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Title: Drabble
Author: icebear_cw
Fandom: Swim RPF
Pairing: Uhm... :P AP/MP
Timeline: World Championships 2005
Rating: PG 13
Notes: story for J.
Not the best ever... I am not really out of this fandom but yeah...
Sorry, no beta here...
He snores. You swear he does, but of course no one believes you. How can a nice, laidback person like him snore? Which is stupid, really. He snores like he is cutting down trees or something. And it drives you crazy, so crazy that you take that as an excuse for your poor attempt of a 400m freestyle race.
“He snores. Really, Bob he does. And.. and I didn’t get enough sleep.” You put on your best puppy-look you can manage despite your own disappointment. But you know he does not take it, will not let you get away with it. Bob knows what’s wrong and makes sure you do as well. After it you slink back, yes slink is the right word to describe it, into the ranks and try not to let the stares get to you. Which of course is hard. You are the wonder boy who is supposed to always win. And yes you hate to lose and you hate it even more when you know that you haven’t given your best. But those stares, telling you “We told you so” hurt far more than anything else. You can picture Thorpe gloating over it and you are sure you will receive a message or a call. Once you were eager to talk to him, even after upsets. But not anymore, those times are gone and you don’t even care anymore why. So since you don’t want to think about the whole debacle you sink back into your theory that his snores are the real reason behind you not swimming well this morning.
The snores. This nerve-wrecking, highly annoying noise which drives you nuts. At least they did last night or so you tell yourself. You know you slept quite good once you fell asleep. The problem most of the night was to actually fall asleep. Your mind wanders, as always when you think about nights with him. Not that you did anything, not fucking likely during a major meet. So you are sex-deprived, frustrated and tired. No wonder no one wants to sit next to you right now or at breakfast. You probably should apologize to Nat for barking at her. She really couldn’t have known that waffles were your drug. How could she, she was either miraculously sick at World Champs or into some kind of bitch war during Athens and refused to take part in team dinners. Oh yes, you definitely are your lovely, sex-deprived and absolutely bitchy self this morning. So you probably shouldn’t think about nights with him when being like that and sitting in the middle of your team during World Championships prelims. The outcome might be even more disastrous than your swim. Not every one on the team is liberal towards young men not having their body under control. As if they would cope any better under the circumstances.
You almost have yourself convinced that his snore were and still are the reason for all evil. You know you just want to blame someone or something else but you. But that doesn’t matter right bow, because his snore are evil anyway. A little voice inside your head, suspiciously sounding like your 5-year-old self, is repeating a newly acquired mantra over and over again. ‘It wasn’t my fault. Nope. It was him. He started it and now I am not swimming good. He is bad. It wasn’t.. It isn’t my fault. Nope. Nope. Nope.’ You are waiting for the stomping of feet and the throwing to the ground. The mere thought of that cracks you up. And they are staring at you again. All you can do is shrug and sink back into your seat. They already think you are insane for being as good as your are. So the little quirks just add to your reputation within the team. Oh they all love or at least like you but you are sure some of them think of you as a complete lunatic sometimes.
He pats you on the back and you actually jump. “Sorry.”
You shrug and say it’s okay. And then you are back to the 5-year-old self. This morning seems to be prone to such mean attacks of your multiple personalities. You know you shouldn’t make jokes about that but you can’t help it. You are a teenager. Okay, not really but you just turned 20, so you have some weeks time to get yourself acquainted to the new number. So the 5-year-old you has the stage right now. You pout, cross your arms over your breast and look at him from under your lashes. He looks stunned for a second and then he cracks up. You should have known it. He never takes you serious when you like that. But does he has to be so loud with not taking you serious? The eyes are back on you. On both of you this time and you pout even more. Bob just shakes his had but he is not angry, not anymore, which eases your mood a bit. You look back to the seat next to you. He is still laughing. In fact, he is laughing so hard that you have to grin as well. It is infectious. Really.
“It’s your fault.” You say under your giggles.
“Is that so? And why?”
“You snore.”
He is stunned again, this time it takes him longer to crack up. You are prepared for any excuses and the denial he will certainly come up with. You are not prepared though for the wink and the twinkle in his eyes.
