Swimming One Shots

•1• Blame » Michael Phelps

"Erin?"

She refused to look up from her phone, and started scrolling through her Instagram newsfeed.

"Ren?" he asked, his hot breath hitting her neck as she liked her ex-best friend's picture, a mistake she was soon to regret.

She flipped her chestnut hair from her bright eyes which were currently focused on the screen, and rolled them as she felt his hand rest on her shoulder.

Ignoring the tingles that his touch sent throughout her body, she went deeper in her newsfeed until she found the picture she was looking for. He was in his full six-pack glory on the beach, adorable smile stretched on his lips, blue eyes shining like elegant sapphires, and soft brown hair shining in the sunlight.

She smirked at the screen, and, knowing the full consequences of her actions, left a comment on his picture.

'crystal-shard: Sexy shot, Lochte ;)'

She may have appreciated the picture (and hell, who wouldn't?!), but she knew that a few certain things always pissed her best friend, Michael Phelps.

And what she just did was one of them.

She heard him huff behind her back, and she rolled her eyes again. Honestly, in all the 17 years she had known him, he was always up for a bit of competition with his best friend, Ryan Lochte. And one of the things that he always hated was that somehow, all the girls ended up liking Lochte.

"Y'know," his deep voice chilled her to the bones as she still gave her the cold-shoulder, "He's not that sexy," his tone showing his annoyance.

Erin snorted in the most unladylike way possible, but it was perfectly okay, after all, this was her best friend since she was back in high school.

"Yeah right, and I'm married to Adam Levine."

"Technically, you just confirmed the fact that he's not very sexy, because yesterday, you literally just said that you were Adam Levine's wife, and–"

"Technically, you should shut up," she snapped, still not looking up from the glorious picture that lay in her hands.

He held his large calloused hands up in surrender, knowing that he was on the losing side of the argument, as always.

He wiggled in his uncomfortable position from behind her. He was half-standing, half-bending just to watch her do whatever she had been doing on th couc for the past two hours or so.

Erin shifted slightly, then huffed in frustration, "Do you have to stay creeping down my neck the whole time?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, "Are you on your period?"

Immediately, she snapped up from her phone, and faced him, her face twisted with anger, "Just because you're annoying me and I'm just telling you to back the fuck off, doesn't mean that you can pin it down on that one thing!" she snarled, before her face quickly fell, "But yes, I am," she mumbled sheepishly.

Michael chuckled, and reached out to grab her large black nerdy glasses.

She pouted, before her scowling at him.

"Mike, give it back."

He pretended to think about it for a moment, before stretching out his long body and standing up straight.

Ow, he internally winced, as his body adjusted from the previous position.

"Nope," he stated, popping the p.

She pouted even more, and then, suddenly and for no reason, started crying.

His playful expression fell, and he rushed over to sit beside her on the couch, his soft honey eyes filled with worry.