Dive : Chapter 24
Title: Dive : Chapter 24
Pairing: MPhelps/RLochte;
Fandom: RPF
Rating: pg13
Warnings: Real person fiction; Real person slash; Minors fighting
Summary: Ryan tells Michael something nice.
Notes: 1700 words
Monday morning, Michael has twice as much work to do as usual, thanks to the tons of makeup work his teachers have dumped on him. He gets to the lunch table early, claiming a seat at the end of the table and spreading out a couple of his books so he can make up the classwork he missed Friday.
All through the day, something has been going on right under the surface, something that causes a thin crackling of electricity through the swimteam. Michael doesn't notice it, too wrapped up in his work, until everything starts to surface.
"Hey, Dumbo, move your shit."
Michael glances up to see Kyle hovering over him, then lowers his eyes back to his books. Across the lunchroom, Ryan and his posse enter through the double doors unnoticed.
"Oh, so you think you're one of us now that the list is up?"
Michael blinks up at him, "What are you talking about?"
"I don't know why Ryan worked so hard to get you on the team, and I don't know what he told Coach to get you on the list, but if you don't stop fucking my life up, I'm going to permanently dent your face in."
Michael blinks in surprise, "What?" Maybe everything would have blown over. But at that exact moment, Michael chose to have word vomit, "I can't help it that Ryan likes me better."
The next thing he knew, he felt a throbbing pain in his bottom lip as his own front teeth, thanks to Kyle's fist, sliced through it. Then a clunk as his head connected with the tile floor.
Coughing in shock, Michael doesn't even have time to respond before a blur of forest green t shirt and light wash blue jeans has tackled Kyle to the floor. The lunchroom goes wild around him the attacker straddles Kyle Deery and begins to methodically pound his face into the linoleum.
"Ryan!" Michael pushes himself up to a crawl and tries to make his way towards the fight, but the rush of students holds him back. A tight circle has quickly gathered around the fight, and the leers and screams of his fellow students block out the sound of Michael's voice as he screams at Ryan to stop being an idiot.
Kyle attempts to fight back, but his attempts are futile as Ryan gives him a steady one-two right in the face. Then, just as quick as the first punch, one of the male teachers barrels his way through the crowd to snatch Ryan up by the back of his collar. Even above the jeers of the crowd, Ryan's threats towards Kyle are audible.
"I'M GOING TO FUCK YOU UP, DICKHEAD!" He struggles violently.
Kyle raises a hand to his bloody nose, "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" He looks at the blood on his hand, "I didn't do shit to you, I was talking to Dumbo-"
The teacher points his finger at Kyle threateningly, "One more word, Deery, and it's a suspension."
Ryan bares his teeth as the teacher snatches him away towards the principle's office.
- - -
"Frankly, Ryan, I'm not surprised to see you here."
Debbie Phelps' office is well-renowned for being both uncomfortable and plastered in photos of her three children. Ryan settles into the low, squat couch in front of her desk with mixed feelings of dread and pride. He doesn't feel the slightest bit of guilt over the fight.
Debbie casts her gaze over to the filing cabinets along one side of the office, "You know, every student in my school has a file, Ryan. And in that file is every record of their time here, from grades to English papers to disciplinary refractions."
Ryan bows his head slightly, watching as she crosses the room to the filing cabinet marked L and pulls out a drawer. Lifting it slightly, she removes the drawer from the cabinet in its entirety, dropping it with a heavy thunk onto her desk.
"These are your files, Ryan."
He stares for a minute at the drawer, "Uh... All of them?"
"I'm afraid, Ryan, that I'm going to have to take some... extreme measures with you."
Ryan's eyes coast away from her to land on a photo of Michael and his sisters in front of a sunset, cheesy smiles pasted on their faces. He stares intently at Michael's big brown doe eyes and comes to a conclusion.
"I hate to do this, Ryan." Debbie sighs, oblivious to her student's thoughts, "But I'm going to have to suspend you." She waits for emotion to cross Ryan's face and is mildly surprised when it doesn't.
Ryan stares at Michael's face, at his goofy smile with his crooked teeth and his under-bite and stands up, "I'm sorry. I have something really, really important I have to go do."
Debbie frowns, "Mr. Lochte-"
Ryan tips his head in a bit of a nod and darts from her office, his Nike Air Maxes pounding on the dirty brown tiles. He passes Mr. Dawson's history class and his shoes squeak as he turns a sharp corner to thud up the stairs. If he's missing history, then Michael is in E period Study Hall.