“You shouldn’t be able to know that.”
“Huh?”
“You know that you are supposed to sleep in your own bed and not in mine. If you do that you won’t have problems with me snoring. You wouldn‘t hear it.” Damn him. Why does he have to be right? So it is my fault now that he snores and that I could hear it? That. Is. Not. Fair. Not at all. You feel like the 5-year-old running up and down in your mind screaming ‘Nope’ because you actually don’t have a good come-back to what ha just said.
“But… I.. But.” You know you are gaping slightly at him. He pats you again, stronger this time. More intimate in a way. His fingers remain on your back now, you feel the warmth through your shirt. You crave the touch and you know that waffles are not the only drug you might be addicted to. Drugs should be bad right? You don’t even try to suppress the small smile creeping around your lips and you can see it reflecting in his eyes.
“I know. You can’t sleep without me. You should be used to it by now. Me snoring. Don’t you think?”
“Yes. I guess so.” He got you and you know it. All of your defenses, your justifications, your trial build up on the fact that he snores are crashed. And he did it so easily. You sink all the way back into the seat. He managed it again. He always does, more than Bob will ever be able to. He only needs a few words to show you everything. And you always know exactly what he means. It has been more than once a reason for major arguments. You hate it sometimes, this ability to look right through you. You wonder if you will ever be able to read him the same way. He is looking at you now, waiting.
“So?”
You shrug and he is about to stand up and leave you alone. You stop him.
“So.. I should have stayed in my own bed and should have not crept into your room. And… I wasn’t as prepared as I thought I was. It was rookie mistake and Bob had every right to chew my ass out. I know all that. And yes, I was a teenager” You are proud of yourself.
“See, it wasn’t that hard, was it?” He is smirking.
Asshole. “Fuck you.“ You are smiling back at him though.
The almost inaudible clapping next to you indicates that someone else thinks you have grown up immensely in the last 10 minutes. And of course it is Bob. And of course he somehow adopted that damned smirk. You know the question lying behind his raised eyebrows and nod slightly. “Your own room. Your own bed. For the rest of the meet. I thought that was clear from the beginning on. I should have known it, but I thought you would be intelligent enough to figure it our on your own. And you really want me to treat you like an adult? Your are not behaving like one.”
“Yes sir.”
“Uhuh?”
“My own bed. I am sorry.”
Bob nods this time, seems to be satisfied which is not really his trademark feature. “Get one of his shirts and wear it. If I should see you close to his room I will lock you away for the rest of this meet. You don’t want to mess up his races, too, do you? Understood?”
“Yes.”
He looks at us both with a pointing stare and joins Salo again to watch Brendan race his prelim.
You feel his hand on your back again, he is scratching you slightly through the shirt. You shiver and turn around. “I feel like 15 again. That’s not fair. Okay, I know I was dumb.. But…”
“Ssshhh.. I know. But answer me this: you can sleep without me in Michigan, why not here?”
“You are here. Close. You know? I… I have no idea.”
“Awwww.. That is soooo sweet,”
“Oh fuck you.”
“You already said that. But no, not this week. Sorry. And it still is sweet in a way.”
This time you hit him. Gently on the arm but still so that he will feel it for some time. “Asshole. You know what I mean. Just.. Oh fuck it… I don’t know okay? I just thought it would be better to sleep in your bed. Nothing else.”
“Okay. So?”
“So?”
“You want one of my shirts?”
Just when you want to answer he is screaming his lungs out for Hansen and you feel the sudden urge to stomp on his foot to regain his attention. But then he is back and all yours, smiling crookedly.
“Okay. But not one with a fucking cow on it.”
“Why not?”
“I am a Wolverine. I eat cows.”
“That you do.”
And you hit him again. Next to you Larsen and Klete are playing some variant of catch me only sitting. I think they are using that to either make someone jealous with their constant touching or as some kind of foreplay. Urgh, bad mental image. And why the hell are you distracted that easily by them. You look back at him and smile.
“I want the blue one. From Santa Clara.”
He grins, winks again and turns towards Brendan who is climbing back into the ranks
And you know you will get a cow as well.
