“Who’s that?” Eames asked Tom Daley, pointing to the very fit American swimmer on the platform, waiting to take a dive in the prelims.
“Oh, that’s Arthur. Arthur Cohen. American, well you can see that from his uniform, quite good. Got a silver in Beijing. Good candidate for gold this year.” Tom rattled off what he knew about his competitor.
“I didn’t see him in the synchro earlier,” Eames mused.
“No, he doesn’t do synchro. A bit of a perfectionist that one, doesn’t like to depend on anyone else. Plans all his own dives any everything. He’ll make a hell of a coach once he retires.”
“Hmmm.” Eames tapped his chin, watching Arthur take his dive, his movements exact, his lines straight.
“Want me to introduce you?” Tom asked, nudging Eames a bit.
“Does he swing that way?” Eames asked, raising his eyebrow.
“Oh yeah,” Tom grinned.
“Personal experience?” Eames raised his other eyebrow.
“Haha, no, but he’s got a bit of a reputation from diving meets. If you’ve got some tension to work off, he’s definitely good for mutual hand jobs in the locker room. And then he’ll come out and do a perfect dive.”
“Interesting,” Eames responded. “No boyfriend though?”
“Haha, nope, I’m pretty sure all he does is train and eat and sleep.”
“Well thank you, Tom, this has been quite enlightening. I think I’ll go congratulate him on his excellent dive.” Eames strolled off toward the hot tube where Arthur was soaking after his dive.
“Lovely dive, that,” Eames bent down and said near Arthur’s ear. Arthur started, he hadn’t been expecting anyone to talk to him.
“Oh, thanks,” Arthur said, finally, his tone making it clear that he did not wish to continue the conversation.
“Hi, I’m Eames,” Eames said, popping a squat down next to the hot tub, making it clear that he intended to continue their conversation.
“That’s nice,” Arthur said flatly, suggesting that he didn’t find it nice at all.
“It is, innit. I’m a swimmer, just here to support my mate Tommy, over there,” Eames pointed to Tom Daley, “And I saw you dive and thought to myself, ‘if that isn’t the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,’ and decided I had to come over and introduce myself.” Eames was pulling out all the charm in his arsenal, but it didn’t seem to be making a dent in Arthur’s armor of indifference.
“You’ve introduced yourself.” Arthur said, leaning back and closing his eyes, his dismissal obvious.
“Indeed,” Eames responded, at a loss for what to do next. “Well, I’ll see you around Arthur.”
And he did see Arthur around. Strangely enough, almost everywhere he went the rest of the day, he kept seeing Arthur. Finally, Eames walked up to him that evening.
“Are you stalking me, Mr. Eames?” Arthur spat out.
Eames held up his hands in protest. “What? No! I was just coming over because it seems like everywhere I went today I kept seeing you. I was going to say it was fate and offer to buy you a drink.”
“Oh,” Arthur said, his fury aborted. “Okay.”
“Okay you can buy me a drink. I don’t have any dives tomorrow. Let’s go.” Arthur was still all business, although no longer furious.
Three drinks in and Eames still felt off-kilter around Arthur, who was still nursing his first.
“You don’t have a lot of fun, do you,” Eames asked.
“A lot of people say that. I have fun. I’m just focused on my goals. I don’t let things get in the way of accomplishing them. I know how to have fun though,” Arthur gave Eames an appraising look. “I’d suggest that we go have a little fun, but I’m not quite sure you’re sober enough.”
“Arthur, if you are suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, I have been aching for your cock in my arse since I saw it filling out your tiny little speedo this morning. I will get sober if that is what you require of me. I will go jump in that very cold pool if you want.”
Arthur bit back a smile. “No, I think you’ll probably be fine. Do you want to go back to my room, or...?”
“D’you have a roommate? I’m with some other blokes from the swim team.”
“Yeah, but he might be out. Let’s go check.” They walked back to the American dorm, with only a few minor public groping incidents, but found Arthur’s door locked with a swim cap covering the knob.
“Well then, how do you feel about hand jobs in hallways?” Arthur asked, pushing Eames against the wall.
“Christ, Tom was right about you,” Eames muttered as he reached for Arthur’s ass, pulling their pelvises against each other. They were of a similar height, with Arthur being on the taller side for a diver, and Eames being rather short for a swimmer.
“What do you mean, ‘Tom was right about [me]’,” Arthur asked, suddenly ceasing his grinding up against Eames. Eames was busy mouthing against Arthur’s neck, hands firmly planted on Arthur’s perfect bottom. “What did you mean?” Arthur insisted, pulling back away from Eames.
“He just said you had a bit of a reputation in the diving circuit. It’s fine, darling. It’s more than fine. I am so much in favor of you and your reputation right now.” Eames tried to pull Arthur back against him.
“Is that why you were hitting on me this morning? Because you heard I was a slut?” Arthur asked, angrily, firmly separating himself from Eames.
“No, I was hitting on you because you’re bloody gorgeous and possibly the best, cleanest diver I’ve ever seen. I just asked Tom if I was going to be barking up the wrong tree,” Eames responded, realizing he was on the verge of shouting.
“Shut the fuck up!” a voice shouted from a room down the hall.
“I think we’ve worn out our welcome here. Thank you for the drink, Mr. Eames. Have a good Olympics,” Arthur said stonily, motioning toward the stairs.
“Pet, no, please, don’t let’s end it like this,” Eames pleaded, really feeling that third scotch.
“End what? An awkward evening? Or are you just upset you didn’t get your rocks off?” Arthur sneered nastily.
“No, that’s not what I mean, look, this is all coming out wrong.”
“You need to leave, Mr. Eames. Goodbye.” Arthur stomped down the stairs into the common room. Eames followed dejectedly and slunk out the door.