Bad Touch TrioxReader
Sighing, you glanced over your shoulder at the three teens still preoccupied with their phones. You pouted up at your coach, "When I said I wanted to coach, I meant a Grommets team. Or even a girls' team."
"Well that's too bad. These guys just happened to want to play so I figured I'd get them personal training."
You narrowed your (e/c) eyes up at your coach, "And why do I have to coach them?"
He smirked, "Because guys just love you."
The scowl never left your face as your coach shooed you off to meet the guys. He'd gotten you an extra two hours of pooltime to use at drilling for them. You stood in front of the bleachers and sighed. "Guys." No reaction. "Morons!" Still none. Angry now, you stomped up the metal stands and hit one of them, the white-haired one, over the head. That got their attention.
Three pairs of eyes fixed on you, each holding a different emotion. Red eyes glared at you for hitting the guy they belonged to, blue eyes stared up in a judging manor, trying to see through your thick sweater and men's sweats, and green eyes just looked confused. You rolled your own eyes, not excited for the weeks to come.
"First things first, I'm your coach now, not your friend, not your subject of sexual harassment."
The blonde one gasped dramatically, "Mon ami! I would never even-"
"Second," you snapped, glaring at the one who just spoke, "you will be here at 9 o'clock every morning. I don't care if it's Saturday and you got drunk the night before; you're late and I'll be sure you regret it." Fighting the urge to smile, you continued you instruction-giving. "Third. If you're seriously considering water polo," you trailed off as your eyes scanned their bodies. Turning around, you rubbed the back of your head and muttered to yourself, "I have my work cut out for me."
Reaching the bottom of the bleachers, you turned back to face the three stunned boys now in your care. "Well?" you said expectantly. They stared down at your blankly. "Get your scrawny asses down here! Suit up and sit on the bottom bench."
You walked away as the hurriedly stripped. From behind, you heard a Spanish accent whisper to his friends, "Just he just insult my ass?"
A new voice, the voice of the guy you hit, let out chuckle at his friend's confusion and the blonde from earlier consoled him. "Yes, mon ami. He did."
Figuring they'd had more than enough time to suit up, you walked back over to them, grabbing a whiteboard on your way. The supposedly French man was wearing a bright red speedo, the curly-haired brunette's was also red, but had a thick yellow stripe going around as well. Thankfully, the albino guy had a normal black one on.
As soon as they saw you approaching, the promptly sat and shut their mouths. With a pleased smile, you reached them. "Names."
The blonde touched a hand to his chest, "I am Francis Bonnefoy, and-"
You silenced him with a finger held in his direction, your (e/c) eyes were already fixed on his friend next to him.
With a nod, you moved on.
The albino stood and shouted, "I am the awesome-!" but quickly hushed his voice, "Gilbert Beilschmidt."
You nodded curtly. "Good." Looking at them a bit longer, you decided they may not be entirely useless. Pointing to Francis, you asked him if he swam.
"Butterfly and freestyle," he beamed.
With a small smile of your own you told him, "I hope you work really hard if you want to keep swimming. I will personally destroy your strokes."
You left him gaping like a fish out of water and addressed Antonio, "Did you play soccer for the high school last year?" He nodded fervently. "Good! Soccer players are easy to teach."
Antonio grinned and allowed himself to lower his guard while you talked to Gilbert. "And I'm guessing you did soccer too, just not as focused."
Clapping your hands once, you prepared to teach. "Alright. This will be fun. Two soccer players and a swimmer. No big deal. I can do this." You faced the whiteboard to them, showing them the basic layout of a water polo pool. You went over the goals, general rules, and importance of each line. Once that was done, you taught them a basic 3-3 set-up, as well as a 6 on 5.
"And now," you said, erasing the board one final time, "you jump in. Swim 200 then wait at the half." They groaned, but jumped in anyways.
You counted their laps. Frenchie was definitely fastest, finishing when the other two were only at 125, but his stroke would need to be broken. He still swam like a swimmer, a mistake that could cost the ball in a game. Antonio finished just before Gilbert. Both had sloppy strokes, which would be easy for you to fix, as long as you could teach without getting in the water.
When they were all finished, you stood on the wall over the half mark. You pointed to Francis once more, "Your stroke's too pretty, we need to fix that." He gasped. "But, you two," you addressed the others, "look like drowning fish." Francis snickered, but you finished your remark regardless, "Close, but we need more of a drowning bird. We'll work on that later."
Now the other guys laughed, and you allowed yourself a little chuckle. "But seriously, you guys need to work on your strokes." With a sigh you prepared to explain the essential to water polo, egg-beating, without getting in the water.
"K. So. You need to bring your knees up, kinda like you're sitting in a chair, and spin your legs in circles. The faster you go, the higher you get, got it?"
The guys began spinning their legs, but the motions were jerky and they were unable to get too far out of the water.
"Hands out," your voice was sharp and the boys followed your orders, slightly fearful of what would happen if they didn't.
They struggled a lot as they attempted to stay afloat with their elbows out of the water.
Groaning, they attempted to keep their chins out of the water. Francis gave up after five seconds. Gilbert after ten. Antonio continued through the 20 seconds, though his head had sunk under the water after 15. You laughed at the guys after the first vitamin cycle ended. Francis pouted up at you.
"What's so funny?" he asked you.
Gilbert clung to the wall and looked up at you. "Yeah, that's hard work."
You clenched your stomach, trying to get the words out to explain. "Because! I do vitamins for 20 minutes every day for practice. You hardly lasted 20 seconds!"
The albino teen glared up at you, "Prove it!"
With a smirk, you agreed, "Fine! I will." You dragged the clock out from where your coach had left it behind the lifeguard stand and started it. Standing behind the tall clock, you pulled off your sweater and sweats and heard a collective gasp come from the three.
Francis was the first to form actual words, "Mon Dieu."
You glared at the boys and Antonio laughed, "El chico es una chica!"
Raising an eyebrow, you smirked at the boys, "Did you really think I was a boy?"
"Would you kill us if I said 'yes'?" the red-eyed German asked.
Pursing your lips, you thought for a second. "Probably."
You didn't wait for a response before jumping in the heavily chlorinated water. Pushing off the bottom you shot up and started egg beating. "We start on the top."
With careful eyes, you watched the second hand click to the 12. "Go!"
Every 20 seconds you changed your position. Hands, elbows, arms. Hands, elbows, arms. They all lasted for about a minute before having to break. You, however, kept going. Through their break, through their brief periods of working again, another break. 20 minutes of constant egg beating, and you still weren't tired.
When the 20 minutes were up you had hardly broken a sweat, but the three boys were all panting and tired.
"Now that that's over," your lips curled into your signature smile, "Let's break your stroke."