2000: Poem

Sydney is the land of endless opportunities for Ian, it's that somewhere that one finds beyond the rainbow, the place where all your dreams come true, only to make room for bigger, better, wilder dreams.

Ian dreams of gold medals, and his arms spreading wide when he comes out of the water for air. He dreams of the endless ocean that starts where he stands on Sydney's shore, and when he doesn't let himself think too much, he dreams of Pieter's smile.

It was rather like a dream when they met to begin with. The surreal background scenery was Monte Carlo, where the days were hot and humid, and the nights were dazzling with lights. Splashes of too vivid colors were everywhere. Gambling machine sounds, spectacular shows on every corner and handsome men, who seemed more than willing to accept another man's openly gazing at them, and even return it in some cases. Ian could so easily lose all grasp of what was real and what was not.

When he tells people how he met Pieter, the common reaction is a chuckle that he understands to mean 'unreal'. Two swimming hopefuls meet in the middle of what is considered nowhere in the swimming world, when one turns to the other and asks, "Do you know Pieter van den Hoogenband?"

"That's me," answers the amused man.

A chuckle and a nod of the head. 'Unreal'. It relays people's sentiment about the story to Ian. He wonders if he will ever get to tell these same people that it was this moment which, in the face of all the bright and colorful temptations, kept him grounded to reality.

Sydney isn't more colorful than Monte Carlo, but Ozzies are certainly louder, more energetic and full of life. 'Unstoppable' is the word that comes to Ian's mind as he watches the vast, cheering masses filling the bleachers by the poolside from the narrow corridor the swimmers are already aligned in.

"Unstoppable", Pieter utters with a smile and a pat to Ian's back, "I expect you to be unstoppable out there," he says before they step outside to officially become Olympic rivals for the first time.

When they return to take a shower, with a world record broken by Ian and with the semi-finals and the finals still awaiting them, Pieter winks at Ian and walks right into the stream of water.

Ian comes close to him, as close as he can without getting in. "I will be," his voice is little more than a whisper targeted at Pieter's ear.

He doesn't wait for a reply. The small shiver that ran through Pieter's body has already told him that he's right.

2004: I Loved My Friend

They find a moment to go looking at some authentic Greek ruins. Pieter promised Ian four years ago and every time they've met since, it's been re-confirmed. They take one moment off from counting seconds and milliseconds, only to have Ian's breath taken away. He gets to see Pieter dressed all in white, his shirt accentuating his muscular body, his pants not doing anything to hide the grace of his form. The sun is bright, brighter than in Australia, yet not as scorching. Ian's gaze lingers too long, but he doesn't mind, because Pieter is standing right before him, looking at the ruins ahead.

Athens isn't the land of endless opportunities and dreams too big for sanity. It's the land of what simply is. Ian lays his hand on Pieter's shoulder.

"We don't have to go back to the village just yet," he says plainly.

"No. We're not going to." Pieter's quiet. This used to be a battlefield. Young men died here for the lovers they fought side by side with in battle. Pieter is so quiet and his fingers reach out and cover Ian's hand.

It's not as gentle as Ian thought it would be, their first time together. He imagined Pieter being very careful with him, more careful than he needed to be, and Ian saw himself complying with the dictation of this slow pace.

Imagination is one thing, though, and kissing Pieter is another.

Their mouths are passionate when they meet, tongue over tongue in greedy motions, because Ian is inhaling whatever he can get of Pieter. Without breaking the kiss, Ian fumbles for Pieter's crotch and when he finds it, he gropes it hard, as unforgiving as his desire is, thriving on the sensation of Pieter thrusting back into the rough touch. He feels the long fingers digging into his back, begging for more. He's more than willing to oblige.

Ian's kiss turns into a bite, the bite turns into a series of marks on skin, nudging at the border set by clothes. When a small, desperate, guttural plea is heard, Pieter's beautiful white shirt isn't going to make it back with him, because Ian can't stop himself from ripping it off. The pants are next to go, along with his own clothes, and when Pieter is splayed out before Ian, so perfectly exposed, he wants to grab at everything, devour all of Pieter, leave no inch of him unexplored.

Pieter's moans are driving Ian even further in his new found frenzy. How anyone could make such sweetly depraved noises he has no idea, but they're the ultimate summary of this man who's writhing in his bed, kissing and panting, looking ever the part of an angel, a beautifully fallen angel, eagerly kneeling before Ian, as he has been ordered to.

Ian has lube, but this is like swimming in one long motion, no stops possible. He drives into Pieter with determination and the hope that this will be okay.

When he hears Pieter cry out loud over the jolts of pain coursing through him, a tinge of sorrow touches Ian, like the faintest taste of one's own blood. It connects them, he knows, without having to literally prick their palms and clutch them together as an oath.

Ian doesn't slow down, he picks up the pace if anything, though it's hard to tell for sure when his rhythm has become so erratic. He positions his hand on Pieter's cock, stroking as well as he can, and once he feels the pre-cum oozing generously onto it, he moves it invitingly to Pieter's mouth, gasps when it's taken all in, when his pushing into Pieter meets the shudders of an orgasm. Two more thrusts and he follows suit.