He takes a breath when the door is in sight, takes a breath and slows himself down enough for a calm rap on the little rectangle of glass in the front of the door. The baseball coach glances up from the teacher's desk and waves him in with an easy smile. Ryan cracks the door open.
"The office sent me for Michael Phelps." The lie slides up easy, like vomit after heavy drinking.
Michael stands up, looking worried, and comes to the door. His face is all swollen below his nose and Ryan's stomach tightens in a weird, uncomfortable way.
They don't talk as they walk down the hall, but Michael seems surprised when Ryan passes the down stairs, heading up.
"Ryan?" He glances back, "Where-?"
Ryan ignores him, leading Michael up and up through the school until he can push open the emergency fire escape door to the roof. Michael skids to a stop when the alarm bells sound, but Ryan pulls him through and lets the door clunk shut behind them. The clanging of the bells is dimmed by the thick metal door.
"Ryan, what are we doing? We're going to get in trouble..."
Ryan looks at him, looks right into his big brown doe eyes, "I punched my best friend. I punched my best friend in the face."
Michael trips over his words, not even thinking them through before he says them, "I thought I was your best friend."
Ryan feels sort of drunk, and sort of stupid. The world outside the roof looks like it's spinning and the only thing holding still in the whole entire world is Michael and the panic is rising in him, the panic, and he's never felt anything even close to it before and it's scary. It's really fucking scary.
"I've never liked a boy as much as I like you." He pauses, because that doesn't seem quite right, "I've never liked ANYONE as much as I like you."
Michael looks to be holding his breath.
"Your mom suspended me. She didn't even ask what the fight was about." Michael opens his mouth to speak, but Ryan interrupts, "But I'm glad she didn't. Because how am I supposed to explain to your mom that the reason I punched my friend of seventeen years in the face is because he hit you and when I saw it, I felt like I was going to die if I didn't do something about it?"
"Ryan," Michael hesitates a moment, "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about how I feel about you."
- - -
"I'm talking about how I feel about you."
Michael takes a deep breath, "Okay. But what are you saying?"
Ryan scowls suddenly, "I'm saying that I really really like you, dumb shit."
"I already knew that. So why did you pull me out of class?" It's a dirty trick, but it just might work.
"Because."
Michael sighs, "Okay. I'm going back to Study Hall."
"Wait!" Ryan grabs his arm, pulls him close, and suddenly Michael's heart is beating rabbit fast. Tilting his face up, he kisses Ryan right on his partially open mouth, thrilling in the light, warm touch of their tongues before Ryan breaks the contact.
"I'm saying..."
Michael stares at him, unknowingly forcing his big brown eyes on Ryan until all of a sudden, he sees something break inside him, like tide crashing on rocks.
"I'm saying that I think we're in love. Because when I saw your name on Coach's list of most-valued players, right above mine, I didn't get mad."
Michael frowns slightly.
"But it's more than that!" Ryan tightens his hold on Michael's arm, "I like the way you tug on my curls like you can actually coax them into growing faster. I like the way you lick my chest sometimes when we're laying in the bed, like you like the way my skin tastes or something. I like the fact that you're a boy, with muscles and a penis and stubble and a bad temper. I like those things. But I also like that you really wanna hold my hand, and I can tell you do because sometimes when we're walking, your fingers twitch towards it and..." He takes a breath, "And I wanted you to know that I'd give anything to hold your hand without you thinking I was just doing it to get something. I'd... I'd even punch my best friend in the face for it." Staring hard at Michael, Ryan slides his hand down and laces their fingers together tightly.
Michael bites his lip, "...Do you really mean it?" He inhales sharply, "Because it isn't funny if you don't, Ryan. It isn't funny at all and it's really mean and-"
Ryan kisses him. And Michael shuts up.
- - -
"What are you looking so happy about?" Cullen snaps. As captain, he feels a crisp hole in the place of Kyle and Ryan at practice.
Michael glances around the locker room, finding it empty except for the two of them, and tosses his school towel in the hamper, "Ryan told me something nice. Before they escorted him off campus."
Cullen stares, "How nice?"
Michael hugs his shirt to his bare chest, too happy to catch himself acting stupid, "Nice. The nicest ever."
Then, still smiling, he leaves the locker room and Ryan's dumbfounded friend behind.
