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The Chosen Aquatics: Splash Your Way To Better Health!
You don’t have to be a kua-toa to explore these waters, join today and improve your balance, build muscle, and increase your mobility. In Chosen Aquatics, each and every one of you can be “chosen”!
Today’s Instructor: Gale Dekarios
Astarion stares at the giant sign with distaste, already frustrated by the poor use of colors. It’s an awful mix of blues and teals no doubt used in the hopes of simulating the color of water or something equally boring, but the only effect it achieves is pain as Astarion looks at it.
He’s not looking forward to his very first water aerobics class.
He leans forward to hit the automatic door open button, waiting as the pumps engage and swing the whole thing open, and then he pushes forward on his joystick and drives his wheelchair into the pool room.
It’s immediately much warmer and the air is full of steamy mist. His shirt almost instantly slumps against his skin, uncomfortable in the high humidity. He’s relieved it’ll be off soon. A small respite from the otherwise vast array of annoyances he’ll be dealing with.
There’s a comfortable locker room where he can change just to the side of the enormous pool, already beginning to fill with people waiting for the class. There’s still twenty minutes until it begins, so Astarion isn’t sure why the hells they’re already here. He had to come early because of his chair, to make sure the all-accessibility bus got him here on time, the routes often winding and frustratingly long, and to actually get into the building.
But so far there’ve been no issues. A short ride in a newly refurbished bus, the electronic elevator to get in and out actually functioning for once. A nice winding ramp with a slow, easy incline outside the front entrance, and all the doors with working automatic openers.
Another small relief in the wretched hell his life has become.
There are a couple of older people in the locker room, but they pay him no mind as he wheels in. In fact, now that he's paying attention, he notices that there are other wheelchairs and a couple walkers scattered about the locker room. He's among like-bodied company.
Or rather, he sort of is.
A closer look reveals that most of the people around him, and now that he's thinking about it, most of the people that were in the pool, are all elderly. Astarion closes his eyes and tries to keep his exasperated sigh to himself.
Fantastic. He's taking a class for senior citizens.
Astarion is neither senior nor close to being one. But because of his body, because of what happened, now he’s an invalid among grandparents. Wonderful.
Frustrated now, he picks a random floor locker that no one's using, and bangs it open, ignoring how even that small move feels like he’s tried to shove a boulder. He yanks his shirt off with great difficulty and throws it into the empty space. Then he bends forward and shoves off his shoes and socks, one by one. He’s already sweating and panting heavily halfway through, his arms shaking with exertion.
The shoes get thrown in the locker as well, though it’s more a wheezing shove towards the open cavity than anything. Keys, wallet, a tube of lip balm, everything goes in without any attempt to hide it, not that he has the mobility to do so. Who cares if someone steals it, his shitty possessions for his shitty life?
Gods forbid someone take his keys and go steal his junker of a car that he can barely get in or out of that sits rotting in the parking lot outside of his empty, lonely apartment with the lift that sounds like it’ll break every time Astarion uses it. And there’s no money in his cheaply made wallet, the pitiful amount he gets for assistance every month barely enough to eat on.
Good riddance to any of it.
The lip balm he’d miss though.
Luckily Astarion had some foresight and wore his swim trunks here, so he doesn't have to do the embarrassing struggle it takes to get pants on and off in front of other people. He already feels about to pass out from that small amount of movement already, his heart racing.
With another loud bang, he slams the locker shut and then rolls back out into the main pool area. There are more people now, and Astarion confirms that they are all elderly. With a roll of his eyes, he wheels up to the shallow end where there are multiple hand rails and even a ramp.
And then he pauses, realizing with a sort of sick dread that he’ll be able to get into the pool easily enough, sure, but he doesn't actually know how he'll be able to get out of the pool. Not without asking for assistance. The thought of having to do so makes him feel hot with embarrassment.
“Can I help you, young one?”
Astarion bristles at the voice, the one damned thing he was trying to avoid, already angry and ready to bite, when he turns and sees an absolutely towering brick wall of an elf staring down at him with a kind expression.