Author: icebear_cw
Fandom: Swim RPF
Pairing: Uhm... :P AP/MP
Timeline: World Championships 2005
Rating: PG 13
Notes: story for J.
Not the best ever... I am not really out of this fandom but yeah...
Sorry, no beta here...
He snores. You swear he does, but of course no one believes you. How can a nice, laidback person like him snore? Which is stupid, really. He snores like he is cutting down trees or something. And it drives you crazy, so crazy that you take that as an excuse for your poor attempt of a 400m freestyle race.
“He snores. Really, Bob he does. And.. and I didn’t get enough sleep.” You put on your best puppy-look you can manage despite your own disappointment. But you know he does not take it, will not let you get away with it. Bob knows what’s wrong and makes sure you do as well. After it you slink back, yes slink is the right word to describe it, into the ranks and try not to let the stares get to you. Which of course is hard. You are the wonder boy who is supposed to always win. And yes you hate to lose and you hate it even more when you know that you haven’t given your best. But those stares, telling you “We told you so” hurt far more than anything else. You can picture Thorpe gloating over it and you are sure you will receive a message or a call. Once you were eager to talk to him, even after upsets. But not anymore, those times are gone and you don’t even care anymore why. So since you don’t want to think about the whole debacle you sink back into your theory that his snores are the real reason behind you not swimming well this morning.
The snores. This nerve-wrecking, highly annoying noise which drives you nuts. At least they did last night or so you tell yourself. You know you slept quite good once you fell asleep. The problem most of the night was to actually fall asleep. Your mind wanders, as always when you think about nights with him. Not that you did anything, not fucking likely during a major meet. So you are sex-deprived, frustrated and tired. No wonder no one wants to sit next to you right now or at breakfast. You probably should apologize to Nat for barking at her. She really couldn’t have known that waffles were your drug. How could she, she was either miraculously sick at World Champs or into some kind of bitch war during Athens and refused to take part in team dinners. Oh yes, you definitely are your lovely, sex-deprived and absolutely bitchy self this morning. So you probably shouldn’t think about nights with him when being like that and sitting in the middle of your team during World Championships prelims. The outcome might be even more disastrous than your swim. Not every one on the team is liberal towards young men not having their body under control. As if they would cope any better under the circumstances.
You almost have yourself convinced that his snore were and still are the reason for all evil. You know you just want to blame someone or something else but you. But that doesn’t matter right bow, because his snore are evil anyway. A little voice inside your head, suspiciously sounding like your 5-year-old self, is repeating a newly acquired mantra over and over again. ‘It wasn’t my fault. Nope. It was him. He started it and now I am not swimming good. He is bad. It wasn’t.. It isn’t my fault. Nope. Nope. Nope.’ You are waiting for the stomping of feet and the throwing to the ground. The mere thought of that cracks you up. And they are staring at you again. All you can do is shrug and sink back into your seat. They already think you are insane for being as good as your are. So the little quirks just add to your reputation within the team. Oh they all love or at least like you but you are sure some of them think of you as a complete lunatic sometimes.
He pats you on the back and you actually jump. “Sorry.”
You shrug and say it’s okay. And then you are back to the 5-year-old self. This morning seems to be prone to such mean attacks of your multiple personalities. You know you shouldn’t make jokes about that but you can’t help it. You are a teenager. Okay, not really but you just turned 20, so you have some weeks time to get yourself acquainted to the new number. So the 5-year-old you has the stage right now. You pout, cross your arms over your breast and look at him from under your lashes. He looks stunned for a second and then he cracks up. You should have known it. He never takes you serious when you like that. But does he has to be so loud with not taking you serious? The eyes are back on you. On both of you this time and you pout even more. Bob just shakes his had but he is not angry, not anymore, which eases your mood a bit. You look back to the seat next to you. He is still laughing. In fact, he is laughing so hard that you have to grin as well. It is infectious. Really.
“It’s your fault.” You say under your giggles.
“Is that so? And why?”
“You snore.”
He is stunned again, this time it takes him longer to crack up. You are prepared for any excuses and the denial he will certainly come up with. You are not prepared though for the wink and the twinkle in his eyes.
