Beckham thoroughly enjoyed the water. Ever since he was around three years old, waddling by clear sea waves that barely licked his calves, he had been fascinated with the idea of mastering its depths. Swimming. Thirteen years later, with enough medallions to fill a small room, he was confident in his abilities to both teach and compete in sport. The male lightly gasped as he rose with each breaststroke, each powerful pump of his arms and thrust of long, well-endowed legs as he pulsed through the crisp chlorinated pool. In between sides of thick painted stripes on the bottom of the pool floor, swimmers rushed alongside him, the coach blowing his whistle and hurtling encouragements in the background. Swim practise was in full heat, and everyone was working hard. As they should be. As he expected.
Kicking off the opposing wall with a burst of speed, Beckham stormed the water with powerful, elegant strokes before finally reaching its end; the first to climb out victorious with his auburn hair dripping and eyes shining bright ice. Flinging a towel over broad shoulders, Beckham dried himself off whilst idly watching his former competitors— other students, from a variety of backgrounds, some of which he knew from previous years on the comp team, some complete rookies sweating and splashing all over the place. Novices. He almost felt bad for them. Well, they had signed up for swimming as their athletics club elective and by no means was it as easygoing a team as one would've hoped.
Beckham smirked. "Alright boys, form up! You can do it, I know you can. Only four more laps." He clapped his hands sharply, already on his way off to the change rooms with a clipboard tucked under one arm. From there he'd check over the list and ensure everyone who signed up had a check mark next to their name— proof of their being there. Being next year's aspiring captain— the boy vouched his name was already scratched in for senior year, he was practically the team's golden boy and he knew it well— he had zero tolerance for those who didn't take the team seriously. He refused to let any newcomers inflict a bad rep on the club. Lates, skipping. Absolutely unacceptable. Beckham wouldn't stand for it.
And he would hunt the slackers down, come hell or high water. He was intensely competitive and determined to whip the team into shape; newcomer or otherwise. They signed up for this, they were going through it. His striking eyes zoomed in on one name like a telescope. Some Alexander boy. An absentee. And immediately Beckham knew who was next to face some intense shit for skipping his meet. ‘Alexander—’ he presented his full name curtly over the intercom, husked tone slicing the air. ‘—please report to Gym C's aquatic facility at once.' And the tall athlete expected him to be there damn soon. No one ditched swim practise and got away with it.
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