The elf is hairy. This is shocking enough to Astarion that his venom dries on his tongue. He forces a fake smile. “No help needed, I assure you.” He says, trying to prevent himself from staring directly at the giant elf’s pecs. Or his bulging arms. Or his massive hands.
Gods, it’s been far too long since Astarion’s had sex.
He’s realizing now, with horror, as he looks at this absolute unit of an elf, that he’s extremely pent up.
He’s old enough be your dad, his mind shouts angrily. And it’s accurate, to be fair, taking a quick moment to scan the other’s face. Elves age different from other races, but the signs are there. Some wrinkles and faint lines mar his otherwise youthful face. He bears an interesting width of scars across his forehead, down from the hairline towards his eyes, a slashing diagonal of scars. This peaks Astarion’s interests enough to forgo both his lust and his anger, and he finds himself sitting a little straighter in his chair.
Perhaps he could ask this guy for help at the end of class.
As he debates the consequences of admitting he’d need it, namely his pride and his ego both beaten down even further, another voice calls over towards them.
“Leave the new guy alone, you don’t need another notch.”
It’s a woman, a half-elf, her face much more lined but also strikingly beautiful with silvery hair tied up into a neat plait and wrapped safely into a bun. Her voice is deep and rich, with a slight accent Astarion can’t place. She hustles up to the much taller elven man and shoves at his shoulder. “Go on, git, hurry or you’ll lose your spot to—”
“A-ha! It is time for the cannonball!”
Another man, this one as big as the elf, maybe bigger, somehow, comes sprinting into the pool room and lunges for the water. Astarion catches sight of an enormous purple tattoo and a shining shaven head.
There’s a loud resounding splash as this gigantic man lands into the water, sending a spray into all the others in the pool. It even reaches the edge where Astarion’s chair sits, though luckily none of it gets on the metal.
He's expecting the people in the pool to be angry, or frustrated at this display of raucous behavior in an otherwise quiet, serene group of people. But to his surprise, most of the people in the pool start clapping.
One regular-sized human man gives a smooth, musical whistle and throws his fist into the air. “A resounding splash today, my good chum! Excellent showing!”
The tall hunk of an elf at his side curses softly and takes off, also diving into the pool, though with a much sleeker splash of his own. Clearly in a hurry, Beefcake rushes to Bald Tattoo near the front, or what Astarion assumes is the front based on the woman’s words, and catches him there. They tussle briefly, a pair of powerful men gripping each other by the biceps and trying to push each other. Astarion’s not sure whether they’re about to punch one another or kiss one another, but in only a moment, the elf has the human in a headlock and then they’re both laughing and clapping each other on the shoulders.
Astarion stares in shock at all of them. This class is full of weirdos.
“Don’t worry too much about them, they’re both harmless, despite their largeness.” The woman says at his side, catching his attention once more. She, at least, seems relatively normal. She looks down at him with one perfectly arched brow raised. “I’m sure you know this already, but, the humidity in here is not going to make friends with your ride.”
Astarion blushes lightly, not as embarrassed as he normally is when people point out his chair, somehow soothed by this woman’s smooth voice and cool air of nonchalance. But he should have realized on his own that metal and extremely damp air wouldn’t match.
Stupid.
So stupid of him.
Why the hells did his doctor recommend a water aerobics class in the first place. Did he think Astarion would just roll into the pool?
The woman’s voice stops his inward spiral. “I know they look a little unreliable, but don’t worry, the waterchairs are actually quite comfortable.” She gestures towards an area Astarion hadn’t noticed yet, too focused on the people to see.
There’s an alcove full of some sort of aquatic wheelchairs, all their parts seem to be made of plastic and canvas. Of course, what a fool. How did he not realize there would be something like this to assist him. This facility had come with massive recommendations and all assurances that he’d be fully independent even needing a chair.
Though it’s another hit to his pride, he dips his head in gratitude, but just barely. “…Thanks.”
The woman doesn’t seem to mind or care about his manners, giving a brusque nod in return and simply walking away from him.
It’s refreshing. Has Astarion relaxing slightly, the tight knot of shame that lives in his chest at all times unraveling, just a bit. These people don’t care if he’s in a chair. They don’t care who he is or why he’s like this. They’re just here to exercise and get healthy. They’ll pay him no mind.
