Great Risks - Part 11
Dec. 29th, 2007 08:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cmk418Title: Great Risks
Pairing: Ryan O’Reily/Dino Ortolani
Rating: R
Word Count: 708
A/N: The first part was inspired by a conversation that took place Christmas Eve. I was a little surprised how Peter-centric this turned out, but that's where the muses went. And, FYI - I will have them home by the next chapter.
PREVIOUS
All other parts can be found here.
“You’re full of shit.”
“I can’t believe that you still buy it. You’re eight years old, Petey. Time to grow up.”
“Are you telling me that Pop...”
“And your mother...”
Peter attacked Dino then, with all the might a boy could muster. “You take that back,” he screamed again and again.
“Ask her. She’ll tell you the truth. Shit, Petey, you’re the only one in our class that still believes it. It’s embarrassing to be around you.” Dino walked off, heading toward school as Peter watched the world he knew crumble around him.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Peter was sitting in the passenger seat, silently thinking of days long gone, as they drove back from Florida. The meet had been a success. Even Dino had to admit that all of the preparation had paid off. Peter could have handled it on his own.
His thoughts kept drifting back to Ortolani and O’Reily. He’d watched Ortolani very carefully the past couple of nights. There’d been no more slips. Dino didn’t even glance in his direction when Peter strode out of the shower naked yesterday morning. And the time when he’d casually brought up the Bridget Street gang, all he got from Ortolani was a shrug and a “when we get back.”
Maybe it was just a dream though. He’d had plenty of crazy dreams in his life, some of them defied explanation. He may have even mumbled some guy’s name in his sleep once or twice. Like in a conversation, or yelling to tell Mario that he was about to get shot. But it was mumbling. Or yelling.
Never purring... or whatever the hell Ortolani did when he said Ryan O’Reily’s name.
He wondered if any of the other guys else had noticed. If they had, no one treated Dino any differently. Hell, his father even still thought of Dino as the golden boy.
That’s what was driving Peter crazy and kept his mind going in circles. Dino Ortolani, the man he was supposed to be patterning his life after, the tribute to masculinity, Dino Ortolani was a fag?
It made no sense. The man had a beautiful wife at home, had kids, for fuck’s sake. Guys with kids were not queer.
His father had trusted Ortolani, had virtually given him the keys to the kingdom, all the while telling Peter, “Would it really kill you to be more like Dino?” His father had held Dino up as some kind of role model for his son, but how could Peter look up to someone that might betray his father for a piece of ass?
And not even feminine ass.
And not even Italian ass. What the fuck was wrong with Italians, that Dino wouldn’t even look in that direction? He’d watched Dino closely the past two days, left himself open and Ortolani never even made a move on him. It’s not like Peter was...
No, no, no. It’s better that he’s not looking at me. What the fuck, Peter? You’re turning queer now too? I wonder if it’s contagious. Think of Rosalie. Or better yet, think of Ginny.
Peter took a deep breath and focused on the image of Dino’s wife. Of course, this just succeeded in making him upset with Dino all over again. To have a lady that fine waiting for him at home, why would he need to look elsewhere? And why the fuck would he be all hot and bothered by Ryan Fucking O’Reily?
And what if it wasn’t just fucking? What if it was conspiring?
Dino’s voice startled Peter into awareness. “Peter, quit staring at me or you’re gonna get a close up of my fist.”
Peter blinked, so caught up in his musings that he didn’t realize he was facing Dino, let alone staring at him. He slowly turned away, watching the scenery outside fly past. Another couple of days and they’d be home.
“So there’s really no Santa Claus?” he heard his eight-year-old self ask.
“No,” his mother had answered.
At once the world felt cold and hollow, full of illusions that would eventually be shattered. Being first or last to find out didn’t matter. The discovery was still a bitch.
But, as his mother had told him, it was always better to know the truth.