“You shouldn’t be able to know that.”
“Huh?”
“You know that you are supposed to sleep in your own bed and not in mine. If you do that you won’t have problems with me snoring. You wouldn‘t hear it.” Damn him. Why does he have to be right? So it is my fault now that he snores and that I could hear it? That. Is. Not. Fair. Not at all. You feel like the 5-year-old running up and down in your mind screaming ‘Nope’ because you actually don’t have a good come-back to what ha just said.
“But… I.. But.” You know you are gaping slightly at him. He pats you again, stronger this time. More intimate in a way. His fingers remain on your back now, you feel the warmth through your shirt. You crave the touch and you know that waffles are not the only drug you might be addicted to. Drugs should be bad right? You don’t even try to suppress the small smile creeping around your lips and you can see it reflecting in his eyes.
“I know. You can’t sleep without me. You should be used to it by now. Me snoring. Don’t you think?”
“Yes. I guess so.” He got you and you know it. All of your defenses, your justifications, your trial build up on the fact that he snores are crashed. And he did it so easily. You sink all the way back into the seat. He managed it again. He always does, more than Bob will ever be able to. He only needs a few words to show you everything. And you always know exactly what he means. It has been more than once a reason for major arguments. You hate it sometimes, this ability to look right through you. You wonder if you will ever be able to read him the same way. He is looking at you now, waiting.
“So?”
You shrug and he is about to stand up and leave you alone. You stop him.
“So.. I should have stayed in my own bed and should have not crept into your room. And… I wasn’t as prepared as I thought I was. It was rookie mistake and Bob had every right to chew my ass out. I know all that. And yes, I was a teenager” You are proud of yourself.
“See, it wasn’t that hard, was it?” He is smirking.
Asshole. “Fuck you.“ You are smiling back at him though.
The almost inaudible clapping next to you indicates that someone else thinks you have grown up immensely in the last 10 minutes. And of course it is Bob. And of course he somehow adopted that damned smirk. You know the question lying behind his raised eyebrows and nod slightly. “Your own room. Your own bed. For the rest of the meet. I thought that was clear from the beginning on. I should have known it, but I thought you would be intelligent enough to figure it our on your own. And you really want me to treat you like an adult? Your are not behaving like one.”
“Yes sir.”
“Uhuh?”
“My own bed. I am sorry.”
Bob nods this time, seems to be satisfied which is not really his trademark feature. “Get one of his shirts and wear it. If I should see you close to his room I will lock you away for the rest of this meet. You don’t want to mess up his races, too, do you? Understood?”
“Yes.”
He looks at us both with a pointing stare and joins Salo again to watch Brendan race his prelim.
You feel his hand on your back again, he is scratching you slightly through the shirt. You shiver and turn around. “I feel like 15 again. That’s not fair. Okay, I know I was dumb.. But…”
“Ssshhh.. I know. But answer me this: you can sleep without me in Michigan, why not here?”
“You are here. Close. You know? I… I have no idea.”
“Awwww.. That is soooo sweet,”
“Oh fuck you.”
“You already said that. But no, not this week. Sorry. And it still is sweet in a way.”
This time you hit him. Gently on the arm but still so that he will feel it for some time. “Asshole. You know what I mean. Just.. Oh fuck it… I don’t know okay? I just thought it would be better to sleep in your bed. Nothing else.”
“Okay. So?”
“So?”
“You want one of my shirts?”
Just when you want to answer he is screaming his lungs out for Hansen and you feel the sudden urge to stomp on his foot to regain his attention. But then he is back and all yours, smiling crookedly.
“Okay. But not one with a fucking cow on it.”
“Why not?”
“I am a Wolverine. I eat cows.”
“That you do.”
And you hit him again. Next to you Larsen and Klete are playing some variant of catch me only sitting. I think they are using that to either make someone jealous with their constant touching or as some kind of foreplay. Urgh, bad mental image. And why the hell are you distracted that easily by them. You look back at him and smile.
“I want the blue one. From Santa Clara.”
He grins, winks again and turns towards Brendan who is climbing back into the ranks
And you know you will get a cow as well.