He motors his way towards the alcove, seeing more bright signage with clear instructions, examples provided on how to use this system. It takes a moment of reading, but Astarion gets the gist of it, rolling into a grooved section where his wheels fit securely.
With a push of a button, a bar with wrist straps descends from above, low enough that Astarion can slip his hands through their loops, appreciating how soft and comfortable they are. After a short wait, the bar slowly lifts, up above Astarion’s head, and it lifts Astarion too, right up out of his chair. Onto shaking legs that no longer support his weight and may never do so again.
The bar holds all of his weight, allows him to stand for the quick moment it takes for his chair to be moved backwards on the rails and a waterchair slides in its place, just as quick. The bar begins to lower and Astarion’s seated in this odd, bulbous contraption that looks like if a wheelchair was made of long balloons instead of metal.
It has a motor too, though, and Astarion backs out of the alcove and follows garish neon yellow arrows towards a gentle ramp at the back of the pool. At the top of the ramp, painted letters read ‘Your Adventure Begins!’ and then smaller, below that, ‘Waterchair Dock, Please Reverse Here’.
More grooves for the chair to sit in and Astarion does as instructed, reversing into them. A railing at his side has another button for him and he presses it. A quiet but powerful machine rumbles somewhere and the chair is slowly guided backwards down the ramp, held by something in the wheels, magnets perhaps, Astarion hasn’t the faintest idea, but he’s beginning to fill with an emotion he hasn’t felt in quite some time.
Delight.
The water is warm, not a shock at all, and Astarion shivers at the feel as his body is slowly lowered down into it. When it reaches his chest, the chair levels out and is moved further still to the wall of the pool, where two other waterchairs sit empty and waiting.
He’s not the only one.
Something unclenches inside. They won’t stare at him when it’s time to get out. And no one is staring now, he realizes, looking over the crowd again. Perhaps twenty or so people, and not a one is gawking at him. No one is giving furtive looks or whispering about him.
He feels…normal for the first time in ages.
There’s a collection of flotation aides on a rack on the side of the pool, but even though Astarion no longer feels like actively drowning himself, he should be fine.
The first push off the chair changes everything.
Astarion’s body is a weak, rotted thing, his muscles all atrophied into nothing while he was in a coma, entombed in his body for a full year, trapped inside of himself. Time and life continued on as his body decayed into the quivering mess it is now, barely able to lift his arms without breaking a sweat.
Two months he’s been awake, only to find his fiancé Sebastian had moved on as he slept, not that Astarion blames him after what he did to them both.
The car accident was his fault, after all. High on a concoction most likely spiked with something it shouldn’t have been from his shady dealer Seb always warned him about and too much alcohol, he’d hit that pole all on his own.
But Sebastian had walked away, thank the gods, and Astarion, well, he may never walk unassisted again, even if this wretched class helps him build his muscle back.
Silver lining though, a year in a coma makes for an easy overcoming of addition. No need to struggle through withdrawal when you’re dead to the world for the entirety of it.
He’s only here at the behest of his sister, the good one, after barging into his apartment and nearly shaking him, ruining what had been a truly top-tier brooding session in the dark of his living room, and telling him to get moving.
It’s time to start living again, she’d said.
Astarion only agreed to shut her up, allowing her to get him set up with this facility.
But now, here in the water, for the first time since waking up, Astarion feels free.
His body, despite the lack of body fat and perhaps because it’s not weighed down by muscle, floats easily, and he wades forward with minimal effort until the floor dips away. He notices different sections of the floor for people of differing heights, and there’s a cheerful looking deep gnome up near the front standing easily with the water to his chest.
Astarion wades towards the back, grateful to find a level that works for him, and as he sets his feet towards the floor and plants them there, for the first time since waking from his coma, he stands unassisted.
His breath rushes quick with sharp emotion, excitement the most prevalent, but then his eyes sting with unshed tears and he takes a steadying breath in an attempt to calm himself. There’s no need to put on a show, not when he’s enjoying the anonymity of the back so nicely. The water makes for an excellent staring partner and he looks down at it until he’s calmed enough to keep him from doing something ridiculous like crying.
