Peter Rumancek (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
velveteenwolf) wrote2013-11-28 11:08 pm
velveteenwolf) wrote2013-11-28 11:08 pm
Entry tags:
And When the Day is Unsafe, You Wrap Me Tight In Shadows
Roman saved him.
It was an uncomfortable fact, under his skin. That Letha wouldn't have stopped, would have pushed and taken and wrapped him up in that cage of other people's desires he didn't actually know how to escape from. What does Roman have to do with the price of rice in China? As if she didn't know. As if she didn't want to know. Are you really saying no? But it didn't matter. She didn't care. It was spinning away, and it was that realization that this was happening no matter what he said as he looked up into her eyes that were as green as Roman's. Fucking Godfrey greens. A Godfrey always gets what they want.
And then Roman had burst in, furious, so much anger in his eyes, and reminding her of just how wrong it was, even when Peter had broken things off with him the day before. Roman had stayed after Letha left, made sure Peter was okay (even if okay had been a lie, he'd played it well enough to communicate I wont let you help me right now). He wasn't hurt, anyway. Maybe he could have fallen into it otherwise, if Roman hadn't come in, hadn't seen him like that, and now he felt... wrong in a way he couldn't pin down. Peter had never been the sort to want this sort of thing -- people and relationships and would have claimed that the whole Dom/sub think was bullshit if you asked (Christina had once, and she'd looked so scandalized Peter swore her ears turned pink).
But he did, it turned out.
To his credit, Roman kept trying to get close, to talk about what had happened, try and fix whatever wound Peter clearly had as he flinched from even casual contact, talked less, skipped all of his classes in favor of smoking on the roof and staring at the sun. Letha was out of school as the Godfreys tried to quiet the legal repercussions of nonconsent. It probably wouldn't even make it to trial; fucking modern day royalty. It was just that Peter was a gypsy. It was in his blood. He thought he could just run from it forever. Even if they dreamed the same dreams, if Roman was tied to him in a way that defied Peter's attempts to run from it.
It was late when he fell asleep to bad dreams. A stormy night, black midnight skies and cracks of lightning punctuated by rolling thunder. He was sitting on the couch, alone, a red candle on the table in front of him, flickering unevenly, and the wax ran onto the table like tendrils of blood. The rain poured off the windows, the storm door of the trailer rattling violently as the branches of trees creaked and moaned. Stormy as his feelings; probably fucking symbolic, but Peter refused to let himself read into it every time he woke.
It was an uncomfortable fact, under his skin. That Letha wouldn't have stopped, would have pushed and taken and wrapped him up in that cage of other people's desires he didn't actually know how to escape from. What does Roman have to do with the price of rice in China? As if she didn't know. As if she didn't want to know. Are you really saying no? But it didn't matter. She didn't care. It was spinning away, and it was that realization that this was happening no matter what he said as he looked up into her eyes that were as green as Roman's. Fucking Godfrey greens. A Godfrey always gets what they want.
And then Roman had burst in, furious, so much anger in his eyes, and reminding her of just how wrong it was, even when Peter had broken things off with him the day before. Roman had stayed after Letha left, made sure Peter was okay (even if okay had been a lie, he'd played it well enough to communicate I wont let you help me right now). He wasn't hurt, anyway. Maybe he could have fallen into it otherwise, if Roman hadn't come in, hadn't seen him like that, and now he felt... wrong in a way he couldn't pin down. Peter had never been the sort to want this sort of thing -- people and relationships and would have claimed that the whole Dom/sub think was bullshit if you asked (Christina had once, and she'd looked so scandalized Peter swore her ears turned pink).
But he did, it turned out.
To his credit, Roman kept trying to get close, to talk about what had happened, try and fix whatever wound Peter clearly had as he flinched from even casual contact, talked less, skipped all of his classes in favor of smoking on the roof and staring at the sun. Letha was out of school as the Godfreys tried to quiet the legal repercussions of nonconsent. It probably wouldn't even make it to trial; fucking modern day royalty. It was just that Peter was a gypsy. It was in his blood. He thought he could just run from it forever. Even if they dreamed the same dreams, if Roman was tied to him in a way that defied Peter's attempts to run from it.
It was late when he fell asleep to bad dreams. A stormy night, black midnight skies and cracks of lightning punctuated by rolling thunder. He was sitting on the couch, alone, a red candle on the table in front of him, flickering unevenly, and the wax ran onto the table like tendrils of blood. The rain poured off the windows, the storm door of the trailer rattling violently as the branches of trees creaked and moaned. Stormy as his feelings; probably fucking symbolic, but Peter refused to let himself read into it every time he woke.