Pairing: MPhelps/RLochte;
Fandom: RPF
Rating: pg13
Warnings: Real person fiction; Real person slash; Minors fighting
Summary: Ryan tells Michael something nice.
Notes: 1700 words
Monday morning, Michael has twice as much work to do as usual, thanks to the tons of makeup work his teachers have dumped on him. He gets to the lunch table early, claiming a seat at the end of the table and spreading out a couple of his books so he can make up the classwork he missed Friday.
All through the day, something has been going on right under the surface, something that causes a thin crackling of electricity through the swimteam. Michael doesn't notice it, too wrapped up in his work, until everything starts to surface.
"Hey, Dumbo, move your shit."
Michael glances up to see Kyle hovering over him, then lowers his eyes back to his books. Across the lunchroom, Ryan and his posse enter through the double doors unnoticed.
"Oh, so you think you're one of us now that the list is up?"
Michael blinks up at him, "What are you talking about?"
"I don't know why Ryan worked so hard to get you on the team, and I don't know what he told Coach to get you on the list, but if you don't stop fucking my life up, I'm going to permanently dent your face in."
Michael blinks in surprise, "What?" Maybe everything would have blown over. But at that exact moment, Michael chose to have word vomit, "I can't help it that Ryan likes me better."
The next thing he knew, he felt a throbbing pain in his bottom lip as his own front teeth, thanks to Kyle's fist, sliced through it. Then a clunk as his head connected with the tile floor.
Coughing in shock, Michael doesn't even have time to respond before a blur of forest green t shirt and light wash blue jeans has tackled Kyle to the floor. The lunchroom goes wild around him the attacker straddles Kyle Deery and begins to methodically pound his face into the linoleum.
"Ryan!" Michael pushes himself up to a crawl and tries to make his way towards the fight, but the rush of students holds him back. A tight circle has quickly gathered around the fight, and the leers and screams of his fellow students block out the sound of Michael's voice as he screams at Ryan to stop being an idiot.
Kyle attempts to fight back, but his attempts are futile as Ryan gives him a steady one-two right in the face. Then, just as quick as the first punch, one of the male teachers barrels his way through the crowd to snatch Ryan up by the back of his collar. Even above the jeers of the crowd, Ryan's threats towards Kyle are audible.
"I'M GOING TO FUCK YOU UP, DICKHEAD!" He struggles violently.
Kyle raises a hand to his bloody nose, "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" He looks at the blood on his hand, "I didn't do shit to you, I was talking to Dumbo-"
The teacher points his finger at Kyle threateningly, "One more word, Deery, and it's a suspension."
Ryan bares his teeth as the teacher snatches him away towards the principle's office.
- - -
"Frankly, Ryan, I'm not surprised to see you here."
Debbie Phelps' office is well-renowned for being both uncomfortable and plastered in photos of her three children. Ryan settles into the low, squat couch in front of her desk with mixed feelings of dread and pride. He doesn't feel the slightest bit of guilt over the fight.
Debbie casts her gaze over to the filing cabinets along one side of the office, "You know, every student in my school has a file, Ryan. And in that file is every record of their time here, from grades to English papers to disciplinary refractions."
Ryan bows his head slightly, watching as she crosses the room to the filing cabinet marked L and pulls out a drawer. Lifting it slightly, she removes the drawer from the cabinet in its entirety, dropping it with a heavy thunk onto her desk.
"These are your files, Ryan."
He stares for a minute at the drawer, "Uh... All of them?"
"I'm afraid, Ryan, that I'm going to have to take some... extreme measures with you."
Ryan's eyes coast away from her to land on a photo of Michael and his sisters in front of a sunset, cheesy smiles pasted on their faces. He stares intently at Michael's big brown doe eyes and comes to a conclusion.
"I hate to do this, Ryan." Debbie sighs, oblivious to her student's thoughts, "But I'm going to have to suspend you." She waits for emotion to cross Ryan's face and is mildly surprised when it doesn't.
Ryan stares at Michael's face, at his goofy smile with his crooked teeth and his under-bite and stands up, "I'm sorry. I have something really, really important I have to go do."
Debbie frowns, "Mr. Lochte-"
Ryan tips his head in a bit of a nod and darts from her office, his Nike Air Maxes pounding on the dirty brown tiles. He passes Mr. Dawson's history class and his shoes squeak as he turns a sharp corner to thud up the stairs. If he's missing history, then Michael is in E period Study Hall.
