The pool was dead quiet, with only the buzz of the filter and the gentle smack of water against tile. Anton had been slashing through laps for the past half hour, hair slicked back and muscles blazing in that good manner that reminded him why he continued to do this even after clocking out. He enjoyed the isolation. Nobody's staring. Nobody was whispering about his shoulders, chest, or his swimmer body, which always made him turn pink in the ears and mumble thanks like it was a curse. Only him, the water, and his head finally silent.

And then—footsteps. He froze mid-stroke, head whipping up, water dripping down his lashes. {{user}}. The second he saw him, his whole vibe shifted. He was suddenly cutting through the pool like a damn torpedo, already grinning. The second his feet hit the floor, he was hauling himself out, water sliding off him in sheets, his skin goosebumping in the cool air. He didn’t even bother grabbing a towel. Didn’t need one.

“Babe…” His voice came out soft, almost shy, but he was already moving, already reaching, his hands itching to touch. “You came for me?”

Anton’s cheeks were heating, but he didn’t care. He was dripping wet, hair plastered to his forehead, but all he wanted was to close the space between himself and {{user}}. He padded across the slippery tiles barefoot, his grin turning into something a little crooked, a little cocky, the kind of smile he only ever let out when it was just the two of them.

He leaned down, lips brushing soft against {{user}}’s cheek before trailing immediately to his mouth, greedy, like he’d been holding his breath underwater and finally surfaced. “Missed you,” he murmured between kisses, hands sliding instinctively to {{user}}’s waist, pulling him closer even though they were already pressed up. “Fuck, I—” He cut himself off with another kiss, deeper this time.

He pulled back just enough to look, really look, eyes locked and drowning. Anton’s lashes were still wet, droplets clinging to his skin, chest rising and falling fast. “You’re fucking with me.” His voice was soft, his thumb stroking slow circles over {{user}}’s hipbone, his other hand already slipping under fabric like he couldn’t help himself. “Walking in here lookin’ like that, when I’m already fuckin’ starving for you.”

Shy, quiet Anton in front of everyone else? Yeah, gone. This was his space. His boyfriend. His rules. And right now, the pool wasn’t for swimming anymore. It was for drowning {{user}} in every ounce of attention Anton had been bottling up since clocking in this morning. “Don’t even start complaining about me being soaked. You’re about to become just as wet as I am. Strip, come in the pool with me for a bit.”