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“Boy,” I warn as my movements speed up. “Pull back if you do not want to swallow.”

If anything he doubles his efforts, and I let out a strained chuckle. “Greedy boy, so eager for Daddy’s load.” The whining sound he makes in the back of his throat hits me like a spike of pleasure and my balls draw up tight. “Fuck, Aleks,” I gasp as the orgasm tears through me.

It takes me a moment to come back into my body. Aleks’ mouth sucks rhythmically on my softening cock, and I smile down at him. He looks like there is nowhere he would rather be than on his knees.

Carefully, I pull my cock from his lips and tuck myself back into my pants. When I see Aleks’ mouth still working as though he is still imagining the shape of my cock filling it, I give him my thumb. He starts to suck, and I crouch down in front of him.

“I am going to talk you through your routine now.” I keep my voice low. “Listen, and imagine yourself moving through it as I speak. Imagine Cora in the water beside you. Imagine you are mirrors to each other, perfectly coordinated.”

His eyes are fixed on me as I talk through each of the elements of his routine. I watch the dazed uncertainty fade, replaced by determination and unmistakable confidence.

When I finish, he pulls off of my thumb. His shoulders straighten, and he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. His green eyes are hard and full of fire, and he looks like he is ready to take on the world.

“Go show them who you are, Aleks.”

No other performance environment compares to artistic swimming at the Clash of Creatures. The competition pool is a feat of engineering: a tall, clear cylinder rises up out of the ground. The stadium seats rise up around it, so the audience and judges have a clear view of both the underwater movements as well as the aerial jumps and twirls above the water.

Aleks and Cora stand, poised, at the edge of the pool. Each wears a swimsuit bottom of water-soluble material that will melt the moment they enter the water and transform.

They look striking together, the blue stripes across their faces a few shades darker than the cloudless sky stretching above them. My eyes linger on Aleks, on his face, which has become so achingly familiar in the past few days. He is focused, eyes fixed on the water, jaw set in a hard line.

The opening piano notes begin, and, together, they dive in.

This is the hardest part of my job. As a coach, my work is in the preparation, the discipline built over years, all in the service of this one, singular moment. Now, with Aleks and Cora in the water, there is nothing I can do but watch. I am powerless to whatever outcome.

So much of their performance is flawless. Individually, each of them is a precise and accomplished performer, their individual skill is unmistakable. But whatever was missing in our whirlwind practices over the past two days did not magically appear overnight.

I try to hope. Aleks needs me to hope, but I have seen enough routines over the years to know this one is not working.

I glance over at the judges, who sit on a platform suspended right at the edge of the pool, so close they have a glass shield in front of them to keep them from being splashed. It is a panel of representatives from each of the species in the Tail Division: merpeople, sirens, shark and dolphin shifters, and undines. Most of them I know by name. Samuel, the shark shifter, was a dominant athlete in the sport ten years ago, competing alongside his mate, Uma. Shonka, the mermaid, is a respected elder from one of the northernmost communities, with striking white hair and pale blue scales.

Of course, I know Alina Parthenope. She has sat on the judging panel for the past seven years, and has the reputation of being ruthless in her evaluation of the technical skills demonstrated in a routine.

She, along with Shonka, are also known to be the most blatant in their favoritism toward their own kind.

While other sports rely on the impartiality of the judges, artistic swimming at the Clash went in the opposite direction: a chosen representative of each species means they are all prone to bias toward their own athletes. By having all of them represented, they balance each other out, and the result is predictable scoring that is, at the end of the day, fair.

My eyes linger on Alina. When I spent years working on her coaching staff, learning about the sport through her eyes, I questioned her harsh treatment of the athletes. There had to be a better way to inspire medal-worthy performances than the physical and psychological trials she put the young sirens through.

Right now, I hate her. I hate her for delaying the ruling on Aleks’ petition until the last possible moment. It is unlikely the IASA ever seriously considered the possibility of granting him a solo—and yet they drew out their decision for so long that they jeopardized his chance to prepare.

There is nothing to be done about her now. I return my attention back to the two sirens in the water.

All I can do now is stand by them as they do this together.

When the final duet of the preliminary round—a pair of undines who placed second at the world competition last season—is underway, Aleks and Cora sit in twelfth place.

If the undine duet scores as high as everyone expects them to, then this will be the moment when Aleks’ bid to return and medal at the Clash of Creatures comes to an end.

My gaze drifts to Aleks, who sits beside Cora on plastic chairs tucked under the stands, their heads together as they watch the undines routine.

While I am happy he is not alone, I cannot help but glare at the back of the other siren’s head. It should be me he is sitting with. It should be my shoulder pressed to his. It is my job. He is my boy, and, even though he does not know it yet, he is mine.

Dios, I was supposed to tell him. Two days ago I was ready, I had it all planned out, and then the letter arrived and everything has been a blur since then.

I look away.

This is his moment. Celebration or disappointment, this is his. This is his life, what he has been working towards for years in spite of the sport he gave his childhood to turning against him. He made it here because he fought for himself, every step of the way.