For the Record: Lochte/Phelps (R) 1/?
Title: For the Record
Pairing: Lochte/Phelps, Lochte/Other
Rating: R
Disclaimer: It's all in my bizarre imagination, although I do wish it was real!
Notes: Hugs and Kisses to Kizzy7 and Wonderjessi! You two are the best! This story is intended to be a sequel to Here I Am and Moving Day, although it is not entirely necessary to have read them (you just might miss out on some allusions to previous parts of this series. You have been warned, there is a ton of angst in this story!
~Chapter One~
“I’m just thankful the neighbors aren’t back from their vacation yet.” He chuckled softly as his fingers found their way in Ryan’s damp curls, content to lay with him in this position for the rest of the night.
Ryan shifted ever so slightly to find a more comfortable position, conscious of the fact that he was still buried inside Michael, resting his head on the younger man’s chest. “Yeah… a noise complaint wouldn’t look very good on our records. Plus, that would mean my dad was right.”
“Please tell me your dad didn’t say something about our sex life.” Michael shut his eyes tightly, pretending to pray. “Please, please tell me he didn’t say anything about how loud I am.”
“What…?” Ryan sat up, propping his chin on Michael’s chest, looking at him quizzically. “He just said that I’d probably end up getting us in trouble within the first twenty four hours of us living together. And how would my dad know how loud you are, the last time we… Oh, right, I forgot about Thanksgiving… that was bad.”
Michael leaned in to press a soft kiss to Ryan’s lips; his prepared response was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Ryan sat up with wide eyes, glancing down at Michael before hopping up off of the couch. “Whatever it was, I didn’t do it.”
“Ryan…”
Michael rolled his eyes in annoyance as Ryan simply walked back to the bedroom, completely ignoring the second round of knocking on their front door. “Yeah sure… I’ll get it dear. No problem sweetheart. ‘Cause it’s not weird to have someone at our door past midnight…” Michael grumbled while he searched for his boxers amidst the pile of clothes by the couch. He groaned softly as their visitor knocked yet again, this time using the door bell to emphasize their presence. “I’m coming! God… can’t you just wait a fucking-” Michael had just inched up his boxers over his hips as he pulled open the door, standing in absolute shock as to what he saw in front of him.
“Cheers, mate.”
Ian Thorpe. Ian Fucking Thorpe. The fucking Thorpedo is standing in my doorway. Michael could only muster enough consciousness to step back from the door, his eyes trailing over the six foot-five inch frame that practically consumed the entire entrance to his house. This can’t be happening. This must be some sort of nightmare. I must have fallen asleep and now I can’t wake up. Please Michael. Wake up!
“Umm… is Ryan home?”
Ryan? What the fuck does he want with Ryan? Rewind. What the fuck is he even doing on the same continent? Michael remained firmly planted in his position, swallowing hard at the prospect that Ian Thorpe was asking for his boyfriend.
“Should I take your silence as a no, or…?”
“Ryan…?” Michael turned his head just slightly to shout back into the depths of their house, never taking his suspicious glare aware from the overwhelming Australian.
“Dude… just tell them to fuck off.” Ryan came up behind Michael to wrap his arms around his chest, playfully biting at his earlobe before looking up at their uninvited guest. “Holy fuck…”
Ian shifted the bag on his shoulder nervously, ducking his head down with a sense of shame that Michael didn’t really understand. He became even more confused when Ryan dislodged himself from Michael’s side to pull on the sweatpants tangled up with Michael’s dress shirt on the floor and join their former competitor on the porch. The most confusing event of the night came when Ryan shut the door rather firmly without any sort of explanation. He leaned forward to press his ear against the wooden barrier. Ryan may not have wanted him to hear their conversation, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to find out what the hell was going on.
“What the hell is going on? You just fucking show up out of nowhere and you come to our home? Our home, Ian? Where the fuck do you get off?” Ryan was leaning back against the door in a defensive stance; there was no way he was going to let the man who had caused him so much pain thrust himself back into the happy life he’d finally found with Michael.
“Do you always treat your guests this way Ryan? Or is it a newly acquired practice since shacking up with America’s biggest wanker?” Ian smirked down at the shorter man, clearly asserting his dominance in the conversation, much as he always had when dealing with his former lover.
Ryan literally had to cling to the door handle to keep from taking a swing at the arrogant Australian. Apparently four years hadn’t changed much in his demeanor. “I’m only going to ask you one more time, Ian. What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked through gritted teeth. Ryan hated the feeling of being backed into a corner and he hated it even more when it was Ian Thorpe backing him into said corner. He’d promised himself that it would never happen again but here he was, weakened by the one man he never thought he would see again.
“We have a serious problem…”
“We? I didn’t realize there was a we anymore…”
“Could you shut the bloody ‘ell up for longer than two seconds and invite me inside so we can talk about this?”
