Synchronised Motion (BoyxBoy)

Chapter 4

I hate Oliver Fowler.

Why?

Once you see him- you will understand.

At first, you will be envious, because how is it fucking unfair for one's body to be so... perfect. For the combinations of his features to be so perfect. For ones face smile to be so perfect.

Truth is it isn't fair.

No person should be so genetically blessed. They have a biological advantage over the rest of us. They hold power over us, a power which can be used... dangerously.

Then you will start to get to know him. You will figure out that he is a whole-lot-more-harder to hate because he is a kind, charming son of a bitch. Then you may start to be friends, (you will probably get along with him because he gets along with everyone). Next, you will probably want more from him- as most do.

You will most likely be left high and dry, ultimately heartbroken and crushed. Because the golden boy is a prude, he doesn't go out with anyone- much to people's complaints.

Then there's the second option; you will be bitter and annoyed that you can never be quite as nice, quite as good of a swimming, and quite as admired as him.

Then you will hate him.

You will kinda wish someone as perfect as he didn't exist. Because they are a constant reminder of what you are not, what you will never be- no matter how hard you try.

Most, if not all, people fall into the first category. Except for me, I most definitely fall into the second category.

And I can't help but hate him even more right now. Because everyone is staring at him like he is a fucking god. Like he is the solution to all their problems. Like he is great eye candy.

Well, the latter is kind of hard to deny when his muscles flex as his large form stretches, and he has a lot of muscles.

"Focus," The coach says to the squad.

I claw my hand through my hair in exasperation. Kind of fucking difficult when Oliver is not distracting everyone on the swim team and any bystanders. He stretches his toned nicely sculptured body by the diving board.

Now as swimmers we are pretty used to seeing a lot of skin. We should be used to skin.

But this isn't just anyone's skin- it's Olivers.

And it is flawless. He is undeniably attractive (-not that I am attracted to be him... he is attractive to most people is what I mean).

And - holy shit - the guy knows what he is doing too. He wears a smug grin on his face, easy and relaxed under all the attention- probably loving it, to be honest.

He bites his lip when our eyes connect. A smug expression on his face and it drives me insane. Really insane- like I could punch his stupid face insane.

I suppress the anger that rises in me. Because punching the swim captain wouldn't be a good idea. No matter how tempting it is.

"Alright everyone, so we are having a time trial today. Oliver will start us off then everyone else will go one at a time"

Oliver crouches low over the diving board, his arms holding the board tight as he leans his body weight backward.

Coach blows the whistle and Oliver dives into the water, graceful as fuck.

Oliver is the epitome of smooth. His movements are strong and well-rehearsed. He looks like he was made to swim. It is so natural to him, that much is easy to see.

In no time he is back touching the wall, signaling to Coach to pause the stopwatch.

That is when I realised I was fucked.

Because that was fast.

Really fast.

Coach lets out a low whistle of appreciation. The swimmers are shaking their heads, admiration, and respect in their eyes.

He pushes himself out of the pool pulling his cap off and running a hand through his hair. 

The team shower him with praise, as expected. I am pretty sure he just set a new record. The kid didn't come to play today, in fact, I have never seen him look so... determined. Like he wants to prove himself or something, which is crazy cause he already has everyone's respect and admiration.

His eyes connect with mine, and I quickly divert mine not wanting him to think I am fan girling over him like the rest of the swim team.

Because I am most definitely not.

There is no world where I would ever fan girl over Oliver Fowler. He already has enough fans and I refuse to be another one.

Andy nudges my shoulder, "Still think you can beat him, Beau?" He says, his voice dripping with smugness. 

"I don't know Andy, still a virgin?"

He shoves me hard and I stumble back a bit chuckling. His cheeks now a dark red.

"Shut the fuck up"

I hold my arms up in surrender. "No judgment man, take yo-"

"You little bitch" Andy interrupts. I can practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

It's cute, really. He looks like an angry little elf or something. It's like aggravating a cute teddy bear, you just can't take them seriously.

My smile is instantly wiped when a wet muscular arm wraps across my shoulder and chest from behind. Heat omitting from his skin.

"Beau being a bitch? No way..." Oliver says sarcastically, his chest slightly vibrating against my back as he holds me to him.

I scowl while Andy laughs, looking at Oliver with fucking stars in his eyes.

It's weird because Oliver's skin is wet yet when my skin touches him it feels like fire. His skin triggers an unwelcome tingling feeling through my body.

I try to shrug him off, but his hold is strong. I feel him lean by my ear, his hot breath brushing my ear.

"Come on little bitch, it's your go," he says, his voice lowered, just for my ears.

"Ah... Y-yeah" I clear my throat, "right."

Thankfully Oliver releases me and my brain can function properly again.

My timed trial goes well- just not well enough to top Olivers. Which was expected, but it still frustrates the fuck out of me.

The squad has a party this Friday and while I am not normally the most social person, I could use a drink. Even if that means being forced to be in close proximity of Oliver Fowler.