Hot Jocks

by J. M. Snyder

  Only Chase never comes out of the pool. Eventually Rory has to get to class, so he washes up alone. As he towels off and dresses in the empty locker room, he hears splashing coming from the pool, so he knows Chase hasn’t left the fitness center yet. Maybe after practice later they can hook up again. Maybe Rory will invite Chase over for pizza and a movie, and the evening will end with the two of them twined together in his single bed, the door locked to keep his roommate out. He isn’t sexually active, but he thinks he has a couple of condoms squirreled away in a desk drawer somewhere. The health center put them in care packages given to all incoming students every semester, and Rory never bothered throwing them away. Now he’s glad he held onto them.

  Maybe he’s getting ahead of himself, but he doesn’t think so. The look in Chase’s eyes as he leaned above Rory said everything neither swimmer managed to put into words. Showing up in the morning when Rory was the only person at the pool, keeping up with him in all the heats, flirting with him in front of their teammates and the coach—it’s obvious Chase isn’t trying to piss him off, no. Chase has the hots for him. Of course he does. Why didn’t Rory see it before?

  And really, why shouldn’t Chase be interested in him? He’s at the peak of his athletic career, primed for greatness, on the verge of launching into the stratosphere. Who wouldn’t want to get with him? To tame him, to lay claim to him, to call him their own? He knows many of the girls who come to their competitions sigh and swoon over him—he’s heard his name called out from the stands in dozens of delighted voices. Flirtatious smiles follow him around campus. So it’s really no surprise Chase is simply as star-struck as all the rest.

  Lucky for his teammate, Rory thinks he might let himself be persuaded to return Chase’s interest. Life doesn’t have to be only about swimming all the time, does it?

  * * * *

  In class, Rory can’t concentrate. His mind keeps returning to how Chase’s hot mouth felt wrapped around his hot cock, how Chase’s tongue could possibly be both soft and hard at the same time, and how cool the tiles were beneath his damp, bare ass. If he’d known it felt so damn good too hook up with someone else, hell, he would’ve blown his scholarship years ago.

  Even though he’s close to graduating from college, Rory is painfully aware that he’s still a virgin, in almost every sense of the word. It isn’t that he’s not interested—well, no, wait, he really isn’t. Or rather, he wasn’t, until now. He’s always been so focused, so set on his training, that everything else fell by the wayside. His parents never pushed him into dating; his mother knows he’s gay, and she made it clear when he was in high school she’d rather he reach his goals while he’s young and relax later. Professional athletes might be able to party all night, hanging out in bars in Las Vegas or flying around the world with supermodels, only to show up the next morning in pristine condition and do their best on the playing field. But the average athlete isn’t that lucky. Rory knows he has to keep to a strict regime if he wants to be the best in the pool. There will be time enough for fun when he has an Olympic medal to his name.

  But maybe he’s been missing out on something. Every weekend his roommates stay out late at frat houses drinking, or pass out until noon when they wake up with hangovers from the night before. Half-dressed girls slink out of their apartment at all hours; Rory’s run into a few while leaving for his early morning jogs. They look disheveled and used, but maybe that’s part of the appeal? Maybe there’s something in letting go and giving in, relaxing a little, not being number one all the time?

  He doesn’t know. The only date he ever went on ended disastrously when he discovered the guy swam for an opposing team. But that’s the good thing about Chase, isn’t it? He’s already on the same team. So there should be no competition, right? No reason why they can’t get together, right?

  By the time practice rolls around, Rory has concocted a myriad of scenarios in his mind for how the rest of the evening will play out. They all start the same—he makes some flirtatious comment on the starting block, turning Chase’s grin his way—but they each end differently. The tame ones stop at a shared dinner at the campus cafe, but Rory’s imagination doesn’t stop there. He has them showering together in the locker room, soap stinging in sensitive places as Chase’s fingers fondle between his legs, or crashing on the sofa in his apartment, fumbling to undress without taking their hands or lips off each other, or crying out Chase’s name as they finally put one of those health center condoms to good use, Rory arching beneath his teammate as they couple on his narrow bed.