NEXT
Pairing: Ryan O’Reily/Dino Ortolani
Rating: R
Word Count: 708
A/N: The first part was inspired by a conversation that took place Christmas Eve. I was a little surprised how Peter-centric this turned out, but that's where the muses went. And, FYI - I will have them home by the next chapter.
PREVIOUS
All other parts can be found here.
“You’re full of shit.”
“I can’t believe that you still buy it. You’re eight years old, Petey. Time to grow up.”
“Are you telling me that Pop...”
“And your mother...”
Peter attacked Dino then, with all the might a boy could muster. “You take that back,” he screamed again and again.
“Ask her. She’ll tell you the truth. Shit, Petey, you’re the only one in our class that still believes it. It’s embarrassing to be around you.” Dino walked off, heading toward school as Peter watched the world he knew crumble around him.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Peter was sitting in the passenger seat, silently thinking of days long gone, as they drove back from Florida. The meet had been a success. Even Dino had to admit that all of the preparation had paid off. Peter could have handled it on his own.
His thoughts kept drifting back to Ortolani and O’Reily. He’d watched Ortolani very carefully the past couple of nights. There’d been no more slips. Dino didn’t even glance in his direction when Peter strode out of the shower naked yesterday morning. And the time when he’d casually brought up the Bridget Street gang, all he got from Ortolani was a shrug and a “when we get back.”
Maybe it was just a dream though. He’d had plenty of crazy dreams in his life, some of them defied explanation. He may have even mumbled some guy’s name in his sleep once or twice. Like in a conversation, or yelling to tell Mario that he was about to get shot. But it was mumbling. Or yelling.
Never purring... or whatever the hell Ortolani did when he said Ryan O’Reily’s name.
He wondered if any of the other guys else had noticed. If they had, no one treated Dino any differently. Hell, his father even still thought of Dino as the golden boy.
That’s what was driving Peter crazy and kept his mind going in circles. Dino Ortolani, the man he was supposed to be patterning his life after, the tribute to masculinity, Dino Ortolani was a fag?
It made no sense. The man had a beautiful wife at home, had kids, for fuck’s sake. Guys with kids were not queer.
His father had trusted Ortolani, had virtually given him the keys to the kingdom, all the while telling Peter, “Would it really kill you to be more like Dino?” His father had held Dino up as some kind of role model for his son, but how could Peter look up to someone that might betray his father for a piece of ass?
And not even feminine ass.
And not even Italian ass. What the fuck was wrong with Italians, that Dino wouldn’t even look in that direction? He’d watched Dino closely the past two days, left himself open and Ortolani never even made a move on him. It’s not like Peter was...
No, no, no. It’s better that he’s not looking at me. What the fuck, Peter? You’re turning queer now too? I wonder if it’s contagious. Think of Rosalie. Or better yet, think of Ginny.
Peter took a deep breath and focused on the image of Dino’s wife. Of course, this just succeeded in making him upset with Dino all over again. To have a lady that fine waiting for him at home, why would he need to look elsewhere? And why the fuck would he be all hot and bothered by Ryan Fucking O’Reily?
And what if it wasn’t just fucking? What if it was conspiring?
Dino’s voice startled Peter into awareness. “Peter, quit staring at me or you’re gonna get a close up of my fist.”
Peter blinked, so caught up in his musings that he didn’t realize he was facing Dino, let alone staring at him. He slowly turned away, watching the scenery outside fly past. Another couple of days and they’d be home.
“So there’s really no Santa Claus?” he heard his eight-year-old self ask.
“No,” his mother had answered.
At once the world felt cold and hollow, full of illusions that would eventually be shattered. Being first or last to find out didn’t matter. The discovery was still a bitch.
But, as his mother had told him, it was always better to know the truth.
NEXT
no subject
Date: 2007-12-30 01:05 pm (UTC)Thanks for the lovely read!
no subject
Date: 2007-12-30 05:16 pm (UTC)I'm glad that you enjoyed this. Thanks for reading and commenting. (Next part should be up very soon!)