His feet seem to wobble in the water’s distortion, his body humorously stunted through its illusory warping swirls. It laps warm against his chest and he let’s out a deep, satisfied breath. It takes barely any effort to stand here, the water doing most of the work of keeping him upright.
It’s incredibly calming, and Astarion will have to call Aurelia later and thank her. Begrudgingly, of course.
The chatter of multiple conversations grows louder around him, everyone’s impatience and excitement nearly palpable as the clock ticks closer to the class’s start time. Astarion’s never met so many people excited by exercise and he’s not necessarily in agreement with them, but there’s a certain echo of anticipation within himself as well. He hasn’t really moved since he’s woken, preferring to simply rot away in his chair.
The clock ticks to the hour and the room almost immediately quiets. Everyone waits with bated breath and Astarion’s skin tingles, lured into the shared anticipation. And then, the instructor walks out from the locker room and Astarion almost drowns.
The guy is a total babe.
A human, not old, young like Astarion, with long dark hair he’s got all gathered up in a messy topknot. He’s bearded and just as hairy as the giant elf, but darker, and Astarion’s mouth falls open as he follows the thick thatch of hair down over a toned chest and belly, all the way down to where it trails out of sight beneath the waist of an extremely form-fitting purple speedo.
Astarion’s staring at long, lean legs as the man – hells what was his name again, it was on that wretched sign – smoothly steps into the pool.
It’s like he was made for the water, easily moving through it as sleek as a sea creature. Perhaps there’s some merfolk blood in his ancestry or perhaps he’s just that elegant, but Astarion can’t take his eyes off him.
Which is good, him being the instructor and all.
He moves towards the front end of the pool, where that giant elf had fought so fiercely to keep his ‘spot’, the woman had called it, and now Astarion understands why he fought so fiercely. The instructor is mere feet away up there. If he had a little more power of his own, perhaps he'd fight for the front as well.
But he's grateful to be back here, out of everyone's eyesight as he flounders awkwardly in the water. The safety of the back means he doesn't have to be watched or perceived, or so he thinks.
The instructor looks out over all of his students, a friendly smile on his handsome face. There are faint crinkles at the corners of his dark eyes that scan the crowd and Astarion jolts in surprise as they pause on him.
He looks away quickly, angry at how hot his face feels for being caught staring. But that's silly, he's supposed to stare. He's supposed to look at the teacher. Feigning a look of indifference, despite his burning cheeks, Astarion looks up again and finds he's still being looked at.
That handsome smile widens, and the instructor gives him a quick nod as if he knows him, and Astarion doesn't know what to do with that. It's been a fair bit of time since someone's held his eyes and not looked away in discomfort or immediately looked at his wheelchair instead.
But of course he's not in his wheelchair right now, so there's nothing to distract from his face. Why, for a moment, while in the water, he possibly looks like a normal person again.
Might as well enjoy it, brief though it will be.
He smiles back, pouting his lips just a bit and morphing his face into his most flirtatious expression he knows. With a little lift of his brows, he sends a wink to the hot instructor, hoping for some flirting in return.
But instead of anything salacious, the instructor smiles deeper, his eyes going fond like he’s seeing someone he cares about, which throws Astarion off balance so much, he nearly slips his footing.
But then the moment ends, the instructor looking away to address the class as a whole. “Welcome back to our long-time members and welcome to all of our new friends.”
Astarion bites back the scoff, hot instructor or no. Friends. So it’s going to be one of those types of classes.
“I’m Gale and I’m looking forward to seeing the best you can be today. Let’s get started with some easy movements to warm-up.” He gestures over to the side of the pool to someone and then music starts playing.
It’s contemporary hits, smooth listening, old people music, and Astarion fights another grimace as the instructor, Gale, starts leading the group in slow, sweeping arm movements under the water, back and forth.
“Excellent!” Gale enthuses as the class begins to mimic him, his voice bright and annoyingly peppy. “Remember to keep those hands flat as you glide them through the water, like you’re cutting through it. You’re encouraged to turn them, like you’re trying to catch the water as you move. But if that resistance gets to be too much, please flatten them again. We don’t need any heroes here today.”
