Compromising Positions | Into the Black | Contact

All Wet

Notes: : A while back the subject of a wet Daniel came up in an LJ comment with saladscream. Voila. Thanks to skripka for the title, and for giving it the once over.





I step through the doorway and stop mid-step. Damnit, there’s already someone in the pool. I hate the idea of having to share it. I hate knowing that I’m getting old, that my knees just can’t handle more than one rep on the leg weights, so I’m reduced to swimming laps to keep fit. It takes me a few more moments to realize that it’s Daniel.

I watch as he eels through the water, strong arms pulling him forward, legs kicking, barely making a splash. Mesmerized by the rippling of his back and shoulder muscles, I stand there for a good five minutes. Back and forth he goes, lap after lap, not looking up, not noticing me. I do the only thing I can do in a situation like this – bellowing like a kid, I take a running leap and cannonball into the water right in front of him, sending him sputtering.

Daniel bobs up and treads water, coughing a bit. “Jack! What the hell did you do that for?” he shouts and splashes water at me.

I grin at him and splash back.

It degenerates pretty quickly after that. We spend the better part of the next half hour trying to drown each other like a couple of kids until our sides are aching with laughter and our eyes are red from the chlorine. We call a mutual truce and Daniel hauls himself out of the pool, presenting me with a perfect view of his perfect ass encased in what may very well be the smallest bathing suit in the history of bathing suits. He grabs a towel and starts scrubbing his at his hair as I climb out of the pool, using the ladder.

As often happens around Daniel, my mouth exceeds the speed of my brain and I blurt out, “Holy Christ Daniel, could that suit be any smaller? I can practically see the crack of your ass.”

Daniel pauses and looks down at his suit – a tiny black Speedo that stretches over his hips and snugly cups his – I cut that thought off and get my eyes back up just in time to meet his as he returns his gaze to me and he shrugs, replying, “It reduces drag. Unlike those giant things you’re wearing.” He gestures to my perfectly functional trunks that cover me from waist to mid-thigh. He then wraps the towel around his neck and heads towards the door. He looks over his shoulder, water still sluicing from his body and says, “By the way Jack, why exactly were you looking at my ass?”

There’s really nothing I can say to answer that, now is there? At least nothing that won’t get my ass court-martialed.