“No, Ian. There is no fucking way I’m letting you into my home.”
“Funny, the papers made it seem like this was Michael’s house…”
“That’s not the fucking point, and you know it.” Ryan’s patience was wearing thin and he was willing to give Ian about two more minutes to make his point before going back inside and locking him out of his life forever, again.
Ian took note of how much Ryan had changed. It usually took much more to provoke him into a fight, especially since Ian trounced him in height, weight, intelligence, and overall charisma (at least that’s what he believed). It had always been so simple for Ian to get what he wanted out of the younger man, but apparently he had a little fight in him now. He was finally willing to stand up for himself. Ian’s features quickly softened with this epiphany. What was the saying… trap more flies with honey than with vinegar?
“We have a serious problem, Ryan. The tabloids in Australia, they’ve… Well they’ve acquired some very personal files of mine from my computer and they’re threatening to go public with it.” Ian cleared his throat quietly, dropping his bag onto the concrete as a sign of defeat.
“And this has something to do with me because…?”
“Because you’re in them.” Ian’s voice was rather calm given the revelation he was communicating with Ryan.
“I’m in them? What do you mean I’m in them?” Ryan took a deep breath to quiet his nerves; this was certainly no time to panic. He couldn’t let Ian see him in any moment of weakness; he wasn’t that naïve boy anymore.
“I mean that I had pictures and… video of us together and when I got my computer back from the repair shop they were gone. Someone took them and then sold them to the papers. Thankfully I got a tip from one of the editors that they were going public with the story in two days.”
Ryan looked up at Ian with a jolt of anger and resentment. “You kept pictures of us? You fuckin’ dump me, but still keep pictures? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Ian bit his bottom lip hard to keep from saying too much. This wasn’t the time or the place to discuss how his (admittedly) fucked up head worked. “It doesn’t matter why Ryan. What matters is that I did keep them and now they’re in the hands of the greedy and destructive media that would do anything to tear me down.”
“Well I’m glad to hear you’re so concerned with my welfare in this whole situation. I still don’t get why you’re here… You could have just told me this over the phone.” Ryan shook his head with a deep sigh; he wouldn’t let himself get emotional over this man. He couldn’t revert back to the Ryan of six years ago. Not after so much work, not after everything he’d gone through with Michael.
** XXVIII Olympiad: Athens, Greece **
Ryan had pretty much kept to himself over the course of the Olympic Games. Sure, he’d spent time with his American teammates including Phelps, Peirsol, and Crocker, but for the most part he chose to seclude himself from the group. This was his first step onto the international stage and he didn’t have a fucking clue as to what was going on around him; worse yet, he didn’t have anybody to talk to about what the fuck was going on around him. Phelps and Peirsol were like gods in their events and Crocker, well Crocker was kinda weird.
He was 20 years old, but he was a young 20 years old and he barely had the maturity not to piss his pants when he took the top podium over the Australians after winning the 200 free relay. But more importantly than winning gold, his time spent on the top podium gave him the perfect view of the Australian version of Apollo, and his name was Ian Thorpe. Ryan would never have told the other three men about his crush on the swimmer, not because he was a guy, but because he was an Australian guy. It was like treason or something.
Regardless, Ryan made his way over to his fiercest competitor and offered a handshake of congratulations. He may have beaten Ian, but he was never one to gloat. He was always a gentleman. “Great job out there man. You swam an awesome anchor.” Way to sound like a fan girl, Lochte. Remember, keep it cool. You are cool.
“Yeah, thanks mate.” Ian turned to give Ryan a long once-over, but before he could flash his million-dollar smile, one of his handlers rushed him over to talk to one of the Australian reporters just dying for a sound bite about the startling defeat.
Three words. All Ryan got out of the man were three words but it was enough to give Ryan a little hope. At least when he bumped into him at the Speedo party later he would have a reason to continue the conversation.
*
When Ryan made his entrance into the stuffy club filled with drunk and horny swimmers, he did all he could not to get sucked into the make-out session going on to his left. Tonight he had a mission. Tonight he was going to talk to Ian Thorpe. At least that had been his plan before spotting Phelps talking him up at the bar. Fuck Phelps, man. He thinks he’s some kind of messiah to the sport of swimming. What a douche. Ryan immediately aborted his mission and tracked back through the club; there was no way he could compete with Michael Phelps for attention. One day he would beat him though, in and out of the pool.
Ian, on the other hand, had noticed the curly head of hair make its way through the crowd and he silently prayed for the young man to interrupt his rather boring conversation with the American swimming hero. The press may have built up an interesting rivalry between the two men, but Ian had very little interest in actually chatting with the awkward kid. He sighed quietly when he saw the golden curls suddenly change direction and walk out of the club. Ian brushed past Michael without even hearing him question his rude departure to follow the curly-haired one out of the hot and sticky atmosphere.
