today's writing
Another bit of Olympic slash! See earlier post for the yadda yadda.
PG-13, Vanderkaay/Lochte
8/13/2008 8:20 AM
"4x200"
A long arm snagged Ryan Lochte and pulled him out of the hall where he’d been trailing Michael Phelps towards the doors. Michael never noticed, he was already surrounded by well-wishers, head bent to talk with his mom, ignoring the occasional snap of camera or phone-camera aimed in his direction. He was five for five, gold medals and world records, coming from the podium for the 4x200-meter freestyle relay medal ceremony, where Ryan had stood beside him, along with Ricky Berens and Peter Vanderkaay. The four of them together had broken the world record and smashed seven minutes, but the news stories were all going to be about Michael’s eleventh career medal and what he had coming up next.
Ryan bumped the wall behind him gently, frowning as he looked up the scant two inches that separated the top of his head from the top of Peter Vanderkaay’s. The Michigan man’s features didn’t give much clue.
“What’s with?”
“Stop egging him on, Ryan.” The tone was mild, anything else would have surprised Ryan immensely in any case. He searched Peter’s steady eyes.
They were darn near opposites, the easily-smiling, frequently joking Floridian and the sober Wolverine from Rochester. It was far too easy for Ryan to make jokes about that, to use Peter as his straight man, and for the most part Peter did what any good straight man would do and ignored it. Right now, however, he remained focused.
“What do you mean?” Ryan asked automatically, defensively. He smiled, his answer to almost anything. He had an idea though, and it made him a little annoyed that Vanderkaay was calling him on it.
“You know what I mean. On the podium. You didn’t even stop during the national anthem.” The emphasis wasn’t heavy, in fact it was barely there. Peter wasn’t heavy handed. Except, of course, that his hands actually were pretty heavy, major slabs of meat like the rest of him and one of them was resting on Ryan’s shoulder. Not exactly a lightweight himself, none of the team was except by comparison to some of the other members. Running into any of them would only hurt the one would did the running.
Ryan’s smile flickered and disappeared. “Oh come on…”
“No, you come on.” Nothing else. Point made. But Peter’s hand stayed where it was.
The pout was a less ready expression that Ryan’s grin but it came up easily enough. “You’re kidding, right? You gotta be… unless… oh, oh, I get it… you’re jealous….”
That egged a brief closing of eyes and the barest hint of a sigh from Peter, but it didn’t move his hand away.
“Of what? The fact that you can get Mike to giggle in public when a bazillion cameras are on him? Or that you run around after him with your dick on your sleeve?”
Ryan’s jaw sagged open in utter shock at the second half of that reply, short circuited in mid retort. The gentle tone in was delivered in almost made it sting more.
“Just be more careful,” Peter said quietly. “Nobody cares what we do, but everyone’s watching him. The news guys can take something like that and turn it into a front page story, okay?”
Heat surged under Ryan’s skin. He gulped. “Like what?”
“You guys laughing when you’re supposed to be respectful. Don’t take it for granted. That’s all.” There was more Peter could have said but he rarely used two words when one would do. And that one was always well considered, which was why Ryan was having such a problem with a come back. He knew it.
“You’re jealous,” he repeated, mostly because it was all he could manage. That hand on his shoulder made it hard to find a joke for this occasion.
Peter’s head shook, once. “No point.”
His hand moved from Ryan’s shoulder finally, and cupped Ryan’s chin to tilt it up.
He bent in to take a kiss, brief but definite, surprising and warm.
His smile was rarer than Ryan’s but it brightened his face every bit as much.
“You’ll get him back when this is over, so relax.”
Ryan’s mouth fished, lips tingling. “Uh.”
Peter’s hand dropped. He leaned back, giving Ryan an escape route. It wasn’t taken.
Leaning back against the wall, Ryan looked up at his teammate just as soberly, for a moment, as Vanderkaay.
“He needed to laugh,” he said softly. “It was starting to get to him.”
Peter’s eyebrows twitched, but he took that in, thought it over. It was possible Ryan could spot that.
“Just be careful,” he said, a mild acknowledgment.
Before he could turn away, Ryan reached up and caught a hand in Peter’s shirt. He searched the inquiring look that netted him, casting a cursory glance around to make sure they were really out of line of sight in this little alcove. Of course, Peter would have been careful.
Leaning forward, and up, he tried for a brush of lips, feeling oddly happy when Peter caught his lower lip between his. Ryan’s lashes lowered but not before his eyes said, I didn’t know.
That pulled another brief smile from Peter. Of course not.
Then Peter moved back, and away, and was headed down the now nearly empty hallway.