  He doesn’t know where the night will lead, but after the morning they shared, he’s up for just about anything.

  * * * *

  By the time practice rolls around, Rory can’t wait to see Chase again. In his mind, they’re as good as dating—even though they haven’t actually gone on a date yet. Love and hate are two sides of the same coin, Rory thinks as he hurries over to the fitness center after his last class. Not that he’s in love—not yet—but he could see himself getting there one day. Hell, a few more practice sessions like the one they shared this morning and he just might forget all about swimming at some point…

  He chuckles at the thought. Nah, that will never happen. But it’s nice to have something other than the pool to look forward to in the afternoons. His dick already twitches in anticipation.

  A few of his teammates are already in the water by the time he changes to emerge from the locker room; others mill around Coach Sweeney, checking their rankings. Today’s heats are the last official placements before Saturday’s competition. Rory doesn’t have to check with her to know he’s still seated in top position—all he has to do is glance at the scoreboard on his way to the starting blocks.

  The name under his comes as a bit of a surprise, though he tells himself it shouldn’t. Given Chase’s talent in the water—and out of it, too, he adds silently with a grin—Rory should’ve known sooner or later C. Cohen would stay up there in the number two slot. What draws him up short, though, is the average swim time beside Chase’s name, because it’s dangerously close to Rory’s time. Each semester, their averages zero out, so even though Rory’s been on the team longer than Chase, it’s still fairly early and the new recruit has managed to close the gap between them in no time.

  Yesterday that might’ve troubled Rory. Today, though, it only makes his grin widen. If he’s going to date anyone on the team, it should be the best swimmer. Well, the best swimmer who isn’t him. So as much as he isn’t sure yet just what his feelings might be about his teammate, he’s glad the guy was persistent in pursuing him. Saturday’s competition won’t know what hits them. If one of the other swimmers can step it up and hold third place during the meet, maybe they can even sweep the podium.

  When he reaches the first starting block, he sees Chase already stretching up on the second. As he tucks his hair under his cap, Rory takes a moment to admire his teammate’s fit muscles flexing and bulging in all the right places. It’s only after he notices Chase notice him that he says, “Hey there.”

  Chase flashes him a quick, distracted smile. “Hey yourself.”

  “I see you’re right up under me in the rankings.” Lowering his voice, Rory teases, “Unlike this morning, when I was under you.”

  Another quick grin, and Chase says, “Maybe we can get back to that after these heats.”

  Rory laughs. In the tight confines of his swim briefs, his cock throbs with sudden desire. Yeah, he’d like that all right. His mind floods with images—maybe they can get together in the locker room this time, after the rest of the team leave, or hell, in a shower stall with everyone right within earshot, his voice echoing off the tiled walls, how would that go down? He can only imagine. Between thinking of hooking up with Chase again and watching his teammate stretch and preen on the starting block, Rory misses the coach’s shout for marks. It’s only when he sees Chase crouch down that he realizes the first heat is about to start.

  Quickly, he tries to shake off the excess energ
y flooding through him. He isn’t usually like this going into a swim. He has to stay calm and collected, distanced, above it all. But suddenly his arms and legs tingle with rushing blood, his cock pounds in time with the beating of his heart, his cap is too tight across his scalp, and his goggles—God! His goggles!

  He pats his head and finds them, thankfully, tucked up on his crown out of sight. Pulling them down into place, he blinks and fiddles with the straps, and still can’t quite get them positioned just right.

  He hears the squeak of sneakers on concrete from somewhere to his right, then Coach Sweeney snaps, “We’re waiting on you here, Holt.”

  “I’m ready,” he says, though he really isn’t. He still hasn’t centered himself, or positioned his feet on the block the way he likes them before he dives, and he’s painfully aware that the rest of his teammates are crouched down, ready to hit the water.

  When did he get so discombobulated?