There’s a light scattering of laughter, even though the comment wasn't exactly a joke. Astarion wonders how much of this class comes here solely to perv on the teacher. Though, as he moves his hands through the water, he finds that even with his hands held flat and parallel to the floor, it's still immensely difficult. After just a few seconds, his heartrate has already kicked up.
“Fantastic everyone, now let's move into a nice gentle underwater flap.” Again the class quickly moves to repeat his movements. “You can keep your hands flat to reduce resistance, chop chop chopping through the air, or you may turn your hands to catch the water. Just don’t fly out of the pool, now!”
Another scattering of laughter, and Astarion feels like gagging, rolling his eyes again and then actually wincing as it hurts this time. The things people will do for an attractive person.
Astarion finds the whole concept ridiculous, how pathetic people can be for a pretty face and a hot body. It’s entirely unimportant that Astarion thinks Gale’s attractive too, and completely unrelated to the fact that Astarion, before his accident, was also one of those attractive people too.
Now no one gives him a second glance.
But the more pressing issue is that he's been here less than five minutes and his arms are already killing him, he's not sure how he's going to last the entire hour. There's no way for him to leave the pool without loudly announcing his departure, thanks to needing the water chair and the ramp. Perhaps he can save himself the embarrassment and just secretly drown back here.
Even worse, Gale starts moving into the group, effortlessly weaving through the other students and offering guidance and support as he goes.
“Excellent form, Barcus, well done!” then “A little bit more, Vlaakith, one can’t simply wish for stronger arms, there we go, just like that” and on and on, every person addressed until, horribly, he comes all the way to the back and stops right in front of Astarion.
Astarion who’s still doing his best to move his arms through the water but is out of breath and trembling, face flushed with ugly embarrassment and fatigue. Now, under Gale’s intense gaze, a pair of the warmest brown eyes he’s ever seen watching him, he feels like he’s going to throw up.
“It’s Astarion, yes?” Gale asks and Astarion’s stomach surges anxiously as he nods. “Welcome to my class, I look forward to training with you.”
Gale’s eyes crinkle at the edges again and he reaches out to pat once on Astarion’s shoulder. It’s light but it sends shockwaves through his body, both the weight of it and the heat. Even as Astarion almost buckles beneath it, he’s curling towards its warmth. The first time someone who isn’t a doctor or family has touched him in recent memory.
Gods, and it has to be someone Astarion finds so dreadfully attractive, here, in this moment, as he’s shivering like a newborn foal and just as bad at moving.
Gale’s hand pulls away, a pity, and then those eyes are flicking over Astarion’s movements. But there’s no judgement or derision in them, only the same bright kindness as before.
“Forgive me, I don’t mean to come off too strict,” He says, his smile so warm and sweet, Astarion doubts he’s ever been called strict by anyone. “But I request that all new students use a flotation aid for at least their first full week.” Seemingly from nowhere, as if by magic, Gale produces a compact tube of foam meant to be secured around the chest like a belt and holds it up. “If you wouldn’t mind?”
Astarion takes the offered belt without thinking, realizing that, despite his ego, he doesn’t have to say no to this. Whether Gale is simply following his own rules, or whether he’s knowingly giving Astarion an out, he doesn’t care.
Another minute and his trembling legs are going to give out.
Though his hands shake as he does so, he pulls the straps around his back and clips them together over his sternum. The foam attached to the straps is incredibly dense and buoyant, and the moment Astarion puts it on, it tugs him upward, taking the strain off his legs.
Thank the gods.
His relief is immediate and he takes a moment to enjoy the feeling of floating, his feet now just barely flat on the floor.
Gale watches him for another silent moment, and then he smiles his widest yet. “I’m glad you’re here, Astarion. Your sister told me about you.”
Astarion is taken aback by that, momentarily stunned. And then a sharp surge of renewed shame and anger rushes through him so hard, he goes light-headed. But he recovers, swallowing it all down.
Fucking Aurelia, he’s going to strangle her.
Trying for light-hearted despite his still-panting breaths, he adopts what he hopes is a look of airy disinterest. “Oh? She told you my sordid little secret, did she? That saves me the trouble then, of having to explain it, of having to relive my little mistake all over again. And you too, my dear, saves you the trouble of wasting your time on me, thinking I’m a pitiful little creature only to find out what a monster I am.”
