Chapter Text
Dive Into These Icy Waters
It was late afternoon, the sun was nudging the horizon but there were at least two hours until it set. James eyed the frigid waters of the Thames with trepidation, before glancing and George and stealing himself.
George had walked up behind James as he’d been on the bridge and snatched his (hated) top hat right off his head. He’d said he’d give it back if James best him in a swimming race, from the point on the bank just after the bridge to a tree about 100 metes away. It was a fair distance and upstream. Today was also definitely not the weather for such a challenge, there was a stifling cold about the air. James had been contemplating building a fire in his room as he’d walked.
“Alright then,” he said, his voice cracking slightly from the cold. “Let’s do this.”
George smirked cockily, his icy blue eyes meeting James’ steely gaze. “Don’t be such a baby, Bond,” he sneered confidently. “Just follow me into the water and we’ll see who really owns the hat, won’t we?”
Their words hung heavily between them as they cautiously approached the edge of the water. The air was still, save for the occasional gust of wind that rustled the trees lining the banks. The wind was chilly, making James all the more unenthusiastic to feel the waters embrace.
Both boys stripped down to their underwear, shivering in the biting cold. James felt naked, exposed, his nerves jangling like live wires as he stood beside his neatly folded uniform. George, however, seemed unaffected, standing tall and proud, his muscles flexing taut beneath his skin.
James observed George, not realising he was doing it. He looked at the boys calves, they looked as if they were carved from rock. The statuesque trend only continued as his eyes rose, they travelled halfway up his thighs before jumping almost guiltily higher up. To no surprise the American rising-athlete had sharp and defined abdominals which James traced up to broad, solid shoulders and a strong neck – he had a brief thought of sinking his teeth into the tendons he saw there before quickly banishing it, dismissing it as a thought of animalistic violence.
Finally James reached Hellebore’s face, with his usual carved jawline, unnaturally straight and white teeth, neat blonde hair and piercing blue eyes which James realised were trained on his own body.
James took a minute to think about what George saw when he looked at him, how he compared. James was slimmer, he had a lean runners build. While all his muscles were just as defined as George’s they didn’t compare in bulk. George must have been cataloging his competition, thought James, although the other boys eyes seemed to linger a bit long until James shifted.
He pushed his shoulders back and raised his chin. George’s gaze snapped to his and raised a coly eyebrow, “Are we swimming or not, Hellebore?” George seemed to shake his head slightly, as if ridding himself of something in his ear or an unpleasant thought before grinning nastily at James, “All set to lose then?”
James scoffed and turned to step onto the edge of the bank. George drew up alongside him and they made eye contact again. With a nod the boys flung themselves forward in streamlined dives.
They plunged into the icy depths, the shock of the cold water feeling like a slap. Their lungs seized momentarily but they powered through, with barely a pause from either boy to show they were effected.
James’s heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins in a potent cocktail of fear and excitement.
The feeling was something he enjoyed, craved even compared to the dullness of everyday Eton life. In some strange twist he felt it often when around George, when the older boy and his cronies shoved past James on the paths. As well as on the few occasions they’d had physical altercations.
Most memorably was the time James has been wondering alone on one of Eton’s many roads, lost in thought. He’s literally bumped into George by pure accident, having not been watching where he was going. George had immediately shoved him into the nearest wall, they’d been close together and James’s heart had pounded with that heady mix of fear and excitement of what George might do next. Would he hit him? Would he pull back and shove him harder again into the wall? Would he threaten him? George had been close enough for James to see the shine in his teeth as he’d snarled at him to “Watch his fucking step,” before he’d pulled away and stomped off.
He broke the surface of the water with powerful strokes and propelled himself up the river.
George followed barely behind, his powerful strokes cutting through the water like a knife. Their bodies fought in harmony, their movements fluid and graceful despite the chill seeping into their bones. They swam parallel to each other, their faces grim and determined.
James had barely had a head start from his dive and he was quickly losing it to George’s more powerful kicks.
The sun seemed to dip lower, casting long shadows over the water, turning everything a dark shade of blue.
James’s muscles burned with effort, every stroke feeling increasingly painful. But he pushed on, refusing to let George get the better of him. He gritted his teeth, his resolve hardening, he shot forward, his determination burned hotter than the setting sun.
