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Zero Gravity
Before Michael met Ryan, there was nothing but swimming. Just Michael and the water, counting strokes, counting inhales, counting seconds. Always counting.
Michael was exceptionally good at counting and keeping his count. It came with years of practice. But for all his work with numbers, he was terrible at addition.
Michael didn't see, when he first met Ryan Lochte, that Michael plus Ryan equaled happiness squared.
First Descent
When Michael met Ryan Lochte, he was wired for speed. Everything about Michael was fast: he ate fast, he walked fast, he kissed fast and, most crucially, he fucked fast.
Ryan liked things slow and steady. His kisses were unrushed, and he liked to aim them at random parts of Michael's anatomy when they had sex, like the side of his knee or the crook of his elbow.
It was Ryan who, mid-fuck, grabbed Michael's sides, applying pressure to slow him down. The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement as he grinned up at Phelps and said, "Slow down, Seabiscuit. Plenty of time."
It was Ryan who made Michael take the time for foreplay, even though they weren't in a relationship and Michael wasn't a chick, okay? But Ryan said it was hotter that way and Michael found it hard to disagree once he found out how talented Ryan's tongue was.
Second Descent
When Michael Phelps raced Ryan Lochte, it felt so good it was almost like having an orgasm. The adrenaline rush, the sweat that beaded on his body right before he descended into the blue blue water, water the exact same shade as Ryan's blue blue eyes.
The thing was, Ryan was actually feasible competition, and so Michael should have been more worried than anything else. Worried and focused.
But it was hard to focus when Ryan was around, walking on deck in his speedo suit or his sweat pants, with his goofy smiles that revealed a glittering platinum grill. His ability to turn Michael on without even making the effort never ceased to amaze and distract, and Ryan's quality of sheer sportsmanship was undeniably impressive. Michael had to admit that if he was the one getting silvers in their relationship, he would have thrown a temper tantrum to Bob quite some time ago. But that was the thing about Ryan.
When he raced Michael, he took his silver with as much pride as if it were gold, and Michael knew that a lot of that pride was shared with him. Ryan Lochte took pride in Michael's accomplishments as much as his own, but that never meant he stopped trying.
When Ryan raced anyone else, he took gold. Michael had to work at swimming, had to spend hours at it. But Ryan was naturally talented.
And Michael, for all his own talent and pride and generally antisocial ways, had to respect that.
Third Descent
When Ryan Lochte nibbled on Michael's earlobe, all he got in response was a groan.
"You like that, huh?"
They were supposed to be getting dressed and packed for the airport, but Ryan couldn't resist saying goodbye. So, already a half hour late, they stripped off their recently donned clothing in pursuit of something better, and neither wanted to admit that the mood was tinged with desperate worry and a bit of sadness.
Normally, Michael would have laid close to Ryan afterward, breathing in the smell of his sweat and the ever-present, comforting sting of chlorine. But they were already late, and it was Ryan that got up first anyway, pulling his shorts up and shaking his head to resettle his mop of curly hair.
Michael caught his eye and they stared at each other for a long moment before either spoke.
"I'll miss you, man," Ryan grinned at him crookedly and Michael felt sort of like he was choking to death.
"I..." Whatever was lodged in his windpipe was large and heart-shaped, and it took a little while for Michael to force it down, "I'll miss you, too."
Final Descent
Before Michael met Ryan, there was nothing but swimming. Just Michael and the water, counting strokes, counting inhales, counting seconds. Always counting.
After Michael met Ryan, there was still lots of swimming and lots of counting. But now he counted days as well as seconds, heartbeats as well as strokes.
Michael liked to think that Ryan was his perfect balance. Michael plus swimming plus stress equals Ryan plus hugs plus sex plus text messages plus love. Or something like that. He was never very good at addition.