  Taking a deep breath in the hopes of steadying himself, he places both feet on the edge of the block and leans down over them. As soon as he does, he realizes his mistake; he usually leads off on his left foot. Both won’t give him the momentum he needs to push past the other swimmers. He might be able to switch…

  Too late. The starting beeper sounds and there’s a flurry of motion to his left as the other swimmers vault off the starting blocks into the pool. Rory has to reposition his feet before he can jump so he’s seconds behind—nothing much, but the few precious seconds are more than enough to put Chase in a considerable lead. By the time Rory is halfway down the length of his lane, he catches sight of his teammate tumbling off the far wall and circling back.

  Damn.

  Rory pushes harder, trying to catch up, but he knows when Chase passes him that it’s a losing battle. This is why he doesn’t socialize at practice, why he stays focused, why he stays centered. This is why he doesn’t let his teammates get to him, in any way, at any time.

  He can’t believe he might actually lose.

  The thought is so foreign to him that, for a moment, he almost thinks he wins, even though he hears the coach’s whistle while he’s still pulling through the water. Then he thinks maybe the heat’s being called for some reason—the coach realizes something’s wrong, there was a false start, something happened, and they have to retake the starting blocks. It’s only when he reaches the end of the pool and surfaces that he sees Chase towered above him, that damn shit-eating grin in place. Chase leans down, water dripping off his arms and chest, goggles still firmly in place over his eyes, and offers Rory a hand.

  As Rory takes it, Chase lifts him up from the water and claps him on the back. “I win again,” he jokes.

  “What?” Rory peels off his goggles and squints around. The other swimmers are just now reaching the end of their laps. “I heard the whistle…”

  “Because I won.”

  Wrapping a damp arm around Rory’s wet shoulders, Chase turns him towards the scoreboard and points up at their names, written out on the LED display. For a moment, everything seems okay; then the time beside Rory’s name flickers, and suddenly the entire row winks out and Chase’s name jumps up a notch, replacing it. R. Holt falls to second place—second!

  Rory grunts in surprise. “What the hell?”

  Chase leans close and murmurs into his ear, “Told you I’d top you again. Only this time everyone can see.”

  “I wasn’t…” Rory’s voice dries up; words fail him. He pushes Chase away and tries again. “I was only off by less than a minute! How can you…”

  But he knows how. His time was reset at the start of the semester, same as everyone else on the team. And when classes started again, he easily rose to the top because—let’s face it—he’s the best swimmer they have. Or, rather, he was the best. He never had to fight for first place before. He just sort of rose to the top after a few practices, and no one ever managed to catch up.

  Until Chase.

  Now he wonders if the guy didn’t target him from the start. Is there any sincerity in his affections? Did the moment they share this morning even mean anything to him?

  When Rory turns to stare at him, Chase is still grinning, as if this is all some sort of grand joke to him. Doesn’t he know how long Rory’s worked for that coveted spot at the top of the scoreboard? Doesn’t he understand how torturous it is to Rory to lose it, especially by a few measly seconds to a newbie on the team?

  As others catch the name change on the board, murmurs start up around the pool. Rory hears gasps and murmurs, then a few laughs, and someone cries out, “About damn time!” He feels heat rising from his neck to color his cheeks and ears, a smoldering that has nothing to do with the way his libido raged before the race. Now Chase’s touch sears his skin, and Rory steps out from under his teammate’s arm, distancing himself.

  In a low, bitter voice, he hisses, “You used me.”

  Chase’s smile falters. “What? No. I just—I swam better, that’s all. You were late off the block—”

  “Because you distracted me,” Rory snaps.

  With a laugh, Chase says, “Well, whatever. You caught up real fast, I’ll give you that, and for a moment I honestly thought you’d win anyway, but I pushed through so I guess now I’m number one.”

  He reaches for Rory’s arm, but Rory slaps his hand away. “Don’t.”

  Chase’s smile disappears completely. “What? It’s just a heat. C’mon, you aren’t mad at me about it, are you?”

