between meets?"
"Because otherwise you wouldn't have a job."
He laughed. “Brat. I do it so you stay in fighting shape. Swimming shape. Racing shape. Whatever.” He snapped his towel at Mike and finished getting dressed.
Mike chuckled, slid on jeans and a sweater. “Come on; feed me before I starve to death."
"That's right—you lost six pounds and I need to fatten you up.” Jessy grabbed their jackets and helped Mike into his and then they headed out, dropping by the office first to pick up a key so they could come in on their own.
He couldn't wait to get back here at two and test out his theory.
* * * *
He was full as a tick and half-queasy after lunch and Jessy insisted they go for a long walk, looking at music stores, grabbing the odds and ends for trail mix for the room. By the time they got back to the pool, he was feeling good, energized, ready to go.
Coach didn't get on his swimming trunks this time, but he was eager for them to get out to the pool, for Mike to start swimming, doing that odd almost bouncing thing again.
"Coach? You good?” He stripped and got his spare shorts on, rolling his shoulders. He grabbed his boom box.
Coach nodded and grinned, grabbing the boom box from him. “I got you some new music. Go on and get ready to do me a few fifty meter sprints. I'll turn it on for you."
"New music?” He frowned. “But ... I've been using the same CD for like ever."
Coach nodded. “I know. I just thought maybe it was time for a change. Oh, don't look at me like that, if you really hate it we can put your CD back in. Now get up on the block."
"Okay.” Mike got up, stretched. “I'm ready. Turn the music on?"
Jessy nodded, hitting the play button and the quick opening sequence of a worldbeat piece filled the air. Mike listened for a second, then dove into the water, pushing, moving with the thrum of the music for a bit before he found the quiet inside him and just swam, taking the turn without thought.
The music stopped, letting him know Coach wanted him.
He stopped, head popping up. “Yeah?"
"You're supposed to be swimming fifty meter sprints, baby, coming out of the water in between.” Coach looked pretty fucking happy, though, for a man who was telling him off.
"Oh. Sorry.” He hated the getting out of the water part.
He pulled himself up and out, getting back on the block and diving back in. The music came back on just as he hit the water, the beat fast and hard.
He moved across the pool, almost humming to himself, forcing himself not to make the turn. “How many times, Coach?"
"Five more, baby. I want to make sure it's not a fluke."
"Make sure what's not a fluke?” He pulled himself up, setting up again.
"Just d
o it five more times, Mike."
"Yes, Coach."
One. Two. Three.
Fuck, his legs were humming.
Four. Five.
On the fifth he took the turn and let his body go, took the next hundred and fifty yards, hard and fast, feeling it deep inside.
The music stopped as he came up to the wall and Coach was right there, just grinning at him. “And the crowd goes wild as Gaulliet wins the gold."
"Huh?” He grinned back. “You look happy."
Coach nodded. “You're not up to speed yet, but you weren't fighting the music this time out."
"Fighting the music?"
Coach grinned. “Your usual CD? Starts slow and builds. Just like you swim. You've been training slow out off the block. The new CD is fast to start with, you got into your fast pace more quickly. We'll need to work on it, but it won't take that long to get you trained right up to speed."
He blinked, eyes going wide. “Oh. Oh!"
Coach grinned at him, petted his arm. “Go on, get on the block and start swimming four hundreds."
"'kay.” He nodded, hopped up and started moving, swimming. For the first time in weeks, he felt ... right.
Natural.
Home.
Chapter Twelve
Friday night, Jessy was almost giddy. Four days of working on his start with the new music and already Mike was showing a marked improvement on his first racing lap. Mike was swimming well, too, body cutting through the water like he was born to it. Like he used to. With the added improvement of that starting lap being faster.
"What do you want to do to celebrate, baby?” he asked as Mike got dressed.
"Ice cream sundaes? Go for a walk and see stuff?” Mike's voice lowered. “Go back to the apartment and uh ... play?"
Jessy purred softly, cock just leaping. “I'll take door number three. As long as that's really what you want.” He didn't want to push his own desires on Mike if the kid wanted to go out and do a little honest partying.
"I want. Really.” Those eyes were dark, shining, wanting.
"Excellent. I brought the collar. The nipple clamps. And a plug.” Part of the trip was to find themselves again and the ways they played, as well as work on Mike and the water. And that had worked so well, he had high hopes for their sex life.