The words end harsher than he meant them to, his face falling as he realizes how insane he sounds. If Aurelia told Gale about the accident, how he almost killed his fiancé…
“You’re not a monster.” Gale says simply.
Astarion almost laughs at that, or he would if he could laugh anymore, and then his chest tightens. The noises of the class around them seem to dim, only the two of them standing here talking. Gale’s words ring out in his head almost painful, and Astarion realizes just how much he’s wanted to hear someone say this to him.
Gale takes one step closer, reaches up to pat his shoulder again, but it lingers this time. Astarion’s breath catches in his throat, heart hammering from the proximity but also, the compassion in Gale’s eyes boring in to him.
“You turned the wheel, Astarion.”
And the floor falls away beneath his feet, only the sturdy strap made of pool noodles around his chest holding him upright. He’s frozen, stuck between this moment and that one, in the car, when they slid off the road, careening towards that pole and Astarion’s last memory jerking the steering wheel, turning the car so Sebastian’s side was safe, so that his side struck the telephone pole—
How dare she tell Gale this? How dare she give intimate details to a stranger? When it doesn’t matter that Astarion did that, Seb was only in danger because of him in the first place, only a victim because Astarion made him one.
No wonder he’d left him.
“I apologize for overstepping, if I have.” Gale says, his voice soft yet perfectly clear. “You made a mistake, but you’re not a monster, Astarion. Everyone makes mistakes. I’m no stranger to them myself.” And he gestures towards his chest where Astarion takes notice for the first time of a very strange spiraling scar at the base of his neck, right in the center of his ribs.
It’s incredibly faint, hard to even make out the shape, especially with water reflecting and distorting its image, even as close as they are.
But Gale steps backwards, hand regrettably leaving his skin, and gives him a thoughtful look. “It’s hard to forgive ourselves, but it’s part of the process. Your body will heal faster if your mind is ready to move forward too. I’m glad you’re here, Astarion. I hope you enjoy the class.”
Then he’s slipping away, cutting through the water as seamless as a ship’s prow, checking on the other people that yes, Astarion did forget about momentarily. He tells himself he does not feel slighted as Gale easily touches others the same as he did him. A reassuring pat on the shoulder here, a correction of posture there, the others all lean into his hands.
When Gale returns to the front, Astarion watches as that giant elf from earlier, the one who’d wrestled for that front, stands up taller, eyes shining as they watch Gale maneuver past. Astarion momentarily wonders if they’re partners, but then Gale turns a polite but professional smile towards that face that towers above him and he relaxes.
It’s not relief that he feels, most definitely not.
Just…curiosity, of course.
As their warm-up transitions into the actual workout session, Astarion is immensely grateful for the flotation device snapped snugly around his chest. It takes so much effort off of his legs, which helps specifically when they move to the leg portion of the class.
By the end, Astarion aches, his body wracked with pain, like he’s covered in exposed nerves and rolling in nails. Everything throbs sharp and hot, and he’s so grateful for the automatic ramp as he drags himself back into the waterchair. It takes him a fair bit of maneuvering and he’s the last one in the pool by the time he’s seated.
Gale comes over again, and Astarion tries to sit up straight, he really does, but it’s a wasted effort. He slumps, gripping the armrests for support, at least managing to keep the grimace off his face. He could pass out right here if not for the imminent threat of drowning.
But the floor is higher here, at the chair dock, so by the time Gale comes to stand before him, he’s mostly out of the water and Astarion stares somewhat helplessly as rivulets of water slip and drip down that enticing chest and stomach. He spares one quick glance to the sodden fabric of Gale’s tiny speedo and has to whip his eyes away before he starts drooling.
But Gale bends down and places his hand over Astarion’s where it grips the armrest, giving him a gentle squeeze.
“You did fantastic today, Astarion. I hope to see you next class.”
Do his fingers linger, or is Astarion just that touch-starved? There’s no way to tell, but he stares hungrily as Gale turns to walk away, eyes locking on to the absolutely illegal truck of an ass that had until this moment been hidden beneath the water.
Astarion will be returning for the next class, no question.