  When he takes a step closer, Rory gives him a hard shove that sends him stumbling into the nearest starting block. “Just fuck off and leave me alone. I was right about you all along.”

  * * * *

  Things only continue to go downhill for Rory as practice progresses. He just can’t seem to get back his game. The moment Coach Sweeney moves him to the second starting block, he doesn’t win a single heat. None of the other swimmers come near his time, but try as he might, he can’t seem to overtake Chase for the lead position.

  Which means he won’t start in Saturday’s competition as he expected. And the more he dwells on it, the worse his performance gets. He just can’t seem to catch a break.

  When he realizes he isn’t going to win back his spot on the team, he hangs around the coach’s office, waiting for practice to finish. Finally Sweeney calls it a day, and as everyone files back towards the locker room, Rory waits by her door. She glances up from her clipboard to see him standing there and gives him a wry grin. “You’re dripping on my floor.”

  He steps out of the doorway and back onto the concrete that edges the pool tiles. “Sorry. Look, about my time—”

  “You disappointed me today,” she admits, ducking into her office to deposit the clipboard on her desk. Then she leans against the door jamb, arms crossed in front of her chest, and looks past him at the scoreboard. “I was only half-kidding when I said the new kid was better than you. I didn’t think you’d let it ruin your game.”

  Great, now he has to hear it from her, too. “I didn’t—”

  “I just hope he can stand the pressure Saturday,” she continues, not giving him a chance to defend himself. “I’m more than a little worried having a noob as our starter in the first competition of the semester.”

  Rory takes a deep breath. “Actually, that worries me, too.” Really, no, it doesn’t—what worries him is his not being the starter at the meet. Rory doesn’t care if Chase comes in dead last, as long as he doesn’t get to go out first. “Listen, our times are so close, and it’s sort of a fluke, really, him beating me today, so if you still want me to start on Saturday, I don’t mind…”

  But Sweeney shakes her head. Rory’s hands curl into fists at his side in frustration. “No, this is good, I think. For him and you. Get him acclimated to competition, and deflate that overblown ego of yours a little. The world won’t end if you come in on the second race. I’m sure there are plenty of people who’ll be happy to see a fresh face in the starting position for once. Your teammates included.”

 
; She turns away and disappears into her office, leaving him to stand there strumming with anger. What ego? And who all wants to see someone else in his place at the head of the team? He’d sure like to know.

  You know what? Fuck it. He storms off to the locker room, where he pulls on a pair of sweats over his damp swim briefs and yanks a T-shirt over his head. Everything else is crammed into his duffel bag. He ignores the catcalls from the other swimmers, the stares, the whispers. He doesn’t see Chase—not that he’s looking, he isn’t, but even if he was, Chase isn’t hanging around the lockers, which means he’s either in the showers or he’s already left. Rory doesn’t know which it is, and cares even less.

  It’s apparent to him now that no one wants him to succeed. He’s the only one who cares if he’s in the top spot on the team. He’s the only one who has his own best interests at heart. So why does he break his back trying to bring the team glory at these damn meets in the first place? If none of his fucking teammates even want to see him win, why’s he even bother?

  The competition is in two days. As he wrestles with his clothing, he decides he isn’t going to bother to get in any extra practice. No more getting up at the crack of dawn, jogging three miles to get his blood pumping, then swimming laps until it’s time to make his first class. Why go to the trouble? Who’ll even care?

  Besides, giving up his morning swim will be the best way to avoid any unnecessary or awkward time alone with Chase. Rory can deal with him at practice as long as everyone else is around, but it’s better not to open himself up to temptation. Not that he’d do anything with the jerk again. Well, to be honest, he hadn’t planned to do anything this morning, either. So giving up the solo swim time will nip whatever might have been brewing between them in the bud.

  I’ll tell you what it was between us, Rory thinks, slamming his locker shut. He catches sight of Chase exiting the showers—chest bare and beaded with water, dark hair slicked back, nothing but a thin towel dangerously slung over narrow hips. Chase sees him looking and grins, but Rory scowls and turns away.