With a brave drink in hand he stepped up beside a lonely looking Ryan. Ian quickly downed the liquid courage before speaking, his voice quivering oddly with nervousness, “Was it just me, or was that party ridiculously boring?”
Ryan jumped ever so slightly when he heard the soft accent break into his stream of consciousness. “Oh, uh yeah… Totally lame. I had to get out of there right away.”
“What do you say we go back to my room and have a party of our own?” It may have been the worst pick-up line Ryan had ever heard, (and he had heard a lot) but coming from Ian it left him breathless. This single question began a two and a half year long relationship that literally almost broke Ryan of his sanity.
** Present Day **
“I couldn’t have just called you Ryan. The complete ruin of our respective public images is far too serious for a simple phone call. Plus, I didn’t have your mobile number anymore,” Ian admitted with a slight shrug of his shoulders.
“Complete ruin? Ian, in case you haven’t noticed I’m already out. I know that you like to think your sexuality is still a topic of debate but I really couldn’t give a fuck if people knew we were together. We were both consenting adults and…”
“And can you imagine the field day the gossip rags will have with this story? I was Phelp’s greatest rival; that was of course until I retired.”
“You mean until I got good?”
“You were always good Ryan, you just didn’t have the confidence to assert yourself.”
Ryan scoffed quietly, kicking at the leaf that was there. “That wasn’t what you used to say. You criticized my technique every chance you got. You kept me under your fuckin’ thumb so I wouldn’t…” Ryan took a deep breath, crossing the front porch to burn off the anxiety building in his blood stream. “Forget it. That was in the past… What exactly do you think they’re going to say about us?”
Ian watched Ryan pace in front of him with a genuine look of concern. It had always been a pattern with Ryan to burn through his worries with physical activity. It usually involved swimming for miles on end or spending eons in the weight room, but if Ian was lucky it included three hour long fuckathons. “They’ll postulate about the timing of our relationship. They’ll probably claim that we were together when you and Michael first started dating. They’ll start digging for details about our sex life, about why we never told anyone…”
“Well I have the answer for that; you never wanted to tell anyone. You were too afraid of what it would mean to be gay and an athletic idol.”
“I thought you liked being under the radar. I thought you liked having this secret…” Ian took two long steps to stop Ryan’s nervous pacing, his hand resting lightly on Ryan’s bare back.
Ryan flinched away from Ian’s hand as if his touch literally burned his skin. “Don’t fucking touch me!”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think…” Ian took a quick step back, his arms crossing over his chest, clinging to the fabric of his jacket.
“You never think, Ian. At least not about anyone but yourself.” Ryan turned back to face Ian, his eyes reflecting a sense of rage that he hardly ever felt. “So I’m assuming you have some sort of plan to deal with this?”
For the first time in the six years of knowing Ryan, Ian was actually rendered speechless by him. “Uh-umm… yes. Our agents talked and they agree. We should nip this story in the butt. We should come out with a joint statement and present it to the media. You know, answer all of the questions before they can be asked.”
“And I’m guessing that you want to stay here while we write it up?” He kicked at the duffle bag lying at his feet, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Yeah, I thought it would help build the image of unity and a sense of progress… past our break up.”
“Well I hope your statement writing skills are a lot better than your off the cuff explanation skills.” Ryan opened the door for Ian, signaling to him with a nod of his head to enter.
Michael looked up from the Penny Saver he was using as a cover for his obvious eavesdropping when he heard the front door open. He was ready with a round of twenty questions for Ryan but his thoughts suddenly went blank when Ian fucking Thorpe came through the door. He was pretty sure that blood suckers like Ian weren’t allowed into someone’s home without an invitation but when Ryan quickly followed in behind him, carrying his bag, it became quite apparent to Michael that he’d been given adequate permission to set up camp in their home.
“What is he doing here…?” Michael leaned in to whisper against Ryan’s ear, his voice betraying the anger boiling up inside of him.
“We’ll talk about it later, okay Mike?”
“Yeah. Okay, Mike?” Ian smirked across the room at Michael, following Ryan down the hallway to his guestroom.
Ryan waited until Ian was in the room to make as clear to him as possible that his stay in their home would not be about fun and games. He stood in the door way, his face stone-cold with fury. “Don’t fuck with my boyfriend, Ian. Don’t fuck with me. Don’t fuck with anyone I care about. In two days you’ll be back on a plane to Sydney and I will never hear from you again. Got it?”
“Yeah… yeah, I got it Ryan.”
“Good.” Ryan slammed the door shut and made his way to his own bedroom, past an inquisitive and confused Michael. He found sanctuary in the bathroom, sliding down against the door with several deep breaths, staving off the intense feelings of anxiety and panic. It had taken everything in Ryan’s power not to break down when Ian suddenly appeared on his doorstep. After three and a half years of therapy and healing for the deep wounds Ian had left him with, Ryan yet again found himself curled up on the bathroom floor and heartbroken.