They continued to push themselves, their lungs burning from lack of oxygen and cold water filling their mouths when they turned their heads to gasp in breaths.
Each stroke felt like a battle, their bodies fighting against the numbing cold and exhaustion. Yet neither one wanted to surrender. For James, it was a matter of pride, a chance go prove to George that he wasn’t the coward he made him out to be (and of course getting his hat back, he needed that). For George, it was about dominance — about showing James who was truly in control.
George had been drawn to James since day one, but the attraction was muddled by a sense of resentment for the smaller boy’s unexpected defiance. It was an intoxicating blend of power and arousal that surged through George whenever he thought of James.
As they neared the end of the race, the tension between them was palpable. George began to question whether his desire was worth the risk. What if his father found out? What if he lost everything in pursuit of something so taboo?
Meanwhile, James wrestled with his own demons. As much as he wanted to despise George, he couldn’t help but harbour feelings of grudging admiration and jealousy for the bully. After all, George was handsome, confident, and seemingly unburdened by the weight of social expectations. However, those emotions were quickly replaced by a burning determination to best George in the race. The idea of defeating him, even if it meant nothing more than a small victory, was enough to fuel James’s competitive spirit.
The tension between them intensified, as they fought to reach the finish line first. Each stroke was a battle, their bodies straining against the cold water and exhaustion. As they neared the end, the distance between them narrowed, the outcome hanging in the balance.
With a final burst of energy, George lunged forward, his powerful strokes propelling him just ahead of James. The race was a close call, but George emerged victorious by a single stroke.
James felt an overwhelming mixture of emotions disappointment, anger, and a lingering sense of defeat. He had been training tirelessly and yet he had fallen just short of victory.
George, on the other hand, experienced a rush of triumph and satisfaction. He had bested James, proving that he was stronger.
As they climbed out of the water, their bodies shaking from the cold, they exchanged a hard glance. They stood side by side, glaring at each other, chests heaving from the exertion, shivering from a mixture of the freezing cold and adrenaline.
George looked haughtily at James, “Well, looks like I won, Bond.”
“So it would seem, Hellebore, “ replied James, holding back his emotions to seem unaffected
“That means you won’t get your hat back, now doesn’t it, Bond?” George was so smug as he said it, but there was something else there too, something James couldn’t identify. He didn’t like it, that glint in Hellebore’s eyes hinted he wasn’t done with him yet.
“Seeing as the terms of our bargain were if you won you got your hat back… I guess you’ll have to explain your incomplete uniform to your Housemaster.” George’s grin was sly, he was enjoying this.
James withheld a shudder at the thought of the most probably violent punishment he would receive. He crossed his arms -conveniently warming him slightly-and stubbornly pushed up his chin, “So be it.”
“Unless… of course, you agree to do what I say.” The glint was shine now, evident in Hellebore’s smug face and cruel grin. James didn’t like the look of it, this wouldn’t end well for him.
James sighed, “Alright then, Hellebore. What is it? Shine your shoes for a month? Do your homework? Some humiliating thing thought up in that twisted head of yours?”
George’s grin grew before turning sharp. “Giving in so easily eh, Bond?”
“Shove off it and tell me what you want.”
“Come with me to my room.”
That gave James a pause. George’s room? He knew George had his own decent sized room that was supposedly more private than the rest thanks to his father’s donations to his House.
Alone in a room with Hellebore? He was probably going to be beaten silly. At least no one would see him, thought James, wondering if the beating from Codrose would really be any worse.
James thought about it, honestly he didn’t have much of a choice. Housemaster Codrose hated him and used any excuse to punish him to the full extent possible. Any beating Hellebore gave him couldn’t compare to Codrose - who could assign daily caning until the hat was replaced. Losing a piece of his uniform could also be twisted into breaking a whole bunch of other rules, a sure caning, and a brutal one.
The atmosphere between them crackled with an undercurrent of unease and anticipation.
“Can’t back out now, Bond, or are you a little wuss like I’ve always thought?” George’s sneering voice cut through James’s thoughts.
“Fuck you, Hellebore. I’ll go with you, do your bloody worst.”,swore James uncharacteristically