He takes a breath when the door is in sight, takes a breath and slows himself down enough for a calm rap on the little rectangle of glass in the front of the door. The baseball coach glances up from the teacher's desk and waves him in with an easy smile. Ryan cracks the door open.
"The office sent me for Michael Phelps." The lie slides up easy, like vomit after heavy drinking.
Michael stands up, looking worried, and comes to the door. His face is all swollen below his nose and Ryan's stomach tightens in a weird, uncomfortable way.
They don't talk as they walk down the hall, but Michael seems surprised when Ryan passes the down stairs, heading up.
"Ryan?" He glances back, "Where-?"
Ryan ignores him, leading Michael up and up through the school until he can push open the emergency fire escape door to the roof. Michael skids to a stop when the alarm bells sound, but Ryan pulls him through and lets the door clunk shut behind them. The clanging of the bells is dimmed by the thick metal door.
"Ryan, what are we doing? We're going to get in trouble..."
Ryan looks at him, looks right into his big brown doe eyes, "I punched my best friend. I punched my best friend in the face."
Michael trips over his words, not even thinking them through before he says them, "I thought I was your best friend."
Ryan feels sort of drunk, and sort of stupid. The world outside the roof looks like it's spinning and the only thing holding still in the whole entire world is Michael and the panic is rising in him, the panic, and he's never felt anything even close to it before and it's scary. It's really fucking scary.
"I've never liked a boy as much as I like you." He pauses, because that doesn't seem quite right, "I've never liked ANYONE as much as I like you."
Michael looks to be holding his breath.
"Your mom suspended me. She didn't even ask what the fight was about." Michael opens his mouth to speak, but Ryan interrupts, "But I'm glad she didn't. Because how am I supposed to explain to your mom that the reason I punched my friend of seventeen years in the face is because he hit you and when I saw it, I felt like I was going to die if I didn't do something about it?"
"Ryan," Michael hesitates a moment, "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about how I feel about you."
- - -
"I'm talking about how I feel about you."
Michael takes a deep breath, "Okay. But what are you saying?"
Ryan scowls suddenly, "I'm saying that I really really like you, dumb shit."
"I already knew that. So why did you pull me out of class?" It's a dirty trick, but it just might work.
"Because."
Michael sighs, "Okay. I'm going back to Study Hall."
"Wait!" Ryan grabs his arm, pulls him close, and suddenly Michael's heart is beating rabbit fast. Tilting his face up, he kisses Ryan right on his partially open mouth, thrilling in the light, warm touch of their tongues before Ryan breaks the contact.
"I'm saying..."
Michael stares at him, unknowingly forcing his big brown eyes on Ryan until all of a sudden, he sees something break inside him, like tide crashing on rocks.
"I'm saying that I think we're in love. Because when I saw your name on Coach's list of most-valued players, right above mine, I didn't get mad."
Michael frowns slightly.
"But it's more than that!" Ryan tightens his hold on Michael's arm, "I like the way you tug on my curls like you can actually coax them into growing faster. I like the way you lick my chest sometimes when we're laying in the bed, like you like the way my skin tastes or something. I like the fact that you're a boy, with muscles and a penis and stubble and a bad temper. I like those things. But I also like that you really wanna hold my hand, and I can tell you do because sometimes when we're walking, your fingers twitch towards it and..." He takes a breath, "And I wanted you to know that I'd give anything to hold your hand without you thinking I was just doing it to get something. I'd... I'd even punch my best friend in the face for it." Staring hard at Michael, Ryan slides his hand down and laces their fingers together tightly.
Michael bites his lip, "...Do you really mean it?" He inhales sharply, "Because it isn't funny if you don't, Ryan. It isn't funny at all and it's really mean and-"
Ryan kisses him. And Michael shuts up.
- - -
"What are you looking so happy about?" Cullen snaps. As captain, he feels a crisp hole in the place of Kyle and Ryan at practice.
Michael glances around the locker room, finding it empty except for the two of them, and tosses his school towel in the hamper, "Ryan told me something nice. Before they escorted him off campus."
Cullen stares, "How nice?"
Michael hugs his shirt to his bare chest, too happy to catch himself acting stupid, "Nice. The nicest ever."
Then, still smiling, he leaves the locker room and Ryan's dumbfounded friend behind.