This is just a quick ficlet study of Riley, I guess, as well as the very beginnings of a relationship with Peter. It deviates sometime around the first part of "Beat It," so consider it AU.
you color me in pastels
R
Degrassi: The Next Generation
Riley/Peter
Riley tries not to be different. He keeps emotions tied up in messy ribbons inside of him and hopes that they don't come loose, throws himself into football like it's religion and tries not to think about damp skin in the crooks of bare arms and the long planes of backs in the locker room.
He made a mistake with Peter, read something big and scary and sort of nice that wasn't really there. And he won't repeat it. He'll try to get Fiona to hold his hand in the hallway and pretend to feel something when he's around her, even if it's dishonest to say anything more than he likes her smile, he likes the way she knows who she is and what she wants, he likes her but not like that.
Riley tries.
XXXXX
"You know I can't do this anymore." Fiona says, but she smiles, touches Riley's arm like she knows about the way he can feel panic racing all the way through his skin. "I'm not going to tell anyone, Riley, but. . .you should."
"Yeah," he murmurs, hates the way the words taste bitter on his tongue, "yeah, I'll get right on that."
She winces, and she moves her hand away.
"Nobody's going to give you a harder time than you're giving yourself." she says, softly, walking backwards away from him until she turns on a heel and disappears around the corner. He grips the door of his locker and tries not to slam it. But he does.
XXXX
At home, his dad reads the Bible before dinner, and his mom has the biggest smile. Riley started playing football for him, did everything for him. He tries not think too hard when they're together, because he always wants to say things he knows he shouldn't.
He shows them blurry cellphone pictures of Fiona and tells them about how much he likes her. His dad glows a little, because Riley's a football star with a beautiful, rich girlfriend, and he's everything that his dad never got to be. He's got this perfect life, and Riley thinks you don't know, you don't know, and isn't it better this way?
"Invite her over for supper sometime, Riley," his mom says, and Riley nods and smiles, says: "Of course."
XXXXX
Peter's still thin from getting off the drugs, wiry and strung out, and he starts to hang around Riley since his band replaced him. They run together and play video games and do things that friends do, and Riley ignores the low thrum of energy in his fingers, low in his stomach, the feel of Peter's arm pressed up against his.
"It sucks that Fiona dumped you, man," Peter says, stretching his legs out to rest on his coffee table with the controller hanging loosely from his hands, and Riley doesn't take his eyes away from the television, watching his car barely make a corner.
"I'll just find someone else," he says.
"Maybe you should go with someone of a more. . .boy-like persuasion."
"Fuck off, dude," Riley says, rolls his eyes.
"Just saying." Peter's car moves side-by-side with his, and Riley tries to knock him off the road, and he tries not to think of the stupid tone of Peter's stupid voice over persuasion. Peter kicks at his ankle, suddenly, and bursts out laughing when Riley swerves off into the green.
XXXXX
He starts hitting people harder during football practice, and the coach gives him these excited grins, like he's doing it for any reason other than this ridiculous, clean frustration that fills him up all the time.
When he gets home, at night, he locks his door and jerks off and tries to think about Anya's pale legs or the soft bend of Fiona's hips, but it doesn't always happen how it should.
Sometimes, he thinks about Peter's mouth.
XXXXX
"I don't want to freak you out," Riley says, and Peter stares at him for a long moment.
"If you going on random steroid trips and beating the crap out of people doesn't freak me out," he says, slowly, "I think we'll be fine."
"Yeah," Riley replies, "yeah, but we've tried this before, but if you keep spending time with me, I don't think I can. . .okay," he pauses, takes a deep breath, "don't kill me."
He kisses Peter, and he hates himself for doing it, because it didn't happen the first time, but then Peter is pressing up on toes. He's kissing Riley back. And Riley can't help the way that his breath goes sort of scant and ragged, and he's not sure his legs are going to work as Peter's mouth slides open over his. It's wet and messy, and it's not a big sweeping romantic moment, but Riley feels like years of hiding have suddenly burst apart.
When Peter goes to pull away, Riley really doesn't want to let him.
"Wait, don't I get time to freak out about my sexuality?" Peter grins up at him, touches the crook of his elbow, the line of his shoulder. "Don't I get to punch people and run around, like, kissing girls and shit? Geez."
"I think," Riley murmurs, and his voice is wrecked, but there's laughter behind it, "I think maybe you've kissed enough girls. For awhile."
Peter hums lightly, and he tugs at the neck of Riley's t-shirt to get him closer.
-end-
(baby's first Degrassi fic; feedback is loved and adored.)