Kissing Pieter isn't like anything else, so Ian's last vague thought before he falls asleep, Pieter's head leaning against his shoulder, forms around what life should be all about. It's a short and sweet thought. Then it dissipates.

"I can always feel you," Pieter says.

Ian smiles. Pieter catches the sight and reciprocates hesitantly, blushing.

"Not like that," he practically stutters, "I mean yes, like that, sometimes. But I mean, in the water. I feel you when we swim, I know when you're ahead of me and I can feel you when you're coming after me."

Ian's never heard anything so sexy. The fact that it happens in front of millions, in such a supposedly innocent setting without anyone knowing, only makes it dirtier, more exciting, more their own, only their own. Their little electric circuit closing everyone else out of the sparks' reach.

He looks at Pieter, knowing realization must be showing in his face. For someone whose native language isn't English, Pieter has a remarkable way of explaining Ian's own experiences to him. For one thing, he isn't at ease with words like Pieter is and for another, he knows he can't convey all he's feeling for this man right at that moment. So he kisses Pieter and he kisses him deep; he kisses lips and neck, then chest and lips again; he drinks in and pours out everything he can't say. He spreads Pieter's legs and inserts the first finger, while continuing to put his mouth to some better use than talking. He has no doubt Pieter understands him in whatever way he can express himself.

2005: He Went Away from Me

Pieter closes the phone.

"How is your girl?" Ian asks and it's not a question.

Pieter doesn't apologize. "I never lied to you," is all he says.

It’s the way that things are. They look at each other and it's clear. When Ian sits down on the bed across from Pieter, he feels exhausted. They've just had an entire argument in his head. No point in repeating most of it out loud. It leaves him with a sense of not knowing Pieter at all, what he wants, what he needs, what he's capable of. It scares Ian.

Several minutes pass in aching silence.

"Are you even into men?" He has to ask, because if he's not going to argue this decree of separate lives, he should at least know if there's anything left between them, anything they'd had together in the first place.

"Only with you." Pieter smiles warmly, like this answer reassures them both of what they have in the small space of rented bedrooms, and it's better than nothing, Ian supposes, because Pieter's hand is on his thigh a second before Ian's pinned down to the bed with an undeniable erection rubbing against his own.

It is gentle this time. Pieter is full of contradictions and of all the times they have had sex, this is the most tender.

With both hands, Pieter undresses Ian and reveals a hunger that can't be quenched. It comes alive with the massage that Pieter applies to tense shoulder blades, with the tongue that laps at Ian's nipples. It's as if he's drinking, Ian thinks, feeling rather intoxicated himself. His hand reaches into Pieter's hair, grabbing and pulling slightly, entangling itself in the motion that starts there, and ends where Pieter's lips greedily move down to Ian's hips, then lower.

He takes Ian's erection into his mouth and sucks, then pulls out to swirl his tongue along the vein, working his way up to the swollen head, already leaking with pre-cum. When he swallows those drops of salty liquid, only to blow cool air over the sensitive tip, Ian remembers with a certainty that there's nothing in all of existence that's quite like making love to Pieter. He doesn't even notice that he's spread his legs apart until he feels Pieter’s tongue at his entrance. He's never in his life felt such a need during sex to let his tears flow out, but he bites them back. He did invite the man in, and Pieter is, after all, quite the considerate lover.

2006: There's Nothing More to Say

When Ian decides to retire and Pieter's eyes are questioning him, all he does is shrug. "We've already outlived our expectancy, you know," he says in a way that explains very little, as nobody expected his swimming championship streak to last only 7 years. Pieter's jaw is set in that stubborn lock, but there's no caving in on this issue as far as Ian is concerned. He has no choice, even if he can't explain it.

"And what about me?" Pieter asks, "I can't swim without you."

"Yes, you can," Ian replies confidently.

"Yes, I can," the reply is echoed without a moment's hesitation, "but I don't want to."

Ian doesn't apologize, he doesn't offer any words of comfort, he simply exits. He knows that in the room he's leaving behind him, what was is no more.

2008: The Song Ends, Soft as It Began. I Loved My Friend

Pieter is still dripping from his shower and Ian really shouldn't have access to the locker room, but he's Ian Thorpe and nobody stops him when he comes looking for Pieter. In front of the showers, he does stop. He's missed seeing Pieter's body like this: wet, naked and taut, seemingly awaiting the relaxation Ian can offer it.

"What do you want?" Pieter's voice isn't as instantly familiar as his body.

Ian doesn't have a ready response and Pieter, looking away from him, goes to get dressed.

"Pieter," Ian says, then hesitates for a minute. It's strange, having to use a name again, instead of a nickname only two people know. The man he's addressing is almost fully clothed and leaning over his swim bag, placing in it the last of his belongings. "I know you. That was not the best that you can do. Why... didn't you give it your everything?" The echoes of his astonishment seem to ring in the air, but he can't be bothered with playing the nonchalant ex-lover at that moment.

The figure before him stands up straight. The bag's zipper is pulled closed and for two seconds, the distance between them is as small as the first time they found themselves in a shower room together.

"Only with you," Pieter says before he turns to leave.