8/13/2008 9:18 AM
PG-13, Vanderkaay/Lochte
8/13/2008 8:20 AM
"4x200"
A long arm snagged Ryan Lochte and pulled him out of the hall where he’d been trailing Michael Phelps towards the doors. Michael never noticed, he was already surrounded by well-wishers, head bent to talk with his mom, ignoring the occasional snap of camera or phone-camera aimed in his direction. He was five for five, gold medals and world records, coming from the podium for the 4x200-meter freestyle relay medal ceremony, where Ryan had stood beside him, along with Ricky Berens and Peter Vanderkaay. The four of them together had broken the world record and smashed seven minutes, but the news stories were all going to be about Michael’s eleventh career medal and what he had coming up next.
Ryan bumped the wall behind him gently, frowning as he looked up the scant two inches that separated the top of his head from the top of Peter Vanderkaay’s. The Michigan man’s features didn’t give much clue.
“What’s with?”
“Stop egging him on, Ryan.” The tone was mild, anything else would have surprised Ryan immensely in any case. He searched Peter’s steady eyes.
They were darn near opposites, the easily-smiling, frequently joking Floridian and the sober Wolverine from Rochester. It was far too easy for Ryan to make jokes about that, to use Peter as his straight man, and for the most part Peter did what any good straight man would do and ignored it. Right now, however, he remained focused.
“What do you mean?” Ryan asked automatically, defensively. He smiled, his answer to almost anything. He had an idea though, and it made him a little annoyed that Vanderkaay was calling him on it.
“You know what I mean. On the podium. You didn’t even stop during the national anthem.” The emphasis wasn’t heavy, in fact it was barely there. Peter wasn’t heavy handed. Except, of course, that his hands actually were pretty heavy, major slabs of meat like the rest of him and one of them was resting on Ryan’s shoulder. Not exactly a lightweight himself, none of the team was except by comparison to some of the other members. Running into any of them would only hurt the one would did the running.
Ryan’s smile flickered and disappeared. “Oh come on…”
“No, you come on.” Nothing else. Point made. But Peter’s hand stayed where it was.
The pout was a less ready expression that Ryan’s grin but it came up easily enough. “You’re kidding, right? You gotta be… unless… oh, oh, I get it… you’re jealous….”
That egged a brief closing of eyes and the barest hint of a sigh from Peter, but it didn’t move his hand away.
“Of what? The fact that you can get Mike to giggle in public when a bazillion cameras are on him? Or that you run around after him with your dick on your sleeve?”
Ryan’s jaw sagged open in utter shock at the second half of that reply, short circuited in mid retort. The gentle tone in was delivered in almost made it sting more.
“Just be more careful,” Peter said quietly. “Nobody cares what we do, but everyone’s watching him. The news guys can take something like that and turn it into a front page story, okay?”
Heat surged under Ryan’s skin. He gulped. “Like what?”
“You guys laughing when you’re supposed to be respectful. Don’t take it for granted. That’s all.” There was more Peter could have said but he rarely used two words when one would do. And that one was always well considered, which was why Ryan was having such a problem with a come back. He knew it.
“You’re jealous,” he repeated, mostly because it was all he could manage. That hand on his shoulder made it hard to find a joke for this occasion.
Peter’s head shook, once. “No point.”
His hand moved from Ryan’s shoulder finally, and cupped Ryan’s chin to tilt it up.
He bent in to take a kiss, brief but definite, surprising and warm.
His smile was rarer than Ryan’s but it brightened his face every bit as much.
“You’ll get him back when this is over, so relax.”
Ryan’s mouth fished, lips tingling. “Uh.”
Peter’s hand dropped. He leaned back, giving Ryan an escape route. It wasn’t taken.
Leaning back against the wall, Ryan looked up at his teammate just as soberly, for a moment, as Vanderkaay.
“He needed to laugh,” he said softly. “It was starting to get to him.”
Peter’s eyebrows twitched, but he took that in, thought it over. It was possible Ryan could spot that.
“Just be careful,” he said, a mild acknowledgment.
Before he could turn away, Ryan reached up and caught a hand in Peter’s shirt. He searched the inquiring look that netted him, casting a cursory glance around to make sure they were really out of line of sight in this little alcove. Of course, Peter would have been careful.
Leaning forward, and up, he tried for a brush of lips, feeling oddly happy when Peter caught his lower lip between his. Ryan’s lashes lowered but not before his eyes said, I didn’t know.
That pulled another brief smile from Peter. Of course not.
Then Peter moved back, and away, and was headed down the now nearly empty hallway.
8/13/2008 9:18 AM